#he's shown discomfort with it. hell he even made the connection to his skin when they said it in his bday live

[straylaughs]

and fuck you div1/jype for using that stupid ass nickname when he wasn't even there!!

[ahkaahshi]

2:09 AM [sakusa kiyoomi x reader]

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x gn reader

genre: angst with a fluffy ending; comfort

warning(s): mild swearing

word count: 1.8k

overview: sakusa makes an uncharacteristically late night call that finds him right back in the arms of one of the few people he’s learned to trust

It’s 2:09 AM when Sakusa finally accepts that he seems to have difficulties sleeping without you. He’s spent the entire evening tossing and turning, his mind too restless to allow him more than a few minutes of peace. There’s a lingering discomfort in the pit of his stomach that swells each time he glances over at one of his team sweaters resting atop the desk at the other end of the room. It’s still neatly folded, as it had been by your careful hands, left undisturbed since the arrangement in which you’d returned to him.

He feels sick at the situation he’s gotten himself into. At how he’s sleeping by himself instead of at your side. At how he pushed you away. At how he made a decision for you that you might not have made yourself—and how wrong he was.

It had been a week since he’d broken up with you, and he’d spent a week regretting it.

He often told himself as consolation that the concept of right or wrong decisions in gray areas such as this was ridiculous. That they were only choices that lead would lead down different paths, neither more correct than the other. But this… this felt wrong. The error of his ways seeped into his gut, clouded his mind, and pounded against his head on nights like these when sleep evaded him. But he wasn’t quite sure how to remedy the situation.

How could he be sure you wanted him back when his words had shattered the calmness of your expression like a storm does the glassy reflection of an otherwise still lake? When you’d come to his apartment to drop off his sweater and a few stray items he’d left behind with just a “Here you go,” and nothing more? When he was the one who had broken your heart?

He was sure you’d never want to see him again, so he hadn’t tried to see you again, in spite of his need to fix the mistake he’d deemed selfish.

There’s a haunting, smothering quietude to his room. No sheets whisper against your skin as you shift beside him to readjust your body in your sleep. No gentle sighs pour onto his shoulder from your drift into a deeper slumber. No quiet murmurs escape between your lips while you respond to your dreams. Just his heartbeat thrumming against his ribcage and his shaky breaths, then the heavy dragging of his phone against the wood of his bedside table when he picks it up.

Your name is on his screen in an instant, and he wonders if you’ve changed his name in your contacts yet. Before he can even process what he’s doing, the gentle buzzing of the dial tone pierces the silence. Fuck. Is he even ready to have this conversation now?

The phone you feel to have been staring at all night lights up on your own nightstand, breaking the darkness and brings you to alertness with its quiet but shrill chimes. Upon picking up the device, you’re met with your ex’s name and face, making your eyebrows furrow both in anger and confusion.

What the hell’s he thinking, calling me at two in the morning? You let it ring once.

Why’s he calling me at all? What does he want? You let it ring twice.

Maybe something’s wrong. What if something’s wrong? You pick up on the third ring.

“Hello?” Your greeting isn’t met with a response. “Kiyoomi…?”

“Hey.”

His voice sounds as heavy as your heart feels. “Uh…” you mumble, unoccupied hand moving to grip your other wrist in an attempt to ground yourself, “Is… everything okay?”

“No. It’s not.” He could never lie to you, even if he wanted to—but the desire never crossed his mind. “(F/n), I…” he drifts off, his jaw clenching as he breathes out a quick sigh of irritation with himself. He clearly wasn’t prepared to make this call, and he hates that he’s disturbed you at such an early hour out of his own selfishness.

In the silence that follows, three, distinct words plaster themselves at the forefronts of both of your minds. They’re those each of you wants to speak but they’re not the same ones. With each second that ticks by filled with anticipation, marked by lips parted as they wait to voice your desires, you find yourself growing more desperate to tell him your three words.

But he speaks his first.

“I fucked up,” he whispers, the soft timbre of his tone a far cry from that of the commands you’ve heard him shout across the court.

Raking his fingers through his dark curls, he continues, “I self-destructed, and I didn’t know what to do. So, I tried to save you by speaking for you, telling you that you were better off without me. But I shouldn’t’ve done that.” You take your lower lip between your teeth as tired eyes sting with tears. “You’re strong; you can speak for yourself. You don’t need or want me to do it for you, especially not when I’m wrong.”

“Kiyoomi…”

“I’m sorry.” A nearly inaudible, shaky breath falls from his lips. “If I could take that moment back so you never had to feel that kind of pain and doubt, I would. I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect anything, not with the way I pushed you away even after you’d shown you’re the person I can always trust the most.”

The truth behind his words makes your fingers curl tighter around your phone. 

He’s right. 

Earning Sakusa’s trust hadn’t been easy, initially, but over time, he’d let down his guard. Laid his head on your chest to let your heartbeat lull him to sleep rather than turn away from you. Spoken to you about what was really bothering him rather than giving you a superficial overview or dismissive response. Let your shoulder be the harbor and safe havens for his emotions when he couldn’t hold them in anymore. All because you’d accepted him each time he chose to step under the blinding light of vulnerability, where all his most intimate thoughts and feelings were exposed without any darkness in which they could hide. Because you’d loved him for who he was, because you love him for who he is, because you will love him for who he becomes in the future.

Sadness brings tremors to your lips and beckons your fingers to your eyes to brush away a few stray tears. Him turning his back on you in a time of need, choosing to fall deeper into the hole he’d dug for himself rather than into your outstretched arms ready to catch him had hurt you the most. The suddenness of his cold behavior had shocked you, and the moment he’d walked away from you had replayed itself in your mind on an endless loop the entire week. But his honesty with you now, admitting to his mistake rather than moving on and away from you, shows you he still loves you—that he never stopped, rather.

After swallowing thickly, the ball of emotion in your throat making it hard to do so, you let your three words be known.

“I miss you.”

His response is almost instantaneous this time: “I miss you too.”

Your lips form a relieved smile though they carry a subtle taste of salt.

An invitation extended to him to come over finds him at your door no more than a half an hour later. The fatigue and stress he’s been experiencing is evident in the darkness beneath his eyes and the slump of his shoulders, but he has no qualms with standing in the entryway for a few minutes longer while the two of you hold one another in a tight embrace. His warmth and the faint but ever-present scent of his favorite laundry detergent lingering on his clothes lifts the fog that has been clouding your mind, and you can feel his body melt into your arms as his head comes to rest beside yours.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, “I won’t let my thoughts get the better of me like that again, okay? I’ll talk to you, and I’ll be here for you.”

You reply, “I love you too,” and feel his grip around you tighten when you add, “You’re safe with me.”

When the two of you pull away, he follows you along the familiar path to your bedroom and sets his backpack down in the same spot as always—right by his side of your bed, next to the nightstand. It’s only been a week, but things have felt so different without him around that watching him follow the same routines, such as the way he methodically adjusts your pillows to just the right angle and height before peeling back the comforter and sheets, gives you immense comfort. Crawling into bed beside him brings your bodies close once more, and your fingertips find his face out of habit, tracing over his handsome features and moving stray curls away from his weary eyes.

His nose brushes against yours moments before your lips meet in a tentative kiss, as if he’s testing the waters. Your fingers pressing into the nape of his neck to keep your mouths connected pulls him beneath the surface, and he allows himself to get lost in the depths with you for a bit instead of questioning where you’re going. He doesn't feel the need to.

It’s both lazy and fervent, the way your lips meld together, and your kisses reflect a yearning for each other that eclipses your exhaustion—for a few, blissful minutes, at least. You hum gently when your mouths part for the last time as sleep takes its hold on you. “You need to rest,” you suggest, “Can we talk sometime after you get back from training tomorrow?”

He nods slowly, head heavy with a week’s worth of fatigue, and answers, “Of course.” Beneath his dark fan of eyelashes, Sakusa’s gaze follows yours while you turn on your side away from him, glancing over your shoulder as a silent request for him to take up his usual spot behind you. His arms snake around your torso and the bed dips, bringing your back flush against his chest. Your fingers interlace with a set of his that you naturally hold close to your chest, and he nestles his face in the crook of your neck, planting a gentle peck against your exposed skin.

With you, there’s a peaceful, weightless quietude. He hears your legs shuffle beneath the covers as they readjust and the gentle sigh that leaves your mouth as you drift off to sleep. Feels your heartbeat against the back of his hand while he basks in the familiar warmth emanating from your body that fits against his so seamlessly.

His warm breath cascades over your skin when he exhales deeply once more, and finally finds solace in the slumber that comes to him almost instantly.

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[vadaschiquita]

Chiquita | Ch. 18

Chapter 17

It had been an agonizing game of musical chairs riddled with anxiety and unanswered questions sitting in the ER of a New Jersey hospital.  From nurses, to doctors, to social workers had accosted Nevada with questions of her whereabouts and even threatened with police involvement when he’d refused to provide the answers they sought out of him.

Nina and Jess had sat with him, receiving the news of Mariana’s reappearance from Pucho.  The both had shown up hastily, shouting his and her name to every medical personnel they managed to pass by from the second they’d entered the emergency room to the second they’d found him with his head in his hands.  Jess had asked all the hard questions firsthand, attempting to keep her voice even as she got out of Nevada what truly had happened in the confines of the storage container in order to deflect any trouble without the need of lawyer.

“You gonna stop with the fucking leg bounce, Valentina?” he scolded his sister.

Nina sighed heavily, rolling her eyes as she came to a stand.  “What the hell are they doing to her, Vada?  She’s been in there for fucking ever!” she paced in front of the row of chairs.

Nevada trailed her with his eyes, leaning back, and stretching his leg in front of him.  “Nina, you irritating my soul isn’t helping.  Stop with the fucking questions… and the pacing!” he waved his hand towards her direction when he caught sights of a doctor approaching their general direction.

Nevada stood, pulling Nina behind him as the doctor smiled, “Mariana?  Mariana Santos?”

“Yes, yes! How is she?  How’s the baby?  Can I see her?” Nevada shot in rapid fire, unable to stop when the doctor raised his hands in order to put a stop to his rambling.

“Easy, Mr. Santos,” the doctor appeased, checking the tablet in his hands.  “There’s good news and there’s bad news.  Now, I understand that she was in labor when brought in,” Nevada nodded, running his hands against his jaw at the mention of bad news.  “Giving birth is a marathon and we need mom awake and alert in order for her to push.  We considered taking her to the operating room and perform an emergency C-section, but baby was coming, and coming fast so we had to rely on medication to strengthen the contractions.  That allows the contractions to be strong enough so that the patient doesn’t have to do anything.”

“O—Ok,” Nevada stumbled, looking over his shoulder to his sister for some type of assistance.

“Is the baby safe?  Is she safe?” Nina asked, watching the helpless green in her brother’s eyes grow by the second.

“Yes, both Mariana and the baby are in good health,” the doctor smiled.

“But?” Nevada took a step forward.

“The oxytocin given to strengthen the contractions has left Mariana with an accelerated heart rate and some arrhythmias that are being monitored as we speak.  Your son has a little bit of jaundice—nothing that we're worried about—and she’s protecting her airway as she should, but due to her arrhythmias and the stress her body endured for the amount of time she was in captivity, we’ve placed her in a medical induced coma and we’ll wean off sedation once we know her heart has recuperated.  Other than that, we’ve stitched the gash at the back of her head, and we’re letting her body heal her other contusions and abrasions the natural way.”

“So—Son?” Nevada sighed, feeling his chest inflate at the thought of someone continuing his namesake to the world.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the doctor looked between Jess, Nina, and the appalled man in front of him.  “I—I thought you knew the gender of the baby before—”

“No, no; we wanted to find out whenever they were born,” he chuckled, feeling his elation travel through his body.  “Can—Can I see her?  Please, doctor, I need to see my Chiquita—and my papito.  Where—Where is he?”

The doctor smiled, cocking his head in the direction he’d emerged from, “Your son is currently in the NICU under bili-lights for his jaundice, but I can arrange for him to be brought to Mariana’s room so that the three of you can be together.”

Nevada nodded, falling into step with the doctor as they approached the ICU room where they’d placed Mariana.

Mariana’s doctor had done well by his training, keeping idle conversation as they accessed the main hospital through the emergency department, but Nevada had only heard some of it and answered to ten percent of what he’d heard.  His mind was still crowded with the sounds of her cries as Ricky choked the near life out of her, the muddled sound her skull made against the concrete floor of the storage unit, and the whisper of his name from her lips when she’d finally noticed that he was real and there to not bring harm upon her.

If he needed to go home and return later on to Mariana’s room, he wouldn’t know the way to her.  

He couldn’t stop thinking of the thousands of ways he’d failed her during her pregnancy, during her captivity, and how much he was failing her now.  He knew nothing of being a father to a child, a child he did not want to raise without her.  

The needs of a newborn were different to the ones of a toddler and child.  

What little experience he had with children came from his ability of having cared for Sofía from a young age.  He never kept her when she needed her mother at every turn, but once Sofía had been able to walk, to talk her way into basic needs, had been when he’d trusted himself to do more than just a prolonged visit to his sister’s place.

The severity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, not only did he needed to care for a slightly vegetative Mariana, but now he had to care for a newborn that wouldn’t know his mother until the sedation could be weaned off.

“You’re free to go in and visit for as long as you please, Mr. Santos.  I’ll make sure to speak with NICU nurses to bring by your son sooner rather than later.”

Nevada looked up at the doctor and extended his hand to him, shaking it for good measure.  He’d never been one to engage in such… pleasantries, but there was no other way he could express the gratitude he had for him and his team in the roles played in Mariana’s safety and in the delivery of their son.

He entered the room slowly, hearing the soft air release the breathing machine produced indicative of Mariana’s in and outtake of air.  

He coughed his sob, watching the bruising across her face, vivid against her ashen skin.  Her hair and face had been cleaned of the blood, her wet clothes had most likely been tossed, and her stomach was as flat as he could remember before her pregnancy had taken over.  Her wrists were securely tied to the bed and all the lines feeding her medication, food, and monitoring her heart rate were coming out of her body at her arms, chest, nose, and neck.

Nevada stood at the foot of the bed, taking in the feeble form of his Chiquita.

“Ay, Chiquita,” he mused, approaching the bedside.  He took her hand in his, placing his lips to it multiple times, “You can't give up on me just yet, mami.  Tenemos un varoncito, Mari…”

He pressed his forehead to her knuckles, feeling the tears escape his eyes when he sniffled, raising his eyes to her face.  His knees were already protesting, but in comparison to what he knew she’d endured, slight discomfort showing his age and lack of continuous exercise were the least of his concerns.

