#he genuinely seems like he can't keep the smile off his face after the initial embarrassment and it's so sweet

[kissporsche]

there's just something different about pete in the epilogue. he seems so much more settled in his own skin, he takes the time to consider what he's hearing, what he wants to say, how he wants to touch. there's a general sense of calmness that I think can only have come from a significant amount of introspection while vegas was unconscious, after the intense emotional whirlwind of the attempted coup and his resignation.

pete said himself he tries to live in the present, and i think part of that has been a defense mechanism, trying to not self-analyse too deeply or he'll have to confront the emptiness lurking there ("no. I've always been useless."). but after the finale, after finally owning up to what he truly wants and going after it, pete has had time to look at those choices he made in a desperate situation and has had to confront himself about them.

so when vegas asks him why he's still here, he takes a moment to really think about it. and unlike when vegas asked him before at the safehouse why he came back, he actually answers. he gives an answer that could have seemed flippant, but there's nothing but sincerity in the way it's delivered. he can't go anywhere else. and then: he just wants to follow his heart.

it's not a complicated answer. but it's what he didn't understand or couldn't face up to before, and he can only do so now because he isn't hiding away from himself any more. he knows that this was a choice he made and he will stand by it, keep making it, because it's what he wants. he seems so comfortable in his own skin in a way he hasn't before because now he isn't just living in the present: he's thinking about the past and what it will take to live with that, and most importantly he's thinking about the future and the life they could build together. the life he wants to build together.

and that conviction that he wants to keep following his heart gives us a version of pete who is so much more whole than any we've seen before

[snowmist-hashira]

Hello,

Um I don’t know if you take requests this is my first time so yeah

I have an idea so I was thinking how doesn’t Muichiro cut his hair on accident while fighting then I though what if he accidentally cut his hair so he had to cut the rest off his hair to and now we react to him having shorter hair

I hope this makes sense and don’t rush take your time :)

Good day

[Chapter title: Altered Appearance]

[Requested] Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Twins x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Twins x Reader Details: ♠ Information ♠ Master list: ♠ Muichirou Tokitou ♠ Word count: 585

Artist: 砂糖🐾原稿🔥[na_sanSS63] [砂糖]

Links; Twitter & Pixiv

No worries, Anon. Even though I have a busier schedule this time, my request box will always remain open for you guys. For more details, feel free to check my information! It doesn't matter if Mui's hair is long or short, we love him all the same. AHAHA. (Scheduled)

The soft sunlight filtered through the leaves of the surrounding trees, creating a dance of shadows on the ground. It was the perfect setting for a slow and relaxing day. Y/n sat on the porch of the mist estate, a gentle breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the scent of blooming flowers from the garden.

Y/n let out a contented sigh, feeling the tension of her usual responsibilities slowly melt away. Today, she wasn't burdened by any pressing tasks or urgent matters to attend to. Instead, she could simply be in the moment, savoring the peacefulness and tranquility that enveloped her.

Just then she heard the familiar caw of Ginko, Muichiro's crow. Turning towards the direction of the sound, she anticipated seeing the mist pillar, but what she saw left her utterly surprised. There stood Muichiro, his familiar figure now sporting a significant change. The once long, flowing black-to-mint hair that she had come to recognize so well was now cut short, reaching his shoulders. Her astonishment was evident on her face as she tried to process the unexpected sight before her.

Her initial smile faltered, and her mouth hung slightly open in disbelief. For a moment, she couldn't find the right words, her mind trying to catch up with the unexpected sight before her. She blinked rapidly, as if hoping that her eyes were playing tricks on her, but the reality of the situation remained unchanged.

Finally finding her voice, Y/n managed to speak, "Muichiro, your hair... Did you cut it??”

"Mhm, I had to cut it while I was fighting a demon," he explained. Y/n continued blinking, trying to get accustomed to his new look. After all, it had always been his signature look.

"Do... Do you not like it?" His question was tinged with genuine concern as he looked up at Y/n, trying to gauge her reaction, he couldn't help but feel a little anxious about her response.

Y/n quickly shook her head, snapping out of her momentary trance. "No, no, it's not that," she reassured him, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. "It's just... I'm not used to it yet. But that doesn't mean I don't like it. You still look great, Muichiro."

Her words seemed to bring a sense of relief to him, and he nodded with a small smile on his lips. "I'm glad to hear that," he added, his voice hinting a bit of disappointment, "though, you can't brush it anymore like before."

"It's okay," Y/n replied reassuringly, "I can still comb your hair even with that length." She reached out and gently ran her fingers through his shorter hair.

"I do have to admit," Muichiro said, "that it feels a lot lighter without all that long hair. It's a bit freeing."

"I can imagine," Y/n replied, softly chuckling.

"Do you think I should grow my hair out again, or should I keep it at this length?" Muichiro inquired, gazing at Y/n as she gently combed through his hair, her touch bringing a sense of comfort and relaxation.

"It's up to you, Muichiro," Y/n replied softly, her fingers continuing to comb through his hair. "Both styles suit you. If you liked having longer hair before, you could let it grow again. But if you find this length more manageable or comfortable, then keeping it like this is perfectly fine."

He considered her words, closing his eyes briefly to savor the feeling of her touch. "I'll think about it," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

[vashtijoy]

yup, he has two sets of facial expressions for his black mask outfit - one half using the expressions of his pleasant boy persona, and the other half using his third semester expressions

Ayup. I just find this fascinating, since in the third semester, out of the Metaverse, the pleasant-boy icons are so specifically part of his tatemae—essentially, the mask he wears for strangers (Sojiro and, initially on 1/2, Yoshizawa) and people who don't know him extremely well. Outside the Metaverse, they are never sincere.

Yet when he's hidden behind a physical mask? Back they all pop. All of them—even the smile, outrage and sadface that often look so very performative. And he uses them extensively, he doesn't only use them when he's masking or deceiving.

Akechi tells us on 1/2 that "nothing gets me as excited as this"—that is, nothing gets him as excited as combat. Outside the Metaverse, his third-semester sprites are so flat, which tells us his emotional palette is flat—for instance, he doesn't have a really angry sprite. So when he's in the Metaverse, when he's feeling something? Those first-semester sprites come right back.

It's an interesting choice, because Akechi has a whole pile of "being evil and malicious" sprites that appear between 11/20 and the engine room. But none of them appear in the third semester; this guy is history:

Like, we see him use this sprite set when he's alone, at least once. He must feel that this manner is closer to his reality than his often rather overwrought public face is. Yet these aren't the sprites that return; instead, the public face sprites make a re-entry, not just for when he's masking but to represent things he's sincerely thinking and feeling.

This, IMO, underscores that the uses of those sprites in the first and second semesters are not necessarily all performative. It tells us Akechi really has the capacity to experience all of those emotions—he isn't just emulating them for an audience. Although, of course, often he is.

It's tempting to look at third semester Akechi and interrogation room Akechi, and the "sin of emptiness" thing, and say he just feels nothing most of the time—that trauma has destroyed his ability to truly feel emotion. I think there's a great deal of truth in this. But I also like the idea that it's not always the case, and might not be forever.

Here's an illustrative example. This is from 1/2, when Yoshizawa loses her shit and breaks formation to fight alone (badly). She's quickly followed in by a furious navigator Akechi barking at her to keep in line and obey orders:

What sprite is that, with the wide eyes and pouty lower lip? It's the first-semester outraged-anger sprite:

Now, he's using these first-semester sprites a lot with Yoshizawa on 1/2, even after the "ruthless kind of person" thing; he's investigating her (for the middle of the sequence, he suspects she's the palace ruler), and he has moments when he seems to genuinely feel for her and her father, who let's not forget he's worked with—though those moments overwhelmingly seem to use the third semester sprites.

But he also uses them more generally. His navi/Mementos icons (the reversed ones that pop up in the top-right-hand corner) often use them. That closed-eyed smile often pops up for mockery, for instance. And he doesn't sound very first semester here—he's really pissed off, and it shows. So we get the first semester icon, for heartfelt fury rather than the kind of tired annoyance he might show out of the Metaverse.

Essentially: he's feeling something third-semester Akechi can't, or won't, express. He needs the extra icons for that. And he has those extra icons, specifically.

"i've had enough of your high-and-mighty rationalization."

Lastly, no discussion of Akechi and tatemae, no matter how cursory, would be complete without a quick look at this line from later on 1/2, which is one of my favourites. Akechi has another third-semester line that uses "high-and-mighty" in localisation, of course—it's his denial of Maruki's temptation (when the squad deny his offers one by one) in the 2/3 fight:

Akechi 偉そうに…うっとうしいんだよ！ erasou ni... uttoushii n da yo! Enough of this high-and-mighty bullshit! You're pissing me off! I'm so done with your stuck-up bullshit!

This is 偉そうに erasou ni—essentially, "too big for your boots"; "stuck-up, bigheaded, self-important, high-and-mighty". It's very common. But it's also not what Akechi says to Maruki on 1/2:

Maruki: If Sumire-san can live a healthy, positive life by becoming Kasumi-san... Maruki: Then I believe that reality is what would make her happy.

Akechi ⋯そういう建前はもういい。 ... sou iu tatemae wa mou ii ...I've had enough of your high-and-mighty rationalization.

This is a great way of putting it, but loses some nuance, and specifically it loses something telling that's specific to Akechi. What he tells Maruki is "I've had it up to here with that sort of tatemae."

honne and tatemae are your true, secret self, shared only with a close few, and your public self, for public consumption. Not being Japanese myself (I'm actually British, and find this concept very familiar—the "stiff upper lip") I don't believe this is a uniquely Japanese concept. But it certainly is one that's writ large in Japanese culture. Again, from Wikipedia:

A person's honne may be contrary to what is expected by society or what is required according to one's position and circumstances, and they are often kept hidden, except with one's closest friends. Tatemae is what is expected by society and required according to one's position and circumstances, and these may or may not match one's honne. In many cases, tatemae leads to outright telling of lies in order to avoid exposing the true inward feelings.

So: "high-and-mighty rationalization". What Akechi is saying is that Maruki is presenting himself in a self-serving, self-justifying way, a way that portrays him as benevolent, when that's not the case at all. "All you really did was use her to try and make everyone acknowledge the validity of your research."

You can interpret this moment either way. Who's correct? It could be either of them, or both. Personally, I don't like the way Maruki retraumatises Sumire in the palace, just to make a point; I think it's pretty clear he thinks he's benevolent, but actually everything he's doing is about him, about reinventing himself and the world so he can run from his own pain and loss. I think he sees Sumire as a treasure, as his proof-of-concept, which is why he never brings Kasumi back.

But bringing this back to Akechi and his tatemae, this is essentially where we came in. Just like everyone else, Akechi is always wearing a tatemae—a mask. It's just that his honne is so much worse, and differs so markedly from his tatemae. In the first and second semester, you have the bright, earnest tatemae and the murderous, vengeful honne beneath. In the third semester, his tatemae seems to be a strained version of his old tatemae, while his honne is the usual third semester Akechi we see—with the crazed combat style he adopts seeming like an artefact of him mostly only feeling much when he fights.

"akechi never shows remorse or regret"

tl;dr: Akechi knows a lot about tatemae. And by the third semester, he knows a lot about the lies you tell yourself, when you're doing something terrible. Which is why I end up hearing this line this way:

Akechi ⋯そういう建前はもういい。 ... sou iu tatemae wa mou ii ...I've had enough of your high-and-mighty rationalization. ... Self-serving lies like that won't work on me.

See the ellipsis? The line has a personal significance to him; he pauses before it. He can see what Maruki's doing, because he's done it himself. More than that: it's an example of him referencing a past mistake of his own as a mistake.

Akechi does not say "your tatemae". He says, explicitly, sou iu tatemae—"that sort of tatemae". He's drawing a parallel between Maruki's behaviour and his own history—one that's lost to us in the localisation.

He's essentially saying, "yeah, I told lies like that to justify myself, too." He's aware of what he's done; he's clearly assessed it and judged it in the negative. This line, in fact, is a great example of the subtle ways Akechi does show remorse in the third semester.

[mindyco]

Well, fuck. I've been writing all day and I've been coming out with ideas and writing prompts like water. Help. Anyways, here's a super duper short scenario. I'm doing everything in my power to NOT have to go to work. (🖒^^)🖒 Artwork credit: @myt_s3

Scenario: The Brothers' Reaction When the Reader Pats Their Head

When you pat Lucifer's head in praise or comfort, he initially stiffens, unaccustomed to physical displays of affection. However, he quickly relaxes, a subtle hint of a smile appearing on his face.

"Well, well, what do we have here? The great Lucifer receiving head pats? I must admit, it's surprisingly pleasant."

You can't help but chuckle at his slightly flustered expression, enjoying the rare sight of Lucifer being caught off guard. His pride momentarily forgotten, he leans into your touch, savoring the gentle strokes.

"I suppose I can allow this small indulgence, given that it's you. Just don't let it go to your head, human."

Mammon's eyes widen as you pat his head, a mix of surprise and delight crossing his face. He leans into your touch, a contented purr escaping his lips.

"H-Heh, not bad, human! You've got a good eye for recognizing greatness. Keep those head pats coming! I ain't gonna stop ya."

His ego swells with each pat, and you can't help but playfully tease him about his newfound love for head pats.

"Looks like the Great Mammon has a soft spot after all. Who would've thought?"

"W-What?! Who said anything about a soft spot? I just, uh, tolerate it 'cause it's you, got it?"

At first, Leviathan flushes a deep shade of crimson when you pat his head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He quickly hides his face behind his book, but you can see a shy smile forming on his lips.

"I-It's not like I enjoy it or anything! But, um, thanks for acknowledging my efforts. It means a lot to me."

His tsundere nature shines through, but the way he peeks out from behind his book, seeking more of your gentle touch, reveals his true appreciation.

"Oh, Levi, you can't fool me. I know you secretly love these head pats."

"Wh-What?! I-I don't love them! But... maybe a few more wouldn't hurt."

Satan's eyes narrow slightly when you pat his head, an amused glint in his gaze. He leans into your touch, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"Ah, it seems you've discovered one of my secret weaknesses. I suppose I can't resist a well-deserved head pat. Well done, my dear."

He teases you with his usual air of superiority, but his genuine enjoyment is evident. You continue to run your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes, relishing in the soothing sensation.

"You know, I wouldn't mind getting used to this."

Asmodeus practically melts under your touch, reveling in the praise or comfort you offer. He tilts his head to the side, encouraging you to continue the gentle strokes.

"Oh, darling, you have such a magic touch! I can't help but feel completely spoiled by your affection. Keep it up!"

His golden locks cascade through your fingers as you run them through his hair, and his delighted expression is priceless.

"Looks like the most beautiful demon in the Devildom loves some head pats."

"Of course, darling! Only the best for me, right?"

Beelzebub's eyes light up when you pat his head, a wide smile spreading across his face. He leans into your touch, a rumble of contentment emanating from his chest.

"Wow, you really know how to make me happy, huh? Those head pats are like food for my soul. Thanks!"

He can't help but associate your head pats with the comfort of a full stomach, and a mischievous thought crosses his mind.

"You know, if you ever need some extra snacks, just give me a pat on the head. It's a win-win!"

Belphegor's eyes flutter open when you pat his head, a lazy grin forming on his lips. He nuzzles into your touch, a soft sigh escaping his mouth.

"You've got the right idea. Head pats are the perfect way to relax and show your appreciation. It's like a lullaby for my weary soul."

His sleepy demeanor fades away, replaced by a gentle warmth as you continue to stroke his hair. He looks up at you with half-closed eyes, radiating contentment.

"You should be careful, though. With head pats like these, you might put me to sleep."

With each brother, your gentle touch and affectionate pats bring joy and comfort to their hearts. Their reactions range from pride to surprise, but deep down, they all appreciate the love and attention you show them. It's a simple gesture that strengthens the bond between you and the brothers, creating moments of happiness and warmth amidst the chaos of the Devildom.

～𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

[krishastumblernow]

𝓘𝓽 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

part 4

Characters: Zhou Yiran (周依然) x reader

Genre: fluff, bullying, comfort

Word count: 1k

"Yi..." you were still standing near him, still clenching his t-shirt in your fists, trying to process what just happened, he was still holding you close, "How did you even..." 

"I know, I know, shhhh," he kissed the top of your head, stroking your hair after. "Let's go get you a coffee first. Or ice cream. Or whatever you want, really. What do you want now, babygirl?" 

"A hug." 

"A hug?" he seemed genuinely surprised, as he hadn't broken the hug since the first second he got here, "And you're not even going to tell me off for calling you babygirl?"

"You've probably saved my life just now, did you see what Chareyong had in her hand?" you were absolutely lost, stumbling over your own words, "So you can call me anything you want, but maybe only until I get back to my senses," you tried to smile, but your voice broke into a whisper mid-sentence. 

"Do you want to skip classes today?" Yi looked you in the eyes and smiled reassuringly, his fingers caressing your cheek. 

"Yes, I really, really do..."

"And go where?" 

"No, wait," you said, looking up at him, "You can't skip the day because of me. You'll get in trouble. I'll get in trouble too, but you can't get in trouble because of me." 

"Well, I can get both of us out of trouble," 

Yiran really had his way with teachers. He was charming, smart, and always at the top of the class, so he could ask for anything and have it granted. "So, where shall we go?"

"Somewhere safe and without people, preferably."

"I'll take you home then. My house, not the dorms, yeah?" you just nodded, desperate to get out of this place.

*

You ordered pizza, watched a movie, and although the evening was still young, you felt like you needed to stop wasting the boy's time and let him rest in silence, at least for whatever was left of the day.

"Hey, I should really go home, you know. Thank you for having me and helping me calm down," you were both lying on the couch, the movie credits rolling in the background.

"No-o-o, stay, let me enjoy it a bit more," he showed his crooked tooth again, smiling wide, it was becoming your favorite sight of him really fast. 

You moved away a bit to look the boy in the face, "Enjoy it?"

He pulled you back into a hug, chin on your head, but you hesitated. Eventually you hugged him back, and he froze still. 

"Oh, babygirl, you can't imagine how long I've wanted this," he whispered, hugging you back so hard he was almost squeezing you.

"Waited for what exactly?"

"A hug from you," you looked him in the eyes again, even more confused. You hugged a lot today, you spent the whole last night in his arms, you watched a movie strangely tangled together, and he wanted...a hug from you? 

He put your head back, slightly pushing it downward into his neck. "Don't do that, I won't be able to keep it together, and I will kiss you."

"Well, that surely sounds like a threat," you smiled, "But what kind of hug were you waiting for? I don't think I understand."

"A hug, initiated by you, baby. But let's not go there now, ok?" he got all tensed up suddenly, and although you still understood nothing, you decided to stop pushing.

