#everything itches and it becomes so hard to just breathe normally (let alone even be able to talk to my family) for like a week afterwards

[ch4nb4ng]

Evil Roommate

pairing: leeknow x afab!reader, roommates enemies to lovers

warnings: softdom!lino, cheating (mentioned), making out, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering penetration, cum play (?), praise

requested : yes!

word count 6.2k

summary: the new roommate was a handful. lazy, disrespectful, arrogant, and a whole bunch of other negative things. but wow, you were sexually frustrated and he, well, attractive, was an understatement.

“Can you actually like, wash your kitchen utensils when you're done using them?”

The amount of huffing and puffing you have heard from your new roommate in the past two weeks was ridiculous. If you had a dollar for every time he had gone against anything you had politely asked for, you would be rich by now, and definitely stable enough to move out and away from him.

“I will,” he mumbled, mouth stuffed with half of the carrot he was chewing on, very loudly, “can I not enjoy my food first?”

“No,” you replied without hesitation, giving the fakest of smiles in return, “you should do it before you eat.”

Another eye roll from Minho was like water off a duck’s back.

“I'd also appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me with your mouth full of food either.”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You coughed, turning on your hills to face a very unimpressed roommate. His stare was eye shattering. Yes, he was very, no, extremely good looking. However, every single thing that made up his personality could not be more different to you. Sloppy, messy, lazy. Took no responsibility for any of his actions, especially the high pitch noises (that obviously were not his) you would hear from his room in the early hours of the morning. You would pinch your pillow together, praying extremely hard that the noise would stop, and by the time it did, you would get maybe 2, 3 hours of sleep. College was becoming tiring, not only from staying up to complete assessments, but the lewd noises you could hear from at least 2 people in his room. Your blunt attitude towards Minho’s unhygienic and disrespectful habits were definitely justified.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you nitpick everything I do?”

Your jaw dropped, completely dumbfounded.

“Me? Nitpicking you? Please,” you scoffed, “you don't clean up after yourself ever, you leave your dirty clothes everywhere, and don't even get me started on the fact that I barely get any sleep because of your wild sex adventures with other people that occur almost every weeknight, when you know I have to wake up early to go to class next day.”

A combination of frustration and exhaustion could be heard through the harshness of each breath. The smirk that appeared on his face was absolutely punch worthy. What on earth was there to be so cocky of?

“My wild sex adventures,” he paused taking a bite of the dreaded carrot, “please, tell me more about my wild sex adventures.”

His tongue was now obviously pressed against his cheek, a devil coated smile still very apparent on his face. The longer he was looking at you like that, the hotter your cheeks became. Pure anger began to course through you; all he had to do was sit there and look pretty. It was definitely enough for you to get the green light to slap him across the face.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, “I don’t need to explain how I can hear them moaning your name every night, or the banging I hear from wall to-”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “you seem to be listening very well.”

Distracted by your anger for a brief moment, you gasped suddenly, feeling Minho’s fingertips at your sides. You turned around, swatting his hands away, giving him that slap that you felt you had earned across the face.

“Who the fuck said you could touch me?

“Did you just fucking slap me?”

“Yes I fucking did,” you spat, “what do you take me for?”

“You know what you’re right, but you walk around here with a stick up your ass. I hear you on the phone to your friends, complaining about how you don't get any action from anyone.”

You stood there in disbelief. “So you’ve been eavesdropping on my convos as well?”

“Well it’s kind of hard not to hear, you know, the walls in this house are kind of thin.”

Your jaw clenched, his eyebrows furrowed, the conversation was at a stand still.

“Can you get to the point please?”

“I sure can sweetheart,” the name sending a shiver down your spine, “if you're that sexually frustrated, go and do something about it instead of taking it out on me?”

A laugh that you didn't even know you were capable of bellowed from your chest. You stumbled back, grabbing onto stool behind the bench for support.

“Me? Sexually frustrated? Please,” you huffed, “I’m not sexually frustrated, and it definitely has nothing to do with you.”

Another scoff escaped your lips as you shuffled back to your room. Closing the door behind you, a heavy sigh came from your chest as you sat on the edge of your bed. How on earth was he able to read you like that? So well and so accurate? It was all you could think about, not to mention the fact that it was also night time simultaneously.

You let your body fall onto your bed sheets. The feeling of restlessness was consuming your body. As you crawled into bed, you looked straight into the ceiling. Why were you thinking about his words so much? Were you really taking it out on him? You shook your head, mentally slapping yourself for even considering the thought.

Minho was a lazy slob who was extremely inconsiderate of others, especially you. But why was the thought of his fingers on your sides becoming the main source of agitation.? The silence of your thoughts was deafening, but they were easily interrupted as soon as you heard the door open, a high pitched voice followed what felt like the most ludicrous creek you had ever heard. ‘I should really put some oil on the door huh?’ You paused for a couple of seconds, this time physically face palming yourself for the dumb excuse you had made to see who he had decided to bring over to accompany him tonight. Legs completely ignoring your brain, you were out of bed, hand twisting the knob and peeking a look at the poor girl that would be subjected to Minho’s torture tonight. Tip toeing out of the doorway, you kept the weight of a feather on your toes, making yourself as invisible as possible.

“Y/n?”

Your pink panther stance of attempted deception looked utterly ridiculous and not sly at all was extremely confusing to the two. You quickly relaxed into a normal stance, the fakest of smiles coming across your face as you see who it is he brought home to have his way with.

“Chaeyeon… heyyy,” you lingered, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

You would have been happy with literally anyone else. But Chaeyeon? Chaeyeon? It’s like she was your number one arch rival. Minho knew how much you hated her, yet he still let her come over. Everything about her you could not stand, not to mention the fact that she home wrecked your last serious relationship. Even though it was a while ago, you can forgive but not forget, her face being a constant reminder of your hurtful past.

“Oh hey Y/N,” she almost signed, her amount of excitement to see you matching yours, “I didn’t know you lived here.”

The arm he had around her waist made you sick.

“There’s a lot of things you don't know about me,” you mumbled, foot swaying back and forth, eyes focused on said foot.

“Okay, so you guys have had a little reunion,” Minho interrupted. Anything would have been better to break the awkward silence than his sarcastic comments, “we’re gonna go to my room now.”

“NO!” you interjected, covering the hallway with every bit of your being, “I mean, what’s the rush huh? Changbin is coming over as well.”

You paused, Minho’s face clearly cussing you out if yelling was inappropriate at this current moment.

“Uh no thanks Y/N-”

“We should all hang out!”

The excitement coming from your voice was so inauthentic, it was hard to miss.

“Yeah! Let’s all hang out,” you walked behind them, placing a hand on each of their backs and you hurried them to the couch, “I’ll get some beers in the fridge.”

“I actually only drink vodka,” Chaeyeon yawns, obnoxiously twirling her hair, her other hand aggravatingly high on his thigh.

“Oh that’s totally fine,” you gritted through tightly clenched teeth, “we have a bottle in the fridge, I’ll grab that for you as well.”

You scuffled back over to the fridge, mentally cursing yourself as you grabbed the necessary beverages. The confusion you were giving yourself about why you were putting in so much effort to spend time with the two people you literally hated more than anything was mind baffling

“So,” you began again, passing a Corona to Minho, a glass to Chaeyeon, “how have you been finding your course so far?”

You sat the Smirnoff and Orange juice on the table. Yes, you were being nice, but not nice enough to pour the drink for this bitch.

“Oh it was so great,” she smiled, “Jisung and I were living together, it was, well, a dream really.”

The feeling of your nails became prominent in your fists as your fingers caved in. The mention of his name was enough to make you see red, let alone the idea of them being happily together. The itch of your eye begging to roll was becoming too prominent, so much that you had to get up and walk away for a second. You stood up abruptly, confusion etched into Minho’s features. You didn’t want to make this a big deal, but the fact that she continued to gloat about it, long after you stopped listening was enough to reach your breaking point.

“I think I heard my phone ringing from my room, it must be Changbin.”

“I don't think I hear anything,” Minho smirked, plastering his lips on the edge of the bottle. The way his lips wrapped around the tip of the warm glass was something you ‘accidentally’ became fixated on. You puffed your cheeks, storming to your room and somewhat aggressively shutting the door behind you. Scrambling for your phone on the bedside table, you panicked, unclear mind as you scrolled through your phone contacts. You paused, an inducing amount of oxygen filling up your lungs. It did little to calm the irritated tingling sensation in your fingers.

Changbin’s name had finally popped up on your phone after what had felt like a lifetime.

“Hello?”

His voice was husky, guilt panging your chest as you realsied you had probably woken him up from his not very often deep slumber.

“Changbin,” you gasped, “you know how much I love you right?”

“What do you need me to do?”

You snickered at his words. He had been your friend for too long to know that those words would never be said unless you needed something.

“Can you come over,” you pleaded, “Chaeyeon is here with Minho because he invited her over late at night, and I told them you were coming over?”

“Jesus Y/n,” Changbin sighed, a playful chuckle tickling your cheek, “so you want me to come over and make Minho jealous?”

“Wait no wtf,” you jumbled, “make Minho jealous? I just want you to flirt with me and Chaeyeon so she leaves.”

“Mhm yeah,” he chuckled once more, voice laced with sarcasm as he spoke, “I’ll come over, but if you don't sleep with him by the end of the night, I’m gonna be extremely disappointed.”

“Yeah okay whatever just get your ass over here now.”

And with that you abruptly ended the phone call, Changbin giving you no peace of mind. Were you this easy to read by everybody? A frustrated sigh exploded from your chest. The games your head and your heart were playing with were helping you come to no resolution. You sat on your bed, thoughts were running crazy. Now would be a really great time to just put on Netflix and curl into bed, have some snacks and fall asleep, chip trail on ur chest to be found in the morning.

You were interrupted by the very loud knock on the door. Sprinting like your life depended on it, you were relieved. Seeing Changbin’s face had never before given you so much joy.

“Changbin,” you shouted, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Y/n what are you doing-”

“Shut up and go along with it,” you mumbled into his chest, letting up, but still keeping your body tightly wounded against his. Minho’s jaw became clenched, or were you just imagining things?

Regardless of what it was, your brain quickly shifted to the way Chaeyeon was eyeing Changbin up and down, almost like it was the first time she had ever seen an attractive male. ‘She definitely wasn’t looking at Minho like that when he walked in’ you thought, an unconscious smirk coming to mouth. You bit down on your bottom lip, an extremely poor attempt at masking the satisfaction of your goal being achieved so easily. One step closer to kicking her out, for good, because there was no way you weren’t talking to Minho after this about making an explicit declaration of her abandonment from this house.

“Minho,” he smiled, earning a nod, “Chaeyeon,” he smirked, an almost gag spilling out of your mouth.

“Changbin,” she followed, repeating his smirk, “long time no see.”

She gulped, engulfing a large sip of alcohol into her wicked mouth.

“Let’s play a game!”

“A game,” you questioned, raising an eyebrow, “why would we play-”

“I think that’s a great idea!”

You turned to look at him, a puzzled expression still very apparent on your facial features.

“Get the vodka out from the fridge, and let’s get started.”

***

Two bottles of vodka down, and what looked like 8 bottles of Corona sitting empty on the table, the games that were being played were becoming more difficult to comprehend. Sound of giggle and laughter constantly filled the room as everyone slowly began to lose their minds to the intoxication.

“O-okay, never have I e-ever, done a sexual act in public.”

Filters of chuckles and laughter filled the room as everyone, but you took a sip.

“What?” she asked, offering you her fake sympathy, “you’ve never done anything like that before?”

“I-I mean,” you stuttered, the look of confusion was evident, “I don’t think I have-”

“Yes you have.”

All eyes were snapped open and pressing into Minho’s skull as he began to converse.

“Pfft, no I have not,” you scoffed, taking another swig. An eye roll left came from Minho, followed by a sound of what seemed to be disgust as he shot gunned his current bottle.

“Yes you have,” he nagged, playfully hitting your shoulder, “I saw you.”

Complete silence fell over the room as he words lingered in the air. You genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.The feeling of the room had suddenly changed. His eyes became soft, fixated on nothing but the way your body slumped against the rough material of the couch.

Your mind began to drift. Thoughts floating into earlier scenes of the night. The closeness of his breath fanning your neck ever so softly, palms spread across your hips. The idea of marks on you swimming into your head. God that would feel so good. Letting him grab you and throw you onto his bed. Climbing up your frame, starting from the bottom of your legs, keeping a tight grip on your inner thighs. The feeling of faint lips stealing every inch of your being, tantalisingly hitting every, single, spot, finally reaching your-

“Y/N? Y/N!”

The feeling of Changbin's shaking your shoulders definitely brought you back to reality. His hands did feel nice, but they weren’t the ones you were longing for. Your head was thrown back, disbelief filling you as your mind continued to fill the gutter.

“When?”

As you moved closer, you giggled, placing your finger tip across his knee. You let them dance, index fingers tapping away at the skin you so desperately wanted to see in this moment.

“Mr. Lee Minho, when did you see me?”

“I’m not saying it here in front of-”

“Who? Chaeyeon?”

Your prowling continued, bodies even closer as you slowly began to climb him like an inanimate object. This would have been completely awkward sober. Nothing about this was romantic in the slightest. To an outsider, or Changbin and Chaeyeon, you were right there, situated across Minho’s lap. It wasn’t quite a straddle, it was just something. They both stayed quiet, paying little attention to your animalistic act, already focused on feeling each other up. Or so you assumed, seeing as they didn’t say anything. All that was heard was the sound of the front door. You snapped your head for a quick moment, eyes scanning the emptiness the room suddenly felt.

“It was in the car.”

Minho’s words felt heavy, like he had more to say.

“The car?”

You were taken aback, face moving away from the closeness of his. Part of your brain clicked, remembering exactly what he was talking about. With Jisung. The memory of hurt was quickly forgotten as the feeling of Minho’s palms spread across your body was bringing you to life. The adrenaline came all at once. Your mind was telling you to move away, but your body was saying something else, affirming it’s position.

Minho was leaning in, barely any spaces between the two as his fingertips began to spread lower and lower, firmly gripping either side of your ass as he moved you closer. A helpless whimper escaped your lips as you felt your legs tighten, heat running down to your core, quickly. What the fuck was happening right now?

“You were on top of him,” he whispered, pulling your hips against him once more, “just like this.”

“F-fuck,” was all that managed to slip out of your lips. This was becoming difficult. So difficult to say no and move away. You knew it was the right thing to do. Things would just be awkward and you could go back to hating him. No matter how much you tried, how much you wanted to, you were powerless. Every fiber of your being was being given up to him. You leaned in closer, foreheads now touching as you looked at him. His gaze was anything but lacklustre as his jaw became tense. His body began to ache simultaneously with yours. The pressure was becoming too much.

“Do you want this?”

“What?”

A small whine escaped you at the loss of his tips gripping your body. They quickly made their way to either side of your face. Your body began to rock back and forth on it’s own. You had become desperate for any sort of friction that you could create.

“I said, do you want this?”

“Do you?”

His expression made you nervous. It was hard to read. All you could see was the black substance of his pupils enlarge, increasing in diameter by the second. Almost like a supernatural being was possessing him.

“Fuck,” you grunted, wrapping your hands around his neck to steady yourself on top of him, “you’re making it hard to say no.”

Things were already becoming hazy the longer you stayed. A huff of frustration came from him as he was giving all his effort not to give into the way you were rubbing your dampening heat against him. It was like a drug he could not refuse.

“Kiss me if you want me.”

He huffed, the edge of his lips just barely brushing against the tip of your nose.

“Kiss me, and give me the green light.”

You waited a moment, any part of your brain that wasn't concentrated solely on his palms digging into your sides trying to reason. You looked at him once more. His eyes, nose, lips. His lips.

“Fuck it.”

He was quick to work, pushing you down to lie flat against the couch. A small kiss to your lips was felt as he pulled away, lifting his arms up and throwing his shirt to the floor at Usain Bolt pace. The smirk on your face was too easy for him not to see.

“You like what you fucking see don’t you?”

“Just shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Of course. Of course he was still that arrogant cocky motherfucker that you could not stand. The one who never cleaned up after himself. Or took too long in the shower for the hot water to run out. All of these evil perceptions you had of your roommate were disappearing as his lips were gently placed onto yours. It was a little too slow for your liking, but it was deep. Boy, was it deep. Each movement of his tongue was made with so much precision as he lowered himself onto you. His thighs were clenched, a soft groan could be heard against his lips as his groin pressed into you. Holy fuck, were you really doing this? It was so wrong. Everything in the world was saying to stop, stop this.

“Mm- wait,” you paused your hands on his chest to push him away, “wait.”

A flash of panic waved over his eyes as he quickly jumped off of you, face palming the floor.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” you interjected, giggling at the never been seen care and caution he had for you, “I just don’t think we should do this.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. You kept your gaze lowered; looking at him would have made you feel so guilty. The feeling of regret started to seep into your bones, but you couldn't tell: was it regret of this ever happening, or was it regret from stopping? Your head was too muddled to even attempt to comprehend what had just appended. The only sound that could be heard was your scuffed footsteps, quickly pacing back to your room and shutting the door, hard. The loudest sigh known to earth could be heard on the opposite side of the room as you let your body collapse. The ache between your legs was growing by the second; and as much as you tried to suppress the feeling of Minho’s lips on yours, fingertips dragging along your sides. No. It was much easier this way. Setting boundaries as roommates seemed to be a better idea for the long run.

But the long run was boring. You would both have to pretend that this never happened. Having other people over for sexual purposes would just be awkward now; the more you thought about it, the realisation, and the jealousy hit that you had already crossed said boundary. And maybe that’s why your feet had dragged you to the front of his bedroom door. How the fuck did you get here? You brought your knuckles to the wooden frame, door becoming slightly ajar as you gently knocked. Minho’s snapped his head around, covering himself quickly as you walked in. You cocked your eyebrow, a face of confusion apparent on your face.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he huffed, turning back to his previous position, “what do you want?”

You wanted to just walk out. Mind your business and just leave. But it was hard, quite literally. The imprint of what you assumed to be Minho’s naked lower half painfully pressing into the sheer sheets that was covering him. He paid you no more attention, giving you all the power to initiate whatever it is you wanted to initiate. You slowly crept in beside him, nuzzling your head into the back of his neck as he groaned in annoyance.

“Y/n, what the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

“Hmm, I think I changed my mind,” you whispered, reaching around to grab him. A blunt hiss escaped Minho’s lips as your action made him turn around. He was so close to you now. So close that you could feel his breath spreading across your left cheek.

“Are you being serious right now?”

The look on his face was unimpressed to say the least.

“Yeah, I mean,” your voice was calm as your hand began to take flight, sliding down to the base of his shaft, “we’ve already crossed the line, let’s go a little further.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He grabbed you by the wrist that was currently on him, pulling it away and climbing on top of you. Both hands now leaving his side, securely attached onto both wrists as he pinned them down above your head. Nose clumsily tickling yours as he reattached his lips to yours. The feeling of his lips was much softer and calmer than before, almost like he was protecting you. Wanting to keep the moment so delicate, though the way his bare hips involuntarily grinding against your clothed core was far from it. A soft whimper came from your lips, vibrating against his. A soft chuckle was heard from Minho as he pulled away; it made you nervous. To be more specific, the way that arrogant, mischievous smirk that you knew all too well was spread across his face.

“You’re so responsive to me,” he growled, quickly planting another one on your lips before sliding down to your jaw, then your neck, stopping at your chest. Nothing needed to be said as you quickly discarded your shirt, silently thanking your past self for not wearing any underneath. Minho situated himself in front of your now bare chest, waist sitting against your heart as he took one nipple into his mouth, fingers enclosing around the other. A loud whine left your lips, back arching in reaction to him. He looked up, satisfied filling his body as you weren’t able to return his gaze, head already rolled all the way back as he continued his playful assault.

“It’s so cute,” he mumbled between kisses, “so responsive and I’ve barely done anything.”

His lips travelled down the center of your stomach, dipping dangerously closer to where you wanted him most. His continuous rhythm between kisses was immaculate. Any of the incoherent sounds you made, or the crude remarks he made were left unsaid.

“Fuck,” you hissed, painfully throbbing at the way Minho played with the waistband of your panties.

“Not fun to be teased y/n,’ he paused, making sure you were looking at him, “is it.”

A pang of guilt hit your chest for a moment. I mean, it’s not like you did it on purpose, right?

“Minho I’m-”

“Save it,” he scoffs, “whether you did it on purpose, or not, I’m not gonna let you have it so easily.”

His fingers stopped their performance across your hips, continuing a little lower than before. The smirk came to his lips once more, index finger running down your slit. The friction was fierce, but not fierce enough. You wanted, no, you needed more. All he could do was smile at your mercy.

“So fun to tease darling, but you’re gonna have to be more vocal if you want these panties off.”

“Minho please,” you whined, “for fucks sake.”

You bucked your hips forward, desperate for any more contact from the bare minimum he was giving you.

“That doesn’t sound very nice to me.”

“Minho please, please, please,” you whispered, voice becoming super weak, “fuck me, or finger me, anything please, I need to feel you.”

“Now that’s more like it,” he smiled, finally pulling your panties down. You have never lifted your hips faster in your life. The vulnerability of your naked body was somewhat confronting, but your brain was so fogged out from the immense teasing, you cared little.

“Fuck,” he gasped, spreading you effortlessly with two fingers, “you’re so wet for me, aren't you?”

The heat in your cheeks rose as you became embarrassed at his words. Minho didn’t know this, but feeling humiliated was something that could make you cum on the spot. Words intended for insult went through your ears and straight down to the core, the heat becoming like an intense fire igniting in your body as one of his hands moved along your inner thigh, the other gently beginning to circle around where you needed him most.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god Minho please, more.” Your voice was becoming needier by the second, but the longer it went on, the less you seemed to care. His tongue was now a factor coming into play, small kitty licks lapping your clit at a suddenly fast pace. Your legs are already trembling, but Minho does more to appease, hooking his arms under and around your thighs to stop the flustered look on your face. It was confronting how quickly he was getting you to your high.

“Please,” you sighed, eyes hazed as you attempted to look down at the way his tongue was on you. The combination of him sucking on your clit, then pushing it through your entrance almost made you scream. However, the noises that came from your mouth were small, heavy pants, progressively getting louder and louder the tighter the knot in your stomach became.

“Do you wanna cum princess?” His voice was whiny, mocking the tone you had used earlier. You nodded ferociously, knowing any attempt to speak would come out horse or just broken.

“Such a good girl,” he purred, replacing his tongue with two fingers, “but if you want to cum, you’re gonna have to beg for it once more.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” you groaned, an attempt of grinding your center onto Minho’s fingers failing miserably, “you’re being so unfair.”

“I’m unfair?” he scoffed, beginning his digits back to a bare minimum pace, “you’re the one

who was teasing me all night. I know Changbin is like, your best friend so there was no chance you were bringing him back to fuck him. Then you start to kiss me, hard and fast may I add, AND THEN ! you aren’t sure and you leave me to pretend like nothing happened.”

There was no witty comeback you could say in response because he was right. You were the one who has done the teasing for most of the night.

“You looked so fucked out right now baby,” his tone coming back to a calming medium, “begging for me to make you cum, which I can do right now,” he paused, climbing back to your side, lifting your left leg to continue his easy access to ur clit, “or you can beg even more to have my cock inside of you. The choice is yours.” You swallowed, hard. How could he say something so filthy? Out of all the times you had heard him bring other girls over, he would never talk like this. It was always so nice and calm, full of praise and compassion. Maybe they didn’t act like cock teases and let him just have what he wanted.

“C-cock,” you mumbled, pushing your backside against his now pulsating cock, “please give your cock sir.”

“Ooo sir, I like that one, but you’re gonna have to do more if you want me to fill you up princess.”

Words were becoming extremely hard to not only facilitate in your mind, but put them on your tongue and get out to him. He knew this. He knew your were on the brink of collapsing in cum, but the torture was too entertaining for him nonetheless. Although you're frustrated with him was increasing, you couldn’t lie to yourself that the way he was using you like a sex toy was turning you on. After being up his ass so long with rules around the house and how you wanted things done, it was nice to finally let go. Submit to his rules instead of yours.

“P-please Minho, sir’ you panted, head turning to look at the sadistic face of enjoyment he was having from this, “I’ll do anything, a-anything to have your cock inside of me right now.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Okay then tomorrow morning, you have to make me breakfast, AND wash my dishes.”

“Seriously,” you panted, “that’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“You said anything.” He shrugged, suddenly taking his fingers away from your dripping core. A gasp of disappointment came to your lips at the loss of delicious contact. Minho sat up, ducking under your leg, and positioning himself right back to where he was previously. However, this time, he was on his knees. Although you were touching it before, you really hadn't had a chance to look at how big it was: way more than what you expected. He stroked himself a couple of times, making sure not to get carried away with himself before he pushed it between your folds, letting his pre-cum mix with your juices. He slowly descended into you. Jaws dropping simultaneously, you gasped. The way he was stretching you out did burn a little bit, but once he was fully inside, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Minho waited until the look of slight discomfort faded from your features.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip and he slowly pulled himself back out. He kept a consistent, yet slow pace as leaned in closer to you. He was now hovering over, letting his face become buried into the middle of your breasts. The feeling was so immaculate, you were desperate to cling onto something for support.

“Dig them into me,” he groaned, strangling his vocal cords, “dig your nails into my back and scratch me like your life fucking depends on it.”

Perfect. You did as he pleased, a loud moan of his name wrestling from your lips as you felt the red marks appear on his backside. The pressure from before was already building in your stomach again, and he could tell. The way you were super tight for him was one, but the way you were now clenching around him was another. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer if you kept doing that.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage to say, a deep grin plastered on his face.

“You’re close aren't you,” he cooed, attaching his lips to your neck, “talk to me baby, tell me what you're feeling.

“Mhm, yeah, fuck I’m so close baby. H-Harder.”

The pitch of your tone was becoming whinier by the second. To add to that, the way you became confused, as if Minho was a vampire, because the way he was sucking on your neck was kind of painful. Nevertheless, you relished in it, knowing too well that a very, very dark mark would replace his mouth. The idea of him showing his possession of you, knowing that he finally won you over did not make you happy, nonetheless, you were too fucked out to care.

Your legs were now pushed all the way back, pace fastening by the minute, allowing Minho to push even deeper into you. And that was it. Right there, the spot you had never even known was even there.

“Ah fuck!” Your moan was loud this time, completely unable to control anything. The smirk, in combination with the satisfied growl that left his lips was a face of pure ecstasy as he realised that he had finally hit your G-spot.

“Fuck that feels so fucking good,” Minho grumbled, “are you close? Because I think I’m gonna cum.”

It was like your stomach was an orchestra. Minho’s words were the conductor, completely controlling how close you were to your release.

“Y-yes,” you cried, “I’m gonna cum so hard right now.”

“You wanna cum baby?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna cum right now?”

“Yes baby,” you pouted, a perplexity of sounds escaping your lips, completely out of your control.

“Cum on my cock princess,” Minho whispered through what sounded to be like pained groans, “be a good girl and cum with me inside of you.”

And there it was, like it was on queue as your body completely flopped, legs shaking and a string of lewd curse words fell from your lips. The way your pussy clenched around him was enough to make him pull out, spilling into the dip of your stomach. A loud breath of what seemed to be exhaustion fell from his lips. Your eyes were previously screwed so shut, it hurt when you opened them again, sensitive to the light.

“Fuck,” you both cursed simultaneously, making one another giggle. Minho fell to your left side, flat on his back as he invited you to scooch over next to him. Face pressed against his chest, fingers playfully dragging up and down his torso. For some reason, he felt so safe and secure at this moment. Almost forgetting how he literally just fucked you into oblivion, your eyelids become heavy. It wasn’t until Minho spoke that you were revived from your alternate state of consciousness once more.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” His voice sounded genuinely surprised, unsure if you should be offended or not. You looked up at him, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. He wasn’t sure how to react, but the dark shade tinting his face right now said enough.

“Please,” you scoffed, “You did me good, but was that the best you can do?”

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, but down on it after, “Is that a challenge?”

You said nothing, instead sitting up and pushing your legs on either side of his hips. A soft moan escaped his lips as he felt your still dripping heat sitting on the base of him.

“Why don’t you find out and see?”

[merakiui]

Half-Off Love

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader art credit - kentasha1236 on twt cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, gold-digging, implied yandere!childe note - thank you so much for 600 followers! o(≧∇≦o) I’ll work hard!

It’s strange. There’s no other adjective to describe the situation you’ve found yourself in. 

The ring slides itself onto your steady finger and it’s a miracle your discomfort doesn’t show. Your eyes struggle to meet his, but when they do you’re searching for a reason—for a meaning behind such a generous gift. You’ve witnessed this scene plenty of times before, having scoffed at the couples who decide to take their relationship to the next level. Whether it be in Mondstadt or Liyue, you’ve watched your fair share of angelic proposals. Although this is far from a proposal—at least, you hope it’s not a proposal. You’d feel powerless to decline if Scaramouche put you in such a position, and you’re almost certain he’s aware of this. 

But the main thing—you now realize—that’s holding him back is your status and his relationship with you. It’s nothing special, just mere physical attraction rather than the emotional hindrances that come with real, heart-racing love. There’s nothing wholesome in the way you regard one another; it’s just sex. 

“Do you like it? I made sure to find only the highest quality gemstone for you.”

And yet when he performs this caring charade, it doesn’t feel like loveless copulation. 

Ew, you think, plastering a smile to your face. Since when was Scaramouche so concerned with materialistic signs of affection? He’s far from loving; he’s just pent-up, frustrated from his rigorous job as a Harbinger and so he decides to use you as a means of coping. He almost sounds like Childe with his ineffective flirting methods. You’ve received your fair share of spoils from him as well, and you’ve done everything you could to cull that relationship before it grew out of hand. But now you’re stuck with the lesser side of the coin: another troublesome Fatui Harbinger. 

If you didn’t know any better, you might think to chase after Signora or Dottore next. Maybe you’ll aim for the Tsaritsa Herself if you’re especially daring. After all, your life has been nothing but deceit and faux pleasures; there’s little value to a liar’s life. If the Archons wish for your swift end, you’re positive it’ll be a result of your insatiable greed.

“It’s lovely. The color matches my eyes.”

It doesn’t, but you lie about it anyways. And he looks pleased to hear your approval. 

“Then perhaps I should get you a bracelet as well? Or would you prefer something with a little more use, such as a pocket watch?”

Why don’t you just lock me up with a collar instead? you think bitterly, already keen on pawning the ring off once the initial luster fades. Since you’re so eager to buy these things for me in hopes that I’ll return. It’s annoying.

“This is more than enough. I don’t want you to spend a fortune on me.” There’s a sweet lilt in your voice as your hand cups his cheek, and he leans into your warm touch, starved of the affection like a stray mutt. ”I only need you per our agreement. You do remember what that is, right?”

He’d be caught dead bending to the desires of someone so insignificant, but he just can’t stay away. Not when your every word is intoxicating poison he’ll readily ingest. 