It felt like hours of him staring at the beauty of her face even through the stains of Ricky’s work when soft cooing and an apologetic remark caught his ears.  

He sniffled, following the noise with his head when he saw the nurse hauling in an acrylic box containing a small bundle of chunky joy.  He stood, placing one more kiss on Mariana’s hand as an added bonus.

The nurse accommodated the acrylic box next to Mariana’s bed away from the IV pumps and other staff’s general way.  She opened the side door, reaching inside for the baby to wrap him in the bili-blanket to maximize the results of the phototherapy.

“He already breastfed before we started her medications and he had his first bowels, so, little man is doing really great,” she turned, smiling at the stirring child in her arms.  “We let them have skin-on-skin contact for about an hour, hence the reason it took us so long to come fetch you.”

He let go of a long breath of air unaware of its presence when the nurse placed his son in his arms.  He hummed, watching the beautiful contours of his son’s face.  He saw resemblances of Mariana’s features staring back at him: from the color of his skin, to the pout of his lips.  Mesmerized by the beauty of his son, he almost missed the tap on his shoulder from the nurse offering him a comfortable chair so that he could sit and continue admiring the beautiful thing he’d helped bring to life.

“Por poco me matas, papito,” he mused, scoffing airily.

He smiled at his newborn son, running his thumb over the smooth flesh of his cheek.  The baby stirred, scrunching his face, and sneezing consecutively.

“Dios te bendiga,” he smiled, leaning forward to press his lips against his forehead.  He murmured his love for him, nuzzling his nose to the baby’s forehead, whispering a prayer over his son.

Nevada had never pegged himself a religious man, but more of a spiritual one.  He respected the teachings of the Church, the ones instilled in him as a young boy by his mother.  He proudly wore the gold cross gifted to him on the day of his thirteen birthday and whenever he played with lives too closely, forgot the teachings that his mother worked day and night for him to remember, he took time away on his knees, asking for forgiveness, and a little more clarity.

He knew the life he led was not ideal, but it had been fruitful.  

It’d help him provide for his family, not only his sister, but his extended family in the Dominican Republic.  And, now, with his son in his hands, and his Chiquita lying next to him, he knew that now more than ever, the need to work his ass off would quadruple and intensify.

The tip of the iceberg was what she knew—what everyone knew, but Nevada’s operation and connections ran deeper than that.  Two people in his entire operation knew how deep his hooks were in the city, the two people he trusted with his life, and the two people he would trust with their lives from now on.  

He’d made the mistake of not listening to her, of not allowing her to call her shots knowing that in the deepest existence of her body, all bells and whistles were going off when it came to Dylan Perrot, and that because of his mistake, he’d almost lost the love of his life without the chance of admitting his undying love for her.  In consequence, he’d endangered the life of his then unborn child… deliberately!  And for that, he’d never forgive himself.

Ten days it had been since the fateful night of the rescue and almost suicidal mission in Union City.  

Nevada had set up camp in a hotel a couple of blocks from the hospital.  He was there from the minute visitation started to the second it ended.  

The nurses knew when he was coming, they knew the way he wanted things, how he wanted things, and they knew that if he saw something out of line, something that was out of place, the never ending tongue lashings would be the best part of their shifts.

They had a schedule set, one that for the last ten days everyone had abided to.  

As soon as visiting hours started, Nevada would stroll in, without a word to anyone, and plant himself at Mariana’s bedside.  Once the nurse noticed his presence in her room, they’d go in, let him know of the findings and progress, and confirm her nightly bath.  If for any reason, the bath had not been completed, they’d assure him that it was the first thing on their to-do list once medication had been administered.  

Minutes later, they’d roll the baby in and a breastfeeding nurse would help him latch against Mariana.  All of the medication given had been cleared and safe for lactation, and once he was done, Nevada would burp him, and allow for skin-on-skin contact with his mother even if Mariana’s body remained unconscious.

She’d been free of sedation for six days, her body having flushed out all remaining harmful additives to her milk, and though still intubated, her reflexes and neurological responses were great, she just needed to wake up.

During quiet time, and after his feeding, they would take the baby back to the NICU.  He’d been off the bili-lamps and blanket, but remained under observation for slight elevation of heart rate.  Even though, hospital policy was for no visitors during quiet time, the nurses at the ICU where Mariana lain, allowed him to stay.  He was never a bother and he never disrupted their workload.

“Chiquita,” he rasped, her hand in his.  “Chiquita, stop being so fucking stubborn and open your eyes,” he scoffed ruefully, placing his lips to her knuckles.  “Papito needs you, I—” he stopped; feeling the way his heart hanged on by a thread at the thought of losing Mariana.

He squeezed her hand in his, groaning softly to prevent his sob to fill the room.  “I—” he sniffled, shaking his head.

He stood, lowering the bedside rail in order to hover over the still body of hers.  He pressed his lips to her temple, tipping his chin to press his forehead to the side of her head.  If he wanted her to wake up, then he’d coax her back to life.  He would speak the unspoken words that threatened each and every second to come out of his mouth by the mere thought of her existence.  He’d say the words like a prayer, a contract devoid of annulment until he’d gotten what he’d come looking for the past nine days: her eyes.

“I need you, Mari,” he whispered against her face.  “Te amo, Chiquita.  Te amo tanto…”

He sighed, pressing his lips to her brow, lingering at the spot until he felt her quiet stirring.

For her, it was like a large tunnel filled with echo.  She heard the words he’d whisper to her every day, she heard the plight of his voice, and she heard the cry of her child.  Now, she couldn’t discern what was real and what wasn’t, but the ache and discomfort she felt constricting her throat caused her eyes to shot open.

Nevada took a step back, “Mari, Mari—”

A cough broke through her, the vein in the middle of her forehead prominent with stress.  The breathing machine had begun blinking red, making the most harrowing sound that filled the room.  She attempted to raise her hands, but they’d been restrained as a precaution to prevent what could’ve happened had her hands been free of them.

The nurses were quick to enter the room. “What's going on here?” one of them asked with a small smile.

“I—” Nevada stumbled with his words, glancing at Mariana struggling to catch her breath.

Mariana continued coughing, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she struggled to catch her breath.  Nevada stood to the side and watched, listening to how the nurses were begging her to relax and take it easy.

“We’re going to have to give an Ativan bolus,” the nurse said, looking over her shoulder to one of her coworkers.

Nevada sprung into action, “No!  No!  Let me try something.”

The nurses paused, stepping back quickly to allow Nevada to stand besides Mariana.  

Mariana was frantically scanning the room; only able to see the blurry, jumbled mess in front of her.  She couldn’t focus her eyesight on anything concrete.  The nurse’s face was unclear and she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing through her ears.  She was tugging at her restraints when one of her hands was finally freed from them, but it’d been stopped mid air by a pair of hands she thought she recognized.  She moved her head as carefully as possible, attempting to not stir further the discomfort in her throat.

“Mari, mami,” Nevada cooed, stepping closer to the bed to be in her line of sight.  “Chiquita, you—you’re at the hospital. You have a tube down your throat that’s helping you breathe, mami, pero you can’t pull it off.  I—I know, I know you want your hands free, but you have to promise me you’ll calm down, ok?”

The breathing machine lagged in its response, but it stopped its noise, just like the heart monitoring machine stopped its chirping.  The room became quieter; the only sounds now were the low murmuring of the nursing team, and Nevada’s heartbeat in his ears.

Mariana’s vision still hadn’t clear.  Not even after the fluttering blinking from her part.  She squeezed Nevada’s hand as he brought it to his mouth to place a kiss to her fingers.  She opened her hand, spreading her fingers along his jaw, flexing them to scratch at his beard.  He hummed, closing his eyes, and enjoying the feel of her hands against his face.

Her eyes watered because even though she could not see him well enough, she still knew it was he.  She would always know it was he.

A nurse placed her hand on his shoulder and he turned his head, “We’ve paged the doctor to see if we can get that tube out in the next couple of hours.  Keep her calm and with company, ok?”

Nevada nodded, turning to grab in both of his hands one of hers.  “Ay, mi Chiquita,” he breathed out.

A couple of hours indeed had gone by and Nevada decided to keep busy on the other side of the hospital where the NICU took place.  They’d kicked him out, respectfully so, and not being able to sit on his ass quietly for more than a few minutes at a time, he’d busied his time in visiting his son over in the NICU, and allowing Nina to sit with them as well.

Nevada had returned and was now sitting across a very animated Mariana bickering her way with a doctor.

“That’s still not answering the question of my supply, doctor.  Am I going to be able to breastfeed with this medication in my body?”

She sounded a little hoarse, but her… gumption and bravado seemed intact.  “Yes, Miss Santos.  We actually recommend labetalol for postpartum complications.  You wouldn’t be the first nor the last of my patients who’s suffered some mild complication… that isn’t easily fixed,” the doctor said with a smile.

Mariana sighed, leaning back against the elevated headrest, giving a nod and a shy smile.  “When can I eat?  And, I mean, real food.”

The doctor nodded, “Unfortunately, due to the stress the tube puts on your throat, we want to make sure you heal for at least twenty-four hours before you can eat or drink anything.  We are keeping the feeding tube until tomorrow, so we won’t completely starve you.”

“And, my vision?”

The doctor nodded and offered an apologetic smile.  “I understand that it’s been blurry since you woke, but that your left eye is back to normal, now?” Mariana nodded, fidgeting with her flat sheet.  The doctor sighed, tucking his arms in his white coat pockets, “There’s really nothing we can do about that, Miss Santos.  You suffered a concussion to the occipital region of your brain on the left side, which figures why your right eye is still struggling to catch up. You just have to relax and let your body do its job.”

Mariana nodded and had resulted to silence when Nevada piped up, “How long?”

“Anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks.  We really do not know,” he offered simply.

“When can I—” Mariana’s musings had been put to a stop when the NICU nurse walked, rolling a fussy newborn baby in.

Nevada placed his coffee cup on the rolling tray lodged between Mariana’s bed and the chair as he stood, approaching the shrieking baby.  He thanked the nurse just as the doctor excused his self.  He bounced his knees, shushing his son lovingly, and placing a kiss to the baby’s cheek.

“Ready to meet our son?” Nevada asked with a smirk.

“Son?” Mariana said in a low gasp.  “Ian…”

“Matías Alexander Ramirez,” Nevada corrected.  “Meet the most incredible woman you’ll ever meet,” he finished, handing Mariana their son.

Mariana stretched her neck, waiting for Nevada’s impending kiss upon her lips.  As soon as skin-to-skin contact had been made, Matías sighed, opening his beautiful eyes to search his mother’s face.  

Mariana lowered the hospital gown at her shoulders.  “He prefers the right one,” Nevada said with a wink.

“Nevada,” Mariana warned, adjusting the baby to suckle with the nurse’s help and guidance.

Once Matías latched, Mariana sighed, feeling tears spring into her eyes.  She listened to the suckling noises he made, running her free hand through the soft jet strands on the baby’s head.  She saw as her teardrop startled Matías and she chuckled ruefully, wiping away the tear from his face.

“Seven pounds, thirteen ounces, and twenty inches of pure Ramirez,” Nevada gloated, sitting down on the recliner that had become his home throughout Mariana and Matías’ hospital stay.  Mariana smacked her teeth, unable to contain her happiness as she looked at him.  “I told you he likes the right one.”

“You would know,” she bit her lip, turning to face her child once more.  “Vada… ¡mira qué hermoso!”

“Tiene a quién salir,” he finished, tipping his chin in the air causing Mariana to giggle softly.

She was mesmerized by the beauty and easiness of the baby’s face.  What once seemed like a dream, something she’d thought she could have, but after having faced Ricky’s abuse had been torn from her life, seeing the miracle that was her son in her arms had made her particularly emotional.  It could’ve also been the fact that for a month, the uncertainty that clouded her mind every day on whether or not she would see this pregnancy through, or worst, the thought of her never getting the chance to meet her son, had her sitting with airs of elation.

She’d made good on the promise she’d made to her child: Nevada would get them out of there and they would be together once more.

She sighed, all love-filled, and she raised her elbow, allowing for greater reach and to place her lips upon Matías’ relaxed brow.

He was suckling contently, the veiny, thin flesh of his hooded lids protecting the beautiful shine of his eyes.  His tiny fists were tucked under his chin, yet it was the steady beating of his heart that most excited Mariana.  Being able to hold her child in her arms for the first time, to provide him that comfort, had her floating on cloud nine.

She turned towards Nevada with a smile, “What happened to Ian?  I thought we were set on Ian as a name.”

Nevada smirked, basking in her happiness.  “He was named Ian… for about two hours,” he smirked, biting his lip.  “Then, I stared at him, and he didn’t look like a Ian Ramirez, but Matías…” he clicked his tongue.  “Matías Ramirez es un hombre de palabra y autoridad… como su papá,” he finished with a wink.

Mariana shook her head, glancing down at Matías as he elicited a soft coo.  “Why Matías?” she asked, smiling down at her newborn.

“Gift of God,” Nevada looked at Mariana, thoroughly in love with her.  “Just like his mother.”

Mariana bit her lip, giving her newborn once more all the attention she harbored.

Nevada hummed; engulfed in all the love he had for the both of them.  “Chiquita,” he called out for her hearing her hum.  “Mírame,” he asked of her and once she smiled at him he admitted his love for her: “Te amo.”

Mariana’s smile grew on her face, biting her lip furtively, “Te amo, más, papi.”

tags: @bananas-pajamas​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @imjustreallynosy​ @katierpblogg​ @angelicdestieldemon​

[thoughtlesstales]

Criminal Minds Alphabet Challenge

Title: C - Cat O’ Nine Tails  Word Count: 2665  Rating: Explicit Fandom: Criminal Minds Relationship: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid Triggers: bdsm, D/s, flogging

Summary: Spencer want to forget

Author's note: So this bad boy turned out to be a hell of a lot longer than I planned for this work, it makes me want to continue it a little more??

Spencer wasn’t sure what he had signed up for. Everything was so... overwhelming. Yes, overwhelming. He had agreed to do this after a recommendation from a friend as long as he could remain anonymous. The last thing he had wanted was for any of the team to find out what he was doing and then judge him for it. What would they think if they found out he was getting his ‘release’ from a hard case by being dominated by a random stranger. God, they would have a field day with it, even though he was struggling to understand why he was getting so much from it and he was meant to be a bonafide genius.

Still he was sitting alone in the small room he had been shown too, naked apart from the mask that sat in his lap. It was his only condition and the club had been more than willing to support it. He had filled in the questionnaire, answered everything honestly and was told that he would be matched with someone. Only a few days ago he had been sent a handful of profiles to have a look at and pick ones that he felt as comfortable as he could be with. There had been one that stood out.