"Sure, sure, sorry to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, babygirl, you make me anything but uncomfortable," he hugged you closer, like he was afraid you would disappear. "But I don't want you to get scared, ok? I promise I'm not going to do anything without your consent."

"Well, you already had an opportunity, a perfect opportunity when I could do absolutely nothing, so if you really wanted to..."

"Exactly, babygirl. Although I really do, I really want it, I just won't do it like this. Not now, babygirl, not now." 

"That's a nickname for a girlfriend. Don't call me that, I've told you a million times already, Yi!" 

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" he tensed up even more. Was he scared? Was he... afraid of rejection? 

"Are you kidding me? You can get absolutely any girl, and you chose me?" you didn't even put your head up, in fact, you didn't move at all, startled by his sudden offer.

"I did," his answer was firm, he didn't hesitate even for a second.

"No way, Yiran, no way. You can get someone much better than me. Someone smarter, richer, somebody like you. Not like...me," you suddenly understood that your rejection was the end of whatever thing you two were having, and it made you really sad in a matter of seconds. He has been so nice, so caring, and you just said no to the only request he had.

"It's ok, honey, I'll wait," he also sounded sad, but neither of you broke the hug till this very minute.

"Wait for what?" you put your head up, and he looked you deep in the eyes.

"For you to agree," he ran his fingers through your hair again and gave you a very light kiss on the top of your head. "Maybe you'll say yes in a week, or month, or year. I'll be waiting, babygirl, I have enough patience."

The talk was taking a toll on both of you, so you were laying down in silence for a while, but still hugging each other, attempting to give the support each of you needed.

"If you really want to go home, give me ten more minutes, and I'll drive you, deal?" you nodded, he put a blanket over both of you and closed his eyes.

"Keep my hoodie till next time, ok? I will know it keeps you warm when I'm not there," he insisted on walking you to the dorm, holding your bag, and standing near his car until you waved at him out of the window in your room. What a true gentleman...

[beels-burger-babe]

Familial Attachments

***Awwwww, I'm so happy that you're enjoying my blog! This request warms my heart and I am WEAK for soft big brother Lucifer. I hope you enjoy @lorkai! - B*** Summary: MC keeps favouring Lucifer. It baffles the other brothers. Lucifer is intrigued by the behaviour and slowly begins to open up to them.

No one really noticed it when you first arrived. You were new to the Devildom, and so much was foreign and scary around you. So you following orders without question and lingering near Lucifer, the strongest of the demons living with you, could've been passed off as a survival technique. But after a few months of you staying in the House of Lamentation, Lucifer thought the initial fear would wear off, and yet you still continued to follow him around like a little duckling. Still, Lucifer hadn't really clued in that there was perhaps sentiment behind your behaviour until he had walked in on a discussion between you, Mammon, Beelzebub and Leviathan. He had approached your bedroom door and raised his fist to knock when he heard Mammon's annoyingly loud voice. "I'm just sayin'! There ain't no reason for you go followin' mean old Lucifer around like that! He's old. He complains a lot. He never has any fun. You should be spendin' time with me! I'm supposed to be your protector ya know!" Lucifer huffed in annoyance and was about to barge in when he heard your giggle. "I'm hanging out with you now, aren't I?" "I don't know MC. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Mammon has a point." Levi pipped in. At this point, Lucifer cracked open the door and peeked inside. You were sitting in Beel's lap as he munched away on a bowl of popcorn. Mammon was standing, punching harshly onto the buttons of the remote he was holding, while Levi sat playing with the ease and skill of the pro-gamer that he was. He didn't even look away from the screen as he spoke to you. Lucifer made a mental note to talk to him about conversation manners. Leviathan continued. "You're always hanging around Lucifer. You only spend time with us if we specifically ask you to, or if we arrange it ahead of time," Levi shifted uncomfortably as he pressed a button on his remote; Mammon cursed as a result. "I-I-Is he your favourite or something?" Lucifer couldn't help but perk at the question. He wasn't aware that you were spending particularly more time with him than the others. Sure, he noticed that you would listen to him much better than any of his brothers ever did (and that alone made him warm up to you), and you always seemed to smile when he was around. But he thought that was just the kind of person you were; happy and compliant. Much to his, and everyone in the room's, surprise, you nodded. "I guess he is." Chaos erupted inside the room.

Beel dropped his popcorn. Levi sputtered and actually looked away from the game to gape at you. Mammon threw his remote and whipped around to face you. "WHAT?!?! You mean you prefer that old bat to the GREAT MAMMON?!?!" to Mammon's defence, he looked genuinely hurt by the confession. "But I'm your first! I thought we were pals, MC?!" Levi tensed and sniffed before turning back at the game. "I'm not that surprised really. Makes sense that you wouldn't l-like a slimy gross otaku like me." Beel remained frozen and quiet. A frown etched on his face as his hands tightened around you. Your eyes widened at everyone's reactions. "Woah, woah, woah! Who said anything about not liking you guys? I love hanging out with you three, and I do see you as my friends," you looked directly at Levi. "Otaku or not. I treasure my time with you." Levi pouted and refused to look at you. "Then what does Lucifer have that we don't? Why does he get the title of your favourite?" Lucifer was shocked to see your expression soften as you smiled gently at just the thought. "He reminds me of my big brother in the human realm," everyone went quiet and looked at you. "I-It was hard being ripped away from everything I knew and be forced to live in a world that I didn't even know existed. When I saw Lucifer and got to know him a bit, I noticed how much he acted like my brother. It was comforting to have just that little bit of familiarity amongst all the chaos of the Devildom, you know?" The eldest brother's heart warmed at the statement. It stroked his pride in the best way possible. He loved his brothers, but none of them were very affectionate with one another with the exception of the twins. To hear that someone cared about him and saw him as an older brother was...touching. His younger brothers seemed to agree as, with a little irritation, they settled back down into their game. Forgetting what he came for, Lucifer smiled and went back to his office. Since that day, he was notably kinder and more vulnerable with you. If you saw him as an older brother then he was determined to be the best older brother you could ask for. He gave you a pat on the shoulder or ruffled your hair every time he saw you. He always made sure to congratulate or acknowledge your accomplishments, no matter how small they were. He asked you how your day was and allowed you to come to him with any troubles (which he would promptly take care of the moment you left the room). Every night he would invite you into his office for some tea and a round of chess before bed. It felt like in no time, he had begun to see you as a little sibling just as much as you saw him as an older brother. Lucifer did his best not to let his brothers catch on to how soft he was around you. He tried to compensate by teasing you a little more whenever they were around. Or pretend that he was taking you into his office to scold you when he really was going to look you over and make sure you weren't hurt in the most recent incident. The result was an endless amount of taunts and ridicule from his brothers on how he was a better sibling to you than he was them (which was mostly true), that you had thawed his ancient icy heart (which he would never admit), and that he couldn't say no to you (which he tried to prove wrong but inevitably failed, much to his embarrassment). Still, the bond between you two was one that was strong and pure. When it was finally time for you to go back to the human realm, you were in tears and refused to let go of Lucifer. Lucifer held onto you tightly. It was obvious to everyone there that he was just as reluctant to let you leave. "You have to go know MC. Your real big brother is up there worried about you, I'm sure," his voice was steady and firm. He refused to cry; no matter how badly his heart ached at that moment. You sniffled and buried your face deeper into his chest. "I know. But you've become just as much a brother to me as him, a-a-and I don't want to leave you. What if I never get to see you again?" Lucifer inhaled sharply at the thought.

He looked over at Diavolo. Something in his eyes must have given away the hurt and inner turmoil he was feeling, for Diavolo's eyes widened in shock before he smiled softly at his friend. "You may take your D.D.D. with you, MC, to stay in contact with the brothers. Perhaps, on occasion, we can also organize visits. This will not be goodbye forever." Lucifer chuckled as you held him tighter and ran a hand through your hair. "See? You'll see me and everyone else again. But for now, it's time for you to return home." You shakily nodded and reluctantly pulled away from his arms; Lucifer felt his chest tighten as coldness filled the warmth where you once stood. Still, he refused to cry or show vulnerability. He would not become a blubbering mess like Mammon. He was better than that. He clenched his fists as you went around giving everyone final hugs goodbye. He held his breath as you picked up the bag the two of you had put together full of keepsakes from the Devildom. You took a step towards the portal. "MC, wait!" Lucifer rushed towards you, damning his own pride and reputation to hell, as he pulled you into one final tight hug and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He held you there; closing his eyes and allowing himself to pretend for just a moment that he didn't have to let you go. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. "I love you, MC. I will miss having you here." Suddenly you were sobbing again. The two of you held each other for several minutes, as Diavolo had Barbartos escort the others out to give the two of you some privacy. Finally, he let you go, and within a second you were gone and back to your true family. Lucifer went home, and sat in his office, wondering what you were doing with your real big brother and if you were as happy up there as you were with him. ***HOW THE FUCK DID I MAKE THIS ANGST AND END UP CRYING WELL WRITING I AM SO SORRY I SERIOUSLY MEANT FOR THIS BE FLUFF GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! *Wipes tears* Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this no matter how accidentally painful it was. Thank you for the lovely request @lorkai! I was touched by how personal it was!***

[ichorai]

the devil's queen ; k.yr

pairing ; forest queen!yeri x devil!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; in which the queen of the forest seeks out the devil’s help after accidentally turning her husband to stone.

themes ; fantasy, slight fluff and angst, royalty au, devil au, magic au, forest au (?), forbidden love au

words ; 4.2k

warnings / includes ; devils obv, mentions of divorce and a loveless marriage, uhm yeri turns her husband into stone, one mention of angels, teasing banter, an absurd amount of description because yeri is gorgeous and i can't help myself, both yeri and reader are little shits, kissy kiss kiss at the end </3

a/n ; my first gg fic :D i'm rlly excited for this one !! i'm literally in love with yeri so i'm so happy to finally post this ! thank you to @doievoir for beta reading <3 also thanks to @subways-stuff and @koocycle for being gay with me :(

masterlist. | milestone celebration.

The stone of the balcony’s railing beneath the forest queen’s fingertips was just slightly cold to the touch, mellowed by the night’s sweet breeze. Her face, dappled by the moon’s gentlest luminescence, bore a somber expression, only managing to mask the panic she truly felt by a thread of her being. Pale was her dress, and paler her skin became as she grew clammy with unease. The sheer, opal chiffon of her skirts grazed the balcony floor with faint kisses in accordance to Yeri’s ceaseless fidgeting. And because of her restless movements, the intricate leaf crown propped atop her temple was now slightly askew, placed awkwardly amongst her perfectly-curled tendrils.

From where you were standing, watching the queen, worry etched into her soft features, you almost felt a shred of pity. The keyword being almost. Devils rarely ever felt remorse.

You took this opportunity to look around the queen’s chambers. After all, it wasn’t every day that you’re summoned by a woman of such importance, much less the queen of the forest herself. Gorgeous vines twisted up marble columns, white flowers scattered across the greenery. Every which way you looked, there were at least five potted plants ranging from minuscule succulents to large ferns longer than your own arm span. Even the bed had a canopy of iridescent petals and glossy leaves.

“You must really enjoy nature,” you quipped, taking slight amusement in the way Yeri jumped at the sound of your voice, spinning around with a hand on her chest. “Looks to be bordering on obsession, actually…”

The queen, having come down from her initial shock, looked upon you with a quizzical eyebrow. “I called you to help me, not to make comments on my lifestyle.” She waved her fingers in the air, conjuring a thick vine that wrapped around her waist as if it were a snake. “Besides, I’m the queen of the forest. It would be more bewildering to find my chamber void of natural elements.”

A toothy grin so wide it made you look sinister graced your lips, and you bowed your head slightly. Yeri, much to her dismay, couldn’t tell if the action was genuine or mocking.

“I like that you feel the need to defend yourself against the devil. Makes me feel somewhat of importance,” you uttered the words with a simple-minded hum, eyes glowing with mirth. “Which brings me to ask… why have you called me here?”

The silence was suffocating as she strode up towards you, an almost defiant look glazing over her irises. She was so close that you could detect a hint of her sweet scent; an intoxicating concoction of apricots and grass and the slight tang of the air just before it rained. A tad too refreshing for your taste, but it suited her well.

On the other hand, Yeri found that you were as warm as a walking fireplace, and smelled as if you had doused yourself in cinnamon and musky cologne. Though it wasn’t necessarily an awful aroma, it was most definitely strong and caught her off guard. Who knew the devil would radiate the odor of a popular dessert spice?

Yeri’s steps slowed down once she was just in front of you, near enough that her soft skirts brushed against your dress pants. You noted the way her breathing seemed to hitch, teeth slightly tugging at the plushness of her bottom lip in hesitancy. What was she waiting for?

And with a deep exhale, she reached somewhere behind you with the speed of lightning, as if she wanted to get this over and done with. Her fingers curled tightly around a fistful of white cloth cloaking a large mass, tugging on it with a mild grunt. You spun on your heel with an arched eyebrow, watching with suppressed curiosity.

As you beheld the sight, expression unfaltering, Yeri buried her face in her hands, practically vibrating in stagnant shame. You wondered if she was crying, but found that her face was dry when she pulled herself away from her palms. Either she was trying too hard to feel the comforting weight of sadness, or she was lying to herself about caring.

It was most likely the latter. The thought brought a smile to your face.

A chiseled statue stood in front of the both of you. Opal in color and sculpted with perfect body proportions, your smile melded into an intrigued frown.

“I know,” Yeri whispered without turning back to look at you. “I’m a monster.”

“Don’t call yourself a monster in front of the devil, it’s unbecoming,” you snorted in contempt. Then, you gestured limply towards the statue. “I don’t even know what this is. Did you call me here to show off an artsy escapade of yours? I’ve got far more important things to do, you know.” ‘Important things’ really meant watching two crows fight over a moldy baguette down in the village streets. You might’ve been the devil, but that didn’t necessarily mean you were busy all the time.

Disdain colored her words as she hissed out, “I turned my husband to stone,” rouge laced her cheekbones as she quickly added on, almost an afterthought, “by accident.”

Oh? You clasped your hands together behind you, rocking back and forth on your heels. Now you were starting to see the resemblance, recalling the forest queen’s marriage to a man whose only facial expression seemed to be stoically indifferent. “My, my,” you crooned glibly, “what an interesting turn of events. Are you sure it was an accident?”

The forest queen clearly didn’t take your teasing lightly.

“I didn’t even know I could,” she said in an icy tone, glancing down at her hands, one still fisted in the coversheet. After a moment’s pause, she spoke up again, turning towards you. “But I need him back.”

A guffaw slipped past you as you wrinkled your nose in distaste. “That’s no fun at all. You want me to bring him back? Your moronic oaf of a husband? I’m sure you could find a new one with the snap of a finger. Besides, it’s better to keep him this way. He seems far more intelligent as stone.”

Having said your fill and satisfied with the fuming look Yeri wore, you spun on your heel, about to head out of the castle and run your other devil errands.

A bright flower of consternation unfurled within her ribcage, and the forest queen found herself hurrying forward, curling her fingers around the wrist of the subject of her torment. Almost immediately, she let go, partly from shock at her own actions, but mostly from the fact that your skin was borderline scalding. You are the devil, after all. Yeri should have been more careful.

“Do you forget who I am?” she hissed nonetheless, glowering at your unturned back, her tone swimming in a pool of severity.

At her question, you whirled around to look upon her in bemusement.

“I’m the queen of the forest!”

You nodded just slightly. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Mouth agape and nose twitching slightly in an attempt to contain her umbrage, she whispered out, almost bristling in hostility, “Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Finally catching on, I see.” You flashed her wink, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning forward. “Let me make one thing clear. You may be a queen, but you are not my queen. I haven’t forgotten who you are to the mortals, but I feel you’ve forgotten who I am.”

A genuinely wounded look found its way sprawled across her soft features. She struggled to find her voice for a minute, before turning her head away to gaze upon the moon in shame.

“What can I do to convince you?”

Though the words were quiet, you could still detect the stubborn tenacity interwoven through the question.

Instead of answering her inquiry, you retaliated with one of your own.

“Did you love him?”

Her face snapped back to you, frozen in incredulity. “What?” she asked, furrowing her perfect brows.

“Did you love him?” you repeated, this time rolling your eyes to the leafy canvas obscuring the ceiling. “You need not lie to me. I’ll know.”

With a shred of hesitancy clinging onto her, she uttered lowly, “No. It was a diplomatic marriage… he’s the crown prince of the ice mountains. And I need him back before anybody notices. You understand why I have to have him back, don’t you? This could cause a war.”

“A little foolish of you to ask a devil to prevent a war, don’t you think? We live for chaos,” you susurrated into her ear, circling her like a predator would their prey. Yeri flushed at your words. “Pray tell, why didn’t you ask an angel? Why come to me?”

She drew herself to her full height, almost as if sizing you up. You grinned at that. What an interesting character she was. “I was ashamed of myself. I didn’t want an angel to know of my mistake. Angels judge, and devils are used to despicable acts far worse than what I did. Of course I had to go with the latter.”

It was silent for a moment, the leaves rustling with the cold breeze. “Smart girl,” you hummed, impressed. Yeri cleared her throat, evidently flustered.

With a flick of your hand, the statue’s marble hue slowly faded away, color returning to the forest queen’s husband. A gasp left her throat, and she scurried across the room, almost tripping over the wisps of her skirt in the process. The prince of the ice mountains fell to the floor just as his feet loosened up, and he looked as if he had woken up from a horrid sleep, a dumbfounded expression masking his usually stoic features.

He looks stupid, you thought to yourself as Yeri knelt down beside him. Why would she choose him of all people?

“Have fun being married to somebody you don’t love,” you called out to the couple.

Yeri glanced upwards, a ‘thank you’ just on the tip of her tongue. But when she looked towards where you had been standing, there was nobody there. The wind whistled in your absence, and everything suddenly felt cold.

The forest was quiet as Yeri stormed through. The leaves stopped whispering, the birds halted their chirps, and the rivers grew muted. She was livid, so much so that small wildflowers the color of winter unconsciously sprouted in her furious trail. There were tear tracks forming rivulets down the apples of her cheeks, but they were long dried. She was too angry to cry now.

You danced your fingers along the bark of the branch you were sitting on, swinging your legs in bemusement as you watched the Queen bask in her fury.

Your landing from tree to ground made naught a sound, but Yeri seemed to sense that you were already there, for her shoulders squared and her chin lifted. Perhaps she wanted to look as if she had at least some semblance of her life put together in front of you. You weren’t quite sure why she bothered; you already knew she was in shambles.

