#has an electric type stuck in its throat!

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel x Reader | Till Death Do Us Part? pt. 4

type: angst warning(s): depressive thoughts, gloomy, mentions of war, mentions of death and loss word count: 1.8k words summary: based on this request: Azriel is shattered over the loss of his mate, his life no longer makes sense until one day when he sees her again. He cannot believe his eyes–this is his mate. Only problem she does not remember him or what they once had and moreover is now part of his sworn nemesis’ court–the Autumn Court. 

masterlist

—all rights reserved—

Your fingers trail over the painting. Over Azriel’s face. Over your face. There is no denying this is you, but how can this be possible. The painting is there, but still…you are left utterly confused. 

The moment Amren has placed the painting on the table both Eris and you nearly fainted. There is no denying this is you. 

And they all have confirmed it as well that they know you. It cannot be a coincidence or would they all lie for Azriel? This is silly – they would not. So this is the truth. You are mated to the male with the shadows.

You regard the picture silently when tears build up in your eyes. You try to blink them away but that is too difficult. They spill over the edges, rolling down your cheeks when you bit down on your lip to hold back a sob that burns in your throat, the back of your mouth aching. 

Suddenly there is a flood of emotions. It feels like you remember something. There is a little spark in the back of your mind—like a little light flashing brightly and a moment later pictures fill your brain. 

“Hold still!” Azriel chuckles next to you and curls his arm around your shoulders. 

A sob parts you lips when your fingers brush over his painted arm. The arm he has curled around your shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Then stop distracting me.”

“I am not distracting you. I want Feyre to paint us properly, now hold still.” Your head turning, you’re met with the deep hazel of Azriel’s eyes. 

Feyre. High Lady of the Night Court. Azriel’s eyes flash in front of your vision. You remember them. Only that they look sadder now. 

Drawing in a deep breath, you step closer to the painting. “Both of you stop talking now and let me focus. If you constantly move I will not be able to properly paint you.” A big grin spreads over the High Lady’s face. 

You gasp. The pictures are so clear in your brain.

“I cannot believe it,” you breathe and give your head a little shake. Single tears run down your cheeks, tasting salty in your mouth. 

A presence steps closer to you, his body looming over yours, towering behind you. Azriel. “You believe me now?” You nod your head and sniff. “But how is it possible? That cannot be possible? Wouldn’t I remember dying?” 

Your head whips to him, you blink rapidly, trying to clear your vision so you can look at him and make out the expression on his face. The spymaster is already looking at you, his face stoic, his eyes trailing over every small feature of yours. “That is why Amren was brought here. Maybe she has answers.” “She indeed has, but you need to stop crying first, girl, and listen to me.”

Blowing air out through your lips, your hand moves backwards and on its own accord grabs Azriel, holding it tightly. Warmth fills you when your skin touches his and Azriel moves closer to you. A tingling sensation runs through your body and you like the feeling of it.

“I am here for you. I am always here for you. You are not alone. Never.” Azriel’s voice is low. Your eyes widen and your head whips to him, lips parting. 

Azriel leans over you. Damp curls of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He grins from one ear to the other, his naked chest heaving with deep inhales. He leans down and kisses your brow, your forehead, your nose, your mouth, lips connecting in a passionate kiss. 

Your hand lifting you brush your fingers over your lips, a little electric shock zapping in your fingers. 

His scarred hand brushes up your naked chest, stopping on your neck. Azriel bites down on his lower lip. “You look delicious, my mate.” You chuckle, tipping your head back to kiss his jaw. “I hope you know that for the rest of your life I will always be here for you. You will never be alone from now on, my love. Never.”

Another sob leaves you, squeezing Azriel’s hand tightly. “I remember.”

Now it is Azriel whose lips are parted by a silent gasp. “You really do?” You nod your head. “But how is it possible? I need answers.”

You all sit down around the dining table, only Amren is still standing, assessing you silently. Her eyes trail over your features, your face, your entire body until they meet your eyes again. 

“Seems like you are Cauldron favoured.”

“That means?” It is Eris who speaks up, sitting on your one side, Azriel on your other. “That she is truly reborn?” “Yes, High Lord of Autumn, that is what this means.”

“Has this ever happened before?” Feyre asks. “That the Cauldron gives someone a second chance like that?” “You are the best example.” The High Lady smiles and gives her head a little shake. “I did not think about that. And it is different. Nesta has given her powers back to save me.”

You look between Nesta, who wears a warm smile on her lips and looks at her sister, and Feyre, who returns the smile. You slowly remember them and feel sad about everything you have missed. And you are curious about what has happened, what they are referring to, but you would ask about that at a later point. 

“Yes, that is true, girl, but the three of you and now apperently Y/N is truly Cauldron-blessed and favoured. Or Azriel is and the Cauldron or the Mother could not rob him of his mate.”

Amren folds her hands on the table and examines you. "You weren't fully dead I assume. Your soul must have been in limbo." She pauses.

"What is limbo?" you question, body trembling a little.

Amren untangles her ahnds and places them flat on the table. "It is a state between life and death. Your body is dead but your soul is a life. If you are lucky your a given another chance to live. Your body heals and your soul can inhabit it again."

Your head starts buzzing at this information— it sounds so odd and overwhelming.

"I assume the Mother wanted to give you another chance and thought it wasn't right to cut your life threads already," Amren finishes.

She fully turns to you, eyes narrowed. “You don’t remember anything. Nothing about how you…got reborn?” Pursing your lips, you turn your head to Eris. His expression is stoic, his eyes trained on the table, following a line on the dark marble. He slowly lifts his head and looks at you. “She was just there one day.”

He pauses for a moment. Azriel’s feet shuffle on the floor next to you and he shifts a little closer. Azriel’s scarred hand falls to the backrest of your chair, his fingers nearly touching your back. You draw in a deep breath, still looking at Eris. 

“It was shortly past the war with Hybern that you showed up and started training in the Autumn Court war camps. I just thought I hadn't noticed you before, there are so many people in the war camps.” You bow your head slowly…the war with Hybern. Hybern.

“Be careful.” “Always.” “Azriel.” You fist his Illyrian leathers and pull him closer. “I want you back in one piece.” The shadowsinger leans in, kissing your mouth softly, his arms curling around you, your hands trapped between your bodies, will your hearts beat in sync. “I can only return that. I want you back in one piece as well.”

Your gaze shifts to Azriel and for a long moment you just look at him. He looks tired. And he looks older. Not at lot, but a bit. He is wearing a light beard now, hasn’t been wearing one back then. 

“Y/N only started working for me a few months after Beron’s death. She said she did not remember much about her past. I thought she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yes, but I said it because I really did not remember. One of the healers in the war camps said that maybe I fell onto my head while training.” You fall back in your chair, leaning agains the backrest and Azriel’s hand. He touches you softly.

“But why was I reborn in another court?” “Maybe because you had to experience a new life? You had to start alone again. In a new surrounding,” Amren concludes. “Cauldron favoured but that does not mean your life had to be easy.”

A weak smile appears on your face and you cock your head to the side. “So you really aren’t mocking me? I was truly reborn.” Rhysand and Amren nod simultaneously. “I think it will take some time for all the memories to come back. It will need a lot more than just looking at paintings.” 

You nod slowly and bit down on your lower lip. You know that. Of course you know that. But you are happy that at least some are coming back. 

“What is the big question now is what you want, Y/N. How you want to continue from here on?” Rhysand says, his tone warm, and he folds his hands in front of him on the table. “If you want to stay here or go back to the Autumn Court.” You love the Autumn Court, you like Eris, he has become something close to a family. But if Azriel truly was your mate and this was his family….this was so overwhelming. And you know whatever decision you would make, it would disappoint someone. 

"I would like to talk to my High Lord. Alone.” Azriel does not like that, but he holds back, allowing it of course. What male would he be not to allow this. The High Lord of Autumn slowly nods and gets up after Rhysand and you. The High Lord of the Night Court, extends his hand, showing you a private chamber next to the dining room where you can talk. You thank him, heavy legs carrying you to the room.

Eris gives you no chance to speak up first.

“I want you to be with your mate. I know you think that I will be disappointed, but you deserve to be with your mate.”

“How—“ “I know this look on your face. I am not disappointed. I mean if you never come to visit me I will be, but—“ “I don’t want to move away from Autumn completely. I am your spymaster. Unless you no longer want me to work as that.” Eris chest heaves with a deep inhale, his features softening even more. “You want to keep living in the Autumn Court and working for me?” You nod and move closer to him. “But I would also like to be with Azriel. See if we can make it work out a second time.”

“I understand that,” Eris says and rubs his chin with his hand. “I think we can arrange it that you are with him but can still work for me. He is a spymaster as well, so secrecy has to still be on top of your priority list.” “Of course!” “And there will be certain things you cannot share with him?” “Yes, I understand that.”

For quite a while longer you and Eris talk. For a quite a while too long.

Azriel grows impatient, nervously tapping his foot on the ground. “She won’t decide against you, Azriel. I saw her look at you,” Nesta says, trying to comfort Azriel.

Just when the shadowsinger opens his mouth to answer the door to the chamber opens and both you and Eris enter the dining room again. 

Azriel, his lips parted, stands up and it is then that you start running, your emotions too strong to hold you back. Azriel opens his arms for you, catching you when you jump onto him, curling your arms around his neck. “I would like to give us another chance. If you want that too?” Azriel exhales loudly, holding you tightly. His breath is warm on the side of your neck, his shoulders and chest rumbling and shaking with silent sobs. He is crying, his tears falling to your skin. And it is then that the tears also start flowing out of your eyes. 

Lifting your head, you look at him, your gazes locking, and you smile at him.

“I really hope that I can love you the same way I loved you before all of this. The way you deserve to be loved. But I am quite sure I will.”

“I have no doubt about that. I have never stopped loving you in the first place.”

His determination is already enough to make your heart beat faster and you smile at him, your soul starting to glow, the tug getting stronger. Your soul is finally once again reunited with its other half, having been longing and yearning for so long. 

You are once again one. Equals, lovers, mates. Azriel and you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

cheri cheri lady (goin' through a motion)

cheri cheri lady (goin' through a motion) https://ift.tt/SPsw3K0 by strawberryotter In drag, he’s baring himself in a way he never thought he’d have the luxury of. He feels comfortable, confident, electric. He’s far away from his father, and it helps settle the beast of self-loathing slumbering within him — helps him forget. Out of drag, however, is a different story. That same beast, the one that wakes at the most inopportune times, likes to rear its head back and sink its jaws into his throat because he’s still Dean Winchester. And that would not be a problem if it didn’t prompt him to remember where he came from. Wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t still his father’s son. And to be reminded of that is to look misery in the eye — he’s never sure it’s something he can come back from. or Dean does drag and Cas was never an angel. Words: 6338, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Crowley (Supernatural), Kevin Tran (Supernatural), Charlie Bradbury, Balthazar (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Drag Queens, Drag Queen Dean Winchester, DRAG queen?? he's the queen of DRAG!!!, we need more dean in drag if u ask me, Twink Dean Winchester, but like in a butch little cowboy type of way, Angst, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Past Abuse, Parental Abuse, Stanford Era (Supernatural), what if when sam went to college dean traveled and did drag, Dean Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Castiel is Soft for Dean Winchester, castiel is intrigued by dean winchester, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cas is autistic, Because he literally is, and author is autistic, Castiel's Sex Hair, because good GOD HIS SEX HAIR, Trauma, Anxiety, Flashbacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hopeful Ending, Happy/Open ending, cheri cheri lady got stuck in my head in the shower and it spiraled into this idk what happened, Explicit Language, Cas is not an angel, Dean is not a hunter, substance abuse if you squint, might be forgetting tags, crowley is serving mother, Drag Queen Crowley, drag queen kevin, crowley is lowkey nice in this hello canon divergence, Verbal Harassment, Assault, implied assault via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/J0l9Rdy July 17, 2023 at 10:19PM

[doodledex-project]

Doodledex - #845 Cramorant

Despite how goofy they look, with their seemingly vacant stare, Cramorant are actually pretty good fighters... even if they sometimes forget what their opponent is! And like real cormorants, they’re also pretty skilled at catching fish...

...Except they often get so excited about their food, they wind up trying to swallow their catch whole! This usually results in Cramorant getting whatever it is it’s eating (usually... the next Pokemon I’m going to post about, actually) lodged in its throat... which can even happen if it uses Surf or Dive in battle! Thankfully, one hit will cause Cramorant to forcefully spit its catch out... right into whatever hit it! (If that didn’t sound painful (and embarrassing) enough, they’ve also been known to try and eat Pikachu by mistake, resulting in a nasty shock for the unlucky sap on the end of that Gulp Missile!)

[fortuositywritings]

The Great Animal Rescue

Summary: You should have minded your own business, but try saying no to a little girl who was crying for her cat. Now you are stuck in a tree trying not to embarrass yourself in front of the attractive individual who comes to your rescue.

A/N: This is a Skye/Daisy x reader short that is meant to give some background for them in I Said No

___________________________________________________________________

2:17pm

Y/N where r u??

You are stuck in a tree with no way down is where you are. You should really learn to say no to people. It’s what got you into this mess in the first place. You were on your way to meet your friends at the movies after stopping at an ice cream shop for a cone. You thought, why not walk the way there? It is only a few blocks away and it’s nice outside. 

So you began walking, licking your ice cream happily. It’s nothing compared to the ice cream shop in the small town where your cousin lives, but this one is still pretty damn good. Not two minutes into your stroll, the sound of someone sniffling made you pause. You hesitated to investigate where the noise was coming from, seeing that your cousin’s husband has given you plenty of lectures about stranger danger. You ignored the voice in your head saying he might have a point. He spends a lot of his time in New York; there are a lot of weirdos there. This is LA in broad daylight. The worst thing that could happen where you were at the moment would have been getting run over by an electric scooter. 

Clearly you were wrong.

It turned out to be some kid crying because her cat wouldn’t come down from the tree. You asked her where her parents were. She said they were inside the house and wouldn’t come outside because if the cat could climb up, it would eventually come back down. You told her they were probably right and were about to leave her there on the sidewalk but that was before she gave you some of the most adorable puppy dog eyes and a “please”. 

You asked the girl to hold your cone while you spotted the cat. It didn’t seem to be too far up into the tree. You started climbing up, grabbing a branch and hoisting yourself up. One branch made a on your green sweater, making you mumble in displeasure the rest of the way up to the cat. You should have listened to her parents as well. As soon as you had reached the cat, the damn thing ran past you and ran down the tree like a squirrel. You nearly lost your balance.

The girl thanked you even though you didn’t really do anything and ran inside her house after her cat, taking your ice cream with her. After mumbling to yourself on never falling for some puppy eyes again, you realized how far up you actually were. Your face blanched and your grip tightened around the tree branch keeping you balanced. 

You felt your phone vibrate and it took you 5 minutes to actually take it out to read the message. That’s where you are at right now. Trying to message your friend Ola back, typing with one shaky thumb.

2:23pm

Stuck intr ee two block sway help

Before pressing send, you think it over. Should you message her back? You know if you tell her to come rescue you, she would come with the rest of the gang and they would never let you live it down. Is it worth it? Better that than dying up here, you think.

Going to press send, your sweaty hand loses its grip on your phone and it falls onto the grass below. “Fuck!”

“Fuck!” Someone echoes from below, startling you in return. “Shit!”

You’re practically hugging the tree at this point. The person below you speaks to you, “You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing up there?”

You hesitate to look down but brave the fear of looking down to see the woman talking to you. And what a spectacular view you have. Had you not already been weak in the knees from being so terrified, you would have some now from looking at this gorgeous person. She’s clearly waiting for your reply, so you clear your throat and say, “Rescuing a cat. What are you doing?”

“Walking to my van.” She points to the van across the street. “Where’s the cat?”

“What?” you ask. She raises an eyebrow at you. “You said you were rescuing a cat, but I don’t see any.”

“Very observant of you,” you point out, not answering her question. She narrows her eyes at you. “You’re not like some weirdo trying to peek into someone’s bedroom are you?”

You scoff. “What?! No! I’m one for one on rescuing cats, actually. It went back inside to its house.” You defend yourself. “Besides, you’re the one with the creepy ‘I’ve got candy inside my van’ van, so.”

Now this stranger looks embarrassed. “It’s for work.”

“Who do you work for? The CIA?” you joke, making the woman laugh. “They’d wish.”

It’s your turn to give her a questioning look at the odd response. She ignores it and loops back to you. “So if this great animal rescue went just like you said, why are you still up there?”

“To, uh-get better reception,” you lie. She looks at you unimpressed and you see why when she bends down to pick up the phone you dropped. “You mean for the phone that’s down here on the ground?”

You laugh nervously. She catches on when she notices how tight your hold on the tree is. “Are you sure you’re not just stuck up there?”

“What? Stuck? Me?” you laugh as if what she is saying is just offensive. “No, I just liked the peacefulness the tree provided. I dropped my phone on purpose. Yeah, I didn’t want it to distract me from really appreciating the beauty of the world around us.”

“Yeah, the McDonalds down the road really does look beautiful in the daylight,” she quips.

“It’s the wonder of the golden arches,” you retort, pulling a genuine laugh from the woman. 

“Well, then I’ll leave you to it,” she says. You dryly swallow, afraid that your chance at getting down from the tree will leave with her. She speaks up again. “But before I go, would you like me to send the message to Ola that somewhat reads ‘Stuck in a tree two blocks away help’?”

She smirks and you sigh at being caught. “Okay, truth is I’m deathly afraid of heights. I didn’t realize how high I actually was until I tried coming down.”

“Well, that’s okay. It is one of the most common fears,” she reasons.

“It’s embarrassing. I can’t even look at a plane without feeling nauseous.”

“Well, I think you’ve been doing well so far. Look how long you lasted up there while looking down towards me.” She points.

“That’s only because you’re a good distraction,” you confess. 

She begins to climb up towards you. “Aww, are you trying to call me beautiful?”

You blush and don’t say anything though the silence speaks for you. She finally gets to you. “I’ll take that as a yes. Now, let’s get you down this tree, Robin Hood.” 

“Robin Hood?” you question the nickname. “Is it because of the tree?”

“That. Also, the tights and green top pull it all together. We just need to get you a bow and some arrows and you’ll be set.” The irony at the fact that there are plenty of arrows and bows at your cousin’s house due to her husband’s profession isn’t lost on you. Unfortunately, any joke you could make about it would get you in trouble, so you just smile at the beauty trying to help you down. 

She offers you her hand and helps you get down the tree branch to branch with all the patience in the world. Not once does she complain about the death grip you have on her hand. When your feet feel the ground beneath them, you feel like crying. Instead you just let go of the stranger’s hand and try to get your heartbeat to settle down to it’s regular pace.

“Not too bad, see? Soon you’ll be bungee jumping,” she jokes.

“That’s a big leap from getting down from a tree.”

“Well, yeah. It’s bungee jumping. Leaping is the first half of the process,” she says sarcastically. You roll your eyes at her playfully. Then she smiles at you with a gleam in her eye as if she just had the best idea in the world. “How about we start with something smaller then? What are you doing on Friday?”

“Um, I don’t have any plans yet.”

“Now you do. Friday night, you will be taking the next step to conquering your fear of heights!”

“It’s not bungee jumping, is it?” you ask, petrified. As beautiful as this girl may be, risking your life for the chance to see this girl one more time doesn’t seem like a well thought out trade. 

“Calm down, Robin Hood. I was thinking more along the lines of getting you to ride the ferris wheel at the fair,” she reassures you, making you blush.

“Like on a date?” you shyly ask. God, you hope you didn’t just embarrass yourself.

“Like on a date.” She smiles at you and your heart feels like it’s skipping.

“Y/N.”  You throw out. She looks lost so you explain, “Every Robin Hood has a name for when they aren’t up in trees ready to rob rich people. Mine happens to be Y/N.”

“Skye.” She offers her name and you take it so willingly, letting it ruminate in your mind. “Here.” She pulls your phone out of the pocket she had put it in. She goes to your contacts and adds herself in before handing it back to you. You stare down at it in wonder. 

“Well, I think your friends might be waiting on you, so…” She begins walking backwards. “I’ll see you Friday, Y/N!”

She turns around looking both ways before jogging across the street towards her van. You see her pull into the street nodding at you before driving off. You wave back after the van, dumbstruck. “What the hell just happened?” You mumble to yourself.

****

“You know when you said I would be getting on the ferris wheel, I assumed you meant you would go on it with me,” you grumble, making your way over to Skye who was waiting for you by the exit gate of the ride. 

She reaches for your hand pulling you closer to her. “Some things, you have to learn to do alone. You just have to let the belief that something great will come out of pushing through your fear guide you through that fear.”

“I don’t think any funnel cake we get later was worth that experience,” you pout. 

“Okay, then how about this,” she says before pulling you in to kiss you. It doesn’t last long but you let it consume you for the seconds you have. You open your eyes when she continues, “and a second date?”

“Only if it ends just like that,” you counter. She kisses you again, the second kiss leaving you just as dazed as the first.

“Deal,” she agrees, pulling you towards the funnel cake truck. “Next date, Robin Hood takes on Six Flags!”

“Wait, what?!”

_____________________________________________________________________

So, just a side little thing for some Reader and Daisy/Skye context before she eventually shows up in I Said No. It feels like I’m giving this reader a whole Universe. The world does in fact revolve around Y/N. 

Obviously (or maybe not) I dropped some references to the other fic but really you could read either without needing to read the other (if it truly breaks your heart to see reader with anyone else).

@madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemissis @myperfectlovestory @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cantcontroltheirfear @trikruismybitch @your-my-mission @imagine-reblog @fayhar @idek-5 @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo @bemyvitamin @musicinourlips @paumxmff @wandamaximoffsrings @yeetus-thyself @lostandsearching @when-wolves-howl @euphoriaszn2 @gingerbreadcookieforlife 

[melancholymetropolis]

Skin

Summary:  Business Man Todoroki has been unconsciously neglecting his wife, due to his enormous workload. So, she decides to surprise him at home office.

A/N: Thank you guys for all the love you shared on my first piece! I didn't expect so many people to be so into it! If you want to commission me for a story, click here!

Warnings: This is pure filth with a dash of fluff at the end. Maybe, angst, if you squint. Reader is, also, plus sized! Shoto is a cocky little bastard, but a total simp for his wife. 

Pairings: AgedUp!Todoroki Shoto x Black!Reader

As I grabbed my bonnet off the nightstand, my eyes caught a glimpse of the clock. 12:34 AM. I sighed and looked at the neatly made bed. My husband was supposed to be on the other side, pulling back the sheet and climbing in along with me. But, like most days, he was still in his study, waist-deep in work. Frustrated, I walked to the closet and took a long look at the present I had picked up earlier that day. I was supposed to wear it the following day since he had claimed I would have his undivided attention this weekend. However, my patience had been wearing thin and I was seconds away from throwing myself at him in my birthday suit. Knowing Todoroki, he would’ve found it by the morning anyway and ruined the surprise. 

Before I could change my mind, I stripped out of my oversize cotton shirt and underwear. I threw the items in the hamper and unhooked the lingerie from the hanger. I slipped my legs into the lace cheekies and snapped the garter belt around my waist. After I shimmied into the strapless bustier, I rolled the thigh high stockings onto my legs and clipped the garter belt onto them. I tossed the bonnet on the bed and untied my boxed braids from its messy bun. I slipped my feet in the marabou lined heeled slippers and shrugged on the matching black, silk robe. I rolled on my homemade Love Potion scented oil and fluffed my eyelashes with mascara. I added a little bit of sparkling lip gloss and headed out of the room.

On the way to the study, I had tried to convince myself that what I had done was incredibly stupid and childish. But, I simply debunked that statement with “YOLO” and continued on my journey. The door to the study had been partly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Todoroki typing away on the laptop as if there had been no tomorrow. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little more. I knocked twice on the frame and waited for him to look up. He didn’t.

“I promise I am almost done, I just need to type this last statement and I will join you in bed,” his eyes were glued to the computer. “Just five more minutes.”

I looked down at my rose embroidered bustier and back at him. 

Should I just wait until he finished? He did say it wouldn’t be that long.