Male. 43. High powered job that required a lot of time. That was the gist of it and with everything out it just sat steadily with Spencer. So he had agreed for a meeting, and this was it. It wasn’t your traditional meeting, they would play and if at any point during neither of them were comfortable, then they could call it off. The same as if they didn’t want to see each other at the end. Spencer took a breath and held the mask between his fingers, if he chose to go out there then he would be consenting to something starting and cause anxiety to flare into his stomach. He felt sick, maybe he was going to be sick.

Spencer stood and paced across the room. He knew he needed this, knew he needed the outlet. He had tried so many other things and then one day someone joked he just needed someone else to take control. That seemed like a bright idea to the younger man, have someone take control just for a little while and get out of his head. It was constantly never ending and maybe that release would be exactly what he needed. So, he researched. He found out everything he could about letting someone else take control and it sat so easily with him that his next research project was a location.

He found this club and after enquiries learned that catered to clients that were looking for something discreet and safe. The questionnaire had been extensive. Covering everything from the things that Spencer wanted to do, would like to do but was unsure of and the things that were a hard limit. Things he would never be interested in at all. There was so much more and at the time he wondered why, but quickly understood upon asking the question. Some people wanted to be that discreet that they didn’t speak to the people taking charge. There was no conversation between them. The only times they might speak was if they used their safewords. It was exactly what Spencer wanted. With that came the mask. He wanted to hide his face, he had been on TV before and with a job like his he travelled enough that he had pretty much appeared on TV’s all over the country. He didn’t want to take the risk of someone recognising him as an FBI agent.

Eventually, after precisely fifteen minutes of pacing back and forth across the room Spencer made the decision to head out into the next room. He lifted the mask and pulled it over his face. It was simple. Plain black leather that would cover both the front and back of his head. The mouth was open and there were holes for the nose too. When he looked at himself in the mirror it was strange to see the person looking back at him. He couldn’t believe that he was doing this.

He reassured himself one more and then headed out, knowing if he waited any longer he would chicken out and the man waiting for him would think he wasn’t coming. When Spencer entered the room he did what had been asked of him, to kneel on the floor and eyes on the ground. He was to never look up at the man who would be dominating. Spencer didn’t understand how someone could take that risk, but then again this was all about trust.

Only a few moments later someone else entered the room. He heard them pace around him in circles. Slow even moments that set Spencer on edge. All he could of them were bare feet and calves, he didn’t look any higher. Spencer took a breath and his hands trembling as they rested against his thighs. He didn’t know what this man had planned, what he would be doing to him. Then the thought dawned on him, apart from this moment, Spencer had been more concerned about what he was doing than what was going on in his own mind. Imagine that.

The pacing stopped and the anticipation rose within the younger man. He stood behind him, all he could hear was even breaths and the soft moments of flesh moving against flesh. Then a hand clasped around his throat. Spencer gasped and his instinct was to break free to move away, but instead he stayed. He was encouraged up onto his feet, being held and pulled up by the hand wrapped around and drawn back against the other man’s chest. Spencer could feel the rise and fall of his chest. He could feel the tickle of the light dusting of hair. He could feel the heat, it warmed his already heated skin and Spencer shut his eyes absorbing each and every feeling coursing through his body.

The other man didn’t need to speak, he simply led Spencer with his body. He used it to guide and move Spencer across the room. There were a few items in the room. He had seen them when he had come in. There had been a bed, a cross which from his research he knew to be a Saint Andrew's Cross, there was also a bench. Those were just some of the items, it didn’t include what was hung on the walls or what was laid out. Spencer was led across the room, which meant he was being led to the cross. He could picture it now. The older man guided Spencer. Tilted his hips against the back of him, telling him which leg to move without even speaking. Spencer did as he was told and walked. He could open his eyes and watch, see where he was going. However, he wanted to put all his trust into this man. He wanted to give everything over and that meant his sight as well, and he gave that at his own free will.

He felt the cold hard unrelenting wood against his front. He could feel the hairs on his body stand on end as he was pressed against it. The other man crowding against him and holding him in place. Spencer tipped his head to the side and rested it against the wood. One of things he had been open to when filling out the questionnaire was a sexual aspect to the play. He had stated that it had been a long time since he had had any form of a sexual relationship with a man, but it was something he had been open too. So when he felt the lips against his shoulders, it didn’t shock him, instead he let out a breath like he had been holding onto it for a week.

One hand was still locked around his throat and the other hand was skating over his skin. Fingertips brushing against his hip and then his ribs, along the inside of his sent shivers down Spencer’s spine. The hand wrapped around his wrist and brought it up and then with a practised ease it was buckled to the cross. The movements were repeated on the other side once he had switched hands at his throat. Everything was so calm and practised that Spencer fell into this lull, his head swimming with the thoughts of what he was going to do. That was all he could think about.

Then the hand was gone from his throat, he moved away completely and Spencer felt lost. He lost the connection and a small whine erupted from his throat. Completely involuntary, but reflecting what he felt in the moment. Then the hands were back, this time spreading his legs and attaching them to the sides of the cross. Spencer was spread and there was nothing he could do about it. He was completely at the mercy of this man and honestly, he didn’t think he would have it any other way. It felt like he had been in the room a lifetime, thought it could have been any more than ten minutes. Time passed so slowly.

He heard the other man walking around again. He took a dozen steps and then came back again. Spencer heard something move, it had been solid and yet sounded soft at the same time. He couldn’t figure that out, couldn’t place what he clearly picked up. That drove the anticipation through the roof again, causing the butterflies to come back and his mind all consumed with the thought that he was going to do something.

Spencer felt the first touch of something against his back. It took him a moment to figure out what it was. Then it dawned on him when the item stuck his back once more. It was a flogger. It stuck him once more and it wasn’t painful, not the way that he was striking him. It felt like he was caressing his skin with the flogger. The tails connected with his rapidly sensitizing skin and caused little huffs of breath to fall from the younger man’s chest. This was exactly what he wanted. The slow increase of power that the man was putting into it allowed Spencer to solely focus on the strikes and gradually they grew more and more intense. The speed and strength put into them were starting to cause slight discomfort but that only added to the sensation.

“Colour.” It was one word and it drew Spencer back instantly. The voice didn’t sound right and the thought crossed the back of his mind that the other man was purposely putting it off in an attempt to make it unrecognisable.

“Green, green Sir.” Spencer answered with a gasp. He was so green that it made his head spin. Everything about this was actually what he wanted and he was now wanting more. He wanted to feel the sharp bite of pain, now more than ever. The other man didn’t respond, instead the flogging stopped and Spencer whined in protest. The loss of contact, he couldn’t stand it. He listened to him moving around again and Spencer didn’t have it in him to focus and figure out what was going on. The footsteps came closer and then the sharp bite of pain came across his ass.

The younger man arched against the cross. Then it followed again, this time on the other cheek. Yes. Again. Spencer pulled against the buckles and they shook and rattled as he pulled against them. Seven more blows followed and Spencer could feel his mind slipping into this bliss. His body was on fire and it was everything he wanted. Barely anything had happened, but it was the most rewarding release he had ever had. He could feel himself growing harder, and little shocks of pleasure ran through his body when he rubbed his cock against the wood of the cross.

When the strikes came to an end Spencer was panting and muttering words under his breath that didn’t make much sense. The other body crowed up against him again, hands wrapping around his body and urging him to rest backwards against him. Spencer did just that and when the large calloused hand wrapped around his cock a low moan erupted from his core. He thrust his hips forwards, looking for more of the pleasure that felt like fire under his skin. The other used the pre-cum leaking from his cock to slick his length, slow sensual movements that had twists and thumbs rubbing across the head of cock. The growing need to cum became more prominent and Spencer began to beg, wanting the release.

He was so close and as another hand came up and fingers wrapped around his nipple, pinching harshly Spencer came with a shout. Spurts of cum covering the cross and the hand of his dominant. It was seconds later that he felt hot wet heat coating his back. The younger man slumped against the cross, feeling exhausted and drained. However, completely and utterly content with the feeling. He was unshackled from the cross and was taken over to the bed, he kept his head down respecting the wishes of his Dom to not look at his face. He led down on his front, head pillowed his hand as the older man tended to his abused skin.

He used a sweet smelling lotion and worked it into his muscles, easing tension and stinging from the bites of whatever he used. Spencer drifted in that moment, content with just laying there and being looked after. When he came back around the other man was gone and a bottle of water was left beside the bed waiting for him.

When he looked around the room he saw that he was alone and the flogger and a riding crop were still on the floor where they had been discarded. He would be more happy to experience both of those items again. Pushing up from the bed, he didn’t feel any soreness in his body. He drank the water and after a few moments moved back into the side room he had come from. He pulled the mask from his face and threw it into the chair, sweat was sticky on his skin and yet not a part of him cared. He felt completely at bliss, his head wasn’t running a mile a minute and for the first time in forever he didn’t feel overwhelmed by the crushing thoughts in his own mind.

--

Aaron didn’t want to leave the other man, but he knew he would be waking up soon and didn’t want to break the one rule had set in place. So, he stayed for as long as he could, wrapping himself around the younger man as he drifted off into his own little world. He tended to his body and made sure he was going to be safe before leaving. Leaving him a bottle of water as well, for when he properly came too.

He exited the room through another door. Sitting himself down into the chair and taking a breath. The other man had been so beautifully responsive that Aaron couldn’t believe he had been lucky enough to find someone like that. He had narrowed it down to him because he had been looking for a sub that he could work with on a long term basis and the hope was that in the future they could be honest with each other about who they were, until then Aaron was content with not knowing the younger man’s face. For now, at least.

[wtfholland]

hey love! could you write something with the prompt 45? thank you!

Thank you for your request, anon! :) I wrote this one about Peter because I’ve had only one request for him so far and Petey needs more love❤️

prompt list | send me a request!

listen to this while reading♫

Mother fuck, this better be good!

The gentle tapping on my room window summoned my restless soul out of bed, me not having the heart to brush it off and go back to sleep. I trotted through the darkness lingering in every corner of my room and stubbed my toe on the side of my desk. I enveloped into myself, silently screaming a string of curse words. He owes me for this! This is the fourth time this week he’s shown up here. I hissing at the discomfort inflicted upon me when I flicked my bedroom light on. I blindly slumped back toward my bed, pulling up the blinds to the window beside it. I rolled my eyes at the strange boy sporting skin tight red and blue spandex. I unlocked the hatch and forced the old window open, paint chips falling onto my floor.

Dammit Spider-Man. Don’t you know I have school tomorrow? You as well!

“Why am I not surprised to see you here? What happened this time, bug boy?” I yawned, stretching my arms over my head. I moaned at the feeling and set my hands on my hips, attempting to look like the bigger person here. I was sporting an old Tupac t-shirt and pyjama pants that were too short for my legs, penguins wearing Santa hats littering the fabric. The web crawler just laughed, the whites of his eyes turning up into amusement. 

“Nice pyjamas, but it’s not Christmas, Y/N.” he said, climbing into my room. His ditzy foot got caught on the frame of the window, and he tumbled the rest of his way in, collapsing on top of me in the process. We landed with a thud and I was thanking my lucky stars that my mom was working late because I was sure the entire apartment shook; We probably woke up the dead as well. Spider-Man put his arms on either side of me to balance his weight. “Hm, hi.” he squeaked. I just scoffed and shoved him to the side so I could get up. I adjusted my shirt, pulling it back down after it shimmied up my torso a bit. Spidey was up in a flash.

“Okay, so…” I initiated, raising my brows at him. He looked confused, I guess. Trying to decode his expressions through the mask was a headache. You’d never be able to tell if Spider-Man was about to cry or shit himself. “So…what?” he replied, shrugging. I groaned in frustration, shaking my head. I woke my ass up for this? “What’s the problem? Where are you hurt?” I urged, taking a couple steps towards him to scope out any visible damage. The bug just chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t encounter anything tonight, Y/N, so I’m not hurt. I, uh…wanted to ask you if you could help me with something.” 

My eyebrows knotted in confusion as I looked at him. “Um, alright. What’s the haps, arachnid?” I asked cool and collected, plunking myself down on my bed. He followed my actions and sat down beside me gracefully. After a couple seconds, he cleared his throat. “Uh, so…well, I-I’m not really sure how to ask, but I…you see, I…would you…” he babbled. I yawned again, a wave of exhaustion rushing over me, reminding me of better things I could be doing right then and there…like sleeping.

“Good god, just say it! I’m not gonna judge you.” I pressed. I rested my hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. His gaze dropped to my hand and moved back to my face. “Okay, well, you know that guy I told you about a few times? Flash Thompson?” he began. I nodded enthusiastically. I’ve told Spidey so many times that whenever he was at school, he should pull an epic prank on Flash to get his ass back; I was hoping he finally did it. “Well, he was making fun of me today in English class. We’re on our Shakespearean unit and we’re reading Romeo and Juliet…” he trailed off, waiting for me to respond. I just jerked my shoulders forward, mhm-ing in the process. “We had to break off into groups for discussion and he was in my group and the subject of kissing and making out came up. Everyone was silently sharing their stories of their first kiss while I was trying to tell everyone to get back to what we were supposed to be doing. Flash kind of caught on and called me out, saying I’ve never had my first kiss and stuff…which is true. I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

This caught me off guard. What in the hell? Spider-Man, fucking Spider-Man hasn’t had his first kiss? How?! He looks like he was sculpted by gods to be displayed in a museum for ages and ages. Despite me being an asshole to him from time to time, jokingly of course, he was always kind to me and a genuinely sweet guy. I could tell by the way he’d always ask me how my day was or how my mom was doing or if I finished my homework whenever he came by for me to patch up his wounds and what not. Obviously, I was dying to see the man under the mask. I’ve asked him about it a couple times, but to no prevail. I, of course, respected the hell out of his privacy, putting myself in his shoes if it were me, but…I was so curious. I knew he was a good looking guy, no doubt about it. He described himself to me; Dark brown hair, chocolate coloured eyes, a crooked nose, and quirky eyebrows. 

Spider-Man let out a deep breath before continuing. “So I came here tonight to formally ask you…Y/N, my personal nurse, and owner of funny pyjamas…if you would like to…bemyfirstkiss.” My eye widened at his request. I was not expecting that out of him tonight. I thought he’d come with a couple of bruises and scratches, constantly asking me if I could go easy on the rubbing alcohol. I giggled, remembering the time he had a small gash on his abdomen and I cleaned it up for him, with my face dangerously near his groin. I brushed off the memory and focused my attention back onto him.