“I’m aware." There’s a sigh in his tone as he pulls away, almost as if he wants to simply sit there and indulge in playful conversation. As if he actually wants to familiarize himself with the real you. But that emotion doesn’t last for long and an irritated expression crawls onto his handsome face as he silently recalls something. 

You’re slipping your silks off with grace, curiously tracking his movements. “You look upset. Was it because of what I said?”

“Of course not. You could never upset me.”

Until you get bored of me.

When you cast your robes aside, reaching for Scaramouche’s elaborate outfit, you murmur, “Let me guess. It was that traveler again, wasn’t it? I’m not sure why you’re so hung up on them.” A whimper leaks into your voice and you fix him with a pout. “I’m sad you’d think of others when I’m right here. Aren’t I the only one you need?”

It’s ironic how quickly that line hooks him, dragging him up from the murkiest depths of love that has skewed into obsession. When you tried it out on Childe, he wasn’t so easily swayed. You find their differences to be invigorating. If the arrangement with Childe was still ongoing, you might’ve considered a threesome, if only to wring more glittering treasures out of the both of them. Mora and jewelry galore, it all goes towards your stockpiled savings. And it’s times like these when you’re lucky to have avoided economic business with the Fatui. Being free of Fatui debt has its perks, a bright miracle in your dark relationships. That’s one less tether to Scaramouche and one less reason to cling to him after you’ve had enough. 

He smirks at your forced envy, easily pushing you backwards onto the plush mattress once he’s fully undressed. For a brief moment, he pictures your pliant body sprawled across an office desk while he pounds into you from behind, putting on a lewd show for his leering underlings. There’s something arousing about your secret relationship that has strange ideas formulating within his head. He entertains a simple scheme, one in which he’d shed light on your connection; however, the other side of him wants to keep your existence for himself, where no one will disturb the two of you in your pleasurable endeavors.

Perhaps you would truly belong to him if he were to expose you for the fraud you really are. Oh, the joy of trapping an unsuspecting rat in a corner, with no way out but into his open arms. You’ll hardly have any semblance of a choice, but he knows you’ll choose the option that guarantees another chance at life.

Scaramouche thinks about that as he revels in soft, tantalizing foreplay. He knows you aren’t as dedicated to this relationship as he is and he’s almost certain you’ve got others waiting for you in different parts of Teyvat. He’s just another plaything you’ve picked up for the fun of it. And in these moments where you surrender to his touch, your back arching with avaricious thoughts, you seem to forget about the power he truly wields. The thought that he could suffocate you in this very bed with his love alone should have you taking precautions to cover your vulnerability, but you only have your eyes set on one thing—not exactly minding the outcome so long as it’s monetarily favorable.

And if playing into your covetous hands ensures your weekly arrival, he’ll gladly empty his pockets of spare change.

You don’t like this new side of him. Lately he’s been treating this as if the two of you are lovers: slow, sensual thrusts accompanied with the sweetest of promises. You’ve never really minded the filth he’d moan in your ear and now you wish he’d resort to that instead. Loveless words spoken through the veil of lust—that’s what you want to hear.  

He envelops you like a smothering fog, fitting himself snugly inside of your tight hole in an embrace that’s oh so familiar. You aren’t used to such gentle treatment and as he kisses along your collarbone you feel yourself going under, having fallen victim to a Harbinger who is normally so cold-hearted. Perhaps he’s more sensitive than you originally thought. Months ago, you wouldn’t have imagined your relationship would grow into something so uncertain, where emotionless love becomes packaged and bogged down with so much feeling.

His lips ghost over yours and there’s a slight pause in his actions. You turn your head to the side, denying his choking affection before it can drag you further into a spiraling abyss of regret. Annoyance swells in his hazy gaze, but he uses your new position to his advantage.

“It’s cute,” he says in a hushed voice, breath tickling your ear, “how you seem to rid yourself of my gifts as soon as they fall into your hands. I wonder where they’ve gone. Into the harbor? Traded off for food and shelter? Do tell me.”

When his grip on your hip tightens to a threatening degree, you resign yourself, opting to hold your tongue as his pace remains brutally slow. Rather than speaking out of line, you raise your hand to his face, and he clasps your wrist in a forceful hold. 

The look in his eyes is far from loving—it’s that same obsessed expression Childe wore. And even if he still searches for you for reasons other than sex, you’re aware there’s no luck where Scaramouche is concerned. You can run from Childe because he’ll allow it—because he adores the chase—but Scaramouche hardly finds delight in a game of cat and mouse. You should’ve expected this. After all, he is just as conniving as the rest, always inventing new ways to track down and eradicate that peculiar traveler. Of course he would know about how you handle his presents when he isn’t looking because there’s no denying the stern gazes that would pierce through your backside whenever you went to the market.

"I’d never throw them out like that...” you mumble through another soft moan, hoping he’ll just pick up the pace and be done with you. “Your gifts are priceless.”

And yet the price for your own love is so hefty. If he weren’t Fatui, it might be enough to throw him into lifelong debt.

“Is that so? You seem to put a price on them whenever you visit the marketplace.” His fingers grip your chin, forcing you into an inescapable eye contact. “If you enjoy putting prices on items that you claim are priceless, you won’t mind if I collect a refund for your dishonesty.”

“A...refund?” 

Your lustful thoughts evaporate once you realize his pace has become horribly slow, his dick stilling and creating an itch of barely noticeable ecstasy. You wiggle your hips to increase the friction, wanting to get yourself off before his words can sour the mood. Though it’s already spoiled when you recognize the carnal victory shining in his twisted smirk. Your unfortunate fate was sealed the moment you welcomed his company with foolish openness, and you’ve been indebted ever since he decided to spoil you with lavish foods and accessories. 

For love that is far from cheap, interest must be paid and your very being makes for the perfect bargain.

It’s weird when he kisses you on your lips rather than on the parts of your body that are normally obscured with delicate cloth. And it’s even weirder when that metaphorical collar binds your throat in a vice. It’s more harrowing than any sort of debt you might’ve garnered and it’s just as inconvenient as his boyish adoration.

Scaramouche doesn’t have to purchase your flimsy, half-off love when it’s already prepackaged and ready for the taking. 

“You heard me. A refund is hardly enough punishment for a lying brat, but it will have to suffice for now.”

For now.

Spurred on by his own insinuating threats, he seeks to bruise your very insides with thrusts that are filled with physical vexation rather than the emotional ministrations from before. And since you’re so accustomed to him, your greedy hole eagerly welcomes him. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Words, Words, Words

Prompt: Hey, prompt idea! I would love some roman angst where after POF he stops talking and the other assume that he's mad at them when in reality he is unable to speak. As a selective mute myself, I would love to read a fic like this! - anon

it's been a while since I've posted fresh Roman angst and WOW did this jump out at me and go hey do you wanna project really really hard onto a character? 

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Roman is nonverbal for a lot of this story and some of the things he does when he’s upset by that are self-destructive, nothing explicit

Pairings: the found family kick aint stopping

Word Count: 4128

He didn’t do it on purpose. He swears, he—he didn’t do it on purpose.

  He just couldn’t talk.

It—it hurt, of…of course, it hurt to—to see the fallout of his bad decision explode with such…disastrous consequences. It hurt to see Patton so upset and confused because everyone was expecting him to have answers that he didn’t and—and Roman will take the blame for that, that’s his fault. And it hurt to see Logan so upset even when he was just there in his lowdowns and he—he didn’t have to be so cruel to Logan, that’s his fault too. And it—

  …it hurt to see that he really is just as awful as Remus, even if J—

  No. It doesn’t matter.

  Roman messed up. Really, really bad. And he’ll take the blame for that, he will, he—he knows he hasn’t been the best at accepting the blame in the past, but…he’ll take this one.

  But he didn’t do this on purpose.

  Roman doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s Creativity, or whether he’s the Ego, or what, but sometimes he just…can’t speak. Sometimes his words machine will just…stop working and he won’t be able to speak. He can normally still write or text, and he can understand when others talk, he just can’t say anything.

  The others don’t know, at least he’s never told them. He doesn’t want to be a bother—or have them start to make fun of him when he can’t defend himself—so he normally makes his writing days the ones where he can’t speak out loud. It’s a good way to make sure no one’s worried about why he’s shut up in his room all day or why he’s not speaking much at dinner. Plus, what kind of a prince would he be if he couldn’t talk?

  Don’t worry, he knows he’s not a prince.

  But the others like Prince Roman. Or rather, they like the narrative function that Prince Roman fulfills. So he does his best to make sure they…get that.

  But he didn’t mean for it to happen, not like this.

  He…he knows he messed up after the wedding. He sunk out and made it to his room and fell to his knees, hurt from everything and then some. The bruises hadn’t shown through his costume or gotten too far down his sleeves, but he—he still felt them. He tried to get up and make it to the shower to just wash off the day—the week—the month but getting his arms up to peel away the costume left him panting and he just wanted to curl up and sleep until everything stopped hurting.

  He managed to get himself into the shower and felt his tongue become lead in his mouth.

  He cleared his throat to try and make a noise but all that escaped was a soft rush of air.

  It…hurt.

  It wasn’t gone by morning. Most of the time he can sleep it off or—or if he just gives it some time he’ll—he’ll be fine but it wasn’t gone. His tongue lay there, useless, and he couldn’t say a word.

  That was okay, though, he could—he could make this a writing day. He wouldn’t dare touch anything he wanted to make for Thomas, his hands would shake too much and he—he doesn’t know what Thomas wants anymore so he wouldn’t get it right even if he could try.

  No, no, he could…he could write things for him today.

  Not as a reward for his atrocious behavior, not anything that would be read by anyone else or be useful in any way, but just to…to get some of the worst bits of him out so he wasn’t absolutely abominable when the others wanted him again. Yes, today he could…write.

  ‘Writing,’ what an interesting word for being willing to sit and bleed for others to see.

  Roman’s words don’t so much as pour out of him as much as he sets his fingers on his keys and then can’t control his typing. He just—it hurt and he knows that no one else would want to hear about his hurt so he pours them out into the blank spaces in the white page and tries to imagine that maybe, maybe, someone would read them and see how badly it hurt and pull him close and tell him that everything would be okay.

  If maybe, if he wrote a story good enough, if he made it hurt enough, someone would care.

  He sits there and pours into the blank document until it’s panting and weary from the torrent of words, until his hands ache and the tips of his fingers are worn warm and raw from the click-click-click of the keys. Until the hurt he feels gathers up into a small, dark well just under his tongue, right in the bottom of his jaw, itching and screaming to get out. It leaks out down his arms, making the inside of his wrists tingle as he types.

  No one will read this, no one will see it. These words won’t see the light of day anytime soon.

  And Roman’s tongue is still made of lead.

  He takes his words and lets them tumble clumsily out of his hands, trying in vain to scoop them up and shove them out of his mouth instead but his tongue won’t cooperate. He knows he can’t talk, that he can’t force it, that trying to make it happen will only lead to more pain.

  But he wants to try.

  When his words aren’t back by the next day, he swallows what’s left of his pride, which isn’t much, and goes out to face the others.

  He finds Patton first. Patton doesn’t acknowledge him, so he sits politely down on the couch with a notebook and waits, trying to see if his words will come out through the pen instead of his tongue. But Patton doesn’t talk to him unless he’s asking if Roman wants a drink and well, Roman doesn’t—doesn’t need words for that.

  Patton looks so disappointed in him.

  He wants to try. He wants to open his mouth and tell Patton he’s sorry. Sorry for everything. He wants to. He wants to.

  He opens his mouth and his tongue deflates, useless, just enough for him to sigh and hunch his shoulders in defeat.

  He doesn’t want to disappoint Patton, he wasn’t trying to disappoint Patton, he wants to apologize and be better, but he can’t.

  Perhaps that is the true disappointment.

  Logan is next to appear because Logan is Logan and Roman loves him and Logan always gets his cup of coffee in the morning before breakfast. He walks down the stairs and also does not look at Roman which is fine because that is what Roman deserves but he wants to try.

  He opens his mouth to call out to Logan or Patton but his tongue is so heavy and he can’t. He can’t speak. He should be able to speak, he should be able to say something to Logan, he should be able to tell him how sorry he is but he can’t and he’s useless.

  His pen stands frozen on the notebook pages, leaving a big, dark, useless well of ink.

  Logan sits down on the couch with a book and his coffee. He doesn’t look up at Roman. Roman stares at him, pleading, hoping that Logan will look up and meet his gaze, and maybe, just maybe, he can see how sorry Roman is and it will—something will be better.

  “Don’t stare at me, Roman, it’s rude.”

  Roman’s cheeks burn as he looks away. Logan didn’t move his eyes from the book once.

  He picks up the pen and watches it drip onto the page. The pages are wet, now, so much so that when he tries to pull them apart they stick together, the lines threatening to tear as he tries to separate them.

  He leaves them be.

  The next few hours are spent in a loop of trying to open his mouth to say something and only a soft rush of air escaping. He tries to hold it behind his hand and say please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so awful, I’ll be better, I promise, but the words won’t come. His tongue is taunting him, he decides, by pressing insistently up against the back of his teeth until he has to open his mouth only for it to refuse to produce words.

  He wants Logan to explain to him that talking works for him too. That the vocal chords and the muscles of the throat moving together build up pressure behind the larynx, which then chops up the stream of air to produce a steady oscillation for a sustained sound. He wants Logan to say it in that voice of his that makes it so everything makes sense so of course, Roman, you can speak, it’s okay. Everything is okay.

  But Logan would never say that, not to Roman, because Roman’s words aren’t worth Logan’s time.

  When Virgil comes downstairs, he tries. He really tries. He opens his mouth and everything and takes a deep breath and—

  Virgil marches straight over to Logan and sits down, his head on Logan’s shoulder and the two of them could not be paying any less attention to Roman.

  The wind gets knocked out of him. His mouth falters closed. He tries to open it away but his jaws are stiff and gummy, his teeth aching in his mouth as he tries to just talk. He just wants to say something, he just wants to apologize, he just waits to be sorry and have them all know he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, but they won’t know because he doesn’t have words.

  The words he wants to say are queuing up at the back of his throat, weighing his mouth down and he wants to say them, but he—he—he can’t. He wants to tell Virgil that he’s sorry he’s been the worst friend ever, that he’s sorry he’s so awful to their famILY, that he’ll go away and leave them all alone if that’s what they want but he can’t say a damn word of it out loud and he’s going to cry.

  But he can’t because crying isn’t words and the only thing the others want from him is words.

  If Virgil notices him trying, which he probably doesn’t, he’s kind enough not to say anything.

  Roman is terrified when Remus comes.

  Because Remus is loud and loves nothing more than to make Roman’s life harder. If Remus knew he was nonverbal right now, his best bet would be to leave as quickly as possible because he—

  Wait, no.

  If Roman wanted it to be best for him, he would leave as fast as possible. But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore so he doesn’t move.

  Remus, as it turns out, doesn’t care about Roman—which, why would he?—and instead flops proudly onto the floor and begins to talk animatedly with Logan about something.

  Roman wants to say sorry. Sorry that he’s never done anything right when it comes to Remus, sorry that he thinks being compared to him is the worst thing possible, sorry that he’s Roman and Remus is stuck with him.

  But his tongue is lifeless.

  So he is quiet, flipping aimlessly through his notebook, looking for something to give his words back.

  Was he selfish yesterday? Did he use all of them up on something no one would ever see? No, no, that’s not how it works, he just—he knows he should be able to talk, maybe if he just waits a little longer, his words will come back.

  But then Janus appears.

  And Roman needs to be able to talk now.

  Because he needs to tell Janus that he’s sorry. That he messed everything up and he’s awful and he knows it and he’s so, so, so sorry. And he needs to know that it isn’t a lie, that Roman is genuinely sorry and he just needs to speak, if he could just open his mouth and say something and say that he’s sorry and—and—

  Janus stops and looks right at him.

  Roman’s breath catches in his throat.

  Janus’s eyes narrow.

  Please, please, I’m sorry, let me say I’m sorry, I can’t speak, I want to speak, let me speak—

  Janus’s face cools into stone and he deliberately turns away.

  Roman wants to scream.

  He scrambles away from the living room and his hands fly to his hair, squeezing, pulling, trying to rip the sound from his throat because it won’t come otherwise. Trying to reach deep inside and find something, some word, some sound, some thing just to make it so he can talk, say he’s sorry, say anything.

  The computer screen blinks mockingly at him. Come on, it taunts, where was this agony when you were pouring your words out onto me yesterday? Why do you ache so badly now when you know you can’t do anything about it? Is it worth it?

  Nothing will ever be worth this. To have them there, right in front of him, and not be able to tell them how sorry he is.

  A silent scream is the best he can do.

  It doesn’t stop. His tongue doesn’t flicker back to life. Even after two days, three days, four, he still can’t manage to speak. He can’t manage to open his mouth and make a single word come out. He tries. He sits down in front of the computer and glares at the screen, forcing his mouth to make the shapes and forcing his vocal chords to make the sounds.

  He never gets further than a single word.

  He rushes, slurs, cheats in any way he can, and doesn’t even manage to get to the end of a sentence.

  He’s panting, in tears, trying, trying, trying so hard to say something, anything, because if he can say one thing, he can say more, and if he can say more, he can tell them how sorry he is.

  Roman would gladly give up all the words he doesn’t have to be able to say ‘sorry’ again.

  (Logan, downstairs, glances up from his book.

  Virgil is sprawled next to him on the couch, his head resting against Logan’s thigh. Patton is sitting on the other end, Virgil’s legs in his lap as he talks to Janus. Janus sits in the chair, his own book forgotten on his lap. Well, almost forgotten as he tugs it out of Remus’s grasp as he makes…something on the floor.

  “It’s been quiet recently,” he remarks to himself, “almost…peaceful.”

  Virgil shifts. “Yeah, I know. I kinda like it.”

  “So do I.” He glances down and, after a moment of hesitation, slides his hand into Virgil’s hair. “Is this alright?”

  “Yeah, L, that’s fine.”

  “Aww, you two are cute.” Patton grins at them. “It’s been nice lately, hasn’t it?”

  “Mm.” Janus tugs the book out of Remus’s reach again. “Remus, I certainly understand what you want with my book.”

  “Art, Janny.”

  Janus rolls his eyes fondly but his gaze softens as he takes in the room. It has been quiet. A good kind of quiet.

  He doesn’t know it didn’t happen on purpose.

  That Roman isn’t being quiet on purpose.

  He didn’t do it on purpose.

  Because when has anything Roman’s done on purpose been right?)

——————————————

Thomas sighs, his hands on his hips, as Patton and Logan begin to bicker for the third time in the past ten minutes. Across from him, Virgil is fidgeting uncomfortably as his gaze flicks back and forth between Janus and Thomas.

  “Guys, are you really not going to do anything about this?”

  “Oh, yes, because that’s how we solve every problem, just make me deal with it.”

  “Okay, first of all, I said you guys meaning you and Thomas, second—“

  “Oh, here we go, another lecture, oh goodie.”

  “That is not what I’m doing—“

  And now Virgil and Janus are fighting too. Thomas resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. Barely. Just barely. He shakes his head. The Sides aren’t normally this hard to manage, typically it’s just a matter of everyone actually understanding what’s going on and then one of them will propose a solution and they’ll all wrangle it around from angle to angle until he finally gets a workable one.

  Not this time.

  He’s not sure why nothing’s working, but everything that’s been proposed just sounds like another problem, not a solution. Why coming up with ideas is so hard today, he doesn’t—

  Wait.

  Has…has Roman said anything today?

  Thomas glances at Roman. Roman stands where he always does, watching the others with a strangely blank look on his face. Thomas frowns. Roman…Roman doesn’t look great. He looks paler than usual, his face is a little poofy.

  “Roman?”

  Roman looks at him, his brow quirked.

  “Do you…have any ideas?”

  Roman’s face falls and he swallows. Thomas’s frown deepens when Roman shakes his head sadly.

  “Hey, wait,” Virgil says, turning to face him, “Thomas is right. You haven’t said anything all meeting.”

  “You have been remarkably quiet. Especially for you.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “Have you not come up with a single idea?”

  “Okay, guys, wait—“ Thomas tries.

  “No wonder we aren’t making any progress,” Virgil cries, throwing up his hands, “it’s because the guy whose job it is to come up with ideas isn’t doing anything!”

  “That…would explain it.”

  “Come on, kiddo,” Patton says, looking at Roman, “you must have something.”

  Roman just shakes his head again.

  “Of course he doesn’t want to share it with us,” Virgil growls, “he’s probably waiting for us to figure it out for him because he’s still mad.”

  Patton sighs, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips. Even Thomas wants to flush from the disappointment in his voice. “I understand being mad at us, kiddo—I’m not happy about it, but I understand it—but taking it out on Thomas? That’s really selfish of you.”

  Roman flinches, his hand going to his chest. Janus rolls his eyes.

  “Oh, Roman doesn’t know what that word means, remember? He’s all about selflessness, not selfishness, no, not a single selfish bone in his body, Roman.”

  Virgil snorts.

  “I am also disappointed,” Logan sighs, “but not surprised. But seriously, Roman, I think this temper tantrum of yours has gone on long enough.”

  “Watch out, he’s gonna say it’s not a temper tantrum.”

  Is…is this how they are to Roman all the time? Thomas stares at the other Sides in confusion. Has he just never noticed how mean they are to each other before? Or is this…new? He looks back at Roman and opens his mouth to say something when he notices Roman’s hand is still on his chest.

  And…moving.

  His thumb is tucked against the top of his fist and Thomas watches as it circles once, twice, and stops. Once, twice, and stops.

  “Roman,” he says softly, cutting through the growing voices of the others, “Roman, why are you sorry?”

  “What?”

  “Thomas, what’re you—“

  “That—this—“ Thomas makes the sign himself—“that’s the ASL for ‘sorry.’ Remember?”

  Logan looks back at Roman who does it again. “So it is. But—Roman, why are you communicating using ASL, which none of us are fluent in? Most of us aren’t fluent in, my apologies, Janus—“ Janus waves him off— “why not just say that you’re sorry?”

  “Roman,” Thomas asks, still quiet, “can you speak?”

  They all watch in silence as Roman slowly shakes his head.

  “What do you mean you can’t speak?”

  “Probably just that, Virgil.” Logan adjusts his glasses.

  Thomas spares him a glance before refocusing on Roman. “Are you okay, buddy?”

  Roman looks at the ground. Virgil watches him for a moment before leaning to Logan.

  “I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no.’”

  “How long has this been happening?”

  “Yes or no questions, guys,” Thomas reminds, “and…not too many.”

  “Right.” Logan takes a breath and when he speaks again, Thomas furrows his brow at how much softer Logan sounds. “Roman, has this been happening since the beginning of the meeting?”

  Roman nods.

  “Has it been happening for longer?”

  Another nod.

  “How long,” Virgil asks warily, only for Logan to hiss ‘yes or no’ in his ear, “right, um…has it been happening for longer than a day?”

  Roman nods, studiously avoiding eye contact. Janus bites back a curse.

  “Roman, have you not been able to speak since the wedding?”

  When Roman nods again, Thomas has to bite back a curse of his own. Virgil doesn’t.

  “Fuck, Princey, why didn’t you tell one of us?”

  “With what words,” Janus spits, “and who’s to say we would’ve believed him?”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs, reaching for him, “I’m so sorry.”

  At this, Roman shakes his head furiously.

  “Hey, hey, easy, Princey, it’s okay, what was that for?”

  “He seemed to really dislike the idea of Patton apologizing…”

  “What were you apologizing for, Roman,” Thomas asks instead, “before we—before?”

  Roman nods.

  “Yeah, bud, you were apologizing, do you remember what for?”

  A nod.

  “He’s saying ‘yes,’” Virgil murmurs.

  “Yeah, we got that.”

  “No, I mean—“ Virgil sighs— “you asked him what he was apologizing for and he’s saying ‘yes.’ That means anything you could ask him if he’s apologizing for, he’d say yes.”

  “So…” Logan looks back and forth between them. “He’s apologizing for…everything?”

  “Yeah.”

  And Roman nods.

“Oh, sweetie,” Janus says softly and whoa, that’s…unexpected, “you don’t need to do that.”

  Roman’s mouth hardens stubbornly as if to say yes I do.

  “You can’t be blamed for not being able to speak, Roman,” Logan says gently, “it’s not your fault.”

  “Kiddo,” Patton calls when Roman still looks unsure, “are you mad at us?”

  Roman’s head snaps up and he shakes his head frantically. Patton holds out his arms to soothe him.

  “And we’re not mad at you, sweetheart, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Let’s call it here,” Thomas says, giving Roman a nod, “we can figure this out later.”

  “What do you need, Roman,” Virgil asks, “how can we help?”

  “That’s…definitely not a yes or no question.”

  Thomas frowns. Then he reaches out a hand.

  “Hey!” Remus pops up, manic grin and all. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

  “I do not think bacon shakes, Remus.”

  “Sir Francis Bacon?”

  “What?”

  “You two gotta stop watching Phineas and Ferb,” Virgil mutters.

  Remus just grins and turns, freezing when he sees Roman. Thomas blinks and Remus’s entire demeanor changes.

  “Ro-Bro? Roro, you okay?”

  Roman looks up at him. Remus lays a hand on his shoulder.

  “You nonverbal?”

  Roman nods. Remus wraps his arms around Roman’s waist.

  “I’m taking this,” he announces, “bye!”

  Thomas chuckles as Remus sinks out, Roman in tow, even as Patton and Virgil rush after them going ‘let us help!’ Logan just rolls his eyes fondly and follows them. Thomas catches hold of Janus’s cloak before he can leave too.

  “Are you guys always like that to Roman?”

  Janus gives him a strange look. “You mean are you always like that to Roman?”

  “What?”

  “We’re you, Thomas,” Janus says bluntly, “we’re the physical manifestation of what goes on in your head. Or have you forgotten that your main way of problem-solving is to summon metaphysical color-coded versions of yourself and talk to them?”

  “Your point?”

  “The way we act is how you see us. We behave how our respective parts of you behave.” Janus gives him a look. “If you think we’re being mean to Roman, what does that say about how you feel about your Ego or your Creativity?”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  “Take better care of yourself,” Janus says, softer now, “and it might surprise you.”

  “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “I think,” Janus says, looking far too smug as he pulls away, “you mean that you can’t help yourself.”

  Thomas scoffs as Janus disappears but after a few seconds, his words start to make sense. He turns to grab his laptop and opens it, finding a blank document and watching the cursor blink.

  The others might not be able to listen to Roman, but he always can.

  “Alright,” he mutters to himself, “let’s see what Roman’s got to say.”

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[justagirlsearchingforamuse]

Could you write a reunion fic as a sequel to the Heisenberg 'alone time' that you wrote? While smut would be wonderful, I'd just be grateful for apologetic Karl forced to be humble for once in his life.

(Also im DYING to know what he did, did OC/Reader discover his Soldats or about Rose? Im so curious and itching for more)

Your writing is awesome and I hope to get to read more Heisenberg goodness from you!

A/N: Thanks so much and I'm glad you guys are enjoying what I'm writing, sorry if it took so long and I'll be happy to answer more asks (including angst and fluff) for RE8. Sorry if this is so damn long but hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. Also decided to make it gender neutral as I didn't want anyone to be left out.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, The reader riding Karl, The reader not afraid to talk back to Karl, Stitching, Cursing/Inappropriate Language, Oral, Kissing, Arguing, power bottom' Karl, fluffy smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, Fluff, and nearly 8000 words.

It's been far too long since you have seen that man and you hoped not to see him for as long as you both may live, for a time you thought it was just 2 people with different paths that force them apart but in a way you couldn't be more wrong. You understood and still understand his need to get rid of his troubling and frankly corrupt family, you both shared a dream to run away from the Village and to live somewhere with beautiful sights. To have some form of happiness even if it doesn't last, sure normal life may seem boring but it's all that you both wanted, happiness away from reminders of Miranda and the rest of his seemingly fucked up family. But what it took to for him to get it, his plan that he seemingly thought was so brilliant only made you boil with rage and painful reminders of your past is brought from the dark corners of your memories and into the light of your mind. Children. They're so innocent, good, and pure ... they bring out everything in people, children are something that you hold near and dear to your heart. Children are everything that the world isn't, at least until they're forced to grow up and deal with the cruelty of the world. This wasn't the first time that you had disagreed or fought with Karl in your mind, but what really caused you to boil over was his plans.

A heavy huff slips from your lips as your heavy steps full of anger echoed throughout the factory, your hands are balled into tight fists and your fingers trembled along with your body, you just couldn't fucking take it. You weren't going to stand by and turn a blind eye to sacrificing an innocent child for your happiness, you weren't going to and Karl as usual tried to convince you into it. Make it seem like it'll be worth it in the end. He's stomping after you, following after you like a dog and you can hear him desperately trying to get you to stay, you keep your eyes forward and keep making your way towards the exit. Just as the door is in sight, he reaches out to grab your wrist causing you to gasp before trying to pull out of his grasp, he pulls you firmly towards him and makes you meet his eyes. His green eyes are clouded with ... desperation, they're soft and vulnerable but it didn't phase you. Not one bit. "Come on, (Y/N) ... you know that I'd do anything for you. ... You know I love you ... that's why I have to do this, kitten. You have to fucking understand ...!" He pleads with you, you turn away from his face, that bitter taste still remains on your tongue and his words fall deaf to your ears. "You don't understand! You don't understand at all! You're in your own fucking bubble ...! I can't do this! I can't live with the fact that the man I'm in love with is willing to sacrifice an innocent child for a chance at happiness." You growl at him, your words are breathless and harsh and it stings like poison to his soul, his expression begins to slowly fade into resentment. A look you had never seen before, especially towards you. "Listen to me! ... The fruits of our labor shall come ... but it all comes with a little sacrifice." He barks, his grip on your wrist slightly tightening with his anger rising as he tries to plead with you, get you to understand but you could care less. "Then I don't want to share that kind of happiness or freedom with you at all ...!" You bark back, your words are dripping in poison and there isn't much care behind them, a huff leaves your nostrils and you once again try to get out of his painfully tight grasp but he wants you to hear him. Fuck. "I thought ... fuck ... I thought you fucking loved me. All those nights, all those late-night talks, the passionate love we made ... I guess it meant fuck-all to you, huh? I guess you never gave a fuck about me ... I wanted you to ... I wanted you to understand." Karl seethes, his words are in a low growl and his green eyes are clouded with bubbling rage and fury. Fuck.