“Okay, darling?” he quickly shot a look over to me, before resuming his work on the computer. Suddenly, Todoroki stopped typing and stared at me. His mismatch eyes washed over me ever so slowly, taking in every detail. He took his sweet time to meet my eyes again and a smirk fell on his lips. “Lock the door.” 

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. I turned the lock to the left and looked back at him. The laptop had disappeared, along with the papers from on top of the desk. Todoroki loosened his tie and pulled it from his neck. He pushed his body away from the desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. 

“Come here,” his voice dropped an octave as his eyes darkened. 

I squared my shoulders and lifted my head. I stared directly at him as I took small steps toward the desk. I brushed my hands along the outside ridge before I walked in between his legs. I scooted my rear on the empty space on the desk. 

The Japanese man closed the distance between us and looked up at me. His fingers glided down the base of my thigh before wrapping around my heeled foot. Todoroki slipped the shoe from my foot and dropped it on the floor. He repeated the action with my other foot. His long fingers kneaded the stocking covered skin on my thigh. 

“I don't know if I should be pleased by this action or angered by it," his smooth voice dressed my ears. 

Todoroki had a way to speak with such authority and pose that it infuriated me. When he wanted to, he could switch on an Alpha persona and command my undivided attention. His voice would get deeper, huskier, and, when he spoke, it sounded as though it vibrated in my earlobes. The feather-like touches on my skin shot electricity through my skin as his gentle humming gave me goosebumps. Todoroki was well aware of how sexually attracted I was of him and would use these tactics against me. Sometimes even in public. The amount of underwear I ruined because of this was laughable. But he didn’t care since it meant that he would see me in new lingerie every so often. 

“Why would you be angered by this, baby?” I asked shyly.

Todoroki opened my thighs just a tab bit wider and scooted his chair closer. “Because I know—” he undid the knot on the belt of the rob. “I am gonna have to explain—” the silk slipped from my shoulders and fell on the desk. “Why my report is missing—,” Todoroki sat my heels on the arms of his chair and pulled my pelvis to the edge of the desk. “In the morning,” his hand kneaded the soft skin between my thighs. His fingers inched closer to my lace-covered womanhood and his eyes flickered to mine. The Japanese man placed his thumb on the moist area and drew small circles upon it. I took my bottom lip in between my teeth and nibbled on it. The skilled muscle slid to the top of my vulva and found the throbbing, sensitive bud. Todoroki drew bigger circles on that spot and my mouth fell open graciously. 

With a smirk on his lips, he mimicked my facial expression. “There we go. That’s the face I want,” he said as he leaned closer. “You like that, princess?”

“Mhm!” I hummed with a nod. I leaned backward on my hands and let my head fall back. 

Pushing my legs further apart, Todoroki rose from his seat. His lips left hot kisses from my navel and up my bustier. His tongue slid up my cleavage to my collarbones. My husband sucked the skin on the crook of my neck tenderly, before nibbling the skin on my neck. The bites increased until he reached my jaw. With one hand still on the sensitive bud, he found my lips. Leaning on my left hand, I laced my fingers in his hair and gave it a slight tug. I opened my mouth, greedily taking his tongue in my mouth. Todoroki flicked his thumb faster. My moans increased to desperate pants. I pulled my lips away and rested my forehead against his. I looked in his eyes as I whimpered under his touch. My legs began to shake slightly as my walls clenched against themselves. The seat of the cheekies was drenched in my arousal and clung to my vulva. My husband moved the digit faster and tingles ran through my body. My toes curled tightly as my pants became louder. I squeezed the root of his hair tighter; I never broke eye contact with him. 

Todoroki smirked deviously and removed his finger from the bud. 

“Why did you stop?” I whined with a frown.

He chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt. “Because if I don’t bury myself in that sweet cunt soon, I’m afraid I'll burst,” Todoroki said as he unbuckled his belt. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I replied with a tired giggle. 

Todoroki pulled his trousers and boxers down in one go. His member sprang free and bobbed a little. My walls clenched in anticipation. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the side. My husband looked down at my clothed core with the same anticipation I had. He unclipped the garter belt from my thigh highs and gripped the edge of underwear. He gently pulled the fabric from my hips and down my legs. Todoroki tossed the panties to the side and placed my legs back in their original position. He rubbed the tip of his member from my bud to my core before sinking himself into me. I inhaled sharply and exhaled with a low moan. The familiar sensation of him stretching my walls was always such a turn on. 

His mouth fell open and a groan poured from his mouth. “Fuck...”

I slowly rocked myself against his hips, hinting that I was ready for him. 

Todoroki started off with deep, long strokes. Savoring every moment of the transaction. Quiet moans left my mouth. The stimulation from earlier still stirring the depths of my being. The pleasure in my body had been reaching its limit and I knew my husband was nowhere near done. 

Bored with that position, Todoroki leaned back just a bit to lift my legs from the desk and rest them on his biceps. He gripped the edge of the surface I was on and began ramming himself into me. The breath in my lungs had gotten stuck in my throat and I forgot to breathe.

“Oh. . .  shit . . .” My mouth formed a large ‘o’ shape and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. 

“There’s the face I want,” he said cockily. 

I leaned back on my hands and threw my head back. “ So. . . good. . .” I grunted as I bucked my hips to meet his.

“Look at my naughty, naughty wife,” Todoroki mused lowly. “Desperately. . . ready to become undone.”

“Ugh~~~,” tingles began to flood my body. Stars flashed behind my eyelids as my legs began to shake again yet again.

Todoroki lifted my legs higher until they reached his shoulders. He continued his steady, but deep pace. His long, ebony locks began to cling to his forehead. Eyes drilling holes into my body. Todoroki slid his hands along the desk and gripped the edge near my shoulders. His member pushed deeper into my, brushing my cervix tenderly. My back slowly fell against the desk, and, to avoid an injury, Todoroki supported my neck with his hand. With hooded eyes, I looked up at him.

“I love you . . . so much,” I whispered as my toes curled tightly.

“I know,” he said with a wide smile. “I love you, too.”

The tingling stopped and a chill ran through my body. My back arched into his abdomen as my eyes rolled back. My mouth stretched open and hips pulsed against his. My nails dug into the wood of the desk. An elongated groan left my lips and I saw white. Todoroki continued to stroke in and out of the smooth canal, chasing his own finish. That actually, ultimately, further stimulated the sensitive area and elongated my climax. 

"Oh. . . My. . . GOD!" The whimper increased to high pitched shrieks. 

Todoroki drops one of my legs from his shoulder and hooks it around his waist. He tucked his arm through space my arched back made against the desk. He lifted my back from the surface, digging the bones from the bustier into my back. With my lifted leg in the air, I used my right hand to grip his shoulder as I lean forward, My left hamstring tingled a little at the position, but I pushed through it. 

“Thank God for Yoga,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh shut up— shit!” Todoroki resumed his deadly rhythm in the middle of my sentence. 

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” he replied between pants.

The potency of that new position had been lethal; each stroke caused his abdomen to briefly brush against my sensitive bud. The overstimulation caused my legs to shake violently, after a short while. A build-up of pressure found its way in my lower belly and gave off a warm sensation. I dug my nails into my husband’s shoulder and threw my head back. Incoherent words left my tongue, as water gushed from my core and onto the silk garment beneath me. Todoroki’ stroke came to an abrupt pause and a silent scream left his lips. With closed eyes, he gripped the edge of the desk tightly and pushed himself in me one more time before oozing into me. He caught his breath and ran a hand through his hair. A shallow laugh left his mouth as he pried his eyes open. Todoroki lowered my leg from his shoulder and rested a hand on my neck. Thumb on my cheek, my husband lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a passionate kiss.

I hooked my arms underneath his and placed my fingers in his hair. With his other hand flat against my lower back, he arched my body into his and deepened the kiss. He moaned against my lips.

I pulled away from the embrace and chuckled, “You never took off the bustier.”

“I didn’t want to break it,” he gave my lips a small peck. “I actually liked this one.”

“Oh. really?” I said with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t like the pink one?”

“I mean, it was nice,” Todoroki kissed along my jawline. “But, it is something about you in black. It does things to me.” He nipped the sweet spot on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Noted,” I replied with a groan. 

“But, it really doesn’t matter what you wear,” Todoroki kissed his way up my neck and raised his head to meet my eyes, “You could wear a garbage bag and I’d still rise for you.”

“Garbage bags are black, honey,” I concluded with a cheerful glint in my eyes.

“Oh, you’re right,” Todoroki said with a laugh. After a few seconds, he paused his laughter. “I just remembered. . . I have a surprise for you, too.”

“You know I hate surprises,” I groaned. 

“But, you’re gonna like this one,” Todoroki untangled our limbs and pulled away from me. He reached into a drawer and pulled out two pieces of paper. He handed them to me. 

“Plane tickets to. . . the Netherlands,” I read aloud. 

“A two-week romantic getaway,” he declared with a nod. “I have been promising you quality time for a while now, so I decided to take off of work for a little while.”

“Looks like I gotta buy some more lingerie, huh?” I questioned with a grin.

“A whole lot more,” my husband said before pulling me in for another kiss.

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (Five)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) panic attack, miscommunication, fingering ( female receiving)

Notes: here’s ch5! Hope you guys like this chapter. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @getmemyfries @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous --- Next

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The silky robe is a deep burgundy and it looks divine draped over your skin…Taehyung watches as you stand between his spread legs and the silky material begins to slowly slip off your shoulders. He can’t help but gulp when the robe falls down your arms and your matching lingerie set is finally exposed. The material that covers your breasts is lace, he can see your hardening buds and he sighs out in satisfaction… the rest of the lingerie top is sheer and flowy. He only observes as the robe finally falls to the floor and you step closer to him, bending down giving him the most immaculate view of your cleavage…god, he can’t wait to have your tits in his large hands. He is a man of self-control though. He just wants to watch you for a while before he even touches you, which ultimately drives you crazy.

You finally begin to crawl into his lap, settling over his bulge. He leans away from you, his head hitting the cushion of the sofa when you continue to bend forward until your lips are on his neck. Taehyung smirks and releases breath after breath when he feels your tongue run up his throat.

“Taehyung…” you whisper, “Taehyung, what are you thinking about?”

“Taehyung what are you thinking about? Hello?”

“Taehyung? Earth to Tae?” You continue to wave your hand in front of his face. You both are sitting on the living room couch watching a Disney movie when Taehyung obviously stopped paying attention. The boy is completely zoned out.

“Tae?”

“Huh? What?” his eyes zone back in and he’s whipping his head in your direction. “What?”

“I asked what you were thinking about, you really zoned out there.” You giggle. Taehyung’s eyes skim over your body, you’re wearing a t shirt and some shorts…definitely not the lingerie set he was just imagining you in. Yet somehow you still look sexy and it’s driving him nuts.

“Oh nothing.” Taehyung grins, feeling himself grow warmer at the memory of his imagination.

“Movie night is boring you, huh?” you steal the blanket from Taehyung’s lap and wrap it around yourself. “We can play a game instead? Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, you can show me that song you’ve been working on.” You eye him, waiting for his reaction.

“It’s not ready.” Taehyung pouts, “I promise I’ll show you when it’s ready. I’m just stuck.”

“Maybe I could help? You never know.”

“y/n…” he whines, “Just wait.” Then he’s scooting a little closer to you, “Patience isn’t really something you’re good at, huh?” he teases then his voice goes lower, “I’ll have to teach you.”

“Fine, fine. I can be patient.” You roll your eyes at him, you unwrap the blanket from yourself and put it out in front of you, offering to share with your roommate.

Taehyung accepts the invitation by inching closer to you and going under the blanket, his body heat sticking to your skin.

“Want to go for a walk?” Taehyung asks, snuggling further into the blanket.

“A walk? It’s so dark out?”

“I bet the moon looks nice over the ocean.” Taehyung points out softly, “I bet it feels nice and cool.”

“Hmm, okay.”

~

Taehyung was right, the moon looks absolutely hypnotizing over the water. You two are sat in the sand near the shore and you can feel the mist of cool water greet you as the waves come in. It feels amazing.

“Can you believe it’s been a little over 6 months?” you sigh, “Time is flying by.”

“You don’t sound as bitter as you usually would.” Taehyung playfully bumps his knee into yours. “You like my company that much?” he teases.

But you tense at his words…he isn’t that far off and you know that’s dangerous, almost as dangerous as him.

“I’m tired of being so bitter.” You admit, “Doesn’t mean I love this situation. I want to return to the real world…I have a lot of things to take care of. I can’t use the island as an excuse anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“My life is a mess, Tae. This island was like a break from that…I know that sounds crazy—”

“No, I get it.” Taehyung says softly. “I get it.”

“But can you believe we are still here? I mean, we flirt but I don’t know if it’s getting us anywhere.” You whisper. “And are they really taking us seriously?”

“What’s that mean?” Taehyung raises his brows, “Take us seriously?”

“We don’t view each other that way.” You say as quietly as you can, making Taehyung’s heart race. “We never will.”

“Oh.” Taehyung drops his head low, “Right.” Then he raises his head. “So are you saying you would never view me in any way besides a friend?”

“Obviously.” You chuckle, “That’s what we agreed on.”

Taehyung let’s your words marinate for a second…you’re right you two agreed to get along and nothing more. But things change? Taehyung is the type to realize things pretty quickly and go for it. He’s questioning a lot right now. Is he just super fucking attracted to you? Or does his feelings run deeper than that. And he just got his answer.

The fact that you say you would never view him that way has him feeling down, like a major state of depression is coming, like a large storm cloud is making its way over his body.

He wants you to change your mind. He wants you to like him. Why? Isn’t it obvious? He likes you.

“I guess.” He finally says after a long while, he doesn’t know what else to say honestly. He knows you aren’t anywhere near ready to hear his feelings and honestly he isn’t ready to say them out loud yet either. He knows he isn’t technically dating Hana but he still feels like he’s doing something wrong…like he’s cheating or just straight up betraying.

“Let’s walk.” He says standing to his feet, he leans down to help you up by the arm.

“Okie.”

You two begin walking down a path underneath the starry sky, his hand keeps bumping into yours as he talks and you grow nervous at the small contact. You can handle it, or so you think but when his skin touches your skin you feel a bolt of electricity fly down to your lower belly.

“And Jimin is my favorite.” He chuckles, “I mean, don’t get me wrong…I love all the guys but Jimin and I go way back. He can read me like his favorite book and vise versa.”

“That’s awesome. I wish I could meet them.” You admit shyly and Taehyung smiles down at you.

“You can!” he grins, “When we get out of here, I’ll fly you to Korea so you can visit me and you’ll meet the guys. Trust me, they’ll love you.”

You nod your head blushing like a middle school girl who just confessed a crush, you can’t help how rosy your cheeks get.

“You really think you’ll want to see me after this? Aren’t you tired of me yet?” you joke.

“Why? Are you tired of me?” Taehyung’s voice dips down an octave. “You can be honest.”

“No, Tae. I’m not tired of you….yet.” You bump your shoulder into his side and he chuckles.

“Good. Because…” Taehyung pauses, not entirely sure of what he was going to say. “Because…” he begins again. “I think I’m just getting used to you.”

“Only now?” you half joke, teasing him. “We—”

“I just mean,” Taehyung clears his throat, cutting you off. “I think I mean like I’m used to you in a way that I look forward to spending everyday with you.”

Oh. Oh. You stop walking abruptly making Taehyung stop as well, he blinks at you in confusion like ‘why the hell did you stop so suddenly?’.

“You look forward to spending time with me?” you swallow down your spit as you try to speak. “That’s…really sweet of you.” You admit.

Taehyung walks to you and stops just when his toes hit yours, “I can be very sweet.” He whispers to you. “I can show you.” Then he’s taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers, you only stare up at him confused by his action.

“For the cameras?” you ask as quietly as possibly.

“Not everything is for the cameras y/n. When are you going to get that through your pretty head?”

~~~~~~~~

Lately, Taehyung is confusing the hell out of you. He’s doing things he wouldn’t normally do, you think. You can understand flirting for the camera but why is he doing shit even when the cameras aren’t around? It’s not like you hate it…no, it’s not that. You hate to admit it but you fucking like it. A lot. The way he leans into you, the way his hands grip at your waist, the way his touch absolutely melts you. But it’s dangerous. You can’t get attached to him. He’s the first real friend you have in so many months…and that makes you feel pathetic. Poor guy is forced to be friends with you, flirt with you and so on.

You can feel the anxiety start to build…you hate this. You hate how easy it is for you to break, for you to crumble. It’s one of those days, right? You’ve barely made much of an appearance downstairs and you know that worries Taehyung. But today is just one of those days. The heartbreak of your real life seeps into the joyous façade of your island life. Fuck, you hate this. You hate how messy everything is and how nothing feels right or feels real.

It feels like your old life is becoming more and more out of reach, like you run after it, extending your hand out but it’s too far away from your grasp and that has you feeling helpless.

And that overwhelming dread suffocates you. Its hand wraps tightly around your throat, threatening to cut off your air supply. You’re sat up in your bed, your knees pulled into your chest as you try your hardest to level out your breathing, but it’s no use. No fucking use. The dread is too strong, its fingers leaving bruises around your neck.

“Breathe…breathe.” You repeat the words over like a mantra but your throat burns as tears threaten to pool your eyes so you keep them screwed shut.

Suddenly, you hear soft knocks on your bedroom door. Your head snaps upward. Shit.

“Y-Yeah?” You manage to choke out.

“Can I come in?” Taehyung’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door, his voice laced in concern.

“Uh…” you try to calm yourself down so you can respond properly.

“C-Can you just come by later?” You weakly suggest.

There’s a few beats of silence, you start to think he’s given up on you and left when you hear his soft voice once again,

“I have strawberries.”

You feel the pounding of your anxious heart relax just the tiniest. He brought me strawberries…of course he did.

“Umm sure, come in.”

Taehyung slowly creaks the door open, exposing himself.

He walks to the side of the bed, approaching you carefully, one hand carrying a bowl while the other carries a can of whipped cream.

“Snack?” He shakes the can in offering.

You try to smile, you really want to at least. But you feel your chest growing heavier and tighter, your breathing once again becoming uneven. Images of your family and your friends—the ones who didn’t totally shun you—come to mind and you just can’t take it anymore. Everything is too much. Tears well deep inside and before you realize it, tears are racing down your cheeks. You look up at Taehyung, without say anything you are begging him to comfort you. You weakly smile.

“Its…hard.” You admit between choked sobs. It so fucking hard. You miss your old life—believe it not—and the life you have now…is just playing pretend. Everything’s just too much for you right now.

Taehyung seems…surprised. He looks like he’s being torn apart.

“Woah, woah.” He rushes to set the bowl and can down on the nightstand.

“Hey, shh shh.” Taehyung sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He reaches for your shoulder and begins rubbing it soothingly. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

You cry even harder at that. You reach your hand towards your shoulder and grab his, holding it tightly. You try your best to calm down, his touch relieving some of your pain.

“That’s it… In and out…good.” He continues rubbing your shoulder, even with your hand attached to his. He then releases your hand and finds his way into your hair, massaging your scalp, slowly and tenderly. A long sigh escapes you.

“I…I’m sorry for this…” You take a deep breath, “I just miss them so much.” You laugh pitifully, your head falling into your hands. “I know it’s pathetic.”

“No!” Taehyung’s stern voice startles you. “Don’t you say that. It’s understandable y/n…if anyone understands you, it’s me, right?” He reaches for your hand. “And I think you’ve been amazing, it’s okay to break down every once in a while.”

You manage to nod your head, as you stare down at your connecting hands.

“I know I can’t make up for the people we’ve been ripped from…”

“Don’t do that.” you say, squeezing his hand. “Don’t compare yourself with people from my old life.”

“I…sorry.” He breathes out, squeezing your hand back.

The two of you let long moments of silence pass between you, they are comfortable moments though. Just feeling his hand in yours is enough to make you breathe easy again.

“We have each other.” He says out of nowhere. He gazes into your swollen eyes and he can’t believe he didn’t notice before…he always thought your eyes were dark, plain, boring but he sees how gorgeous and deep they are. They look like the setting sun, they look like they could hold stars, they look mesmerizing.

“Yeah, we do.” You try to smile. “Will you…will you stay with me tonight?” Your voice is small and timid. Taehyung is surprised to say the least, that you would request such a thing but he’s softening his features and smiles for you.

“Yeah, of course.” Taehyung breathes out. He rises from the bed and walks to the other side, he makes his way to the spot he is supposed to occupy.

“This is okay, right?” he asks, making sure.

You can’t help but swallow hard as you answer. “Yes.”

Taehyung slips into the bed, sliding underneath the sheets…yours are way softer than his, he thinks. He lays on his side, facing you.

“I miss my sister.” You whisper. “She could be so annoying and over protective but,” you pause, trying not to cry again, “But I do miss her.” You laugh as Taehyung stays silent.

“My-my mom’s cooking, it’s the best. We may not always get along and we kind of fight a lot…but her way of apologizing or making sure I am okay is by cooking me some amazing meal.” You turn to your side as well, your back facing him. You’re too embarrassed to look at him.

“My dad…he always comforts me…he always has my back when I fight with my mom…” you chuckle and then you feel Taehyung’s hand on your back. He begins tracing circles on the fabric of your shirt.

“You know I use to go to this coffee place almost every single day. I miss it. That routine. It’s called Cozy Coffee…a small, family owned shop. Only one of its kind. I would read, write, journal. Just relax. Every day.” You breathe out, missing your comfort spot.

“My friend Layla…who isn’t really my friend anymore…she used to give the best advice. She would probably know exactly what to say to help me get through this situation.” You say a little bitterly. Taehyung feels his heart start to ache as he listens to you.

“You have me to get through this.” Taehyung whispers.

“I know I have you, Tae.” You move from your side to your back. “It’s crazy…I’ve only known you for 6 months but I…” you pause, hating yourself for admitting this. “I feel so close to you.” You quietly admit. “Can I ask you something?” you don’t wait for him to respond as you begin speaking again. “You think if we had met organically…we would get along?” you swallow hard before continuing, “Or are we only getting along because we like, have to? Because face it, you have no one else to talk to and—”

“y/n.” his tone is firm. “Don’t.” he warns. “Don’t think of it that way.”

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I won’t.” you snap, surprising him.

“We will still talk after we get out of here…we will visit, we will make this work…” Taehyung tries but you scoff.

“If that’s even possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“We live so far from each other. And sure, we have texts and video chats but what about the time difference? Huh? This isn’t going to work afterwards. I’m already…” you take in a shaky breath, “I’m already getting so attached to you.” you then release that same shaky breath. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch when I don’t hear from you months at a time…” you shake your head, “and that’s okay! Because you’re just living life.” You clear your throat, he can tell you’re on the verge of crying. Fuck, what does he do?

“I’m sorry.” You wipe your face with your hands, “This convo took a turn, I’m sorry.”

Taehyung feels his heart aching still, it hurts. He hurts because you’re hurt. He just wants you to feel better.

“C’mere you baby.” He says while tugging on your arm towards his body…you barely even think about it as you scooch closer to him and you let him hold you in his arms for a short hug. You pull away just as quickly as you get comfortable in bed again.

“Get some sleep y/n. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

~

The A.C is kept rather low, and the buzz of the spinning fan keeps things cool…so, Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you is more than welcome. WAIT. Your eyes shoot open now, realizing your position. Your back is facing him, and your-your butt is shoved into his crotch. If the word ‘shoved’ was too aggressive you apologize but shit is true. Your ass is shoved deep into his crotch, you mean, you can feel everything. It’s an awkward position to say the least…you mean, or is it?

You glance around the room, your eyes fluttering all the way open. It’s now just hitting you that you two really slept in this room together.

His limbs are heavy, slung over your smaller body. His body is acting like your own personal heater, it’s pretty nice, not gonna lie. And his scent—don’t get started on his scent. His breathing is calm, each fan of his breath tickling your skin. Should you try to escape his hold? Or just let it be? Is it weird if you intentionally stay? Your mind is starting to race with a thousand questions, your overthinking getting the best of you. You lay still while your mind drowns in thoughts of Taehyung. Suddenly, you feel Taehyung stir behind you, so you immediately slam your eyes shut in panic, pretending to be asleep.

You can feel Taehyung sit up, just the slightest , one arm still under your head. But then Taehyung slips down further into the sheets once more, his body moving even closer to yours. His arms engulf you into a tight back hug, you can feel his face nuzzling the back of your neck. And the worst part is you feel him inhale you, snuggling impossibly closer. This makes you tense and melt at the same fucking time. He just nuzzled and inhaled you like you were what? He fucking safe space? You feel pulled into him, drawn to him. So you sleepily turn over in his arms, you wrap an arm around him while keeping your other arm safely tucked into your chest. You open your eyes to take a look at Taehyung’s sleeping face when you are met with two wide eyes. He looks…shocked at first but then the corners of his lips turn upwards. He gently squeezes your body into his and slowly closes his eyes again.

How can he sleep again?! Your mind is racing, your heart is racing, your body is racing even if you are frozen. Your nerves are very present, you feel your stomach turn, you feel butterflies flying, you feel restless. But Taehyung? He is absolutely fine. And that makes your body feel an ache you wish it didn’t.