“Really? Y-you…you want me to be your first kiss, Spider-Man?” I swooned, still in disbelief. He nodded shyly, moving his gaze back down to my hand on his knee. I gave it a small squeeze before I shifted my position so I was a lot closer to him. If I’m being completely honest, I felt this weird connection between the vigilante and I. I couldn’t put my finger on it, we just kind of clicked. He never took my harsh digs to heart because he knew I loved to joke around with him. I figured out after a couple of his random appearances at my bedroom window that I really liked taking care of him. There was just something so intimate and genuine about the whole thing. I never really had too many friends at my school, and I found a friend in him.

“I’d love to be your first kiss, bug boy.” I purred, bringing my hand up to caress his cheek. His eyes expanded in shock, thinking he was gonna get rejected. I leaned into him, raising my hands to pull up his mask. Spider-Man immediately tensed, grabbing my hands to stop them. I pulled his gloved hands around mine closer to my chest. “It’s okay, I’m just gonna move it to where your nose is. You can trust me.” I whispered, eyes never leaving his. His hands fell away and I resumed to pushing the mask up his face, curling it right on top of his nose bridge. I never seen any part of his face before, and I was mesmerized. His nose was a little bit crooked but not falling off his face or anything, and his lips were a gorgeous shade of pink. I smiled as I leaned in, already feeling his hot breath on my skin.

I pressed our lips together softly and I swear, my ovaries exploded. The kiss was slow and passionate, neither one of us were pushing it on. I slithered my fingers down his muscular arms to position them around my waist. He instantly pulled me closer into him and my entire body was put on vibrate. I disconnected from him and looked up at him for approval. “Was that alright?” I asked, my voice unstable. He didn’t say anything back, instead, he just invited me in for another kiss.

This time is was more desperate. We moved our lips together at a faster pace, drinking each other in. I grazed my tongue against his now swollen bottom lip, asking for permission to which he just stuck his tongue in my mouth, venturing in every corner. Spider-Man hauled me in closer to him, and at this point, I was sitting in his lap. My upper arms were resting on his shoulders, my forearms propped in the air and I sensually kissed him. Involuntarily, I got a funny feeling in my stomach and it slowly made its way down to my pelvis. 

Trying to suppress the growing sensation, I pushed my body weight onto the web slinger, forcing him back onto my bed. I laid on top of his as our kisses became primal; Saliva, teeth clashing, and a whole lot of tongue. This way by far, the best kiss I have ever had. I couldn’t believe the bug has never kissed anyone else before, he was a true natural at it. I squealed when he flipped us over, the mattress heaving underneath us. His weight on top of me made the feeling inside of me even stronger but I wasn’t about to let my urges get in the way of this special moment I was sharing with New York’s favourite spider.

But the next thing I knew, his lips were gone, the glorious weight on my front gone as well. I opened my eyes to see him sitting at the foot of the bed. How’d he get there so fast?…Wait a second, never mind. I sat up and crawled closer to him, swinging my legs over the edge to mirror his appearance.

“What’s wrong?” I implored, taking his face between my hands. He was giving me that strange look again. He brought his hands up and brushed my touch away like it was nothing, like I was nothing. This pulled at my heart strings. What did I do? Did I hurt him? “Look, Y/N,” he traced his fingers up and down my arm before falling away. “I really like you…but I can’t be with you. This isn’t gonna work. I’m not good for you.” he concluded. Whoa, where did that come from?

“You like me?” I whispered. My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe it. He snickered and shook his head. “Of course I like you, Y/N. Who in the right mind wouldn’t?” he admitted, standing up and slowly pacing in front of me. “But I can’t be with you, as much as I wish I could. We wouldn’t work. I can’t be with you.” he finished, making his way towards the window. I looked down at my hands in my lap, they were shaking. What does he mean he can’t be with me? Can he learn to elaborate? All at once, my emotions came up to the surface; All the confusion, the joy, the anger, the happiness I felt around him, the times he annoyed the shit out of me, all of it just started to bubble over before I could even think of holding myself back.

“What, so you think you can just come into my apartment, suck face with me for a few minutes and try tell me it didn’t mean anything? How about all those times I was cleaning your wounds, taking care of you when you were hurt? Did that mean anything to you? I was giving you shelter and now, you’re hurting me! What did I do? How can I be with someone I don’t even know? Tell me everything you’re thinking.” I shrieked and pleaded like a crazed lady. My mind was set on overdrive, I felt like I was going to explode. Spider-Man turned back around from the window and rubbed his masked face with his hands. “All of it…meant everything to me. Just trust me, Y/N, you would get hurt because of me. If anyone found out who you were, they would come after you, and…” 

He sniffled and covered his face with his hands, before turning around and repositioning himself in front of the window, getting ready to leave. “…I’d never be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you because of me. I would be the one that ultimately hurts you. Think of this as my way of keeping you safe.” He grasped the frame of the window. “That kiss was amazing. I’m never gonna forget the feeling of you against me, like we were the only two people in the world…I’m sorry, Y/N.” And before I even had a chance to respond, he threw himself out the window, silvery webs shooting out of his wrists attached themselves to street posts and buildings. The darkness swallowed him right up as I registered his words. 

“I really like you…but I can’t be with you.”

“I’m not good for you.”

“Think of this as my way of keeping you safe.”

“…the only two people in the world.”

I was in a trance, staring out the window like a mannequin, my eyes outlining the areas Spider-Man sliced through to continue his patrolling, away from me. I didn’t know how hurt I was feeling until I shut my window tight, more paint chips floating down to the carpet. A single tear escaped my eye and I just let it be because what I didn’t know ended up killing me. I had feelings for Spider-Man; The guy who works along side Tony Stark, swings around like a monkey in a multimillion dollar suit, makes funny facial expressions through his mask, but who still chose my window, who still chose me. Out of every girl in all of Queens, Spider-Man came knocking on my window. I didn’t know if this was goodbye or what but I can say without a doubt, that I wasn’t gonna get any sleep tonight because who can fall asleep with a broken heart?

i’m thinking this needs a part 2, what do you guys think? let me know if you would like a second part!

fun fact, i was literally wearing the exact same pjs that were described as i wrote this lol

[justauthoring]

Your Fault

Anonymous Request: could you do a richie x reader one where the reader has an abusive boyfriend and richie helps her get away from that? love your stuff! + hiiiii can i please request some richie angst? thank you 💘

Pairing: Richie x Reader

Warnings: abuse, just a dude being a douche.

A/N: I got a bit carried away... ALSO! The reader and Richie are four years older, so seventeen and in highschool to make the story more appropriate I guess?

When you felt a hand grab your wrist, you were more than shocked. You’d only left class to get a quick drink of water when you were suddenly pulled into a empty classroom and pressed up against a wall. 

You gasped, letting out a small yelp as your back gently smacked against the wall behind you. For a moment, you couldn’t think straight, baffled by what had just happened. Then your eyes focused on the figure before you and you found him. With his curly hair, all messed up so some strands fell into his eyes and his lanky figure towering over your own.

“Richie?”

Said boy did nothing, and you frowned, struggling in his grasp. Held back by your shoulders, Richie glared down at you. “Richie what the hell? Let me go! I have to go to class!”

“Why do you let him?” Richie suddenly asked, and your struggled seized with confusion. Slumping slightly, you frowned up at the boy. “What?”

Richie said nothing more and you could swear you’ve never seen the usually happy boy so serious. You haven’t talked to him in a long time, with everything that’s been going on, but you still remembered what he’d been like. And the serious boy before you seemed nothing like Richie.

He answered question by letting go of your shoulders and grasping your arms, pulling up the sleeves of your hoody to reveal bruised arms. You let out another grasp, staring at the progressively worsening bruises for a moment before ripping your arms from the boys grasp and pulling down your sleeves. Embarrassed and angry, you tried to push past Richie. “Get out of my way.” 

“No.” Richie refused, grabbing your arms once again and trapping you against the wall with his body. You felt your cheeks grow warm, staring up at the boy in shock. “Not until you tell me why you let that asshat do this to you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You feigned obliviousness, fingering the end of your sleeves in discomfort. You and Richie both knew you were lying, you’d been lying to yourself for a long time. Telling yourself that he loved you, that you deserved this and that it was your fault. “It doesn’t even hurt, Richie. And it’s none of your business, so stay out of it.”

The boy pinched your arm slightly and you let out a moan of pain as he hit a fresh bruise. You cursed yourself mentally, knowing he’d just caught you red-handed. “Doesn’t hurt, huh?” Richie questioned and as you gazed back at him nervously, you watched his eyes soften considerably as he frowned in thought. “And it is my business, you’re my business...” 

You said nothing in return, only huddled into yourself further in shame. It was your fault. All your fault.

“Why?” Richie repeated. “Why do you let him? I’m positive that those aren’t the only marks he’s left on you and I just-fuck! I just don’t understand.”

“It’s my fault.” You whispered, pulling Richie into his own selfish tantrum.

“What?”

“It’s my fault.” You repeated, finally gazing up at your old friend with tearful eyes. “I deserve it.” You repeated the words almost like a speech, like you’d rehearsed those exact words many times before. And it was true, anytime he hit you because you spoke out of line, you said those same words. Or anytime he pushed you because you frustrated him, you said them.

It wasn’t right. Not at all. But it was what was engrained in your mind.

Richie felt himself stuck, not quite believing the words he was hearing. Time and time again he’d seen you be shoved and pushed in the hallways or when he was walking home. He could still remember the day he’d asked you out, how you came running to everyone in excitement that your crush had finally asked you out.

Richie had ignored the pain that welled within him and smiled through the pain. He couldn’t remember exactly but he was sure he made some witty comment or something.

At first it was small, barely noticeable. Richie was flooded with the thought that you’d actually found someone and you were happy, but not with him. But then slowly you started distancing yourself from everyone and he suspected something was wrong. It wasn’t until he saw that asshole shoved you so you fell back on your butt in the middle of the hall, did Richie know something was wrong. He shouldn’t had waited as long as he did.

Richie should had confronted you a long time ago. But selfishly, he’d been scared.

It wasn’t until you started coming to school with pants and long sleeved shirts everyday did Richie decide to do something. Way he remembered you was vibrant, bright colours and you wore whatever you wanted. Now when Richie stared at you he saw tired eyes, makeup to cover the bruises and dark long clothing items.

He hated it.

Though all this time, Richie would’ve never thought you’d say it was your fault.

It wasn’t.

Seeing the girl he cared for more than anyone else in so much pain in front of him, made his own heart hurt. Richie wasn’t the best with emotions, but he knew he had to do something.

Taking your head into his hands, he pulled your watery eyes on him. “Y/N, it isn’t your fault. No matter what the dick says, it isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Richie interrupted, holding onto you tightly. “I’m going to help you okay? But you have to let me.”

You trusted Richie, so slowly, you nodded. “Okay.”

Richie let go of your face and moved to grasp your hand, opening the door slightly and peering around the corners for any teachers. When he saw none, he nodded back at you and begun leading you out of the room when you suddenly stopped. “I’m- I’m supposed to meet him after school... if he finds out that we-”

“You’re not meeting up with him after school.”

Your eyes widened; “what? Richie if i don’t he’ll hurt me!”

Turning to you, Richie leaned down so he could speak to you easier. “He’s not going to lay a fucking hand on you again, ever. You’re gonna stay by my side all day and i’ll walk you home.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. You ignored the sinking feeling in your stomach.

And Richie stayed true to his word. All day he walked you to every class and stayed by your side during lunch, you even managed to catch up with some of the losers a bit. You weren’t quite yourself, still the shell that he’d made you but eventually you felt yourself reminded of what had been. Richie helped remind you that you didn’t deserve what had happened to you.

It wasn’t until the end of the day did you see him. 

Unfortunately, you and Richie had separate classes last period. And it didn’t help that his class was all the way on the other side of the school. But you listened to his advice, waiting by the back of the school for him. You were more than nervous, your eyes darting every which way ever second in fear that he’d walk around the corner.

Eventually five minutes passed and you felt heart race in anticipation.

“Y/N!”

Then suddenly, it was like the whole world was collapsing on top of your shoulders.

You felt like you were going to puke as you turned to find him. Your boyfriend. “Y-Y/B/N.” 

“Where the hell have you been?” He asked and you flinched at the anger behind his voice. Your gaze darted behind you, trying to see if Richie was here, but he wasn’t. “And why the fuck did I see you with the idiot during lunch?”

“I-I-” You stumbled for an answer, your whole body shaking. You knew that you were in deep shit, Y/B/N would never let this go. “He’s um- just my partner for a project! And we-”

“I don’t care.” He answered, finally reaching you. You winced as he grabbed ahold of your wrist, the bruise already there stinging heavily as he begun pulling you. “Come on, we’re heading to my house.”

You don’t know what possessed you to say it, maybe it was Richie and the truth he’d shown you today. The fact that this didn’t need to be your life. “No.” You grounded out, pulling back on his lead. Y/B/N turned around, and his face held no emotion. You felt your chest spike with fear, taking a step back as the taller boy descended upon you.

“Y/B/N...”

“What did you just say?”

“No.” You repeated, your voice lacking all the confidence he had held. “N-No, i’m not going with you.”

You felt your cheek burn in pain, your head snapping to the left as your cheek rang with pain. Holding the offended skin, you peered over at the angry boy before you. He took another step towards you and you whimpered in terror; “don’t ever-”

“Hey!” Your eyes widened, and almost immediately you let go of your cheek, your hand still in Y/B/N grasp. Turning around, you found just who you were looking for. “Get the hell away from her.”

“Richie!”

Y/B/N let go of you and stepped in front of you, hiding you behind him as Richie reached you. “Oh look, it’s the fucking nerd.”

“Come up with a better insult, asshole.” Richie spat, reeling his fist back and shooting it forward. You winced as his clenched fist connected with the taller boys cheek, making a loud sickly smacking sound. Your boyfriend stumbled back, tripping over his own feet as you stared down at him in shock. “Y/N!” You heard a distant voice and then a much gentler hand grasped your own, “come on!”

It was like you were pulled back into reality, running with Richie as you heard Y/B/N yell insult after insult.

“Hop on.” Richie said, scooting forward on his bike. You hesitated, glancing back behind you to see your boyfriend growing closer. Nodding, you hop on the bike behind Richie, and you had half a mind to realize the seventeen year old boy still rode a bike. 

Richie kept peddling and didn’t stop until he finally reached your house, you knew that Y/B/N wouldn’t follow you here see as your dad already hated him enough. Slowly, you climbed off of Richie’s bike, fiddling with the hem of your sweater in anxiety.