Today she wore a plain sage button dress, the fabric flaring softly at her hips and arms. The skirt reached just below her knees; a considerate choice seeing as she was trudging through mud and foliage of all sorts. A white cloth was tied about her temple, keeping gorgeous locks of dark ebony from falling into her tempestuous eyes. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and seeing her angry conjured a queer elation within you. What’s gotten her so riled up this time?

With outstretched arms, you beamed at her scowl. “Regretting asking me to free your husband from his stony confines? I did warn you against it, did I not?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Forgive me for choosing not to trust the devil.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you said in a sing-song tone. “You chose to trust me the moment you asked me to fix your poor husband. What is it you want from me now? Did you call me to turn him back to stone this time?”

An affronted look colored her already-miffed features a twisted hue. She seemed to relax just slightly when she realized that you were just jesting, as you always were.

“He wants me to move out of the forest. Permanently.” She angled her face away from you so you couldn’t see the turmoil raging within her. It was fruitless, because you saw right through her words. “Says the icy mountains are far better than this infernal place.”

The unexpected sensation of your warm hands on Yeri’s shoulders conjured what felt like an inferno raging within her ribcage. The devil was touching her. Why wasn’t she mad about it?

“Divorce him,” you said, almost nonchalantly. “You don’t love him. Why stay married?”

“I told you,” she shot back in exasperation, trying her damned hardest not to look down at your hands encasing her shoulders, just a thin layer of green fabric separating bare skin to skin contact, “for diplomatic-!”

“Oh, screw diplomacy. You don’t even want to go outside of the forest. What’s the point of staying married to him?” Your words were sharp, a dagger of truth cleaving right through her skull. It was a good point you made, and it made the queen furious to know that you’ve got her beat.

Yeri was starting to think that your ability to constantly put a damper on her mood was a mastered talent. Have you had a lot of experience belittling people? She presumed the answer was yes; the devil didn’t belong only to her, this was undeniably so. Sin was an attractive flavor to mankind. Was it greedy to want the raw form of wrongdoing all to herself?

Plunged into a cavern of her own agitation, she didn’t even notice you releasing her to pace circles around the forest queen. “He doesn’t love you either, just so you know,” you whispered from behind, causing her to startle with a wince, “especially not after that rocky stunt you pulled, hm?”

Something akin to amusement danced in Yeri’s gaze as she turned her head to peer at you. It flickered away just as quickly as it came. “You’re mean,” she said dryly.

“I know, it’s kind of my job.” You rocked back and forth on your heels, leaning against the trunk of a large tree. “So why did you call me back?”

Yeri dithered for just a moment. “I don’t have anybody else to talk to.” With such a shameful statement, you were pleasantly surprised to see how she managed to say it in such a leveled tone.

“And so you came to the devil for mild chit chat?”

She bowed her head. “I did, yes. Do you have an issue with that?”

You shook your head with a slight smile. It was a truthful response; you quite enjoyed studying Yeri’s mannerisms and turmoils.

A stoic expression crossed her elegant visage as she nodded at you, and then proceeded to turn away, striding out of the forest with naught another word more, tendrils of hair fluttering airily with each step.

News of the forest queen’s divorce to the prince of the ice mountains spread quicker than a royal archer’s arrow. Some said she did so in a spectacle of dramatic tears and ring-throwing. Others gossipped that she slipped away into the woods with only a mere note to inform the prince of what was going on. And the most popular story going around was Yeri proclaiming the divorce void of any emotion, ignoring the prince when he dropped to his knees and begged her to stay.

Knowing both parties of the couple, you were sure that all three spin-offs were far from the truth.

Your suspicions were confirmed when Yeri called you back again, this time with a hint of a grin tracing her lips, a startling contrast to the previous two times she’s called you over. The duality of this woman, you thought with a shake of your head.

“What is it this time?” you asked with an annoyed facade, though it was clearly only skin-deep, for the curiosity swimming in your irises betrayed your true stand.

The queen in front of you was wearing a dress of black silk, flowing and cinching in all the right places. A white and canary flower hanging loosely from her ear, a vast juxtaposition from the darkness of her ensemble. She was the true epitome of allure.

“Black to look like you’re mourning to the simple-minded common folk,” you observed, “but the daffodil symbolizes a new, hopeful beginning. You’re not at all upset about your divorce.”

The corners of her carmine lips curled upwards. “Smart devil,” she replied, referencing back to when you had called her just the same. Devils weren’t ones to be flustered, but you supposed that was the closest thing to how you were feeling at the moment. Masking was a true talent of yours, however, because Yeri seemed not to notice at all. “I called you because I’m lonely.”

“It’s one thing after another with you, huh?” Your words lacked any bite, and you found yourself chuckling while threading your fingers through your hair. “Looking for an affair the same day you get divorced isn’t usually customary for humans. I’m not complaining, though,” you mumbled with a roguish grin, stepping closer to her and gently running the tips of your fingers against her forearms. You pointedly ignored the way the saccharine apple aroma she practically dripped of made you dizzy.

She drew a mock gasp at what you were insinuating, placing her frigid palms on your shoulders to push you back in a playful manner.

“So is it me you want or would you like me to brainwash someone to come and take pity on you?”

Dark irises rolled the leafy ceiling of her bedroom. “What if I asked you to stay?” Despite you barking out a laugh, she continued on. “I don’t need somebody else.”

Eyes flashing something dangerous, you drew yourself up to full height. “Don’t jest.”

“I’m not jesting.”

You knew she wasn’t, but you took a step backwards anyways. Much to your astonishment, she boldly rivaled that with her own foot propelling her forwards. Closer, ever so close.

“Why do you want to fraternize with the devil?”

“Why do you keep coming back whenever I call you?” she shot back quickly, leaning forward just as your spine brushed against a poster of her canopy bed. “I’m not giving you anything in return.”

The words had you reeling for some sort of witty comeback, but for the first time in your eons of life, a human had you dumbfounded. Why were you coming back?

“I…” you gaped at her earnest countenance. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” she echoed your words, almost smug.

Quiet unease filled the silence between you, and you narrowed your lids into slits. With but a gentle whistle of wind, the devil dissolved into a mass of shadows and glowing clementine-hued embers, leaving the queen alone in her chambers once more.

When the seasons change, it wasn’t a shift that happened overnight, but a feat that came with the patience of moons. Earth took its time in conversion, as did everything else. Time was a universal language everybody understood; unchangeable, solidary in its flow, ruthless and unforgiving.

Devils were no exception.

It took you time to come back to Yeri. You weren’t very sure how long. The stars shifted and the sun dipped past the horizon countless times while you waited for an answer to a question you never had the courage to ask. Quite pathetic of the devil, wasn’t it?

When the forest queen called for you a fourth time, you were tempted to decline.

But you found yourself teleporting without a second thought, materializing in a haze of dull light by the corner of her cavernous chambers.

Yeri watched from across the room. The beige turtleneck she wore clung to her like a second skin, a sheer corset cinched about her waist, embroidered flowers dancing across the fabric. A grey skirt fluttered with the wind that blew through the doorway to the balcony, singing a song of the forest. Golden jewelry dangled from her neck and ears, glinting sweetly in the fading sunlight. Her curled tresses had little wildflowers woven between the strands, rolling over her shoulders in waves. She was beautiful, and she wasn’t yours.

It took her no time to stride forward, bare feet padding silently across the smooth floors towards you. You didn’t move, standing your ground and eyeing her with indifference.

The grazes of her fingers against your blistering hot cheeks shouldn’t have taken you aback. Your pride was wounded the last time you saw her, and all a devil really had was their pride. Should you be mad at this woman for diminishing you down to a mess of discombobulated emotions and lost purpose? A twisted part of you was proud of her for doing so. Besting a devil at their own game wasn’t quite the everyday act.

Yeri hummed a pleased little sound when you grabbed at her wrist. Not to yank her away, no, but to pull her ever so close, breathing in her earthy scent. The walls of fire you once held up to closely guard your devilish heart, now doused by a simple pale of water. The forest queen did that. And you, quite frankly, were so very afraid of what she’d do with it now that it was hers.

“Took you a while to come back,” she whispered. You looked oh so bewitching in this light, a glimpse of heaven doused with the fits of hell, and Yeri found it hard to concentrate. Especially not with your searing fingers wrapped firmly around her forearm.

“Certainly didn’t take you a while to call,” you snorted, raising a brow at the queen. “You’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Even the flame-lit candles were envious of her radiance when she smiled, for they flickered and warbled at her mischievous beam. “I’m not ashamed to admit so. You look awful, by the way.”

“That’s a lie,” you teased, so close now that your nose brushed against her cheekbone. If an outsider were to walk in now, they would’ve thought the two of you were two lovers intimately dancing to a ghost’s silent song.

“You’re right. I lied. Thought you might enjoy that since you’re the devil, and all.” The queen looked at you with hooded eyes.

A breathy chuckle slipped past your lips. “I enjoyed that very much, yes.”

“I’m going to do something,” she uttered lowly, vague hesitation weaving through her words, “and you’re going to have to promise not to freak out.”

An off-hand sound of acknowledgement rumbled in your throat as the tip of your mouth quirked upwards. “My queen, I’m the devil. Of course I’m going to freak out. I live for chaos.”

Just as you took your time to come back to her, it took Yeri time to unfurl the folds of her heart, baring herself raw and unshielded. She trusted you with her life, and it was probably the most foolish decision she could ever think to make.

Her lips brushed against your jaw first, tentative and testing. Then the kisses trailed to your cheekbones, over to the lids of your fluttered-shut eyes, down to the bridge of your nose. When she melded her lips over yours, you knew you were done for. It was almost natural, how your arms snaked around her midriff, clutching at the threads of her corset with a yearning you’ve never felt before. The hands that cradled your jaw slid in different directions; one went to clutch at your arm in a fruitless attempt to ground herself, and the other gently scratched at the back of your neck, earning a pleased noise from you.

This was so wrong, and that was why it felt so good. If she was the fruit, you were the parasite. If she was the wine, you were the poison. If she was love, you were hatred.

When she pulled away from you with a dazzling smile reserved just for you, you swore the stars shattered and the moon collapsed and the sky broke into two. For this trembling certainly can’t be coming from you! Devils don’t tremble, for crying out loud!

“You called me your queen,” she observed, amused at your playful narrowing of eyes.

“A devil never lies, my queen,” you jested. The laugh she was about to bark out at your witty jab was stolen away from her as you kissed her once more. “I wouldn’t dare bow to somebody with a soul, yet it seems you’ve given me yours. Just what am I to do with you?”

Your words were paused to press a lasting kiss onto her cheek, right below her wide eyes, nervously awaiting your response. Studying her with mirth dancing in your irises, you crooned in acceptance, fondly nudging your nose against her supple cheek. She was yours, and you were hers. A white rose blooming amidst a tumultuous storm.

“And my, my, what a powerful pair we make, my queen.”

[fairestwriting]

Hello, can I request light music club + Rook and Ruggie helping MC getting over an ex that cheated on them? Platonically btw, hope it isn't too weird sjjdj

ofc!! im reading this as the boys being mcs friends who help them get over said ex, hope i got this right!

Kalim Al-Asim

It's hard to believe someone would feel every emotion of your own relationship's fallout with you, but believe me when I tell you Kalim really does feel every single one of them. If you're crying when you tell him you broke up with your partner and why, he'll be crying with you.

Doesn't put your ex down exactly, but won't spare any words when it comes to talking about how cruel what they did is, unless you don't want to talk about it at all. In that case, Kalim will be your sunshine bringer, he'll throw a party or a feast or just watch movies with you in your dorm all night to distract you from what's going on, whatever you feel like doing to forget about it.

Makes sure to remind you of how wonderful you are and how much you mean to him as a friend. Cheating packs a punch to someone's self worth, he imagines, and he really doesn't want someone so dear to him feeling bad about themselves because of something other person has done.

Cater Diamond

He's like those best friend characters from rom-coms when they hear the protagonist has been cheated on. Complete and total outrage, rapid comments on how much of an idiot and a trash person your ex was, how much they're missing out. He's just baffled anyone would be so awful as to throw you out like this.

Switches to attempting to be comforting rather quickly after the initial shock, asking you if you wanted to do anything to forget about it, if you wanted to rant, that kind of stuff. If you're in the mood for a distraction, Cater can take you out somewhere nice, to a café you like, maybe to the mall to window shop and/or loiter.

Whenever you're feeling better about the end of your relationship, Cater probably suggests showing off in social media a bit more, in a sort of "show them what they're missing way". It's not... the healthiest way to cope, but to be fair, Cater isn't really good with healthy ways to cope at all, and he ultimately means well.

Lilia Vanrouge

Parental instincts activated. When you break the news, Lilia's usually mischievous expression falls into concern, he sits you down to let you vent out every emotion, giving you a few pats on the shoulder and a couple words of reassurance if it seems you need it.

Wipes your tears for you, if there are any, and very seriously reminds you that what your ex did was just mindless cruelty, that they were the one at fault, and that you deserve so much better than someone like them.

Proposes, also very seriously and genuinely, the idea of getting some sort of revenge, possibly even when the news were still fresh. If you're that close to Lilia, of course he'd feel protective over you, and that means making them pay for treating you like this. If you don't want him to do it, though, he won't... most likely.

Rook Hunt

Rook is usually so full of life and chatter, like he never runs out of words to say and smiles to give, but when you tell him the news of your breakup, he's absolutely speechless, blank faced like he can't proccess it at all. And he can't, really, how could they do something like this to you?

He's genuinely upset things had to end like this, his first reflex is likely touchy, holding your hand in his, maybe even pulling you into a hug, as he seriously tells you how blind they must have been to just throw away the beauty of your love like that, someone like you deserved someone so much better.

The attention he gives you can and will double. All that praise he gives you is now beyond endless, he invites you to have tea at Pomefiore or go for a hike in the woods to keep your mind busy. He's all cheerful everytime he sees you, his energy pushing into contagiousness, your life will be lit up quite a bit. And your ex is suddenly completely horrified by his presence. You wonder what happened.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie isn't as outwardly emotional as the others in this list when it comes to hearing about the bad news, but you know from his grimace and how his ears flatten that it hit him too. Tells you he's sorry something like that happened to you, you didn't deserve it at all, and promptly asks you if there's anything he could do to make you feel better.

His brand of comfort is more older sibling-like, a little awkward and stilted, but still tangibly warm. He'll indulge you on whatever you feel like doing to shake off the bad feelings, even if it's just moping around in your dorm and sighing while you marathon bad shows, and will listen to every word you hand him if you feel like ranting.

...and he'll get revenge on your name, too. Whether you'd like him to or not, it'll be something harmless like a prank leaning a bit towards the mean side, but Ruggie is a firm believer that nothing in this world comes for free, and that includes hurting one of his dear friends. You can tag along or not, he's still embarrassing your ex in front of at least one of their loved ones.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[hardlyinteresting]

Risks Worth Taking 2/2

This is the second half, part 2/2 of the story, thank you to everyone who has read it! Professor!Zemo x Student reader Part 1 here The reader takes Zemo’s philosophy class focusing on Machiavelli. Posted in 2 parts because it exceeded the textbox limit. Apx 3k words.

Warnings: student-teacher relationship (the reader is of age, no real focus on power imbalance), implied age gap, consumption of alcohol, implication that the reader is sleeping with Zemo for better grades (she's not) and of course let me know if you want me to add anything else!!

Week five, he is not shocked to find she’s once again the first one in class. “Good evening,” he greets warmly, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he makes his way to his desk. She smiles back, “I left my paper on your desk there, I figured I’d get the pile started”. He laughs setting down his coat and bag, “Something tells me there will be few submissions for this class”.

He’s right. Less than half the class bothers to show up. Most of her peers seem to be getting a head start on winter break, at least the class is quiet she thinks content listening to Helmut summarize the most recently assigned chapters, providing historical context where needed.

“Enjoy your break Helmut,” she says softly as he shuts the lecture hall door.

“You as well. Do you have plans?” She shakes her head, “No, just reading”. He smiles, “Then I am sure it will be a good break indeed”.

The cafe is warm and cosy. She settles comfortably into her favourite booth with her favourite book and a second cup of tea.

The bell at the front door dings as a man enters in a long black coat and leather gloves. Fancy she thinks to herself as he approaches the counter to order. It's usually other students dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, the man’s put together dress piques her interest. He orders and then she watches over the top of her book as he drops a $10 bill into the barista’s tip jar. Oh, well dressed and exceedingly well mannered. She can't help but watch him as he waits. Removing his gloves he tucks them into his pockets and unbuttons his coat, she swears she can smell his cologne from where she sits; it's incredible!

“Cherry blossom tea for Helmut?” The barista calls sliding the cup across the counter.

Helmut? It isn't. Is it? He turns after saying a polite thank you, and she can feel her heart hammering as he turns and she sees his face. It is. She's not sure why she's shocked, she did tell him about this place after all. Do I say something? She wonders, weighing the pros and cons, but her thoughts are halted when she hears his voice,

“Hello,” he smiles softly, “I didn't expect you to be here--I know you pointed this place out, but I wasn't--”

He's worried he's intruding. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“No, no. It's okay! I don't own the place-- did you want to sit? You don't have to--”

He chuckles as her nerves get the best of her.

Silently he sets down his cup shrugging out of his coat, putting it over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“What are you reading?” He smiles, trying to peak at the cover.

Again, after their initial stiffness, the conversation flows smoothly, just like it had in his office. After several warm drinks, and a couple croissants ordered between the two of them it’s grown dark outside. Neither had noticed the cafe empty out slowly over the hours, the barista cleaning up for the night until she clears her throat from behind the counter. They both turn to look at her, finally noticing how quiet the shop is.

“Sorry, we’re closing now,” the barista smiles sweetly. “Not a problem. I apologise, we lost track of time. We’ll get out of your way,” Helmut apologizes. The pair collect their things sliding back into their coats and gloves. Helmut waits patiently for her to be ready to go his hand resting gently at the small of her back as she slips out of the booth and past him.

Helmut stops and puts another bill in the girl’s tip jar.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he apologises again.

Outside the winter wind is cold against their faces.

“Are you hungry?” Helmut asks.

“I could eat,” She responds. “Ever been there?” Helmut asks pointing to the pub across the street. “I don’t know if it’s your speed. It’s not super nice or anything, but their food is decent,” she says honestly. He laughs, “‘Decent’ is better than what I can make at home by myself”.

She bites her lip thinking about it, does he want to spend more time with me?

“Okay,” she smiles as they make their way across the street.

Settled at a table, they wait for their server, she asks, “Was that a fifty dollar bill I saw you put in that tip jar?”

He shrugs, “Yes”.

He says that as if it’s normal, she thinks.

“I know you’re not from here, but you do know that’s a lot of money right?” “Yes,” he shrugs again, “But she made excellent tea all afternoon, she let us stay as late as she could and she was polite. And I have been here long enough to know that servers of any kind don’t get paid fairly. I can afford it, she deserves it”.