"I did love you, Karl. I still do but you have to leave or do something, I don't fuckin' know but there should be a limit to the price you're willing to pay for a chance at freedom. ... I'm not willing to. This ... this brings back too many painful memories, I would never let myself live if I let her die." You almost sob, your anger that was once boiling and alive was now being put out by the melancholy that rested deep within your soul. That baby reminds you so much of ... your history. You never told him about your past and the trauma you somewhat suffer from it that makes you long and ache for freedom. But now wasn't the time. At all. "I can't do that ...! You know I can't ...! You can't leave me, (Y/N) ...!" He shouts at you, desperately clinging to his relationship that is burning, crumbling right in front of his very eyes, he's trying so hard to save it but the thought quickly floods in what if he can't save what you have? His jaw clenches and his throat begins to tighten, breaths become hard to even get out and you can hear his low growl of rage and sorrow echo through your ears. Your throat had tightened the moment he reached out for your hand and now the tears were swelling in your eyes, leaving them uncontrollably. "I love you, Karl. But this is the end of us. The end of our story together." You managed to choke out as his expression softens yet he's stiff, a frown is plastered on his lips, and doesn't seem like it's leaving anytime soon. Regrets plague his mind, "I regret ever opening up to you. Fuck, I never should've let you into my life especially if you were gonna fuck me over and leave me alone." He thinks to himself and immediately lets go of your wrist, he forces on a blank expression and forces his tears to be hidden away, he pushes away his heartache and goes back to the only way he knows how to not fall apart, to not lose himself and to become weak.

"I never wanna see your fuckin' face again. Leave. Don't even think of coming back. You fuckin' ... you fuckin' hurt me ..." He grunts and growls at you, even lightly pushing you towards the door before turning his back on you as he crosses his arms. Fuck. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused." You manage to say in a whisper, wiping away your tears and sniffling to yourself before leaving out that door and never looking back, it was hard leaving him behind to wallow and experience his pain alone that you caused. But you stand by your choice that you couldn't stay if he had to use Rose for his plans. Still, he plagued your dreams, still had nightmares about that man, about losing him in so many graphic ways. You tried to live your life, going to work and just trying to find a way to live without seeing Karl ever again at least you thought. You never forgot him. It was around 2 in the morning and you managed to sleep for just a few minutes until your phone rang obnoxiously loud, ringing and vibrating against your nightstand. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and an annoyed groan left your lips before you picked up your phone, though you had lost his number you knew it was in that village and it meant that he was the only one calling you. You almost want to toss your phone across the room, a familiar bitter taste begins to coat your tongue and you slowly take in a breath staring at the phone in your hand. "God fucking damn it." You curse bitterly, regretfully pressing the answer button on your phone, scratching at your head you answer with a bitter and low "hello" that is answered with heavy ragged breaths. Coughing soon follows after and echoes through the phone. "What the he-" You begin to ask before you're interrupted by his sudden cursing and rage-filled words. "Stupid fucking Ethan Winters ... the bastard ... couldn't even ... finish the job ..." He coughs into the phone, blood pools in his gut, fuck he was ruining one of his favorite shirts and an empty swallowing pain aches through his stomach. But he barely cared.

"The fuck are you rambling about, Karl ...?" You ask harshly, standing up on your feet as you press the phone to your ear, waiting for an explanation. "Oh, fuck off! You wouldn't understand ...! Or care!" He howls back before you can hear him cough once again before a wince soon slips from his parted lips, an agitated expression twists onto your face. "You must've thought I would care if you thought to fuckin' call me. Tell me what's up or I swear I'll fucking hang up." You bark at him, clenching your fists tightly as heavy ragged breaths left your body in the presence of your anger. " ... If you do give a damn ... then your ex is bleeding the fuck out in his factory ... with no knowledge of medicine and shit." He coughs out, he presses his hand firmly onto his large wound, fuck was he in bad shape and Ethan Winters had fucked him up but like a coward left him alive. "I might be there. Keep pressure on the wound and try not to die, dickhead." You huff in a ragged breath before hanging up quickly, in a way you thought it was karma for him wanting to use a baby and possibly murder a baby to get rid of his toxic and frankly not real family.

You sit back down onto your bed with a heavy sigh leaving your lips and a question on your mind. Was it gonna be worth it? He could be trying to trick you, you thought to yourself and really questioned if you should drive there and help him supposedly. As much as you wanted to be bitter, to hold onto that resentment but your heart and soul ached to see that filthy man, it called out to him desperately. Your heart sang to see him, to hear him despite your mind's warnings and reasonable viewing of the situation. Like a dumbass, you listened to your heart and began to get dressed, you threw on some old coat and a pair of washed-up skinny jeans, you grabbed a med-kit and some stitches and quickly rush to drive to the hidden and eerie village. With your foot pressed hard on the gas pedal, you kept wishing and praying that he'd be fine, that the waste of gas and the risk of being pulled over by cops worth it. When you finally make it to the factory, it's grim and dark and seemingly stopped working, the smoke that came from the factory is gone, the noise and the racket that his factory produced every second. You quickly get out of your car, medkit, and tools in your arms as you enter, you can hear his heavy strained breaths echoing through the factory that is now seemingly dead. Lifeless. A series of coughs leave his lips as he sits slumped up against the side of his bed, his blood drips and oozes off his hand, covering his stomach wound as the pain just continued, it still ached and stung like salt on an exposed wound. His head is dizzy with a haze over him, fuck was his head aching like a motherfucker and everything on his body ached and cried out in pain. "Karl ...?!" He hears you shout desperately searching for the man, he could hear the distress in your voice, the panic that came in your hurried and seemingly quick steps. "I-I'm h-here ..." He weakly responds in a low whisper, blood begins to coat his tongue and the unfamiliar taste of iron rests upon his tongue. You hear his cry weakly and you quickly rush to his bedroom, heavy breaths leave your lips in your pursuit to find Karl before he bleeds out or chokes on his own blood. What an idiot ...

He's in seemingly worse shape than when you left, his lips are beginning to become tainted with his own blood, many small wounds were all over him but the most concerning was the one on his stomach. He's coughing and trying to take in oxygen, trying to taste something other than iron on his stomach and he turns to find you, standing there before him. Damn. He forces on a wide toothy grin when he meets your gaze, damn he could feel the tension and could see that dark haze in your eyes, full of disappointment and resentment. "So we f-fuckin' meet again, huh?" Karl coughs out as a short series of chuckles soon follow after, he's trying to keep what little pride he had intact. He couldn't be seen as weak after you broke him, you left him in pieces and chose to leave him because of some stupid sacrifices he had to make in pursuit of the happiness and freedom you deserved. "So we do, asshole ... let me guess, the plan that you were so persistent on working didn't fucking work ... what happened to never come back?" You growl at him, crossing your arms as bitterness seemingly runs through you, you could feel your heart thump in your chest and your hands curled into tight fists. " ... That doesn't m-matter right now. I just n-need your fucking help!" He snaps, his words strained and choked before a series of coughs soon leave his lips. You slowly take in a breath, considering whether to just hand him the medkit and fucking peace out but you know the asshole lacks medical knowledge and would die. You let a deep sigh leave your lips before you kneel beside him, putting one of his arms around your shoulders, and with a loud groan of pain, you set him down on the bed, lying him down on his back and making sure he was comfortable. "I'll only be able to take care of this and stop you from bleeding out. You'll have to be still, Karl otherwise I'll fuck up." You advise him, getting up to go wash your hands and make sure that you don't get him infected whilst you're at it, you come back into his bedroom and open the medkit and begin to get to work on the wound. Karl would've never thought or had the pride to call up his ex, the one person he told himself he'd never need again is forced to put his pride on the side and is forced to let his ex attend to his wounds. All he can do is frown deeply, turning away from you to stare out the window, and all he can think is that Ethan Winters is still out there. He's gonna kill Miranda. That was his job, that was something he spent his life working towards doing, getting rid of that bitch Miranda and stealing her precious power. He's forced out of his thoughts when you begin to rub alcohol onto the wound causing a sharp stinging sensation to shoot through him, he grits his teeth at the stinging and almost burning sensation plaguing his body. "Warn me next time, will ya?" He says before a heavy cough soon follows, you sigh deeply as you continue to rub the alcohol on his wound gently, making sure it doesn't get infected and die from an infected wound.

"Warn you? ... It's just rubbing alcohol not a lighter." You respond, rolling your eyes at the man before you as you set down the towel and begin to pull out your thread and your needle. If he thought the alcohol was painful then he is truly in for a rude awakening. "This is gonna be painful, Karl ... I'll try to be quick with it." You state, somewhat warning him of the pain to come. "Please do ... I can't wait until you fucking leave ..." Karl bitterly spat, still unable to accept the fact that he needed you, that you were right, that he wanted you back into his life because, in his mind, it's better to bottle it up. "I won't treat you if you act like an ignorant dog." You spat back, your eyes meet his for a moment as an expression of anger twists onto your face, he begins to try and speak before a wince fell from his lips at the sensation of the thread going through his skin, he slams his fist down onto the bed and hisses at the pain once more. "Says you, you literally came in here pissed. Maybe just shut up and do ... ah!" He begins to say, his words are filled with anger and irritation before another sharp sensation of pain shoots through him. "Look, my bad alright but it's not every day you want to see your ex who was willing to ..." You begin to retort back at him, giving him a mean glare before he barks back. "You have to make sacrifices for everything! ... Now Ethan is going to get his daughter, probably gonna murder Miranda when I deserved the right to kill her. To watch the bitch suffer and choke on her own fucking blood." He growls, bitterness comes to him like air and he lets out a huff through his nostrils, a bitter and sour expression twists onto his face as he thinks of the fact that Ethan nearly murdered him, he thinks to the fact Ethan is going to steal what he worked so hard to get. "Whether you kill her or he does, she'd still be dead. ... You need to just ... let go of it and be grateful he let you live ... besides can't you finally be free out of that woman's grasp?" You say, less bitterness in your voice than before as another painful wince slips from his parted lips, he sucks in a breath through his teeth and lets out a heavy ragged breath. "That's if that fool can kill her. That's why I needed Rose. I needed her power to help me kill her. I needed it." He growls, slamming his fist against the wall in frustration.

"Did you ...? If Ethan nearly killed you then you severely underestimated how powerful he is ... probably can rival Miranda's power or maybe it's ... it's because he loves his daughter so much, it drives him to keep going." You say, your once bitter expression faded into something more dreary as you are reminded of your past, you would've done anything for that child. He scoffs to himself, turning away from you as you stop stitching him up as a truly bitter and painful expression twists onto your beautiful face. You force his face towards your own and gaze deeply into his eyes, you want him to feel, to see the pain that you felt and he did feel it. "You act like it's so terrible to be human ... it's so terrible to fall victim to your emotions ... that man loves his child just like how you loved me. He would've sacrificed anything for that child, he was willing to try and kill you, he was willing to kill Lady Dimitrescu, he was willing to do it all. That's what being human is. That's what's strong, so fucking strong." You exclaim, slowly inhaling a breath into your nostrils as silence quickly fills the air between you both, you can see the realization in his eyes flicker before him and how he softens in a way. Licking your lips, you push him back and hide that urge that was a habit you had, leaning to kiss him whenever your eyes met his whenever you saw how he softened before you. You missed that so much. You didn't say anything more, you go back to stitching up his stomach wound with an unreadable expression on your face, it was a mixture of pain and frustration and Karl saw it but most of all he saw your pain. It reminded him of his own. He would do anything for you. If you wanted him he would take you back in a heartbeat and he was afraid to admit that. Afraid to admit that he was still weak to you, still weak under your human ways that he used to relish in with you and he was afraid of being open, being hurt, being vulnerable, and falling victim to you in case you left him again. In a way you were weak to him too, stubborn as well but more willing to open up to him, to be vulnerable in front of him, willing to take the bait if it meant you would get hurt again. You were almost numb. To it. The pain that he had caused you but it was still there, stinging you at whatever moment it got and you let it become what you see Karl as. Another reminder of your pain, another man willing to sacrifice whatever for a taste of freedom and revenge. But despite that you loved him.

"I apologize for acting like a bitch when I came in here. I just ... I never thought you'd call or need me ever again and I didn't think I needed you either." You say in a somewhat soft breath, you meet his eyes for a few moments before turning your attention back to his wound and he turns towards you, licking his lips before he runs his finger over his bottom lip. "Thank you." He says smartly with a prideful smile soon curling onto his lips before you roll your eyes at him, you bite your tongue to stop any laughter from coming out. "Come on, you have manners don't you Karl? You acted like a bit of a dick too. Or is it too low of Mr. Karl Heisenberg to apologize?" You tease, a natural warm smile curls onto your lips for a few moments, Karl's heart feels light once more and it pulsates in his chest at the once familiar sight he used to see all the time, he missed that smile. Chuckling, he looks down and can feel the bitter irony taste on his tongue begin to fade away slowly but surely it is. "I apologize for acting like a dick earlier. There. That make you happy?" He says, rolling his eyes to himself before you nod with a chuckle soon falling from your lips, your hair had changed, your fashion sense had as well but you were still the same with that warm smile that made him nearly have a heart attack. "Alright, I should be done in a moment ... I'll clean your wound once again and make sure it doesn't get infected ..." You say once more, your tone has returned to its initial seriousness and he sighs to himself, just when he thought you were letting the mask fall, just when he thought things might be going back to normal. "It's fine, do what you have to do ..." He responds, waving his hand in a motion to allow you to keep doing what you were doing. You continued for a few moments longer, trying to stay focused on stitching his wound up but suddenly thoughts starting appearing in your head, what if things could go back to normal? What if you can be free together now? What if you can share happiness with him? Maybe you were an optimistic fool but having hope that things might change between you two is something that you happily looked forward to.

"Alright, I'm done. You shouldn't bleed out and die and ... I'd say try not to fuck up your stitches. But I should be going if I am not of any help to you anymore, Karl ..." You say lowly, reaching out to seize your medkit before he suddenly grabs your wrist, just like the last time you saw him causing you to nearly jump at the sudden grasp on your wrist. He realizes what he's doing from your somewhat distressed expression and lets go of your wrist quickly. "I'm sorry for ... that. But ... I'll probably need more medicine or more care to make sure I don't fuck up my stitches." He rambles, allowing himself to be vulnerable for just another moment, licking his lips his eyes meet yours once again and you see that familiar desperation in his eyes. But this time, you thought what if you stayed and so you set your medkit back down and let a deep breath leave your lips, you somewhat missed the familiar sound of his factory working and working tirelessly. "I hope you aren't planning on stopping Ethan. I'm sorry but it's just fucking stupid ... let him take care of Miranda and let him have Rose then you have what you want. Freedom. Happiness." You exclaim, sitting on the opposite end of the bed beside him with legs resting on the mattress. "I ... I want to. ... Miranda has caused so much pain, so much agony to me ... she doesn't see me as her son, nor will I ever see her as a mother. She's just ... she's just a crazy bitch who decided to steal a fucking baby and hope it could be a vessel for her fucking precious little Eva." He growls bitterly, a sour expression twists onto his face as he crosses his arms, still bitter to the core and revenge is still tainting his mind, no thought of freedom or happiness crossed his mind. Just Miranda. "I know. All she cares about is finding a body for Eva ... but you could finally be happy away from that crazy ass woman. Besides ... this plan has already been a huge failure." You exclaim in a gentle sigh, licking your lips before taking in a breath and so many memories flood back to your brain whenever you stare at something. Even this bed has so many memories.

"I ... I haven't failed. Besides blame Ethan for ruining an otherwise amazing plan. So much for working together." He spat, rolling his eyes at the thought that he was possibly bested by a mere human makes his blood boil. "This plan has nearly cost you your life and cost you a chance at even getting a sliver of freedom." You explain, another sigh leaves your lips as you stare down at the mattress beneath you, silence fills the room once more because Karl's pride won't allow him to see that maybe he had failed in his plan. "You even lost me ..." You muttered lowly almost in a whisper but Karl heard it and his expression twisted from bitter to disheartened and remorseful. "Look, I get that I hurt you and I hate it. But I needed to do it ... I needed to try and get rid of her! Get some kinda control over my own fucking life! I am done with being another experiment for her to use for her wishes! I ... I just want to be free ..." He exclaims, all manner of emotion is pouring out of him and seeping through his mask of charm, taking in a slow shaky breath as his throat tightens and memories flicker of his family, his real family. His mother, her warm smile that is reminiscent of yours, her warm comfy hugs and just remembering it had tears traveling down his cheeks as he clenched his jaw firmly. Your expression softened at the sight before you, a saddened and pitiful frown curls onto your lips as you can sense his pain, he really lost his life to being Miranda's experiment, to being her slave. A soft breath leaves your lips and you rest your hand upon his shoulder, expressing comfort as he inhales another shaky breath, pain is what became of him and he tried to fix himself only to become more broken.

"Karl, listen to me ... you're allowed to be happy ... you're allowed to smile, allowed to be angry, you're allowed to be happy." You coo, your words are gentle but powerful and your eyes are sincere, warm, and delicate to his eyes. He turns to you, eyes slightly puffy and an expression of pain is twisted on his face, letting a gentle breath when he looks at you, when he gazes into your eyes for a few moments, he's reminded of happiness, he's reminded of warmth, he's reminded of love and family. He still loves you. His eyebrows furrow before he wraps his arms around you, clinging to you desperately as he buries his face into you, still pain torments him when he can and it destroys his life. It destroyed his relationship with you, it destroyed everything around him and it almost destroyed him, he would've sacrificed everything just for freedom, just to have his life be his own. He sees it now, it comes to him painfully raw and honest and he almost hates it because of how he hurt you, the one damn good thing in his shitty miserable life. "I hurt you. I fucking hurt you and you came back for me? I ... I don't fuckin' deserve you ... at all ..." He exclaims, his words muffled into the fabric of your clothes as he can feel your arms wrap around him, your hands gently massage him and the simple gesture puts him at peace and ease. "I came back because as much as you hurt me ... you don't deserve this, Karl ... despite how I left you, I still care so much about you. Hell, when it's you I listen to my heart rather than my fucking brain. With you, it's different ... with you, I could never forget you. At all." You confessed with a soft sigh leaving your lips at the end of your words, your hands move to his long untamed grey and brown locks, you gently run your fingers through his locks and you nearly chuckle at the unique texture of his hair. "I didn't either, butterfly ... I hurt you and I see how I fucking hurt you, hell I didn't care if you left me I was still going to continue to plan despite how it hurt you. I'm an asshat. I wouldn't want to remember me if I did that." He exclaims, a gentle smile curls onto his lips as he stares up at you with a familiar smile that warms your heart, it leaves it jumping in your chest and leaves your stomach with butterflies.

"It's good that you see that and I hate that hurt you too ... I know that I left feeling so bad, so bitter about this whole fucking plan ... but this plan the only good thing it brought to you was bringing me to find your nearly dead ass." You chuckle, a wide smile curls onto your lips as a peaceful and joyful expression is plastered onto your face, another chuckle leaves your lips as a warm familiar smile remains on your lips. He can't stop himself from smiling as well, savoring these moments you share of nothing but pure joy, and he can't help but cup both sides of your cheeks. His fingers gently caress your cheeks, his smile warms your heart and your soul and the familiar sensation of his hands against your cheeks made you melt before him. Silence fills the room as he admires you, your beautiful features, and everything along with it. "Out of everyone in the world, I could never hate you ..." He chuckles almost like a giggly child at a toy store, a wide smile remains plastered on his face and his soul is singing, calling out for you and his heart thrashes wildly in his ribcage. You let out a gentle breath and suddenly his lips are pressed gently against yours, your stomach is crowed and flooded with butterflies, your heart is pulsating in your chest, and everything is calling out to Karl. Moments after, he pulls away from your lips with a somewhat worried expression on his face, he questions was he moving too fast, did you not want him but his thoughts are put to stop when your lips collide passionately against his. It came to you so naturally and once the thought appeared in your head, your heart followed along with it along with your body, and here you were passionately kissing the man who you hadn't seen in over 6 months. He groans against your lips, savoring and relishing the familiar sensations that came as his eyes flutter close, he was such a fool, such a fool to not see that he was risking the only thing that mattered for a chance at even getting freedom. He was but a child ...

Groaning against his lips as you began to clutch a fistful of his hair, the kiss quickly grew deeper and more heated, heavy breaths left both your lips as you gently devoured each other's lips, greedy for the sensations it brought you both. Groaning into your mouth once more, Karl's hands slip your jacket off of you, he throws it to the floor and buries his lips into your neck, kissing and sucking lightly at the sensitive skin earning a soft gasp from your lips at the sharp sensation. "Karl ..." You say in a ragged breath, hands still entangled in his locks of hair as he continues to kiss and suck on your neck, your body begins to heat up with arousal and your body begins to ache for Karl. "Damn ... I just can't get enough of you, can I?" He chuckles, grinning devilishly at you as his eyes glance at your lips once again, he pulls you into another heated kiss that has his tongue prying your lips apart. His tongue enters your mouth, his tongue grinds against yours and your tongues begin to dance erotically together causing both of you to moan against each other's lips at the tingling sensations that spread across your tongues. Karl's arousal begins to show with the bulge that swells in his pants, he continues to kisses you, moaning and groaning at the overdue sensation of a warm body against his. Pulling away from your lips, heavy ragged breaths leave both of your lips and he can't help but notice your flushed cheeks as a breathless expression remains on your face. "Do you want this ...? Do you want me, (Y/N) ...?" He asks in a ragged breath, his hand cups one of your cheeks, as he gazes intensely into your eyes, lust, and desire, clouded those beautiful eyes of yours and it was one of his favorite expressions on your face. "I want you so much ... I want nothing but you and your naked body to be mine ..." You answer, smirking devilishly at the man before you as a low chuckle soon leaves your lips, grinning widely at you he kisses your lips once again, cherishing the smooth and delicate feeling of your lips.

"Mmh, your lips feel amazing, darling ... I missed all of this, the kisses, the touches, the way you worship me ... I missed it all so much." He purrs lustfully as a chuckle soon follows after, taking in a breath he pushes you onto your back earning a gasp from you before he gets in between your legs. He stares at the tank top you wore, it hugged your body perfectly, and hell it exposed a lot of skin, though it was basic it was enough for him. You'll always be enough for him and more. "Arms up, darling ..." He chirps, you raise your arms, and off comes your tank top and your torso was immediately met with multiple kisses and bright hickeys that decorated your skin. Wrapping your arms around his chest, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, he lightly sucks on one as his other hand explores your torso, caressing your skin gently and with care. Your heart is thrashing, pounding in your ribcage, and heat floods through your being, arousal comes with that and it leaves you aching so terribly with a need for sweet release. Heavy ragged breaths leave your lips, licking your lips as you can only think of Karl, what he was going to do to you, what you were going to do to him. He takes your nipple out of his mouth, trailing kisses down your stomach as he gets lower and lower until he reaches your bothersome pants, letting out a growl he harshly pulls your pants down and throws them somewhere before he immediately buries his face into your crotch. His tongue moves gently, caressing all your sweet spots as the heat begins to boil up deep inside of you, you relished and savored the moist heat that caressed you in such amazing ways. Moaning against you, his hands wrap around your thighs to keep you from moving too much but he thought it was all about making you feel better, tonight was all about what you wanted, whatever you wanted you will have it. "Oh, Karl ...! Hah ... shit ... shit ..." You moan shamelessly, your hands clutch and grasp at his long locks of hair as heavy breaths are pried from your lips along with whispers of his name falling from those beautiful lips of yours. "Enjoying it, darling ... am I being good for you? Am I a good boy? Tell me I'm a good boy, kitten ..." He purrs erotically, his words roll gracefully off his tongue before he buries his tongue back into you, kissing, licking, and sucking on all of your sweet spots. "Good boy ...! Oh, so good ... fuck I missed your mouth so much ..." You whine needily, clutching at the sheets beneath you as you lick your lips, waves, and waves of heated ecstasy washes over you in sharp and powerful waves.

"That's it ...! Fuck, don't stop ... don't stop fucking me with that tongue of yours ...!" You cry out in a series of moans that are soon followed by ragged breaths, you grind your hips against his mouth eager and aching for some form of release, eager for more of the ecstasy he gives you. But he suddenly stops as he can barely hold himself back from taking you right here and right now, he begins to unzip his pants and fights to get them off. An annoyed expression twists onto your face as you roll your eyes and get up from the bed, grabbing him by his shoulders and turning him around towards the bed as you push him onto the bed with a devilish grin. "It's my turn, love ..." You chuckle as you begin to straddle his lap with your arms pressed into his chest and you begin to take him inside of you as a heavy breathless moan of his name leaves your lips the moment his thick cock fills you. It throbs and twitches inside of you, making you nearly jump at the sensation before you take all of his thick throbbing cock inside of you, the way he fills you is like no other, his cock stretches you and fills you perfectly. The way your walls clung and hugged his thick throbbing cock drove him insane, a heavy groan left his lips at the tight heat that surrounded and embraced his throbbing cock. "Oh, fucking hell ...! Shit ... so damn tight and ... hot ... come on, darling ride me nice and hard. Leave me at your mercy ..." He purrs devilishly as a long chuckle soon follows after, lust clouds his remarkable green eyes, his hands reach up to cup your flushed cheeks as a warm joyful smile curls onto his lips. You smile back at him, joy washing over you like a breeze as you rested your hands upon his shoulders and began to chase eagerly and joyfully after your sweet and euphoric release. Your hips grind and roll against his lap, heavy breaths are pried from your lips as heat begins to build and rise through your body, Karl's heavy ragged breaths can be heard along with yours as he wraps his arms around your neck. A low "fuck" leaves his parted lips as his eyelashes weigh heavy on top of his shut eyelids, sharp electric sensations of bliss shot through him every time your hips went lower. Burying his teeth into his bottom lip, a heavy groan leaves his lips at the blissful heat that envelopes his throbbing eager cock, all he can do is stare in awe at your expressions of bliss and ecstasy. It's so amazing.

"Mmh, baby ... you're so goddamn beautiful ... so exquisite. Come on, tell me how much you love me ... show me how much you've missed me ..." He purrs with a devilish smile on his lips, biting his lips soon afterward he places his hands on your hips gently moving them back and forth just to speed things up a bit. Your cheeks quickly become flushed at his words as you lightly squeeze onto his shoulders, heavy breaths still leaving your parted lips as you begin to throw your hips up and down onto his thick throbbing cock. It presses and drives into you eagerly, lightly hitting your sweet spot causing whines of Karl's name to be pried from your lips, licking your lips you entangle Karl into another heated passionate kiss that is so full of tenderness and consideration. "Karl ...! F-fuck ...!" You whine needily as you pull away from his lips, your eyes flutter at the bliss that courses through you as the heat floods through you. Your teeth grind against your bottom lip gently before you begin to slam your hips down onto his throbbing cock that perfectly curled onto your sweet spot as it repeatedly hits that sweet spot making his name fall from your lips again and again. "Oh! Karl ...! Mmh, Karl ...! It's so fuckin good, Karl ...!" You moan breathlessly, throwing your head back at the ecstasy that washes over you in burning relentless waves, skin hitting against skin echoed through his bedroom as your moans and heavy breaths are Karl's melody. Groaning deeply, his hands move lower onto your ass cheeks, wrapping his fingers around the area he lightly squeezes them with a chuckle following after, it's not a minute before he's nearly arching his back and a long whine is pried from his throat. "Fucking hell, sweetheart ...! Ooh, hah ...!" He whines deeply as waves and waves of ecstasy washed over him, he couldn't be happier and everything in his being felt like it could cry of joy. "Karl ... I'm gonna ... oh fuck ... fuck ... gonna c-cum!" You manage to say, heavy breaths fill your throat and your heart thrashes and pounds erratically in your chest, thighs tremble and shake against his legs, and your entire body throbs and aches. "Kiss me, oh please kiss me ... tell me how much you love me ..." Karl rambles in a series of heavy breaths as he wraps his arms around your torso, leaning in for another heated kiss as you continue to slam your hips down as hard as you can moaning shamelessly against his lips. Your entire body trembles and pulsates erratically as you had boiled over, heat travels through you along with sweet sweet ecstasy that left you nearly screaming his name against his lips. Pulling away from his lips as heavy ragged breaths leave your lips, you gaze intensely, it's not moments before your name falls breathlessly from his parted lips and his expression of joy quickly fades into one of ecstasy and relief. Sharp powerful sensations of ecstasy shot through him relentlessly as began to cling to you, wrapping his arms around you clinging to you and to what for a second feels so much like a damn dream.

Wrapping your arms around him, you find serenity in his cool embrace and you find serenity in the idea that things are gonna be okay, that things are gonna change from today to hopefully years from now. You smile into his embrace before pulling out of his embrace, moments later as you gaze into each other's eyes once more, passion and warmth clouded his green eyes. That look in his eyes like he was just so ... happy and like you're the one thing that matters in his erratic and wild world. "So ... Karl, what's next for us? ... After Miranda is dead and all that bullshit ...?" You question with a curious smile resting upon your lips, you rest in his embrace and he can't help but chuckle at your words. "Whatever it is that is next for you ... whether it's fucking staying here or leaving for better places ... you go and I'll follow." He answers warmly and confidently as a chuckle soon follows after his words. "Oh, so I made you my loyal dog, have I?" You chuckle, beaming at the man before you as he can't help but chuckle once more at your words. "In a way, yes you have ... made me weak for you ... made me unafraid to be myself around you. ... You are incredibly special to me, butterfly ..." He says in a gentle breath, smiling warmly at you as you can't help but flush different shades of red at his words. "You're even more special ... I love you more than you will ever know Karl ... and I've loved you all this time ... I hope I will never stop loving you. That no matter how bad things get that we will get through it together." You exclaim in pure joy as you both end up smiling sheepishly at each other before you rest your head in the nape of his neck and he wraps his arms around, hoping for a more optimistic and brighter future than he could've ever imagined.

[after-witch]

Title: Holding Time [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

Title: Holding Time [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

Synopsis: How long have you been in the basement? How long would it take to starve to death? How long does it take for your lover’s corpse to decompose? 

Word Count: 1960

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, graphic description of corpses, abuse, violence, injuries, starvation 

Dripping. Something is dripping from somewhere--or some thing. The sound is too regular, too maddening, and your eyes dart around the basement to find the source. Not that you could do anything to stop it, with your hands chained to the wall.

It would normally be hard to see in the darkness of the basement, but Fyodor has kindly provided you with a light, hanging above the alcove against the wall just opposite where your chains were lodged. The light is warm and not over-whelming; the type of lighting you might read a book or have dinner under, if the circumstances were different.

Right now, that light is hanging just above the corpse of your boyfriend, a corpse artfully propped up against the wall in a mockery of a sitting stance.

Fyodor didn’t kill him in front of you. Which, you suppose, was meant to be a mercy. But your lover’s body was fresh when Fyodor dragged it down the basement, thumping thudding sounds which still echo in your ears, and you’ll never forget the sight of his lifeless corpse laid out in full view. You screamed and screamed and Fyodor simply watched, before pushing his corpse into a sitting position, right across from you.

“You can have a nice conversation with him now, just like you wanted.”

That was weeks ago. You think. And no, you didn’t have conversations with your lover’s decomposing corpse. But you sometimes talked to yourself. Just to hear something, anything, other than the skittering of mice and buzzing of insects (thanks to the shortness of your chains, you can’t even swat away the flies that land on you, crawling and itching) and the emptiness of the space around you.

You asked yourself if you did something to deserve all this.

You asked yourself if you should have done something different.