Then Richie’s hand fell on your assaulted cheek, softly rubbing it with his thumb. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Fuck, i’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d-”

You interrupted the boy by pressing a kiss against his cheek. Leaning back, you smiled lightly at him. “Thank you.” You waved, moving around to walk to your house.

“O-Oh! Yeah, no problem!” Richie exclaimed, turning to wave at you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You turned back, nodding the boys way. “Definitely.”

You knew you’d see Y/B/N tomorrow but despite everything you felt less and less of yourself caring as you stared at Richie with a faint smile. He’d keep you safe and hopefully, you’d learn how to become yourself again.

[chainsawbettyloo]

Title: There Will Always be Scars but I Will Never Let You Fall 

Pairing: SidLink 

Rating: Teen (for some descriptions of gore and scarring)

Tags: tiny bit of gore, some angst, lotta fluff, protective sidon

Summary: Being the Hero of Hyrule comes with risks, risks come with scars and Link has more than his share. While he's more than proud of the physical trophies for survival, Sidon views them in a bit of a different, less positive light. After all, those scars are remnants of pain, blood and the near death of the one he cherishes the most...

A/N: -coughs loudly- heya @xfunfair! uh, I’m sorry this took so long! Thank you so much for your awesomely kind message! It really, really made me happy (not gonna lie - that’s an incredible comment and it just oh my gosh <3). Anywho! I hope you like this little drabble (hopefully, it’s along the lines of what you were thinking OTL)

Cross posted on my AO3 so if you’d like to read it there! Comments, reblogs, and kudos are muchly appreciated! Thank youuuuuuu

-

His body was marked by constellations of scars. Stretched, wrinkled pink skin spanned out along the length of his body - some in raised lines that the eye could easily catch and the fingers just as easily trace, while others were gorges, deep and wide, where it looked like chunks off flesh had been ripped off. A few were connected in meaningless, unintentional shapes. His mind wanted to make sense of them but they were sporadic, random, without any definition, purpose or story to put to them.

Sidon’s eyes roamed freely over the exposed body sitting easily in front of him. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of his calloused, tanned skin that didn’t support at least one indication of a healed wound. Some looked very old, a hundred years old, even, while others still had the shiny sheen of newly formed skin. The scars of a warrior, of someone who had practically been born with a sword in his hand, who had been born into a world where it was destined that he fight - not just for his home and family, but for the fate of the world itself.

It was a little comforting to find Link was confident enough to show them off. He couldn’t be certain if that was because Sidon was the only one viewing them or if he was just that unbothered by them. He kind of hoped it was the latter. The last thing he wanted was for his little Hylian to be ashamed of his body. In his mind, Link was gorgeous, scars and all.

Still, looking at those scars...if he were forced to tell the truth, he would have to admit that he was unsettled.

Link pointed to a particularly large scar on his chest, which was made up of three red, jagged stripes that extended from the top of his left pectoral down to just below his right nipple, “Bokoblin. Took me by surprise when I was scouting a tower. Took it down with one swing.”

There was a gleam of pride in Link’s blue eyes as he spoke. A small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, threatening to turn into a wide, show-off smile as he steadily went through the list of scars and explaining how each one was aquired. He really was a warrior through and through, Sidon thought with a mental chuckle. After all, these were his trophies. Some took a piece of their kill, others took the stories, the experience but there were those who viewed scars as their prizes, their rewards.

In the back of his mind, Sidon wondered distantly if there had ever been a time when Link hadn’t viewed his scars in such a way. Was there ever a point when his little Hylian had looked down at the nonsensical network of fiberous skin that spread over his body and had been seized with grief, anger or disgust? He made a mental note to ask Link at a later date but for now, he was content to listen attentively as he was walked through each scar.

Moving his hand up to his shoulder, he indicated to a circular dent in his skin, “Lynel arrow. Saw me from a mile away. Didn’t give me any time to react.”

“What did you do?”

“Ran,” Link chuckled, “Ran, ran, ran and ran some more. First one I ever saw after waking up. Scared me shitless.”

Sidon nodded understandingly - he had done the same when he had first encountered a Lynel. It had been just him on the far reaches of Lanaryu. He couldn’t remembered why he had been out there but he had stumbled across the beast on the very edge of a craggy shore. Luck had been in his favor that day. The Lynel had its back to him, which allowed him to slip away unseen. Given that the monster had been toting a plethora of electric arrows, he shuddered to think what might have become of him if he hadn’t managed to get away, “I’d imagine it would.”

“This one,” Link tapped a long thin line of raised pink on his stomach, “was an accident. Went down a hill too fast, ended up falling, didn’t see the rock sticking out of the ground, got sliced pretty bad.”

“And that one?” Sidon asked, pointing slightly to a large patch of puckered wrinkles on the left side of Link’s left arm.

“Fire chuchu.” Link responded lightly, holding his arm in front of his chest, elbow bent so Sidon could see better, “They explode when you kill them. I was standing too close. Flaming piece of goo flew at my face but I blocked it with this arm. Hurt like hell.”

“Burns always do. That one?” He gestured to a practically long, practically old looking scar on his chest that was underneath the three jagged ones caused by bokoblin claws. The tip was just below his protruding collarbone. Where the end was, he couldn’t tell since it slipped down below the hem of his loose pants.

The pride returned full force to Link’s tantalizing eyes. Practically beaming, he straightened his back and reverently said, “That’s the one that put me in the shrine of resurrection.”

Sidon felt his heart drop into his stomach. His mouth went dry and like a plague, it spread down into his throat, turning the sensitive membrane into a barren, desert wasteland. He swallowed hard in an attempt to alleviate the sensation, producing a hollow, clicking sound. That had been the wound that had nearly ended Link’s life. If it hadn’t been for Queen Zelda’s quick thinking, the Hero of Hyrule wouldn’t be sitting in front of him.

That thought alone was enough to make his breath run cold. A vivid image suddenly seized hold of his mind, ripping the air from his lungs. Link, bleeding heavily, lying prone on the grassy ground, surrounded by Guardians, dozens of brilliant red pinpricks of light focused on his still body. Those blue eyes that he adored so much, that were always so full of vibrant, energetic life were staring up at the rainy, grey sky - dull, unseeing and empty. Across his chest was a large, gaping wound. Between the torn shreds of skin, he could clearly see the cracked white of his breastbone. From the bottom of the wound protruded what looked disturbingly looked like intestines, and he thought that that was what it had to be.

“Sidon?” Link’s worried voice called, breaking through the vision and pulling back to reality.

Jolting lightly, his heart jumping hard, Sidon coughed hard, gasped then dragged in a grating gasp of air. Looking up, he found Link staring at him, his eyes wide and concerned. Shifting forward onto his knees, he crawled towards Sidon, holding out one small hand to gently caress his smooth, scaly cheek. Leaning down, the Zora Prince pressed a gentle kiss onto the center of Link’s forehead, reaching forward at the same time to encircle the Hylian in his arms. Tugging him close, he squeezed him tightly to his chest. Breathing in deeply, he pulled in Link’s lovely scent, immediately feeling himself calming down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Link said softly, guilt lacing his voice.

Sidon slowly shook his head, “You didn’t, my pearl. I promise you didn’t.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

He paused for a moment, then said, “I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt. Each one of these scars…they’re evidence that something, someone somewhere once tried to kill you, to hurt you and that...that’s a thought I cannot bear. Looking at the scar on your chest, the one you received 100 years ago and thinking about how that almost ended your life, I was struck by how much that thought alone terrified me.”

Stroking the pads of his fingertips up and down Link’s bony spine, adoring the sensation of his skin against his own, loving every single bump of his spine, he whispered, “Your scars, they’re evidence that you have survived but at the same time, they’re remnants of pain, blood, and fear. They offer comfort in that you are still here, that all you have is scars but at the same time, they are all connected to the one of the things I wish will never, ever happen to you.”

“Why didn’t you say something, then?” Link chastised him gently, leaning back to look up at him from underneath furrowed brows. “I understand why they would be upsetting. You don’t have to force yourself to look.”

“They’re a part of you.” Sidon responded simply, lightly shrugging. “I won’t deny or ignore them just because of how you got them upsets me. That wouldn’t be fair to you or me.”

“Still, you could have said something. I would have eased into it, instead of just shoving them into your face.” Link said, turning to reach behind him. He snagged his discarded shirt, tugged it towards him with the obvious intent to put it back on but Sidon caught his arm, stopping him.

“Would you allow me to do something, then? Something to alleviate this feeling of discomfort?”

“Of course.” Link responded easily, letting go of his shirt. Turning back, he smiled sweetly up at Sidon, “Anything you want.”

“Can you lie down on your back?”

Instead of responding, Link just quietly did so. Gracefully flopping onto his back, he stretched his arms upwards, providing Sidon with the tantalizing shown of the muscles in his stomach and chest tensing underneath the tanned skin before relaxing once more, and sighed softly. For a few tense moments, his eyes could only focus on that scar. Inside his chest, his heart twisted in pain. Again, that image of Link lying frozen on the ground, dead or about to be, flashed in front of his eyes. He quickly snapped them shut, took a deep breath, let it out slowly before opening them once again.

Link was right there, right in front of him. Worried blue eyes gazed up at him, delicate eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. He could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Such a small, minute movement and yet, it filled him with comfort. Reaching forward, ignoring the look of concern that was on his little Hylian’s face once again, he settled his large hand on the center of Link’s chest. The first sensation was warmth, followed by the lovely smoothness of his skin then he felt it: the steady, rhythmic beat of the vital organ hidden deep inside a cage of muscle and bone.

There were scars, there would always be scars but as long as this heart was still beating, as long as his chest still rose and feel with the art of breathing, as long as those eyes never lost their vibrancy, he would be alright.

“Sidon?” Link asked softly, his voice low and cautious.

With a startled jerk, he quickly realized that he had just been staring vacantly down at Link. Laughing sheepishly, he hung his head slightly before saying, “I really love you. You know that, right?”

“Course,” Link replied, wrapping his small, slender fingers around Sidon’s much larger ones, “I love you too.”

“I’m glad.” Sidon replied softly, a warm smile on his face.

Slipping his hand away, he leaned down to Link’s now fully exposed chest and gently placed a kiss at the top of the long, winding scar that his little Hylian had been marked with over a hundred years ago. Opening his mouth, he sucked lightly on the skin, carefully making sure that his teeth didn’t cause any more scars to be formed. The taste of Link’s skin spread along his tongue - salty, sweet and with a unique undertone that he could confidently say was special to his little pearl.

Link shivered slightly underneath his ministrations. Small, warm hands settled on the back of his head, stroking the fin lazily. He slowly worked his way down, kissing and sucking on every inch of the scar, intent on covering the entire thing in a loving sheen of spit. Glancing up, he discovered Link had lightly closed his eyes. A pleasant tinge of pink dusted his tanned cheeks and there was a small, content smile on his face.

Once he reached the top of Link’s trousers, he pushed his thumb underneath them and pushed them down without hesitation. The scar didn’t go that much further, only a little ways below where his bellybutton sat on his stomach. He settled his lips against the bottom of the scar, breathing out slowly through his nose. Link shivered once more as the warm breeze of breath brushed across the delicate skin of his underbelly.

Leaning back, satisfied with the amount of kissing coverage on that scar, Sidon quickly set about giving the over scars the same treatment. First was the three jagged ones caused by a bokobolin’s claws. He carefully traced each misshapen line with the shape of his lips, ensuring not an inch was left uncovered. Following that was the accidental scar on his stomach. That one took a little longer as the moment he started kissing, Link flew into a laughing fit, coughing out that it was ticklish. Sidon tucked that information in the back of his mind for a another day, quickly pecked across the scar’s length before moving up to the Hylian’s shoulder to lovingly smooch the raised pink caused by a Lynel’s arrow.

Last was the burn scars. He picked up Link’s arm, smoothed the tips of his fingers along the wrinkled, fibrous flesh and repeated the same process. Every single inch, every bump, dip and line was covered by his mouth until he was satisfied. On, on, on and on he went until every scar he could see was kissed by his lips. When he was finished, he leaned back, surveying the network of scars spread out in front of him. He would be lying if he said that he was no longer bothered - there was an understanding deep inside of him that knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Link’s scars were always going to be a little upsetting - but he could say that he felt a little more at peace. It would probably take a few more sessions of kiss placement before he felt completely okay and he was sure Link wouldn’t mind that.

“Better?” Link asked softly.

Sidon looked up at him, smiling broadly. Link’s entire face was a bright shade of red now, and the flush had spread all the way down his body. Sweat dotted in little beads on his forehead. The breath moving in and out from between his half parted lips was a little erratic, a little fast but still held mostly under control.

“Yes, thank you, Link.” Sidon whispered.

He reached up, took Link’s hot cheeks in his hands and leaned down to press a soft kiss against his mouth. His little Hylian’s arms wound around his neck, tugging his closer while, at the same time, rising him up so he could press more firmly against Sidon. Sweetness spread like wildfire throughout his mouth, sending a heavy bolt of shivering pleasure down his spine. Link’s lips were so soft, so delicious, he could never get enough of them. The rest of his life could be spent doing nothing but kissing him - not just on the mouth, but all over - and he would be in bliss.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Link suddenly breathed, “You know that right?”

Sidon pulled back slowly, away from the warmth and softness of Link’s mouth. He gazed down quietly at his little Hylian’s, his eyes roaming over the lines and curves of his handsome face. Stroking the pad of his thumb against his hot cheek, he smiled. He knew, but it was nice, all the same, to hear those words coming from his beloved little pearl. They would be together, always together, until time itself separated them. Even then, there would be a reunion awaiting them. A time when they both passed beyond this world, into the next, where they would fall into each other's arms. But, until then...there was nothing in this world, no force powerful or strong enough, that would end this.

“You aren’t...because I’ll never let you go. I won't allow anyone or anything to take you away from me. You're mine,” Sidon leaned down to press a warm, firm kiss against Link's lips, "and I am yours. Forever."

"Forever." Link whispered in return, the expression on his face one of stony seriousness. Reaching up, he gently stroked the backs of his fingers against Sidon's smooth, scaly cheek, staring up steadily into his golden eyes, "Don't you ever leave me behind either. You're just as stupidly reckless as I am. You just don't have the scars to show it. If you leave me, if you run off and get yourself killed-"

"I won't," Sidon responded firmly, "I promise you. I won't."

Link continued to gaze up at him quietly for a few moments before smiling slightly, "I'll hold you to that."

Returning the smile, Sidon kissed the tip of Link's nose, adoring the little laugh that earned him, and said, "Please do, my pearl."

[mapleleafstrash]

Offbeat (Part Four) - Auston Matthews

A/N: Here you go! Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy!! :)

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Auston Matthews (Feat. Connor Brown, Morgan Rielly, William Nylander, Zach Hyman, Mitch Marner, and Kasperi Kapanen)

Words: 4,402

Warnings: Language

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven]

It was a restless night.