She feels the smile grow across her face, she considers gushing that he’s such a good person, but instead what comes out is, “I’m really starting to consider becoming a professor”.

He laughs, “I told you, it’s family money, not my facility pay”. God, that laugh, sets off butterflies in her stomach, the warm, genuine sound of his laughter.

He continues, “Before Sokovia fell, my family were royalty. I was a Baron there”. “I knew your name sounded familiar,” she sighs, “I remember hearing about Sokovia on the news. I remember your name, you were building orphanages and relief centres”.

He nods sadly, “Many of us thought we could salvage what we had left after everything. We couldn’t”.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, without thinking she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on his arm. His hand comes to cover hers, so much larger than her own.

There’s a silence between them for one of the first moment since he sat down with her earlier at the cafe. But it’s not uncomfortable, it’s the opposite -- a silence of understanding, both parties knowing there’s nothing they can say to make things better-- they can only ruminate.

The peace is broken by a waiter coming to take their orders. “Do you drink Helmut?” She asks with a mischievous smile. “I have been known to indulge,” he confesses, his eyebrows furrowed. “Two shots of ?” she turns to look at Helmut expectantly. “Vodka,” he replies. “Two shots of vodka, and an order of cheese fries to share please,” she orders, “thank you”.

The waiter returns not before long, placing the drinks and food on the table.

She holds her shot glass up waiting for him to do the same. “Prost,” he says raising his glass towards her. “Cheers,” she responds clinking her glass into his before they both tip them back.

And that’s how their night begins.

It’s nearing midnight when they settle their bill, Helmut insisting he pay-- though she put up a good fight. “Can I walk you home?” He asks looking at her under the light of the street lamps. She nods, her face feeling warm both from his attention and the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream. Her apartment is only three blocks away, but time seems to slow down as they walk arm in arm through the freshly fallen snow. At her door they stop, she looks up at him, him down at her. Without a thought, lips meet. It’s not rough or particularly sexy, but she feels her knees go weak when his hand comes to cup her cheek, his other splayed across the small of her back pulling her closer. This kiss deepens and she clutches the lapel of his wool coat before they both pull away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Don’t be,” she sighs.

Then the thought hits her, “How are you getting home?” “Oh-- I was going to get a cab and go back to the cafe to pick up my car in the morning,” he explains. “Nonsense-- you can stay here,” she offers unlocking her door and stepping inside, he doesn’t follow. “Not in my bed,” she laughs flicking on the light, “I’ll set you up on the couch”. He steps inside.

In the morning he wakes to the sun shining through the window. It takes him a minute to orient himself remembering he crashed on her couch. He sits up taking a moment to look around the apartment, it’s cute. Books and textbooks and notebooks strewn about the place. It’s homey and inviting and every bit what he’d expect her space to look like. Carefully he grabs one of the open notebooks tearing out a page he writes a quick note:

Good morning, I find that I feel very sorry for having to leave before you wake. Alas, I have much to get done, and I do not wish to trespass in your home longer than needed. I am grateful for your hospitality, and even more, your company. If my memory serves correctly I must also apologise for making that advance towards you last night. It was ungentlemanly, and you are unquestionably deserving of much better. I hope you can forgive me, and that you might allow me to make it up to you. -Helmut

Week six.

“He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his word, guileless, and devout.” Is written across the board. When she settles into her seat. She’s not early this week, rather just on time. Helmut notes the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to catch her breath, he holds back a smile at the thought of her sprinting to his class. When the class is settled, he proceeds to hand back all of the submitted essays, now marked. He smiles as he sets hers on her desk, “Bravo,” he says quietly enough that just she hears it as he shuffles along to the next row of students. She anxiously flips to the last page, red pen scrawl reads 100%. Her jaw drops. There’s no way. She thinks back to the rumours she heard on campus at the beginning of the year, about how difficult a marker he is. Bullshit. Her blood boils, rage sizzling beneath her skin. She avoids his eyes for the rest of class staring down at her notebook as she notices the indents in the blank page-- indents left from where he had written her a note that morning. Her anger freezes replaced by the cold sinking feeling in her chest. All his kind words, all those moments shared-- did he really think she was just spending time with him for a better grade? What kind of handout does he expect to get from her? She scolds herself now for the little crush she’d developed-- how stupid could she be? The prince must appear to be virtuous in order to hide his actions, She remembers from her reading, a dagger to her chest as she thinks bitterly that she’s not shocked that the professor is practising what he preaches.

The class ends and he moves to collect his paperwork, sorting it back into his bag. She stays. “I’m glad you stayed behind,” he starts. “I’m sure you are,” she says sharply. Confused he puts his things down turning to face her. “Have I done something to upset you?” He asks seriously his head tilted to the side as he racks his brain for anything he may have done to make her so cross. Perhaps his note was not sufficient in conveying his apology? “Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’m naive?” she asks arms crossed, “I’m not sleeping with you for a good grade,” she states firmly, sliding her essay back across her desk, “feel free to adjust my grade accordingly”. Is that what she thinks? His mouth goes dry, his mind and heart racing with all the different ways he wants to apologise, to tell her that she has it wrong. He approaches her, finally making eye contact with her, “Your grade will stay as it is. I mark all of my student’s work without looking at the cover pages. I have always strived to remain impartial. Your essay was marked no differently,” He explains calmly, “I would be wrong to say that I don’t hold any affections for you-- it is quite the opposite. I enjoy the time we have spent together, and I would like to continue to remain in your company; I hope to eventually find myself in your affections-- but none of this has any bearing on your grade. I am sorry that I have acted in a way where this was not clear”. Her throat clenches, oh. “I’m sorry--Oh my god--I’m so stupid!” her hand flies to cover her mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for-- I should be the one apologising,” he insists. She shakes her head standing to stand in front of him, “We’ve both been obtuse”. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you out for dinner-- a proper meal. If you’ll allow me”. She nods her hand coming to rest on his cheek, thumb running gently across his cheekbone, “I would like that,” she says quietly, her eyes glazing at his lips, “But only after the semester is done and I’ve graduated”. “If that is what you want,” he nods understanding. She can feel him leaning in, her eyes flickering up to his caramel eyes and back down to his lips, his hand rests on her hip, but he waits for her to close the gap between them.

Last day of the school year.

She waits by the door to the lecture hall as he speaks to his class. She listens to the back and forth of conversing ideas from the students, her heart beating faster every time Helmut speaks. It takes a while for everyone to leave when the class is over, but he does his best not to make her wait too long, gathering his things as quickly as possible, he makes his way over to her.

“Maybe I should’ve taken this course, the conversation was much more lively!” She laughs. “Your intelligent thoughts would have been wasted here, my dear” He smiles shutting the door behind him, “your class needed a brilliant mind in it”.

The summer goes by quickly. Fine dining, nights in. reading during rainstorms. Nights of soft romance, followed by nights of passion. Pasts shared. Futures envisioned. In his bed the night before the new school year she rolls over to lay almost on top of him, laughing when he lets out an oof. “Old man she teases,” earning a playful pinch on the thigh from him.

She glances at his nightstand, a copy of The Prince laying there.

“And what are your personal feelings about Machiavelli anyway? You never speak about your own thoughts”

“You're so clever,” he laughs, “but you're right”.

He sighs pulling her closer. he tries to focus on his hand running up and down her arm, how soft her sweater is under his fingertips. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “every time I read it, my opinions change,” he confesses, “there was a time when I was young and stupid; thought I was invincible that I agreed with a lot of his ideals. Then I grew older, fell in love--I thought him stupid and lonely. I experienced an incredible loss--”

She squeezes his side as she hears his voice grow tense with tears, he swallows and continues, “and then I thought I understood him. I learned how to grieve and I thought him intolerable. In the end I learn more about myself than I do him”.

She smiles, “and have you read it lately?”

He nods kissing her softly, “I have”.

“And?”

“I learned to trust my instincts. To take the risks that are worth taking”

“You're kind of a sap,” she laughs, her face getting warm she buries it in his chest. Part 1 here

[kyuus4ku]

𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗢𝗔𝗣 𝗕𝗨𝗕𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗦

chuuya nakahara

genre: minific ; fluff

warnings: mentions of blood, a little bit of profanity

word count: 2.1K

Your head throbbed with a dull sting as you carried your aching back to sit upright on the bed. Rubbing your eyes in exhaustion, a sharp sigh escaped your lips. You had a long week, and the missions the boss sent you on weren't easy ones. As one of the Port Mafia Executives, the number of reports you had to write and dirty tasks you had to deal with were numerous, but it seemed as if the pressure that initially weighed on you was subsiding, or perhaps you were just slowly getting used to it.

Nevertheless, it was easier than before since you could work alongside Chuuya.

It seemed as if you both shared each other's burdens of the stress imposed on you everyday. Other than that, it was nice having a partner who knew exactly what you had to deal with at work. It sort of saved you the trouble of explaining and elaborating on details of how your day went, since the both of you stuck together most of the time. Even your colleagues were well-aware of how close you were. Disregarding the countless times Dazai, who was your esteemed colleague but also your close friend, had mockingly declared that you both acted like 'a pair of pathetic, lovesick teenagers,' the fact still remained that you and Chuuya were highly respected at the Port Mafia because of what your ideal duality was capable of accomplishing.

But today, you didn't bother thinking about work. It was the last thing you wanted on your mind. You turned your head to your side, and found that Chuuya was not sleeping next to you. You got out of bed and started humming a tune whilst making your way to the bathroom to freshen up. Your head was cluttered with thoughts about what your plans were for today, since it was one of those rare opportunities to spend some quality time with Chuuya, who wished to do the same with you, too. Just as you were about to get out of the bathroom to look for him, you heard a voice coming from behind the shower curtain.

"Oi," Chuuya's morning voice rang groggily, "what happened to wishing your boyfriend a simple 'good morning'?"

You tittered lightly and proceeded to open the curtain, only to find Chuuya comfortably relaxing in the bathtub with a glass of wine in his hand. A grin broke through his expression as your eyes rested on him.

"Good morning, idiot," you chimed sweetly, "how long have you been in here?"

Before he could respond, you held your index finger up in realisation as you recognised that strong scent hanging in the air. Chuuya looked at you innocently as he tried to think of a way to justify the fact that he used too much of your favourite vanilla soap in the bath. You also realised that there were more bubbles than usual, so you quickly deduced the situation and frowned at him in fake disappointment.

"I'll get you more soon," he added awkwardly before you could say anything.

"How much did you use?" you inquired seriously, attempting to scare him.

"Half the bottle... sorry... it took a while to bubble up... I was really confused," he scratched the back of his head guiltily.

"I'm kidding, Chuu~" you chuckled softly. You proceeded to remove your clothes and carefully slid into the tub to sit across him. He had prepared another glass just for you. Pouring a portion of one of his most expensive wines into it, he checked to see if you were seated comfortably.

"What's the occasion?" you asked as the sweetness of the alcohol washed over and soothed your tastebuds. The bitter aftertaste and the way it flooded over all your distressing thoughts about work summed up just how much you liked it.

"I'm a great boyfriend," he said airily, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips.

"Nah... admit it," you replied nonchalantly, "you just love spoiling me."

Chuuya laughed at this, not bothering to differ with your statement. The both of you sat in silence for a bit, casually sipping from your beverages and engulfing yourselves into your thoughts, while slowly getting a little light-headed from the gradual intoxication of the wine. The alcohol seemed to be doing a great job of relaxing your sore joints, and bringing Chuuya into a flurry of lukewarm emotions which stood in contrast to his usual agitated mood.

However, this changed as Chuuya broke his train of thought when he noticed the bruises lining your right shoulder. His eyebrows furrowed in concern, so he leaned forward and reached out his hand, gently brushing the tips of his finger against them and catching you off-guard at the same time.

"What happened here?" he asked, observing it carefully as your hand reached out to push away his. You didn't really like it when he showed too much concern over such trivial things, even though you deeply appreciated it. Since working in the Port Mafia often posed threats to the both of you physically, these sort of minor injuries were normal, but he never failed to dote after you. He took care of you as best he could, and you did just the same for him. This was one of the million reasons why Dazai often referred to you both as 'the cheesiest couple to walk on this godforsaken planet.'

"It's nothing," you held your hand over your shoulder, pressing the bruises lightly to see if they still hurt as much as they did a few days ago, "It's just from that dumb fight that broke out a few days ago. Remember?"

"Where was I?" a look of annoyance replaced his concerned expression, "why didn't you ask for help?"

"I managed it just fine," you replied rather abruptly, trying your best to brush it off. You two often argued about such things, but today, the last thing you wanted to do was fight over something so minor.

Chuuya stared at you seriously while you tried to avoid his gaze. Your heart raced a little at the thought of a potential argument breaking out, so you decided to diffuse the tension since it was supposed to be a day of rest, and... slight inebriation.

"Chuuya," you subtracted the ego your expression held, and assumed a calmer, more tender tone, "it's nothing to worry about, okay?"

He pursed his lips as his eyes travelled down to your bruises, then back up to meet your gaze, "please, be more careful, for fuck's sake."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The pace at which your heart was beating slowed down to keep up with the alcohol's minor effect on your body, and Chuuya's sharp features, with its present undisturbed guise, had a strange way of setting you at ease, too.

Maybe it was just the wine talking, but you didn't let anything stop you from soaking up every fibre of this moment.

"Hey, don't act as if you didn't come home with blood all over your clothes a few weeks ago. It was a fucking bloodbath over here, and all I got were a few bruises," your playful teases overtook the silence which the both of you were too captivated by for a while.

"Shut up. Don't make me remind you about how you were freaking out," he mentally mustered up the theatrical skill hidden deep inside him to imitate your voice, "'Fuck, there's blood everywhere! Chuuya, how are you feeling? It's okay, I'm going to patch you up... where the fuck are the bandaids!? Oh my- okay, wait, I'll be back, don't move. Oh, wait, you can't- sorry, just give me a moment-"

"I had all the right to freak out, dumbass!" you cut him off and giggled as he shook his head dismissively, trying his best not to smile but failing all the same.

"On a serious note," Chuuya uttered after some contemplation, "if something like that happens again, call out my name."

"In the middle of a fight?" you tilted your head, perplexed.

"Yeah," he responded plainly.

"What are you going to do? Bitch-slap them?" you asked with a mischievous grin, unable to take him seriously.

"Make them regret it," Chuuya replied bluntly before a devious smile broke through his serious expression, "of all people, you know what I'm capable of."

"I do," you assured him, "but why?"

The question was genuine, and he decided to respond with brutal honesty.

"I don't take people's wellbeing lightly," he said, sipping on his wine while keeping his gaze locked onto you, "especially the people I give a damn about. So if anyone ever crosses that line— I'll kill them."

You felt something shift inside you.

His aggression and fierce loyalty seemed to overwhelm you. No one had ever spoken for you like that.

He took note of your silence, and wondered why you became quiet all of the sudden.

"What's wrong?" he asked you, gesturing for you to come over to his side. You did accordingly and made yourself comfortable in between his legs by stretching out your own, so that the both of you made good use of the space in the bathtub. The back of your head rested on his chest as the two of you blankly stared at the bubbles that surfaced the soapy water decoratively. He took away the wine glass from your hands and placed both the glasses on the cabinet nearby, where your essential oils and premium soaps were housed. He reached out to the lowest shelf for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Nothing," you replied calmly, "thank you."

"For what?" he asked, slowly getting a cigarette out of its box, careful not to get the tobacco rod wet.

"Don't know..." you replied dreamily, "no one's ever..."

Your voice trailed off. Chuuya sensed that you weren't in the mood to respond, so he reached his hands in front of your face with a cigarette in between his fingers, and placed it in between your lips carefully, with his face peeking over your shoulder to ensure that he had the permission to do so. As he gently handled your jaw in one hand and the lighter in the other, he lit it up for you.

"There's no reason to thank me," he leaned back once again as you painted the air with wisps of smoke. You remained silent as you handed him the cigarette. He held it in his hand and opened his mouth again, "this job really sticks a fuck ton of needles up the soles of your feet, so I can't help but feel worried about you."

"I'm worried about you, too," you replied as he passed you back the cigarette, puffing out clouds of smoke smoothly, "you know that, right?"

"Of course, I do," he scoffed, surprised at your question, "you're the one who doesn't seem to get that."

"Huh? What do you mean?''

Chuuya took a while to come up with an answer because he was trying to pick out words that he meant from the bottom of his heart.

"I signed up for this shit. I signed up for worrying about your dumbass and wanting to slice the throats of anyone who hurts you, let alone, touches you. So there's no reason to push my concern for you away; it won't go away. I'm just like that. I just care for you that way."

You giggled at his statement; that was the only way you seemed to know how to respond.

"What's so funny?" he growled grumpily.

His statement rewinded and played itself over and over again in your head.

"I feel like the luckiest person alive when I'm with you," were the words that came out of your lips breathlessly.

"Damn, it took you that long to realise?" he chuckled lightly and wrapped his arm around your abdomen to bring you closer toward him, "I'm going to keep you safe... whether you like it or not."

You turned back to peek at his casual smile and leaned towards him to place your lips on his; his fingers travelled up the back of your neck and into your wet hair as he pulled your head closer to his. Your body was physically enchanted by his embrace, to the point that your fingers started playfully drawing curly, deformed doodles on his bare chest. The essence of tobacco and wine were exchanged as your lips continued kissing his.

The rest of the day was similar to that morning you spent in the tub, except that it involved a slightly more chaotic type of drunkenness by which you two wreaked havoc wherever you could in the comfort of your home. It was an activity you two started looking forward to every weekend: just the two of you, drinking wine in the bathtub lined with vanilla-scented bubbles.

author's note: Heyo! This is pretty much my first post on this blog. I'm not very new to writing but this is my first attempt at drabble/short story writing revolving around an established character lol I hope you liked it! I'll make up a masterlist after I've written more fics/drabbles so I will do my best to come up with good content! Thank you for reading(◡‿◡✿)

[jademakean]

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

𝑷𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔.

｡･:*:･ﾟ

  Drizzles of water began coating your body as you rushed to your best friend's porch, hurriedly knocking on the wooden door.

The extra holiday break from school allowed you to spend more time with Pauline, meaning: chaotic sleepovers

“Hello?”

You looked up meeting a pair of green eyes you hadn't seen in a long while. “Timothée?”

Once the slender figure came to the realization of who was waiting at his front step, his mouth went agape mirroring yours.

You both had been close since you were little. You became friends with Pauline in middle school and met Timothée through her. From then on you were a trio and would do everything together, but that all changed.

Him, being three years older than you meant that he'd go to college first and in the end, there would simply not be any time for you both to be together. You did try to hang out once every two weeks but his college was way too far and he needed to spend his time focussing on his studies. It ended in a bad note, with many hurtful words shared.