~~~~

“Uh, can I help you?” You wait impatiently for an answer…you were just falling asleep!

“Sleepover.” Taehyung says nonchalantly while pushing past you, entering your bedroom.

“Um, sleepover?”

“I can’t sleep. I want to cuddle. Very innocent stuff.” Taehyung says as he pulls back the covers on your bed.

“Tae…” you hesitate to close the door, “What do you think you are doing?”

Ever since your little panic attack and your little sleepover with Taehyung, he has gotten used to the idea of snuggling closer to you even on places like the couch. And now tonight, he is here in your room requesting to sleep with you. You go red just at the thought.

“Don’t be a brat, y/n.” he says slipping into the bed and patting the spot next to him, “Now come over here.” He grins at you and you flush.

“Fine…” you can’t say you hate the idea…after getting a taste of cuddling once you have been yearning for his touch…just a little. You turn off the lights and step over towards the bed, sliding inside and snuggling in the blanket.

“No, come here.” He softly commands, “Lay on my chest…ah, wait.” He stops you from moving. “Do you mind if I sleep with my shirt off?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before so sure.” You mumble. Taehyung winks at you before he’s lifting his shirt over his head, sliding back down into the bed. “Now come.”

Taehyung slips an arm underneath your head as you lay down on his bare chest…you won’t lie…his warm skin on your cheek has you melting.

“So you think you and Hana would be a couple by now?” you decide to ask but you cringe at your own question. Why the hell did you bring up Hana? Taehyung’s face falls into a frown.

“Probably...maybe…I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Why are you saying sorry, it’s not like it’s your fault.”

“Somehow it feels like it is.” You admit, you lean a little closer to Taehyung, your body feeling heavier and heavier.

“It’s not…” he wraps his other hand around your waist, “I don’t regret meeting you y/n.”

“Do you mean that?”

You lean away from him and scoff, “Your life could be perfect right now but I’m ruining it.”

“Hey, don’t do that.” Taehyung warns, “It’s not you—”

“It is me! This company paired you with me! A complete and total stranger!” you whisper, “You’re stuck here with me, Taehyung. You’re forced to be what, friends with me?”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything. I genuinely enjoy spending time with you…” Taehyung tries to explain, he’s becoming really confused. Where is this all coming from?

“y/n…”

“What?” you snap and he flinches, “sorry…what is it?” you ask more softly.

“I could say the same about me, that I’m ruining your life too—”

“My life is already a mess before you.”

“We’re friends y/n. When we get out of here I will find you on twitter or what—”

“I don’t have social media.” You say.

“Fine, we will eventually exchange numbers. You get the point, we’re friends. Real friends.”

“Sorry I’m just overwhelmed…” you finally admit, “We’ve been here over six month Taehyung…why are we still here? How hasn’t anyone found us yet? Aren’t they looking for us?”

“I’m sure people are trying.”

“I don’t hate being with you.” You say, “But I want to go home.” You begin to sniffle and Taehyung panics. He tightens his hold on you, he wishes he could bring you in even closer.

“I know. Me too.” He admits, hugging you tight. “But at least we got each other, right?”

Taehyung is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in months…you don’t want to get this attached to him. When you guys get sent home…he’s going back to Korea and you back to your home and he will move on with his life and you won’t have him anymore.

“Sure.” You reply weakly, “Sure.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Taehyung whispers.

“What should we talk about then? Or should we just go to sleep?”

“No, I want to chat.” He chuckles. “Why do you seem nervous around me sometimes?” he decides to ask, his hand loosening around your waist.

“Me? Nervous? You’re just imagining that.” You breathe out, “and if I have been it’s not like you have never been nervous around me…right?”

“Who says I haven’t?” His chuckles come out dark and low. “I think I make you nervous.”

His hand slides down until he grips at your thigh before he’s letting go and gliding his fingers across your thigh and up to your hip. Your bare legs feeling the electric touch of his fingers. You suck in a long breath at the contact.

“W-Why would you make me nervous?” your eyes flutter shut and you bite down on your bottom lip as he continues to stroke your thigh. Your breathing picking up unknowing to you, your chest rising and falling faster than before.

“Your body tells me I do.” He says slowly, his voice deep.

Your quick breaths fan across his chest…he obviously knows you are getting affected.

“What does that mean?” you sigh but Taehyung doesn’t answer he just continues his ministrations on your skin. The way your shorts ride up gives him access to your thighs and hip. He lightly strokes you over and over, making you lose some of your composure. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched. And Taehyung knows this. He knows he should probably stop…but your skin feels so warm, so soft. His fingers skid across your upper thigh again and he notices how you exhale deep long breaths at his touch, how you close your eyes, how you bite your lip.

“If I don’t make you feel nervous,” he begins, his light touch never stopping, “then what do I make you feel?”

“Good.” You breathe out, “You make me feel good.”

Taehyung raises his brows in amusement, clearly liking your admission.

“You don’t know how good I can make you feel y/n.” Taehyung’s voice goes low, it makes the goosebumps on your skin rise.

“Taehyung…” You open your eyes again and find his, his gaze is so dangerous you could honestly feel the torture of it forever.

His hand travels lower to caress your calf, then he’s sliding it back up again this time closer to the inner part of your thigh. Without thinking you slightly spread your legs apart, letting his fingers play with your more sensitive skin.

His touch is sending heat waves throughout your body and God, you are melting at his burning hot touch. You start to dance your hips around, too turned on to actually feel embarrassed.

“Jeez…you’re really getting worked up.” Taehyung darkly chuckles. He stares down at you with dark, intense eyes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“S-Shut up.” You breathe out. “We probably…we probably shouldn’t do this…” you say, your voice strained.

Taehyung only smirks. “Do what? What exactly is it do you think we are going to do?”

His fingers slide closer and closer to the place that he shouldn’t. Your inner thigh is dangerous enough…but he lightly strokes you closer anyway. He knows exactly what he is doing.

“Do you think I’m going to make you come?” he teases. You hate how deep his voice gets when he talks to you like this—not that he’s ever said anything this bold.

“Lay on your back for me.” You nod your head until realization hits you.

“WAIT WHAT?” you sit up. “I am not going to like, have sex with you! Plus how can you even be sure I would come during sex?” You cock a brow, “You are a real cocky bastard, you know that?” Taehyung rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head.

“We aren’t having sex.” He assures you. Oh. A little tiny voice in your head is asking why not. “And I definitely could make you come during sex. Jeez y/n, what type of incompetent guys have you been with?” Taehyung smirks, sitting up as well.

“T-Then how would you make me come?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze. The gaze that drives you fucking nuts.

“With my fingers?” He shrugs.

“Aren’t you afraid this will ruin our friendship?” you pull at the ends of your hair, you know, a bad fucking habit.

“Not at all.” He says with total nonchalance. Jesus this guy is something else.

His features soften as he stares down at you, “Just let me take care of you.” He says.

You need to say no. This crosses way too many lines. But you can’t. You won’t. You figure you can just forget about it because that’s your only choice since you are already nodding your head in agreement.

“Then relax for me.” Taehyung uses his hand to softly push you down by the shoulder. “Please.” He licks his lips watching you ease yourself back on to the bed. You never break eye contact with Taehyung as your chest heaves again. How does he affect you this quickly? You are full of nerves, no shit, but you are so turned on by Taehyung’s low voice and sharp gaze that you nod your head, going along with his words.

“Good.” He says and you let out a long, harsh breath in response. Almost a moan.

“Taehyung…” your voice comes out more breathy than you intend and you immediately blush. You can feel his erection struggling in the confines of his sweats, poking the side of your thigh, you hope you calling out his name is making him suffer even more. Taehyung hasn’t made another move yet, just staring at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Please…” You reach for his hand and set it between your inner thighs. Wow, when were you this bold? He immediately smirks.

“Patience, baby.” The pet name has you rolling your eyes and not in a sassy way. Your lips part and your eyes are half lidded, you are a goner. And from what? This barely counts as foreplay! You are just so deprived of sexual attention. Taehyung watches you and you feel him rut against your thigh, God he feels so big.

“Sorry,” he says weakly, his own breaths sharp.

He takes a moment to compose himself, but to be honest you wish he wouldn’t. Taehyung lets out a long breath becoming even more serious, if that is possible. His hand is already dipped between your thighs and you are sure he can feel how desperate you are by the way you squirm. Even though he hasn’t even touched you. But you ache for his touch, it honestly hurts.

Finally, he cups you in his large hand. “So warm.” He says lowly. He wastes no time, using his fingers to move your shorts and panties to the side and swirls two fingers over your aching clit. You are dripping in arousal, his fingers getting coated in your juices within seconds.

“Did I make you this wet? Just by barely touching you?” He sounds genuinely surprised. Taehyung continues to glide his fingers between your folds.

You try to stay quiet, not trusting your voice at this point. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched that the feeling of his fingers, his long, beautiful fingers has you struggling to keep quiet. But you choke out when Taehyung slips a long finger inside you, pumping in and out very slowly. You whine at the sudden contact.

“I asked you a question.”

He enters another long finger into your greedy cunt. You want more of him. You are starting to think his fingers aren’t enough, but that’s your horny haze talking. His fingers begin thrusting into you, twisting his fingers in a way that has your body rutting against him. You can’t help the long dragged out moan that escapes your parted lips. Maybe they are enough, holy shit.

“Who made you this wet?” he asks almost like he genuinely wants to know like it’s not obvious.

Taehyung inserts another finger. Fuck. You moan over and over, loving how he explores you.

“Huh, baby?” he questions while you squeeze your eyes shut, while your mouth hangs open.

“I need you to use your words.” His fingers come to a sudden stop, he pulls them away from you. You gasp at the loss of contact. How un-fucking-fair. Your eyes shoot open, looking at him with eyes on fire.

“Y-You!” You finally choke out, “You made me this wet! Please Taehyung, please don’t stop.” You are a whining, withering mess. Taehyung just watches you, a dark smile appearing on his face.

“So greedy.” He says, his wicked grin taking over his face. “So fucking greedy.”

And before you know it, his fingers are back inside you but this time moving at a greater force than before, leaving you fucking breathless. His long fingers are reaching places so much deeper than you ever could.

“There…there. Don’t stop.” You pant.

The slick sounds of his fingers pushing into your body is delicious and disgusting. Between your moans and his harsh breaths and the sound of his fingers inside your body…it’s music to your ears.

“Need…need more…” you pant, your hand coming to your mouth.

“More? I got you babe.” His fingers leave your core, leaving you frustrated. How was this more? But then suddenly those same fingers are on your clit, your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Gonna—gonna make you feel so good…” You glance Taehyung’s way to see him with his gaze directed towards you already, his dark eyes somehow even darker.

You bite back a moan, your hand still covering your mouth.

“Let me hear you. Don’t cover your beautiful sounds.”

His fingers rub your aching clit even faster, harder, added pressure that is making you see stars and you aren’t even coming yet.

“So close Tae, I’m so…so”

“Yeah baby? Wanna come?”

“Yes yes yes” the coil twists tighter between your legs, already ready to snap. Taehyung repeats his motions, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Taehyung watches with parted, panting lips as you lose all composure.

“Fuck, y/n.” Taehyung grunts under his breath, his voice taking you to the end.

Your body is twisting and turning, your hair is stuck to your forehead as the sweat builds up. Your eyes are slammed shut and your lips are apart releasing moan after moan. His other hand is at your core as well, two fingers entering you.

“Come all over my fingers, y/n. Let go baby, let go.”

Taehyung’s words has your vision going white, your entire body goes tense and then you are letting go. Cumming all over Taehyung’s fingers as his pumps slow and you begin to come down from your high. Your hand reaches up and grips his left arm, you whine at the feel of his muscles underneath your touch—only further turning you on. You clench your thighs together, bucking your hips into his slowing hand. Finally, you grind against his hand one last time, letting out all your last moans.

“You did so good.” Taehyung teases, his fingers leaving your body.

“Shut up.” Your breaths are heavy but you smile. Taehyung’s breathing isn’t much better. What do you do now? Say thank you?

“I’ll wash up and bring you a towel.” Taehyung informs you, breathing out roughly. He is painfully hard, you could feel him rutting against you the entire time he fingered you. Probably why you came so fast, honestly.

You hear Taehyung in the bathroom washing his hands. The sound of the running water giving you time to think. Sooooo what the fuck just happened? Did you just let your friend, your roommate, your fellow victim…finger bang you? Finger bang…what are you, 14? Either way, what the fuck? This is a lot to take it…you didn’t hate it. What do you do with that thought? No guy has ever made you come that fast and just from his fingers? Dear Lord, dear sweet baby Jesus. This is obviously because you haven’t come in so long…you mean, you’ve touched yourself, don’t get it wrong but it only ended in frustration. But tonight…you met a different fate. A fate that was in the hands of your friend. Your fucking friend. All the sudden tears prick your eyes—you’re just friends. You quickly pat your eyes dry with your T-shirt and shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Why are you disappointed you’re just friends?

Before you know it Taehyung is back in the room, he’s holding a towel in his hand. He walks to your side of the bed and crawls on top…he looks hesitant. He almost looks afraid of you.

You reach for the towel, its warm and damp.

“No, I’ll do it.” Taehyung smiles softly, his eyebrows creasing as he does so.

He takes the damp towelette and begins cleaning up. You hiss at the contact, you are still incredibly sensitive. He only takes a few seconds to clean up the mess you two made before he’s pulling back.

“Thanks…” you mumble. Him cleaning you up was oddly intimate. Maybe it’s not that odd how intimate it felt actually. Because you know what? It was fucking intimate! This whole fiasco was intimate as hell! And it’s all your fault.

Taehyung sits on his knees, awkwardly might you add. You don’t know what to do with the towelette so you just throw it behind him. He looks at you with slight disgust before he’s smiling.

“Really?” he gives you a pointed look.

“What? I’ll throw it in the dirty clothes basket in the morning.” you smile back, then you become shy. Yes, fucking shy. Like you weren’t just a moaning mess for him minutes prior. You don’t know what to do with yourself. What do you say? What do you do? A sigh of relief is pushing past your lips when you realize Taehyung probably feels the same. He is looking at you like you might break. Suddenly you don’t feel relief, you feel guilt. This is your fault, you did this. You allowed this. What does he think of you now? You don’t just usually let your friends finger bang you—uh, you really need to stop saying it like that—this is bad.

“Aren’t you going to lay down?” You gesture to his side of the bed real awkwardly.

“Yup.” He then rolls his entire body over yours, like his weight wouldn’t crush you, landing in his previous spot on the bed. He sinks down into the sheets, leaving like a foot of space between you both. He is literally on the edge of his side of the bed. Shit. You did this. Now you’re fucking awkward.

“So.”

“So…”

Taehyung isn’t one to get weird after a sexual encounters but this is you we’re talking about, the girl he is stuck on an island with, the girl who is apparently his best match, the girl he definitely wants to fuck and last but not least, the girl he has real romantic feelings for.

He had the fanfuckingtastic idea of fucking you with his fingers…yeah, real smart on his part. He feels himself fill with pride that he was the first and only to make you come since you’ve been here.

He knows you two need to talk. What could this mean? He knows you enjoyed yourself…he knows you loved every moment his fingers were inside you. He is well aware of that fact. Your moans and cries of pleasure are indication enough.

He needs to talk to you though, he needs to hear how you feel. He wants you. He wants you so fucking bad. Taehyung smiles because he has a feeling this will turn out alright.

“So about what just happ—”

“Thanks for that,” you’re quick to cut him off, “but can we pretend that never happened?” you laugh, humorless.

Oh.

“Okay.”

~~~~~

It’s been a week. A fucking week. And you have hardly even looked at Taehyung much less spoke to him. It’s kind of hard to ignore the one person you live with but he guesses in such a big house he’s able to stay out of your way. Because that’s what you want, right? He thinks that’s what you want. You’ve been spending an awful amount of time in your bedroom and your dance studio and not a whole lot of time in the common areas. So basically fuck Taehyung, right? At least that’s what he’s thinking.

You…you regret it, right? Letting things escalate? You want to forget all about your little sleepover—like it never happened. And he has no one to blame but himself. But he couldn’t contain himself…touching you felt so good, felt so right. And the way you reacted from his simple touches…you want him, don’t you? At least that’s what he thought. He knows this is his fault. And he wants to take responsibility, as a man, as a decent human being…but he doesn’t know how to talk to you. When you two do pass each other, you either look at him with a tense, tight lipped smile or you don’t even acknowledge him at all. Both fucking hurt him. He feels like if this was the real world this is where you ghost him and he hates people who ghost.

Taehyung is just lying in bed, chest being crushed by a massive fat man as he wishes you would just talk to him. At this point that’s kind of all he wants. He has to accept this fact...this is an unrequited love, isn’t it? He groans in frustration, a heavy hand dragging down his face.

“y/n…” He whispers your name like a secret. It escapes past his lips without him really realizing. Why did the company set him up with a girl who will never feel the same? The thought rings in his head. The more he thinks about it the more he hates the company. He fists his hands in the sheets beneath him until his knuckles turn white. This fucking company is the one to blame for everything. He could be home, he could be making music, hanging with his friends and maybe even have Hana to call his. But no, he’s here. With the most amazing person he has ever met and it’s all one sided.

Would he change things? Wish he never came here? He honestly doesn’t know. But he can’t change things so why even ask that stupid question. Does he really wish he was back home and maybe be with Hana? But Hana didn’t do this to him. Didn’t make me feel lost and crazy and so fucking happy to even be in the same place as her. He loosens his grip on the sheets, flattening his palms on the bed. No, Hana was never the one for him. That he is certain of. But if you don’t feel the same way then you’re not the one for him either. And that fucking crushes him.

He huffs out a long breath and sits up, he tangles his fingers in his hair trying to soothe himself. It doesn’t really work but it was worth a shot. He gets off the bed and heads toward the door, he wants to wash his face with cold water, he needs a refresher, so he exits the room and begins walking towards the bathroom. As he reaches the door, he hears the sound of your bedroom door opening. You are leaving your bedroom for the first time today he believes and you immediately stop in your tracks when you spot him. Your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open just the slightest. He stares at you, just stares at you. His expression hardens when he remember this is you ghosting him but you speak up. Actually speak up.

“Hi.” You squeak out.

Explosions. Taehyung feels explosions everywhere. His heart is exploding, his mind is exploding, the world is exploding. How does one girl manage to rile him up this much? All you said was say hi…

“Hey.” He grumbles, not really doing much to hide his bitter tone.

You can’t help but wince at his response.

“Umm,” you start, your eyes darting all around the hallway. “Wanna…” your words get lost on your tongue.

“Wanna what?” he says harshly, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“Wanna watch a movie?” you whisper, your eyes down at your feet.

“Do I wanna watch a fucking movie?” He scoffs. Loud and clear.

“Oh.” You say, your eyes finally meeting his.

“Oh.” he mimics, his stiff expression never letting up.

“Taehyung—”

“What?” there’s a bite in his tone.

“Please watch a movie with me?” Your eyes are pleading. God, that’s when they are his favorite.

Taehyung stares at you from across the hall, just staring, he lowers his arms to his side and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweats.

“What movie?” He finally asks, his tone still tight.

“Any movie, it doesn’t matter.” You rush to say, feeling hopeful he will take you up on your suggestion. You shift from one foot to the other, your nerves spiking. He loves seeing you nervous like this, he can’t help it.

“Can we talk first?” He takes a few steps towards you but you clumsily move backward, backing away from him.

“We’re talk-talking right now.” You breathe out, your eyes never leaving his.

“You know exactly what I am talking about y/n.” his voice goes lower.

“Just wanna watch a movie.” You take another step back.

“Jesus y/n,” Taehyung rolls his eyes at you, “you really suck ass at confrontation.” He bites back.

You’re quiet for a moment, your eyes still on Taehyung. You suck in your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard. You are lost in your thoughts, trying to focus on the specific one you need. You’re swaying from side to side, clearly thinking of how to respond to him.

“You fingered me, big deal.” You finally huff out, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not a big deal? Then why haven’t you talked to me all fucking week?” He takes a few steps closer, closing the major distance between you two. This time your feet stay planted on the ground.

“Was worried you might take it… the wrong way.” You say, your eyes slide to the side. You understand this is a weak ass excuse but…

“Take it the wrong way?” He takes another step forward.

“Yeah. We’re just friends, right? Friends don’t let friends get them off. Didn’t want you to think this was something more.” Your words slice through him, cutting him up. Something more. Of course that’s what you were worried about. You just didn’t want him to catch feelings for you or whatever the fuck. Well too fucking late babe, he thinks bitterly.

“Right.” He finally says, taking one last step forward. He won’t lie, his heart doesn’t feel good. It feels sick probably, like it has an aching fever. Taehyung leans forward until his lips are barely touching the shell of your ear. His warm breaths tickling your skin.

“Just friends also don’t moan out for them over and over wanting to come.” He whispers, “And just friends don’t enjoy what we did as much as we did.” His deep voice sends chills across your body as you sigh out. “But right, we are just friends.”

“Yeah.” You release a shaky breath, “So…A movie?”

“Sure, y/n.” he leans away from you and he gives a half smile, he looks pained. And it hurts you. You nod your head towards the stairs and he nods in agreement.

But there’s still a lingering tension in the air, you can feel and you are sure Taehyung feels it too. There’s no way you are imagining a tension this thick. Somethings not right and after all of this, and you aren’t sure it ever will be.

~

You’re full of regret. Don’t get it wrong, you don’t regret crossing the line with Taehyung…you regret telling him to forget about it. You just got so scared…he is closest thing you have to a friend and you hope you didn’t ruin that. But there’s more. You feel something more and that scares you too. What happens if you tell him you liked it and you want more but he rejects you first? He beats you to it.

“Should I make some popcorn?” Taehyung asks, his hands fiddling with the TV’s remote as he lowers the volume.

“Sure.” You respond a bit awkwardly. You find your way to the couch, sitting on one end, pulling the blanket to your lap.

Taehyung takes his time in the kitchen, he gulps down a glass of water as he waits for the popcorn to finish in the microwave. Once the timer is going off he takes it out and pours the popcorn in a large bowl and makes his way to the living room finding the sofa and taking a seat on the other side of it.

“You can sit closer Tae…” you shyly offer, your hand gesturing towards the spot next to you but Taehyung stares at you with hard eyes.

“No thanks. I’m good here.”

“Seriously Taehyung? You pout, “Can we try to be a little normal?”

“Don’t know if that’s possible.” He quickly retorts, staring straight ahead now.

You frown at that, your lips turning downward in the most animated way. This is a mess. Everything is a mess. And it’s your fault. You feel bad, so fucking bad. You feel like Taehyung hates you. And that thought breaks your freaking heart into a million and one pieces.

“Taehyung?” you start to inch closer to him and he whips his head in your direction.

“”What?” He leans away from you, confused why you are scooting closer to him.

“Taehyung…” you sit as close to him as possible and he looks at you with a face void of emotion. You eye him carefully and he looks numb. This just makes you feel worse. Tears start to prick your eyes and your face scrunches up…Taehyung’s features soften when he realizes how close you are to crying.

“Cry baby.” He states, his voice much softer than he intended. “Come.” He pulls you by the arm, bringing him to his body.

“Taehyung.” You sniffle.

“What is it?” he replies back easily this time, no harshness in his tone…like, instead it’s the sound of comfort.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, burying your head into his chest. You inhale him and his scent makes you feel dizzy. You breathe him in again, getting high off of him. You start to silently cry, your tears wetting his shirt…he doesn’t say anything though, he just rubs your back soothingly.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks, almost hesitant.

“Everything.” You admit. “Sorry for what I said in the hall…sorry for…” you cry a little more.

“For?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to forget about that night.” You finally push out, sliding your eyes to the side. Taehyung blows out a puff of air and offers you a small smile.

“Why did you?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know.” You answer with a half-truth. Taehyung creases his brows, pulling them together so dramatically as his expression hardens again.

“You don’t know?” he pinches his nose with his fingers. “Listen…did you enjoy it?” he asks bluntly. His eyes finding yours again and it’s that same gaze that drives you insane.

“Taehyung…”

“Did you enjoy it y/n?” he asks again, this time more demanding.

“I…” the words get lost in a lump in your throat.

“Words y/n.” His hardened expression intimidates the fuck out of you to say the least. “Is that what you are afraid of? That because you liked it so much…you’ll want more?”

Bulls fucking eye. You swallow down your response. You just let your mouth open and close and open and close again, unable to say anything.

“What did I say about using your words y/n?” Taehyung scoots closer, making you feel fucking suffocated…but not entirely in a bad way.

“Tae…” his name escapes you in a breathy moan.

Taehyung stares down at you, his eyes narrowed and serious. He breathes out roughly before scoffing.

“I think we’re done here.” He states coldly, he stands to his feet and begins walking away, leaving you confused and breathless.

Done? How? What does he mean? Taehyung then continued to avoid you for several more days…until…

~~~~~~

“I’m not doing it.” Taehyung yells out, loud enough for you, who is in another room to hear.