You ask yourself if it was stupid not to give in, not to force yourself to accept Fyodor’s advances, physical and otherwise, instead of screaming and biting and telling him you’d rather be dead than around him another second.

That’s when you first ended up in the basement, but that wasn’t the end of it--no, no. The end of it (maybe the end, you think, is there more? Is there more that he can do to you?) was a dead body thrust in front of you. The end of it was realizing that the person you loved most in the world, the person you imagined spending the rest of your life with, was no more. Their hopes and dreams and wishes and wants and needs? All gone. All nothing.

Just like you.

You still can’t decide if it was part of your punishment or if Fyodor would have killed him regardless of how you behaved. Maybe he would have stashed his body in a warehouse somewhere, sealing it with cement, never telling you the details but instead resting easy knowing that there was no real competition for your affection.

You’re not sure which would be worse--giving in to Fyodor’s sick demands and never knowing that your boyfriend had been murdered, or refusing and spending the weeks here, watching his body go from warm and red to stiff then big and bloating and now--now this, wasting away.

You wish your chains were longer. Then you could at least cover his face, so you didn’t have to see him staring at you, eyes white and glassy and unseeing, or his mouth gaping wide, flies and maggots sometimes making their presence known inside. Sometimes the mass of insects makes it look like his jaw, unhinged and slack, is moving--and you spend hours with your eyes closed, peeking only to see if the inhuman effect has ceased.

You can’t escape the smell of decay. Your chains aren’t even long enough to let you cover your mouth, your nose, and your forced to breathe it in every second. Disgustingly sweet and sour and strong, something you’ve never smelled before in your life but you know you will never forget it. All tinged with the smell of your waste which is, at least, mercifully contained in a wooden pail shoved up against the wall. Your legs are weaker and it’s harder to push yourself up using the backs of your elbows, but you manage.

There are few mercies in this basement, but the bucket is one of them, and you dare not complain about the odor lest it be taken away from you, too. Besides, it’s not as if you do more than piddle a meager amount most of the time, anyway. You haven’t had food in--you don’t know. Long enough that you don’t have regular bowel movements anymore. Long enough that the sharp piercing ache of hunger has turned into something altogether new, a deep, dull carving ache--starvation. He stopped bringing food once he brought your boyfriend, once he left you alone with a dead body and your thoughts.

Your water supply is low and inconsistent. Fyodor doesn’t come down into the basement at all anymore, actually, and you’re not even sure that he’s the one tossing the water bottles down the basement stairs.

Sometimes they reach your grasp, sometimes they don’t. On good days, the three bottles thrown down at regular intervals all get close enough that you can pull them to you using your legs or feet. On bad days, your tongue swells up and you swallow nothing but spit.

You don’t have a mirror or any way of seeing yourself, but you can guess that you’re not in the best shape. Your muscles feel weak and cramped. Your wrists are sore, stinging, and you can see the slightest hints of red underneath the cuffs attached to the chains on the wall. Probably an infection, from pulling on them until your wrists bled. Your side hurts all the time, a dull ache that won’t go away.

You haven’t bathed, of course, but the stink of your own unwashed body--the smell of staleness and sweat and body oil--is nothing compared to decay. The smell. The sight.

Does his family know he’s dead? Does your family think you’re dead? Nothing outside the basement feels real, nothing outside the basement feels important. Your world has shrunk down to the grim reality that you’re starving in an isolated space with only the company of pests and a corpse.

And your thoughts, which are sometimes the worst companion of all.

You think about lots of things. You think about your life before all this, how you took it all for granted, how Fyodor ruined everything. You think about your life before the basement, even, the uncertain anxiety of what he was going to do next as you cycled through being handcuffed to Fyodor’s bed, to the dining room table, to the side table next to the sofa.

You think about your hunger. God, you didn’t know hunger could feel like this. You didn’t know it was possible to be so empty, so desperate for the smallest amount of nourishment that sometimes you lick your skin for the salt, the sweat, for the taste of something in your mouth.

You think about your choices. You think about how you threatened him, how you promised him that he was going to get caught and your friends at the agency were going to severely fuck-him-up. You think about how he took all of this with a grim smile, how he smacked you across the face, how he wiped up the blood on your lip and kissed you afterwards.

You think about how he gave you chances, after each time, until finally you'd crossed some line and he dragged you unceremoniously to the basement and clicked on the too-tight cuffs.

Maybe leaving his body behind wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was a lesson. Maybe it was a forewarning of your own fate: you’re going to die down here. Like him. And then you’ll be nothing but a corpse, a sack of flesh animated by the wiggling of insects infesting your insides.

The thought of dying like this brings a low, throbbing horror into your body. Your chest aches. Your throat aches. Everything aches. All the time. But especially when your thoughts race to the future, a future you won’t actually be alive to acknowledge.

But you don’t want to die. You don’t want to die like this, especially, slowly starving and withering and sitting a few inches away from a bucket of your waste.

But that’s what’s going to happen if this goes on much longer.

Fyodor didn’t say he was going to leave you here to die. You thought he’d keep you in the basement until you begged to be let out. And, truth be told, you would have done so already, if he kept coming to see you--but he stopped, and the only face you’ve seen in the past few weeks has been rotting away. He didn’t even give you the opportunity to fix yourself, to apologize, to beg for mercy. Or whatever it is he wanted out of you. Obedience? Amusement?

It doesn’t matter that it wouldn’t be genuine, it doesn’t matter that you hate him more than anything in the world. What matters is that he kidnapped you and killed people in the name of keeping you and destroyed your life in every way imaginable… and now he’s just leaving you to die without giving you a chance to fix it.

Like you’re nothing.

He probably wouldn’t want you now, anyway. You’re a shell of yourself, aren’t you? Your arms are weak and your muscles weaker; and your skin looks sallow and you’re sure, you’re sure, that if he saw your eyes, they would be as glassy and dead as the corpse across the way.

You’d messed up, you’d let yourself become a shadow, a slip, a wraith of a thing stuck in the basement until it finally dies and frees up his time to find someone new. Someone full of life and beauty and anything but the stubbornness you couldn’t let go of, the pride that refused to let you see it was a life or death situation. Life--with Fyodor, sitting on his lap and letting him kiss you and touch you and possess you. Death--well, you see what that is now, an unceremonious bloating and wasting away. Maggots and shit and stink.

And you chose death--didn’t you? Unwittingly, unknowingly, but you chose it all the same.

If you had a do-ever, you know you would choose life. You would grin and bear it. You would throw yourself into it, you would do everything in your power to stay in his good graces, to stay upstairs--where you would be clean and fed and sleep on sheets and never have to understand what it’s like for your lips to be so dry that they crack open and bleed. 

Maybe... maybe he didn’t even wait for your death to get someone new. You can hear sounds from upstairs, sometimes, undefined but surely there. Maybe he’s already got someone upstairs and they were smart enough to keep their mouth shut and their expressions neutral, pretending they weren’t horrified and disgusted by the person who ripped their life into pieces.

Maybe it was too late to beg on your hands and knees for forgiveness, for another chance. Too late to tell him that you were wrong and stupid and you want to be with him, upstairs, please, please, please.

And that’s what you say now, what your thoughts propel you to whisper into the stagnant basement air: Please. Please. Please. You say it so much that your throat hurts, you say it so much that you don’t know how much time has passed before there’s a sudden sound--a sudden light.

You jerk your head towards the light, the opening of the basement door at the top of the steps. The light hovers, murky, shimmering, like the sun viewed from underneath the water. The only sound now is the jingling of your chains, and then--

Footsteps, on the stairs descending.

One.

Two.

Three.

You hardly recognize your own voice when you cry out, wistful and hopeful and above all things, desperate.

“Fyodor?”

[wasabito]

➽ corruption collab masterlist — hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie ♥️

➽ note: definitely gonna come back and edit this a bit more because threesomes are hard as fuck, no pun intended lmao happy v-day everyone!

➽ word count: 3.2k

➽ cw/tags: polyamory + body worship + threesome + praise kink + public sex + choking + handjobs/fingering + vaginal sex + squirting + established relationship

➽ pairing: akaashi x fem!reader x bokuto

💿 1. nasty — ariana grande || 2. come on — jhene aiko

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, it becomes rather apparent that love and romance are in the air. Storefronts are decorated in bubblegum pinks and reds. Flower shops promote their special bouquet arrangements at discounted prices. Even your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop has fallen prey to the spirit of cupid as they announce their new strawberry shortcake dessert and heart-shaped scones.

In lieu of staying home for the third night this week, your boyfriends escort you to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the city. They treat you to a five-course meal and a bottle of wine even pricier than the dinner itself. One would think, after three years of dating, you would no longer be caught unawares by their spontaneity. And yet, here they are, once again pulling the rug from underneath your four-inch heels.

Your gaze flickers from Akaashi's tranquil smile to Bokuto's wide grin.

Adjusting the napkin in your lap, you open your mouth to speak, then pause as the right words fail it come. Brain short-circuiting instead, you let out a confused, "Huh?!"

"We're taking you to Italy!" Bokuto repeats, about ready to hop out of his seat with excitement. He looks to Akaashi, "Three nights in Venice, right 'Kaashi?"

"Yes, we decided on Venice after you told us you'd always wanted to visit. Remember Koutarou's birthday last year?"

"But that was like months ago! Did you two honestly hold onto that drunk little confession this entire time?"

"Of course."

"Yup!!"

It's in moments like these when you are reminded of their history together, first as teammates playing volleyball, and eventually close friends. Not much longer after that, you'd met and fallen for Akaashi, then Bokuto, and thus began the relationship of today. While you find it a little ridiculous, it seems neither of them has any qualms about this trip.

After all, you are their lovely girlfriend. Why wouldn't they want to make your wishes come true?

Bokuto claps his hands, eyes sparkling. "Everything's already planned out, babe, so don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

You can't argue with that. Reaching over, you take Bokuto's hand in your right and Akaashi's in your left. "Alright, since you two went to all this trouble for me, I guess I'll just sit back and enjoy it."

♥️

Venice is just as beautiful as you imagined.

It looks as if it's floating upon blue-green waters with lots of sunshine, beautiful architecture, and a vibrancy that makes it feel like the city has a life of its own. You are grateful you didn't come by yourself. There is no way you would've enjoyed it without Akaashi and Bokuto at your side.

"We're about a ten-minute walk from Piazza San Marco," Akaashi says as he taps his glasses. His sharp gaze is locked on the map in his hands, likely committing most landmarks and details to memory. "Would you like to check it out?"

"Yeah! Let's do it."

"Off we go, go, go!"

Thus, a majority of your first day in Venice is spent sightseeing.

The three of you take a gondola ride through Canale Grande, then have a peek into the Gallerie Dell'Accademia at Akaashi's insistence, though naturally, you wouldn't have come all the way to Italy and not visited at least one art museum. Afterward, the three of you go to the Le Mercerie shopping district and buy gifts for your friends before finally taking a pit stop for the most delicious gelato in the city.

The sunsets sooner than expected, casting the entire block in deep red hues. Bokuto's mood is greatly influenced by it, and the jetlag certainly doesn't help. He props himself against you, nuzzling you in a way that says he's itching for a kiss.

"Tired, Kou?"

Bokuto hums. "A little... More hungry than anything."

He leans in and pecks your lips with a sated smile. "Maybe I should eat you. I mean, how is it my girl's so damn cute? Not fair, I can't resist."

You snort at Bo's silliness but can't help shivering a little at the tiny implication of his words. He always did like to lay his head on your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites where he could.

So, the thought of him eating you out made you squeeze your thighs together.

Akaashi approaches with your frozen treats held between his long fingers; having overheard Bokuto earlier, he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

"We'll get some dinner after we drop off these shopping bags. How does that sound?"

You eagerly take your gelato from him with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan."

Akaashi nods, standing at your other side, close enough to brush elbows though not as close as Bokuto, who was nearly hovering.

The three of you are in one of the narrow, maze-like streetways, basking in the warm, early evening glow. The sweet taste of fruit and cream on your tongue fills you with so much contentment, especially while being with your favorite people. You aren't sure if anything could top the way you currently felt, and the trip has just barely started.

Upon arriving at your temporary place of residence, a quaint little villa on the waterfront just along the shore of Punta Sabbioni Beach, Bokuto immediately kicks off his sandals, dumps the bags, and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

"It's so weird seeing Kou like this." You remark. "On any normal day, he's brimming with almost too much energy, but now he's all tired."

"Well, he did stay up an entire twelve hours on the plane. It was only a matter of time before fatigue caught up to him." Akaashi picks up Bokuto's shoes with practiced ease and places them by the others.

There is a fond smile running along the edges of his mouth as he tucks a throw around the man's larger frame. You help him adjust a spare pillow under Bo's head and then set off to explore the rest of the area.

It seemed like everything about Venice was taken straight out of a romance film, with its cobblestone paths, gothic cathedral architecture, crisp ocean waters, and authentic Italian cuisine. It is no wonder the city's known to draw hapless souls together in romance. Even you fell subject to it, and by each passing moment, you crave to be with your boyfriends.

You are standing at the balcony overlooking the beach, satisfied with your inspection of the villa when Akaashi comes to stand behind you. He holds onto the railings, caging you in his arms, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"He was right, you know." He murmurs. "You do look good enough to eat."

Blunt as ever. Apparently, something's never change.

Though one might say that Akaashi is as he's always been after high school and college, there is no denying his boost in confidence. After all, he had landed not one but two rather attractive partners.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, before latching onto your neck.

The sun's scenic view on the horizon, reflecting upon the beach sands of gold and shimmering orange waves, makes for an excellent backdrop.

You turn to face Akaashi and pull him into a heated kiss. His lips convey a sense of devotion to you, and with each press of them against yours, you can feel just how bad he's yearning for more.

"Kei," you whisper. "Let's go inside."

In a moment, Akaashi whisks you off your feet quite similar to how Bokuto would, though you both don't even make it to the bedroom.

Your other partner had sat up on the sofa, hair flat on one side, scrubbing his eyelids.

"Guys, I'm freaking starving!" Bokuto groans. "Let's get some food or something."

He doesn't even notice how you and Akaashi are breathing heavy or how your clothes are sporting wrinkles that were not previously there. Regardless, Akaashi has food delivered while you went ahead to shower the day's journey away. There are still two days left. You'd get your chance with them at some point.

♥️

Sadly, the entirety of day two is spent indoors. Heavy sheets of rain continue to fall, muddying the shoreline. The three of you huddle on the sofa wrapped in blankets with subtitled movies playing in the background.

Even though you would've much rather been out exploring in the city, just sharing in your boyfriend's warmth would suffice for now. Akaashi hands you a steaming cup of something rich in both color and smell.

"What's this?"

"Just espresso." He takes the empty seat beside you.

You savor the taste while leaning against his shoulder. "Mm, nice."

Bokuto keeps his head on your lap, loving how you thread your fingers into his hair.

It is a tranquil kind of peace that soon lulls you to sleep.

Later, when you finally wake up, it's dark, and you're alone. A blanket had been tucked around your shoulders to shield you from the sudden chill. At some point, the television had been shut off along with every light in the room. You might've been a little scared if not for the voices coming from the second floor. Slowly, you creep up the winding staircase, dragging along the blanket around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto chuckles. "You're finally up!"

His hair is down, wet from his shower, and he holds a thin towel together around his waist. In his hand is a cellphone, and he doesn't hesitate to shove the screen into your face. "Say hi, Tetsu!"

"Hi Y/N, how's it going?"

You blink slowly, still trying to wake yourself up.

"Kuroo, hey… I'm well. How are you?"

"Great, just about to head out for a late lunch. I hear it's almost ten pm over there."

"Yeah, it's an eight-hour time difference."

You and Kuroo continue to chat while Bokuto towels off his hair and puts on clothes. Afterward, you let Bokuto resume his conversation and join Akaashi on the bed. The man had gone full editor-mode with his glasses propped up in his hair as he read through some work documents.

When you approach, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. "You look well-rested."

"Is that your way of telling me I have drool on my cheek, Keiji?"

He cracks a tiny smile, eyes taking in your features, then he pokes your cheek with his index finger. "Perhaps."

You scrub the corners of your mouth with your sleeve and drape yourself over Akaashi, work be damned. This was supposed to be a special weekend for relaxing.

"I really wanted to go to the beach today." You pout.

Akaashi interlocks his fingers with yours. "Maybe we still can. It stopped raining a few hours ago."

"Really?!"

You hop off the bed and head for the window. He's right, the rain had long stopped, and the beach lay bare, lit by only the moonlight.

Maybe a short walk to the beach would do you some good.

♥️

The grains of sand feel cold against your feet without the sun to beat down on them, but you don't complain. The air is humid enough on its own that you forgo wearing actual clothes and instead wear a swimsuit along with Bokuto's old Fukurōdani windbreaker.

You walk along the shore, toes digging into the sand, letting the ocean waves lap at your feet to wash them clean again.

At first, it's so eerily quiet without a soul around except you, but even that doesn't last long. You hear Bokuto's voice bellow into the night as he jogs towards you in nothing but swim trunks. Behind him, Akaashi trails slowly after with a blanket in hand.

"We thought you might want some company." He says and spreads the cover on the sand several feet away from the water, content with just watching.

Bokuto grabs your hand and you go running to the water with him, but a second later, you both come sprinting back.

"It's freezing!"

"S-So co-co-cold!"

You collapse on top of him, fingers splayed across his bare chest. However, when you try to sit up, Bokuto has other plans. He keeps you pressed to his chest with both arms around your waist.

"Let me keep you warm, baby!"

You know he meant it in the most innocent way, but you can't help but think other thoughts. Your nerves fray at the image that blooms in your head and spreads like wildfire.

And as Akaashi strokes your back, you know he's probably read your mind.

It's the way your eyes seem to glitter with want that gives it away. Akaashi has always been rather observant, and so your silent cues are something he's always been privy to.

His nimble fingers curve around the nape of your neck, and he tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss. This one is unlike the one from yesterday. There is no rush, no desire to quicken his haste; instead, he savors the taste of you like it's something to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Underneath you, Bokuto stirs, growing aroused at the sight of his two lovers' kiss. He can't decide whether he wants to join in or sit back and watch. But his large hand comes down to stroke your ass, resulting in a moan you breathe directly into Akaashi's mouth.

"You're not usually so forthcoming, Keiji," you whisper against his lips. "Eager, are we?"

Akaashi pulls away just enough to pepper your face in feathery kisses. "Can you blame me? When I have such a lovely girlfriend here."

As if confirming his words, he slips a hand under your jacket and cups your breast. The pads of his thumb brush along the seams of your bathing suit, caressing your nipple.

"Kou, let's show Y/N just how much we love her, yes?"

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice. He had been in entranced by you and Akaashi, completely taken by the way your lips danced upon one another. But now, he wanted more than anything to touch you, kiss you, hold you.

Bokuto cradles you in his lap, propping your legs open with his knees so Akaashi can kneel in front of you. It didn't take much for him to relieve you of your clothing, namely your swimming bottoms. But the second the air hits your bare cunt, you feel tense.

You aren't sure what it was, but the atmosphere is different. Both Akaashi and Bokuto are so focused on you, it feels like you're under a spotlight.

"You're so pretty, so beautiful," Bokuto says while squeezing your thighs. His warm breath tickles your ear as he presses his nose into your neck. Next, his lips follow suit. "Wanna fuck you, so bad baby. You'd like that, right?"

His words earn him a chuckle from Akaashi, who merely licks two of his fingers, wetting them and sliding into you. Your mouth parts, shaky breaths barely expelled from your lungs. You're hyper-aware of the fact that you're literally being fingered on a beach in the middle of the night, and you can't bring yourself to care. It feels good to be pampered by the two men you love.

For every moan, Akaashi gives you double for your efforts, thrusting his fingers just right, curving them in such a way that has your back arching off Bokuto, who has also taken to fondling your nipples. With every roll of his hips, you feel his cock against your ass, and it pushes you further into Akaashi's fingers.

Your impending orgasm sweeps by so close and yet so far away. All you can do is rock yourself faster.

"Please," you whimper. "W-Wanna come."

Akaashi crooks his fingers, pressing into the perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching in intervals you have no control over until his hand is coated with your wet, slick juices that keep coming the more you squirt all over him.

"She's so wet 'Kaashi. Look at our pretty girl."

Akaashi places a chaste kiss on your forehead with a smile.

"She's doing well, so far. Let's see if she can keep going."

Bokuto shimmies his shorts off enough to free his hard cock. He had been uncharacteristically patient until now, but that was soon to change as he lines himself up with your cunt, teasing you with just the tip.

Your whining is unintelligible, but both men understand you more or less.

"Give the pretty girl what she wants," Akaashi says. He strokes his own hard-on at the sight of Bokuto's pushing past your wet folds. "I know she can take more than that."

Bokuto has always been girthy, and it takes you more than a few seconds to adjust to his size, but when you finally do, it feels like heaven.

The position you're in gives Bokuto all the power to thrust into you like a ragdoll. But it's only when you make eye contact with Akaashi that you realize that it's, in fact, the other way around for him in particular. From where he sits, stroking his cock with flushed cheeks and choked moans, you see just how much control you have over him.

"Kiss me." You moan.

Akaashi doesn't let you repeat yourself. He kisses you long and hard even as you grip his throat with one hand and his hair with the other. He kisses you until his lips are red and bruised.

"Good boy. Both of y-you."

Bokuto groans loudly. "Say it again. Keep saying it!"

"Y-You're both so good. I-" your hips stutter against Akaashi's fingers that are rubbing circles into your clit. "Good, so good-"

That's all it takes to take Bokuto over the edge, blowing his load. "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

You can feel another orgasm swelling up inside your belly. You try to tell them but can't, too overcome by the feeling of your body tingling with desire. It's too much, overwhelmingly so; your vision blurs with unshed tears as Bokuto continues to pound into sopping pussy. Pleasure floods every fiber of your being until you're limp and every nerve in your body is set alight.

Bokuto slips out of you easily, a string of his semen following.

You can only look on in a drowsy haze as Bokuto leans over and kisses you and then Akaashi, working him over with a tight fist.

♥️

The following morning, you’re the first to wake, but only because there’s a limb jammed into your back and a heavy weight on your chest. It takes you a moment to realize, but it’s Bokuto’s elbow poking you and Akaashi’s head resting on you.

All three of you are a tangle of limbs in bed, but you aren’t sure how you’d gotten there.

“G’mornin’” Bokuto breathes. His lips caress the column of your neck.

“Morning.”

You shift into a more comfortable position. Though doing so presses Akaashi’s morning wood against your thigh.

“Keiji, you awake yet?”

“Mmm barely.” Akaashi looks up at you through his lashes, then smiles and nuzzles closer into your chest.

Bokuto, content with being your big spoon, reaches over to touch Akaashi, hands cupping his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“That’s true, should we do something special.”

Thinking about the previous night, you feel desire stirring in your gut. “Could we just... do it again?”

Both men look to each other then back at you, sporting matching smiles.

“Why not?”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

You're My Home Too | Loki Laufeyson

Hey lovelies happy Saturday! I hope you all have had a lovely day! Here is the first Loki "drabble" of the event, please do enjoy and make sure to take care of yourselves today!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst, Fluff

Entres (Pairing): Loki x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 6: “You’re all I have.” “You’re all I have too, you know?”

Notes: None, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 2.2k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

She watches as the black haired god tilts his head, eyes locked on his brother. It looks like he’s nodding along, agreeing to something Thor has said, but she can see it— the way his pupils dart across the blonde’s face, flitting over his shoulder before returning, latching on a different spot. It’s unnerving to watch him be so docile. So passive— not at all like the usual, fiery tempered, grinning god of mischief. She’s never seen him look so blank. Something’s definitely wrong.

She has a feeling she knows what it is, too. If she’s right then it’s the same reason she laid awake all night, curled on her side of Loki’s bed, listening to the sound of his steady breathing until the sun came up. She can practically hear the conversation— Thor’s been itching to go home for weeks now. Somehow they’ve always managed to get held up each time— saving the world and what not. Now, though, there’s nothing keeping them. No androids or aliens or wizards. Just her— the best friend— and that’s not going to cut it.

Loki’s eyes flick to hers, blue irises somehow vibrant even from across the room, and she forces the corners of her lips to turn up, an attempt at flaking off the frown that she’s sure has been plastered on her face all morning. If his frown is anything to go by, however, then she would say that it doesn’t work out. Oh well— she didn’t really expect it would.

He can sense lies and even if he couldn’t he would still be able to read her like a book. Half the time it feels like he’s more in her head then she is, always figuring out what she wants before she can think it let alone say it aloud. Usually that’s followed by him dropping whatever he’s doing to get it for her. Unless, of course, it’s a hug— then he’s dropping whatever he’s doing and pulling her into his arms.

Who’s going to hug her if he’s a galaxy away?

Is it even a galaxy? Surely it’s more. A dimension away. Her stomach tosses, the sting in her chest mixing with a wave of the nausea she’s been fighting all morning. A combination of not eating— not being hungry enough to eat— and sadness. No not sadness— grief. Sadness feels easier. It’s waving your best friend off to college— not to another fucking world. This isn’t sadness— this is losing everything she has come to need for an entire year. Warmth and protection and his sea-salt skin and elegant voice. Who else is going to speak so gently to her when he’s gone?

“Dove—” she blinks and he’s suddenly there, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch where she's been sitting for the past hour, legs curled under her and all the way numb— “what’s wrong?”

His dark brows crease together, his hand snaking from his side and reaching for hers. She offers him another pathetic half-smile, tangling her fingers with his long ones and shaking her head slightly. “Nothing, Loki. How’d your talk go?”

She doesn’t miss the way he winces. He tries to hide it, replicating her tilted lips with his own, but, like her, his eyes don’t follow suit. Instead they flash with something that looks too much like dread for her to keep her act up. When her mouth creases into a frown, so does his. It’s all she needs to know— he really is leaving her.

“My brother misses home.” The god reaches out his other hand and— like everything they seem to do— she copies him, meeting him halfway and lacing those fingers together as well. He runs his thumb over hers, his blue eyes intense— worried. “There are a few things we have to sort out. They’re getting impatient.”

They’re. That could mean so many things. It could mean his people— the asgardians. It could mean his family— it definitely means Thor, the god who she can hear pacing from the kitchen. Her eyes pool over the features of the man in front of her, landing on the circles under his eyes. Does it mean him too? Has she been keeping him from going home? The thought makes her throat sting— of course she has. She’s been so stupid, clinging to a literal god. Of course he would have to go home at some point. She was only fooling herself thinking he would stay with her. What’s upstate New York when you have a celestial castle or whatever the hell it is he has?

“Dove?”

She blinks again, zoning back into his even more concerned stare— shit.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, squeezing his hands if only to ground herself against slipping away again. “That sounds important. Your, uh, your kingdom needs you.”

I need you too, though.

It feels like her heart is lodged in her throat and that she’s speaking around it. When she swallows it doesn’t go away— if anything it grows, tears stinging at her eyes, threatening to fall. She hates how selfish she feels. He doesn’t belong to her— he doesn’t belong with her— and she should feel lucky to have called him her friend for this long. Still she can’t help but wonder what her days will look like without him. Empty. Boring. Terrifying. She has friends here but it isn’t the same. The connection isn’t the same— the warmth and smiles and laughter aren’t the same.

She isn’t just losing her best friend, she’s losing her home.

And she breaks.

And he notices.

God, he always notices.

She supposes with the tears now streaming down her face, though, that she can’t exactly blame him for that one. It’s a little noticeable. What she will blame him for is how he releases her hands, instead rising to his full height and settling on the couch, angling his lithe body towards her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He waits— one beat, two beats— for her to turn as well, pushing up on her knees and throwing her arms around his shoulders. She holds him tight— tighter than she can confidently say she has ever held him before. She has to— it’ll very likely be the last chance she gets. She has to memorize it— him.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs bitterly. It’s more of a sob— the kind that catches in her throat, getting stuck between silent and booming. “I’m being silly.”

Loki shakes his head— she can’t see it but she can feel his jaw brushing her hair, his hands pushing her closer to his chest. She digs her fingers into his jumper, scrunching the green wool like somehow it’ll make this all okay. His hand runs up her back, curling it around the nape of her neck, hand cool and soft.

“No you aren’t.” He murmurs, face still pressed against her hair, and she fights back more tears— he’s too gentle with her.

She doesn’t say anything right away, she just sinks against him, biting her lip and forcing herself to just be in the moment. He smells like rain today. It’s always different— always changing— but today he smells like the summer pavement before a three day thunderstorm hits and it feels fitting.

After a few moments she finally pulls away, tugging against his hold and running the heel of her hand under her eyes. He doesn’t give her much leave, only a few inches to be able to look up at him, blinking away the blurriness of her glassy eyes and sniffling. His lips are pressed together, his head tilted again. Unlike with his brother, though, his eyes never stray from hers. As always, it makes her breath catch in her throat, her heart racing in the way only he can seem to do.

She finally brings herself to ask the hard question— the one that’s been hanging around them for weeks. “When are you leaving?”

His fingers on her spine tense— that can’t mean anything good.

“Today, dove.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know what else to say— that and if she says anything more she’s afraid she might start sobbing again. Sobbing or just stop breathing altogether. Today? She couldn’t have had one more night with him? You’ve already had ‘one more night’ for four weeks, the little voice in her head reminds her. It’s time to let him go. She slips her hands around his arms— easier said than done. She knows that once he leaves her life will change— and it might never go back to normal.

Loki’s eyes flash, the blue darkening, a crease forming between his brows. He opens his mouth but no words come out and soon he’s pressing his lips together again, the dejection in his eyes and aura tangible. She has to say something— she can’t leave it on this note. She just has no idea what to say. No idea how to say goodbye.

So she doesn’t.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?” She pushes her lips into the tortured smile again, muttering the words.

She’s sure he would have forced himself to laugh—

“I want you to come with me.”

— were it not for him speaking at the same time.

Her heart stops when his words flit past her eardrums. “What?”

She must be dreaming— there’s no way he just said what she thinks he said. It has to be her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Trying to protect her from the pain until the last second. But no, that’s not right, now when his cool hands move from her back to her cheeks, his thumbs running over her cheekbones and drawing her back to him. He leans down, pressing his forehead against hers and she gasps— she can’t help it. His skin is so soft that her eyes flutter close.

“I said I want you to come home with me, dove.” His nose brushes against hers, his words entirely soft.

She’s speechless— completely and utterly floored. “To Asgard?”

He chuckles, minty breath fanning her lips. “Yes, to Asgard.”

She pulls back, head so fuzzy she almost topples over from the motion, hands curling tighter to keep from falling. He really wants her to go home with him? Just like that her heart starts beating again, kicking starting her pulse which begins hammering as the notion of staying with him starts to become clear. He’s not leaving?

“But—” she stammers, blinking rapidly as she tries to form a coherent thought— “why me?”

For a moment he just looks at her, his brows knitting together once more, his eyes filling with something she can’t decipher. He kind of looks confused. Only she could confuse a god. She almost slaps herself, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Why the heck would you ask him that you idiot? Now he’s not gonna’ want to take you with—

“Because you’re all I have.”