Before you knew it, Timothée had you in bone-crushing embrace  “I haven't seen you in months, more than a year maybe! God, I missed you.”

“Why didn't you tell me you came back?” you couldn't hide the slight disappointment of him not thinking about letting you know. “I wanted to but I switched phone numbers and my sister wanted me to surprise you instead. I just didn't know I was going to see you this soon.”

Though you both shared your relief in seeing each, there was some strange tension in the air.

“I gotta visit my aunt right now but we should celebrate tomorrow or something.” He suggested, breaking the silence.

“Yeah totally. I'm sleeping over anyways so we'll probably see each other after dinner. Just be careful, the weather seems to be getting worse.”

“Oh yeah of course. If you need some clothes you can get some from my room, they're in a box on my bed. I know that Pauline's clothes are too small for any human being to wear.”

You giggled at his over-exaggeration nodding “Thanks. Stay safe.”

Once the door shut you felt your mood change. It's not like you weren't happy to see him, you were, but not being able to have the same connection you once had made your heartache.

“DJ Paulina in the house mother fuckers!”

You jumped at your best friend's sudden outburst but laughed nevertheless.

“Holy shit, you're wetter than the pacific ocean!”

You roller your eyes “Really? Damn, I wonder why. It's alright though, Timothée allowed me to borrow one of his shirts.”

“Wait you already saw Timothée?”

“Yeah, he just left.”

Paulina grimaced slightly knowing how hard it might've been for two introverts to reunite after a long period of time, let alone after they had a fight last time they were together. She quickly changed the subject not wanting to upset you.

That didn't mean she wouldn't plan on rebuilding your bond.

۵

The snaps of thunder kept you awake and the heavy drops of rain overtook your mind.

As the time pasted you began wondering what would happen if there was a monster under your bed, if a ghost yanked you by your leg, or if the shadow of the hanging coat was actually a person.

Full-on scaring yourself.

And Pauline's sleep talking was not helping the situation.

Both of you spent the day baking, eating and watching movies. Though it's not how most teenagers take up the opportunity of an empty house, it was more than enough for you two.

What was irritating you at this precise moment was the fact that you were exhausted during the day and still are, except you, can't bring yourself to actually fall asleep.

Creaking sounds were heard throughout the room as your feet made contact with the wooden floor.

You grumbled making your way to the kitchen for a cup of fresh cold water.

The bright electronic clock on the stove displayed the time. 2:23 A.M.

You were so dazed and distracted by the clock that before you could fill your glass with water, the cup fell on the counter.

You felt your heart stop the second the loud sound emitted throughout the quiet space, fearing you'd break your best friend's parent's glass. But once you realized that everything was still stable, you proceeded to finish your plan.

“What are you doing still awake?”

Your body jumped at those words. You turned to see Timothée with hooded eyes and slumped figure, clearly more than half asleep.

“Sorry, I'm a light sleeper and the thunder was keeping me awake.”

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

He smiled softly with a droopy gaze

Not gonna lie, initially some inappropriate thoughts crossed your mind, but vanished once you remembered how every time you had trouble falling asleep, you'd get in his bed and he'd make conversation until you fell asleep.

“Sure.”

Timothée was probably too out of it to understand why it had taken you so look to answer, which you were grateful for.

He lazily intertwined your fingers and led you to his room.

It looked the same as before, maybe some items we're missing so he'd be able to decorate his new apartment, but other than that, still the same.

You hesitantly laid down turning your body away from the curly-headed boy. You felt yourself heating up as last time you shared a bed you were a quite innocent 15-year-old, and to be fair you've always seen him as a bother figure.

But two years have passed and he was now 20, it felt like being with a stranger even though he wasn't.

“You alright?”

He mumbled quietly

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.” You chewed your lip anxiously. You've never been good at confronting people.

“Is there a reason why you got mad at me when you left. All I remember was you telling me how we couldn't be friends because of all the work you had and how you couldn't handle too many things at the same time. But in the end, you suddenly got mad at me and it ended in a huge fight.”

You could tell that Timothée was now fully awake, definitely not expecting you to mention the topic at this time of night.

“Well, in all honestly I knew you wouldn't want to give up on our friendship. I've always seen you as a loyal strong friend and I didn't want to disappoint you by continuously bailing out on our plans.”

Thought his solution was a stupid one, you understood what he meant. You would most definitely get let down many times and eventually get mad at him, even if it wasn't fully his fault.

“I understand. Just-- Just don't do that again. I'd rather have a relationship with you even if we rarely saw each other, instead of not seeing you at all. I miss being with you.”

Timothée's heavy arm hugged you closer to him. So close you could feel his gentle heartbeat against your back.

“I'm not as much of a mess I was back in the first year of college. I have more spare time, even if college is too far we can face time and meet once a month.”

It was nice to witness his change in attitude regarding the situation, he's now more open-minded and optimistic.

“Is that why you seemed so tense when you saw me today?”

You suddenly felt yourself redden from slight embarrassment “I mean yeah. I kinda overreact a lot, but you know that. I didn't even recognize you, you've changed and I didn't know how to feel.”

You felt chest shake from a deep chuckle as you played with his fingers “Is that a good thing?”

He was making you flustered and he knew it.

“I mean, yeah. You look mature for a 20-year-old. When you were 18 you still had your baby face- it's not a bad thing at all, but now you, um, okay I'm just going to stop talking.”

Once again, Timothée's body shook slightly from his laughter which eventually died down.

There was silence once again, the downpour was hitting the window aggressively but managed to make you feel calm. The heat that radiated from the man's body was wrapping you in a warm blanket, his cold breath tickling your neck.

“How do you see me?

The silence was halted by your simple question “What do you mean?” his raspy voice asked, not understanding the question very well.

“Before you said that you saw me as a loyal friend. How do you see me now?”

Timothée turned your body to face him “Well, you've changed as well. You don't look like a little kid anymore.”

You hummed in response staring into his eyes. The moonlight was shining through the window behind Timothée, illuminating his hair, making it look as though he was wearing a halo around his head.

“Has anything interesting happened while I was gone? House renovations, dead grandma, boyfriends..?”

You had to cover your mouth from bursting out laughing “How the hell do you go from dead grandma to boyfriends?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders waiting for an answer “I had a boyfriend for a little while but it didn't work out.”

Timothée nodded for you to keep going

“He treated me differently when we were around his friends, kinda like he didn't want me. We would get into a lot of arguments and I just wasn't happy. So I ended it.”

He took your hand caressing it carefully with his thumb. You knew he was trying to make you feel better though you weren't actually sad about the breakup. You decided not to say anything against it since his action-filled your heart with butterflies.

“He's an asshole for doing that.”

“Yeah well, most of them are.”

There was a small pause in the air before Timothée spoke up again

“I wouldn't do that to you.”

You were taken aback from his sudden confession. You expected him to joke around about some dumb stereotypes.

“If you were my boyfriend, or just in general?” you asked genuinely curious to which he answered:

“Both.”

You being the anxious human being you are, decided to play it off as a joke. Like always.

“Yeah right, you would never date me, you might as well be one of those extra frat boys that-”

“Why would you assume I wouldn't date you.”

You were becoming more and more agitated, not fully grasping the meaning of his words, and why he was now saying it.

“I've always adored you. The reason why I never said anything is because I'm three years older than you and didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why are you saying this now?” You shuttered out as he moved closer to your body.

“I didn't realize how much I loved you until we separated. Now I'm realizing how much time I wasted.”

Timothée began breathing heavily, his eyes focusing on the different features your face held.

“Would you date me now?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. “Even if we wouldn't see each other often?”

He nodded once again, this time speaking “I haven't seen you in two years and I still have feelings for you, they won't go away even if I tried.”

Timothée let his fingers gently brush against your lips studying them thoroughly making your mind hazy.

You were so focussed on each other that the background noise was now muffled.

Your mouths were agape wanting one thing and one thing only.

“Can I kiss you?”

He whispered breathlessly. If he wasn't studying you so closely he would have missed your little nod.

But he didn't miss it.

The second the small gesture was caught, was the second his lips made contact with yours.

The kiss was heated and desperate, your eyebrows furrowed hopelessly from the connection. Tongues soon intertwining as Timothée held himself on top of you for better control of the situation. Not giving you room to escape.

You sighed through your nose not being able to break from the kiss, not wanting to break from the kiss.

His front pressed flush against yours, allowing his hands to travel all over your body with no hesitation.

You mumbled Timothée's name against his lips before you broke apart. “Did I go too far?”

You smiled at his worried state “No, I loved every second of it.”

He copied your smile resting his forehead on yours “Sorry, I could help myself.”

He laid on his back before you cuddled to his side, leg wrapped with his and head resting on his shoulder.

Timothée observed your crimson cheeks and swollen lips. He wanted to tease you about it but he knew damn well that he looked the exact same.

Sleep eventually took over you. The soothing sound of the storm was the last thing you heard, and the motion of Timothée's chest calmly rising and falling was the last thing you felt.

[hueningshaped]

★ comme des garçons | y.jh

▰ genre: some angst some fluff stupid stuff

▰ word count: 4.5k *sighs*

▰ synopsis / request #2: (btw anon deserves the world)

▰ possible warnings: vulgar language and a lot of insults and use of ‘stupid’ and ‘idiot’ and some blood and also this really sucks but let’s get into it

"Late again, are we?" Jeonghan crooned with a smirk.

"Shut the fuck up." You hissed in reply.

This was a common intersection of events, and for today, it was the greeting to one of your electives, to a class that you needed simply for the credit. Nestled in between two of your pals, Joshua and Jihoon, Jeonghan had a perfect view of all who walked in, including you. How you both shared the same group of friends was beyond your comprehension.

All you knew was that you hated Jeonghan, and he hated you.

"Well, well, well, you'd think we had a pair of cats in this class because of all the fights," Wonwoo commented from beside you, without looking up from his stack of notes. "It's getting bad."

You'd shoot him a scowl that you never had the pleasure of seeing him catch, or maybe he knew this and chose not to for this reason. This was an everyday thing, most people knew this. You stuck with an eye roll and decided to resume your day.

The others have made it their mission to reiterate to you that you can't hate him forever, but considering how long you have and everyday you have to fight with him, you insisted that they were wrong.

It wasn't even your fault to begin with. This years long dispute fazed your minds so completely that if you were both to try and hash things out from the initial moment, you would misremember things and another inevitable argument would insinuate.

All that was known that when you both first encountered the other, you were having a rough day and decided to keep your chin up and not explain yourself. New to assertiveness, you took the wrong way.

The establishment is that the two of you had shown up to a class that had been canceled. That fateful encounter was a little short of a full two years.

"Did you know that you're wearing your shirt backwards?" Jeonghan asked from beside you, knocking you out from the reality of reading the mini poster on the door. You turned to him, mouth ajar. Profanities circled the entirety of your unconscious as you turned to him and mustered the classiest, friendliest, least offended smile.

His expression left little room to think he could have possibly been genuine about it. Nor did his next comment.

"Your eyes are really red, too, and you're wearing two left shoes, too." His tone was unintelligible and once you saw that smile, your rage unsettled completely.

There was perhaps some more said: passive aggressive backhanded comments.

"Do you always state the obvious?" You probably asked. It must have been rude because why else would Jeonghan victimize himself.

"Are you kidding?" Maybe he said.

"Well, do you think I don't realize?"

"Well, there's a lot going on on you. It happens. I think you can relax."

"I don't even know who you are. Don't tell me what to do."

"Alright, alright. Jeez. For all that you're wearing and talking, you sure have a lot of pride and attitude, may I add."

The muscles of your neck tightened at his audacity. If only you knew that this would offer the first of many collisions of tension from him and your own body's hyperactivity.

With the lack of elaboratation, there was no way an argument and rivalry was not going to ensue. Once the argument and backhanded insults had been ping-ponged and the day had concluded to begin a brand new one, you did feel some remorse.

The next day, when class resumed to its usual course, you had fixed your appearance and made sure to whip up a nice statement that would blow over yesterday, so you could both laugh at it and move on, like adults. Despite your hopes, Jeonghan surrounded himself with friends he seemed to make out of thin air and gave you the filthiest smirk you could see when you walked in.

With the class' conclusion, you chose that moment to try and catch him before you went separate ways, but he was waiting for you outside.

"Looking sharp, huh, Y/N?" You furrowed your eyebrows. Why would he use your name just because he knew it?

"Yes, and what about it, Jeonghan?" You retorted already feeling your heart begin to fumble in its trigonometry and physics to maintain your rate.

"Anyway," you go, but he cut you off, scoffing and crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. "Why is everyone so inferior to you, huh? Am I talking to Dr. Superiority Complex? And cutting me off, too."

"Will you shut up, you prick!" You slapped a palm over your mouth too late and his own aloof eyes widened.

Everything else melted away into the timeline of your hatred for him. A professor overheard the very events of that day, knocking your grade down a few points. Soonyoung had encouraged you to take revenge on whoever was causing you trouble, which you did. Ever since then, it all remained the same. How you both never managed to move on from was beyond the two of you.

Since then, your soul has not known peace. Granted, the entanglement with the fiend that he was put you through much turmoil and moments that one could define as nothing other than consistent low points.

Bickering and exchanging banter had nestled into your very habits and schedule, even at your big age.

Neither of your friends liked it. If you asked Seungcheol, he'd say that it made him feel uneasy enough to not hang out with the two of you. The best boy in the world refused to enter the same room as you two.

Tonight, there was an arrangement to play Super Smash Bros on Josh's Switch. Evening came and your stroll to the apartment homes became a path directly into the night. Of course, the dark goaded you on to run, looking back this way and that. Leave it to you making the worst choices and pulling facades over them. You truly should have taken Wonwoo's offer to be picked up.

Instead of running into one of your many friends on the way over, it had to be your greatest enemy driving slowly beside you, chuckling and rolling his window down.

"I'd never pegged you for a scaredy-cat, you prideful, little thing." He laughed from the vehicle. It ran gently and with a robust shape, similarly to one that a rich, teenaged girl would be gifted with. You kept your chin high and gaze forward, trudging on with a frown burning across your lips. "Turning down Wonwoo's offer which would have saved you from this —"

With little thinking, you simply resolved to peering over at him and speaking in one breath of a "please piss off," and it made him laugh all the more.

The heightened scores of muscle in your neck and shoulders noticeably melted, despite the abyss of woods and trashy alleys between the apartment homes. His sickening cherubic eyes were trained on you; he would put it in all the work of guarding you, it seemed.

Right when a bridge was nearing, his miniature jabs came to a halt and he upped the notch by honking at you.

"What?" You shouted, face slack with exasperation.

"Get in the car, I'm serious! Idiot!" Jeonghan nodded emphatically.

After back and forths of deliberation, you groaned all the way into his car, which he locked and unlocked until you threatened to puncture his tires with your pen.

The change in atmosphere followed with your own feelings. A lilac air freshener looped around his Calico Critter car decor as the low a/c filtered the air. At this angle, Jeonghan felt different. You had forgotten to shut the door behind you as you were all too engrossed with reading the pad of his music shuffle queue. His sigh whisked you away from your reading to his eyes.

"You could at least use your head to have gotten us there already. Y/N, seriously, I come out here and reach out a hand to you. Everyday you surprise me: you're so full of pride and you forget everything. I always wait for you to pick a struggle, but I guess you just love choosing every single one, huh!" He enunciated with a flat laugh and you had to frown at that.

The next song of whatever his playlist consisted of queued up some song your heart yearned to follow along to, as if your heart it thousands of times before.

"Sounds a lot like you think you know me, asshole..." you muttered under your breath and crossed your arms, keen on either forgetting about the passenger door still ajar or adamant on not doing it yourself since Jeonghan seemed to enjoy doing whatever he did, which inevitably made your life terrible.

He scoffed aloud. In one motion, he moved his arm around the head of your seat to improve his view.

"Sure, I do. Like I know you're the most insufferable person I've ever met." He tossed a few glances to the door, hoping to continue his game, but you peered over whatever possible dust particles and intrigued moths flutter over his unmoving headlights.

"God, Jeonghan," you sighed, not watching his growing leer.

"God, Y/N," he imitated you with an exaggerated tone.

"Jackass, can I speak? I just... It's been years, I know that much, since you like to preach that I know nothing, but all this time, you act like you know me. Day one, you've talked to me so informally. You always act like you have some right to speak to me and to speak to me like I'm some written character. Is that all you want? Some stupid feud with someone you clearly hate and don't want? You don't know me! You never have and you never will. So, back off."

A readied smirk, typically loaded with a bombshell of a constantly prepared retort, was expected, but to your surprise, his cherubic silhouette expressed an emotion you couldn't quite put in words. His eyes dawdled across your features, every island of flesh but your own eyes.

Wordlessly, Jeonghan then reached over you and your seat to shut the door. He was practically nose to nose to you.

Not another word was spoken, even after you were settled in playing games.

You were nestled between Chan and the arm of the grand futon, fist underneath the suppleness of your cheek.

"Hey, Y/N," Chan whispered from beside you, and you simply nodded, eyes fixed on the screen. "What happened?"

At that, you furrowed your eyebrows and peered over at him.

"Huh?"

His eyes widened in a flash and he shook his head, nudging your arm.

"I just never thought I'd see the day where you and Jeonghan hyung aren't ripping each other's hair out. I was thinking maybe he had a premonition and decided to grow up, but then Seungkwan hyung told us all that he saw you in the car with hyung."

"So, is everyone wondering the same thing?" You asked just at a whisper and Minghao from the opposite side of the sofa yelled, "Yes!"

Wonwoo turned around from in front of you and chuckled, nodding as if he had been waiting for someone to say it.

"Well?" Seungkwan practically shouted from over the couch, standing with arms crossed over his blazer clad chest. "Aren't you two going to tell us what's going on?"

Whoever turned down the volume of the television, even going so far as to pause the game, would pay, but the ice of the awkward cooled off whatever misdirected anger you held.

"Absolutely not." Goosebumps bloomed at the realization that you and Jeonghan had spoken simultaneously.

The two of you made eye contact, silently bickering over how to deal with the situation.

"You know what," Joshua piped up from another sofa, stretching an arm out in mild effort. "I don't think we should question this weird fate tonight; we should be thankful they're civil and in the same room."

The night bled away into comments like that, even as you tried your best to move on, since it seemed to you that Jeonghan was adamant in doing so. You had no business approaching him about why you didn't wish to speak to the other, and clearly neither did he. However, with the racket everyone was making over you and him not constantly doing your thing was eating you up at such a frequency that you were hardly up for continuing the game.

By eleven at night, Seokmin wanted to bake cookies, and unfortunately you had a bad taste in your mouth. Your perception of Jeonghan had snapped within a few minutes and it was crashing down before your eyes. For what reason, you felt you'd never know.