“What?” You shout back, wiping your forehead with a towel. “Did you say something?” It would be the first time he’s saying something to you in several days.

“I said I’m not doing it!” and with that you hear him bolt up the stairs and after a few seconds the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut could be heard throughout the house.

“Jeez…” You step out of your dance studio, sweat patted dry into your skin. “What’s he throwing a tantrum over?” but somehow you have a feeling. You walk into the living room towards the bright TV, you face falling at the sight. The TV is bright white with black letter painted across, showing the ‘Request’ that has your face as white as a ghost.

Request: make out for 1 Minute.

Penalty: no power for 5 days.

You reread the words at least 30 fucking times, letting each syllable sink in,

you sigh to yourself, feeling fucking lost. You know you have to talk to Taehyung, his reaction also repeating in your crazy mind. You slump your shoulders as your head bows down in defeat. He fucking hates you, wants nothing to do with you right now. It’s just some kissing right? You both have literally done worse. You have to talk to him. You lift your head and look in the direction of the staircase, your lips pulling into a pout. How would this go?

~

“I said we’re not doing it.” Taehyung plainly states. He sits on the edge of his bed, fists balling up the end of the blanket. You look between him and his cool statement and his fists of frustration.

“Taehyung we—”

“We can just take the penalty.” His tone is firm.

You look at him incredulously. Take the fucking penalty? 5 days without power?

“You’re saying you would rather have 5,” You lift up your hand showing him your five fingers in case he doesn’t know what 5 looks like, “5 fucking days without power then to just kiss me? Like really?”

“Really.” He stands from his bed, stepping in front of you, walking you backwards. You step back until your back hits the wall next to the door. Taehyung stops only a few inches away from you, looming over your body.

“So…I’ll be taking a nap now.” He says flatly.

Is he serious? He really won’t do this with you? You have seen each other naked for Christs sake! You’ve never not done a request! You get that he’s mad at you, but 5 days? 5 whole days?

“It’s just a minute Taehyung…” You murmur more to yourself than him. Hurt probably written all over your face. You are feeling absolutely rejected. A feeling you hate the most.

“Yeah.” he takes a step back. “A minute I don’t want to be a part of.” He spits out at you.

Fucking ouch.

Things with Ben hurt. Bad. But Taehyung wanting nothing to do with you? Hurts worse.

You look down at your feet, fidgeting with your digits.

“Why are you being such an asshole?” You say between deep breaths. You can’t cry. He’s quiet. Too quiet. You suck in a shaky breath, “I already said sorry so why are you treating me this way?” You don’t mean to sound so pathetic but you do because well, you are. He lets silence linger in the air. You can’t muster the courage to look up at him, he’s probably void of all emotion, probably will give you some robotic answer. If you are even lucky enough to get an answer.

You hear Taehyung exhale through his nose but that’s it. Without even sparing him a glance, you turn towards the door to take your leave but then you feel Taehyung’s hand on your arm stopping you.

“Wait.” His voice is rough. He clears his throat and releases his grip on you.

You turn to face him, finally lifting your head to see him. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are set in a firm line. At least he has an expression.

“What?” you mumble, your eyes glossy.

“Don’t cry.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing even more. His gaze is not one to fuck with.

“I won’t.” you say, unconvincing.

“y/n…” his gaze begins to soften.

“I won’t” you repeat, still just as unconvincing. Your eyes gloss over even more and you feel your throat beginning to tighten.

Taehyung relaxes his features even more, and to your surprise he reaches forward and rubs your shoulder.

“Please don’t cry.” His voice loses its edge, all softness now.

“I won’t” You choke out, barely able to keep your lip from quivering. A single tear falling from your eye.

“If I agree to do the request will you stop?” he asks, still rubbing your shoulder.

“If you-if you stop being an asshole I’ll stop.” Another tear.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just…I just had to be firm with you.” He admits, his voice low.

“I don’t understand…” You cry out. More tears fallen on your cheek.

Taehyung looks at you with an odd expression you can’t decipher.

“Trust me, I know.” He says, defeat lacing his tone. “Can you just…respect my decision?” he adds on.

“I just don’t see the big deal…” you sniffle, “We’ve done worse.”

“And look where that got us.” He laughs bitterly.

He’s not…wrong. But still, for some reason you keep pushing it.

“It’s just a minute Tae.” You try again, wiping your flushed face of tears.

Taehyung raises his brows at you and sets his lips into a firm line again, he places his hands into his pants pockets and rocks back and forth.

“Wanna do it that badly?” he lightly snaps. “Fine.”

You feel the shift in his mood again, he’s been a roller coaster lately—it’s so unlike him. Are you doing this to him? Damn, girl you toxic as fuck.

You step forward and reach for his hand, he lets you.

“What’s wrong?” You finally ask.

“What’s wrong?” he mocks your voice.

“Taehyung please—”

“I want to kiss you.” He states. “And…and...” he tears his gaze away from you, looking all around the room instead. “And you just don’t get that.”

Taehyung steps forward, a fire in his eyes as he speaks up again.

“It’s cruel for me, don’t you think? I get to kiss you until that timer goes off and then what? I have to pretend we didn’t just do that? Have to pretend we didn’t do something I have been wanting to do for god knows how long! I have to pretend we’re just fucking friends?” he shouts, laughing bitterly again.

You’re…stunned. Taehyung takes a step back again, his eyes never leaving yours. You look up at him with pinched brows and a confused mind.

“But yeah, let’s do the stupid request. That’s a great idea.” He rolls his eyes.

“Taehyung…” You start to feel guilty, like maybe and by maybe you mean obviously, you struck a chord.

“No y/n, we’re doing the request.” He cages you with his arms on either side of you, he leans forward until his nose is brushing yours. “I’m going to kiss you, and I am not responsible for what happens after that.” He leans away again, “So, I’ll see you tonight.”

[primaverabutitalreadyexists]

Because my friends and I have been talking about different versions of Viktor, I had an idea that I wanted to ask. What do you think Viktor would be like if he were French instead of Czech/Russian? Are there little cultural habits he might've grown up with? What would his regional dialect be? If he were in modern France, what do you think he'd like to do? Where would he like to hang out or visit? Any restaurants/bars he might like? I'm curious to know if he likes Paris. I know it's just a stereotype, but thinking about him with a French accent is also a little fun because it makes me remember old cartoons where there'd be so much flirting in French and now I can't help but giggle at the idea of Viktor as a huge hopeless romantic flirt

Ohh tough one! I honestly cannot picture him without his accent, and trying to imagine a French accent on him makes me cringe a bit because I dislike mine ahah sounds like I have something stuck in my throat.

For the fun fact, in the french dubbed version of Arcane, Viktor doesn’t have that Czechs accent, but… a German one! It’s subtle, but you can hear that German lilt in his voice. I’m very curious of the reason behind that choice. Im also curious about the other dubbings, what accent does he has?

Anyway, if he was French, I imagine an early 20th century Parisian accent would fit him, the same type of accent you could hear in the popular districts of Paris at that time. It’s a bit complex to explain, because each district had its own accent, but to give you an exemple, Edith Piaf spoke that way when she was young. It’s not the typical boujee, refined and classy accent at all, but Viktor himself comes from a working-class background.

Habits he might have grown with as a Parisian would be driving his electric scooter on the curb and curse at people walking too slow, eating quinoa in a quinoa bar, drink organic wine and say shit like « Ah yes mmmh very round in the palate, I can feel the chocolate and pear notes mmmh yeah », go to Concrete (rip Concrete no one misses you) and finish his night sitting on the curb with a kebab. In the morning he goes to his favorite bakery to buy a baguette pas trop cuite svp. Nah just joking, I think he’d love to go to museums, in particular at the Musée d’Orsay, le musée des Arts et Métiers, le Grand Palais and all the various expositions you can find all across Paris all year long. I think he would love some quiet moments on the banks of Seine, when it’s not too crowded, stroll in Galerie Vivienne to his favorite bookshop and then have a coffee while reading a freshly bought book.

I think Paris is an interesting choice for Viktor, the undercity has a lot of Paris inspiration, mostly due to the omnipresence of Art Nouveau.

[floofs-headcanons]

Hello hello! Both of your have such awesome writing! I had so much fun reading the headcanons and scenarios of the bodyguard AU! Could I request either college AU or a soulmate AU or your choosing for Zoro? Whatever you feel like writing! Thank you!!

College & Soulmate AU; Scenario

Character; Zoro

Word Count; 1,718

Thank you so much, we’re glad you liked it !! But no, but let me tell you how we screamed at each other for literally half an hour when we saw this request. There were too many good soulmate AUs we ended up using a generator aksjdhas.

The first time you and your soulmate touch you get stuck together for a while.

December is when you find him sleeping on campus grounds. He’s resting on one of the outdoor tables, book open, with arms covering the pages. Snow is falling, and you’re cold even with a heavy fur coat and umbrella keeping the white specs from melting into your hair.

You’re not sure if you should wake him up despite the fact that he was wearing nothing other than a T-shirt and some jeans, but he doesn’t seem very bothered. Well, that is until he sneezes. It’s followed by some incoherent grumbling and nearly scares the shit out of you, but it’s enough for you to decide to help.

“Hey,” you poke his cheek with the butt of your umbrella, not too fond of touching strangers. “Hey!”

He doesn’t stir, and you’re left wondering if anyone else has tried to help him before you showed up and ended up leaving it be because he wouldn’t budge.

Still, you couldn’t leave him here in this type of temperature; so you decide to leave your umbrella behind. It’s long enough to lean against the table and shield him from the ever piling snow without directly touching any part of his body and possibly bothering his rest- not that you think it would. He didn’t flinch even when you yelled at him.

December is when you’re working at Shakky’s bar late into the night to pay off your college tuition.

Those loans wouldn’t pay themselves after all and the salary was good. 

The company at the bar itself was interesting to say the least. You could never truly say you had a dull night while working there. Be it the slurring drunks and their awful attempts at pickup lines, to the terribly sobering tales that would be shared across the counter; it was an eye opening experience. 

Tonight would be much like any other- at least, that’s what you had thought until a familiar man comes through the door. 

He seemed well- that was good. You didn’t give it too much thought, after all, you were on the clock and this was a rather popular bar for the student body to frequent. From the way Shakky greets him, he must’ve been a regular long before you had begun working here.

Setting down the glass you had been mindlessly polishing, your attention is drawn towards a customer sitting near the back of the bar. He’s a bit louder than the other customers, but you were pretty used to that. Eustass Kid came in all the time and drank until he either passed out or his blonde haired friend carried him out forcefully. At the very least he wasn’t bothering anybody.

“Excuse me,” the green haired man raises a hand, successfully catching your attention. It seems he was done talking to Shakky by now.

“Yes?” You make your way over, an award-winning customer service smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I get for you?”

He ends up getting a few, maybe more than a few, beers. This man sure could drink.

December is when your car decides it needs its own break from the cold winter snow. It thankfully doesn’t break down anywhere too traffic heavy, and there’s an auto-repair shop not even five minutes away.

“Oh, hello,” you greet, surprised to see a familiar face working here. He’s wearing a tank-top and some slacks, and this time you think the attire is appropriate given how much he was sweating.

The owner, Franky, had more than generously came to pick up your mobile and gave you a ride along the way, saying it would be done the same day. I have a reliable repairman, he said more than just a bit too loudly for comfort.

The male glances up at you for a second before going back to finish up on the vehicle he was already occupied with. “Hey, there.” You’re not too sure if he recognizes you- it’s a hard to not recognize him- but that’s fine, you just needed your car fixed.

It doesn’t take him very long to finish up on his current project before moving onto yours. He thankfully doesn’t ask any questions, it seems like the owner had already filled him in, and just starts working.

“You know,” he spares you a glance, picking up another tool. “He said it’d be done the same day but it’s still gonna take a few hours. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Unfortunately not,” you sigh. The only plans you had were to go back home and take a long, long nap, but there was no way you were going to walk back in this type of weather. For a while, you’re standing around a little awkwardly, fiddling with the fluffs of your sleeves before he speaks up.

“If you want you could sit inside where it’s warmer. There’s a TV and some magazines you could read to keep you occupied.” You debate that for a bit, looking through the glass door to the waiting area, but ultimately decide to stick around for a bit longer.

“It’s fine,” you say with a smile. You could wait inside later, for now you’d want to wander a bit. It’s not every day you’d get to go to an auto-repair shop and you’ve always been a bit curious with how often Kid yells about it in the bar. “Would it be alright if I take a look around?”

He gives a grunt of approval and you make yourself comfortable, roaming the workshop. It’s quite big, and you hadn’t noticed ‘til now that the walls were painted in vibrant blues, red, and yellow. It matched the owner’s eccentric personality.

“Oh,” a stand hidden to the back of the shop catches your attention; a lone umbrella resting on its handles. Yours- to be more precise. “You use an umbrella during snow time?” You hadn’t bothered to ask for it back, the thought never really occurred to you. Considering they weren’t that expensive buying a new one wouldn’t be much of a hassle. If anything, you were more surprised he’s kept it around.

The male clears his throat, stopping whatever it was he was doing to your car and wipes his hands down with a towel. “Actually,” he admits sheepishly, “I’ve been meaning to return it to you. I just kept forgetting.”

You raise a brow, “You knew it was mine?”

“I’ve seen you use it around campus before,” he admits. “Not a lot of people use an umbrella while it’s snowing, and the color’s pretty vibrant so it’s hard to not notice. I had wanted to give it to you when I visited the bar, but you were constantly busying yourself so I never got the chance.”

A chuckle escapes your lips at his little confession. He seemed like such an intimidating guy, with the furrowed brows and scar over his eye, but he was a lot more awkward than one would expect. “Well,” you catch his attention. “I’m working there again tomorrow night if you want to come give it to me in person.” December is when you’re sparing hopeful glances at the door every time the bell chimes.

“Expecting someone?” Shakky teases, coming behind the bar and pouring herself a glass.

“Something like that,” you mutter before making your way past her to attend to someone in the corner of the room. It’s the same person from around two weeks ago- he’s louder this time, but there were also less customers tonight and no one seems to be complaining any so you let it slide. “Yes? How may I hELP-?!”

What you can’t let slide is how he forcefully grabs your wrist and essentially drags your body to lean over the table. “Ah, damn,” you’re used to drunks, not idiots. He has a permanent grin plastered over his lips and his grip on your wrist tightens. “I can’t let go! Guess we must be soulmates!”

There is no explaining the disgust that washes over your face. “Sir, I’m asking you politely to let go.”

Everyone who goes here knows that it’s simply an unwritten rule to not fight unless you wanted to be beaten half to death. Not by you- dear lord no- Shakky on the other hand was ruthless and you’d never want to end up on the other side of her fist.

Ever.

“Huh?” He slurs, “didn’t I just tell you that I can’t let go?”

“I’m telling you-” before you’re able to get anymore words out another hand wraps around the older man’s wrist, successfully shutting you up. For a second, the dread of it being one of his friends rises, but it’s quickly crushed by the voice that follows.

“I’m sure you’re not deaf. She said let go.”

The bar is dead silent for a few seconds before the man roughly releases his grip on your arm. A bit gentler would’ve been nice, you internally grumble, rubbing the sore area.

“Hey there, could I ask exactly what you were trying to do with my precious barkeep?” Your boss comes over, leaning against the table. She gives you a wink and a slight nudge of her head towards the break room and you don’t think twice before leaving the scene, your green haired friend following close behind.

“Is your wrist alright?” He questions as soon as the door closes. “My bad for being late, I got held back by some work Franky wanted done.”

His hand reaches out to gently hold your wrist and a spark of electricity shocks you both. Usually, your first instinct would be to flinch and pull away, but he has a firm grip.

“Uhm,” you glance down, then back up at him. “It’ll probably bruise tomorrow but it’s nothing to worry too much about...”

His face is unreadable, and after a couple seconds his ears turn a faint shade of red. “I can’t let go.”

You chuckle at his poor attempt of a joke. “C’mon now, we just went through this.” You lift your free hand to pry his fingers off your wrist only to feel the same electric shock as earlier. It doesn’t hurt, only stinging enough to really initially surprise anyone, but you quickly realize he wasn’t trying to pull your leg.

Oh.

“So,” he awkwardly lifts his other hand. “I brought your umbrella.”

[obsessive-ego]

A late night hand nsft

Musical beetlejuice x reader

You give beej a handjob in your sleep

Reader has a vagina

Warning dubious consent, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation kinda

Shout out to the anon that told me to do this

Its been a full week of beetlejuice being underfoot and in your personal space, from the moment youd wake up, and left for work, to when you got home again, not that you minded at all, in fact you adored the demon, hell, you were head over heels for the ghoul, not that you had the balls to say it.

But this whole week he's been up on you, clinging to you, nuzzling his scratch beard into your neck, pinching your rear, poking at you, he just couldnt keep his hands off, not that you minded, though you did scold him for getting too friendly with your bum, you two even slept together and the man was a cuddler. All this physical attention wasnt usually an issue, you could normally deal with this pent up frustration and sexual neediness during some alone time with some less then wholesome thoughts of the bastard who made you feel that way to begin with.

But not this time, beetlejuice just wouldnt give you the time of day, normally he would duck out and scare the neighbors or lydia would summon him away, but lydia was off on a family vacation or something, and beej just wasnt in the mood to be a pest to anyone but you.

You envied the ghoul, his ability to just leave and do whatever he wanted, hell for all you know the bastard could be jerking off on the roof, shooting his load over the edge and watching it splat on the sidewalk, honestly you wouldnt put it past him, you couldnt help but snicker at that image, but your mirth was cut short when a familiar gravelly voice grabs your attention.

"What's so funny?"

"Ah, just remembered a stupid tiktok I saw the other day, dont worry about" you shrug

The ghoul grunts, alittle annoyed you wont elaborate on the joke, but his attention returns to the film the two of you were watching, he was watching, you were too busy in your own head.

It was the regular movie night the two of you shared, you would order pizza, beetlejuice would scare the piss out of the poor delivery guy, and the two of you would stay up till the early morning watching B list horror, all the while the demon had an arm around your shoulders pulling you into his side, he would claim he did it cuz he was cold and you were warm, and under normal circumstances you didnt mind, but now? You felt like you were gonna die, you swore the demon could hear your heart pounding away, or feel the warmth from your face, god couldnt tell you were in desperate need to deal with your pent up frustrations could he? Hell you wanted the ghoul to absolutely rail you on the couch, and you're pretty sure he'd do it if youd asked, but you werent that type of person, nor did you want friends with benefits relationship with beetlejuice, if anything you wanted something more romantic, as cheesy as that sounds, a loving relationship with a literal demon, I mean the two of you DO get along nicely, so maybe it wasnt too out of the question?

You were so busy in your on head freaking out you didnt hear beetlejuice trying to get your attention.

With a poke on the cheek you yelp in surprise

"You sick or something?" He smirked, amused by your cry

"Yeah, feeling alittle dizzy" you mumble avoiding the ghoul's eyes, he was leaning into now, his face way too close to yours, he had no idea what personal space even was, and you were in no state to deal with his clingyness unless you wanted to cum your pants infront of a jackass who'll never let you forget it.

"I think I'm gonna head to bed early" you shift away from the demon and up off the couch, he huffs in annoyance

"Really babes? You got the day off tomorrow, how bout you relax here with me, I dont mind if you doze off on me~, I'll keep ya nice and cozy all night~" he purrs, eyeing you up and down, if you werent wet earlier you were sure as fuck were now, you swallow the lump in your throat and squeeze your legs together and squeak out a soft "no thanks, I think sleeping in my bed would be ideal, I dont want to make you sick or anything, I mean If i am sick, night" you babbled as you scurried to your room.

With the closing of the door you were home safe in your room, not safe enough to jerk away these annoying pent up sexual feelings, yes you could be quite, but beetlejuice was nosy and had the nasty habbit of appearing when you least wanted him to, fantasies of him walking in on you then helping you finish is one thing, but in reality? Its terrifying.

You can stare at yourself in your bedroom mirror and snear "horny dumbass" you mumble as you plug your phone into its charger and slip in bed hoping tomorrow these frustrations would vanish.

Beetlejuice stifled a laugh at your exit, one of his favourite things about you was that you were a terrible liar, he could read you like an open book, that's how he found out you liked him and not just in a sexy way, he saw how much you liked him as a person, even though he wasnt one, you treated him with genuine kindness and wanted him around, not strings attached, that in itself was rare, a pretty little breather like you having the hots for a smelly creepy old guy of a corpse? One in a million, and he sure as hell wasnt gonna let it go.

He knew you liked him, and yes he's seen you masturbate more then he's willing to admit, but seeing you so turned on you looked like you were gonna explode? That was new, and he'd be lying if he wasnt a tad turned on by it at all.

Let's be honest beetlejuice knew he was winding you up all week, he wanted to see you're cute flustered expression, but soaking your panties? That was a bonus, he didnt think youd get so hot under the collar by his games, he was actually quite flattered that he had that level of effect on you.

The ghoul quietly floats over to your bedroom, pressing an ear against the door, nothing, he frowns, no sounds of soft panting, or the muffled buzz of your little vibrator, nothing. Maybe he was asking for too much, hoping youd have the guts to jerk one out while his presence was known, but no, no little peep show tonight.

As much as the demon would love to slip into bed with you and catch some Zs, it was still too early to do so, you'd still be awake, and in your current state would be pretty jumpy, he floats back over to the couch to wait it out, despite his creepy nature beetlejuice occasionally had these moments of respecting you and your feelings, it was odd, maybe the maitlands were rubbing off on him.

Beetlejuice spent most of this time waiting for you to doze off just staring at the ceiling as he reclined on the couch, he pulls a clock out from his jacket and gives a small smirk, enough time as finally pasted for you to be out and for him to slink in.

The ghoul fazes his way through your bedroom door, seeing you fast asleep, he smiles, floating towards the edge of the bed and with the snap of his finger his striped suit vanishes leaving behind nothing but a pair of stripe boxers.

Beetlejuice gently pulls aside the covers to reveal your sleeping form, you were wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, and with further inspection a pair of boxers, that were hidden by the shirt.

The ghoul slips in beside you and sighs at the welcoming of your warmth, the ghoul pulls you close being ever so gentle, trying not to wake you. The demon settles on the position of you using his soft chest as a pillow, your body pressed up against his side, and an arm around your shoulder with his hand on your upper back.