You woke up about ever hour, either due to your discomfort, or because of your rampant running mind. It was a hot night in the cottage, and you knew based on your lack of clothing and sheets that you probably weren't the only one struggling to get comfortable. Connor would no doubt be turning on the proper air conditioning system in the morning. But besides the sticky humidity in your bedroom, you couldn't help but stare at the wall that connected to the room that held Auston, Morgan, and William.

You had no idea what was going on between you and Auston, but one thing was for sure, you didn't like it. You'd never once been uncomfortable around him, but now, it felt like you were walking on egg shells. You blamed him for the most part. After all, it had been his intrusive behaviour that had started all this. But you didn't know how to approach the situation. Did you just talk to him like always? Or, did you just hope it would all blow over? Time would tell.

Around five thirty, you decided to give up. Rather than try to get back to sleep, you instead got dressed into your board shorts and bathing suit top, and pulled on a large hoodie over top. You had planned to head back out to the marina to go to the boat dealership to purchase a new turbine for the seadoo.

Grabbing the keys for the boat that were hung up by the deck's sliding door, and making sure to take your phone and wallet, you slipped into your sandals and headed outside towards the lake. Walking down the hill, you carefully watched your steps due to the sun just beginning to rise. The sounds of birds and the surrounding wildlife brought a calming aura, and you relished the moment of absolute peace.

Once you got to the boat house, you opened the large bay door before hoping into Connor's boat. Turning the ignition on, you slowly exited the structure, and headed around to the open bay. Just as you were about to take off, you jumped in surprise when you noticed a sleepy looking Auston Matthews laying on the end of the dock.

Raising an eyebrow, you pulled up along side the dock and stared towards the Arizona native. Obviously hearing the boats engine, Auston had turned his attention towards you. Pulling out his earbud and sitting up slightly, Auston's brown eyes looked towards you inquisitively.

"I didn't think you were a morning person Y/N," he spoke, and you scoffed, "I could say the same thing about you,"

"Couldn't sleep," Auston then answered blandly, as he reached into his pocket to grab his phone, effectively shutting his music off.

You nodded in understanding, before belooking away and out into the vast lake. The shop would open at six thirty, giving you just enough time to drive on over to the marina to get there first. Pursing his lips, Auston sighed, and shook his hair, "going somewhere?"

"Machine shop," you replied shortly, "I need to get the turbine,"

"Don't you need to take the whole thing in?" Auston then asked, referring to Connor's damaged seadoo and looking towards you in confusion.

You shrugged, "I can fix it myself, it won't be too hard,"

Eyes widening slightly, Auston quickly covered his surprise by once again playing coy. "I see," he nodded, as he pulled his left leg back and stood up, stuffing his hands into his short pockets.

"Did you want to come?" you then asked, cocking your head to the side and firming your lips.

"I've got nothing better to do," Auston then shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

"Well I'm leaving, so it's now or never," you declared, raising your eyebrows challengingly.

Auston sighed, before crouching down and gripping the side of the boat with his large hands. Stepping over, Auston landed solidly down into the vessel and you then turned away, pulling the throttle and whisking the two of you off towards the marina.

The twenty-minute ride to the lake's biggest market was quiet. You kept your head positioned forward, staring out into the dark water as the sun began rising. It almost looked as if the water was sparkling, as it shined in all its mystifying glory.

You didn't dare let your eyes wonder to the man sitting only feet next to you. You could feel Auston's burning gaze lingering on your figure, but you just couldn't bring yourself to look back.

Not that you were playing cold, you just didn't want to give him any more power then he already held over you. Even though the past twenty-four hours had been rocky between the two of you, you weren't exactly sure if this was the right time to discuss what had transpired. It was early and you were both tired. That's not a good combo for a heated discussion.

But Auston wasn't having it.

"Are you even going to talk to me?" He suddenly questioned, breaking the silence while his voice dripped with malice.

Sighing, your eyes shifted to your left and you stared towards Auston. Raising an eyebrow, you scoffed, "Are you? Now you want to talk? Yeah, okay Auston,"

"Y/N," Auston groaned, snapping his head back in aggravation.

"Hey, you started this, you were the one who got all weird," you defended, rolling your eyes as you concentrated back onto the lake.

"I did not get weird," Auston bit back and you laughed in disbelief.

"Then what would you call yesterday? Huh? Because I would love to know," you spoke, causing Auston to roll his eyes and cross his arms.

"What did you expect me to do?" He questioned and you opened your mouth in shock, "I don't know, slam the door shut and pretend it never happened. Not come in and friggin' undress me with your eyes!" you snapped.

Auston smirked at that, causing your blood to boil, "well you had already taken care of that yourself,"

"Auston!" You shrieked, "this isn't funny!"

He then sighed, "fine, you're right. But, I don't know, okay? It just happened. I guess, I just, I'd never really seen you like that before and I just-"

He then paused, and you raised your eyebrow. So, it was just a joke, you were just something for him to gawk at. You knew it. Crossing your arms, your stomach sunk and you suddenly felt ill. You were just a joke to him. Of course you were. You had suspected correctly.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but he closed it just as fast, causing you to become frustrated, "Just what?"

"You looked nice okay!" he finally fired out before turning away and crossing his arms.

You blinked.

Nice? You looked, nice?

You were dumbfounded, "yeah, okay. Sure, I looked so nice wearing nothing and looking like a drowned rat," you muttered, feeling more hurt. He didn't have to lie.

Auston sighed, and looked towards you, sympathy etched across his features. "Maybe that wasn't the right word, but, you looked different Y/N. A good different. I just, I'd never seen you look so, vulnerable. You looked, and I don't mean any offence to this, but you looked like a girl, and I saw you in a way that I'd never seen you before, and I mean that in the nicest way possible."

Nodding, you allowed his words to sink into you.

"I mean, I've always seen you as just one of the guys, but now,"

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes. You weren't sure if you actually wanted to hear him now. You feared the worst possible situation, which was his opinion changing of you. You didn't want to lose him as a friend, even if it meant never having a chance in hell with him. You'd rather be his friend then nothing. Once again, your insecurities had overruled.

Tightening your grip on the boats wheel, you sighed, "It's fine Auston," you finally spoke, "you don't have to explain,"

Auston sighed, and looked away yet again. He felt guilt swirling within him. He wanted to tell you, confess to you how beautiful he had thought you looked. With your exposed skin glistening, and your bright Y/E/C eyes staring back at him wide. Oh, how he had wished the small white towel you had been clutching so tightly had disappeared completely. He wanted to say how had been entranced by your hour-glass shaped body; your hips curving in and out to reveal your feminine figure. How he had noticed your long legs, showing off your flawless pale skin. How he had just caught a glimpse of your pert breasts. How for the first time, he had seen you as a woman, a gorgeous one at that.

But he didn't. He couldn't. He was afraid, embarrassed even. He wasn't supposed to see you like that. To him, you had always been Y/N, Connor Brown's best friend. But now, he was viewing you as something else completely. He felt almost remorseful for suddenly finding you attractive. Not only did he feel like he was disrespecting Connor, but he felt as if he was disrespecting you. Which was why he had tried to back off.

But you were different then any other girl Auston had been with. You were bigger, sure. But he liked that. He liked how you were unique, and he liked how your body enveloped that of a curvy feminine figure. He almost berated himself for not seeing you like this sooner. But you had never shown your body off in front of him before, and as much as Auston wanted to forget about seeing you exposed, he just couldn't.

Once you pulled up to the marina, you shut the engine off and made sure to tie the three ropes up tightly against the dock. You didn't want another replay of yesterday all over again. Auston rolled his eyes at that, but silently understood.

Hopping off the boat, you didn't wait for Auston, and took off towards the small machine shop that was across the way. Hearing his heavy footsteps increase quickly off the wooden dock, Auston caught up with you, and fell into line with you, the both of you walking side by side.

A small bell rang when you pushed the shops door open, causing the young worker standing behind the counter to look up, mild surprise appearing on his face due to it being so early. Walking forward, you leaned up against the counter while Auston stood stagnant behind you, surveying the small shop in curiosity.

"Y/N?" the worker asked as he blinked, wonder evident in his voice.

Narrowing your eyes, you then smiled in realization once you recognized the man standing across from you, "Toby? Wow it's been a while,"

That caught Auston's attention, as he suddenly stood up next to you.

"I'd say, it's been what? Five years?" he questioned and you nodded, "something like that,"

You'd known Toby since you were about thirteen years old. His family used to own one of the cottages across the bay from Connor's, so you often hung out with him over the summers. He was a year younger then yourself, but you had always gotten along fine.

"You back up here with Connor?" Toby inquired, trying to make light conversation.

"Yeah, he brought a lot of our friends up for the long weekend," you explained.

Toby smiled, "that sounds cool."

"Yeah, this is Auston, one of Connor's teammates," you then said, motioning towards the stoic man standing next to you.

Toby's eyes widened slightly in realization, "Auston Matthews, wow, I'm a big fan. What you did this year was absolutely sick man,"

Auston nodded, pursing his lips and you rolled your eyes at his rudeness.

"Pardon Miss. Manners here, he's a bit grumpy in the mornings," you joked, causing Auston to send you a look and Toby to chuckle, "It's fine. Totally understandable. So, what brings you in here today?" he then asked, looking between both you and Auston.

"I need a turbine for one of Connor's seadoo's. It's the Zx9 turbo I believe, it's a 2012," you explained, and toby nodded, "the purple one, right?"

"That's the one," you smiled, glad to know he knew what you were talking about.

"Wasn't that the one you always drove?" Toby asked in amusement.

You sighed, "yeah, it may have hit a rock going around Peter's Point yesterday," you chuckled awkwardly, shifting on your feet.

"It did? Or you did?" he questioned, sending you a smirk.

"I did actually," Auston then spoke up, crossing his arms.

"Oh," Toby muttered, nodding slightly.

"So, did you bring it with you, or?" Toby asked, referring to the seadoo.

"Nah, I'm going to spend the morning working on it," you explained, causing Toby to smile as he typed the part number into his computer.

"You always were good with that type of stuff," he mused, before he turned and walked out from behind the desk, and towards the back wall of the shop. Walking with him, Toby grabbed a small step stool and reached up to grab the turbine, which was wrapped in a plastic bag.

"This should fit," Toby then spoke, handing you the bag. "It's from the 2013 model since we only carry five years back, but it shouldn't make a difference,"

"Thanks," you grinned, as you followed him back to pay.

Scanning the bar code, Toby typed a bit more on the key board before he looked back up towards you. "Alright, did you need anything else with that?"

You shook you head and he nodded. "Alrighty, that's going to be three hundred and thirty-five dollars,"

Your stomach lurched and your eyes widened slightly. You knew it wasn't necessarily going to be cheap but you didn't think it was going to be that expensive. Sighing, you pulled your debit card out from your pocket, signalling for the interac machine.

Placing it down, Toby pressed the proper buttons to ring up the price, but before you could insert your card, Auston had beat you to it.

"Auston," you complained, giving him a look.

"I'll pay for it, I did it, remember?" he then spoke, as he inserted his credit card and punched in his pin.

"But I said I'd fix it," you gritted out, causing Auston to roll his eyes, "Y/N, you have school to pay for and rent, I'm not worried about this,"

Sighing, you crossed your arms and looked away. You noticed Auston smirk slightly due to him getting his way.

Passing him the receipt, Toby and you said your goodbye's, with him promising to shoot you a facebook message to plan a day where you both could hang out to catch up. Sending him a smile with a nod of agreement, you then followed Auston out of the shop and back down to the docks.

"I'll find a way to pay you back," you suddenly spoke, as you made your way back to the boat.

Auston sighed, "I already told you, I'm not worried about it Y/N, besides this is all my fault anyways,"

"Well, did you maybe want to grab some coffee or something? My treat?" you suggested, wanting to at least pay him back somehow. Auston pursed his lips and you gave him a bright smile, hoping to guilt him into it.

He groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. You could tell he was over tired, but he was doing his best not to get overly grumpy with you. “Fine,” he muttered, giving in.

You grinned, and reached around to give Auston a quick hug. With your arms wrapped around his waist, you pulled away before Auston had the chance to realize what had just happened. Taking the turbine from him, you jogged down the dock and placed the part safely into the boat before you made you way back. Grabbing his wrist, you pulled Auston along with you, as you made your way into the small café that was next to the Marina's well-known restaurant.

Walking in, your stomach immediately growled in hunger from the smell of the fresh pastries. Staring at the large food case, your mouth watered as you stared towards the croissants and muffins. An older lady smiled and sent you a warm greeting from behind the counter before she made her way to her cash register, ready to take your order.

"I'll have an iced caramel latte, and one of your chocolate croissants please," you requested, and the woman nodded, punching your order in.

Auston pursed his lips and placed his hand under his chin as he looked towards the menu. Laughing on the inside as you and the lady both waited for him, you sent him a smirk. Sighing, Auston shook his head, "I'll have a blueberry muffin, and a, umm,"

"He'll have an iced americano, light cream, and two honeys," you spoke for him, causing him to look towards you in surprise. The woman giggled and nodded, punching Auston's order in as well.

"That'll be eleven forty-nine," she said and you pulled your debit card out once again, and flashed it towards her, before you tapped the machine to pay.

As you stood on the end of the bar and waited for your drinks, Auston leaned up against the counter next to you. Pulling out small pieces of his muffin from it's pastry bag, Auston munched away, obviously feeling hungry.

"So, how'd you know that was my regular?" Auston questioned, and you smiled slightly, turning towards him.

"You didn't think I'd remember that? How many times have we gotten coffee together?" you laughed, shaking your head at him. Auston's lips just curved upwards, accepting your answer.

"There you go," the café attendant spoke, as she set your two iced drinks down onto the counter-top.

"Thank you, have a nice day," you said, flashing her a smile as you grabbed your coffee's and handed Auston his, before you headed back outside.

The ride back to the cottage was much more relaxed this time around. The awkwardness between you and Auston had seemed to diminish greatly. You felt much more comfortable in his presence and you both chatted lightly on your way back. You were relieved to say the least. You were just glad the both of you were back on track.

When you got back, Auston helped you dock the boat, and you taught him how to properly knot the ropes. He seemed to appreciate the lesson and was happy to contribute, even if it was just in a small way. Once you boarded the dock, you grabbed the turbine and walked down towards the damaged purple seadoo. Placing the part down, you headed back to the boat house to grab some tools, including a wrench, a screwdriver and a few bolts.

"did you need help?" Auston questioned, once you returned.