You don't quite remember rising and throwing a few goodbyes, unable to meet their eyes while heading out in a much more informal fashion as you arrived. It could have easily been one of your other friends who followed after you but in this case, it was Jeonghan.

"Hey, numbskull, don't you want a ride back? I give you one here, and you just walk out?" He called from the door, shivering enough to cross his arms into his body. You didn't meet his eyes, merely angling your neck to listen.

"I called my other friend to pick me up," his silhouette buckled into the corner of your eye. "Really wasn't expecting you to follow me out like this."

The colors of his figure shifted and the door shut with a rap behind him.

"Is that really what you want?" Jeonghan's tone dropped with his approach.

"What are you talking about?" It was then that you took the moment to look at him. Jeonghan's face typically held a leer that looked like he always knew more than you, but now, there was a knot of taut muscle where his eyebrows met.

A shimmer of headlights filtered over the anterior of the apartment complex. Your friend-chauffeur had arrived.

"Nothing." He breathed with a smile that almost broke the ice of his expression, but you glanced to the floor before nodding.

"Well, my ride's here." Jeonghan swallowed a lump down and mirrored your action. Part of reality felt like a scene out of a movie because of the loose air of the night but the tension between the two of you was so tight. You turned towards your friend, whose gaze was transfixed to their phone, and when you glanced back, he disappeared.

*

For the throng of the week's courses, Jeonghan changed his seating arrangement, and no longer seeking explanations to waste yours or his time, you assimilated with the change. Utilizing the pack of independently reticent students as the backdrop, you and him took turns surrounding yourselves by them.

A part of you felt much relieved of the burden of keeping your guard up to such a severe form, which he visibly did, as well. You heard well enough from Soonyoung and Mingyu. An even larger piece of you thirsted for something that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Since Seungcheol was home this week, to commemorate his return, considering he had a habit of leaving every other week due to sports, he and the crew decided to throw one of those stupid parties where you drink and just meet people. Essentially, the remote of his and Joshua's place flipped topsy turvy when it came to these things, but they didn't mind.

Jeonghan no longer mattered to you nor was he a factor of whenever you had to make a decision. You accepted Wonwoo's and Soonyoung's offer of going and taking you to the party.

It had been six days since you last interacted with Jeonghan, as you had for the past three years.

"Isn't it too early to be drinking? We aren't even there yet." Soonyoung patted you from the backseat, tone thick with distant concern.

Wonwoo eyed you from the driver's seat, hands fastened at the wheel. All you did was shrug, turning back to halfheartedly grin at the boy, and with that done, you continued your trip to finishing the bottle of absinthe in your hand.

Drinking was no new concept to you. Using it to quell some sort of absence that you didn't comprehend was, however. It was something your friends took notice of.

Your arrival was just as rocky as it was from your residence to the party, vision fuzzy and dim.You made your way to the kitchen to rummage through possible brought snacks, even taking a few spare soju and beer bottles for sport. Opening them with a partially working mind inked painful calluses into your hands from the rigid caps of the bottles.

As Seungkwan whistled at your actions, something wet caused you to lose grip of one bottle, tripping to catch it, and before you knew it, there was a minor crowd growing at the sight of your bloody palm.

As loud as everything was, a part of you countered with how silent your world had become since you and Jeonghan wordlessly had gone separate ways.

"Does it hurt?" Minghao asked. You were now at the dining room table, a foldable one with metal legs that were surprisingly still standing despite being kicked in countless times. You shook your head and met the faces of your friends, scanning them for something you didn't know. It barely stung, but a fire lit from behind your eyes.

Soonyoung slapped your arm, recounting to you for the fourth time that you were in a guest room because you cut yourself. 

The bass of the music met with the wall across from you and pictured frames of your friends trembled. A couple made out in the corner, limbs sprawled. For the most part, the room changed colors due to the LED lighting, which did nothing to help an intoxicated mind.

"Are you sure?" You asked, doubting Soonyoung's sadly sober mind — he had been ordered not to drink for the night, but Jihoon had promised him that next time, for sure.

Half your hand was bandaged and your head hurt. Pain had nothing to do with it, or the lack thereof, but you still felt like weeping.

As if you had been summoning the devil himself, Jeonghan let himself in without a word, without much of an entrance really, but you knew enough that it was him because you could read the back of his head.

"What did you do?" The timbre of his voice recused the tense knots of your shoulders without your notice. You looked into his eyes. It strangely felt as it had been years since you had done so.

"Hyung, I earned my PHD, that's what I did. I bandaged Y/N here and — "

"Soonyoung," the elder used a tone you were familiar with, one your professors would use when notifying you and him to leave the class after a fight got out of hand.

"Well, Y/N, I'll be on my way then," he announced with a laugh. "Take care of my patient, Jeonghan hyung."

Mirrored glares and giggles were shared between the two until it was just the two of you.

"I was talking to you. What did you do?" He crossed his arms at you, frowning at the slightest. It looked weird on him. His brindled hair crowned his head with few loose ends curling like some flowers towards the sun.

"Hey," Jeonghan waved his hand in front of you, expression all the same. You watched his figure get painted in fuschia with the changing colors.

"What?" You remarked harshly. He sighed loudly and reached out a palm to you.

Perhaps you took too long deciding what he wanted for his liking for him to just grasp it, his firm hand enveloping yours in a way that made you feel as if you were hanging over a pile of hot coals. Jeonghan joined you on the sofa, scanning over Soonyoung's work in the dim lighting.

"You do know I'm studying to be a pediatric nurse, right?" His voice was so silent so it was a miracle you heard it.

"No, what the fuck..." you blurted, confused he was being so informative, about as much he had to be on the first days of any class.

"Well, since you learned something new today," he started, using that familiar tone and you almost smiled. "I need to know if you did this on purpose."

Your lips parted at that.

"I what?"

"You're the only idiot I've ever known to confidently do the illogical thing. I swear, you numbskull, I've gotten so used to telling you it may as well be a catch phrase of mine." He ran his nimble fingers over the lines of the rest of your palm before glancing back up to catch your stare.

"You're crying," the words fell out of his mouth and you expressed your surprise with a bewildered expression. "I..."

Now, this was new territory.

"It's nothing, I don't know why I'm doing that," you shrugged it off and sniffled, a confirmation of your tears.

He scoffed, sitting back and crossing his arms.

"Of course, you'd say something stupid like that!" Jeonghan nudged a plastic bag of napkins towards you, which you took with a grumble to wipe your tears.

"Oh, so it's only me capable of saying stupid things! How come you only hear yourself and think it's me with the idiotic stuff?"

"You calling me an idiot?" He emphasized with a pointed finger towards you and then himself. Life returned to Jeonghan's face in full force.

"Yeah, of course, I am. You're the one who's always running their mouth as if your life depends on it!" You practically screamed.

He grinned, pearly teeth aglow in the dim room before dropping his eyebrows.

"Y/N, you always talk crap about me. Can't you go one day without my name in your mouth? You know what, you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up."

You feigned an impressed surprise but rolled your eyes, almost laughing.

"Ooh you wanna kiss me so bad you don't even know it. Makes you look so stupid."

Jeonghan paused within a heartbeat before angling his head and smirking. You were ready for something equally as dumb as his comebacks, but he reached forward for your free hand and loosely caging you in the arm of the couch. His breath circulated near yours, just like that night in his stupidly cute car.

"And what if I do?" That smile and those words were like ice and fire to your every sense. It was you who actually was unprepared.

"That, wait, you, the-the, God!" You babbled and sputtered, unable to maintain eye contact. He chuckled thickly. Jeonghan was so close.

"That should be my line!" You retorted, all thought processes going haywire and scouring the plain of your mind for something wittier to say. His wicked smile widened.

"So, you do feel the same way?" You all but gasped at the audacity you met with.

"Yes! No, wait, uh, yeah! Never!" Jeonghan failed to stifle his genuine laughter and tossed his head back. "Fine!" You then reached up, taking the collar of his jacket into your curled fist and bringing his lips down to yours.

Judging by his widened eyes, he was not expecting that, but that mattered little. You melted along with it, shutting your eyes. In the next millisecond, he brought you forward with a hand behind your head and another keeping himself upright beside your body.

As everything was, the kisses progressed to a point where you attempted to outdo the other, passionate, quick exchanges building up to shared touches.

Your other hand gripped a portion of his clothes, pulling so nebulously he all but leaned closer towards you. As the other couple had left during the minutes of your petty argument, it literally felt like the moment was offered to the two of you only, no one else.

Jeonghan cheated when he gently tugged on your hair, earning a punched out whine from your lips. He pulled away from your swollen lips to hear it, grinning once you did so.

"You jerk," you muttered hotly, red and ruddy. He smiled and moved a few strands of hair behind your ear gently.

"Y/N, what if I've been wanting to do that for a long time?" He asked, voice a bit strained. You didn't know what to do with yourself, flustered and glancing around.

"Oh," you murmured. The heat practically beat off you in waves.

"You're something else, really. I wasn't sure how long we were going to not talk to the other. I wouldn't have been able to confess and it would have been awkward." He snickered over your shoulder before regaining his proximity with you.

"Wait, so is this your confession? You suck, you're going to have do it again. C minus." He scoffed and sighed at that.

"The kiss, too?" He arched an eyebrow curiously. You slapped his shoulder at that, struggling to keep up with him.

"No, but seriously are you telling me you like me?" A much more serious tone cooled the heat of the moment, and he winced at that.

"From the moment I met you," he began and it was then you realized your facial expression was bitingly skeptical, revealing your feelings about it all. "Do you feel the same way, Y/N?"

"All that teasing and picking on me was just your stupid way of letting me know you like me?" It was Jeonghan's turn to blush from every corner of skin to the other, sighing and covering his face to cope with whatever he felt.

"It took me a while to realize it, alright?!" His tone was defensive, but you knew he meant it lightheartedly. "I just wanted you to know somehow in some way that every time I got to see you, I was grateful. Each and every time allowed me to learn more about you because you're so...you're something else. You've always complained how I don't know you or perhaps the lack of right I have to know you, I always felt I did, but I didn't want it happening for the wrong reasons. Took me a while to realize I didn't want to lose you, that I...wanted a friendship, a relationship, but the longer I sat back and continued to confuse what we had and I wanted was just going to tear us completely. So, luckily, since I'm a genius, I thought to man up about it."

You could only peer at him, letting his words simmer.

"But, if that's not what you want, or you feel uncomfortable in any way at all, just say it. Say whatever you feel." You'd never encountered this gentle tone of his. There were so many more sides to him you wanted to learn.

"I want some time..." you muttered and he nodded, visibly hanging on to your words. "For you to show me that you want me, and you know, for me to process this. I've wanted you for a while, but that voice was so quiet under all the 'I've never wanted to fight someone so bad' and the 'I'm going to implode like a star because of this guy'." You both laughed at that, and it almost felt natural to do so.

"Okay, then," Jeonghan nodded with a contented smile. There went that annoyingly hot gaze of his. So, that’s what it’s always been: hot. "Can we still make out?”

You squinted at him and opened your arms up with a sigh.

“Just kiss me already!”

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 12 | Flames

Summary: Will joins the family dinner. The night can hide many things.

Rating: (+18) for…situations.

A/N: I'm SO SORRY for the long hiatus. Please accept this peace offering (jealous!Din) as a token of my gratitude.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople

The symposium of a midwestern dinner sounds a lot like Bach's work.

Difficult notes with high to reach places and then very low caverns just a moment later. The cicadas in the background are a nice touch; it's something Tchaikovsky might have wished he could capture. Silverware - old enough to be considered vintage now - clank against the porcelain dinner plates. Charlotte lets out her fae-like laughter and Rhea listens intently, eyes gazing dreamily upon Tommy as he carries on conversation. The house is full tonight.

You suppose it was out of the kindness of your father's heart to invite Will to this dinner. Everyone within a two mile radius usually came to these spur-of-the-moment things. Will was an old family friend and his father supplied yours with fresh goat's milk and chicken eggs, so it wasn't all that strange he came along. Still, it made the meal a bit more difficult to swallow. Quite literally.

Din is sitting directly across from you. You think it might have been intentional because Will chose to plop his happy ass right beside you, grinning that lopsided smile and charming his way out of the discomfort with a joke. You play the part by laughing when he tries to outwit everyone in the room or by asking him how the farm manages these days. Will isn't a cocky person by nature, but something about the rigidness of his composure when Din asks for the green beans makes you all too suspicious.

It doesn't make any sense. Will broke things off with you. If he were to be jealous, it wouldn't be for anything but pride and show. A year ago it would've bothered you that Will was cajoling the room for the sake of his vanity, but now it was just embarrassing for everyone involved.

"Din, do you remember the summer of '90?" your father asks across the table, clearly involved in another conversation that pertains to this anecdote.

The man across you hums and shakes his head with a reluctant grin. "I try not to," he fibs, cutting at his steak.

Your father chuckles. "I was nineteen and Din was..." he pauses. "Jeez, Din. How old were ya?"

"Seventeen."

"Ah, right! Rhea hadn't been born yet but Scarlett was pregnant with her by the end of the summer. That was our last free year, wasn't it? Well, mine anyway." You dad points his fork in Rhea's direction, a bit of steak dangling from its end. "And then you came along."

Rhea scoffs. "Well, geez. My bad for existing."

There's no darkness in either of their words so the exchange makes everyone at the table chuckle in good humor. Your father and Din go back and forth about the irresponsible and, well, illegal things that had been done that summer. Underage drinking. Trespassing. And somehow Din always got away with it.

"He never got us caught. Ever. I still don't know how you did it." Your father says to his friend, eyes wrinkling with a genuine smile. "Damn good thing too considering how much pot we smoked. It's a good thing my girls didn't get that rebellious streak."

A witty response is formed upon your lips but only until Will cuts you off.

"I don't know about that," he pipes in.

You're taken aback, quite literally tossing your head to gauge his interjection. "What?"

An indifferent silence hushes the dinner party. Your sisters chew their food carefully, eyes glued upon the scene before them like it was one of their soap operas. Your father awaits an explanation with a rather scandalized look upon his face, but Will's father - Clarence - doesn't seem at all fazed by any probability of illegal activity.

Will rolls his chin to serve you an exasperated look. "Oh, come on. We're adults now; we can come clean." He drenches his steak in more A1 sauce before revealing: "Your daughter was the one to egg the sheriff's house."

The entire room initially goes as silent as a graveyard before everyone chokes on a snort and begins to roar with laughter. Clarence slaps your father on the back as the two of them snicker like a pair of hyenas.

"Will!" you growl. "You said you'd take that to your deathbed!"

The pain in the ass beside you howls with laughter, holding his stomach, and having to pause from drinking his beer. "Daffi, it's fine. They can't do anything about it now."

"That's not the point!" you scowl.

Din is grinning from ear to ear, obviously amused by your humiliation. It was a childish thing to do but the sheriff was a dick in the worst way and you wanted him to know it. That was a hot summer - record breaking, actually - and by the time he'd woken, the egg had dried upon his lawn and across the face of his home. Ole' Sheriff Winslow scoured the town for weeks before finally abandoning his quest altogether.

"You got something to say, Mister Djarin?" you inquire playfully, scolding him with a fire in your eyes.

Din clears his throat and furrows his brows. "No, no. I wouldn't dare."

The two of you exchange a glance that was far too intimate for this dining room. His eyes softened upon meeting yours and his smirk was silly, drunk on something other than the beer in his hand. If it weren't for dear Will's additional reminiscence, you might've fallen under the spell lingering in the space between you.

"Yeah, that was a great summer. We had our first kiss that year, remember?"

You blink, all thoughts of Din's mouth upon yours fizzling away like steam. Instead, it is replaced with the frayed-edged memory of Will's rusted pick-up parked in the darkest corner of the local McDonalds. It was hardly a first kiss worth mentioning if it hadn't been for how good he was at it and how bad you were. Still: what the fuck?

You wanted to say just that but refrained from doing so. Instead you say, "Lots of awkward fumbling if I recall." It comes out sharp - petty. If he wanted to behave like a child, you could do it too.

Din's trying so desperately hard not to glare at Will. You can see it in the deliberate chug of his beer.

-

“What. The. Hell.”

“I know.”

“Wait,” Charlotte holds up a hand, expression dumbstruck. “I’m not done.”

You roll your eyes and scrub at a particularly stubborn dish, waiting for her dramatics to be over.

“…was that?” she finishes.

Rather anti-climactic.

“It’s Will,” you tell her, voice bored but teetering on the edge of fury. “It’s fucking Will. What do you expect?”

Charlotte shakes her head, eyes bulging with disbelief as she blinks over and over again as though trying to compute. She takes a dish from you, sopping wet, and begins to dry it with a rag. You know Charlotte is eager to gossip because she never - never - offers to help clean after supper.

Everyone else is carrying on from the awkward conversation by sitting at the bonfire and making pudgy-pies. It’s the kind of snack one eats when they need to forget about anything other than the impending weight gain. You watch from the window as Rhea slathers Nutella upon a piece of white bread and then some cut strawberries. Honestly, you could really go for one, but the idea of being anywhere near Will makes your skin crawl.

“Did he say anything to you? Before dinner? Or after? Like…why would he say something like that?” Charlotte carefully stacks the delicate plates atop each other. They clank against one another noisily.

Like cymbals within the symphony.

“Nope,” you tell her. “Not a word. I have no idea what’s gotten into him.”

Charlotte goes silent, rubbing at the plates until they’re dry as a bone, and then whispers, “He obviously knows.”

You square your jaw, glancing around to make sure no one is in the vicinity, and then let out a great sigh. “Yeah, I’m sure he does. I was all over Din at the bar.”

Your dear sister brightens at the mention of the night prior. She stops her drying and places her hands upon your shoulders so that you may look her in the eyes. You see mahogany. Deep. Rich. Full of life and excitement. In her eyes, it is proof that she’s a good spirit and in good health. (And…well, maybe a little tipsy, but that’s besides the point.)

“I like him. For you.” Is what she confesses. She places her hands upon your cheeks and squishes them together. You protest, taking her wrists and wrestling her, but giggling all the while. “I mean it. I think he adores you. And so do I.”

You nod in her grasp. “Okay, okay! I know, yes. I know!” you chuckle, breathless from the lack of air supply. She still has you in a chokehold. “Can you please let me go now?!”

Charlotte releases you from her trap and you gasp a throat-full of air, belly aching from laughter. The two of you embrace one another in a hug, attempting to lift the other, and then falling upon the linoleum - sore with serenity.

-

There is something stirring in Din.

It is a fire that has just been fanned from embers he sought to snuff out. But they hadn’t perished, despite how hard he had tried. The coals burned. He burned.