Beetlejuice let's out a soft sigh, this, this was nice, the feeling of warmth from your living body against his cold one, you were so soft, and warm, and alive, and you were all his, you just didn't know it yet. The ghoul couldnt help himself, you made him feel so wanted for nothing, of course he was going to fall for you, soon he'll get you to confess your feelings to him and then things will be perfect, but until that day, the demon was fine to snuggle with you, and get satisfaction from you in anyway he could.

His musings of your future love life was cut short with a soft whisper, it was unintelligible, but it was from you.

The ghoul stifled a laugh, you were talking in your sleep again, something you did often, but rarely was the demon able to make out what you were saying.

"What's up sweets? You okay?" He chuckled, hand running up and down your back

You mumble in response

"Oh, what's that? You need mr beebleboose to help you out?"

You hum

"You need me to rub your clothed vagina? Oh, y/n you naughty minx, is it because your so pent up from my little game of teasing-"

The ghoul's mirth was cut short when he felt the soft touch of a warm hand against his clothed dick.

"Whoa, babes, y/n ah-"

At first beetlejuice could have mistaken the first stroke as a slip of the hand, but another? You were gently rubbing his crotch in your sleep.

The ghoul quickly changes his hue to electric  pink, and bites his knuckles to try and stop from moaning out as your warm hand continously brushes clumsily against his cock, now fully erect, it was embarrassing how quick the ghoul's meat rose to your touch alone.

"Sugar, you're not playing fair" he groans before bucking into your touch, this wasnt fair, you're dead asleep and playing him like a goddamn fiddle, was this karma? Was this his punishment for making you hot under the collar? I mean as far as punishments go, it could have been worse, but having you touch him in such a way, and not being able to do damn thing about it? Still drove the demon nuts, god slash satan he wanted to wake and rail you, though he knew you would die of embarrassment if you found out what you did to him in your sleep, so here beetlejuice was, stuck between a tock and a hard place.

"Bee..."

The noise nearly stopped the demon's heart, if it was still pumping, beetlejuice glances away from the ceiling over to you, which thank God, you were still asleep, just rambling again.

The ghoul lets out a soft sigh of relief before you interrupt

"Faster?"

The demon nearly dropped his jaw at what you uttered, though he clenched it back shut when he felt your soft hand squeeze his cock through his boxers.

"Harder?" You mumble

"Y/n please" he whines softly "fine, you win babes" he ghoul groans before begrudging brushing your hand away and pulling his painfully hard cock out of his boxers, the ghoul gently guides your eager hand back to his desperate meat, which you gently take hold of, the demon stifles a moan at the rush of warmth of your soft hand against his hard cool cock. Beetlejuice slowly begins to guide your hand up and down his shaft, all while he pants and and moans, hips trying their best not to buck too hard and wake you.

"Oh y/n, theres nothing like doing the stranger, especially if you already know them huh?" He chuckles between pants

"You like that?" You mumble in a whisper

"God slash satan yes" the demon whines, he wanted this for so long, he would have preferred you be awake, but he wasnt going to punch a gift horse in the mouth.

His hand guiding your own began to pick up pace, running up and down his shaft, stopping at the base ever so often to give it a light squeeze.

"Is this good?" You sighed

"Sugar you have no idea" been groaned biting on his knuckles

As good as beetlejuice was at edging he knew he wasnt gonna last long, the warmth and softness of your hand was gonna be the second death of him.

He was in heaven, or as close as a born dead demon was gonna get, but he was brought back quickly to reality when movement beside him.

The smallest squeak of movement from the mattress followed by a soft whine from you, if the ghoul's heart was still pumping it would have stopped by now.

This was it, he was done for, you were gonna see his dirty transgression and banish him forever.

Seconds pass and there was nothing, no screaming, nothing.

Beetlejuice let's out a sigh before returning to guiding your hand up and down his desperate erection.

But you move you body again, a soft bump against the ghoul's side, and another bump, then another, followed by a soft whine from you.

Were you trying to get off?

The demon smiles and stifles a laugh, here he was tending to himself while his sweet little y/n was desperate for a release of their own, what kind of lover would he be if he was to leave his favourite breather hanging?

Beetlejuice moves his free hand from your back, and softly slides it between yours and his bodies, slipping it gently between your legs, where it was greeted with a great warmth. His cool fingers gently press against your clothed sex, he could feel you were already wet, you've been hot under the collar all week due to his teasing, the demon couldnt help but smile at how this was all his doing, with another press against your clothed folds, you let out a soft whine and gently buck up against his hand.

"Bee" you whimper

"Y/n" he sighs, returning his other hand into guiding yours up and down his leaking cock.

Many a nights has beetlejuice dreamed if this exact situation, although in his fantasy you were awake, but this was good too.

"Want me to make a mess honey?" You whined

At this point the ghoul was close to his limit, it was if you could read his mind "oh yeah baby, help daddy make a mess" he groaned using your hand at a more brutal pace, chasing his own orgasm.

"Fuck y/n, that's it, that's it doll, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum all over your pretty hand baby" the ghoul babbled before finally cumming, his ectoplasm splattering all over your hand and the sheets that hid his dirty deed from view, moving you hand away from his now spent cock.

Beetlejuice takes a moment to bask in the after glow, before finally coming down from his sexual high to help you finish.

His attention now, 100% on you, a slight increase in pressure on your crotch as he rubbed, you whined and bucked into his hand, mumbling his name.

Beetlejuice took this opportunity to be a tad more bold, slipping a finger up the pant leg of your boxers and into your soaked vagina, he shivers at the new sensation, warm, wet, alive.

He slowly begins to pump his finger in and out, while his thumb eagerly runs at the clit.

It didnt take long for you to finish ether, due to how tightly wound you already were.

"That's it doll, cum all over my hand, eye for an eye right?" He chuckles

With a gasp and a few messy movements from you hips you cum, coding the demon's hand in your juices.

You slowly stop your thrashing and you panting dies down to soft breathing.

"Was it good for you too?" The ghoul snorts removing his hand from your crotch and bringing it to his mouth, sucking the lucky finger that explored your entrance.

Electricity leaving his hair, but remining pink, content in his late night activities, he snaps his fingers and his cum covering your hand and sheets vanish, as nice a thought was to have you sleep in that mess, youd be furious, and he couldnt have you finding him out just yet.

"Good night y/n" he sighs giving your forehead a soft kiss before dozing off.

Bonus

You woke up groping around for your phone, 10am, you huff, you start to sit up before being yanked back down, into the arms of the demon who snuck into you bed again.

"Wheres the fore babes? It's your day off, come play with old mr beebleboose~" the familiar coo of the undead bastard you welcome into your heart graced your ears.

"Morning beetlejuice" you sigh

"Sleep well doll? Feeling better, you sure were hot last night~" he teased giving your cheek a pinch

"Yeah, I am feeling better..." you trailed off, clearly amazed that you really DID sleep off those frustrations "werid dreams though.." you mumbled

Beej immediately perked up at that "oh~" he leans in nuzzling his face against yours "care to elaborate babes?" This was gonna be good, you were gonna be a cute flustered mess again.

You snort "dont get too excited there Bee, it's not like that, I was standing in the living room shaking a can of pop" you say flatly giving a jerk off type of movement with your hand, the ghoul's eyes grow wide at the gesture, tips of his hair turning pink "you were there, sitting infront of me, I tried to talk to you, but you didnt respond, I just kept shaking the can, till my arm hurt, then I opened it pointed directly at my face, spraying pop all over myself, then the rest is kinda fuzzy..." you trail off knitting your eyebrows together ad if you were trying to remember.

The demon let out a loud cackle causing you to flinch

"Oh babes, guess that dream helped you release all that tension huh?"

Your face burns when It clicks, rubbing you legs together and feeling the familiar feeling of a recent masterbation session, you didnt cum in your sleep did you? God, let's just hope beetlejuice wasnt awake when it happened...

[askkrenko]

Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Dratini Line

The mythical, super rare, impossible to find, recently confirmed Pokemon that you can buy at your local arcade

DESIGN:

Dratini is a very simplistic sea serpent, perfect for a first form Pokémon. It has a basic snake-like body, but the fins on its head are all it needs to tell you that it’s not actually a snake. The little dot on its head suggests a horn without being one, as it’s still just small, cute, and lovable. Well, small-ish. Dratini is almost six feet long, which is way bigger than one would instinctively assume. 

Dragonair is the obvious evolution of Dratini. The little head-fins have grown into oddly feathery wings. Its little dot has become a horn. It’s longer, sleeker, and has magical gems on its tail and throat for no apparent reason. I actually like the tail ones, giving an impression of a rattlesnake but with a magical air. I don’t get the throat one at all. It looks stuck on, and I think it might’ve been more interesting if Dragonair had a row of them around its neck, like a string of pearls or beads.

Okay, where the fuck did this thing come from?

Big, fat, orange, with tiny wings and an unusually friendly face, Dragonite is a design fail in multiple respects. First and most importantly, there’s no throughline at all from Dragonair to Dragonite. Color, shape, design, style, there’s simply no reason to see these as two members of the same family. While a drastic transformation isn’t inherently bad, there should be some sort of storytelling behind it. Magikarp is a small weak nothing that turns into its opposite by an old legend. The Caterpie line is based on butterflies. Exeggcute are seeds that turn into a tree. So what’s going on here? Where’s the leap from Dragonair to Dragonite? If Dragonite was at least blue with a smooth white belly, there’d be something, but no. Their horns aren’t even in the same position. 

But okay, how is Dragonite as a standalone design? Well, it’s the strongest non-legendary Pokemon in the game, the mythical dragon, so it’s… fat, friendly, softly colored, doesn’t look flightworthy, has tiny claws, has a basically cosmetic horn, and has antennae for some inexplicable reason. Now, some of this is due to design evolution- its original Gen 1 design isn’t quite so goofy- but everything about Dragonite seems out of left field. The worst part is, Charizard exists.  Charizard, the box-art starter, has much of the same basic design as Dragonite, but it’s rougher, more dangerous looking, with larger wings, and traditional firebreath. If Dragonite’s going to be your iconic dragon, you simply can’t include Charizard in the same game. Obviously design choices are subjective, but Dragonite just feels LESS like a super powerful dragon than Charizard and more of a joke dragon. Hell, it doesn’t even look flightworthy. How fast does a Dragonite have to flap its wings to fly? Can we get a physicist on the line here, because I bet the answer is “hella.”

And yet… there’s still something charming about Dragonite’s design. It DOES look friendly. It does look soft. And I think if it were on its own, I’d be able to love it, but as an evolution of Dragonair, as the creature that’s supposed to be infinitely more Dragon than Charizard, it just feels like a failure.

My Child by Genystar

TYPING:

So, Dragon type was intentionally broken. Defensively, it was only weak to Ice and Dragon for a long time, with Gen 1 not actually giving any Dragon attacks worth a damn. Now, since then we’ve had Steel and Fairy both added to resist Dragon, with Fairy being super-effective against it, but it still resists Electric, Grass, Fire, and Water, some extremely common types, so is all around just a good type to be. 

Dragonite’s flying type mixes that up, of course. Overall, it’s 4x weak to Ice, weak to Rock, Dragon, and Fairy, but resistant to five types and immune to Ground. Defensively, it’s a good deal. Offensively, though, Dragon is only strong against Dragon, and Flying against Bug, Fighting, and Grass. Further, both types are resisted by Steel, so coverage isn’t automatic here.

Pikachu vs Dragonite by Curly-Artist

STATS:

Dragonite’s stats are, frankly, bullshit. Its lowest stat is its 80 speed, and its highest is a 134 physical attack. With its defenses in the 90-100 range, Dragonite basically just has all the numbers. Yes, plenty of things can outperform an 80 speed, but Dragonite’s tough enough to take a few hits as long as it’s not from a strong Ice attack.

Also, if you really, really want to use it, its special attack is 100. Which is quite good, but pales in comparison to its physical attack.

Art by Arvalis

ABILITIES:

Like many Pokemon, Dragonite’s abilities completely change on evolution. Dratini and Dragonair have Shed Skin (⅓ chance of removing status conditions each turn) and Marvel Scale (which increases defense by 50% when under the effect of a status condition.)  But Dragonair’s still a physical attacker, so Burn Orb for Marvel Scale isn’t a great idea, and Dragonair would most likely be using an Eviolite anyway. Either way, it’s just not a Pokemon that’s going to see play unevolved in high-tier battles. 

Dragonite has two abilities, both of which are solid. Inner Focus prevents Flinching (read: Fake out) and the effects of Intimidate, basically telling Incineroar to go shove it up his furry ass. This isn’t a huge deal in singles, but they’re both serious issues in Double Battles. 

For most purposes though, Dragonite wants its hidden ability Multiscale. Multiscale reduces incoming damage by half when Dragonite is at full HP, and this effect can trigger multiple times if Dragonite heals itself, such as through Roost. This makes Dragonite almost impossible to One-Hit KO, even by an ice attack. 

Art by JoshuaDunlop, but if you’ve been following me for a while you should know that just by looking at it

MOVES:

So remember the part where I said Dragon is only super-effective against Dragon? Well, maybe that means we just don’t bother with a Dragon attack. Sure, there’s a few strong options, but getting 1.5x damage from STAB just isn’t as good as getting 2x damage from having more coverage moves. Further, every good Dragon attack has some serious drawback, with Outrage being insanely powerful but also locking you in and confusing you. An Outrage sweeper isn’t out of the question, but a Fairy type can stop it cold.

So we start with Flying, where the relatively new move Dual Wingbeat is the obvious right answer. 40+40 power means it can punch through Substitutes and Focus Bands, and the only real “drawback” is 90 accuracy instead of 100. An argument can be made for using Fly + Leftovers, but telegraphing a move so directly can be dangerous. 

Then, we look at coverage. Dragonite gets Fire Punch, Ice Punch, and Thunder Punch with that 134 Physical Attack, and plenty of targets for all three. Then there’s Aqua Tail, Rock Slide, Brick Break, Iron Head, and of course, one of the all-around best attacks, Earthquake. Dragonite basically gets whatever coverage it wants.

But you know what isn’t coverage? Extreme Speed. With Dragonite’s speed being so middle of the road, Extreme Speed can be a great way to take down opponents that should go first.

...Wait, wait, why should we let them go first? We have huge bulk. We have Marvel Scale. Lets take a turn and set up. With Dragon Dance.

With Dragonite safely taking that first hit, Dragon Dance raises its attack even higher and improves its speed to a decent tier, allowing the Dragonite to then just go off and start sweeping. And if you’re lucky, you can even get in two. What we have here is a rare sweeper that can comfortably take the turn to set up. Further, Dragonite can take Roost, a healing move that, thanks to Multiscale, winds up being far more effective than on other Pokemon.

And that’s not even getting into its sideways utility moves like Defog and Substitute.

My recommended moveset for Dragonite would be Dual Wingbeat, Earthquake, Dragon Dance, and Roost, but if your team already has a strong Earthquake user, try swapping that out for whatever coverage you need.

Art by mcgmark

OVERALL:

Dragonite is an absurdly powerful pokemon, properly built for being the first game’s Psuedo-Legendary, that still holds up today thanks to a great Hidden Ability and a strong moveset. It may be a bit too good though. It’s not that Dragonite is game breaking, especially now that Fairies exist, but such a wide array of coverage and a high attack stat means it’s able to do a lot more than it probably should be able to. One thing that’s changed in design philosophy over the years is how many moves any given Pokemon can learn, but Dragonite seems to still have a huge variety of options that have nothing to do with it.  Just comparing its move list to the later Psuedo-Legendaries like Goodra and Dragapult you can see that Dragonite has significantly more options.

Still, Dragonite’s in a comfy place, and as long as they don’t introduce something like Dragoniteite it’s going to be fine for years to come. Even if it does look like a crappy Charizard.

Art by runde

[diary-of-an-onliner]

lifelines [g.w.]

hi! first fic, pls be nice!

word count: 2300

warnings: none

After Gryffindor turned the tides at the last second, winning the second most important game of the season after a massive setback in the first hour, the celebrations raged harder than ever. Since Hufflepuff had beaten Slytherin to the ground two days ago, the path towards the Cup was clear. Angelina was sitting on the couch, having passed the point of looking pleased long ago, and now seemed almost frazzled by the result. People came up to her periodically, clapping her shoulder or topping off her drink, directing the buzzing energy of the common room straight into her.

Truly, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the stolen food and drinks from the kitchens juicer and a little more spiked than usual. Or maybe it was the sunlight still streaming through the windows as strongly as ever despite the past gloomy week. Whatever it was that made the day so electrically happy for everyone, it showed no signs of stopping.

This type of unrestrained feeling you always imagined started from the back of your head as s little star-like scribble that cast a net over you and spread the intensity throughout. This week it was stronger than it has been in a while.

You felt electric in the stands as you yelled for your team, an invisible line ripping the words from your throat before you even knew you were saying them. You felt elated as your housemates put their hands around you in delight, screaming themselves sore when they announced the winner. And you were feeling the happiness in your hair now, in every single strand from root to end as it swayed along with the bottle in your hand.

This was happy. This was joyful. This was utterly buttery in your chest and electric in the air.

You idly looked around the red and orange common room, which burned with excitement, deciding how to best spend this time before it runs out on Umbridge's watch and she ruins it.

No. No wasting thoughts on her today. She sucked enough life out of you and your housemates this year, she won't be doing it off the clock too.

Your eyes settled on possibly one of the strongest sources of this warmth - George Weasley, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. The window behind him silhouetted him in gold perfectly, like the sun offered him to you. It accented how attractive he was, even if he burned a little at the top.

You've connected eyes before, talked before, even bantered. One wittier than the other every odd day, you toed the line between acquaintances and friends perfectly. Seeing as he's very popular, catching him in-between conversations was a matter of luck.

You imagined a line going from the center of your chest to his as you approached him. He pensively looked to the side, observing some goings-on on the far end of the room as you interrupted him.

"That was a good game. You got some very nice shots in," you said.

He turned to you with a mild close-mouthed 'hm', a look, and then a grin.

"You sure it was me?" he cocked his eyebrow and look at Fred on the couch next to Angelina, bumping knees with her and accepting congratulations in both of their names.

"You wear different numbers, genius. I know how to count this time."

"And you have my number memorized," he said, his voice glad.

"That would've been a great line if you were a Muggle."

"Pity, I already chose a magical career." he took a sip of his butterbeer and eyed you up, "Maybe I should start using my magical lines on you. Would those work better?" his eyes widened and his tone turned innocent at the end.

"I think I know too much anti-jinxes for that."

He pursed his lips in amusement. "Alright. What would work on you then?"

"Oh, I find responsibility and appropriacy really hot." you shot back, twirling a piece of your happy, charged up hair.

"Contradiction too," he said, "since you're still here."

"I find contradiction a natural state of the human soul, thus if I wasn't contradicting myself, I wouldn't fully be here."

"Hm. Brainy." he chuckled.

"Judgy. If you need me to simplify you can just say so."

"I think I can handle your smart mouth just fine."

"Then why am I winning?"

"I didn't realize this was a competition."

"Rookie mistake." you shook your head dramatically.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rookier mistake to assume you're winning. Who's the judge?"

"My innate inner sense of whether I'm winning or not."

"If it's inside you, then how would one file a complaint concerning an unfair ruling?"

"They wouldn't. It's a noble and just system that decided I'm in the lead. You just need to accept the truth."

"Don't make me come in there," he said, smirking good-naturedly.

"In where?" you shot back.

"In you." his smirk held on for a second before he seemed to realize what he said and his face scrunched up in apologetic laughter.

Your mind slipped into the gutter the way new yorkers fall into sinkholes filled with rats - hilariously fast.

Albeit greatly amused, he started to correct himself, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not." you licked your lips, "I understood you the first time " Was karma going to bite you in the ass for that lie? Who knows, but you might even be into that. Everything seems possible when the sun is shining. So he shone.

He grinned with his happy mouth and you once again noted how the light from the window behind him silhouetted him in the golden lining that made him look like a cutout glued onto the scene of this funny collage. His hair was aflame and his face was darker from the shadows but just as loudly burning with laughter.

This was happy.

You drew the word in your mind, line by line. H, a smooth move from the bottom, a decorative loop, then a parallel stroke, and a transversal. A, a circle with a tail, sharp move upward, and an even sharper drop for the backbone of p. P's tummy? Bulge? Nope, your mind shouldn't slip there in the middle of Binns’ class, no matter how boring he was. Another p, as George's knee bumped into yours. He was moved from "Mr. Wester, Phillip." for being disruptive, so he engaged in an under-the-table kind of disruption with his new tablemate.

You smiled. A long diagonal line, and another shorter one that cut into it. Y.

Happy.

You were, truly, right now. It sounded upside down to be happy though, both overall and when stuck in a soul-suckingly draining class, but you were.

George read over your shoulder, then audaciously engaged in over-the-table elbow-bumping-disruption and a cocked eyebrow. You straightened up, feeling a warm line unfold from the back of your head to the core of your brain, through the center of your chest, and straight to your stomach. Your happy line.

I'm happy, you mouthed.

Really? He mouthed back sarcastically yet good-naturedly. I can definitely see why. His eyes darted toward the professor. I say go for it, he's a catch. You might even be his type.

You burst out laughing, then immediately bit your lip. A few students, including Philip, looked at you as you shook with laughter, but professor Binns carried on.

George, on the other hand, shrugged with his shit-eating grin, pretending he has no idea why you were laughing, thus letting everyone know why you were laughing.

You scribbled, I don't know. What if it goes badly. I'd hate to be ghosted.

George raised his eyebrows at the Muggle slang you explained before. His hand slipped next to yours on the table and you felt your happy line thrum in approval. His hand was warm as he gently pressed it to yours, slowly took your quill, and scribbled back: Need someone more physical, huh? And I thought you were the romantic type.

Strong words for someone who never bought me dinner, you replied.

Mhm, as soon as I find a good line get you to agree to it.

Keep writing like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me.

Keep your mind in the gutter and I'll start thinking you don't fancy me back. He accented that line with a wink and an overdramatic lip bite.

You pouted sarcastically at him. Of course not, I only want you for your knobby knees.

He chuckled, reminded of the short line of warmth that connected your knees under the table. He pressed his into yours a little stronger, then pulled away.

That's a funny way of flirting. I'd know, I'm an expert at funny.

Self-proclaimed.

Untrue.

And I'm not flirting. If I was, you'd know it.

Would you? your breath hitched. For reasons you very well knew but refused to sound out to yourself, this short sentence drove the air around you two from joking to serious at breakneck speed.

Know if you were flirting with me? your happy line felt jumbled up in your stomach. He smiled at you.

Would you know if you were flirting with me?

The following week was arduous.

Gryffindors had a record amount of detentions, and Snape tore into them any and every chance he could. Even McGonagall was one edge, meaning lousy or missed homework was a death sentence. You forgot how to read from tiredness, submitting essays patchworked of other people's thoughts without ever having any information pass through your head. Everything was dull, gray, and dragged out.

Despite that, outside the castle the sky was blue and sunlight streamed through the soft clouds and a sweet breeze would blow around aimlessly. It was both comforting and a little mocking. The sky should be as exhausted and as beaten down as you. Good to know stress made you compare yourself to a literal sky. But maybe that's a little cruel. Nevertheless, it sounded like nature itself was turning its nose up at you, saying you're selfish for wanting grey skies, she doesn't care, she's above puny human affairs. The world turns and you have to turn with it or stop, then spend the rest of the time catching up.

You haven't stopped yet, but by all that is holy, you wanted to sleep. As the sun finally descended on a Friday after dinner, you finished your essays in hope that the next week might be kinder if you do everything quickly. The common room was dark, most of the light coming from the fire in the fireplace. It was also oddly empty for nine-thirty in the evening. Apparently, everyone had the same week as you.

Your almost finished essay laid on the table as you dozed, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of your armchair.

The creak of the portrait opening caught your attention, and George Weasley walked in a second later, rubbing his sore hand and cussing.

Truly everyone had a shitty week.

"Love?" you said teasingly.

He looked up at you with a tired grin.

"It's late."