You shrugged, "it's fine, it'll just take me a bit. But thanks anyways," you said, sending him a grateful smile.

"Alright, well I think I'm going to try and take a nap or something, I can't believe it's only after eight," Auston sighed, stifling a yawn.

"No worries, I'll see you later," you spoke, "and thanks again for the help, I really appreciate it," you reminded, thanking him again for paying for the turbine.

Auston nodded with a small smile. He then surprised you by pulling you into a side hug. "It's fine Y/N, just be careful," Auston said, referring to your repair job. Returning his hug, you nodded and squeezed him back with your right arm, before he pulled away and made his way back up to the cottage.

Around an hour later, you were still on the dock, but you were laying off the edge. With the back of the seadoo perched up in the air, you had finally gotten the broken turbine off the machine. Sighing, you leaned back fully and stared up at the blue sky. It had been much more difficult then you had expected it to be.

Your blue-sky view was suddenly covered when the face of Morgan Rielly appeared over you. Cocking an eyebrow, your close friend looked down towards you questionably, "rough go?"

You snorted, "what's up Morgan?" you asked, as you sat up properly and he shrugged before taking a seat next to you.

"I just wanted to see what you were up to," Morgan said, and you nodded.

"Everyone else is asleep, aren't they?" you then asked, smirking towards him and he laughed, "fine, you caught me. And no, not everyone is asleep, the activities of a certain couple in the room next to ours woke me up to be honest,"

You scrunched your nose in distaste, "ew,"

"Yeah, ew," Morgan chuckled, shaking his head.

"Auston's asleep?" you asked, and Morgan nodded, before giving me a knowing look, "yes, lover boy is passed out like a baby,"

You scoffed, before shoving him slightly, "he came out early with me this morning, so I was just wondering if he actually fell asleep," you explained and Morgan nodded unconvinced, "yeah, yeah, sure, sure,"

Sighing, you rolled your eyes. Morgan just chuckled to himself, as he looked towards you. "What?" you asked, sending him a look.

Morgan smirked, "oh nothing, you're just glowing, that's all,"

"Glowing?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm assuming you patched things up with Auston, because you haven't been this peppy the entire time we've been here," Morgan explained.

"We're better," you said, before leaning up and moving back towards the seadoo, wanting to avoid the subject.

"That's good," Morgan said, shuffling up towards you.

You nodded, as you grabbed the new turbine and placed it onto the seadoo's motor. Hand starting the bolts, you then grabbed the wrench and began turning them into place. As you finished up, you stood and reached your arms up to stretch.

"Want to help me get it back into the water?" you asked, and Morgan obliged, standing up beside you to help you lower the machine back down into the lake. Once you got it in, you grabbed the scattered tools, along with the old turbine and took them into the boat house. Reappearing, you held the seadoo's keys in your hand as you stepped onto the newly repaired machine.

"I'm just going to take it for a test drive," you told Morgan, who nodded towards you. "Don't worry, I'll come get you if something happens,"

You grinned and chuckled, as you started the motor up, "why thank you Morgan,"

Looking back, you sighed with relief, "Well there's no black smoke," you observed, as you stared at the engine. Morgan nodded in agreement, and ushered for you to drive.

Pulling away, you revved the engine slightly before you grabbed the throttle and took off around the bay. Giving you a thumbs up from the dock, signalling everything looked good, Morgan grinned and you cheered on the inside, glad you'd been able to repair Connor's seadoo.

"I'll add mechanic to your list of trades Y/N," Morgan joked once you returned.

"Well, I'm just glad it's fixed," you admitted, as you stepped back onto the dock and tied the seadoo securely to the wooden deck.

"Y/N! Morgan!"

Both you and your friend looked up towards the cottage, to see a shirtless William waving at the both of you from up top on the deck. "Come up here! Brownie made breakfast!"

"But I already ate," you whined in complaint as Morgan dragged you back up to the cottage with him.

"Morning!" Connor chirped happily once you came through the patio door.

"Morning," you replied, as you took a seat at the kitchen table alongside Morgan, while William took a spot next to you and Mitch and Zach sat on the opposite side.

"Is anyone else awake?" You questioned, and Zach nodded mid-chew, "Lannah and Mads went for a walk, and Auston's still sleeping,"

"And I already mentioned that Kas was preoccupied, remember?" Morgan then whispered to you, and you flushed in understanding. Great.

"You gonna eat?" Mitch questioned, as he took another helping of the scrambled eggs that were in a dish in front of you. Connor had laid out quite the spread, which included bacon, toast, eggs, and fried potatoes.

"I ate earlier," you explained and Mitch shrugged, taking more food.

"When?" Connor questioned, giving you a look of disbelief.

"When I went out to buy the turbine for the seadoo," you explained, and your ginger friend dropped his fork.

"You already did that?" Connor asked, looking surprised.

"It's all fixed too, I watched her, and she took it out for a spin and it looks good to me," Morgan added, adding some insurance to your story.

"Jesus, its what? Nine thirty? How long have you been up?" Connor asked, looking towards you in surprise.

"I didn't really sleep to be honest," you shrugged, "so I headed out around six thirty, and Toby opened up the shop at seven and I was back by eight,"

Connor nodded, "I didn't even notice,"

"It's fine, I'm just happy it's fixed," you replied.

"How much was it?" Connor then asked, as his teammates continued to eat.

"Three thirty-five I believe," you said, and Connor's eyes bugged out of his head.

"Seriously? And you paid for it?" He questioned, sounding shocked.

"Well I tried, but Auston insisted," you replied, and Connor looked taken aback.

"Auston went with you? 'Mr. Wake me up and I'll kill you' actually rolled out of bed before dawn? Wow, Auston must really like you," Mitch spoke up, causing both Morgan and William to chuckle low from either side of you, the latter sending you a light jab to your side.

"I guess," you shrugged, playing his comment off, but everyone sat at the table knew otherwise. 

"Well, serves him right, that's what he gets for breaking my seadoo," Connor sighed, causing Zach to hum from next to him.

"So, what's the plan today?" Morgan then asked, and everyone collectively shrugged.

"Well, Y/N is coming shopping with us," you heard Madison's voice echo from behind you. Connor's eyes looked up from his plate and you turned towards her, who stood with Alannah, and surprisingly Annika. 

"I am?" you questioned, raising a brow.

Alannah and Annika grinned, while Madison nodded with a smirk, "uh huh, you definitely are,"

Oh boy.

[oratorio-of-kadara]

Neutron Star

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.” It wasn’t the first time Sara had heard those opening words, spoken in the same rich mellifluous tones. Last time, it had led to a toast of cheap whisky and an instant connection with a man she had not stopped thinking about since. In all her dreams and fantasies, though, this had not been a possibility. She said his name. Reyes. Her voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger. Sloane, beside her, had somehow not figured out what was going on. She gazed up at Reyes with a sneer. “I’m here for the Charlatan, not some third-rate smuggler.” Sara could hear a high pitched buzzing in her head. “They’re one and the same.” “Surprise.” Reyes’ sombre expression showed this was no joke. Sara had never felt less like laughing. “All this time…” She looked at the ground, kicking at the stones. “All along, you’ve been lying to me.” Reyes’ voice was steady. “I haven’t lied about everything. You know who I really am.” “Do I?” Sara’s tone was sharp. She shook her head, her lips pursing in a bitter moue. Sloane’s strident voice cut through her thoughts. “You said you wanted to ‘settle things’. Just how do you plan on doing that?” Reyes leaped down from the boulder he stood on, striding towards Sloane with a confident swagger that made Sara wonder if he was even slightly bothered about the false persona he had shown her, the kisses he had stolen from her when she had no idea who he really was. “A duel,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear in the acoustics of the cave. “Just you and me, winner takes Kadara’s port.” Sara frowned. “Are you serious? How can you avoid war by killing each other?” Reyes barely glanced at her. “Better one death than hundreds.” Sloane narrowed her eyes and cracked her knuckles. “Fine. I’ll take those terms.” Sara’s chest was tight and she swallowed the saliva which was forming bitter globules in her mouth. Sloane was fearless, and she had a long history of military service. She wasn’t afraid of a fight, and she had the scars to prove it. Sure, Reyes was cocky and smooth, but she’d seen him fight and – while he was good with a rifle – he wasn’t the most natural soldier she’d worked with. Her head was all over the place. She was furious with him – a white-hot anger at the lies he’d told her – but she didn’t want him to die. Fuck, she didn’t want him to die. Reyes and Sloane were circling each other, their faces like stone, eyes flinty and focused. It was SAM who noticed the glint of the rifle scope, high in a nook of the darkened cave. “Sniper. Sights set on Sloane.” SAM’s mechanical voice supplied in Sara’s mind, drawing her eye to the man crouched low with his weapon pointed directly at the Outcast leader. Sara’s lip curled. She should have guessed that he wouldn’t fight fair. After all, isn’t that exactly what he’d been doing with her? Even so, she found she couldn’t intervene. In a matter of seconds, Sloane lay dying on the filthy ground at her feet, and Sara stood looking down at her body, unfamiliar tears pricking at her eyes and her mind a maelstrom of disgust, fear and confusion. She was never going to mourn Sloane’s passing. The woman had been power-hungry, thinking only of herself. There was no way that the Initiative would ever have been able to work with her, not to mention she’d been vile to Sara more than once. But the way the woman had died – walking into a trap set by a polished conman – was an ignominious end to anyone’s life. The fact that Sara had thought herself half in love with that self-same conman… Or at least, half in love with the person she’d imagined him to be. Of course he was never going to be a fucking angel, he was a criminal and a smuggler, living in the shadows of a city built on sin. But the Charlatan… someone with his sights set on running the entire city, and using her to achieve those aims… Sara pushed her palm against her lips and swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. “Kadara Port is ours tonight.” Reyes’ victorious gloating carried through the cavern, bringing her out of her stupor. She glanced up to see him come to a halt beside her, gazing at her impassively. Sara attempted to school her features into an expression of scorn, but she had the distinct feeling that the hurt in her eyes could not be hidden. “Seems you got everything you wanted, Reyes,” she said, her voice dripping with acid. Reyes looked at her properly for the first time. His face was expressionless, as smooth and still as a monolith. “All I want is peace,” he said. “Sloane would have brought war to our door, and we don’t have the people to survive that. I did what I had to do.” Sara watched as he walked away from her, her eyes boring into his back as if she could force him to stop and turn around, as if she could force him to change the past. She swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you trust me?” Her words – honest and hurt - stopped him in his tracks. He stood in the mouth of the cave, limned in the light of the sun outside so that she couldn’t see his features, only the dark outline of his body. It felt as if he paused for an age, as if on the edge of a fall which would take him to the bowels of hell. Perhaps he was, for when he eventually spoke his voice was raw and pained. “I… liked the way you looked at me. The way you spoke to me. I was afraid that it would change.” Sara felt her stomach clench as she walked towards him, close enough that she could see the lines around his eyes, the set of his jaw. Goddamn it, she still felt the same way about him, no matter what he had done. She still saw the person beneath the shit-show, the man who so desperately wanted to be someone. And, for her – and now for Kadara Port, too – he was. “Fucking hell, Reyes,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t make this easy for me. But the things I’ve said, I still mean them. That much hasn’t changed.” Reyes stared at her, his lips wavering in a wobbly smile. “You have terrible taste in men.” Sara rolled her eyes. “The worst.” She had no idea who moved first. The air was pushed from her body as Reyes pressed her against the hard rock of the cave walls, sharp edges of stone digging into her hips and shoulders. She didn’t even notice the discomfort, so focused was she on his lips descending, the kiss that was hot and desperate as he ground his body against her. His arms were around her waist, crushing them together, his thigh hot between her legs, his eyes open and boring into hers. When he moved to kiss down her neck, she closed her eyes and gasped. “I thought you were going to die, you bastard,” she murmured, voice breaking, as she felt the edges of his teeth graze the soft skin beneath her jaw. “And miss out on this?” His breath was hot against her ear. “Not a chance.” He was warm, even through the armour he wore, and the scent of him filled her nostrils. Sweat and sandalwood and leather. Her head tipped back against the granite, her mouth opening to his probing kisses, and she knew at that moment that she was lost. His breath was hot and sweet, with a slightly herbal taste. She groaned as he pressed himself against her, his whole body seeking contact with hers, as if he needed her touch in every place he could find it. Their tongues danced in a duel which was far more evenly matched than the one with Sloane had been. After some minutes she broke away from his kisses, her lips puffy and her eyes glazed. “Are you going to call a halt to this again, Reyes? Like you did last time?” He chuckled, a low rasping sound. “You didn’t know the truth, then. Now you do. If you still want me, I’m all yours.” “No stopping?” “No stopping.” “Oh.” Sara shuddered through her whole body, feeling her arousal tingling in her veins. This man could reduce her to a puddle of need in seconds; she’d spent many nights dreaming of making love to him, although those fantasies had usually involved a soft bed and clean sheets, not being pinned up against a grimy rock face while the lifeless eyes of Sloane Kelly looked on. Drack and Jaal must be around somewhere too, although a quick glance around the cavern didn’t reveal their current whereabouts. Still, she’d waited too long for this moment, she didn’t want to wait another minute. The others were adults, they could manage their own discomfort – she needed to deal with her own. “Now, Reyes,” she said, her voice a strained and raspy thing. She tugged at his clothing. “Christ, Sara,” he said, breathing hard. “Are you sure?” “Never been so sure in my life.” Reyes groaned, low and long, and began to fumble with the clips of her armour, the toughened materials of the chestplate hitting the ground with a loud clatter which echoed through the cavern. Her undershirt was thin, sweaty, clinging to the curves of her torso. Reyes ran one hand experimentally across her breast and she shuddered and arched into his touch, her breathing harsh and stuttering. It didn’t take long for her to strip down until she was covered only by the loose undershirt which draped down across her thighs and the practical Initiative-issued black briefs she wore underneath. “Surprised they don’t have the Pathfinder logo on them,” Reyes said with a wry smile as he ran a finger across the waistband of the briefs. “You’d like that, would you?” Sara said on a rough exhale of breath, as he curled one finger underneath the cotton fabric. “Oh, it turns me on,” he said with a grin, “but not as much as taking them off would.” “Hmmm,” Sara murmured. “Okay, but first, you’re wearing way too many clothes yourself, Mr Charlatan.” Reyes snorted and began to undo the straps and buckles which held his armour together, pushing his breeches down with a sigh as he freed himself from the tight leather. Sara watched, her eyes narrowing as her gaze zoned in on his groin. “God, Reyes,” she said, her voice strange and breathless. “Goddamn you being so sexy.” “Can’t help it,” he said with a grin and a shrug, before he surged forward and pinned her against the wall once more. She gasped and canted her hips towards him, soundlessly begging him to take her. Reyes huffed out a laugh. “So eager.” “Now,” she said, leaning forward to nip at his neck. “Please.” He shook his head, drawing a whine from deep in her throat. “I intend to take my time, Sara.” “Oh, fuck you,” she bit out, her voice strained. Reyes smirked at her. “You will be,” he said, before he leaned forward and scooped her into his arms. She squawked in surprise and wriggled to be put down. “Steady now,” he whispered into her ear before kneeling and setting her down gently against the cold, grey rock which formed the floor of the cave. She shivered but lay back, attempting to pose invitingly, her thighs parted and her breasts pushing into the air. Reyes paused above her, looking down. “You’re beautiful, Sara. Just relax.” She wasn’t used to relaxing. She was used to sex being hard and fast, she was used to playing a role that the men she slept with seemed to want. She had always been the seductress – wanton, giving, everything they could imagine in every fantasy they’d ever had. Reyes had seemed to be the same type of man – a man who exuded charm and sex appeal, who could command any woman he wanted. Only, now she’d fallen for his charisma, he was turning out to be very different. Even against the rough rock of a grimy cave. The heat of his mouth against her core made her whine and buck her hips, Reyes letting out a rough laugh at her desperation. “I’ve only just started,” he murmured against the damp fabric of her briefs, before his fingers curled around the elastic and slid them down to her ankles. “You might want to find something to hang on to.” Sara’s fingers scrabbled in the dirt and stone around her, finding nothing to grasp, her nails breaking on the rock as Reyes leaned back in to her and ran his tongue over her centre. She swore loudly, her thighs closing around his head as he fought to keep her still, fingertips digging into her hips so that she knew she would have bruises in the morning. She didn’t care a jot. She spat out curses and words that didn’t even make sense, pushing her hips into his mouth as he buried his face between her thighs, his tongue dancing over her skin, flickering across her clit and dipping between her folds. No focus in a fight could compare to the way he concentrated on her now, reading every single whimper and twitch of her body, zoning in on what pulled the strongest reactions. Her hands quested, went to his hair, pulling and twisting the short black strands around her fingertips. Lances of electricity shot through her veins, fizzing and bursting over her skin, and a deep pressure began to build in her abdomen, swelling and pushing her closer to her peak. Everything ached in the most delicious way, as if she was waiting for the waves to break, poised on the edge of a dramatic drop. She felt overwhelmed by sensation and emotion, her eyes fluttering closed, shaking her head back and forth against the solid rock beneath her, ignoring the scratches the sharp edges made on her scalp. “Fuck, Reyes,” she breathed, her voice shaky. “Don’t stop.” Sara had lost count of the men she had had, in the past. Sex had been something which had been part of her social life, finding an attractive guy to sleep with, preferably someone who she could play a role with, play at being a seductress, powerful and overwhelming. Someone that they would always remember. None of them had ever treated her the way Reyes was, now. None of them had ever thought about what would make her feel good. The feelings rushing through her body now were alien, delicious. She wasn’t even having to pretend that she was doing this for anyone other than herself. With a deep sigh, she lost herself in the sensations growing and clenching inside her, winding tightly like a spool of thread and drawing themselves together. She called out his name, Reyes, Reyes, please, her thighs trembling, her skin draped in a glistening layer of sweat, the fabric of her shirt agonisingly rough against her nipples. He persisted; his tongue soft and wet, his fingers dipping into her, his lips tight and focused. Climbing, climbing. When he closed his lips around her clitoris and sucked, one hand on her hips and the fingers on his other hand moving inside her, she wailed and came apart beneath him, shimmering lights shooting across her vision more vivid than any nebula she had seen from the deck of the Tempest. Her entire body shuddered, the strength in her arms dissipating into a loose-limbed mess, collapsing in on itself like a neutron star. It took her some minutes to catch her breath, and by the time she was able to say his name he was holding her in his arms and pressing himself against her entrance, gazing into her eyes with a passion that took her breath away. It was all she could do to nod her head, a small movement which nonetheless brought a smile which lit up his features like a beacon. Her body was already a sodden puddle, and the expression on his face as he slowly entered her was enough to send her mind into complete meltdown as well. He held her close against him and breathed hot, desperate puffs of air against her lips, his amber eyes afire with strange emotion. The lines on his face seemed deeper and more pronounced, his features curling in on themselves as he began to move his hips. She gazed at him intently, measuring and storing every fleeting expression, every movement of his skin, every lick of his lips and flash of his eyes. All the while, her chest filled and expanded with air, with a feeling she couldn’t name. It engulfed her, sending sharp lances of pleasure through her veins and sizzling across her skin. Everywhere he touched her she was burning up. Hazard level 2, she thought with a giggle. Rescue was futile. He said her name in that syrupy smooth voice, trailing away at the end into a moan. Sara met his eyes, holding his gaze, heat zipping through them both. She felt her lips quirk into a smile. She’d assumed this man to be shallow, to be the sort of man who had a string of women trailing through his room on a regular basis. She’d assumed she’d be another conquest, satisfying but ultimately temporary. But that wasn’t what was in his face now, as he gazed down at her and shifted inside her. Her chest hurt with the intensity of what passed between them. Was this how it felt? She closed her eyes, too much, too real. Reyes knew what she was doing, denying herself the sense of her vision. He pressed down against her chest, his hands in her hair, leaning over to whisper into her ear. If she wouldn’t see, she would hear. “You feel amazing, Sara. You are everything. I am more than I thought I could ever be, here with you.” Oh, that bastard. Her eyes flicked open, meeting his dancing golden gaze. There was no escaping what this was, the complete abandonment, the complete passion that they felt for each other. She loved him. She fucking loved him. “Reyes,” she said, curling her legs around his waist. “Reyes, I…” “I know.” He pushed into her then, sharp and rutting. She gasped and met his movements, searching for a rhythm. A rhythm which followed, quick, shallow thrusts which had him moaning in a tone which sounded like a sob. She tightened around him, teeth worrying her lip, clamping down as he pushed into her harder, hips stuttering, breaths breaking over her skin in harsh pants. “Come for me,” she murmured, and he did, his face crumpling and hands tugging at her hair as he called her name brokenly. With the weight of him against her chest, with her hands in his hair, with his eyes sleepily gazing up at hers, Sara took a deep breath and assessed the situation. “Are we in trouble here, or what?” she said finally, a teasing tone to her voice. Reyes smiled up at her, his face as open as she had ever seen it. “I’ve always liked trouble, Sara.”