He says it so nonchalantly— like it’s a fact and not a confession that makes her very essence roar. She supposes that to him it is just a fact. That when you’re all powerful speaking your mind is normal. It is just a fact and she is just a girl and he is just a god. Fact, fact, facts. Her head spins. This— he— cannot be real.

“I—” That’s as far as she gets before her sentence drops, mouth gaping but empty.

Thankfully he picks it up, continuing his unconcerned profession.

“It’s not home if you’re not with me, my little midgardian. Not anymore.” He shrugs and she almost chokes— how is he saying this so calmly when she feels like she’s going to combust? “I really think you’d like it, actually. It’s very pretty— lots of gardens. Oh, and the library! You would enjoy the library.” He tilts his head, his eyes fading out slightly as he thinks about his home. “I’m sure there will be a ball of some sort when we arrive home. I know, I know— you don’t like big events but—”

This time she’s the one who places her hands on his cheeks, shaking her head, letting the first euphoric giggle out. “Of course I’ll go, Loki.”

A grin spreads across his lips, his eyes widening like he just won the lottery as he leans forward, connecting them once again. It makes her heart jump in her chest. What did he think she was going to say? No? She giggles when his lips press against her cheek, her nose scrunching. He must notice because his mouth curves even more against her skin. Soon his lips aren’t just on her cheek but on her forehead and chin and nose as well.

“Even if we have to go to a ball?” He teases, his voice lighter than she’s heard it in weeks.

“Even then.” She confirms, fingers gliding into his hair and tangling them in the silky strands. She takes a deep breath, nerves thrumming as she adds softly. “You’re all I have too, you know? You’re my home too.”

Loki hums happily against her skin, taking her own confession the same way he had made his own— easily. It’s the best outcome she could have hoped for. She can’t wipe the wide smile from her lips as he wraps his arms properly around her once more. It’s not long before his lips find her ear, soft words echoing against her skin.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?”

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Anniversary Drabble: i miss u like ... a lot (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- read first! but this drabble can be read alone

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: One night until Taehyung is back from his boys’ trip but you miss him too much.

Genre: fluff, smut, kinda crack?, boyfriend/established relationship au

Warnings: unprotected sex (oc on contraception so don’t u do it), teasing over the phone, riding and grinding, just kinda vanilla i-missed-u-so-much sex, a particular selca

Word count: 5k

A/N: It was Heatwave’s one year anniversay on the 17th so I decided to write a quick(?) drabble for this. I fully intended on posting this on time, but wanted to change up some stuff so only managed to finish this now. Happy birthday to my first fic and forver my baby!

MOSTLY UNEDITED

.

The absolute one thing you hate most about your boyfriend being away from you is your boyfriend being away from you.

You have never been the clingy needy type, that is more his role in this relationship, nor are you really one to show affection. In fact, you would hate for that false image to be perceived of you because all that sappy shit makes you want to throw up your dinner. But one thing you’ve learnt since Taehyung had gone away on a week-long boys’ trip down by the coast is how cold the house feels in his absence, despite being in the middle of a sizzling summer.

Everything is so eerily quiet without his random outbursts into song and fits of laughter. Having spent 3 years living together, you have gotten so used to his constant presence that you had even caught yourself several times calling out for him only to remember that he isn’t here. Waking up without his arm draped around your waist, slided up your top at some point during the night, impacts you more than you’d like to admit.

Are you glad that he’s having a great time with his friends by the beach, relaxing all day and drinking all night? Of course. Are you having a great time all by yourself over here in the absence of your boyfriend? Certainly not.

Though, of course, this isn’t something you would confess to out loud, especially to him. He doesn’t need to know how often the thought: ugh fuck, I miss Tete is crossing your mind, lest you want him to rub his smugness in your face.

It isn’t just that. Your relationship hasn’t been without its tests in the course of its years and things have only finally stabilised. It’s not that you don’t trust Taehyung to be with his ladish friends for seven days, shirtless dusk till dawn, intoxicated to the point where he calls you thinking that you’re the pizza delivery guy but…

A hammered Taehyung at a beach full of girls who are no doubt thirsting over him leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You trust him to be loyal to his core, but you don’t trust anyone else to keep their hands from copping a feel. No matter how you look at it, you would just so much rather he be at home with you right now.

You have endured this for six days. Six full days without Taehyung. Six full days with no sex, no tummy kisses, no clammy hand holding even though you’re only to get groceries. Just one more night and this torture will fucking be over, praise the lord. But you also don’t know how much more you can hold back that I miss you text because you’re combusting from the need to see him again.

It’s almost 4am. Your sleep schedule is fucked and it’s really his fault.

The bright screen of your phone offers the only luminescence at this hour. Your messages from him in the past week have not been shy of your daily dose of Taehyung - clips of the beach (always mischievously caption with something along the lines of “thinking of Mykonos ;D” where you went on your first holiday together), selfies that you dwell way too long staring at because you miss that face buried in your neck, drunk videos of the antics him and the boys get up to that you’ll definitely chastise him for when he comes back yet can’t help but laugh at. You find yourself scrolling through them every single night.

Your personal favourite: a pouty selfie he sent you after he dropped his ice cream, the picture you always go back to and the one you’re staring at right now. His hair is frizzy from the sea, lips jutted out childishly and cheeks puffy. Your chest constricts, fuck...

Just one more night, you remind yourself. And then he’s back and all yours again.

Then suddenly, the phone in your hand vibrates, short and abrupt. The bar slides down from the top of your screen reading New Message from Tete. Surprised, you scramble to open it, maybe a bit too desperately for you to be proud of.

04:11

Tete: bby

You blink at those three letters, lips pressed together because your heart is cinching.

Tete: ur prob aslep rn but

Tete: i missu

Tete: <334

The typos indicate that he is wasted, and you take a guess that he has just returned from their last night out of the holiday. The corners of your lips turn up knowing that he is thinking of you right now.

You: no im awake

Your fingers are itching to reply with i miss u too, and it takes all your willpower and stubbornness to stay true to your steadfast self. There is just something so unpleasantly moist about these kinds of texts, something that makes you cringe and gag when you read them. You refuse to be one of those people. A heart is all that you allow yourself to reply.

You: <3

You: r u drunk?

Tete: drunk in love

Tete: yes

A giggle escapes you at his god awful cheesiness - drunk, sober alike. Insufferable. But probably Taehyung’s most endearing quality.

You: did u have fun!!

Tete: yeah

Tete: but i miss u

Tete: more than i had fun

God, you feel like a teenager again, suddenly overcome with this gushing urge to roll over and scream into your pillow. You’re glad he’s merely texting this to you right now because if he had said this to you face to face, your skin would most definitely stain scarlet from neck to hairline, scalding to the touch. Even months into officially being his girlfriend, these curveballs of overwhelming affection throw you off guard.

Again, the compulsion to tell him you miss him too yanks at your heartstrings. You truly don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to say how you feel, let yourself be soft and vulnerable. You know it’s one of your flaws so it’s something that you’re working on, but you can’t say you’ve made much progress.

But just as you decide that maybe you should take the plunge, suck it up and just text him those three words, he sends you a picture.

Tete:

No, not just a picture. A selfie, of him in bed, shirtless under the covers. “Oh, fuck…”

Hand clasped over your mouth to prevent any sound from involuntarily escaping, it takes a moment for your breath to return to you and for you to stop gawking. At this hour… Really? Is he seriously doing this to you right now?

His sleepy eyes. His messy curls. And his fucking nose mole.

The undoing of your existence.

Tete: this boy misses u :]

You: bruh

You: bruhhhhhhh

You: taehyung

Tete: oui my lady :))

You: 👁👄👁

You: can u not do this to my heart

You: y did u send me this </333

You: what was the reason

Tete: coz i miss u

Tete: do u like it

Tete: :D

‘Do u like it’... Actually, you have tears in your eyes, albeit mostly due to staring at a screen for too long so late at night, but it’s certainly contributed by this selfie. You tell yourself you’re acting out because it’s been six days since you last saw him. Perhaps Taehyung Withdrawal Symptoms is the explanation behind why you want to print and frame this picture because that is definitely not a normal reaction to a picture. But this is a masterpiece.

You: taehyung my soul left my body

You: like i could weep

You: u look so soft and fluffy

You: :’(

Tete: lollll

Tete: simp

This boy has some nerve?! Simp! He called you a simp?! Laughing like a maniac, you can’t even pretend to be mad at him, not after this picture he sent anyway. So you guess you are a simp. This selfie is your kryptonite.

Tete: jkjkkkkk

You: hahahaha

You: y r u doing this to me

You: its 4am

You: u can’t send me this rn

You: i won’t be able to sleep

Tete: o yeah how come ur still up?

Tete: go to sleepppp

You: can’t sleep

Tete: aw no whyyy

Because you miss him that’s why.

You miss Kim Taehyung. You miss Tete. You miss your boyfriend, your best friend, your other half. You miss his touch, his smile, his wide eyes when he’s confused. You miss his morning snuggles and late night kisses. You miss the way he hugs you from behind as you prepare your meals. You miss the wandering hands that he can’t help when you’re out in public. You miss playing PUBG together until the sun comes out then both sleeping past noon. You miss taking baths together where bubbles would get into your mouth as your kisses get heated.

You just miss him.

It’s only been six days and you’re in this state. What has he done to you?

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you let out a great sigh and deflate. No other reason offers itself for you to be awake at this hour; he knows you cherish sleep above anything. Teeth digging into your lip, you inhale long and hard, then exhale the gust of your cowardice. It’s not that deep, stupid. Fuck it.

You: coz

You: i miss u

You: like … a lot

You: 🙄

It’s final - you guess you’ve become a mushy wet sap. Truly it is embarrassing how big of a step this is for you; but the sense of pride and accomplishment feels oddly validating. Baby steps. The eye-rolling emoji right after is subconscious because you could only betray the core of your character that much. Forgo it and taehyung might not believe that it’s you.

Tete: omg

Tete: :D

Tete: rrly?

You: *blank kissy emoji*

Tete: wow

Tete: u actually don’t know how hard i’m smiling rn

You: simp

Tete: ofc that’s my middle name

Tete: i miss u a lot too

Tete: like a lotttttt

Tete: i’ll show u how much when i’m back

Ah… Of course, the Taehyung specialty - smothering you with his affection. You freeze at the thought of his wildfire kisses and head between your thighs. Nothing screams of how much you’ve missed each other more than a good dicking down, climax after climax until you’re both panting messes of sweat and entangled limbs. The anticipation makes you squirm under the sheets, legs pressing together.

You: pls do

You: i need u

It’s uncertain what spirit has possessed you at this ungodly hour for these words to come out of you. There’s an instant flash of ickiness, but you let the self-cringing simmer and dissipate into the realisation that this is okay, this is normal. Taehyung’s your boyfriend, couples text like this. You need to grow some.

Tete: fuck baby

Tete: i’m so not used to u texting like this, it's driving me crazy

You: crazy how *cat smirk*

If you weren’t smiling before, you’re definitely grinning like an idiot now. His reaction is predictable, yet oddly still, an incredible wave of satisfaction hits you. And because you want to savour this moment, maybe give him a taste of his own medicine, you send him a picture of yourself.

Camisole strap slid off your shoulder, hair splayed out, bottom lip deep red from biting down on it too much. Just to return the favour.

Tete: y/n

Tete: call me now

-Incoming call from Tete-

Laughing to yourself, you wait a good few seconds before picking up to prolong his torture. “Yes, Taehyung?” You put your thumb between your teeth to suppress the laughter.

“Fuck.” Against the silence of the night, the low rasp of his voice permeating into you from the speaker of your phone sends tingles up your toes. You’ve fucking missed his voice more than you thought. “Y/N… You can’t do this to me.”

“I told you, I miss you. Like… a lot.” The saccharine tone in your reply is foreign to your own ears, but you like the sound of it and the deep rumble it elicits from your boyfriend.

“How much?” Taehyung eggs you on. His words are barely slurred, so you gather that he has sobered up at least for the most part by now. Yet there is still a slowness to it that suggests

“Hmm, like… I touched myself every night at the thought of you a lot.”

A sharp inhale. Then silence. But you know better so you give him a moment to gather himself.

“You shouldn’t be putting that image in my head.” Exasperation is evident in his voice, desperate and yearning. You can imagine him now, one hand on his phone, the other sliding over his pants that are getting a bit too tight for comfort. Your breath hitches.

“Then you shouldn’t have sent me that picture, Taehyung…”

“You said it was soft and fluffy. What you sent me back was not soft and fluffy.”

“Just because it’s soft doesn’t mean it doesn’t turn me on. You do things to me… okay?” Heat trapped beneath the skin of your cheeks, your grip on the phone against your ear slackening as your thighs rub together.

“Fuck, I’m getting hard, baby…” Nothing gets him going more than the knowledge that he turns you on, it’s his weakness but somewhat his strength.

“That’s… unfortunate. Are you going to do something about it?”

His gulp is audible even over the phone. “Uh…” A sigh. “Um. Maybe. Thoughts are being thought.”

“What kind of thoughts? Thoughts about me touching myself and moaning your name? Thoughts about how much I wish my fingers were your cock thrusting so deep into me that I feel it in my guts? Or are you thinking about what you’ll do to me when you’re back tomorrow? Fucking my mouth until I’m crying or filling me up with your cum first?” Your hips buckle at the filth leaving your mouth. This is more like you; you haven’t abandoned your nature after all.

“Oh, fuckkkk.” His moan resonates into your skull, not quite as if he’s here with you but good enough to fill your desire. “Y/N… I need you so badly.” Breath ragged, you hear movement of his sheets in the background as he adjusts into a more comfortable position.

“Are you stroking your cock right now?” A warm slick oozes out of your own entrance. There’s something about Taehyung masturbating to you that elevates you to a different kind of high.

“What do you think, baby?” As you listen closely, you hear the slow rhythm of his pumping, and your fingers ache to pleasure yourself. ‘The things I’ll fucking do to you when I’m back.”

“Mmm, but it’s late, Taehyung, why don’t we go to sleep.”

“Wait, what?” The stroking stops instantly and surprise in his voice releases a smug satisfaction into your veins. The equivalent of pouring a bucket of ice water over his head right now. Teasing is an old undying habit, what can you say? “You wanna end the call now?”

“Yeah, we should sleep, babe.” Grin unsuppressed, you turn over onto your side, probably a bit too pleased with yourself at your success. Taehyung is an easy victim always.

“What the fuckkk?” Your boyfriend groans. “You’re seriously going to tease me this hard then leave me high and dry?” When you offer no more response than a sly chuckle, he add, “You’re so evil.”

“Save it for tomorrow, Taehyung. Think about it, we’re one sleep away from seeing each other again.”

“Fuck, I know. But you just got me so fucking horny, bruhhh. I thought we were gonna have phone sex.” You are still laughing at his whining, basking in the victory you’re holding over him.

“Taehyung, save it for the real sex.” The idea of phone sex crossed your mind several times to be honest, but you really want to collect every single drop of desire and longing and unleash it tomorrow. Raw and pent up. Nothing to dampen the fire.

A sigh of defeat down the line. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know?” You know. “How am I supposed to sleep now though? I’m so rock hard that it hurts.”

“You can figure that out yourself, big guy.” Your cheeks ache from smiling for too long; they often do during calls with him. “One sleep away, okay?”

“Ugh, fine, you demon. I can’t believe you sometimes.” He lets out another sigh. Your heart skips at the anticipation of how he will punish you for this. “Good night, I miss you.”

“Good night, I miss you more.” There’s a sudden change of tone with these words. Because you truly mean it. Sex and physical intimacy aside, you really just missed his voice, his banter.

You fall asleep almost immediately.

.

You don’t think you’ve heard a sweeter sound than the keys rattling at the door the next day. Practically leaping off the couch where you had been awaiting him in your Taeyhyung-less boredom, you run to the door.

As it swings open, heat courses to your chest when your eyes land on his, so full of comfort. Your boyfriend is home. Handsome as ever, much more tanned than your memory of him and much more attractive. White t-shirt and loose black shorts, a mundane outfit that only he could make look exceptional.

And as much as you want to sprint up and throw yourself onto him, your feet stay planted on the floor.

“Hey.” You barely breathe out.

Stay calm and composed, you tell yourself. It was only one week without him, it’s not like he’s returning from war.

But Taehyung doesn’t even reply, because in two long strides he is standing before you, bags tossed to the side, a sign of their insignificance in the presence of you. His arms find their home circled around you, face buried in your hair before you can utter another word. You don’t hesitate to return his embrace, holding his waist as you let yourself fall into his chest. He smells like what summer should, the ocean, sweat and young love; his familiar musk greeting you as if he never left.

Your lips meet his, strong and full of intent. He’s so unexpectedly soft when he kisses back, a timeless romantic dance like he is saviour your taste on his tongue.

With your weight leaning on him, he slowly topples back, stepping hastily until your bodies land on the couch. You fit your legs on either side of him as you burrow your nose in his neck and breathe him in, memorise him. In nothing but a large shirt, your bare thighs are exposed for his roaming.

When you pull away and face each other, you are struck by his beauty. His skin is sun-kissed and glowing, hair an effortlessly beautiful mess, the slightest hint of a stubble peeking through below his nose. Your heart belongs to him forever, you know it without a doubt.

“You smell so good. I missed you so much, baby.” And his voice… That deep baritone honey that you have taken for granted all this time - music to your ears.

“Imissedyoutoo…” You mumble, shy under his undivided attention and mercilessly unbroken eye contact.

With your chests pressed together, his chuckle rumbles into you. “What was that?”

“I missed you too… I guess.” Face flaming, you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye at your admittance, fingers twirling around his curls to preoccupy yourself.

But he cups your chin and turns your face to him, forehead pressing up to yours until your noses are touching, breaths mixing. “That’s not what you said last night.” Taehyung smirks, hands sliding down to your waist, the material of your shirt bunching up in his hands. “Do I need to remind you?”

“No…” You find yourself unable to keep your eyes open, your core pulsing mercilessly as you grind onto him. “How are you already hard, Taehyung…” And though you mean to scold him, it comes out breathless.

Lips hovering, he traces the edge of your jaw, tingling the sensitive little hairs on its way to your ear. When he reaches the shell of your ear, warm breath infiltrating so relentlessly into you, you almost lose yourself right there on his lap. “Don’t you know how much I love you?” He whispers.

“Show me.” Is all you make out.

His hands are already beneath your shirt before you even notice, palms kneading into your breasts as he takes your nipples between his two fingers and rolls. As he kisses you again, the same tenderness exchanges between your lips. It’s a different kind of desperation to be so slow and gentle, one that means so much more than sex, one that’s telling of how much you truly missed each other. Your hips roll with a mind of their own over him. One hand of his comes down to your ass, guiding the waves of your rocking. And each time his stiff clothed member digs into your clit, you whimper into his mouth.

Carefully, Taehyung rolls you over onto your back, sucking your bottom lip to keep the seal from breaking. He pulls away when he’s on top of you, and a string of glistening saliva bridges between your mouths. “Foreplay or no? Tell me what you want?” Compliant as ever.

“I need you to fill me up right now. Anything else can wait.” You watch the devotion ignite in his eyes. His fingers are in a hurry as they pull your panties off, knees spreading your legs open as he kneels between your gaping entrance. He tugs his shirt off from the collar, such smoothness in his action that your insides coil up. His newly-bronzed rich skin revealed, you can’t help but reach up and run your hands down from chest to navel, revelling in his blemishless ridges.

A low sound reverberates from the back of Taehyung’s throat as your touch travels down to unbutton his shorts. They fall loose. His hard throbbing members springs free, a glistening bead oozing from his slit. “You didn’t wear boxers?”

When you glance up, you notice his sheepish grin. He presses his mouth onto yours, still smiling, guiding you back onto your back. “I just couldn’t wait.” Taehyung whispers. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, especially since last night… Ah, fuck.” Another deep groan erupts from him as you reach down and slather that bead of precum all over his tip. His head falls onto your neck, writhing under your merciless stroking.

His tip brushing against your clit, your toes curls at the teasing of your weakness, hips jolting up involuntarily and perhaps a bit too violently. You’re so embarrassingly sensitive after this many days without Taehyung, and he notices from your breathless reaction. Smirking, he takes his shaft in his hand and runs his stiff head over your clit mercilessly. And as you roll your head back helplessly, he nibbles onto your exposed neck, faint stubble grazing your skin.

“Quit the teasing…” You whine, unable to withstand the build up of twisting pressure begging to be fulfilled between your legs. “Just put-”

Taehyung pushes himself into you so abruptly that you yelp. And there it is, that mind-melting stretch of your walls that you’ve so much missed. “Fuck, Taehyung…” Your entire core feels ablaze, so numbing that your nails dig into the leather of the couch before they find grip on his arms.

“Like that, baby?” His voice his strained, as if he’s struggling not to lose his mind as well.

Nodding because you can’t make out a word as he slowly pulls out, you grab his face and pull him up to meet your lips. You whimper into him mouth when he rams into you again, hitting your walls in full force, no mercy. His kiss doesn’t lose its sincerity despite the juxtaposition of his vigorous thrusts, though you can’t say that he is quite as gentle with as before. You pinch his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it as your fingers get lost in his hair.

After seven days of deprevation of his cock, your cunt is leaking with the fluid of your arousal, aiding in the ease of each plunge. You feel the stiffness of his ridges pulling you open as he slides in and out of you. “Fuck…” He pants, mouth hovering over yours.

“Let me get on top.” Taehyung’s eyes flash at your suggestion, instantly rolling onto his back. He slips out during the switch of position and the wetness of your cunt is assailed by a sudden rush of cool air.

You swing your leg over and mount him, watching him watch you pump his dick, your own liquid slathered over him sticky in your hand. Letting his member fall against his abdomen, you grind over him between your folds, hands splayed out over his chest. The friction created each time your clit would slide over the thin pinch of skin where his tip unfolded into his shaft has Taehyung a groaning mess.

He looks remarkable under you.

You push his sweat-dampened curls out of his forehead, eyes half closed in euphoria, half watching you roll your cunt so lewdly over his length. You know you could make him cum like this if you continue. But you want him to cum inside you first, you want to feel that thick hot spurt of his desire shoot again and again into you until his cock is twitching.

So slowly, lubricated by your wetness, you sink inch by inch down until the skin of your ass meets his thighs. This angle fuck with your mind; you think you feel him at your cervix. Then your hips start to do what they know best, pounding over him with a rhythm that you’re proud of.

Taehyung grabs hold of your waist, your breasts, fury in his eyes as he watches you ride him with such determination. “I love you so much.” He heaves between heavy breaths.

“I love you, I missed you more than you could imagine.” You huff, thumb running over his red swollen lips.

“I love when you admit it.” He sits up and takes the swell of your breast in his mouth, making his way to your nipples where his tongue relentlessly flickers over.

Your thighs are starting to burn, core aching because his cock is thrusting up into you so deep that you feel it in your guts. The signs are appearing - your vision is going hazy, walls squeezing tightly around him, tangle upon tangles knoting in your stomach. His are too - his head is slumped against your chest, arms crossed behind your back as he holds you close to him, whole body starting to tense as he begins to curse.

Pace quickening, you don’t let the tire of your muscles stop you from your chase. The slap of your skins ringing in your ears, you keep riding, cunt swallowing his cock whole each bounce. Taehyung breaks first. “Fuck!” He calls out into your neck. His cum squirts into you, pulse after pulse, your boyfriend’s hips jolting each thrust.

“I’m so close, babe, keep going for me.” You plead, knowing how sensitive he is right after his climax. He nods wordlessly, face still buried in you hair. The lubrication of his cum abolishes any resistance, letting you slide over him easier than sitting down. And not five thrusts later, your own coil snaps. You through your head back at the wave of pleasure that drowns you, your entire core on fire as your moans echo through the room. It takes maybe twenty seconds for your walls to stop throbbing and for the orgasm to slowly die down.

Taehyung is already growing limp inside you after his orgasm. “Thank you.” You whisper against his forehead while you dismount. His cum flows out of your slit and down the insides of your thighs, but he refuses to let go of you.

When he looks up, you are struck by an overwhelming sensationf of adoration. His long dark curls fall slightly over his eyes, in disarray but just the way you like it. His eyes are so full of genuine love and gratitude of having you that you can’t help but capture him with your lips. “No, thank you.” He mumbles against you, falling back onto the couch with you in his embrace.

After a long kiss of after-sex affection, you pull away before it leads to a second round. “I want you to know that I really missed you a lot. I can’t even call you a big baby anymore because I stared at all the pictures you sent me every night till the sun came out.”

Taehyung’s boyish smile melts your heart. You’ve missed him way too much. His smile, his goofy comments, his tender kisses. “My heart… is squeezing…” If his smile doesn’t tell how smitten he is, his eyes definitely do. “I missed you so much too. All the boys made fun of me for being such a wettie ‘coz I couldn’t shut up about you.” The thought is so endearing that you can’t help but hide your face.

“So how was your trip? Plenty of hot girls drooling after you?” Trick question of course, you know that for a fact already.

“Haha, it was good, fun. Bet you couldn’t sleep ‘coz you were trembling from jealousy.” Scoffing you land a smack on his chest. “But nah, no hot girls. Nowadays there’s only one hot girl in my eyes.”

Your own lips spread like a cheshire cat. “Shut up, cutie.”

“Rachel McAdams.”

“Let go of me. Don’t even touch me.”

.

A/N: Moral of the story, never sit on their couch if you’re a guest at the Heatwave house.

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24/08/20

© Copyright 2020

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[kasienda]

The Five Minute Adventures of Snake Noir: Ch 7 - Five Minute Adventures of Ananta

Chapter 1: I Want It To Be You

Chapter 2: Best Friends

Chapter 3: Best Laid Plans

Chapter 4: A Thank You

Chapter 5: Unwanted Revelations

Chapter 6: Miraculous Abuse

Chapter 7: Five Minute Adventures of Ananta

Adrien’s room felt more like a prison than it ever had before, and he had always felt like the walls were closing in on him a bit, and so that afternoon he had snuck out to Nino’s the second he had managed to chase Nathalie out of his room. 

Nino’s room - despite being small and cramped - never made Adrien feel claustrophobic. Adrien suspected it had something to do with the company. 

“What should my snake name be?” Nino asked out of nowhere.

“You’re not going to use it!” Adrien objected. “You don’t need a name.”

“Come on, dude! Just for fun!” 

Adrien sighed. “Basilisk.” 

Nino tapped his lips in consideration. “It’s okay. I don’t feel much like the king of anything.” 

“Python.” 

“Boring.”

“Diamondback.” 

Nino’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What does Diamondback have to do with anything?”

“It’s a type of snake,” Adrien explained, and then turned to Nino with a smirk. “But it’s also a type of turtle.” 

Nino just shook his head. “That’s a better reason not to use it. No associations with turtles! We gotta keep my identity super secret!”

“The best way to keep it secret is to not use the snake at all!” 

“What about something to do with time?” Nino asked, ignoring Adrien’s objection. 

“Cronos.” 

“Also boring! Dude! Why are you so bad at this?”

“I don’t see you coming up with anything.”

“Because you’re definitely the cooler of the two of us,” Nino said.  

Adrien shook his head. “Nino, I named myself Black Cat. I’m not super original when it comes to names.” 

Nino laughed. “Fair point.”

“And you are just as cool as me,” he insisted, though he whipped out his phone anyway and typed out a search for ‘names related to time’ and started scrolling through various sites with baby and pet names. 

“What do you think of Baqi?” Adrien asked. “It means eternal.” 

Nino frowned. “That’s an arabic name. Do you think me taking on an arabic name is potentially identity revealing?”

“Okay, here’s one in sanskrit. Ananta.”

Nino nodded. “A bit of a mouthful, but I like it.” 

Adrien’s eyebrows rose. “A mouthful compared to Carapace?”

Nino laughed. “What’s it mean?” 

“Infinite.” 

“Dude! Perfect. Let’s go with Ananta. I wonder what I look like with the snake.”

Adrien groaned, seriously regretting in that moment giving Nino the Snake instead of Ladybug.

“Do you not want me to?” Nino asked seriously.

Adrien waved his hand in encouragement. “Just do it. I’d be curious too.” He was curious, too. 

Nino grinned and scrambled to his feet. “Sass! Scales slither.”

Adrien found himself mirroring Nino’s excitement. These silly stupid moments with Nino were the ones that were keeping him sane at the moment. 

The rest of the time he was a bit of a mess. 

Keep reading on Ao3

Adrien found himself a lot more resentful of his homework than normal when it stole away most of his time to spend on his friends and on himself now that he was used to being able to finish at least half of it in the space of five minutes as far as the rest of the world was concerned. 

And it didn’t help that it was suddenly so much harder to pay attention in class since he was hyper aware of Marinette sitting right behind him every single day. 

Seeing her in general was really hard because he knew how she felt. He knew that if he asked her out she would likely say yes, and he had to hold himself back. Before he had given up the snake, he had been able to scratch that itch by visiting her in the evenings in a time loop. 

Now? Now, he had to survive off of her garbled greetings and flustered blushes. 

He lived for her blushes. The blush that had always been there since he had apologized to her in the rain the day they met. He had thought she was just shy and self-conscious. But now, it was easy to recognize that she didn’t do it around anyone else - not even Chat Noir. That blush was reserved for Adrien Agreste and Adrien Agreste alone. 

It meant that she loved him. 

It was a good thing that it didn’t take much to trigger. Just a simple greeting often did the trick. 

“Good morning, Marinette.” 

And the pink would bloom across her cheeks like flowers in spring every time. 

That blush kept him from going out of his mind. It reminded him that she still loved him even if she wasn’t able to say it. 

A god, he hoped that she didn’t say anything because right now, he wasn’t ever going to be able to say no. 

“G-good morning, Adrien.”

He smiled. Her stutter was less reliable. She was getting better at talking to him, which he figured was a good sign, but he also loved that he could still fluster her on occasion. “How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” she said.

He didn’t like that answer. He knew that it wasn’t real. He turned to her as she sat down, and leaned into her space. “Marinette, how are you, really?” 

She looked at him in surprise. “I’m… things were rough for awhile, but I think I’m starting to get a handle on the new order of things.” 

“I’m glad.” And he meant it. Telling Alya had clearly changed things for her for the better. He was so glad she didn’t have to hold the weight of the world alone anymore. 

“How are you?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “I’m still figuring out my new order of things, but I like to think that things are actually trending in the right direction.” It might even be true. He wasn’t sure, to be honest. He was definitely getting better at coping with the absolute insanity his life had become if nothing else. 

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” she asked.

He smiled. “Of course.” 

It wasn’t everything he wanted. It wasn’t everything he knew the moment could be. 

But… it was enough.

At least most of the time. 

When it wasn’t, he called Nino and screamed about the injustice of it all, whines about how unfair and unreasonable his father was,  cursed Shadowmoth’s existence to all nine levels of hell, ranted about how much he just wanted to be able to be done with it all so that he and Ladybug didn’t have to worry about akumas or the end of the world. They could just be teenagers.