"Not really. You okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle, love." he sighed, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"Can I see?" you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Again, the firelight licked at the lines of his face, clear and sharp. He had circles under his eyes and a heavily nibbled lip.

"It's nothing." still, George raised his hand. "Love." he added, distantly. He seemed to be staring right above your head. You looked at the middle line of his lips again. You imagined him biting it.

Was it him that bit it? That one hurt. You hoped it was him.

You took his hand in your and rubbed circles into his knuckles. His eye winced.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"What happened?" he closed his eyes.

"Two ickle firsties almost brought the wrath of Umbridge into themselves with some dungbombs. You know how it goes," he said, a corner of his lip tugging upwards. Your chest expanded looking at him being satisfied with himself. As he should be.

"How... responsible of you," you said.

His eyes snapped downwards to yours.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might also start being appropriate too, darling."

You stepped closer, your happy line thrumming against your chest like a quivering violin string.

"What if being responsible is enough?"

"Enough for what?" he breathed out before you pressed yourself against him.

At first, that's was it was - a press of two warm lips. Then he started to move slowly, almost gentlemanly. How appropriate.

As he touched you, you felt the daze of last week lift. The little star scribble on the back of your head lit up, pulsing with brightness rather than fogging your thought. This was clear, you felt his every stroke that made up his face and chest and hands. The scribble of happiness extended itself into a web, overtaking your brain - you could feel it and you wondered if he saw it too when he looked at you. You pulled away and lifted your head to check. Probably not, but his eyes were glassy and he gave you a dopey smile. He was glad you were there. You pressed your lips against his again. You were glad he was there too.

The web continued down your neck, arms and chest, into your legs until your toes buzzed with light coursing through you. You were more awake than you have been in a long time.

Your hands were the brightest of all, and as you touched his hands, connecting them fingertip to fingertip, things made sense. The web buzzed and his breath was warm against yours, hands pulsing with energy as your every lifeline connected into his.

[cosmicbash]

Fuck it.

I got possessed by a Pelly ghost, or my heavy duty flu medication I'm on and somehow started and finished a Pelly smut prompt in like a half hour, so, to that anon who asked-

Here's some completely unedited, messy ass, probably nonsensical Pelly smut from my medicated ass. I hope you enjoy it 👏

This shit is like 2.5k what the FUCK

Colson and Pete liked to fool around.

Not just in the childish prank war or food fight type of way either. Alot of times their goofy little games quickly changed genres to something more adult. It was hard to avoid, what with the drugs, their chemistry, and the allure of something taboo that came with kissing your best friend.

It never got much farther than handjobs and side by side circle jerks though, and even those felt weird for the first dozen times. Colson didn't really think of himself as bi, or pan, or queer, or whatever the hell they were calling dudes who also jerked off dudes in between banging hot chick's nowadays. Mainly because he didn't jerk off dudes. Just one dude. Pete. He had some stupid exception made in his head for the younger comedian that seemed to cross every and any boundary he tried to set.

So yeah, they fool around. They kiss, they bite eachother, hump, stuff hands down one another's jeans just for laughs, sometimes they even cuddle, but not in an after sex kind of way, just a, move over your couch isn't big enough for me and it's pointless to watch a movie together in the guest room kind of way. It's weird, but not? Colson can't ever seem to put too much thought into whatever he and Pete have going on before he gets distracted or develops a headache.

They're just friends. He thinks.

But. Then again, that doesn't explain how they've ended up here in the comedians bed again. Pete's mouth warm and wet against his own. Kissing him in all the ways he feels like he kisses girls, stealing away his breath and sending a warm tickle down his body all the way to the tips of his toes. It's so different from the usual leading position he finds himself taking in every other hook up that Colson can't help but find himself carried away by it. He would probably be content to lay back and let Pete kiss and fondle him for hours if the brunette didn't always find some stupid joke he had to make and interrupt the mood.

So far tonight they're off to a good start though, maybe a bit too good of one with how his jeans are already down around his ankles and his cock is slick between Pete's tight fist. 

Colson can barely remember what stupid creepy unsolved case files episode they'd been watching on the TV before he jokingly asked Pete to distract him from his paranoid thoughts. Rarely did weed and suspicious murders weigh lightly on Colson's head. He'd spent a whole week after humoring one of Pete's marathons of the show utterly convinced his stylist was out to secretly kill him. People are just so unpredictable its scary.

Like Pete. His mouth might be up pressing against his one second, and down sucking and biting on his tatted nipple the next. It's jarring how random his best friends actions seem sometimes. Like, just when Colson thinks he has Pete's rhythm figured out the comedian senses it and decides to switch things up on him again.

Last week Pete had called Colson weird for curiously flicking his tongue over one of the other man's hard nubs. Outright laughing at his attempt for foreplay and spinning some joke about breastfeeding and asking Colson to call him mommy until the rapper had abandoned the idea altogether. 

Yet here the little hypocrite was, absolutely moaning into his chest while he did the same thing. Free hand stuffed down his own sweats where he's crowded himself between Colson's legs.

It shouldn't be hot, Colson wants to give the same incredulous laugh at his best friends actions and tease him just the same but his throat feels tight and his body electric at the attention. Like Pete knows some secret trick he hasn't yet deciphered that swaps the nerves in your tits and your dick around to drive you wild.

Instead he just moans. Head tipping back and lips parting for a "Fuck- Petey-" before he carts his fingers through soft short brown hair. Maybe it's just the combo of jacking off alongside it, or his pain kink coming back to bite him in the ass. He can't say, but Pete's teeth gnawing softly at his nipple makes his dick squirt just a little more precum with every jerk.

He feels like he might be close. Hips kicking up softly from the mattress when Pete's mouth travels in hungry kisses across his chest to suck at and nibble on the other. 

It's weird. Pushing invisible boundaries yet again but Colson doesn't want him to stop. 

He's hardly participating at all too, one arm thrown above his head to grab at the head board and help arch his back, while the other is still glued to the back of Pete's head like it has been since they first kissed. Usually their flings are two sided, fists racing in their jerks to make the other come first, not self indulgent like tonight where he's hardly touched Pete's dick at all outside of a few over the clothes gropes.

It's got that question nagging at the back of Colson's mind again. Why they're doing this? What he's getting out of opening himself up so vulnerably to his best friend's traveling hands and wandering mouth?

The invasive thoughts are so distracting for a moment that Colson doesn't even realize Pete's traveled souther until he has the electric shock of wet lips sealing around the tip of his dick. Eyes bursting open and heart racing because Pete's kissing him somewhere new. His best friend's fucking taking his dick into his hot warm mouth for the first time.

And holy fuck does he love it.

"F-fuck-" Colson feels like a teenager getting his first blowie again with how his hips instantly jerk up and his fingers tighten around hair. 

Fuck fuck fuck, Pete is swallowing his dick down too fast for him to watch. He knows the comedian has a big mouth but christ, it can't be that deep can it? There's no way Pete has sucked dick before and not told him, they share everything, and until this moment, he thought the disinterest in tasting dick was a big one of those things.

But apparently not, because the comedian is slurping obscenely and sucking all over the tip and length of his dick like a lollipop offered to a man starved. It's so attentive that Colson doesn't even mind the few moments where he cock clumsily slips out of the other's mouth and bumps against a scratchy cheek or blunt teeth. It's amazing.

Colson definitely knows he must be close now. His neck feels stuck in a permanent arch back, face burying itself in the croon of his arm while he moans and curses, and pleas for Pete to not stop.

Less than delicate fingers fondle his balls and spit slips down between his legs but Colson only loves it all more. He wants to fuck his best friends face. Stuff Pete's head down hard and bury his cock down the comedians throat to paint the next couple jokes that come out of his mouth white. He tries to push though and finds a strong resistance, Pete's immediate gag and flinch back easily overpowering his weak shove.

Then the hot mouth is gone. Ripping an embarrassing whimper from the rapper's lips before he can catch it. The quick thrust up of his hips and stretch of his toes to try and kick his way back up into Pete's mouth ignored.

Colson's just about to whine and curse, and bitch at Pete for being such a fucking stupid tease when that evil mouth descends yet again. This time skating down over the long vein stretching the length of his dick to go even lower. Tongue and teeth finding his balls to offer attention there instead. 

Now his curse is more breathy, and his hips arching up higher. Because holy fucking shit Pete is sucking and tugging on his balls like an expert, fist back around the base of his dick to pick up where it left off. 

"God, Pete- Pete-" Colson's own hand has abandoned soft hair to clumsily grab at his own thigh. Fingers slipping and struggling to find purchase on sweat slick skin so that he can help hike his legs up a little higher to get Pete going lower. Every inch of his sack begging for the same attention that's fluttering across it. It takes a few swift kicks to free his one foot from his jeans but when he does it only lets his legs spread open wider. Every part of him arching and opening itself up for Pete to see with no flash of the usual shame he feels from even stripping his pants off all the way around the comedian.

He just needs more. He's so so close and Pete's tasting him like someone starved.

His dick is leaking, precum streaming out in more consistent spurts and oversensitivity just starting to tingle at the tip with every twist of Pete's wrist. Colson knows he's going to come, his neck is twisted and his face pressed hard against the hard wood of the headboard from all of his stretching and kicking to guide Pete lower and it should hurt but he can barely feel any of those aches over the chills he gets when both of Pete's hands suddenly grab him by the thighs and yank him down a little. Uncharacteristically rough in their manhandling until Colson is blinking blearily up at the bland ceiling and trembling because his ass is leaving the bed. Pete's nose bumping against his balls and tongue swiping over his taint.

The noise that bursts from between his parted lips doesn't even sound human at this point. Something between a wheeze and a moan while the room spins and his best friends tongue abruptly drags flat over his asshole to top off the absurdity of the whole night.

Colson's fingers are still cutting sharp into the back of his thigh though, grip only tightening as his body moves on its own to pull his knee closer to his chest. The bump of Pete's fingers near his own tingly in every good way.

There's no backing out now, he's losing his mind in the rush of everything, all thought flying out the window to make room for a mantra of, fuck, please, please, Petey, please- until there's another lap tongue against his hole and a fist curling back around his neglected dick.

He only lasts another few jerks. Pete's mouth sucking and humming around the rim of his asshole while he paints his own chest. Tongue out in a long moan and eyes rolled back into his head until he sees stars. It's so good. Colson can feel he body rocking and twitching with every spurt of cum, and Pete's tongue isn't slowing either. Pressing and licking until it has wiggled its way inside his ass and the moans coming from his mouth wind their way down into whimpers from overstimulation. 

Colson's legs drop fast, snapping down from his grip like his fingers are a broke rubber band to catch on Pete's shoulder. Over the blood rushing in his ears he can hear Pete moaning, fuck, he can feel it against his skin. It's desperate, so much that eventually the comedian isn't even licking or tongueing him anymore, just mumbling and bumping his mouth between the rapper's cheeks in escalating fervor.

Colson's brain is still too busy rebooting for him to properly appreciate how fucking hot it sounds. He can hear the wet slap of Pete's dick too, skin clapping against skin with what he can only guess is lightning jerks of fist.

"Fuuuuck-" Pete's finally the one cursing, his whole body jerking up from where he's been burying his face between Colsons legs to scramble up onto his knees. Sweats shoved down around his thighs, dick all shiny and almost purple while he moans and jerks it off in front of him. The leg Colson had dropped down on Pete's shoulder half rising with him, caught before it can slip by the comedian extra hand to keep it high and his back arched before the man comes. Hot spurts burning Colson's skin everywhere it lands between them. Especially across his own balls and inner thighs, Pete not stopping until he's half stumbling forward to crush the blonde and cum is peppering thick drops against Colson's twitching hole too. His groan long and deep while he watches.

The visual alone is enough to make the rapper's spent dick twitch. Heart beat quickening and face burning hotter in embarrassment over how blissed out his best friends expression has become once their eyes finally meet.

Pete's going to kiss him. He can see it clear as day in those honey brown eyes and that wet pout of lips. 

He just narrowly avoids it with a fast slap of hand across the comedians mouth after Pete drops forward. His own knuckles bumping hard against his teeth with how close of call it is, and Pete's nose poking softly at his cheek.

"Fuck dude-" Colson still feels shaky as he speaks. Head twisting sideways away from Pete's repeated bump and weak smooch against his palm before he continues. "No way, fuck, man, your tongue was just in my ass-" Even saying the word out loud burns Colson's ears and makes his thighs tremble a little.  "Gross, gross, gross dude!"

"Mm, sowwy-" Pete's mouth is still pressing with its kisses, his words half mumbled and slurred by the flat press of Colson's hand that refuses to move.

"Fuck." The heat of the moment finally fading Colson can't help but find himself cursing again and again. "Fucking fuck-" a hysterical laugh is bubbling up his throat and with it a couple dozen more that burst free with a shake of his shoulders and a light shove at Pete's face so he can rub his hand over his face instead. "You fucking licked my ass-"

"I know-" Pete sounds downright apologetic where he buries his face against one sweaty tatted shoulder but Colson can only shake harder. More and more laughter coming until he's almost in tears repeating it yet again.

"You ate my fucking ass Pete!" It's so funny he almost can't breathe. Boundaries and embarrassment aside the reality of the situation finally settling in just has Colson cackling in disbelief. "Oh my god dude-"

"I- I got caught up in the moment-" Pete's face is redder than he's ever seen it when Colson peeks out from behind his hand, and if he could laugh harder he would. But he can't so instead he smiles. He smiles as wide and as big as he can until his cheeks hurt up at his ashamed best friend.

"And you called me a weirdo for licking your nipple dude?"

He is never letting Pete live this down. 

[writefightandflightclub]

Calm after the storm (dad!Nathan x fem!reader)

Summary: dad!Nathan / ex-husband!Nathan and angst. He comforts your son during a storm. You were always better at dishing out comfort, but Nathan is trying his best to learn how. He’s had to, since you left him. If only he could get you to come home, after he pushed you so far away.

Author’s note: my 1st go at writing something emotional / angsty with Nathan. Different to my other Nathan stuff, so won;t be offended if you don’t like it! No-one asked for this but this popped into my head and ended me and I figured I’d drag you down with me. Will add taglists tomorrow :o) (If you DO happen to like it, please let me know! Writing has been so slow for me lately and honestly I’m just pleased to have finished something.)

Warnings: language, themes of children, divorce / separation, angst, alcohol abuse / misuse, parent!reader.

Warning that there is zero smut in this. Nathan is literally a father when I say daddy here. Just to be clear. Some may feel this is ooc (I may have used a bit of license with his character to achieve angst, but actually, I don’t think it’s too far from a potential truth?)? Mistakes etc. maybe, but I can’t look at this a second longer so here it is.

Word count: 8.8k (sorry!)

Nathan’s head whips up from his computer screen as he sees a tiny, shadowed figure appear in the doorway to his lab. He pauses his frenzied typing, but retains the frown weighing on his brow.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, buddy,” he says sternly, bathed in a pool of blue light and looking at the child from beneath his lenses. Hell, when did it get so dark?

“I’m scared,” a tearful little voice says, and Nathan sighs, pushing back his chair with a small, thin-lipped smile as he regards the boy. His soft, dinosaur-adorned pyjamas have been twisted by sleep, and he is rubbing his balled-up fists into his cheeks, a pet lip trembling beneath. Nathan never did understand the kid’s obsession with dinosaurs.

Unlike father, unlike son.

Things long dead and gone? Nathan didn’t like to look back, after all. He looked ahead. Moved forward. There’s nothing for me over my shoulder.

With his headspace out of his work, Nathan suddenly notices the rain drumming down against the skylight. The rumble of thunder and flash of lightning carving the sky open.

“The storm?” he asks, rising to meet the boy as his little feet pad with trepidation across the cold lab floor to his father. The boy nods. He looks slightly uncertain, since he’s not allowed in the lab, but enters and sticks his arms up into the air all the same. He does that tentatively too, since Nathan hasn’t historically been generous with affection; and yet, this time, Nathan wordlessly scoops him up on to his hip, his heart clenching as the boy’s wet, grabby little hands fist into his Henley. His severe gaze softens instantly; though not all the way. The gesture is still a little rusty.

“That’s illogical, bud - it’s not gonna hurt you. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Irrational. Emotional. Unlike father, unlike son.

You were always better at the comfort stuff. Of course you were. Still, Nathan thinks he’s learning, without you. He’s had to learn. 

Nathan quietly carries the little spider-monkeyed bundle back to his bed. He offers no words of comfort, but he does offer a firm and reassuring pat on his back as he walks. The boy smells of bath bubbles and baby oil, mixed-in with fresh detergent and that indescribable kid smell, and Nathan feels alarmingly soothed as he inhales the scent.

A flood of memories comes back, but he pushes them down. There is nothing for him over his shoulder, after all. Nothing in the past he would care to resurrect.

Carefully balancing the boy with one strong arm, Nathan peels back the covers and slots him back into his soft bed, the glow of the nightlight illuminating the boy in a blue halo.

Like father, like son.

The man securely tucks him in and smooths the covers, his eyes alarmingly gentle now, even amidst his stony face; however, the boy is still not entirely placated. His eyes are still wide. His bottom lip is still trembling.

Nathan sighs and lowers himself on to the edge of the bed, his genius brain struggling with this problem. Apparently, simply telling a 4-year-old they’re being illogical doesn’t cut it. Children; so inefficient. So tiny and fragile and…

The best thing I ever created.

Let’s hope he doesn’t grow up to stab me in the chest.

“Okay,” he begins, with a sweep of his hand over that buzzed head of his. “Do you know what static electricity is, buddy? One of the forces which attracts or repels things? Remember?”

“Repels. Pushes things away?” the small voice asks him.

I pushed her away. I’m a force. A force of nature. A storm.

Fear is often based on lack of knowledge. Nathan imagines if he explains the storm, he can demystify it. Take its power away. Still, the 4-year-old looks up at him in confusion, little fingers tightly gripping the edge of the bed covers. His mess of curls splaying over the pillow like a rolling black cloud.

Maybe you did get your mother’s average brain.

We can hope you got fuck all from me, kid.

“Come on, champ, we talked about this...” Nathan sighs, with mild impatience, and then he thinks some more – just like he’s always thinking, except algorithms make sense to him, and how could he hope to solve this?

Nathan shuffles up on to the bed until his back is against the wall, perpendicular to the boy. “Okay,” he says, slapping his palms gently against his thighs. “Remember when we were at Ankita’s party, and you rubbed that balloon on your head, huh? And then all of your hairs stood-up and it kinda tickled?”

The child giggles – a sound that punches Nathan in the gut. “Yeah, Daddy, and it didn’t work on your bald head.”

Nathan exhales through a small smile which doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“So, you remember,” he nods, waving his hand in the air as he tries to find simple language to continue his explanation. “Well. It’s like the sky is having a party, and the clouds are rubbin’ up against each other, making all this static. Understand?” Nathan continues, and the child is rapt, listening to his father’s deep, steady, sandy voice. “But clouds don’t have hair-“ there is another giggle, and this time Nathan’s eyes do crease with his smile, “-so instead they send their lightning forking out in all directions. You got it?”

“A party?” the boy enquires, still unsure. His hands gripping more tightly to the covers and his face inching further below them as a particularly loud rumble of thunder sounds overhead.  

“Right. A party.” Nathan runs with it, pleased that he’s getting somewhere. Moving forward. Making progress. “And parties can be noisy, right? All that dancing and singing and scraping chairs around?”

The kid briefly looks at his father as if he’s stupid -a trait you’d always had nailed- but in the next heartbeat he seems to accept the explanation given, the fear in his eyes beginning to ease, though not entirely gone.

He’s still afraid.

Like father, like son.

It’s evident that Nathan needs to devise something even more soothing. He vaguely considers trying to explain the unparalleled lightning and surge protection in-built into this facility, but he thinks better of it. He instead plumps for something he dearly hopes the kid will understand somewhat better than he comprehends static electricity. “You’re safe here and nothing can hurt you,” he says, raising his eyebrows up from beneath his frames and delivering an intent stare, smoothing a broad hand on the boy’s chest and shoulder. “I promise, kid. Would Daddy let anything hurt you?”

“No,” the boy answers, peeking up at Nathan with big eyes, shaking his little head and rustling his curls against the pillow. It breaks Nathan’s heart that his voice wavers, as if he’s a little unsure of his answer.

“Exactly. Not in a million fuckin’ years.” Nathan says adamantly, his deep, dark eyes intense with conviction to emphasise his point.

“Daddy!” The boy gasps when Nathan curses, little palms rising to clamp down over the shocked “o” of his mouth.

“Ah, shit. Don’t tell your Mama I said a naughty word, okay?” Nathan sucks air through his teeth and delivers a sheepish half-grin.

“I miss Mommy.”

The boy blinks. His eyes sad, his emotions constantly unmasked. Feeling. Always feeling.

Unlike father, unlike son.

Nathan’s chest tightens. He scoops up the plush dog, Crunchy, from on top of the duvet and settles her in the boy’s arms, buying him some time to arrange his busy thoughts.

Thinking. Always thinking.

The dog is so named since it spent the boy’s early years crusted with dried-in food and mud and whatever else. Nathan had dubbed it Crunchy Mutt, and the name had stuck. Memories nip at his heels, but he doesn’t let you creep back in. Doesn’t fill the gaps.

Nathan emits a shallow sigh. He misses you too.

Like father, like son.

His eyes are almost soft, almost apologetic as they meet the boy’s again. He is sorry, in that moment, for depriving the boy of you for half of his time. He shouldn’t have to miss out on you. You shouldn’t have to miss out on your son. Nathan knew all this was because of him.

Nathan had sworn never to let anything hurt you, either. To look after you, and yet...

I pushed her away.

I’m a force. A force of nature.

A storm.

“Mommy’ll be here to get you in the morning.” Nathan says in a taut, gruff voice, his beard bobbing as his throat wrestles around a hard swallow. “To take you… home.” At that, finally the boy finally looks content and sleepy, stretching his little face into a big yawn. Still, selfishly, Nathan no longer wants to be alone in this storm - alone with himself - and so, he keeps talking. “You know, your Mommy loves storms like this.”

“Really? Mommy doesn’t get scared?”

“No.” Nathan shakes his head, eyes becoming burdened with memories. “We would sit out on the deck, wrapped in blankets, and watch the lightning. Listen to the rain.”

“It’s science 101, genius. You can’t work in the lab during a storm. You might create Frankenstein.”

“Fuckin’… how many times? It’s Frankenstein’s monster, sweet cheeks. Frankenstein is the doctor.”

“I know, asshole. At this point I just say it to rile you. Never fails. You stay here then, and play at creating life. If you want to play at living one, I’ll be out on the decking.”

“How about I do both?”

“What are you saying, Nathan?”

“What about we make something together, while the sky is fucking rife with creation?”

The boy springs up in bed, capturing Crunchy in a choke-hold in excitement.

Nathan raises himself to standing - beginning to backtrack, and snapping back to the present day. Compartmentalising you. Putting long dead things to rest. He knows better than to look over his shoulder for too long.

“Can we go outside and watch it, Daddy?”

“Nuh uh. I don’t think so, buddy. It’s way past your bedtime. Go to sleep now, okay?” His voice is sterner again - his gaze back to being more severe.

Still, he guides the boy back down to the mattress and plants a soft kiss on to his forehead, brushing his dark curls back. He kisses Crunchy on the head too, as he is routinely instructed to do.

“Night, kid. Night, mutt. Come on, off to sleep.”

His hands move to his hips, elbows cutting a sharp shape in the near-dark. The boy, however, looks wide awake, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, and an excited glow on his face.  

“Please, Daddy?” the boy pleads, with big, puppy dog eyes. So closely resembling your eyes, which Nathan always was a sucker for. 

Yep. He’s definitely your son.

Nathan is about to use his stern voice, and his finger is moments away from wagging. And yet…

“Fine. Quickly then,” he concedes. “Get your coat and shoes on. And find your little red hat with the Pom-Pom that you look fuckin’ adorable in.”

“Daddy! No bad words!” the kid scolds, even as a smile of glee bursts on to his face and he wriggles out from beneath the covers. 

“Yep, sorry! Don’t tell Mommy,” Nathan repeats on autopilot.

The boy springs out of bed and zooms with enthusiasm to his little closet, while Nathan gathers up some blankets from a neighbouring chest.