For you.

At the bar, Din ignored Will to the best of his ability; sort of like how one ignores an irritating bumblebee. Leave him be, Din had chanted. He’s harmless. After all, Din had years stacked against Will. How was it possible to be so insecure by this kid?

Because that’s essentially what he is, right? He’s so goddamned young; he looks as though he’s never taken a hit in his life. He’s too pretty, too put together. He’s firm skin and tight abs. And Din, well…

Din was not.

Din was old. He was well past forty years of age now, playing house with a woman over twenty years his senior. No matter how well he managed to keep the façade so believable, it would one day end in disaster - embarrassment. Heartache. And defeat. He can’t bear the thought.

It wasn’t like him. He’s never given a shit about anyone’s perception of him before, nevertheless mulled over the ex of a romantic interest. Not to say that Din’s ever felt the way he did with you; no one has even come close. Xian was his longest “situationship” and when it inevitably burst into flames, he didn’t bat an eye. (He wonders if that makes him a terrible person.) If his toxicity with Xian was worth anything, it was just a testament of his endurance.

But you. The world fucking blurs when you’re near.

So when Will - cocky as Din once was - utters unsolicited bullshit, it takes every ounce of dignity he has left to remain silent.

We had our first kiss that year, remember?

There is a primal urge to reach across the table and wring the smug expression from Will’s face, to grab you with an unfamiliar hunger, carry you across the acre, and toss you onto his bed and just…

No. That was brutish. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t allow himself to feel possessive over you because you couldn’t be owned. He knew that. But that fire licked at his inner conscious until he had to excuse himself from dinner altogether.

The darkest parts of him pace during the bonfire, though he manages to sit still and interpret Will’s behavior. His youth glows betwixt the crazed flames, an ombré of red and orange dancing across everyone’s skin. Din watches, he listens, he notes every little thing like hunters do. Because for some reason - some ungodly, twisted reason - Din felt as though Will were a bounty now. It’s the only way he could feel superior.

“Daffodil!” Will calls out suddenly. “Get over here!”

The hinges in Din’s jaw pop as he clenches his teeth, grinding them so forcefully he thinks Rhea - who sits beside him - might hear. When you arrive from the house (he guessed you were cleaning up, just as you always do), he notes the skimpy length of your cotton shorts and…

Wait. Is that his shirt?

It is. It’s the very same shirt Din offered you after the rain debacle after the bar. It was one of his favorites despite how plain it was; just a grey t-shirt that fit snugly on him but dwarfed you entirely. It skimmed the top of your knees and pressed against the swell of your chest. That something within him growled once more.

“Come sit,” Will instructs, patting at his lap.

You hesitate. “I…”

Will chuckles, urging you with waggling fingers. “We’ve been like this since we were kids, Daffi. Come on.”

There’s a pathetic attempt to steady himself as Din watches you perch upon Will’s lap.

You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt…

The group chats a while longer, exchanging stories Din’s never heard, but none of it matters. You’re on another man’s lap. And despite Mark’s very obvious presence, he wants so badly to grip your wrist and run.

“I’ve seen you before,” Will says suddenly. He points a finger in Din’s direction, eyes a little hooded from drink. “Weren’t you at the bar a couple of nights ago?”

Those who partook in the rendezvous go silent. Rhea freezes and Charlotte blanches, looking towards their dear sister who’s pale in the face now. Mark, in his sheer oblivion, raises a brow. Din’s been in every intense situation imaginable, but something about now makes his gut churn.

He could loose you. Right now.

He’s about to lie, to make up some bullshit excuse about having ‘one of those faces’, but Rhea pipes in.

Her voice is strong and firm when she says, “What the hell are you talking about? He wasn’t there.”

Effortless. Shoulders sag, the tension subsiding thanks to Rhea’s impeccable skill.

“Strange. Swore I saw you with…” he shakes his head and shrugs. “Never mind.”

An artificial laugh - so sickly sweet that it’s almost impossible to digest - escapes your lips. “You must’ve drank too much. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

-

His kiss takes you by surprise.

You’re walking back to the house after the men have soiled the fire and everyone’s said their good nights when he just does it.

It’s covertly enough, but it’s shocking. A massive hand encircles your wrist and pulls you behind the shed out back, pressing you against the mossy wood and stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s the biggest risk the two of you have taken. For God’s sake, your father is just now walking inside the main house and Din’s mouth is attached to the hollow of your neck.

You’re dizzy, gripping his shoulders so tightly that the fabric of his shirt warps beneath your fingers. “Din,” you breathe out. He kisses you speechless again and you break for air. “Din, what’s the matter?”

He curses under his breath. It’s sharp. Fuck. It’s not angry, per say, but it is damaged. You weave your fingers through his hair as he settles his breathing, concentrating on the strings of your shorts that he fiddles with.

“I…” He sighs, pressing his nose against your cheek. His breath is warm and you shiver. “He touched you.”

He sounds ashamed. Embarrassed. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be to vocalize your self-doubt as someone who relishes in secrecy. He had a wall built around him and it was made of iron.

“Not like you,” you whisper shyly.

You had some walls of your own. He was tearing them down like that of Jericho.

There’s softness in the air. The two of you are silent, eyes closed, and mouths inches apart. Exchanging of breath. It’s an ancient form of intimacy.

You trust him. You trust him with your life.

His hand feels natural in your own as you lift it to your breast. The trembling of his fingers is almost endearing; the man was far older than you and he still shook at the mere touch of a woman.

“No one can touch me like you.” Your hands glide south, pressing underneath the fabric covering the raw parts of you, until you stop at the band of your panties. “No one can.”

It’s all he needs to hear.

Soon after, he kisses you fiercely, but not without nodding in agreement. And that very hand, which grazes so deliciously at your belly, finally dips.

Sparks.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

edge

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: smut, dom/sub, exhibitionism, degradation, spit play, choking, face fucking, spanking, ring kink (if that’s even a thing ..?), orgasm denial, unprotected sex, subspace, aftercare, very fluffy and cheesy ending (like seriously so cheesy and cliche pls don’t bully me i didn’t know how to end it)

word count: 4.7k

synopsis: harry and y/n are a cam couple

author’s note: i hope you enjoy! xx all the love 

masterlist

—

It started by accident, really, with a simple, offhand comment one night.

Already two-and-a-half bottles of wine deep, Y/N was close to tears with one glance at their pitiful bank account, and Harry was trying his best to comfort her and assure her that everything would end up fine, but he had absolutely no way to promise her that. Their part-time jobs did very little to cover their monthly expenses, and their next loan payment for school was coming up; needless to say, they were feeling overwhelmed.

And what better to do than drink and complain about your problems when you’re feeling overwhelmed?

“Maybe I should go into porn,” she sighed, and he rubbed his hand under her shirt, trying to soothe her. They knew that they were taking a risk moving across the world for uni, with no backup plan and nothing to fall back on, but in the end, it will, hopefully, be worth it. In the end, they would have a brighter future, despite the mountain of debt, but the middle part, the part where they struggle and contemplate giving up, is so difficult to get past.

“I—I’d do it with you,” he hiccuped, resting his head against her shoulder.

“Maybe we should do our own videos,” she said, “I heard that people can make a lot of money doing that.” Not noticing that he had gone quiet, she continued, laughing and raving. “Could you imagine? Oh, what if we did one of you going down on me? Harry, babe,” she moans lightly, “that would be hot.”

He smiled widely, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the thought; he felt a rush of blood in his groin. They had talked about recording themselves and posting it online before, so the idea wasn’t something they were unfamiliar with, but it normally only happened when they were tipsy, and they never talked about it in any detail like she was. Now, the thought of her recording him between her legs or vice versa, for them to enjoy over and over, made arousal burn in his belly. He could imagine how the camera would shake as she came on his tongue, her hips bucking wildly, hand pulling at his hair. He holds back a moan.

“That would be so hot,” he said, “we should totally do it.” He downs the rest of his wine and pulls out his laptop.

“No,” she giggled, “no, no…”

“‘M doin’ it,” he said.

“Don’t do it,” she argued weakly, making no actual move to stop him. While she seemed to be on the fence about the idea, she had a slight grin on her face, her heart nearly racing out of her chest.

“We are so doing this,” he said, exploring the page. He gasps suddenly and taps on her leg, making her nearly spill the glass of wine. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N—”

“What? What? What?” She mocked him. With mischievous smirk on his face, he faces her, a slight purple hue to his lips.

“What if we did cam?”

And the rest is history.

Now, they dedicate their Friday nights to do cam videos. It started off as something they did on special occasions, quick little teasers that lasted no longer than ten minutes, but they ended up getting a lot of money for it. It helped pay their school loans and get a head start on their savings, and it gradually turned into a regular occurance.

By the time they are ready to begin their live one evening, it’s nearing ten o’clock. They’re on their bed, pillows and comforter long gone, leaving nothing but faded floral sheets, stretched tautly beneath them. Y/N is nestled into his side while Harry’s on his knees and fiddles with the computer, brows pulled together and lips puckered slightly. She’s tired, her swollen eyelids closing every few seconds. He kisses her forehead, wrapping an arm around her. Their laptop, with the main webcam, is propped up on a stool right behind the footboard, and the secondary camera, a cheap handheld camcorder connected to the computer with flimsy wires, which is used for close up shots, is thrown off to the side. Harry leans back on his heels.

“Ready?” He asks with a teasing smile. Even with such a small gesture, his grin is still infectious, with cute little dimples and laugh lines. She returns the smile. It’s a redundant question at this point, whether or not she’s ready, but Harry asks every time. It never felt like a chore; it was something they both enjoyed, and if they were to grow tired of it, they would stop. They were finally financially stable enough to be able to make the decision.

While initially they decided to start doing cam for the money, it became something that they both enjoyed doing. She always got this little rush of excitement in the seconds before they finally went live. This was the last moment of secrecy they would have for the next hour or so. To many, the thought of some strangers watching her and Harry at their most intimate would make them apprehensive, but she always got this exhilaration from it.

“Always,” she says, stealing one last kiss from him.

It’s a tradition of theirs to hit the “Go Live” button together, cheesy as it is, and tonight is no different. Their faces light up the screen, and they both grin, arousal building with each thrilling second. There is only a moment of calm before dozens of familiar usernames flood the screen.

“See some new ones,” Harry comments under his breath. She rests her cheek against his shoulder, toying with the rings on his fingers. The introduction part is always the most awkward; there is no decorum or set way that they have to be done, and not feeling comfortable using their first names, she and Harry found it difficult to find their rhythm and interact with the viewers. It felt a bit unforthcoming for them to just dive in without saying anything.

“What are we feelin’ tonight, lovie? Soft and vanilla or rough and dirty?” Harry asks, like he normally does.

Comments fill the screen; a lot of them describe what they would do if they were there, but most of them have similar responses: rough and dirty.

The couple very rarely genuinely ask the viewers what they want to see because the most important thing, to them, is that they are enjoying it. What’s the point of doing it if they aren’t enjoying themselves? Sure, they sometimes cater toward the audience (that’s the easiest ways to make any money), but for the most part, they stick to what they both know the other would enjoy. Harry gives her a soft smile, leaning in a little closer. No matter what she wants, it’s all the same to him; as long as he is with her, he likes just about everything.

“Rough and dirty,” she smirks, tongue curling over her teeth teasingly. “I want you to fucking wreck me.” She whispers that part, low enough for only Harry to hear. He hums appreciatively, leaning back.

Ding!

“Be careful what you wish for.”

He kisses her, rough and gnawing, their teeth knocking together with his tongue slipping through, gently prying her lips apart. He bites on her tongue, and she lets out a small whimper, trying to hold off a smirk. Even after all this time being together, since they were just teens, he still knows what makes her tick and ache and melt; he knows exactly where to kiss and bite and lick to make her fall apart. She tucks her arms beneath his own, draping tightly around his waist, her fingertips tracing along the plain of his back, and he shivers.

His hand wraps easily around her throat, another thing he found early on that she enjoyed. He can feel her breathing pick up. She tugs at his bottom lip, suckling at the skin. He digs his fingers deeper into her neck, pressing harshly onto her pulse point. Eyes rolling back, she moans, strained and muffled, breaking slightly, and wraps her hands around his wrist.

“Open,” he beckons, and she does as best as she can, jaw still confined within his strong grasp. Her tongue dips out, ready and willing. “Good girl,” he says, loosening his grip on her throat. A breath of air slips past her swollen lips. Spit dribbles out from his puckered lips onto her greedy tongue. She closes her mouth quickly to keep it all in, his hand tightening around her neck once again. She sighs, head tipping back.

“You know the rules, babylove. Don’t swallow.”

“Mhm,” she nods, voice muffled. Her fingers dip into his boxers, nails tracing over the inked skin. She can trace the outline of his tattoos from memory at this point, every curve, point, and shadow etched in her brain. She pinches the extra skin at his abdomen lightly, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips.

“Wan’ my cock, huh?” He raises a brow. “Should I make you beg?

Ding! Ding!

“No,” she mumbles, pouting slightly. “Wanna make you feel good.” He hums appreciatively, tapping her cheek lightly.

“Taught you well, lovie,” he says. “Down.” He guides her onto her onto her elbows as he adjusts onto his knees, her hands moving back under the elastic band, the tips of her fingers teasing his skin. “Le’ me see,” he coaxes, fingers tugging on her chin. Sure enough, his spit is still in the divot of her tongue. “Good girl, you can swallow now.”

Ding!

Her fingers tease up his thighs and into his boxers, cupping his balls suddenly. He bites his lip, slapping her on the cheek. It’s not enough to do anything more than a slight burn, but it leaves her tingly with her eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t be greedy, slut,” he spits, yanking her head back by her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Just want you so bad.”

She tugs his boxers down, but only enough for his hard cock to slip out. She normally starts off slow, teasing him until he can't take it anymore and pushes her all the way down, using her as he pleases. That’s not the case tonight. A part of her wants to take control, to suck him until he’s nearly falling apart, his knees weak. She takes nearly all of him in her mouth, and he gasps with surprise, his hands combing through her hair, guiding her. She gags on him, her bottom lip pressed tightly to his balls. He tugs her back.

“Watch the teeth,” he hisses. She gasps for air, lips lingering on the red, nearly purple, tip. His hips buck. He breathes out through gritted teeth, shaky and heavy.

“Sorry, just wanna make you feel good,” she says, pressing a wet kiss to his hip. She runs her tongue over the divot of his hip bone.

“Want me to fuck your mouth, lovie?” He asks, his fingers tracing over her tender lips. She nods, and he can feel her trying to move, but he holds her back by the hair, grip tight. “Beg,” he says, brows cocked.

“Please, H, want you to fuck my mouth, use me,” she moans, mouthing over the head of his cock. He holds himself steady, teasing her, just barely letting her feel but not allowing her to fully take him in her mouth. A pool of spit slides down her lips and into his hand, wetting the skin even more, before it falls onto the mattress. Her hands travel up the back of his thighs and onto his partially clothed bum, giving him a cheeky squeeze.

“M’kay, relax, babylove,” he says, brushing flyaways from her forehead, the skin already sticky with sweat. “Hold still and look at me. You know the rules.” She looks up at him, wide eyes never breaking from his as he guides his cock down the length of her throat, squeezing and stroking. She barely winces as he thrusts his hips, shoving himself deeper with every move. Her tongue runs along the bottom ridge of his cock, tracing every vein.

Ding!

She squeezes the skin of his thighs, guiding him further down her throat. The filthy wet sounds make her clit throb and her arousal seep into the sheets. There’s absolutely nothing better than seeing him above her, lost in pleasure, his chest flushing red, nearly incoherent: all because of her. There’s also something incredibly intimate about it as well; he always insists on keeping eye contact until there are tears in her eyes. With one hand gripping her hair tightly while the other gently caresses her cheek, he guides himself into her warm mouth. He nibbles on his lip.

“Take it, baby,” he moans, stuffing his cock deeper in her mouth. He traces his fingers along her throat, feeling the muscles swell and contract beneath them. Saliva dribbles from her lips, down her chin and the length of his shaft. She chokes and gags, but she doesn’t let up.

She barely reaches the base, her nose only just grazing the curls before he’s yanking her back, a string of saliva trailing from the head to her swollen lips, which breaks under the force of her gasps, and his cock twitches at the sight of her looking properly wrecked, eyes wide, blown with lust, her lips swollen and wet from spit and pre-cum, and chest heaving.

“Bend over,” he says, tapping her cheek. “Made such a mess, baby,” he says after she moves up, running a hand over the wet patch that formed on the sheets. Like a good girl, she turns until she’s facing the headboard, her glistening pussy on display to their hundreds of viewers. She shakes with anticipation.

Harry doesn’t deter from his normal routine, not touching her until she’s nearly in tears. She can feel the heat from his hand hovering over her skin, and she can feel hungry eyes on her; a small part of her wants to shrink away, but with Harry right beside her, it makes her feel like the strongest, sexiest woman in the world. Harry finally runs a finger along her slit after a few tense minutes and roughly presses into her clit. Her hips buck into his hand, and she presses a cheek into the mattress, moaning with relief.

“Such a good little slut,” he hums. “So wet for us, baby.”

Us.

When he says that, her pussy clenches and a rush of arousal threatens to slip down her trembling thighs; she sinks further into the mattress, sliding down until her chest is pressed tightly to the sheets, and her thighs spread even further until the joints of her hips ache with overexertion, but the pain is welcomed.

“Keep 'em on or off?” He asks.

“On,” she answers, the feeling of his cool rings against her heated skin is comforting almost. Her stomach tingles when he slips two fingers inside her pussy, with his thumb massaging at the tender skin between her holes. He easily finds that spot inside her, the spot that makes

Her orgasm comes painfully soon, her clit throbbing and begging for attention as he fucks her so close to oblivion, his rings adding extra friction to her sensitive walls. The scent of her arousal is thick in the air as it slips down his hands, traveling either down to her belly or her thighs. She’s so close, close enough to taste it; she just needs one more push until her high completely swallows her, bathing her in a warmth that only he’s been able to give her, but she is, perhaps, a little too optimistic. With every helpless jut of her hips, the more frequent moans, and the tightening of her walls, Harry knows the signs of her impending orgasm, but he can’t let her have it that easily.

A pained yelp slips past her lips when he suddenly pulls away and smacks her clit with wet fingers, the fervent climax drifting away until a dull ache, of yearning and lust, is all that remains. He spanks her sensitive pussy and lands two more on her bum. She groans, savoring the sting from his rings, cold yet burning.

“Not yet,” he says, running his hand along her prickled skin. He spanks her, harder than before, and she groans with pleasure. He wants to see the raised imprint of his hand on her smooth skin.