They could just be happy. 

But Shadowmoth clearly had other plans. After a lull, the akumas exploded both in frequency and awfulness. The encounters were taking longer to handle - especially without the benefit of the snake - and Adrien was having a much harder time explaining his disappearances and his father was suddenly breathing down his neck even more than usual. 

“Your marks have not been up to your usual standard, Adrien.” 

“I’m sorry, father.”

“Need I remind you that you promised you would continue to excel if you started at public school? If you cannot maintain the usual standards of excellence, I will not hesitate to return you to lessons with private tutors.”

Adrien hung his head. “Yes, father.” 

“In the meantime, you will spend less time with your friends until your grades improve.” 

Adrien sighed, and trudged back to his room. The punishment meant almost nothing because as far as his father was concerned, he only was allotted an hour a week with his friends, and usually a photoshoot got scheduled on top of his scheduled “friend time”. And of course, Adrien was actually hanging out with Nino almost every day without his father’s knowledge. 

But he felt exhausted anyway. He was tired of shoots, he was tired of homework, he was tired of Akumas, and he was most definitely tired of pretending. Tired of pretending for the sake of his father’s company image, tired of pretending he wasn’t worn down to nothing from all the responsibilities of both his personas, tired of pretending Marinette was just a friend. 

He flopped onto his bed only for the akuma alert to go off two minutes later. Adrien groaned. It was the second one that day and the fifth one that week.

But Adrien dragged himself to his feet anyway. At least he would get to see Marinette again.

But it wasn’t Ladybug he ran into on the scene.

It was Ananta. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Chat Noir demanded. 

Ananta was hiding hunched over in an alleyway with the whole akuma scene in clear view. “Just offering a little insurance. I haven’t actually engaged in any of the battles, but they’ve seemed a little rough lately.”

“Battles?” Chat Noir repeated. “As in plural, as in more than one?”

Ananta winced. “Yeah, I’ve been doing this for the last four or five akumas because things have seemed super dicey for you. But I haven’t actually engaged with the akuma or anything.”

“How many loops?” Adrien asked harshly.

“So far, none. You’re that awesome, dude!” Ananta raved, clapping Chat Noir on the back.  “You would have known if I had been through a loop because I’d have to intervene to give you the info on the last loop, right?”

Adrien relaxed. “Right.” 

....

But the akuma after that, Nino did intervene. 

But at least Ananta had managed to stay out of Ladybug’s sight and out of any pictures. 

And after the fact, Nino had insisted he had only needed three loops to defeat that akuma. 

“I don’t like it,” Adrien had insisted anyway. “Please, don’t use it anymore.” 

“Dude! I’m not doing this for some adrenaline rush. I’m not like Alya who goes looking for trouble, or like you who insists on throwing yourself in front of the blasts. I’m doing this only because it’s clear that Hawkmoth has stepped up his game, and you need support.” 

Adrien started to object. 

“Ladybug needs support, too,” Nino added. 

Which was such a low blow. Because Adrien was never going to be able to argue with that. 

“Unless you want to take it back?” Nino offered.

Adrien considered it. He didn’t want Nino to get stuck in a battle loop. He didn’t want Nino to experience anything like Desperada. At least in his own case, he was already damaged and traumatized by what he had experienced.

But even the idea of taking it scared the crap out of him. Because there was no way he wouldn’t use it to visit Marinette. 

He missed her with every fiber of his being. It had only been three weeks. Three weeks where he hadn’t been able to have a conversation with her without filters, three weeks since he had been able to kiss her. He hadn’t been able to kiss her for like three weeks. Three excruciating long weeks where he hadn’t been able to tell her that Adrien and Chat Noir were one in the same. Where he had been truly seen for all that he was and truly loved because of it. 

And the more time that went by the less convinced he was that he’d be able to come out of that loop.

“No, you should still hang onto it,” he whispered. 

“Or if you wanted, we could give it back to Ladybug,” Nino suggested. “She could hand it out to whoever Viperion is.” 

Which was reasonable. Though Adrien wasn’t sure he wanted Luka to experience a bad battlefield loop either. 

Then the akuma alert rang simultaneously from both their phones. Adrien covered his hands in his face. 

“Gah! Does he never sleep?!” 

“Come on, mec. Let’s go.” 

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” 

During the battle, Nino had intervened, but he hadn’t intervened with Chat Noir; he had spoken to Ladybug in the final loop. The battle had gone amazingly smoothly after that, but Ananta slipped away before the traditional fist bump and Ladybug was not pleased. 

She was pissed. 

“You lost the snake?!” Ladybug demanded, her blue eyes flashing in anger.

“I didn’t lose it!” he said defensively. “I know exactly where it is.”

“You gave it away? Why?”

His claws tore through his own hair as he took a deep breath. “Because… it wasn’t safe with me anymore,” he admitted softly.

Some of her anger faded, replaced with concern. “What does that mean?”

“I can’t explain without telling you things you’ve told me not to tell you.” Which was mostly true. 

She fidgeted on the spot, considering. “Can you tell me who he is?” she asked. 

He laughed. “Definitely not.” 

“What?! Why not?”

“I gave it to my best friend, Ladybug. If you know who he is, you’ll know who I am. And that apparently might lead to the end of the world,” he bit out sarcastically. 

She frowned. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he admitted. 

“What can I do?” she asked. 

“You can’t do anything,” he told her gently. “I’m handling it.” 

“I… I don’t like not knowing what’s going on with you,” she admitted. 

He laughed darkly. “Welcome to my world.”

She blushed. She actually blushed! He had made her blush as Chat Noir! Sure, it was probably more out of embarrassment than love, but he would take it!

“I guess I deserved that one,” she said. 

He took her hand and squeezed it. He wished he could sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but he couldn’t risk that. “I know exactly how frustrating it is to be left in the dark.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

He shook his head, squeezing her hand through their gloves once again. What would it feel like to hold her hand when neither of them was transformed? He wanted to find out. He wanted it so bad.  

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” he said. “I just want you to know that I understand. And I will tell you everything when it’s safe. In the meantime, can you please just trust me?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. You know that I do!”

And he did, now, didn’t he? 

He smiled. 

“I’m just…  I’m scared that if something happens to you, the snake will be lost,” she said.

“The person I gave it to knows how to get it back to you in that case,” he said.

“And how would he get it back to me?” she asked.

“He’d give it to you or to Rena Rouge during a patrol.”

She seemed startled at his inclusion of Rena Rouge, but she nodded. “You trust him?”

“I trust him more than I trust myself. And as much as I trust you.” 

“And they can handle the side effects of the snake?” 

Adrien sighed again. That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Could anyone handle the effects of the snake? “He’s done really well so far. This wasn’t the first battle where he’s been here, offering us a bit of insurance.”

She winced. “Yeah, the akumas have sucked lately.”

“Tell me about it.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry that I questioned you. I do trust you and your judgement. Your friend can keep the snake as long as you think it’s best.” 

“Thank you, LB,” he said softly. 

She nodded and smiled. He returned the expression and offered her a friendly salute. 

Then he vaulted straight for Nino’s family home. 

“How many loops?” Adrien asked without preamble. 

Nino rolled his eyes. “It was nineteen this time. But it wasn’t bad at all, dude. Kinda weird and trippy, but not so bad.”

But Adrien didn’t like it. He feared the number would keep growing. How many loops was too many? 

Adrien didn’t know.

…

His father had missed eight dinners in a row, and Adrien couldn’t decide if he felt relieved or disappointed.

On one hand, his father’s absence meant Adrien could ask to eat in his room, which meant he could escape the mansion that much sooner. And Nino actually wanted to spend time with Adrien.

It also meant he’d avoid his father’s censure about everything from his last photoshoot to the way he held his fork. Adrien simply did not have the energy to be on his best behavior.

But his father’s continued absence also felt like it reaffirmed Adrien’s fears - that his father didn’t care. And the longer his father’s absence the more desperate Adrien was for any sign, no matter how small, that his father had thought about him at all. 

When his father’s scowling face did join him at the dining room table on evening number nine, Adrien regretted ever wishing for his father to make an appearance. 

“Your grades have dropped unacceptably low,” were the first words out of his father’s mouth.

Adrien fought off his eye roll. He literally had two B’s and the rest of his classes were A’s. Admittedly one of them was borderline, but he didn’t think anyone else’s parents in his class would have found his performance subpar even if this was the lowest his own grades had ever been in his life.

“You also didn’t behave professionally at the last photoshoot. You arrived late and your hair and make-up had to be redone.”

Adrien sighed. That had been four Akumas ago. Or was it five? Honestly, Adrien was losing track. 

“We didn’t get all the shots we needed. It has been rescheduled for Monday morning. You have two weeks to turn around both your attitude and your grades,” he father said without an ounce of warmth or concern, “or you will return to home schooling.”

Adrien sighed. “I’m sorry I have disappointed you father. I have been… having a hard time maintaining my motivation lately.”

Gabriel’s expression did not change at all. “Why?” he asked. 

Adrien froze at the question. He didn’t know what to say because he knew there wasn’t a correct answer. And not answering at all wasn’t acceptable either. He was going to lose here no matter what. 

He shouldn’t have said anything other than he would try harder.

Well, if he was screwed no matter what, might as well go with the truth.

“I think I’ve been depressed lately,” he admitted. 

“You’re not qualified to make that assessment.”

“I suppose not,” Adrien conceded. But would his father offer to send him to someone who was? 

Most likely not.

“What do you have to be depressed about?” Gabriel asked coldly. 

And something within Adrien just snapped. Whether it was his sleep deprivation, being beyond overworked both physically and mentally, or his longing to drop all the masks, or some combination of all of it, Adrien didn’t know. 

“Are you kidding me right now?” Adrien demanded. “Every second of every day of my life is planned without my input or consideration. I have no control. But I do all of it anyway. I train for national fencing competitions, get perfect scores, work I-don’t-know-how-many hours a week modeling for you. I have no space to breathe, let alone enjoy anything. I feel like a programmed robot going through a routine!”

The room fell into silence as Adrien’s tirade ended abruptly. Every muscle was locked and tense, waiting for punishment and condemnation. And despite that, Adrien couldn’t bring himself to regret it because, well, he was screwed either way at this point, so he might as well go down with a bang.

“Are you finished?” his father asked. He didn’t raise his voice, but Adrien flinched anyway. 

“Yes, father,” he said meekly. 

Gabriel removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “Clearly, I have expected too much of you.”

Adrien knew better than to find any relief in that conclusion. 

“I will arrange with Nathalie to have your schedule adjusted. She will add additional recreational activities suitable to a boy of your age, and reduce your current obligations significantly.” 

Which translated to they would remove him from school and schedule his so called free time with activities that Adrien had no interest in or with other teenagers he didn’t know.

“Father, I appreciate your concern,” he said formally. “That will not be necessary. I was having a weak moment. I will work harder,” he promised, though Adrien knew he wouldn’t be able to manage much more at the moment. 

His father nodded. “I look forward to seeing notes of your improved performance this Friday.” 

And now he had five days instead of two full weeks. 

Adrien wanted to scream. And he did scream later that night when he had escaped to Nino’s bedroom for the tenth time that week. He ranted and complained about the unfairness of it all, and Nino just listened with rapt attention.

“Can I at least deck him, dude? Please?” Nino asked when Adrien had finally run out of steam. “Just once? He won’t even remember!” 

Adrien laughed. “It won’t help anything.”

“I might feel better,” Nino disagreed. “You might, too.” 

And then an akuma alert sounded from both of their phones. 

They both groaned, but a second later, they had both transformed and were leaping out of Nino’s bedroom window.

The akuma was a porcupine the size of a bus. It’s spines did not look remotely friendly. That first impression solidified tenfold when the akuma started hurling the spines off its back like javelins in a jousting tournament. 

But despite his initial misgivings, the fight could not have gone more smoothly. 

Ananta had barreled both he and Ladybug out of the way, and helped them identify the akumatized item pretty much instantly. The whole encounter lasted about three minutes. 

But when he turned to Ladybug and Ananta for their traditional fist bump, Ananta had pushed past the offered fist and tackled him in a hug. Adrien returned the embrace with a surprised grunt. A second later he felt Nino’s quaking form in his arms. 

Apparently, the fight hadn’t been all that smooth afterall. 

“How many loops?” Adrien asked softly. 

“You don’t want to know,” Nino sobbed into his shoulder. 

“Ananta,” Adrien growled.

“1,674,” Nino admitted.

Ladybug tried to reassure them both with small hands on their shoulders. Nino just pulled her into the hug, too, and didn’t let go. 

“I’m really glad you’re both okay,” he cried and then he dissolved into wracking sobs again. Chat Noir and Ladybug both held him tightly.

But Ladybug couldn’t stay, as she was about to time out. She pulled away from their group hug with a concerned frown. 

“Are you going to be okay with him?” 

“Don’t worry,” Adrien assured her. “I’ll take him home and make sure he’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry I have to run,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrien said again, before wrapping one of Nino’s arms over his shoulder and vaulting them both up to the nearest rooftop. 

He then ducked them both into a secluded alleyway that Chat Noir had used to transform before. Nino hadn’t stopped crying the entire time. 

“Nino, can you hear me?” 

Nino nodded.

“You need to lose the transformation, so we can feed Sass. Can you do that?” 

Nino managed to follow the instructions through hysterical sobs. Adrien followed suit and both kwami’s ate a slice of Plagg’s cheese. It was a sign of how serious everything was that neither kwami complained. Adrien transformed again.

“Okay Nino. You need to transform again, and then start a loop. Stay in that loop until you’re able to stop crying, you got it? It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I will be here with you the whole time.”

Nino was still shaking and crying, but he managed to choke out the transformation phrase and called for his second chance. 

Instantly, Ananta stood before him, infinitely calmer than he had been just a second prior. 

“Woah,” Adrien said. “That’s weird. How long?” 

“Just a few hours,” Nino said, his voice was quiet, but it was steady. Adrien wrapped him into a hug. 

“Thank you,” Nino whispered. 

“As you have told me many many times, as many times as you need, whenever you need.”

“I don’t know how you have dealt with it so well,” Nino said. 

“I mean, you don’t remember all the times I was as much of mess as you were just a few seconds ago.” 

“I remember you freaking out about learning Ladybug’s identity,” Nino countered. “I… I didn’t understand why you didn’t want me to use it for battles. I… get it now.” 

“I’m sorry,” Adrien whispered. 

Nino shook his head. “The alternative would have been so much worse, dude. You would have lost this one.” 

“Thank you for saving our lives then. I’m sorry for what it has cost you.” 

Nino shrugged. “I think I’ll be okay. Can I keep it for a few more days? Abuse it a bit?” 

Adrien nodded. “Yeah of course. Abuse it like crazy and it will put space between you and what happened.”

Nino nodded, and actually smiled. And for the first time, Adrien was positive things would be okay. 

“I already have some ideas,” Nino said.  

“Do I want to know?” Adrien asked. 

Nino’s grin was wolffish. That was a no.

“Have fun, dude.”

… 

Nino still felt shaky the next morning. It was too easy to close his eyes and see his best friend impaled through the chest, his green eyes wide in shock. But it almost worked out in his favor because it hadn’t taken any convincing for his parents to agree he should stay home from school. They thought he was coming down with something - that he had chills. 

He didn’t correct them. 

He just rocked himself back and forth, nursing the tea his mother had brought up to him, and waited for both of them to leave for work. The second the door had closed behind them, he had bolted out his window as Ananta. 

The freerunning helped, but it wasn’t enough. He had just gotten too good at it - he could leap across rooftops almost without thinking now, and certainly without any fear. What could seem terrifying after everything he had seen the day before? 

And that was how Nino found himself on top of the Eiffel Tower staring down at the ground below - the ground that according to his best friend was 324 meters below him. Adrien had said at one point long before Nino had ever known of his friend’s superhero identity that it would take just over eight seconds to fall to the ground, probably a little longer because of air resistance. 

Nino had never thought anything of why Adrien had taken the time to calculate that. He had just assumed Adrien was a nerd who liked physics and had too much time on his hands. Now, he found himself wondering if Adrien had calculated that for an entirely different reason. 

Nino activated the second chance and leapt off the tower backwards with an ecstatic whoop. He slid his fingers across the bracelet five seconds into his fall, and rematerialized at the top of the tower giggling. 

Now, that was base jumping. He performed the trick dozens of times diving off the tower in different angles and positions. 

He knew Sass did not approve. The kwami had said as much when he mentioned the idea this morning. Adrien likely wouldn’t either, but Nino would only tell him well after the fact. 

But the adrenaline rush was exactly what he needed to wipe away the memories from the day before. 

Next, he had broken through his homeroom’s window, and swept Alya up in his arms. He definitely noticed Marinette’s disapproving glare, and Adrien burying his face in his hands, but he didn’t have to care about this. In four and a half minutes, this would have never happened. 

“Ask me to tell you that I love you,” he said. 

She arched her eyebrows. “Am I going to regret this?” 

“Nope! No repercussions today.” 

“Tell me that you love me,” she said, her face alight in a grin. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“How much?” 

“More than a superhero,” he said. 

She smiled, and her fingers locked around his neck. Then he kissed her hard. The whole class was catcalling behind them, and Ms. Bustier was trying to restore order. 

Alya was giggling against his lips. “I can’t believe you.” 

“I’m just getting started,” he promised. 

He went through hundreds more loops abducting Alya from parts of her day. It was different every time, and he was insanely grateful that she played along as soon as she realized it was him each time without even knowing that he was having a tough time. 

Or maybe, she did know. Like, she had covered Ananta’s exploits the day before on the Ladyblog. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to read the post, but someone had no doubt had caught the tearful group hug at the end of the battle, and Alya would have had a better guess than most what that likely meant. 

And so when he showed up as Ananta and revealed himself to be her boyfriend she would know that had been him. 

She didn’t ask questions or demand explanations. She just laughed and kissed him over and over. She let him abduct her from their dreary classes over and over and bury his face in her curls and wrap himself in her protective embrace until his senses were overwhelmed with all things Alya.

God, he loved her so much. 

The tricky part was then trying to escape from each of their teachers. Surprisingly Mendeliev had been the easiest to slip around, but Bustier had given him quite the run around. 

Once the school day was over he had followed Adrien’s limo home. He had intended to spend a few loops just being stupid with Adrien, but once there… well, he had been wanting to give Gabriel a piece of his mind since Nino had befriended his son. He had only held back because Adrien wanted him to, and Gabriel was terrifying. If only one of those things had been true, Nino thinks he would have pushed it ages ago. 

Ananta set the timer from the rooftop of the mansion and then broke through the front doors. 

Nathalie jumped to her feet, but he ignored her and stormed straight for Gabriel’s office. 

Gabriel rose to his feet more slowly than Nathalie had to face his intruder. 

“Gabriel Agreste, I’m here to tell you that you are the absolute worst parent.”

The older man gestured Nathalie away from the door. She stepped back, but she did not close the door. 

“You are trespassing on private property. I demand that you leave,” the stoic man said, barely raising his voice, which Nino found infuriating. 

“No! Not until I’ve said my piece.”

Gabriel took a visibly annoyed breath. “You’re clearly a teenager.” 

“Your point?”

“You’re hardly qualified to judge my parenting approaches.” 

Nino wanted to pull his hair out.

“Except that I am because I’m the one who picks Adrien back up everytime you tear him down!”

Gabriel considered him stoically for a moment, his hands hidden behind his back. 

“Mr. Lahiffe, I have already banned you from the premises. Your adopting an anonymous persona does not negate those rules.” 

“Your rules are stupid and unfair! Adrien is amazing! He gets the highest grades! He has an insane work ethic, and is always kind and respectful to everyone! He does everything you ask of him! And then he does more! He’s an Olympic level fencer and is fluent in three languages!

“And somehow, you still find him wanting. You never give him the time of day. You never tell him you’re proud of him or that you love him! At best, you ignore him, and at worst you take the time to point out every tiny fault!” 

“He internalizes everything you say, everything you ask for. He tears himself to pieces trying to meet your impossible expectations, he buries his struggles and doubts, and you don’t even acknowledge his effort or his love for you.” 

Nino was shaking in rage at this point. Gabriel still seemed unaffected. 

“Are you finished?” The man asked indifferently. 

“No! I’m not! I don’t know if you know how much you’ve harmed him! How many times I’ve been legit worried that he was going to hurt himself or give up! 

“Somehow, he’s been able to survive it. But not because of any of the crap  you’ve taught him about being strong and exceptional. He’s just that resilient!” 

“Which is a good thing because he’s also Chat Noir!”

Gabriel’s lips tightened and his eyes narrowed, and Nino wanted to run a victory lap for finally getting a reaction from the asshole. 

Nino barreled forward. “He manages being a superhero in between all the hoops and circus you run him through! And if he’s been struggling more than normal lately, it’s only because Hawkmoth has been putting him through the wringer.” 

“Nathalie!” He called. 

Nathalie marched into the room so fast, Nino was convinced she had been waiting right outside the open door the entire time listening in. 

“Didn’t we eliminate the possibility of Adrien being Chat Noir during Gorizilla?” 

Nathalie typed something into her tablet and handed it to him. 

“It looks like we did not get facial confirmation, sir. The person we presumed to be Adrien was wearing a helmet.” 

Gabriel removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “My own son, this entire time.” 

Nino felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at Gabriel’s emotionless words that felt like a prison sentence.

Nino’s miraculous beeped. 

Gabriel’s stormy grey eyes shot toward the sound, and Nino took an involuntary step back.

And then Adrien’s father did something Nino never would have predicted. He lunged forward and struck Nino in the knee, and grabbed for the snake miraculous.

Nino dropped to the ground in agony, and jerked his arm just out of reach behind his back. 

“Second chance!” Nino screamed, sliding his other hand over the switch, grateful that he had so much practice in the last few days that the motion was automatic. 

He was back on the roof of the Agreste Mansion. His knee cap was fine, but his heart was roaring in his ears. 

That had not gone as he had been expecting. Not at all. 

Gabriel had actually attacked him and tried to take his miraculous. 

Nino wasn’t sure what it all meant. But he knew it couldn’t be good. 

...

[morganaspendragonss]

fall apart when it hurts too much

i had like three ideas for this fic so here’s all of them smashed together! ft. carlos and tk actually not being physically perfectly fine after being trapped in a fire, breakdowns in the shower, and an actual apology for that scene.

It's the smallest thing that breaks him, in the end. Ever since the fire, Carlos has been trying to keep a lid on everything, trying not to shatter even though he's been on the verge for hours now. He makes it to the shower, desperate to scrub the stench of smoke from his body, and then he just—

He drops the soap.

ao3 | 2.9k | 2.12 spoilers

Carlos barely makes it five steps from their house before his knees are hitting the tarmac, falling to all fours as his body heaves and shakes with coughing. He can’t catch his breath, and panic lights up in his chest, fingernails scrabbling at the ground despite the pain. Hands are on him, too big and rough to be TK’s, but Carlos doesn’t have a chance to work out who they belong to before they’re shifting under his arms, dragging him backwards even as their house explodes, a blast of intense heat washing over them.

If he had any breath left in him, Carlos is certain it would have abandoned him in that moment. Everything he’s spent years building for himself, all gone in the blink of an eye. It’s too much, and he collapses back down the second whoever’s holding him lets go. His eyes are streaming, a combination of irritation from the smoke, the tightness in his lungs, and a terror that he suspects won’t leave him for a long, long time. 

He gasps, forehead pressed to the concrete, and then hands are on him again, but these—these, he knows. Carlos sags gratefully into TK’s arms, allowing him to pull him close and resting his head on TK’s chest, right above his heart.

He still can’t really breathe, and judging by the ragged gasps from above him, TK isn’t faring much better. But his heart is beating. 

They’re alive.

Carlos closes his eyes, drifting away from himself as the fire continues to burn and the wail of sirens cut through the night air. TK curls his body around him and Carlos clings to that security with both hands. It means they made it out; somehow, they made it out.

TK’s lips press against his cheek, then his mouth shifts to his ear, voice rough yet still soothing when he speaks. “Baby, we need to move,” he says. “We gotta — They gotta check us out.”

Carlos feels himself nodding, but it’s the only movement he can manage. His entire body is trembling and his mind is frozen, replaying the last five minutes over and over on repeat.

God, had it only been five minutes?

“Come on.” TK tugs at his arm and, after a few tries, Carlos manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough to begin to rise. A dizziness comes over him without warning and he stumbles, nearly pulling them both back to the ground; it occurs to Carlos that TK can’t be any more steady than he is. They’d been in there for the same time, after all.

Judd catches Carlos before he falls, and he sees through blurred vision Owen doing the same for TK. They’re led - or, rather, carried - to the ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through Carlos’s already pounding skull, and carefully lowered down onto the step. Unthinkingly, Carlos grabs TK’s hand, unsure if the tremor in the touch is coming from him or TK.

Oxygen masks are secured over both their faces and shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders, the soft material comforting. A kind-looking paramedic kneels in front of them, asking them questions about symptoms as she wraps burns Carlos didn’t even realise he’d acquired. He barely manages a nod or a head shake at the appropriate moments, his brain struggling to catch up with it all.

He’s so tired. All he wants is to be asleep in their bed, in TK’s arms, and for this to be a horrible nightmare he’s yet to wake from.

But their bed is gone. Their home is gone, ashes, only the twisted remnants of metal supporting beams left behind.

He’s shaking again, his chest constricting and causing him to cough despite the oxygen mask. Tears fall hot and fast down his cheeks and he practically falls onto TK, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs when he’s caught his breath enough to speak, pulling the mask down. “I’m so sorry.”

TK shushes him, hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. We’re going to be okay.”

“But we almost weren’t.” He pulls back to meet TK’s eyes, the first time since Owen and Billy came bursting in. “I—I thought we weren’t going to make it. I should have had a fire extinguisher upstairs, this should never have… I...”

He cuts himself off, talking becoming an impossibility. TK cradles him close, kissing his head gently and whispering reassurances into his hair. Carlos hangs onto every word, not really believing them, but wanting to desperately.

By the time the paramedic ushers them into the ambulance, Carlos’s tears have eased, but the gaping pit in his chest has only grown. 

He wishes he could wake up now.

*

They’re at the hospital for a few hours, run through a myriad of tests before they’re both declared fit to leave. A smiling nurse gives them the news, telling them that they’ll be home before they know it. 

Neither of them have the energy or the ability to correct her.

Carlos’s parents come to pick them up, his mom producing a bag of fresh clothes for both of them. Where she got them from, Carlos doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask. He hasn’t said much at all since the fire despite TK’s many attempts to get him to talk, leaning into the doctor’s advice not to do anything that might irritate his throat. He’s not sure what he’s even supposed to say; their house is gone, and that’s… That’s that.

His mom loops her arm through his and walks him through the corridors and out of the hospital. Carlos only half-listens to her talk about fixing up his room for them and what she’s planning on cooking for dinner tonight; he still feels the stench of smoke and ash clinging to his skin, even though they were able to clean up a little at the hospital. He itches with the need to wash it all off, to scrub until his skin cracks and bleeds and the pain eclipses that which lingers in his bones.

TK seems to sense how he’s feeling, constantly providing support in one form or another the entire drive to his parents’ house. Carlos feels guilty for not checking on him, but he’s seconds from shattering. If he tries to focus on anything other than holding himself together, he knows he’ll break.

He realises that makes him a shitty boyfriend, but… But.

His childhood home soon comes into view, a part of Carlos relaxing at the sight. He’s beyond grateful that they came here instead of going to Owen’s; he needs every comfort he can get right now, his mother’s cooking and his abuela’s stitched blanket second only to TK on that list. 

He turns to TK as the car comes to a stop, squeezing his hand gently. “This isn’t how I’d imagined bringing you home for the first time,” he jokes, trying for a smile, but it falls flat. TK gives him a token smile anyway, the same weariness Carlos is feeling heavy in his gaze. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing what teenage Carlos was like.”

“You already know,” Carlos points out. “I’m pretty sure my mom spilled every story there is the other night when we were… Well, you know.”

TK nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. Carlos doesn’t get it, how even the slightest thought of their house can send him spiralling, but he guesses that it’s just another thing he’ll have to deal with now. As if there wasn’t already enough.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it any longer, his parents calling for them to come inside, his mother practically shoving the two of them upstairs. Carlos leads TK to his old room by the hand, the decorations almost untouched since he moved out.

“You can just…” He waves around, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. I’m going to shower, you can go in after me if you want, or I won’t mind if you just want to sleep. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

TK chews on his lip, not letting go of Carlos’s hand just yet. “I can join you?” he offers, but Carlos shakes his head.

“It’s pretty small in there. Better not.”

TK doesn’t look like he believes him (and why would he? it is a lie, after all) but he nods and lets go. Carlos lingers for a second, then leaves, grabbing the bag of clothes his mom left on his way.

He manages to scrub himself fully once before it happens. There’s still a slight tremble to his hands as he reaches for the soap again, the feeling of being unclean sticking to him, and he just—

He drops the soap.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Carlos stares at where it’s fallen, willing himself to just pick it up and carry on, because that would be the sensible thing to do, right? The normal thing?

But he can’t. Everything—the fire, the house, the goddamn soap—is suddenly all too much, and Carlos has to brace himself against the tiles as emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore pour out of him in a wave of grief and sorrow and despair. He presses his fist to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, cries wrenching from his mouth, so loud that he doesn’t hear the gentle knocking at the door.

“Carlos?”

Carlos gasps, straightening as TK’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m okay, I’ll just be a second,” he calls, but obviously he’s not convincing enough as the door creaks open, TK’s face falling when he catches sight of him.

“Oh, Carlos.”

TK steps into the room, silently undressing and stepping into the shower with him. He bends and grabs the soap from where it fell and creates a lather on his hands, looking to Carlos for permission before going any further.

Carlos wordlessly nods, so TK begins rubbing the suds over his body, touch soft and feather-light. They don’t say a word, and it’s not… It’s not relaxing, exactly - Carlos doesn’t think he can relax tonight - but it’s… It’s something. It means he’s not alone, which is all Carlos could ask for in this moment.

A slight pressure on his shoulder tells him to turn around, so Carlos puts his back to TK, facing the spray of the showerhead. He doesn’t know why, but not having to look at him makes it easier, somehow, to say the words that have been spinning in his mind since this nightmare began.

“I’m so sorry, TK,” he whispers. “If we had just had an extinguisher, then—”

“Then, nothing,” TK interrupts, not pausing in his motions. “I used to be a firefighter, Carlos; I know from experience that when a fire burns like that, nothing can stop it. My dad, Billy, and Judd all had extinguishers, and they barely made a dent.”

“I still should have done more. You were so calm, and I was just panicking.”

“Firefighter. I’ve been in plenty of burning buildings before; you haven’t. And, trust me, I was scared too.” TK sighs, his hands stilling on Carlos’s shoulders for a brief second before resuming. “Listen to me,” he whispers fiercely, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You have nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Nothing.”