Sure - it was past the boy’s bedtime. Yes, Nathan had a lot of coding to rehash. But Nathan had lost you. He had let work consume him until there was nothing left for you. He was always looking ahead to what could be, and he didn’t pay enough attention to what he had, when he had it. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. Not with his son. This time, at least, work could wait.

Once the pair are both dressed in their outerwear, Nathan hoists the boy up on to his hip again, and carries him out to the decking, on the side of the house with the best view of the storm churning over the miserable valley. He clings on to his son tightly as the pulse of lightning illuminates his awed little face, a perfect mixture of your features and his, and yet someone entirely his own.  The boy gasps and shrinks back from the vast, roaring sky, nuzzling closer into Nathan’s chest, grabby hands fisting in his clothes again.

“It’s okay, buddy. It can’t hurt you, understand?” Nathan reassures.

The child visibly relaxes, absentmindedly tangling his fingers into the soft texture of Nathan’s beard.

He does that when he’s nervous. Seems to calm him down, Nathan notes, and files for later.

“Look, Daddy!” the kid points as forks of lightning raze through the blackened sky, sparkling eyes following the display.

“I saw it, champ,” Nathan confirms, as the storm lights up his child’s face in more ways than one. However, Nathan is more awed by his boy than the storm. By the boy you and he created, on a night not unlike this one.

He fixes his eyes on him as he grows in confidence, facing his fear of the braying wind and rumbling thunder. Being a parent is everything Nathan anticipated he would hate. Full of things you can’t control, and yet, he loves every way this boy surprises him.

Shit, he’s braver than me, Nathan thinks, as he cradles the boy in his arms, holding him just a little bit closer – a little bit tighter.  

Nathan isn’t afraid often. In fact, in his adult life, he’s only been truly afraid a handful of times. On those occasions, he didn’t face it like the boy did. He tended to bury his fear, in a landslide of work and drunkenness and insults and excuses. To cocoon himself in his own self-interest.

Nathan was afraid when he fell in love with you, even despite his best efforts not to. He was terrified he didn’t deserve you. 

He was afraid when you told him you were pregnant; he was terrified of creating another thing that hated him.

But Nathan has never been as afraid as when you left him, and took the boy with you. He was terrified that you would never come back.

You were brave. You were so brave that you never ran away from a storm, and yet you had fled from him.

What kind of storm am I, if even you ran from me?

Despite his fears though, Nathan was learning to be brave. He’s had to, since you’ve been gone. For his son, for you, he would fight off any foe or threat. Turns out, he would even do the hardest thing of all, and fight his own demons.

Yes, Nathan knew he was a stern man. Serious. Flawed. Unyielding. An asshole, a lot of the time.

He hadn’t been ready. To be humbled. By you. By the boy. Hadn’t been ready to face his shortcomings and his demons and look them in the eye.

He was afraid of creating something that hated him, but he hadn’t been prepared to create something better than himself. A child who was open, and kind, and brave, and loving. Who wasn’t afraid to feel, and to be kind.

Unlike father, unlike son.

The boy made him strong. The boy was just like you.

“Wow!” the boy gasps at another display of lightning, even though he jumps slightly as a loud rumble of thunder sounds. The shock makes him laugh - a sweet, musical, innocent noise that makes Nathan’s chest tear in half like the sky. The boy watches for a while longer as the storm tires itself out and the boy with it, the rain dying off to a pleasant lulling noise.

Nathan looks up at the sky too and he feels almost complete, until he looks to the other side of him; where you should be. Until he looks over his shoulder. To where long-dead things still haunt him.

“Mommy will be sad she’s missing the storm, won’t she Daddy? Can we send her a selfie?”

No tech after 5pm. Bed by 7pm. One of the co-parenting rules rings in his head.

It’s 2:30am, and he worries you will ride him for this, but surely this is an exception, right?

“Sure we can, bud,” Nathan responds, and he fishes his phone out of his pants pocket. The boy nuzzles into his chest in that adorable red hat, and gives a thumbs-up as Nathan extends his arm to grab a quick selfie. “Great photo. She’ll love it. What shall we tell her?”

“Hmm...” the boy thinks, and then he lands on the perfect words. “Say… I wish you were here,” he says with a toothy grin, unaware of the emotional sucker punch of his words.

Nathan’s chest tightens again, and he attempts to school the frown from his face.

I wish you were here.

Like father, like son.

Smoothing himself, he types out a message.

“Storm watching with Papa bear. Kid says: I wish you were here.”

“Ok,” he says softly, pinging the message away to you. “Done.”

The boy beams at his father.

“Will she type back?”

“Dunno, kid, she might be asleep.”

Tiredness hitting him, the boy nuzzles closer and Nathan gently rocks him on his hip, the boy’s eyes gradually closing.

When Nathan feels his phone vibrate, he lifts it back up, bathing the pair in a halo of blue once again. He is surprised to see a photo. There you are, wrapped up in a chunky cardigan and blanket on your new porch.

You’re watching the storm too, and god, you look so beautiful that it hurts him.

Beneath the picture, you have typed out: “Storm-watching, Mama bear edition. Wish I was there too, baby bear. I’ll see you in the morning. xxx”

He knows the smile and the wave and the words are solely for your son’s benefit, and not for him, but oh, how he wishes.

“Mommy’s watching the storm too!” the boy says sleepily, barely able to keep his eyes open in the comfort of Nathan’s warm, strong arms, as his soporific movements rock him back to sleep.

“Yeah, bud, she is.”

And Nathan tugs the boy into his chest, bouncing him on his hip and stroking his hair -as much for his own comfort as anything- until he is soothed too.

***

After the boy is safely back in bed, Nathan plods sullenly back down to his workshop, bathing himself once again in a blue halo. His fingers gravitate naturally towards the keys, and though he should work, his mind is very much elsewhere. His mind is wrapped up with long-dead things.

With a heavy sigh, he fishes his phone out of his pocket again, and spends a wistful moment staring at the picture you had sent him.

“Fuck it,” he says, and he lifts up the photo frame he’s had face down on his desk for some time now. For months.

Longer.

It’s a picture of you and him and the boy, out on a hike a few years ago. Nathan is carrying your son in a harness on his front, and you are side by side with them, clasping the baby’s hand in yours, and your head leaning on Nathan’s shoulders. You’re all smiling, though none of you had managed to look at the camera, only at each other.

The sight of it makes Nathan’s throat constrict. Lights a fire of yearning in the pit of him. A fire he’s tried to quell and resist for so long – hasn’t let himself feel, because he’s afraid of the power of it.

He stares at his phone again, so many things he wishes to say, but all he has the courage to type is:

“Just letting you know. Byron’s back to bed now, before you ride me for keeping him up. Woke up scared.”

Your reply pings back almost immediately, as if you were expecting him.

“Come on, Nathan. I’m not a monster. It’s a sweet picture. He looks happy.”

Nathan scratches the top of his buzzed head, and he sees the tell-tale dots disappear and reappear, signalling you are considering typing something further.

“Say it,” he types out to you, blunt and demanding as ever, and although the dots disappear for a moment, you come back - finding some courage yourself, perhaps?

“I wish I was there too.” He wonders if you held your breath while typing it, like he did when reading it.

This time, it is Nathan’s turn to convey nothing but dots to you, as he struggles to respond.  As his pulse thrums in his ears.

“Say it,” you echo, just as plainly. 

He takes a deep breath, knowing he’s going to curse himself for his stupidity even as he types the message. He has been earning your trust back. He has been rebuilding. He hasn’t pushed you too far yet, and yet he can’t help but plead with you now.

He says what he most needs to say.

“Come home.”

He stares at the phone, his heart hammering in his mouth.

But there’s nothing. No message. No dots. He throws the phone down on the desk.

Fucking idiot, he chides himself, launching himself out of his seat with a surge of nervous energy, and coming to rest his forehead and elbow against the cool window pane as he tries to steady his nerves. This is why he doesn’t let himself feel. Because when he does, it’s too much.

Nathan’s best quality is also his worst. He isn’t a man of moderation. He doesn’t know how to stop. When to stop. He never has. 

Doesn’t know when to stop working, drinking, striving, fighting.

Loving.

He loved you enough to split the sky open, and god damnit, he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. How can he solve this problem?

I pushed her away and she might never come back.

He feels a tightening in his chest - worse than before - and he has thoughts of reaching for a bottle until he’s blackout drunk, or hitting the punchbag until his knuckles bleed, but he bites those urges back down.

He has to. He has to, because his kid is in the house. For him. For you. For his own good too.

Gradually, Nathan -who once naively believed he had already attained perfection, superiority- has become a lot stronger, and a lot braver. A lot better at feeling his emotions instead of pushing them down. He has learned it from the boy, who learned it from you.

Still, despite this newfound courage -or, perhaps as a result of it- he has his moments of weakness, just like anybody else. He’s not untouchable. Not a god any longer.

Nathan is weak when it comes to you. He loves you. And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Overcome by the impulsive need to hear your voice, and ignoring all reason, he tracks back to the desk and calls you.

You answer almost instantly, as if you were expecting him.

“Nathan...” you say, in your eminently familiar voice, and he can he the agitation and accusation veiled as you say his name. What are you thinking? Always thinking. He’s always thinking. Yet, no- this time, he is only feeling. Finally feeling.

Still, Nathan doesn’t respond until a taut pattern of breaths has been laid like a tightrope for him to walk across.

Then, with a deep exhale, he asks you again. A plea. His face sharp and contorted in the blue light. He is terrified of falling.

“Come home.”

“Nathan...” you say, again. What are you thinking? And the sound of his name in your mouth causes a lump to rise in his throat. He hears your discombobulated breath on the other side of the line, and it is all too familiar. You were always charged, rubbing up against one another, causing static. He was always a storm; the one storm that could drive you away.

Come home.

“I wouldn’t even know how,” you insist, your voice paper thin, syllables soft and measured and sorry like raindrops drumming against a window pane.

You were always his release. If he was the energy and commotion and anger behind the storm -the severe, withholding clouds- you were its beauty and majesty and release. Together, you created life, and you destroyed each other.

Nathan hunkers over on the desk, leaning his head in his spare arm for some morsel of comfort, his guard up over his face.

“Just walk through the door tomorrow and stay,” he says tiredly, as if it’s simple.

He hears you sigh again, exasperatedly - the sound he induced all too often, when you were together.

“It didn’t work Nathan,” you say through your teeth, like lightning might spark through them at any moment. “How would this be any different?” Still, he can hear the tell-tale break in your voice. A gentle plea. God, could you really want to come back to him? If he could find the right answers to your questions?

“I’ll be different,” he promises, all the muscles in his face pulled taut. His face and his body aching with the tension of the sky splitting open, creation or destruction imminent.

Fuck it. Fuck everything else. Enough of this. The measured conversations, the co-parenting, the negotiations. You are what he wants - his family back together; home.

True- love hadn’t come easily to him at first. He was an asshole, a misanthrope, a closed book. Sex came easily to him. Desire. Infatuation. Thoughts of you, bordering on obsession as they took over his busy mind. But love? That too came, in the end. But love as a verb- the act of loving?

Nathan had sworn he didn’t want love at all, but then, there was you. He has sworn he had no desire for the legacy of a child, and yet, then there was the boy. For all his arrogance and grandiose dreams of the ways in which the whole world might remember him, he was finally ready to admit that all he wanted was to be remembered by you as a good husband, and by the boy as a good father.

He had never wanted to create another thing that hated him.

It didn’t come naturally to him at first. He was withholding, stubborn, rigid, and self-involved. Still, when he was motivated, there were other, finer qualities Nathan possessed too. Dedication, focus, discipline. When he was motivated, he possessed those in abundance. Turns out, love is one hell of a motivator.

Turns out, sometimes it is still not enough.

“I’m doing better,” he offers as he is met with silence, clenching his fist in discomfort as he hears you sniffing intermittently through the phone.

“I know,” you enthuse, your voice almost sickly with sincerity. “I know. I’m proud of you, Nathan.”

But Nathan doesn’t want your platitudes.

“Baby, please. I love you,” he pleads, and even in his plea his voice is stern. He refuses to let it crack. He states his truth as a cold, hard fact. He loves you. It’s undeniable. It’s logical, that you should be together.

“You know…. You know that I love you too.” you say, your voice small and full of holes. A sigh billowing out of you. “Shit, Nathan…” You sniff on the other end of the line with greater frequency – definitely crying. Nathan knits his brows together, his eyes brimming with tears that he fights back.

He thinks of all the times you cried and he didn’t reach out to you. He would give anything now to wipe your tears away.

“Come home, then,” he pleads, bluntly, swirling with hurt like silt stirred up by the rains. It hurts. It hurts to feel things. “Fuck, why are you so fucking stubborn?”

You huff out air as he snaps and instantly, he knows he’s fucked it. He wishes he could retract the words but it’s too late. They’ve already become breath. Already thunder, splitting his sky in two all over again.

He throws himself back in his chair in defeat, his hand rasping over his buzzed head in some unconscious attempt to comfort himself. “Shit, look, I just-”

When your voice interrupts him, it is perfectly smoothed out. Cold. Withholding.

So that’s how it feels.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nathan.”

There is a beat, and you soften. You always soften. “I’ll come get him later so you can have some extra time, okay?”

Nathan sighs loudly, catching a glance of his calendar on the illuminated screen.

“Fuck. I have a meeting at 11am- I thought you would collect him early so I booked a board thing-” he says tiredly.

“Fine,” you bite off.

“No. Wait, I’ll rearrange,” he backtracks. “Let me have more time,” he reasons, his voice softening. He tips up the photo frame – that blessed and cursed item- and brings it to rest on his thigh, torturing himself with your smiling face. “Please. I need more time.”

You are silent for a moment, and this time when your voice comes back, it is level, but infused with intentional warmth. He hates that tone. That tone where he knows you are placating him rather than speaking your mind, just so he doesn’t do anything stupid. He hates that it must feel like you have a guillotine hanging over your head at all times, because you feel like you can’t push him over the edge.  

“Fine. Get some sleep, Nathan, okay?”

He huffs out air, a sharp, self-pitying guffaw, and he rubs his eyes underneath his glasses, the frames lifting from the bridge of his nose. “Right. I can’t even fuckin’ sleep without you.”

There is another pattern of breaths, and whatever tightrope Nathan might have tried to walk across to reach you snaps. “Don’t do that, don’t guilt me, Nathan.”

The worst thing is, you don’t even sound angry. You just sound… tired.

“I’m sorry,” he pushes out, muffled through a hand over his beard, and though this time he means it, the words come out sounding entirely insincere.

“Sure. ‘Night. Try and get some rest, okay?”

Now that -that sounded genuine. Sincere. You never stopped looking out for him. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around him any longer.

“Yep,” he says tautly, with little feeling, and he hangs up, tightening his grip on the photo frame in his lap before slamming it back down on the desk along with his phone.

He leans back in his chair for a moment and buries his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

I pushed her away. I did that. I pushed her away.

With a knot building in his chest, partly out of need and partly out of habit, Nathan drags opens the desk drawer where an ever-replenishing stash of vodka used to reside. Where instead, he has taped a picture drawn by his son. For moments like this.  

It helps, but it’s not always enough.

Nathan knits his brows together, his face set with a stony resolve, and his dark, turbulent eyes awash with a storm of emotion.

The boy. He’s braver than me.

Somehow, because he has to, perhaps- because he’s had to learn how, Nathan smooths himself. He cannot solve the problem of how to bring you home, when this simply isn’t home to you anymore. So, instead, he bathes himself in blue light. He basks in the glow of algorithms he can solve, and works and works his mind until it shuts off. Feeling to thinking to nothing.

I’m a force. A force of nature. A storm.

He can do anything he sets his mind to.

And… fuck. I pushed her away.

Anything, perhaps, except bring you back.

***

The next day, you arrive to collect your son.

It is familiar by now. It is an encounter that Nathan both longs for and dreads, in equal measure. Today, especially so; especially both.   

Byron runs down the hallway and leaps into your arms, the sound of your laughter scooping Nathan out from the inside as you pepper the boy with kisses, a toothy smile on his angel face.

In these encounters, the moments are always too fleeting; always slipping away too quickly. It seems to happen so fast that it’s a blur to him, his mind zoning-out and working through a million things he wants to tell you, and simultaneously hyper-focussed on every single aspect of you he’s missed desperately. He wracks his brain for the right things to do and say, as if desperately searching for the one remnant of code- the one function or command that will simply make you stay.

With effort, he tunes back in to the scene as the boy wraps his arms around his leg.

“Did you pack Crunchy?” you ask Nathan, as he hands over the kid’s weekend bag to your waiting, outstretched arm.

His mouth opens to respond, but you are already unzipping it and rooting through the bag, checking in amongst the clothes and tiny boxing gloves and dolls for the dear mutt. You find him nestled in there safely, and you smile softly at Nathan for remembering.

You shouldn’t be surprised, he thinks. He remembers things – he remembers everything. It’s forgetting he typically needs a little more assistance with. Maybe he does look over his shoulder more than he’d care to admit.   

You ruffle the boy’s crow black curls as he clings to his father’s leg, snapping your hand back as if you’ve been burned when Nathan opts for the same gesture in the same moment.

You opt to fold your arms against your chest instead, casually clearing your throat. “What did you do with Daddy then, baby? Have you had a good time?”  

“We watched the storm,” the boy begins animatedly, swinging around Nathan’s sturdy leg, “and we did boxing and I learned a new combo,” the boy looks up at his father who nods and smiles gently in proud confirmation, hoisting the kid up on to his hip – a gesture that is becoming increasingly less rusty- “and we did a new trail to the glacier, and, um, what else Daddy?” Byron asks, waving his up-turned palms in the air and turning to his father for guidance. Nathan dips forward to whisper a prompt in his ear. “Oh yeah! And we watched Trolls and I put lots of my dolly’s bows in daddy’s beard,” the boys giggles, and scrunches his fingers through Nathan’s wiry hairs.

The kid’s smile is infectious, even fracturing Nathan’s stony resolve, and it has the three of you joined in a smile for a moment, until Nathan sees your eyes mist subtly over with tears as you observe the father and son together. You quickly quell them, but they don’t go unnoticed.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, voice expertly smoothed, and a masking smile on your face. The strength of you. “Did he look pretty?”

“Yeah, I guess he looked pretty,” the boy giggles. “And this morning Daddy taught me about static electric.... um-” the boys stumbles over his words for a second, and again looks to Nathan for guidance.

“You got it -go ahead,” Nathan encourages firmly.

The boy gains confidence, brushing his black curls out of his face with a little hand before continuing. “Static electricity, right?”

“Right, champ,” Nathan says, and as the boy barrels happily through his recital of events, Nathan barely realises that he’s holding him a little tighter, because with each moment that passes, so fleetingly, he feels it’s getting increasingly harder to think about letting him go.

“And Mommy, did you know this whole valley was made by a glacier that crawled all the way along and carved out all the shapes of the hills and then melted, like, a super long time ago?”

“You know, I did know that, but that’s smart of you to know too, baby,” you say fondly, a tremble at the corner of your lips that the kid doesn’t see, but Nathan is sharp enough to catch.

And then, suddenly, Nathan has no trouble contemplating passing the boy over into your arms, because you look like you need someone to hold too. However, as he motions to do so, Nathan can see tears threatening to spill out of the corner of your eyes. You shake your head subtly at Nathan in apology as you brush away a stray tear, in a moment you hope the boy won’t see, so, instead, Nathan sets your son down on the ground. He crouches and pulls the boy’s shoulders squarely to face him, providing you with a discreet moment to compose yourself.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly. “I remembered I need to talk to your Mommy about boring grown-up stuff. Gas prices and 401ks and… major yawn. So, hot tip, you might wanna go and play in your room for 5. That okay, champ?”

“Okay,” the kid says, unphased, and skips off down the hall.  

That leaves Nathan and you in the hallway. He hover-hands his palm against your lower back and gestures, with his other arm, towards the living space, guiding you towards the seating area.

You sit on opposite sofas, positions stiff and formal, hands clasped on laps. Your gaze looking just past Nathan because you can’t seem to meet his eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks gently, feeling a lump grow in his throat. He hates this- how tense it is, when you used to be so intimate and relaxed around each other. “Why are you crying?”

Unlike Nathan, you were usually an open book, yet this time, you decline the invitation to share. You pinch your lips in between your teeth.

You’re so strong, and so brave that it breaks Nathan to see you succumb to tears like this. Plus, you’ve given so much already- so much love, and so much heart, and he hasn’t given you nearly enough back.

Still, he looks at you from beneath his lenses, gently encouraging, waiting until you are ready to share. Your gaze fixes on a spot in your lap. “I… It’s just. Seeing you and Byron together. Why in the hell couldn’t you have been this man while we were together, Nathan?”

Nathan’s heart aches at your words. Years ago, even months ago, he would have bristled. He would have snapped back at the insinuation that he was ever in the wrong. Ever less than godly.

This time though, he lets the sad truth settle over him like a dark cloud. And, as much as he wants to pull you towards him, he also- and he can’t believe he’s going to do this- he realises he needs to push you away from him one more time. There is only one way to solve this. To let you go. To realise it’s your choice. You are out of his control. Unsolvable.

He shifts his position, until he is perched on the coffee table in front of you, his palms resting on your knees and smoothing circles there. His dark, calculating eyes intent on yours, and for once unobscured by agendas. For once, he has things to say to you that aren’t intended to provoke a particular response, or establish a particular gain. He has things to say that he simply needs you to hear.

He needs to show you his fear. He needs to face the storm he was never too afraid to create, but was always quick to flee the wake of. Nathan imagines if he explains the storm, he can demystify it. Take its power away. Then, even if you don’t come home, at least there can be calm. Calm after the storm. Both of you able to move on, with all the cards laid out on the table.

With effort, he begins.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan says gently, and even with those two words a gentle sob wracks your chest, perhaps with the relief of a weight you didn’t know you were carrying. “Honestly, I don’t think I told you that and meant it yet. So, I’m sorry.  About last night, by the way. But, shit, about everything that I did, and didn’t do…” Your hands come to clasp his in your lap, fingers gripping fingers tightly as his face contorts with regret. His dark eyes wander over your face as tears stream freely down your cheeks. Where once he would have shied away from you, in a state like this, now he has courage enough to be present.

“I missed you,” he continues, his voice tattered by emotion. “I miss you. I didn’t want to tell you that. Didn’t want to admit that I’m scared either. But I am. Of losing you.  Scared that the best thing for us… the best thing for you, might be being without me. To get out of the black hole I suck everything in to.” Nathan tears his eyes away from yours as his vision becomes blurry with tears, his voice cracking. “I’m scared because I love you, and I love that fucking kid and I... I’m scared that I might get better, and be better… but that you, and him… that you still might deserve better. Better than me. So, I’m sorry. Actually fuckin’ sorry, for all the ways I’ve been a dick. Shut you out. Put you last. Made you hurt.”

“Nathan,” you breathe through tears, as if you can’t fathom this onslaught- this emotion tearing your chest in two, like the sky on that night.  

He reaches up to fumble some tears away from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I need you to know that I finally see it, even if it is too late,” Nathan nods to himself, eyes fixed down at your hands clasped in his. “I see that if had to lose you to realise what I had; I never did deserve you. You’re so… fuckin’ unreal. And he’s just like you. And,” Nathan presses on, despite the mortifying ordeal of baring his heart to you. Despite the tears which finally spike out of the corners of his eyes too. “I need you to know. Even if it didn’t last forever… This fuckin’ family? It will always be the best thing I ever created. And if there’s one thing I want to be remembered for- any fuckin’ legacy I wanna have, I just… I need it to be known that I love you, and I love that fuckin’ kid. I want you to be happy, and I’ll always regret that I didn’t make you happy while I had the chance to.” He huffs out another small, self-pitying laugh “Guess in the end, I’m an idiot; not a genius. Guess I should have realised that when I got stabbed by my own AI…”

He drags his big brown eyes back up to meet yours from beneath his lenses, and your eyes are shining softly at him, brimming with bittersweet pain, and you tug him into you for a hug, holding him close and your tears wetting each other’s shoulder.