She can feel herself slipping. It starts off slow, a slight fog behind her eyes, and then it drifts and settles, spreading to her limbs. It feels like being high, swaddled in a soothing haze, and you can only feel yourself. The external earth doesn’t exist, and in that moment, it’s just her and Harry. Her world muffles, the sporadic chimes coming from the laptop ceasing, and the mattress disappears from beneath her, leaving her floating and vulnerable, with nothing to hold her other than him.

Harry.

He has always been able to make her teeter on the edge of pain and pleasure, and with her senses are in overdrive yet dulled at the same time, she feel that edge slip away into the abyss, with each slap delivered to her ass, they’re dulled just a little bit more. Like an addict, she yearns to feel the first one, the one that made her legs tremble, the one that sent tingles up her spine and a burning to her supple skin.

“More,” she says, inching closer to him.

“More?” She can hear the smile in his voice. She stretches her arms in front of her, back arching further than ever before. He lands another slap to her ass, lower and closer to her dripping pussy. He kisses the welts that raised over her skin from the rings, but she can barely feel them, nothing more than a welcomed prickle.

He spits on her pussy and slips three fingers inside this time, stretching her further than before, and with the extra friction from his rings, she tightens up almost instantly, the burning fire from before coming faster and stronger than before.

“Fuck,” she moans, long and drawn out. His free hand spanks her again, and she hisses, her arms giving out. Pleasure rushes through her veins, threatening to envelop her, and she can feel herself give in once again, sinking into him and accepting anything he has to offer. “Close,” she whines, but he pulls away again, slapping her clit roughly. She cries out, wanting to shy away from him, but her body betrays her, and she backs into him, craving yet another stolen high.

“Move t’ the side, button,” he says, tapping her leg, and she does, turning until they’re parallel to the webcam. He only teases the head of his cock through her folds for a moment before he slams into her with little warning, her warmth swallowing him easily. This is something he could never get tired of: the feeling of her hot, wet walls gripping him and of her arousal slipping down his thighs.

Ding! Ding!

His near brutal pace knocks the wind from her chest, making her drawn out cries of pleasure break and split. As he pounds into her, his hips smacking harshly against her raw skin, the remnants of her ruined climaxes leave her walls overly sensitive to every rough thrust, but she backs into him, meeting his hips, eager to finally come undone. He digs his nails into her tender skin, and she lets out a breath.

There has always been a fine line between pain and pleasure, and Harry knows exactly how to dangle her right at the very edge.

“Takin’ me so well,” he coos, but she can’t even fathom his compliment in her addled mind, let alone respond. He wraps his hands around her throat and pulls her head next to his. He wants to feel her, the heat of her breaths, the salt on her skin, the tremors of her thighs, everything. Her body grinds back against him, whether consciously or unconsciously, he doesn’t know. Her eyes are closed, features pinched, chasing her high.

Y/N can feel everything, every rush of blood flowing in her veins, every stroke of his cock inside her, every bead of sweat that drips from his skin and onto her back. She can feel everything, yet nothing at all; it all blurs together into a blanket of warmth and euphoria, and he’s at the center of it all: holding her and pleasing her and giving her everything she never knew she desired. She can barely speak, nothing more than a few broken whimpers filling the thick air, lost amongst his heaving breaths and the chimes from the laptop, which is at the back of their minds at this point.

She hooks her arm behind her, around his neck, her fingers carding through the sweat-drenched locks. She tugs on them painfully hard when he hits her weak spot, and he groans. Her heart is nearly racing out of her chest when yet another taunting orgasm tightens her stomach.

“Need cummies,” she whines, her words slurring, head falling to the side. He nestles his nose into the crook of her neck, hips grinding his cock deeper inside her.

“No cummies, yet, lovie,” he says. “Wait f’ me.” He can feel her struggling to hold her orgasm back, the walls of her pussy fluttering, milking him; he groans, feeling more blood rush to his cock when she squeezes him even tighter. “Relax,” he coos, scratching his nails along her scalp. He slaps her clit, making her twitch and buck even more, and he spreads his fingers around the swollen skin of her pussy, teasing where they’re connected. He lets go of her neck, and she nearly collapses without his support, leaning heavily on her elbows, back arched.

“Please,” she whimpers, shaking her head, “Can’t hold it.”

She slumps onto the mattress, her quivering knees slipping out from under her. Her hips buck, a long, drawn out moan slipping out as toe-curling orgasm washes over her, bathing her in warmth and relief and pure bliss. He comes soon after, hands gripping her hips tightly. Her shallow breaths are barely audible in the thick air, amongst a cacophony of chimes from the cam and his own heavy breathing. He rubs along her back, pressing sporadic kisses to her spine, following the ridges up to her neck.

“Babylove?”

She doesn’t answer, only a weak whimper and a sigh leaving her as she shifts beneath him, causing his softening cock to slip out, their releases pooling beneath them. He quickly closes the laptop to keep some semblance of privacy, and he tries to ease her onto her back, but she’s unresponsive, head nestled deep into the bed, but her breathing becomes more stable, muscles lax.

“Y/N?” She hums and turns onto her back. He cups her cheeks, trying to look into her eyes. They’re half-lidded, and she can’t seem to focus on much of anything. “Can you get up f’me? Need t’ get ya cleaned up.”

She finally looks at him, her pupils dilated, like she’s faded, lost in an empty mind. She blinks and looks down at his hands on her arms. Her brows furrow, and the tremors return, starting in her hands and spreading to her legs. They’re not pleasant, like before when she felt like she was floating; these ones make her blood run cold. Her high lessens, her head still foggy, but the feeling returns in her limbs, leaving her skin burning and bruised. When she meets his gaze again, there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, shame and dread.

In her current state of mind, she mistakes the concern in his eyes for anger, and tears fill her eyes. She disappointed him; she was being greedy and dirty and bad. She covers her face with her arms to hide the tears that slip out, knees tucking to her chest.

“‘M sorry,” she cries suddenly. His heart stops for a second. What on earth could he have done to make her want to apologize? He tugs her arms away from her face.

“For wha’?”

“You said no cummies, and I couldn’t hold it—” Her face crumbles. “I was being a bad, bad girl.” She mutters to herself, biting her lip, which quivers pitifully. “Please, please, don’t be mad,” she begs, hands clinging to him. Before, she felt absolute euphoria, a high she didn’t want to come down from, but now, her skin aches, and there’s a pang of guilt and shame in her belly that she can’t seem to soothe. She doesn’t even feel it when her teeth break past the skin of her lips.

“Hey, none of that,” he says, easing her bruised lip from her teeth. He runs a thumb over her knuckles. “‘M not mad, never, lovie,” he reassures her. “C’mere,” he says, tugging her into his arms. “Look a’ me.” He rests his forehead against hers. He’s had to coax her out of a subspace only a handful of times, but she has never crashed this hard. Never has she been this shaken, nor has it ever happened during a cam. He just wishes he noticed sooner; he should have known not to go as rough as he did, especially when she was feeling tired to begin with. When she’s in her subspace, she tends to take it a little too far, thinking she can take more than what she would normally handle.

“Better?” He asks her after a moment, and she nods, but her hands still quiver at her side. “Be right back, yeah?” He lays her back down gently and goes into the washroom to draw a bath. When he comes back, he finds her with her hands over her face, shoulders shaking.

“Can ya walk?”

“Yeah,” she says, scooting up off the bed, but her knees buckle, and they barely make it to the bathroom.

“I gotcha,” he says. “Jus’ gonna getcha cleaned up, feelin’ all better.” Her bum, the skin raised with welts made by his own hand, barely touches the water before she’s wincing. There’s a tinge in his stomach, but he continues to help her in, holding her under the armpits.

“In ya go,” he whispers, nursing her like she’s a toddler. The water is hot and comforting against her aching muscles. The lavender oil he tossed in leaves her skin silky with a tingeful burn on her bum and thighs. She clings to his arm, which has now wrapped tightly around her middle, pressing into her tender breasts.

“Come in with me,” she says. He sinks to his knees and cups her neck, elbow dipping in the water.

“Be right back, button,” he says, kissing her forehead lightly, “Jus’ need t’ change the sheets.”

He returns not a moment later and joins her in the tub, washing her body with a sweetly scented scrub. She comes fully down in the bath, with his arms coiled tightly around her, one over her chest and the other around her middle, their fingers toying together. The water’s run cold, but they don’t make any move to get out any time soon, basking in the warmth of each other.

Despite how many years they have been together, he still finds it difficult to believe that he can be so comfortable with another person.

She puts her heart, body, and soul fully in his hands and trusts him not to break it.

He trusts that she’ll do the same for him.

And when she snuggles into him and presses a tired kiss to his cool skin, after he gets them dried and in their bed once again, he knows that there is no other person in the world he would trust more with his heart than her.

—

[mintjamsblog]

I'm obsessed with Mistakes, and now with the idea that Tommy will visit Alfie's dungeon roleplaying as a client. I absolutely need a fic about that incredibly hot situation right away, because I can't get it off my mind. (Your writing is amazing, thank you so much.)

Okay, I've had enough of today, so here you go. Set a couple of years in the future. Have some escapist, procrastinating, smut. Because I love the idea that right now, Tommy and Alfie are living their best life in their castle in Ireland.

Tommy is the manager (of course) but every now and then Alfie likes to remind him that he's not always in charge. And this week Tommy's been particularly grumpy and foul tempered. Deep down  he's trying to get a rise out of Alfie, smart-talk him into a sharp spanking or a rough fuck. But Alfie seems determined not to play ball.

Instead he makes Tommy wait tables in the restaurant. "I know you think it's beneath you, darling, but Luan's off tonight and we're short-staffed and it'll teach you some humility. Tommy agrees. Reluctantly.  Determines to be as  grim faced and petulant as he can be, serving with just about enough manners to keep up appearances but not enough that Alfie'll make the mistake of asking him to do this again.

Only Alfie's clearly watching. Tommy knows this for a fact because every time he does something wrong — answers a diner's question too curtly or removes the wrong cutlery — Alfie hauls him into the walk-in freezer for a short, sharp reminder of who's in charge.

"It's my fucking hotel. I'm in charge," Tommy says.

"Not in the restaurant, Sweetie. Restaurant's my domain, innit? So bend over, there's a good boy, you got Table 6's order wrong."

By the time they're half way through service Tommy's arse is bright red and the titillation of the initial pain is tipping over into something darker. It's hard to keep the noises down when Alfie delivers a particularly vicious flurry of swats and asks him why the fuck he started playing with fire if he didn't want to get burned. He's shoved roughly out of the cold-room before he's had a chance to catch his breath.

The guy at Table 9 is watching him too closely, there's a smile hidden behind his lips as he places his order. Maybe because Tommy stumbled out of the kitchen, or his eyes look a little glazed, whatever weakness he's inadvertently shown, this bloke seems determined to exploit.

"Is he working you too hard?" the guy asks when Tommy returns to his table. "You look a little flustered."

Rude bastard, Tommy thinks. Who does he think he is? Although he has to admit he's good-looking. In that public-school boy kind of way.

"Here's your soup," Tommy snaps.

The guy looks down at it and back up at Tommy and leans back in his chair. "This is wrong," he says bluntly.

"Wrong how?" Tommy asks. It's not wrong, he's bloody sure of it. 

"I ordered the tart," the customer says.

"There isn't a tart on the—" Alfie cuts him short, appearing out of nowhere with a hand on Tommy's shoulder. 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he says, in a tone more gracious than Tommy's ever heard from Alfie's lips before, "We'll get that changed right away for you. Won't we, Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes dart between them, but Alfie growls, "Tommy," so darkly that he decides to let it drop, follows Alfie back to the kitchen.

He gets another six in the freezer. Alfie's brought his loop with him — a doubled length of flex that's perfect for delivering a frightful sting with barely any noise. No one can hear the thwip of it beyond the clanging and clattering in the kitchen (although if Tommy doesn't bite his tongue, they'll hear the sounds he makes).

This continues throughout the evening. Alfie's liberal with his punishments and Tommy's bratty in return, desperate for service to be over. If he keeps up just the right amount of insolence he should get the end he wants to the evening: Alfie pinning him down and fucking him. Hard. Not letting him escape.

Luckily, it's a Tuesday night so the restaurant is relatively empty. There's only one couple left, as well as the prick from Table 9. He seems to have noticed something's up, which is hardly surprising given Tommy's arse is fucking agony now, and he's tired, and livid with Alfie, and increasingly unsure whether his little plan's going to work.

Alfie seems genuinely pissed with him, and Table 9 is doing his utmost to get on Tommy's nerves.  He's criticised everything Tommy's done, tutted when plates were cleared too loudly, sent back the perfectly drinkable wine, even fabricated a hair in his chocolate mousse. (Well, maybe not fabricated, Tommy may have put it there deliberately). 

He smiles sarcastically as he hands the guy his espresso. Fucking public school wanker. 

"You know that's very off-putting. The way you're sniffing," he says in reply.

Tommy feels his face flash hot; his nose is running slightly, but Alfie thrust him out so fast after using the loop again that he didn't even get a chance to wipe his face on his sleeve. He does it now, feeling ridiculous, like an errant schoolboy.

"It's a shame you can't control your temper," the smarmy fuck goes on. "It was otherwise a very nice meal."

Tommy clenches his jaw so hard his teeth creak. He can’t actually insult a customer. Alfie'll kill him; he's worked too hard at building a reputation for this restaurant. 

"I'm a food critic, you know," he adds, fiddling with his napkin.

 Tommy's face drains of heat so fast he feels a little he's back in the cold-room, cheek pressed against frozen cardboard as Alfie flays his arse. Fuck. He's chosen the wrong night to be a brat.

"I'd like to speak to the chef," the man says.

Tommy clears his throat but doesn't move. He needs some sort of plan, which normally he could come up with, but not tonight it seems. He can feel his trousers rubbing the welts. Feel panic filling his chest, he's suddenly so fucking tired he could just lay down on this floor.  How is he going to tell Alfie?

"It's a shame, because the food was really very good. Excellent, in fact. Your chef is a talented man."

Oh fuck. Tommy digs his nails in his palms and feels the back of his eyes sting. 

It's the service that I found wanting."

"My apologies," Tommy grits out.

"I'd like to speak to him please. Your chef."

Tommy feels glued to the spot.

"Go and fetch him then," the guy says, with a condescending wave of his hand. Tommy hates him. Fucking hates him. Tommy fucking hates himself.

The last diners have left when Tommy returns with Alfie. Table 9 is still sipping his tiny coffee. He proceeds to lambast Alfie about the crude and surly service, listing every pout Tommy threw his way and every clumsy movement. He doesn't hold back, is mean and condescending and secretly, Tommy is waiting for Alfie to come to his defense, tell this prick to lay off, that's enough.  But he doesn't.

"It's a shame, it really is," Table 9 says. "I was hoping to help you along with a glowing review. Support a growing business, you know."

And that's when Alfie glares at Tommy in a way that sends shivers down his spine. Not the good kind, either, the kind that make him feel two inches tall. Alfie turns to the customer in that syrupy voice from earlier. "My most sincere apologies, sir. You have to forgive my new waiter, he's not yet fully trained. Has a lot to learn, it seems."

"Hmmm," the diner says thoughtfully, staring at his plate. "Well, I might be able to see my way to overlooking this. Provided he's appropriately dealt with."

Alfie folds his arms across his chest and widens his feet. "Appropriately dealt with?" he repeats.

"Yes. Schooled in his indiscretions and made to show some genuine contrition."

"Contrition?" Alfie repeats, raising one eyebrow at Tommy.

"I've said I'm fucking sorry," Tommy starts but then the penny drops. Finally. He's been such a fucking fool.

"Room 109. Five minutes," Table 9 says. "Let's see how sorry he can be."

Tommy's about to open his mouth to protest, but Alfie's already grabbed him by the ear and is walking him towards the staircase. His stomach plummets, his hands sweat, but there's a corresponding surge of adrenaline, a collision of desire and fear that makes his heart hammer in his chest.

"If you know what's good for you darling," Alfie whispers, "you'll do as you're fucking well told".

And Tommy does. For the next two hours, whilst the customer — James, but you can call me Sir — watches. Contrition isn't all Tommy feels as Alfie leads him to a spanking bench positioned at the end of James' bed. "You'll note it's a proper one darling," Alfie coos, "padded for your knees. Although it's your poor arse I'd be more worried about."

James makes a sympathetic clucking noise and leans down to stroke Tommy's hair.  Alfie straps Tommy's knees in place. And his ankles ... wrists ... waist. And even as Tommy fights him, snarls curses and spits at the floor, he knows he's not going to safe word out (what he's less sure of is why, why he's going to let that fucker watch Alfie go to town on his welted arse). Self-righteous, posh bloody streak of piss with his smarmy eyes and condescending lips and … fuck … they're soft those lips... brushing his own. Tommy gasps. James noses at his face, strokes fingers through his hair, eyes twinkling with a mixture of sympathy and delight as Alfie lays into Tommy with his hand. Then his belt. Then a slipper.

"You never told me he was so pretty," James says, kissing Tommy's forehead. Tommy screws his eyes shut. He hates this.

"To be fair, I absolutely did," Alfie says, taking Tommy by surprise with a bite to his thigh. 

"Well. I didn't believe you," James says. 

"S'your problem, mate."

"Bet he looks even prettier when he's crying," James says with a smile. "Bet you look fucking beautiful, Tommy, letting everything spill out."

Tommy jerks against the restraints, furious and mortified and ... turned on.

"Can I make him cry, just a little?" James asks. He's clearly talking to Alfie, but he's fondling Tommy's ear, tracing the shell with his fingertips. His hands are large but soft. And gentle.

Alfie laughs. "You can fucking try, mate," and wallops Tommy again.

"I  think he's beginning to see the error of his ways, aren't you, Tommy?" James says. "Perhaps I could overlook the fact he served the wrong starter."

Tommy glares at James, no idea why he's even bothering to argue, when it's all a fucking charade, an excuse for Alfie to humiliate him. "I didn't serve the wrong—"

The word disappears in a shriek, Alfie's brought back that damned fucking loop.

"Maybe," Alfie agrees, but he doesn't relent. He whips Tommy till he's gasping, till he can feel his cheeks tight with swelling. 

Then he drops it and starts to stroke Tommy's back, just as James keeps stroking his hair. And kissing his face. And then kissing his lips. His tongue. And then Alfie's tongue is lapping his hole and everything is too hot and too much and hurts and doesn't and the voices are saying he's beautiful, he's done so well, and he can't breathe … the air's going in but not out and everything feels wet and James is smiling at him and smiling at Alfie and saying, "see? I told you he could." 

And Tommy lets himself be stroked. Kissed. Carried onto the bed. And he lets the tears be wiped away and he says, "I'm sorry, sir." And he is. So fucking sorry. And it feels good.