*

When Carlos wakes the next morning, TK is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, his hands twisting together in his lap. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Carlos can imagine the look on his face right now. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches out, intending on comforting TK the way he’s done so many times over the course of their relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for TK to flinch away like his touch burns. Carlos frowns, sitting up fully and crawling over the bed to sit next to him. “Babe?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

TK shakes his head, subtly—though, not subtle enough—shifting away from him until there’s a clear gap between their bodies. It’s so far removed from last night when they could barely stand to let go of each other, and Carlos has no idea what’s causing it.

“TK?” he tries, keeping his hands to himself this time. “Please, TK, talk to me.”

It takes another agonising minute before TK finally, slowly, turns his gaze to Carlos. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, and he can’t seem to look directly at him for longer than a few seconds. He clears his throat roughly, rubbing the material of his borrowed sweats between his fingers.

“Remember last night?” he says quietly. “When I said you had nothing to apologise for? I meant that—you don’t, but I do.” TK takes a trembling breath, then turns to him with a gasp. “Carlos, I—”

“Stop,” Carlos interrupts, shaking his head. He thought they’d moved past this; he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “I already told you, it’s okay. You were in shock, you were angry… I get it, okay? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“TK—”

“Carlos, please.” A couple of tears slip down TK’s cheeks and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away, a desperate look in his eyes. Carlos hesitates, then sighs and nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Thank you. I… If I thought it meant anything, I would say that I’m sorry a thousand times over. I mean, I am, of course I am, but they’re just words, right? The same as saying I wish it had never happened in the first place, because the point is that it did happen and I can’t ever take it back. You had done nothing but support me, and I just—I hit you. There’s no excusing that. I don’t even know if there’s any forgiving that.”

Carlos frowns. “Of course there is.”

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be.” TK looks down at his lap, shoulders curved inwards. “I wanted to use so badly that night,” he admits. “I was going out of my mind over my dad, and I’d convinced myself that I’d lost you. That I was going to lose you both. It was so tempting to go to the nearest bar or dealer and make it all go away for a while.

“Then I realised that I would only be hurting more people if I did, and I couldn’t do that. I’m not… This isn’t me trying to excuse what I did to you. You don’t deserve that, and I understand completely if you can’t trust me anymore, or even if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, whatever you want, just say the word. I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything so that you feel safe.”

TK sniffs, his head bowed so low he’s almost folding in half. Carlos hesitates, then slowly reaches out, taking TK’s hands in his own. “TK, look at me?” he asks softly.

TK does, pain written all over his face, and it breaks Carlos’s heart again. 

“I forgive you,” he says, squeezing as tight as he dares. “I forgive you. You might not think you deserve it, but I promise you that you do. I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me, but I understand why you did it.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully before he speaks, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not that he thinks TK will react like before again, but he refuses to make him feel any worse about the situation.

He makes sure he has TK’s eyes on him before speaking, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But,” he starts, sighing heavily, “you are right. It’s not an excuse, and we are going to have to deal with this soon. Maybe not right now, but we need to have a conversation about these defence mechanisms of yours and how we can make sure you don’t feel the need to fall back on them again.”

TK nods. “I’m going to go to a meeting tomorrow, and I’ll talk to my therapist as soon as I can. I’ll… I’ll be better, Carlos, I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Carlos shifts closer so he can wrap an arm around TK. He stiffens at the touch, but slowly leans into it, carefully resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mumbles.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Carlos counters.

TK snorts. “I think you’ve given me about thirty.”

“And you’ve deserved every single one.” He kisses the top of TK’s head and strokes his side. “I don’t think you could ever do anything bad enough to drive me away. That’s not who you are, TK. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but I love you and I will keep loving you even if you think I shouldn’t because I know my boyfriend and I know he’s a good man.”

TK sniffles, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He hesitates a second, a palm hovering over Carlos’s chest, trembling in mid-air as the seconds drag out. Carlos holds his breath, waiting, then smiles as TK slowly brings it down, letting it rest just over his heart.

The touch is light, barely there, but it’s something. It’s progress. 

They’re both more than a little broken, more than a little hurt, but they can heal. They will heal, as long as they’re together.

[sunrisefairy]

Love songs

Paring: George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Y/N and George realise they have feelings for each other, feelings you probably shouldn’t have for your best friend. 

Warning: light swearing, Georgie plays the guitar in this so be ready 

Heres the link to the song George sings, this is how i imagine him to sound https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7oewo__fbQY&ab_channel=SantiagoRD 

This was requested by the lovely @inglourious-imagines​ 

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972​ @inglourious-imagines​ message me if you would like to be added!

Y/N has known the Weasley family basically her whole life, her parents have been close with Molly and Arthur since their years at Hogwarts. The four of them would always reminisce on the crazy things they use to get up to. Catch ups between the two families usually ended in all of them squeezed into the living room and the children begging for more funny stories from their parents’ teenage years, which they would gladly share.

Y/N is the same age as Fred and George so naturally the three of them became quite close. When they were younger their play dates normally consisted of the twins playing harmless pranks on Y/N and Y/N chasing them around the backyard of the Burrow trying to get revenge. Although the twins loved getting under Y/N’s skin, she loved them with her whole heart and considered the two redheads her best friends and they thought the same of her. They’d share everything with one another. The three of them knew everything about each other, from their most embarrassing story to their deepest darkest secret, absolutely everything, well almost everything.

Y/N has always seen the two boys as her best friends, nothing more. That was until their 6th year at Hogwarts. The twins were sitting in the common room on one of the lounges when Y/N bursts through the doors and squeezed herself between the two tall boys, something she has always done. Y/N was itching to tell the twins about how her and a numerous amount of other students had just witnessed Draco Malfoy fall over in the middle of the court yard after she planted a trip wire.

“Boys, I just witness the funniest thing,” she glanced between Fred and George, about to continue when the boy on her left spoke up.

“Hang on love,” George interrupted “you have a little something in your hair.” Y/N breath hitches in her throat as George’s fingers softly brush against her face as he goes to remove whatever was in her hair. Y/N stares at his face, up close like this she notices the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. She breaths in and her nostrils are engulfed with a scent that Y/N can only describe as heavenly. Y/N gulps her eyes wide as George retracts his hand from her hair, throwing away the piece of lint. “Okay, go on.”

Y/N clears her throat and retells the prank she had pulled on the blond Slytherin, her heart pounding harder in her chest when George tells her how proud he is.

Shit, she thought. This isn’t good.

~~~

Since her recent realisation of the huge crush she harbours for George, Y/N has found it incredibly hard act normal around him. She is hyper aware of everything he does, every movement he makes or word he says causes Y/N palms go sweaty and her heart rate speeds up. She hasn’t told anyone about her feelings, this being the first time she’s kept a secret from the twins and its eating her inside each day she keeps it to herself.

She enters the Great Hall and looks for the pair of gingers at the Gryffindor table, once she spots them, she bounces over about to squeeze her body in between the boys like she normally does but falters. Y/N doesn’t think her heart could physically take being pressed up against George so she sits on Fred’s other side. Fred and George are surprised with Y/N choice of seat but decide not to mention it.

Fred wraps his lanky arm around Y/N shoulder and yanks her into his side, “hello little one.”

George pipes up, his head peaking around Fred, “Fred and I are planning on pranking Snape later day, we could really use your help?”

Y/N looks up at George, momentarily forgetting what he had asked. “Um actually, I don’t think I can. Gotta work on an essay that I’ve neglected” She lies, to be honestly she feels so awkward and nervous around George she finds he hard to be around him.

Fred holds his free hand to his chest and gasps dramatically “you’re choosing an essay over your best friends. You wound us Y/N.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and shoves Fred’s chest, “you’re an idiot.”

~~~

It’s been a few week and Y/N has slowly distanced herself from George, not that she really wanted to. It’s just she honestly doesn’t know how to act around him anymore without being worried that she’ll let slip of her feelings.

George has noticed Y/N’s weird behaviour and how she’s been distancing herself from him. He has noticed they haven’t been alone just the two of them for a while and she always seems to find an excuse to leave the room when George enters and to be honest, it’s kind of hurting his feelings.

George has just come back from a detention he served by himself for a prank him and Fred had done the night before. Fred had managed to get away just in time leaving poor George by himself standing in front of a very angry and very drenched Snape.

George enters the common room planning on complaining to Fred and Y/N about his boring detention when he sees them sitting on the couch backs facing him. They look deep on conversation and George finds himself just standing there watching them.

Y/N is looking at Fred with a worried expression before Fred flings his arm around her pulling her into his side and whispering in her ear.

George’s heart sinks at this gesture. George was feeling confused because of the way Y/N had been behaving but what confused him even more was that Y/N hadn’t been acting any different around Fred actually the two becoming closer which made George insanely jealous. And not the type of jealously a person should feel for their best friend.

George remembers the exact moment he started seeing Y/N differently, it had been a cold winter night at the Burrow in 5th year. Y/N was spending a few days with the Weasleys because her parents had gone away on a last-minute work trip.

Everyone else had gone off to bed but George and Y/N had stayed up chatting by the fire. They were both sitting on the couch under a blanket they were sharing. George was retelling a joke he had heard and when he finished, expecting Y/N to burst out laughing he was met with silence. He’d glanced down at her, noticing at some point she’d laid her head on his shoulder, she was curled into his side fast asleep.

George admired her peaceful sleeping face, noticing the way her lashes fell across her cheeks, how there was a slight wrinkle in between her brows as she dreamt. He glanced down at her lips, her bottom lip jutted out slightly in a pout. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to press a gentle kiss against her lips, wondering how they’ll feel against his own.

George sighed, realising in that moment he had a massive crush on his best friend.