After a moment he pulls away and settles himself back on the edge of the coffee table, already missing your embrace.

“You did. You made me happy, Nathan,” you promise. “So, so happy, and so, so miserable,” you let out a small, self-pitying laugh too, and then suddenly you are both laughing, as bizarre at that seems, as you palm the tears away from your puffed cheeks.

When the laughter fades, you reach out and place your palm fondly on the side of his face. Nathan knew that even in all his years of marriage, he had never been so vulnerable with you as he had been just now. He knew that had been precisely part of the problem. He had thought it would feel horrible to open up, but he finds that he feels fresh, like ground after nourishing rain.

Your gaze flicks back to him, and he swears he can read the look in your eyes.

Why couldn’t I have been this man when we were together?

Then, it is as if you remember you are touching him. You snap your hand back from him, and back from the brink as if you have been burned. It would be so easy, Nathan thinks. So easy to just fall back into you. As if wrestling with the exact same thought, you surge up from your seat, wiping the remainder of your tears away and immediately putting some distance between the two of you. You track to the nearby mirror, leaning forward to fix your appearance a little, before the boy returns.

Nathan watches you fondly. Longingly.

You turn back to him again, a little more composed, and retake your seat opposite him – in the same spot, but feeling much further away this time.

You bite your lips between your teeth, gazing at that same spot on your lap again.

He wishes he could reach out to you. Take in the textures and scents and feel of you in all your glory. But he does not want you to jump away as if you’ve been struck by lightning.

“I miss you too, you know? I miss our family. When it was good it was…” your voice is small and you trail off, perhaps not wanting to look too far over your shoulder. With a visible effort, you seem to drag yourself back to the present. “Byron adores you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve told you this since we… but you’re a good father, Nathan.”

A pride ignites in Nathan unlike anything he’s felt before.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, and instantly closes it again, his throat bobbing around a hard swallow before he can push his words out.  

“Just a terrible husband?”

You shake your head. “No,” you say, with a wistful expression on your face, and Nathan is surprised that you sound sincere. “No, not terrible at all.”

Nathan knew his flaws well enough, but you always reminded him of his attributes. You never poisoned the boy against him, even though the split was largely on him – a fact he had denied for a long time, because it was your decision. And, because of your strength and commitment to that, the three of you -oddly- had never made a better team than you do now.

He examines your face. Your beautiful face.

Come home. Please.

For your sake, he makes an effort to lift his thin smile up until it creases the corner of his eyes.

“I think you’re forgetting what an asshole I can be,” he smiles lopsidedly at you and succeeds in lightening the air. Lightening it a little too much. Enough that there is an alarming hint in your eyes of what used to be there for him. He hopes it is not the shining of false hope.

It would be so easy. So easy to kiss you.

You chew some words over in your mouth, and Nathan can see their failure to launch on a couple of breaths as you wring your hands in front of you.  

“You, um. Last night… you asked me to come home.”

Nathan’s breath stalls in his chest.

“Did you mean it?”

Nathan can’t speak suddenly. He can only nod, slowly, tears sparkling in his eyes as he looks at you.

“I could… I could never just move back in. It didn’t work, Nathan. But… maybe…”

Nathan holds his breath, like a latent storm, the hint of a new energy buzzing in the space between you.

“Maybe,” you continue tentatively. “We could start over again. See if we can build something new. Not the same old patterns. No looking over our shoulders or trying to resurrect what’s long-dead. Instead, maybe we – I don’t know- try to create something… new?”

While the sky is rife with creation.

“You’re good at that. Building things,” you finish, fondly, everything about you tentative yet somehow hopeful, and Nathan’s chest constricts, his blood thrumming nervously through his body in a blind panic.

Just shut up, Nathan, and don’t fuck this. Just refrain from being a dick for five fuckin’ minutes.

The muscles in his jaw twitch. The vein on his forehead pops, yet his whole body is still. Breath bated.

“Like, fresh code?” he asks, with shining, hopeful eyes.

You nod, and it is the tiniest gesture, but one that means the absolute world to him.

A new way of doing things. Moving forward. Looking ahead.

“Sure, I guess - fresh code.”

Don’t fuck it up, Bateman, you fucking shithead.

“Yeah,” he agrees weakly, yet with all the conviction in the world. “How?”

Anything.

You nibble on your lower lip, thinking things through as you go. “Take me out for dinner. A first date. Somewhere away from this goddamn house. From everything that happened. All the… mistakes.” As Nathan’s eyes swim with guilt and regret, you squeeze his hand, dipping your head towards his to catch his gaze. “Yours and mine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok,” Nathan responds, his eyes glowing as they meet yours.

He immediately feels you withdraw from his burning hope, and so he consciously tries to reel his natural intensity in.

“No promises, Nathan,” you caution, firmly.

He nods, slowly. Outwardly disciplined and measured.

Don’t fuck it. Do not fuck this, you mother fucker.

“And please, don’t get his hopes up?” you say as a quick aside before delivering a broad smile over Nathan’s shoulder, signalling that the kid had arrived back in the vicinity.  

The boy runs over and starts happily wheeling a toy news truck over Nathan’s thigh. The man unconsciously, automatically, winds his arm around his son and dips a kiss into his black curls, causing your eyes to shine softly in admiration. “I love you, champ,” Nathan says, the words heavy with the weight of his feeling even as he reaches to tickle the boy’s tummy, earning a chaotic giggle.  

“Love you too, Daddy,” the boy replies, but Nathan pats him gently on the back.

“Time to go though, bud.”

“Yeah, baby. We should… go,” you announce, and yet there is a tug of hesitation in your voice. A rope binding you to Nathan which he is desperate to reel in; however, he pushed you so far away, and he knows that if you do come back to him, it must be on your terms. In your own time. He understands now.

Nathan leads the two of you to the door and helps pile all of the bags into the trunk of your truck. You strap Byron into his car seat, and Nathan dips to bid him farewell. “Ok, get out of here, kid. Look after your Mommy, you hear me? She’s special.”

There is a moment, before you open the door to slot into the driver’s side that Nathan comes to face you, his hands stuffed into his pockets, a familiar furrow in his brow and tight-lipped expression on his stony, impassive face. “When was the last time you had your tyres checked?” he wonders idly, shifting forward to poke at the tread on the front wheel and finding them satisfactorily safe.

He is surprised to find you smiling softly at him when he looks back at you. You seem like you can’t help yourself, but you lean forward and press a kiss into Nathan’s cheek, your face lingering against his as he closes his eyes and leans in to it, just a little.

You pull back from him, your hand clasped around his upper arm. “We love you, Nathan. Will you be okay?”

His eyes grow overcast. “Uh, don’t like it when you go,” he states plainly, his brow pulled down and cloaking his big, brown eyes with shadow.

You nod in understanding.

“Text me later. About dinner,” you add casually before you slot yourself into the truck. Still, he can see you tearing up, just a little.

“You mean it?” he asks, his stare intense.

“Dinner and we’ll see, okay? No promises.”

He had made you so many promises that were broken.

Nathan nods his agreement and you clasp the door shut. Reluctantly, Nathan steps aside as you swing the truck around, and he doesn’t stick around to wave you off, aside from a quick hand in the air for the boy.

He doesn’t like it when you leave.

He knew he had pushed you away, and now, just maybe you would come back to him. He feels hopeful- ecstatic even- at the prospect, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty. A little selfish too. He feels as though he’s sucking you in to a black hole all over again. He thinks maybe it would be better for you if you could escape him.

But, as Nathan settles back in his chair down in the lab, and gazes at the framed picture of his family, he knows that as much as he has grown and changed - because he’s had to, with you gone- that he will never quite be selfless enough to let you go.

I’m a force. A force of nature. A storm.

You had always revelled in storms. You were always happiest when it rained. Maybe this time, he could make you so, so happy, without the miserable.

Oh, how he hopes.

Don’t fuck it up, Bateman, he thinks, glancing at the picture one more time. Don’t you ever fuckin’ push her away.

This time, he pledges to stop looking over his shoulder, and looks ahead to something new.

That’s what he’s best at.

Fresh code.

He types away, and his chest feels lighter than it has in a long time.

The calm after the storm, perhaps.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal story - part 4

Look, the story has a name (hopefully I’ll come up with a better one later)! And the characters do too!

Anyways, if someone hasn’t seen the picrews (it’s here if you want to), Whumpee is now Liam Beaumont, Caretaker is Chase Raymond and Whumper is Jonah Sharpe. If you have trouble remembering: Caretaker still starts with a C no I totally didn’t give him a name that starts with a C on purpose what are you talking about and I think you’ll get very different vibes from Liam and Jonah haha

CW: electric torture, forced to watch, whumpee held hostage, hurt no comfort (for now), restraints

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince

Part one here, continued from here

-

Twelve messages wait for Chase when he picks up his phone. All from Jonah, all demanding him to work quicker, to give in new information faster. He purses his lips and takes a deep breath, clutching the new drive he was given to fill. 

After so many betrayals, he should be used to the sting that comes along with lying and deceiving. He’s done it before, felt that guilt, drowned in it – and yet he can’t help but hesitate. Liam’s pale lips, creased brows, shallow breaths, sparkle to life in his mind, a painful reminder of what is at stake if he annoys Jonah too much. Right beside Liam’s face, though, are the ones of Chase’s team, his friends, his family, all trusting smiles and loving gazes he cannot ignore. It’s enough for him to type a message and turn off the phone.

Working on it, Chase sends and hopes it is enough to keep the man quiet for at least another day as he turns his computer on and starts erasing from the drive the most meaningful information he’s stolen.

-

When Jonah bursts into his room, Liam is almost happy to see him. Five days have passed since he’s woken up in a room instead of the cell, and all he’s had since then is loneliness and echoing silence. With the only human interaction he was given being the occasional visit from a nurse who gave him a clinical once-over and refused to so much as look him in the eye, it was no real surprise when his thoughts spiraled out of control, swirling around and sinking down between Chase’s inevitable and yet somehow unexpected betrayal, and his new status as a hostage. 

“Doing better?” Jonah asks, leaning against the doorframe. Liam’s heart pounds both in relief and terror at the sound of a voice that isn’t his own.

“Do you care?”

“Getting some rest got your tongue loose, I see.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” That’s the question that’s been eating him alive, disrupting his sleep, watering his fear into a blossoming flower of dread that grows and suffocates any hope that tries to bloom beside it. Each answer Liam’s imagined sounds worst than the last, but if there is truth in any of them, he has to know. To prepare. 

“We talked about this already, didn’t we?”

Jonah’s eyes are as cold as he remembers from their few encounters, but this time something lurking there whispers stories of anger and pain to come, and that alone is enough to raise goosebumps along his entire body. 

“What do you want to let me go?” What could he have to give a man who is already filthy rich, when Liam has nothing to offer but a cramped apartment and a lot of resentment?

“Nothing you can offer, lovely,” Jonah chuckles. “Fair try, though.”

But nothing about this is fair, in any possible way. “So you are just going to keep me here because you don’t like Chase? I have nothing to do with him, please just let me the fuck go and I won’t even tell anyone, you–“

“Liam, honey, let us clear something up. There is nothing you can do to convince me to let you go. All you can do is comply, and maybe I’ll be merciful if you do, but you are mine for the time being, and there is no one here to help you but me.”

Liam’s reply dies on his tongue, killed by the unrestricted horror the words wash him over with. It doesn’t sound real. Sounds like something he’d watch in a movie, read in a book, hear about on the news. To hear them directed at him and feel the pulsating response from the healing stab wound in his gut, makes him hold his breath and pray to just wake up from this nightmare. When did his life turn into this? Was it when he met Chase? Was it before? 

“Now that that’s out of the way, come on, we have somewhere to go today.”

Liam’s stomach drops to the ground, farther, falling and falling to the center of the Earth as he clenches the sheets in his fists and hisses, “Last time you said that, you locked me up until I got an infection.”

“Ha, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Jonah says, raising a brow. Liam doesn’t even blink at the grin playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, love, I don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re having a different kind of fun today. Up now, or I’ll call my men to do it for you.”

Gritting his teeth, Liam pushes the sheets away and slowly stands up, holding his side and fighting a groan, but on his feet without help.

They walk in silence, and neither Jonah nor the guards say anything about how slow he is, or how terribly pitiful he looks stumbling through the hallways. A thousand words speed through his brain, pleading to be heard, but he doesn’t voice any of his questions. Doesn’t think he’d get an answer if he did, anyway.

He is led into a nearly barren room, with only a camera over a tripod standing in front of a wooden chair. A wooden chair surrounded by restraints.

He takes a step back before his brain catches up with the movement, straight against a guards’ chest. Jonah giggles and tuts softly. 

Two men grab his arms and drag him to the chair, and the panic suddenly becomes so deep, so all-encompassing, it swallows down his fight. He is pushed down on the chair, the restraints are buckled around him until all Liam can move is his head, and all the while he just sits there, hyperventilating and near to tears, as still as a statue. Watching but never moving, terrified but frozen in place, petrified, and he hates himself for it, even if he knows the feeling should be directed at Jonah and Jonah alone.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be so pliable, sweetheart,” Jonah mocks, setting the camera up. “I would’ve played with you sooner had I known.”

He parts his lips, but the words refuse to form. Fear envelops each of them before Liam can push them through gritted teeth, and all he does is stare at the guards surrounding him, at the cold stickers being placed on his arms, his shoulders, his hands. Liam shivers, but there’s no air current here.

“Why, why, why are you doing this?” he chokes out. He knows what’s about to happen, has seen it on television enough times to recognize the electrodes, the box placed next to the chair. 

“Because Chase pissed me off today,” he shrugs, and a red light blinks to life in front of the camera. Jonah walks toward him, stops in front of the chair, and smiles. Liam’s eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the man. “Has Chase ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

The weight on his stomach is so huge that Liam can’t even find energy enough to feel outraged.

Jonah pulls out a linen scarf from his pocket as the guards plug wires to each sticker and wiggles it in front of Liam’s face. “Here, I’d bite down on this if I were you.” When he fails to open his mouth, the man rolls his eyes and grabs his cheeks, squeezing so suddenly and cruelly his mouth opens without command and the scarf is shoved inside, making him gag. “Not that well behaved, huh. No problem, we have time to get you obeying.”

When the guards take a step away, Liam finds himself wishing they didn’t. 

“Smile at the camera, love,” Jonah says, stepping to the side so Liam is the only one being recorded. He stares straight at the lens and tries to draw in a deep breath.

He knows it is coming. He prepares for it. And then Jonah flips a switch, and there’s no preparing for pain so big, for agony so deep.

The world shatters around him as electricity lights up his body, turns him inside out, upside down, and no breath could’ve ever made this any better. There’s no air to breathe, no room to writhe, no place to escape. There is only pain, boundless and searing, here and now, splitting him into thousands of shards he can never hope to piece back together.

And then it stops, and his throat is raw but he doesn’t remember screaming and his chest heaves as he fights for air and tears fall from his eyes to his chin to his chest but he doesn’t remember crying either.

“Beautiful,” Jonah sighs somewhere close. Liam coughs and chokes on his own tears, trying to beg or maybe cry out, but whatever his mouth forms gets caught on the gag before it reaches anyone’s ears.

Please please please stop, it hurts, hurts so much, so, so much, please, please–

“Let’s go again.”

Liam doesn’t have time to even be scared before his world dissolves into burning agony once more. All he can do is scream and silently plead for help he knows isn’t coming.

-

When Chase turns on the phone, his heart nearly stops at the video awaiting him.

Two hours have passed. After five days of trying to convince that despicable man to let him see Liam and failing miserably, barely sleeping, worry and guilt eating at his insides, he fell asleep. He forgot. For one hundred and twenty minutes he allowed himself to rest, and now he is paid with Liam’s frozen image staring at him, waiting on Jonah’s chat, along with one single line of text that chills him to the bone.

This is for turning off the phone.

He clicks and feels a chasm opening in his gut when Liam fills the screen, strapped to a chair, scared eyes darting around a room Chase can’t see through the video, searching for an escape that is nowhere to be found, stopping on each electrode that is stuck to his body. The fear is clear as crystal on his face. It makes Chase’s heart squeeze until his chest is so tight he places a hand there, afraid to find it as hollow as he feels. Liam doesn’t talk, doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg. He simply blinks at the men towering over him and doesn’t ask for help, and that might be what truly undoes Chase.

And then Jonah turns on the switch, and Liam’s head snaps back, body contorting against restraints so tight there’s no room for him the thrash. Even through the gag, he screams, and Chase would scream as well if he wasn’t too busy gripping the phone as if his life depended on it, trying to steady his trembling hands.

When the shock stops, Liam’s face is tear-stained and exhausted, sobs wracking his body and ripping apart Chase’s soul. 

His fault.

It is his fault. After everything, after betraying Liam into not trusting anyone, after losing the boy who might’ve been the love of his life, after being responsible for his stabbing, his kidnapping, after everything–

The switch is turned on again, and this time when Liam screams, Chase’s eyes well up with tears he has no right to cry. A kind of rotten helplessness takes over his body, its clawed fingers wrapping around his arms, his legs, his heart and squeezing, whispering and shouting his failure, his guilt, his powerlessness. His eyes plead to close, but he needs to see this. It is his fault, his burden, and if Liam was forced through it, he has to at least watch it to the end. If anything, to know he’s still alive.

It lasts longer the second time. A life. His useless life. Liam convulses and cries and howls, and if Chase could only take the pain to himself, he would. He would switch places with Liam in the blink of an eye. He is the one who deserves that pain. He is the one who betrays and hurts and destroys anything he touches, and it should be him, not the boy who smiles at the sunrise and cries over books and dreams about changing the world. 

He stares unblinking at the screen and watches in silence as electricity courses again and again through that body he had once held and thought about spending a life beside, fogging those eyes that used to engulf him in love, twisting that face he once kissed and touched and loved into one of raw despair. Each time it stops, neither of them has time to catch their breath before it starts again. After the third time, Liam doesn’t cry out anymore. His voice breaks in a ragged wail until it dies down and all that’s left are silent sobs.

When the video ends, Chase is nearly numb. The last image shows Liam’s head hanging forward as he struggles to breathe, Jonah’s fingers casually carding through his sweaty hair.

Chase is out of his house before his brain even processes what he’s doing, inside his car, driving to Jonah’s building in a blur of hatred and desperation. When he parks in front of the tower, the phone buzzes and he doesn’t hesitate to read it. Not anymore. Never again.

You lost visit privileges. Leave the drive with the guard at the door and keep in touch. 

With Liam’s screams still ringing inside his mind, forever trapped there, he doesn’t dare do anything other than what he is told. He gives the guard the flash drive, and for the first time in years, he prays. Because if anyone notices the most important files missing… he can’t bear the thought of what could be done to Liam in retribution. 

(next)

[le0watch]

welcome home

(tws: slight body horror, temporary(ish) major character death, experimentation)

langa draws in a deep breath as he pulls the sheet from over reki's still body, the sight of pale skin and dull eyes making his stomach turn over. he wants to vomit, to scream and cry and rip his own skin off for even looking at reki's corpse, but he stops himself, instead swallowing back the sudden bile in his throat.

he pushes aside his grief- he already cried when reki first passed on, his chest rattling with sickness, his skin pale with pallor of disease. he had cried and cried already when reki was first diagnosed with TB, hes cried enough. now is the time for action.

he gets to work, angling the chair forward, bringing reki's corpse up with it. he steps around to the back, holding a knife tightly in his hand. he leans forward, slicing through the flesh of reki's neck, blood pooling before bursting out down the sides of his skin. the blood is thin and cool, no longer carrying with the heat of life. the smell of death hits langa's nose, but he ignores it in favor of strapping on the required helmet to reki's head and face.

he slides the needles connected to the helmet into reki's temples and forehead, and makes sure that it is on tight enough. pinpricks of blood trail down the sides of reki's face, but there is no reaction. of course there is no reaction. he's dead.

he returns to his place behind reki's corpse, grabbing the large drill like needle from the top of a nearby counter. he momentarily shuts his eyes, praying to whatever god that exists that this would work. he has no idea if it will, and so he can only hope, but he's done his best to mimic victor frakenstein's notes. that's what he and reki had been working on, before reki contracted TB and died.

"come on, man," reki had wheezed, stuck in bed, head propped up by a pile of pillows. langa was sat on a stool beside the bed, tightly gripping one of his weak hands. he hadn't slept in the same bed as reki in weeks, instead sleeping in the chair at the bedside to help whenever needed. "you can't give up because my body decides to give out." the redhead grinned brightly, making langa's heart ache when he devolves into a fit of hacking. he waited patiently for reki to catch his breath before speaking.

"there's no point to any of it without you, sunshine," langa muttered, eyes downcast. reki's weak hand weakly squeezed his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into langa's knuckles.

"well, of course there is," reki said pointedly. langa stared at him blankly, not believing a word of if. reki smiled softly at him, blood staining his lips. "you have to bring me back." langa's eyes widened in disbelief, and reki continued, "i'll be counting on you... promise me that you'll bring me back. i don't care how you do it. desecrate my grave, maim my body." langa's mouth had dropped open, and reki grinned once more. "just promise you won't leave me in the ground. i'd hate to leave you alone."

"i- ok. i promise," langa had sworn with all of his conviction. he decided then and there, that if he was unable to fulfill reki's promise, he would join his lover in the afterlife. "i promise."

reki smiled lightly, before coughing once more.

desecrating his grave had been harder than langa had imagined. he'd even gone to the funeral. watched as they lowered his body into the ground and covered he casket with dirt. digging it up again felt taboo, but the promise he'd made kept him shoveling the dirt up.

it had been raining when he finally got reki's corpse.

reki's corpse shudders as langa jabs the syringe into the back of reki's neck. the machines around him go haywire, typing and coding and doing its best to mimic reki's soul. he draws back, and steps to the wall covered in levers, drawing in a deep breath as he stares at reki's still body.

he prays that this will make it move again.

he yanks the main lever down, and instantly everything begins to pop and spark. smoke and steam sizzles just above reki's skin, filling the air with the scent of burning flesh.

electricity courses through reki's entire body, running through his veins and ending in his finger tips. his body convulses, fingers and toes twitching. his eyelids pop open before drooping again, lips fluttering.

langa holds the main lever down, and then pulls a few others down as well. more electricity jolts reki's body, and the blue light of an artificial soul drains into his flesh. it shines beneath his skin until it disappears, spreading through his veins. langa flips all of the switches back up, pulling the main one down for a moment longer to send more electricity through reki's body.

then, it's silent. langa holds his breath, staring at reki's motionless body. he sighs heavily when he sees nothing happening, ready to give up.

but then- one of reki's fingers twitch. langa's eyes widen and he rushes to stand before reki, watching the corpse as the eyelids flutter, his eyeballs swiveling around. his head arches back, before his neck throws it back up, and the blue light of the artificial soul lights his amber eyes with a different kind of life.

"reki?" langa calls softly, and those blue tinted amber eyes turn towards his face. reki's mouth hangs open, a dribble of saliva hanging from his chin. his eyes widen when they land on langa, and his body convulses once more as he gasps. langa catches his hand, holding it tightly. the body is actually moving again- but is reki alive? "reki, can you see me? can you hear me?"

reki doesn't respond, but his fingers do intertwine with langa's. his skin is cold with death, still, but the light of artificial life glows in his eyes. his lips tremble, and his head tilts to the side as he stares into langa's eyes. he blinks sluggishly, and langa tightens his hold on his hand.

reki's tongue slowly drags across his lips, and langa's breath catches when he sees recognition in those amber pools he so loves. he'd missed seeing them, he realizes.

"l- langa..." reki moans, voice thick with exhaustion and confusion.

langa's heart skips a beat when he hears reki's voice again after a month of a silent corpse. tears glaze over his eyes, his chest aching. reki's eyes are blurry and unfocused, but he's aware. and that's enough for langa.

"yes, sunshine, it's langa," he says, his voice tight with repressed tears. he tightly sqeueezes reki's hand, and he can't stop himself from tugging reki into a tight embrace. reki is quiet as he's held close to langa's chest, and the canadian tangles his fingers in the reanimated corpse's hair. "it's me. i kept my promise. welcome back."

reki doesn't respond.