So, given his feelings seeing Y/N and Fred be so close made his heart ache and he quietly walked off to his room.

~~~

Y/N was lying in bed later that night thinking about the conversation she had with Fred early. She finally confessed her feelings about George even if it was too the wrong twin.

Fred had instantly started teasing her about it, saying she should go see a healer because she must be sick if she has a crush on George. He tried to convince her to tell George about her feelings to which she had begged Fred not to mention anything to George. Fred had flung his arm around her shoulder and whispered that her secret was safe with him as he mimicked locking his lips shut.

It was past midnight and Y/N couldn’t fall asleep, deciding a late-night stroll around the castle was a good idea to settle her thoughts.

Y/N was walking up to the astronomy tower hoping watching the stars might tire her mind. She stopped in her tracks just before she made it to the top of the stairs when she heard a gentle voice singing, she recognised it immediately, it was George and he was strumming a quiet tune on a guitar. Y/N crept up the stairs quietly hoping she could watch him play for a little bit. As she got closer his voice got louder and she listened carefully to the lyrics he was singing.

Should I try to hide the way I feel inside my heart for you? Would you say that you would try to love me too? In your mind, could you ever be really close to me?

Y/N watches the way George gently strums the strings of his guitar and how his eyes are closed as he focuses on singing the lyrics. She glances at the paper spread across the floor in front of him and a quill realising this is a George original.

I can tell the way you smile

If I feel that I could be certain then I would say the things I want to say tonight

Y/N has tears threatening to fall as she listens carefully to the lyrics. George is singing about loving a girl and she feels her heart breaking. The guy she loves is in love with someone else.

But till I can see that you'd really care for me I will dream that someday you'll be really close to me I can tell the way you smile

If I feel that I could be certain then I would say the things I want to say tonight

But till I can see that you'd really care for me I'll keep trying to hide the way I feel inside

She hastily wipes away her tears and tries to compose herself as George scribbles something on the paper on the floor in front of him.

“Whoever your muse is for that song is a lucky lady” her voice slightly unsteady as she speaks.

George whips his head around his cheeks flaming realising Y/N heard him sing the song he wrote about her. “Yeah well too bad she doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

Y/N walks over and sits down across from him hoping her eyes aren’t puffy and red from crying. “She’d be an idiot not to feel the same way Georgie, you’re amazing.”

The sit together for a moment before George breaks the silence, “I wrote the song about you” he whispers sadness evident in his voice.

“You-you love me?”

“Yes of course I do, you’re amazing Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across her face, it made her cheeks hurt but she didn’t care. Georges eyebrows raised, not expecting that response.

“Oh merlin, you have no idea how happy that has made me, I thought you wrote that song for some other girl and I think my heart actually broke.” Y/N giggles, shuffling closer to George. She presses a sweet and short kiss to his lips. “I love you too.”

Now George was smiling like an idiot.

“Sing it to me again.” Y/N asks. George grabs his guitar and starts to slowly strum the cords, eyes not leaving Y/N’s.

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: El Ojo (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Peña as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong? 

Warnings: swearing, injury to reader, alcohol and drug abuse, threatening with guns, brief mentions of torture, description of injury and blood, unwanted touching, flirting, bad thought processes (addiction). PINK SHIRT 

Word Count: 5k 

A/N: Had a little change of plan last week, this is now the final chapter of this series. I am so sad to end it now, I’ve loved writing this so much. My first time writing for Narcos so thank you so much for all the support y’all I’ve given me with this. I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter!! 

<-- Previous Chapter // Masterlist //  Next Chapter -->

--

You were on a winning streak. Since you’d found the list of sicarios and matched that up with the more current information, you’d presented it to Carrillo and surprisingly he was on board. With his help, you had brought down five, admittedly low level but increasingly more valuable, sicarios. If you didn’t think about the torture and abuse each of them undertook once captured, used to break them into more telling more information, you could say you were doing a good job. Escobar’s organisation was shaking. You were coming for him. 

You and Steve leant against a wall, soaking up the sunshine chatting amongst yourselves when you saw Javier arrive. You hadn’t expected him to come at all, having disappeared without a word early on in the morning. He parked his truck close by, walking over to you and Steve with his vest in hand. You grinned and jabbed Steve when you saw the shirt Javi was wearing. 

The pink shirt had been a long-standing joke since you’d found it in his closet a few months ago. He had many colourful shirts, was known for them, but the pink one always seemed like another level. You and Steve teased him about it constantly, though you had to admit it did look good on him now. Javi scowled when he saw you and Steve’s mischievous grins, immediately realising his mistake. 

“I know you get called the Whore of Bogata but you don’t need to dress like it! Jesus christ Javi!” You fanned yourself with your hand, grinning at him, “really I’m going to need a minute,” Javi flipped you off as you laughed hard.  

“Shut up, I look great,” He grumbled. 

“Just thinking about the poor flamingo you rinsed for that colour,” Steve joined in the teasing, shaking his head sadly. 

“You are just jealous you could never pull this colour off,” Javi said smugly. You laughed.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out today, could be quite distracting,” You said, pretending to be thoughtful. Javi’s frowned, only making you and Steve laugh more, “Aw don’t get pissy, Baby. We love you really” You teased him in a mocking voice, pouting at him. “You and your flamboyant choices,” You ruffled his hair up as you passed him. He tried to duck out the way but you caught him. He shoved you away, muttering expletives under his breath. You skipped a few paces out of his reach, flipped him off. 

“L/n!” Somebody called your name across the street, one of the technicians you’d been talking to before Javier arrived. You left Steve and Javier to talk. 

The technician explained the problem again, showing you the options for moving forward. It was quite common that things would go wrong before any kind of mission. Today was no different, the technicians had lost a signal and were now not sure that the address you had swarmed was correct.  

You chewed your nails while you thought. You could risk getting the wrong house, letting the sicarios know you were on to them and you’d lose them again. You could come back another day, but risk losing them again. Or you could ransack some innocent person's house and have Carrillo on your ass for ruining his reputation in the one week he’d left you in charge. 

 If you messed this up it would mean your stronghold would be lost. There would be time for them to work out what was going on and move everything again. 

At a loss, you excused yourself needing to take a break and a few minutes alone to think without soldiers trying to put in their two cents. 

As your work life had become more stressful over the last months. You had found some relief in, ironically, coke. It wasn’t a habit you were trying to form, but you had learnt just what good taking just a little bit could do for you. It quietened down your worried brain and made you simultaneously more aware of everything. You were better when you were just a little bit high.  

You had started keeping a small amount in your pocket. Hidden in a small sewing tin in your jacket pocket, you had started keeping a little coke on you especially for moments like this. You could take it, have a breather, and come back with a solution. It was fine. Nobody would know. 

You’d spotted a cafe across the road, and hoped they had a restroom. You gave an excuse to the soldier you’d been talking to and walked across the street.

“Oi Rookie!” Javi called as he noticed you walk past on the opposite side of the street. “Where are you going?” 

“Going to the bathroom. Women’s issues,” You called back, Javi and Steve grimaced. That was always the best excuse.

While you wouldn’t do it at the compound you didn’t have any reservation here. You’d been itching for a hit all morning and there was only so much more you could take. You walked into the cafe, asked for the direction of the restroom, and locked the door behind you once you were inside. Small, dark and stinking of pee, it was not the best place but hygiene wasn’t particularly an issue you were worried about. 

You tipped a small amount from the box onto the sink counter, lined it up with a card from your pocket, bent down and took it up your nose. You grimaced, while it had burnt your nose somewhat it still stung. But it was worth it when the feeling began to kick in. You smiled at your reflection and double-checked your appearance in the mirror, wiping your nose. Nobody could ever tell. 

As usual, the drug kicked your brain into gear again and everything fell into place. The raid went brilliantly, by pure coincidence you’d bagged two sicarios in one as your original target had invited your next round for dinner with his new girlfriend. Your plan well into the swing of things now, much to everyone’s surprise. 

—

Like every weekend for the last three months, you were going out. The line between enemies and friends was long since blurred, hanging out with ‘Isabela’s’ friends was not an issue. Most of the time you weren’t even trying to get anything from them, you’d got what you needed months ago. As fun as Javier and Steve were, it was much more enjoyable to hang out with people your age. And they wouldn’t give you cocaine, María had it on tap. 

You were dressed up, recently treating yourself to a new outfit as a job well done. A black off the shoulder top, covered in lace, and a little black mini skirt. You felt sexy, you were going to have a very good night. 

“Rookie!” Javier called out to you as he came out of the apartment building. You were standing outside waiting for a taxi, smoking a cigarette.

“Javi, baby, you’re looking slick! Where are you going?” You checked him out. He wore his signature tight blue jeans and an equally tight black shirt that was almost bursting at the seams. He looked incredible, as he always did. 

You were thankful that things had gone back to normal between you and Javier. The awkward stepping around each other had gone, you weren’t jealous. You acknowledged you would probably always like him a little more than was professional but that had fallen into a fun flirty banter that more than anything just wound Steve up.

You found yourself calling him Baby more than his name, it’d started as a joke to get back at him for always calling you Rookie but now it was so commonplace people had stopped picking you up on it if it slipped out while you were working.  

It was fun. You cared for each other, that was clear to even a blind man, but there was no romanticism to the relationship anymore. There was no need. It wasn’t good for either of you. You’d found a comfortable rhythm and were going to stick to it. 

“Out,” He shrugged, “That’s a new top,”

“You noticed?” 

 “Course, can’t keep my eyes off you,” He purred, happily playing along with your game. 

“Thought you’d be more interested in the skirt,” 

“Will you two quit it?” Steve’s voice interrupted your flirting as he walked down the stairs. You barked in laughter. 

“Steve! So it’s a boys night I see? Where was my invite?” 

“Figured you’d have your own plans,” Steve said. 

“And you are correct Murphy but it’s always polite to ask,”

 “Next time,” He assured you. “Where are you going tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Some club, El Ojo or something?” You shrugged, “Seeing as this is maybe Isabela’s last time out I am going to go out with a bang, literally,” You raised an eyebrow, insinuation of your worlds made Steve roll his eyes. 

You were hoping within the next few weeks to be able to close in on some higher level sicarios and associates to Escobar. Drawing the noose in slowly so he wouldn’t notice until it’d choked him. That meant your position as Isabela was going to have to come to an end to keep you safe from your own program. You’d discussed it at length with Peña and Murphy, while you didn’t agree you had to listen to them. They were still your superiors after all, no matter how close friends you were. 

“If you told past you you were going to willingly sleep with a Narco I think you would have passed out,” Steve laughed. 

“I’m a changed woman Murphy, what can I say,” You smirked, “Imagine what I’ll be like by the end of the year,” 

“God help us,” Javier shook his head, a smirk plastered on his face. You laughed and stubbed out your cigarette with your shoe as your taxi pulled around the corner. 

“Here’s my ride. Have a good night, boys. I will be back in the morning,”

 —

El Ojo was just as María had told you. Modern and smoke-filled, people were filling every inch of the space. You walked in and couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. This was exactly what you needed. Crowds were anonymous, nobody cared who you were or what you were doing. Everyone was just there for one reason, to have a good time. 

You ordered a drink at the bar, flirting with the man next to you briefly before taking the drink and finding your friends. As usual, they were up in the VIP area, courtesy of the Parreño name. You walked up and were let inside the cordoned-off area to find Diego stood up on his seat, wild-eyed, shouting about something. It wasn’t until you got closer that you heard what he was saying. 

“I’m telling you Isabela is lying!” He shouted above the music. 

“What’s going on?” You asked. None of the ten people surrounding the booth noticed your approach, their eyes shifting awkwardly when they saw you. 

“You! You’re a liar!” Diego pointed down at you, hatred burning behind his eyes. 

“What is going on?” You asked again. You looked around for María, she was usually the one to step between you and Diego, but she was nowhere to be seen. This was not the kind of conversation you’d wanted for this evening. 

“You were the only one to survive that raid at Carlos’,” He continued, jumping off the couch to your level,  “That fucking maniac Carrillo killed everyone but you! You’re working with them, aren’t you?” 

“You’ve lost it,” You rolled your eyes, “Completely lost it,”

“You don’t deny it!” He yelled. You gulped, trying not to look scared of the man but the rage in his eyes was shaking you. You stepped backwards as he advanced toward you

“You’re insane!” You laughed in his face, “I’m not a fucking spy, especially not for Carrillo,” 

“Bullshit,” He spat, Suddenly he pulled a gun from his back, waving it in your face. People shouted and screamed around you, scattering as the metal glinted in the light. Your eyes remained on his, not saying a word as he pressed the barrel into your neck. You didn’t move, barely breathing, “You’re a fucking rat,” He growled.

“Diego!” Finally, María stepped in, running over when she heard the commotion. “Stop it, put it away. Idiot,” She pulled the gun from his hand, standing firmly between you and him. “Ignore him. He’s paranoid. Someone’s leaking information and he thinks it's you because he’s a jealous asshole,” Maria explained, swiftly pushing him backwards until he sat back in the booth again, “How fucking ridiculous would that be? You? A spy!” 

“Insane,”  You agreed through a clenched jaw. Diego continued to glare at you dangerously, leaning over to whisper something to a friend. 

“I swear if we get banned from this club because of you Diego I am leaving you,” María said angrily, “Come on, I want to party,” She linked her arm through you, not caring that you were still in shock from having a gun held to you, and dragged you to the bar.

Fortunately, copious amounts of vodka and tequila were great for calming your nerves. In a few hours, you had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal. You couldn’t think about anything more than the music ringing in your ears and how good it felt dancing on the stranger behind you. 

After a while, María pulled you back up to the booth where Diego and his friends were still sitting. You did your best to ignore him, chatting to one of the girls at the table instead. You laughed and did a few lines, generally relaxing into the evening. So relaxed you didn’t notice the newest member of the group until he finally addressed you.

“Don’t I know you?” You looked over and panic spread over you like a bucket of ice water over your head sobering you almost instantly. He did know you. The man before you was the first man you had arrested, almost six months ago. He must have been bailed out for jail. 

“No,” You answered confidently. You didn’t lie. You didn’t know him, not really.

“Gabriel, sit down!” María cheered, “Isabela this is my cousin, Gabriel. Gabriel, Isabela,” She introduced you. Her cousin. Of course. You smiled politely, praying the dim lights would hide the nervous sweat that had overtaken you. 

Gabriel looked confused but didn’t say anything if he did recognise you. Not that that would matter anyway, as soon as he spoke to Diego his memory would no doubt be jogged. If he found out you were a DEA agent you would be dead. You had to leave.

“Here take my seat, I’ve got to get some air for a minute,” You stood up, letting him take your place next to Maria. You caught Diego’s suspicious look as you walked past, spotting the nearest exit door. 

Your hands were shaking, your body not sure what to do with itself. The cocaine and alcohol said to go back inside and take them all out. What was left of your rational brain was consumed by fear and kept you outside. It was bad enough if someone like Senator Parreño had suspicions about you but Diego? Gabriel? Diego had already shown he wasn’t afraid to threaten you in public. Of the two of them joined heads they would connect the dots and your cover would be blown wide open. So would you, you thought morbidly. Coke and anger never mixed well. 

You took breathes of the warm summer air, leaning against the wall of the club as you tried to calm yourself down. You shouldn’t have taken the last shot, now verging over the edge of blacking out; your vision was spotty, sound not registering properly and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. 

You wondered if Steve and Javi were nearby, the fresh air having the opposite effect than you’d wanted. You would blackout and you were going to need help to get home if you did. But you didn’t recall either of the men telling you where they were going, they could be anywhere in the city. 

Stumped for the moment, you decided to wait it out, lighting a cigarette hoping that might help sober you up. You pulled the packet from your purse

“Need a light?” A man appeared next to you, lighter in hand. You nodded and he flicked the flame up, you bent over and lit your cigarette between your teeth. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled, turning away from him, hoping he would leave. He didn’t. Instead, the man continued to stare at you, following you into your personal space as you shuffled away from him. 

“Can I help you?” You snapped, immediately getting a bad feeling about him. You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning at him. 

“No need for that tone baby. Come on, I wanna talk to you,” He purred. His eyes dipped to your cleavage, a lustful look in his eyes. 

“I’m not interested,” You said, stepping backwards away from the man. He seemingly didn’t hear you, continuing to get into your personal space, arms reaching out to grab your hips. 

“You were interested earlier. Come on, baby,” He purred, pulling you close to him, pressing his hips against yours. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled, pushing him off hard enough to make him stumble backwards. 

“Fucking bitch,” He growled. 

If you were sober the situation would have a very swift end. You would punch him square in the face and he would leave you alone, scuttling away with a broken jaw and a shattered ego. However, you were not in a state to do that now. He had the upper hand. All you could do was run, hoping once you were back amongst people he wouldn’t attack you. You looked up the alley, the open street was just a few feet away. 

You bolted.

Unfortunately just as you didn’t have enough coordination to punch the man, you didn’t have enough to run in heels on the uneven floor. Not even ten foot away your legs wobble, heels falling into a pothole sending you forward. You fell into a dumpster, head hitting the corner of the metal with a thud. You yelped, vision going black for a moment as you lay on the concrete. 

“Hey hey hey,” A man ran over, instantly scaring the man off of you. He knelt by your side and helped you up from where you’d fallen. You groaned and pushed yourself up, head throbbing harshly, warm liquid trickling down your face. Your world was spinning even with your eyes closed. “Y/n, Fuck are you okay?”

“Get off me!” You exclaimed, trying to push the stranger off, not that your shaking arms were very effective. 

“Y/n hey it’s me, you’re okay!” You looked up and saw Steve through a haze of blurred vision. You squinted as something dripped over your eye. Steve then saw the cut to your head, “Oh shit,” Your eyes are glassy and blown out, you mumbled something to him and pushed yourself out of his reach again, wobbling and tipping backwards. He caught you before you hit the floor again. “Y/n what are you doing out here? Weren’t you with your friends?”

“Her brother was the first guy,” You said, your speech slurred so much Steve barely understood what you were saying.

“Rookie, you’re not making sense. What are you on about?” 

“I’m so fucked,” You sighed, letting your head rollback. You giggled as the world spun. 

“Yeah, I can tell, come on let’s get you home,” Steve stood up, holding his hands out to you and pulled you up to standing again. 

“Where’s Peña?” You asked. 

“At the bar,” 

“I want to go talk to him, let’s go talk to him!” You exclaimed. You began to walk in the opposite direction, dragging Steve along by the arm. He pulled you back with ease. 

“You can talk to him in the morning, we’re going home,” He insisted.

“But I have to tell him about the brother he’s going -,” Your rambling was interrupted as you threw up, barely missing Steve’s leg. He grimaced and jumped out of the way, “I have to talk to him,” You said quietly once you were done. 

“Tomorrow, Kid,” He repeated himself.

You pouted, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes but you didn’t fight him. Despite how drunk you were you knew that going home would realistically be the best course of action right now. You could barely string a sentence together let alone get anything important out coherently.

Steve got you into a taxi, luckily the driver paid no attention to the blood dripping down your face. You were falling asleep on his shoulder as you pulled up to the apartment, Steve pulled you out of the car and up the stairs to the apartment. Only when he opened the door, he was met by Javier and Vanessa also on their way inside.

“Woah!” Javier instantly turned his full attention to you when he saw the state you were in, hanging onto Steve’s sleeve, “What happened?” 

“Some guy tried to touch her up, she hit her head, I’ve got it covered,” Steve explained.

“Hey Baby,” You grinned, obviously giving Javi a once over. 

“She doesn’t look alright,” Vanessa commented, “Did she just call you baby?”

“It’s a long story,” Javi dismissed the comment. “She doesn’t look okay,”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ll get her to throw up and get some water to sober her up,” Steve said, “We’ll be okay, won’t we Rook?”

“Fine and dandy!” You grinned.

“If you’re sure,” Javi said hesitantly. You were gone, hanging onto Steve’s arm to hold yourself up. Your eyes were blown out and blank, if you remembered anything in the morning it would be a miracle. His first reaction was to help you, not sure Steve could handle you alone. Steve wasn’t exactly sober himself, sinking a good few beers with Javier in the bar before he’d left. However, his decision was made for him as you and Steve began walking up the stairs, Vanessa’s hands were back on him and any worry was squashed as she dragged him into his apartment.

Upstairs, Steve took you into his apartment. He took you to the bathroom, sat you on top of the toilet and rooted around the medicine cabinet to find some cleaning supplies so he could patch up your bleeding head. 

“Connie’s probably got something in here,” He rooted through the cabinet. Connie had gone back to Miami for the week to see her family, inconveniently right when her skills were needed. Steve’s tipsy attempt at first aid would have to do,“Ah-ha! Here we go, clean that cut out with this,”

“Ow!” You whined, flinching away from him quickly when he showed you the antiseptic bottle. 

“I didn’t touch you,” Steve chuckled, “Hold still,” Carefully he poured the liquid over a cotton ball, took hold of your face in the other hand and dabbed the cotton on your cut. 

“Ow! Steve that fucking hurt,” You complained, flinching away from him as the alcohol stung the wound on your head. You frowned at him, tearing up a little. 

“Don’t be a baby,” 

“I am a baby!” You exclaimed. Steve grabbed hold of you again, he needed to clean the wound if it was going to heal properly. You whined and hissed at him but eventually, it was clear. 

“Look, all done, got the grit out,”

“Thanks, Steve,” You kissed his cheek quickly. 

“You’re welcome,” He laughed awkwardly. “Come on, you can’t sleep on my toilet. Bedtime,”

“You’re not my type,” You scrunched your nose and leant away from him. 

 “Ouch way to break my heart Rook,” Steve chuckled, “No, you’re going to your own bed, by yourself,”

“It's so far away!” You whined. 

“It's across the hall!” He copied your tone making you laugh. 

Steve pulled you up from the toilet and managed to wrangle you across the hall. Half asleep, leaning into Steve before you even got inside the apartment, you fell into bed without protest. Steve pulled off your shoes, throwing them on the ground before stumbling back to his apartment to collapse in his bed. 

—

Waking up in your apartment unsure of how you got there, was a strange feeling. What was even stranger was the harsh throbbing on your head. You blindly brought a hand to the sight, recoiling instantly as you touched something sore. You sat up, slowly opening your eyes to the daylight and looked at your reflection in the mirror opposite your bed. 

You groaned when you saw the gash on your forehead. Dried blood sat in the creases of your neck, and underside of your jaw as well as being crusted into your hair. You tried to remember how you’d gotten the injury but came up blank. You couldn’t remember anything from the night before. Not unusual for your almost nihilistic habits, but it was concerning given the infliction. 

You looked at the clock. 9 am. You’d slept in. Since you were up you decided to clean yourself up. You padded to your bathroom, wincing at the harsh light inside and the grinding sound of the extractor fan. You filled the sink with warm water and gently cleaned the blood from your face with a cloth, only once stopping to throw up into the toilet. 

You showered, hot steam help clear your brain fog but not helping the cut on your forehead which now stung immensely. But that wasn’t the feeling you were concentrating on. 

A new kind of hunger, one you weren’t yet familiar with had settled in on the back of your tongue. A repeating idea chanting over and over in your head. It had partly been cocaine’s fault you’d got into this mess, but it would get you out of this hangover now. 

You remembered you had some in your jacket pocket from the day before, leftover. Once you’d thought about it there was no stopping you. You didn’t have to take it all, you could stop yourself if you wanted. You pulled the tin out from your coat, sit it down on your dressing table while you pulled on some clothes. 

 You sat back at the dressing-table again once you were done and stared at the box. You’d not done it here more than once or twice. Never by yourself. Something about being at home with it made you feel guilty, possibly because you were surrounded by your friends who also happened to be DEA agents who would kill you if they found the stuff in the building. 

You picked up the box, contemplating it. You could get something done if you took it. Wouldn’t have to sit in your hungover state and wallow in self-pity until the headache left. You could go for a walk. Do nice things. Taking the cocaine would bring you nice things, as it always did. 

You opened it. 

“Morning,” Javier’s voice inside your apartment suddenly startled you, causing you to spill the contents of your box all over your dressing table. 

“Fuck,” You swore out loud. 

“Okay in there?” You regretted giving him a key. You did not need the interruption. His voice snapped you back to reality. You decided you didn’t have time, or rather not wanting to be caught red-handed, you decided to leave it and greet your surprise guest. 

“Good morning,” You said brightly, opening and closing your bedroom door tightly behind you. Javier was standing in the middle of your living room, a book in hand flicking through it. He discarded it back to the coffee table where he’d found it when you appeared. 

“Just wanted to check you were alright, you looked rough last night,” Javi said, “that cut looks sore,”

“It stings but it’ll be ok in a few days,” You shrugged. Javi looked at you strangely, “Did you come up here for something?” You asked. 

“You don’t remember what today is?” He asked. You frowned and thought for a moment. 

“It’s your birthday?” You asked slowly. 

“No,”

“It’s my birthday?”

“I don’t know when you’re birthday is,” 

“Javi I’ve obviously forgotten please just tell me,” You pleaded. 

“Searchblok, you and Steve swapped. Remember?”

“Shit!” You exclaimed. How could you have forgotten?! You scrambled back into your room to get changed, boxer shorts and a hole-ridden t-shirt wouldn’t cut it. 

“I should write you up for the mess you were in last night,” He called through the door as you rushed to get dressed, pulling on the nearest jeans on your floor. That’s not the only thing you should write me up for, you thought looking at the cocaine on your dressing table.

“I should write you up for sleeping with hookers,” You said back.

“Nowhere in my contract does it say I can’t! You however have a reckless behaviour clause,” He said. Your heart stopped at that, opening the door quickly to pop your head out.

“Javi-“

“I’m joking Rook, don’t worry!” Javier laughed. You rolled your eyes and shut the door again, pulling on a fresh shirt. A few seconds later you stepped out, buttoning the last of the clasps on your shirt. “I was worried about you but you’re fine so we’ll forget it ever happened,” 

“Thanks, Baby,” You grinned at him. Javi rolled his eyes.

“You need to stop that though,” 

 “You love it,” You teased him. He didn’t reply, turning on his heel and walking out. You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at your bedroom door. The coke was still lined up in there, calling to you. It would only take a few seconds to do it and get rid of your hangover for a few hours.

“Rookie, hurry up!” Javi called you from the hallway, audibly impatient. You decided against it, grabbing your keys and a jacket and running to catch up with him. He was already waiting by the truck by the time you got downstairs. “Did anything interesting happen last night, then?” Javi asked. You tried to think for a moment, you remembered something important had happened, something you’d wanted to tell him last night but you couldn’t remember what. You shrugged.

“Apart from getting this,” You gestured to the injury to your forehead, “I can’t remember. There was something but I don’t know,” 

“Can’t have been very important then,” Javi added. You shrugged and shook your head. 

“Guess not,” 

Next Chapter  -->

--

Finally we’ve come full circle, I am so sad it’s over I have absolutely loved writing this series. Again I want to say a massive thank you to everyone’s that read the series, it means more than you could imagine. I love you all. I’m going to have a cry and make a start on all the other things I’ve been neglecting to write this.

The ending is already written and posted so if you haven’t read it go enjoy :))

tag list: @beskar-falcon  @peterssweetpea @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @wille-zarr @danniburgh @rentheisopod @urbankaite2 @whataloadofmalarkey @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus @sara-alonso @xiao-lusi @all-good-things-have-an-ending @eternallyvenus @ajeff855 @mayangel19 @1950schick @pedrosmustache @wantingtobekorra @balmasedas @angelsunflxwer @brujademente​ @kingsmanandqueens​ @igotissueswithfictionalmen​

[kiranatrix]

What kind of Lawlight do you write? Anything short-ish with some angst?

Hooboy, yeah I write angst, fluff, spicy stuff, long and short fic. *flips through the menu* Here’s a pretty short ‘n angsty fic called Truth Serum that might scratch your itch. I’ll just paste it below since it’s not too long. You can find me on AO3 under zombiejesus for more.

—————-

It didn’t take long for L to recognize the subtle changes in Light after the Yotsuba case had ended. He was quieter now, more reserved. Kept to himself now that the handcuffs no longer bound them to the same spaces, to each other.

And if L was being honest, he missed it, in a way. But he wasn’t being honest, not with Light—he pretended like nothing had changed and he hadn’t noticed the changes in behavior—and not with himself.

But he knew he didn’t have much time left, felt the silent danger floating behind Light’s eyes. He saw a plan there, a cold confidence that betrayed Light’s feelings that he’d already won. Perhaps it was just a matter of time now. But what is he waiting for?

L had considered carefully his remaining options and none were likely to save his life, let alone expose Light as Kira. But there was one he hadn’t tried yet. Truth serum.

L held the syringe in his hands now, hovering over Light’s arm as he was restrained in the chair. It was just the two of them, Light had insisted on that stipulation if he was to go along with this. L still wasn’t completely sure why Light had agreed. Was he that confident he could beat it? Surely he didn’t think L believed he was innocent. But Light did have enormous willpower. Perhaps he really could.

”Last chance to back out of this, Kira.”

Light just shot him an irritated look and faced the wall, “Just get it over with.”

L applied the tourniquet and injected the drug into Light’s vein, holding a cotton pad over the injection site when he pulled the syringe back. He placed the empty syringe on a tray on the table and crouched in the chair across from Light.

Light began to sweat, he felt suddenly very hot as his mind became clouded, hazy. He tried to fight against it, but his eyes gradually unfocused as a fog descended. “Is...is this safe, Ryuzaki...”

”Other than the risks we discussed before, it’s perfectly safe.” He’d consulted with doctors about the dosage and precautions, and while no permanent damage was expected, some brief memory loss might occur. “As long as you have nothing to hide.”

Light swallowed hard, his throat felt dry and tight. He was drifting, hanging onto L’s voice and trying to focus, but he found his mental barriers, his practiced defenses, falling away under the drug’s influence. He slumped forward in the chair a bit, his chin resting on his chest as he tried to concentrate on breathing. He summoned up some scraps of defiance. “Doesn’t this...feel like cheating, Ryuzaki...using a drug? You must be...desperate.” A small smile as he lifted his large black pupils to meet L’s stare, but it was a broken mirror of Kira.

Something in L knew that’s exactly what this was. A last flailing attempt before it was too late. But he denied it to himself. It isn’t cheating. It’s the last option available to me.

”A few easy questions to see how you’re responding. State your name.”

”Yagami Light.” He looked at L, his eyes begging him not to do this. As strong as his willpower was, it was frighteningly clear he couldn’t fight this.

”And how old are you?”

”Eighteen.”

L paused. “Where did we meet?”

Light’s pupils tried to focus but only fluttered. “Our first meeting was...at To-Oh.”

”And what were your impressions then?”

Light whispered, “I thought you were strange. I thought you were beautiful.”

L looked up at the ceiling, a pain in his chest preventing him from looking at Light, now slightly drooling and unable to wipe it away. He stood up and took a tissue, wiping Light’s mouth. “You thought I was beautiful?”

”Yes.”

L returned to crouch in his chair, eyes unblinking. ”What did you think when I told you I was L?”

”I...was scared at first and then...I wanted to know you better. Get close to you. Work with you.”

”You wanted to join the Kira case, but why exactly?”

”I...admired you. It was an honor to be asked and I wanted to prove to you that...I was smart enough.”

”Smart enough for what?”

”My dream...to work beside you. Be a detective, solve cases like my father. Help you...as L.”

“And how did you feel when you came on to help?”

”Confident. Excited to be nearer to you. I felt...” Light swallowed hard but went on, “...attracted to you.”

”You were...attracted to me?” L was surprised, his eyes going even wider than their usual huge circumference.

”Yes.”

”But wasn’t Amane Misa your girlfriend?”

”In name only.”

”You don’t love her?”

Light looked away, “No.”

”Then why pretend?”

”She can see...names.” Light whimpered as the words were yanked from him.

L whispered, ”My name?”

Light jerked against the restraints, then slumped into them. Despair dripped from his voice, “Yes, she told me some time ago.”

“Then why am I alive?” L leaned forward in his crouch, his thumb pressed hard to his bottom lip.

Light felt panicked, the question wasn’t incriminating per se, but his answer would destroy him nonetheless. A whisper, “Because...I’m in love with you.”

The questions L had meant to ask: ‘Are you Kira?’...‘How do you kill?’...these stuck in the back of L’s throat as Light raised his unfocused eyes to L’s. He’s suffering, scared. He’s trying to fight this but he can’t. He’s waiting for the big questions that will end him. And he’s right. It is cheating.

A drop of sweat dripped from Light’s bangs hanging down in his face, and he struggled to regain control of his mind and fight the cheat. L saw fear flicker in Light’s eyes as their battle shifted from his favor, and as Light strained to lift his head, and managed to do it, L had never respected him more.

Light shuddered against the bindings, his breathing somewhat shallow. “You must have dosed me good, Ryuzaki.” He smiled sadly, confidence stripped away. “Aren’t you going to—“

”You’re in love with me?”

Light squeezed his eyes shut, breathing harder, “You make me say it again? I don’t want to be, but...yes.” The affirmation came out in broken pants.

L stared at him. These are Light’s truths. He’s fighting it. Being honest for...once in his life? But wasn’t it too much to ask for truth, given what we both are, who we are? I’ve lied too, Light. Lied my whole life too.

Light balled his fists and screamed at him, “Come on! Don’t draw it out to torture me! Just get it over with!”

L knew he could ask Light anything. He’d succumbed to the serum completely. “Light...” He got up and moved his chair closer, uncurling Light’s clenched hand into his own. And instead of asking about Kira, he asked Light to talk about his life, his dreams, the things he finds beautiful or scary or have broken his heart or cheered him. His childhood. His accomplishments. His failures. What he likes about L. What he loves.

”The way you stir your teacup so it never clinks the sides...

The way you look at me in the morning, right when you wake up, before you remember...

The way we challenge each other, even when we don’t have to, just because we can...

The way you chase me but don’t catch me, and I let you...

The flush on your cheeks when I touch you by accident...

These things, L. So many things.”

L gets to know the real Light, the one behind the mask he wears daily, over the afternoon. Putting off the big bomb questions, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He’d finally gotten the chance to know anything about Light but the Kira questions fade away in his mind. But eventually, L sees the truth serum is starting to wear off and Light is less groggy now, more guarded. L gets less and less out of him until finally Light has his mask back up completely.

Light’s pupils were sharply focused now, and he raises his head confidently. His breathing was normalized, and a tiny smirk started to form again on his lips. “Is the session over? Did you get everything you wanted?” He pulled his hand back into a fist, away from L’s, not remembering much about what he had said under the serum’s influence. But Light’s confidence was such that he felt he’d never compromise himself. And would L still be sitting here if I had? I’d be halfway to jail by now.

L sighed, considering what to do. He knew what he should have done. What he should do now. Why do I fear it, put it off? It’s what I’ve been working towards this whole time! And there may be very little time left.

Light wiggled impatiently, “Ryuzaki, are we through?”

L stood up and walked over to the table, taking a new syringe and pulling another dose of serum. Light shook his head rapidly and protested but L plunged the needle into his vein, and pushed the serum in.

“L, no...please stop...” The smirk felt away and the fear returned, and a new expression. Betrayal. Tears streamed down Light’s face this time, and he yelled, “Cheater!”

L pulled one more dose and crouched beside Light, watching his pupils become unfocused wide blackness again. “We’re going to be honest with each other, Light.” He injected the serum into his own arm. “Both of us.”

L knew they probably wouldn’t remember anything the other said after the drug wore off. No one was voicing questions. But the voice in L’s head that kept him up at night posed one instead.

He took Light’s hand, and told the truth.

[httpsohnpouts]

𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧. | 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: royal!younghoon x lady’s maid!fem reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: angst but not really + fluff // enemies to friends

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: younghoon’s a bit sassy/socially awkward but nth too extreme

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.5k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: happy (belated) birthday my beaby @chaoticdeobi, ily endlessly, i hope you like it! i hope you had a great day!

the hall was grand, to say the least. the walls painted in the finest mix of white tie and matchstick; but to any common eye, the paint was just simply cream. portraits of the family’s ancestors hung perfectly on said walls, golden plaques engraved with their names and the years from birth to death, situated just below them.

you could say the hall was the largest part of the building but yet, younghoon was always found hiding away in the undercroft. his time well spent at the very end, paintbrush in hand as he delicately placed the brush onto the canvas, an elegant piece forming in its wake; finding comfort and solace in the peace that he got, a break from his reality, hence why his father had gifted him the space and the utensils for his twelfth birthday.

a slight sigh left younghoon’s slightly ajar lips of concentration, brows knitting together as he couldn’t quite get the right angle of his paintbrush, “it won’t work if you’re holding it so awkwardly.” it took the man by surprise, spilling his water pot over his fresh set of white trousers, nobody ever wandered into his space during the day as the staff working in the castle feared him and his intimidating gaze nor did they ever sneak up on him upon knowing of his tendency to become scared easily.

fury burning in his eyes as his fresh whites absorbed more and more of the tainted water as he sat there, whipping his head in the direction of the voice who stood behind him, arms folded and they leaned against the porcelain walls, legs crossed in a way that just screamed arrogance.

“excuse me, who the hell do you think you are sneaking up on a royal, did you not see the ‘do not disturb’ sign?” with a sigh, younghoon scurried to wipe off his trousers - not that it would do anything considering fabric isn’t waterproof and the damage was already done - huffing again, “oh, forget it. clean this up, i take it you’re a maid? now if you excuse me.”

it was dinner time now, and everybody knew that the king wanted the whole family to sit around the dining table together, occasionally discuss important business him and his wife had to deal with, or something they wanted younghoon to participate in against his will; but in his eyes, it was all apart of the family bonding.

“where’s mother?” younghoon asked as he adjusted his newly fixed hair, the constant puffing of breath out of his lips having messed it up. watching the kitchen staff busily prepare the table for their meal.

“one of the cleaning workers knocked over your mother’s glass of wine and it went all over her new gown. she’ll be down in a few- oh look, she’s coming here now.”

placing her palm upon her husband’s shoulder, younghoon’s mother took her seat at the dinner table, a familiar face following behind and standing to the side of the room with the other staff, you. you were his mother’s lady maid. if it were anybody else, he would’ve apologised for the tone he gave you earlier when he mistook you for part of the cleaning staff.. but what right did you of all people have spying on him in his private space?

“son? are you listening?” his father called to him, realisation hitting younghoon that he hadn’t stopped gaping at you since you walked in the room. adjusting his collar before prompting his father to continue speaking.

“as i was saying, your mother and i have to leave the country for a few days. you are in charge of taking care of your sister whilst we’re gone as well as the staff. we trust you with this son, don’t disappoint us,”

“oh and y/n, you will be staying here for the time being, your services aren’t necessary on this trip. you’ll be in charge of our daughter when younghoon is busy, understood?” whilst younghoon’s father was a kind and generous man, he definitely wasn’t the most respected man in the castle for no reason. his striking and powerful demeanour spread for miles, no one dared to disobey the king, not knowing exactly what he’s capable of but not wanting to find out either.

younghoon’s parents were gone for most of his childhood, along through his teenage years and then into his early adulthood. so it’s safe to say he grew up isolated and alone for most of his life. his only source of socialisation was when his sister was born seven years ago, when he was seventeen. they’re practically attached at the hip, wherever younghoon went, his sister followed and vice versa. his sister was mature for her age, much like younghoon himself, she had to learn how to take care of herself from an early age; that included knowing how to dress appropriately, know how to do her own hair and makeup for any special occasions the family hosted or attended to as well as the basics on how to behave as a royal should. the only difference between the siblings was that now, younghoon had responsibilities he had to take care of- preparing to be king once his father passes or if he steps down from the throne, maintaining a clean record as well as the constant fear of practically falling apart at the seams.

it wasn’t and still isn’t the ideal life for one to live, seeking his father’s approval and permission for pretty much everything he does. the burden weighing upon his shoulders just itching to make his knees buckle and collapse, making it hard for him to do pretty much anything “normal” like making friends or doing typical things you’d do in your twenties; it wasn’t that he liked people keeping their distance from him, nor the fact that everybody in the castle had their own misconceptions on him and his behaviour, all of which turn their topic of conversations onto him whenever he walks into the room.

it was a couple of days later when younghoon found himself sitting on the top of a hill just outside of the castle gates, observing the vast and majestic view that clouded the sky. the blue replaced by a faint red hue whilst the clouds floated aimlessly. the only sounds heard consisted of younghoon’s breathing, the small flow of water beside him and the odd bird that flew by every now and then. he can’t remember the last time he felt pure peace. everything being far too fast to keep up, like a black hole or a tornado, something you’re quickly swept up into until you completely disappear and break.

“they’re going absolutely mad looking for you in the castle, sir.”

you.

without sparing you a glance, younghoon let out a sigh, his shoulders tensing slightly at the thought of going back to the place that causes far too much stress.

unpropping yourself from a nearby rock, settling a comfortable space from younghoon, staring out at the landscape that looked like it just came out of a painting.

“what’re you doing here?”

“i came to find you, duh. they’re going sick at the thought of you having fled the country or something.”

“no, seriously. what’re you doing here?”

“contrary to belief, sir, but i actually want to be your friend. not your foe, regardless of how hard you try to push me away. don’t you ever get lonely in that big place?”

younghoon snickered at that, “you think you know me huh?”

“not at all. that’s why i’m saying i want to, i know what it’s like to have my childhood swept from between my feet, floating between self-doubt and uncertainty of what i’m going to do with my life and how i’m even going to do it on my own. i know far too well what it’s like to be alone my whole life, my parents either too busy preoccupied with work or too tired to spend time with me when they get home at the end of the night.”

for the first time, it felt like someone wasn’t pitying him, or mistaking his standoff-ish personality for something for malice and ill-intended. for the first time, he felt heard and understood.

“how about a restart?”

“huh?”

younghoon was turned towards you now, his hand extended to you, “hi. i’m younghoon. not prince younghoon, not sir, just younghoon.”

“nice to meet you, just younghoon, im y/n. i hope we can be great friends.”

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that. 

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching. 

Taglist: @lemonzoey​, @babayaga67​

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder. 

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record. 

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you. 

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try. 

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent. 

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google. 

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals. 

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead. 

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water. 

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you. 

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind. 

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities. 

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night. 

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!" 

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in. 

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous. 

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me." 

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great. 

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest. 

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you." 

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?” 

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar. 

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?” 

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction. 

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization. 

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?” 

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?” 

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.” 

“S-stop it.” 

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.” 

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“ 

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop. 

“-You might be.” 

“Shut it, shark bait!” 

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?” 

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?” 

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.” 

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” 

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” 

“Prick.” 

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should. 

You lean forward. 

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.” 

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game. 

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl." 

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all? 

“How old are you?” 

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?" 

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs." 

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction. 

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!" 

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales. 

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case. 

Some things are universal, it seems. 

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice. 

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows. 

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water. 

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious. 

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw." 

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?" 

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?” 

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa." 

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that? 

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.” 

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you. 

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to." 

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity." 

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?" 

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.” 

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow. 

“Thanks…  I think?” 

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please." 

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on." 

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. 

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.” 

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?" 

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention." 

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!" 

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman." 

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close." 

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me." 

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard. 

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything. 

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much. 

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

[agent-cupcake]

So happy you but up the headcanons! All of them are gems and I love them so much. Rereading the Dimitri and Felix rivalry hc made me want to ask for claude and yuri rivalry, but dark of course because both of these boys are sane and logical and would move on if they both caught feelings for you and weren't attached to you by a dark obession lol.

Sorry, I know you asked for love rivalry but I simply could not help myself and got a little carried away with seeing the so-called rivalry to his inevitable conclusion :3c

~Not that it’s probably necessary, but I had to consider the timeline for this. A rivalry between them wouldn’t fit in the events of the game because of Claude’s ambition, but he leaves the country in most endings. My solutions would be to have Claude split his time between Fódlan and Almyra as a politically active prince such as in his solo ending or to propose that Yuri would spend a lot of time in Almyra. Reasons for this could be that he went in aid of his good friend and military commander Balthus (Yuri would make for an awfully good royally sanctioned spy) or that he’s abusing the newfound system of open-market international trade for his criminal enterprise. Either way, Claude is powerful Almyran royalty and Yuri is a shady figure of the underworld. Not too unlike a story I’ve written, but this is separate from that. None of this really matters, ultimately, but whatever I like to think of how this would work out.

~Both men are powerful and ambitious. Both of them are emotionally isolated despite (or because of) their positions. They’re friends, or at least on friendly terms so there’d be a lot of overlap in social circles. And, really, they are quite similar so it’s plausible that they’d go for the same type.  

~I’ve since changed my stance on reasons why Claude might develop a fixation on someone. He is concerned with the intrinsic value of a person. He values the thoughts, feelings, and especially the perception of people he is close with. Claude is also a loner, a fundamentally lonesome person who wishes to be seen and loved on his own merits despite the guard he puts up and the social games he plays. Not to say I entirely retcon my previous opinion, but I focused too hard on the idea that he would need to dehumanize you by zeroing in on utilitarian usefulness rather than be driven to darker feelings by his fear of being alone and need to find a connection.

~This all goes for Yuri too, although it’s easier for me to imagine Yuri getting his authentic feelings twisted up and dark. Yuri’s circumstances were somewhat similar to Claude’s, except that he was shown genuine affection by his mother and the old man. Therefore, he knows what it is to lose that. He learned early on what it is to have people die because of him, to shoulder the burden of guilt that comes with such profound loss. Yuri’s scarred by a brutal, painful upbringing where “love” was a commodity to be traded in for favors (even by his mother) and genuine, honest relationships became nearly impossible to comprehend. If he met you and developed those true, affectionate feelings, if he found a so-called light in the darkness, maybe it’d make sense that he’d do everything he could to keep it from losing it.

~Their similarities in this instance would work out for this scenario. Somebody useful to them, somebody authentic enough to appeal to their deeply ingrained sense of loneliness, somebody clever or interesting or fun… There’s a lot of reasons they could develop unhealthy feelings for you born out of an innocently platonic friendship.

~And it would have to be platonic on both counts. Yuri and Claude are too self-aware for them to make a move if you made a choice early on. Or, I don’t think it’d become as big of a production because they wouldn’t have emotionally invested so much in you. Leading them both on unintentionally just by having a normal human friendship is kinda sad but also kinda funny.

~They’d know that you were close with the other. Of course they would. Maybe it would hurt, but neither would express that feeling to you. Claude would ask pointed (but not direct) questions about your feelings and dazzle you with grand overtures. Yuri would work the seductive and sweet angle, trying to win your heart the old fashioned way. But, you know, with more uncomfortable subtext and innuendo.   

~Something that has not changed is my opinion that Claude would be obsessive about his darker feelings. Not on a consistent, all the time basis, but more like a hobby. A puzzle he couldn’t solve, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He’d search for all of the pieces of you in the hopes that the final picture would allow him to understand his increasingly dangerous feelings. Claude’s not stupid, he’s really self aware. Enough to feel guilt, enough to recognize that what he’s doing isn’t right, and enough to justify himself out of the responsibility of doing amoral things for the right reasons.

~Yuri, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so… aggressive about it. He’d want you to come to him, to return to him again and again to prove to himself that what he feels isn’t wrong, to ingratiate himself into your life in a way that validated everything he felt for you and put you on more equal footing. He’d internalize everything a lot more, feel a lot of guilt about the intensity of his feelings, but he’d find ways to keep you close. Or, for you to keep him close.

~Don’t get me wrong, though, you wouldn’t get so much of a glimpse of this weaker, more vulnerable Yuri. He’d go the opposite direction of his guilt or doubt, wearing an impenetrable smiling, sarcastic, playful mask. My main point is that I see him as being more emotionally wrecked by having these dark feelings due to his self hatred. I also think Yuri would be more generally sensitive to unhealthy romance dynamics, especially if it became physical at all. 

~In an interestingly twisted way, Yuri hypocritically recognizing Claude’s behavior as being dangerous would encourage him to be more proactive about his own feelings and feel less guilty about doing so. Being the protective type rather than the obsessive really just fits Yuri so much better, although I see it as one ultimately leading to the other.

~It’s not about winning. They’d be competing, clearly battling against each other for you in a way that would not only be creepily objectifying, but also emotionally strenuous, but they’d keep on insisting that it wouldn’t be about winning. They’d just want you to be happy, to be safe. They both would just want what’s best for you. And what is best for you? Just ask them.

~Claude’s argument: Yuri’s lifestyle is dangerous. He’s a good guy, Claude really does trust him, buuuuut he’s not exactly the type of man you’d be safe with, you know?

~Yuri’s argument: Claude��s not treating you right. He’s obviously manipulating you, how could you possibly miss that? You deserve better, don’t you agree?

~But in the same breath they’d both insist that if you didn’t want to be with them romantically, that would be fine. They both, truly and unselfishly, would just want you to be happy. Just want to stay close with you. Veeeeeery unselfishly. 

~Their interactions with each other would be amazingly fake and aloof. Making small talk and smiling all the while vying for your attention in a nearly juvenile tug-of-war. Still, I don’t think, even through all of this, that they’d dislike each other. It’s not about winning, right? It’s not a game, right?

~Okay, so, I know the whole thing with scenarios like this is an inability to face rejection, but if you were to chose Yuri over Claude or vice versa, that’s where it would end. Committing yourself to one of them still wouldn’t work out super well because that’s the nature of giving into such dark and unhealthy feelings, but it would no longer be a rivalry.

~Let me propose, then, that you would eventually reject both of them. At first, the whole thing would have been so fun and so nice. Getting all of this attention from two powerful and attractive guys would be exciting. You’d feel so lucky, they’re both charming and friendly and kind. But then things would have gotten more intense and there’s this weird love triangle that is incredibly trite and uncomfortable and you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt either of them so it’s better to just leave it, right?

~Yuri would be more likely to use his personal feelings as a tactic of manipulation, I think. Worse, he probably wouldn’t see it that way. He knows, he truly knows, how dangerous and terrible the world could be and he’d do anything to shield you from it and his feelings would reflect that. Granted, if he felt you weren’t getting it, I don’t think Yuri would exactly be above veiled threats or bludgeoning you with fear tactics and even a dash of shame for how you’d played with both their hearts.

~Claude would do his best to convince you that you didn’t actually want to go. You didn’t have to chose either of them, but you couldn’t leave, either. That was way too dramatic. Besides… wasn’t it a little selfish? This was where you were needed, he relied on you. He trusted you. Sure, Claude’s a visionary, but what does that vision matter if the one who he shares his dreams with is gone?

~Maybe that wouldn’t work, though. Long term, it probably wouldn’t. I mentioned before that they wouldn’t hate each other, so if it came down to actually losing you, why not work together?

~Love triangles are for chumps, invest in a horribly unhealthy three person dynamic with possible kidnap and very overt tones of mental and emotional manipulation.

~That would solve all the the problems, wouldn’t it? Why would you try and leave them after they made so many compromises for you? Really, would you be that ungrateful and callous? They would both care about you so much, love you, even. Yuri and Claude would be trying to make it work despite the fact that it came down to essentially a tie in this bizarre game, why couldn’t you do your part? Landing such attractive and powerful guys, having them lay their hearts at your feet, you’d have to be a really terrible and selfish person to reject that. Not that you’d be given a lot of choice, but the devils in the details and if you fought them on this, it probably wouldn’t end up very pretty for you.

~Not saying either of them would hurt you. Physically, I mean. Probably. 

~In some ways, the compromise would make the guilt easier for them to bear. The fact that they were also being forced to deal with something they wouldn’t necessarily want to would be a leveling ground for them to justify any of your unhappiness with the situation. Like, it was all an equal amount of compromise to make things work for all three of you. 

~Claude would know how much Yuri meant to you and feel like the fact that he hadn’t taken that away from you absolved him of a lot of the responsibility of the other things he’d taken from you. Plus, Claude’s a distracted guy who’d lose track of things sometimes, always getting caught up in whatever project he was working on at the time, so he’d know that you wouldn’t be lonely during those times.

~Yuri would see Claude as being, in many ways, a better person than him. More out of a horrible sense of self perception than fact. So Yuri could have his piece of you with the recognition that Claude was there to balance the worst parts of himself and make you happy in ways this dark, twisty version of Yuri might not think he could.

~I don’t think that either Yuri or Claude would ever truly get along because of how similar they are and the fact that they both kinda lost to the other but I also don’t think that would be a huge issue. Their verbal sparring would be entertaining, honestly.