[dawnstruck]

i think i’m entitled to your body

Yoonbum’s eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo’s madness back at him.

[Read on AO3] Rated Explicit. Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Iconography.

Sangwoo, in essence, is a creature of habit.

He doesn't have OCD or anything stupid like that, but he believes in maintaining a certain order. So he keeps his apartment clean and his clothes nicely folded and put away. His aftershave and hair gel bottle stand by the sink with their label facing forward. He goes shopping every Thursday afternoon, and once a months he drops by the library to return his books and check out some new ones.

He generally also has a strict routine when it comes to his victims, mostly just for efficiency's sake.

First he charms them, then he wines and dines them, then he fucks them, then he chains them, tortures them, kills them. He makes them enjoy his presence first, makes them cum and quiver and hungrily lick their lips at him. That's half of the thrill for him, to turn things around like that, to confuse them, to watch the sudden whiplash realization in their eyes as they begin to understand that this is happening.

With Bum, things are different. This is one of the reasons he is even still alive. Because he is something new, something unprecedented, something aberrant.

Girls moan Sangwoo's name when he's got his tongue on their clits and his fingers up their cunts, but they start screeching as soon as they see the knives. Yoonbum stares up at Sangwoo and his baseball bat like a pious man whose prayers have just been answered by a capricious god and he says I fell in love with you.

Still Life.

The thing with people is that they are quite boring when they are dead. There's that short surge of adrenaline when he kills them, of course, but that only lasts so long.

Bum, he decides, is more entertaining when left to live.

Aesthetic.

The radio is idly playing old love songs and Sangwoo sits at the kitchen table while he watches Bum scrub the floor.

Bum is wearing his old outfit, the one the CEO's daughter had worn. It's one of Sangwoo's favorites, just because it's such a familiar sight. The crop top rides up every time Bum leans forward, exposing his white spine, vertebra by vertebra, before sliding back down again. The folds of the skirt are splayed around him and his ankles peek out from under it. His knees are perpetually blue with bruises, but his broken legs seem healed now, at least superficially. The soles of his naked feet face towards the ceiling. They are slightly dirty, which is why Sangwoo told him to clean to fucking floor in the first place.

He makes Bum shave his legs now, too, because the hair is kinda off-putting. Bum ends up accidentally cutting himself more often than not, but the droplets of blood welling up and the smooth expanse of skin make it worth it.

Bum's fringe swishes across his forehead and he pushes it back with a careless forearm.

He's almost pretty this way, dressed like a girl and working like a woman. He really deserves a reward.

“Hey, Bum,” Sangwoo says and sets his feet down on the still wet floor, “Let's go out tonight.”

Pastiche.

He enjoys dressing Bum, using his miscellaneous collection of trophies. The shoes and coat are what Bum wore when he first broke into the house. The skinny jeans Sangwoo bought for him on their last shopping trip, from the girls' section no less, because Bum was too tiny for anything else. The shirt is a leftover from Sangwoo's high school days, from before his military service had made him buff up, but it still hangs off Bum's narrow frame like a flag of surrender. The many wrinkles, however, just barely disguise the outline of the old bra Bum is wearing underneath, the off-white one Sangwoo had found in his trashy apartment. His favorite, though, are the deep red panties, the ones that looked quite nice on the girl from two weeks ago, but that are rather too snug around Bum's front, making him wriggle in discomfort.

It's like a little secret that only he and Sangwoo know about.

“Try to look more alive tonight,” Sangwoo tells him, “Last time, the others thought you were demented. They thought I had been roped into babysitting my dumb little cousin or something. I had to explain that we are friends and that I actually like you. Embarrassing as hell, let me tell you.”

Bum ducks his head but gives a quick nod.

“Just smile a little,” Sangwoo says and ruffles his hair, “I'm sure they'll like you.”

Fauves.

The bar his friends choose is a nice one. Sangwoo has been here before, but not in a while. He frequents other establishments when he is actively hunting, not wanting to risk that someone might remember his face and connect it to the disappearance of whatever girl he took home that night.

The lights here are dimmed, the music loud enough that you have to raise your voice a little to be heard all the way across the table. They are a rambunctious group, so it's no problem, really.

Bum is by his side, crammed into the corner of the bench, drowning in his heavy coat. Sangwoo casually leans back, putting his arm up onto the backrest. He doesn't touch him, but Bum shrinks anyway. Sangwoo smirks into his drink.

On the other side of the table, the guys are teasing Jun about something and it takes Sangwoo a while to catch on. Apparently, they caught her looking at edited pictures of some k-pop band and, hah, she is one of those girls who is into gay guys. Everyone's laughing now and her face is red, but she does not even deny it.

“It's just wrong,” Seong-Ho says, carelessly flapping a hand, “What kinda guy would do that?”

“A gay one, Seong-Ho,” Nari says with a roll her eyes, “That's kind of the point.”

“Still,” Seong-Ho insists. He's always too loud, to direct. He wouldn't know subtlety if jumped into his face and bit him. Though subtlety probably wouldn't do that.

“What about you, Sangwoo?” Hwan asks in that moment, leaning across the table, “Would you kiss a guy?”

“Ah,” Sangwoo makes a show of thinking about it, lifting a finger to his mouth, “If he were really cute, I guess.”

There's surprised laughter and Seong-Ho yells, “No way!”

“I would, I would,” Sangwoo insists playfully and then, just for the hell of it, proves it.

The back of Bum's head feels fragile in his cupped palm, like the skull of a newborn, like an overripe peach that will bruise too easily. Amid the music spilling out of the speakers overhead, Bum's breath is little more than a wheeze.

There's laughter all around them. Bum quivers, a rabbit in a snare. Move and you'll suffocate. Don't move and eventually just stave. His lips are cool and bloodless. Sangwoo angles his head and pushes his tongue in.

He makes it dirty, revels in the jeering and giggling of his friends. They are so easily entertained by such ordinary things. It's just a kiss but all they see is depravity. Sangwoo wants to show them what it's like to cut a heart open.

Well, he thinks when he pulls back and Bum's mouth is wet with saliva, maybe he had shown them that anyway.

“And this,” Nari says, “Is why Jun likes that kinda stuff.”

“What, what?” Seong-Ho says, “I still don't get it.”

“Because that was hot,” Nari insists, “Two guys making out is hot.”

“It's not,” Seong-Ho groans, “They're just... C'mon, girls are much better.” “Double standards,” Nari complains and elbows Jun in the side as though asking for backup, but the blush is still high in Jun's cheeks and she seems incapable of speech.

Bum is red, too, but it's a different kind, embarrassed, yes, but sort of sick and feverish.

Just a kiss, Sangwoo thinks. Just a kiss does that to him.

And he'd never thought of fucking a guy before, but lately the idea has taken root in him like a cancer, changing his very being to the core. It's too late to purge it now; he's let it fester for too long.

Palimpsest.

Yoonbum is a great many things, has been a great many things, always depending on what Sangwoo wants him to be. A little monkey kept for entertainment. An obedient lapdog. A child that needs to be taught how to play by the rules. A victim. His mother. A comrade. His lover.

Sangwoo barely lets the paint dry before he starts on another work of art right on top of it.

Grotesque.

There used to be that slightly sick smell about Bum, like a dying animal. He's almost bizarrely  underweight, but lately he's been filling out a little. Sangwoo has been feeding him well. He's still not much to look at, but Sangwoo likes the way his bones make the shadows bow on his skin.

He spreads his hand across Bum's concave belly, runs it up to his chest, so his thumb is on the right nipple and the tip of his little finger on the left. He grins. Bum is so small, childlike and feminine and just this side of morbid.

Bum sucks in a shallow breath and turns onto his front, presenting Sangwoo with his ass, so Sangwoo hooks a finger into the waistband of Bum's panties and pulls them down a little.

There's still hair there, on the pale cheeks and running along the crack, and Sangwoo grimaces in distaste. It's not too bad, he guesses, but for next time he'll have to figure out a way to get rid of that.

“Huh,” he says, pressing a thumb to the hole, surprised by how velvety soft it is. He's never done anal before, since most girls don't exactly offer on the first night, and it's not like Sangwoo ever gives them a chance for a second.

He closes a hand around Bum's upper arm and turns him onto his back, before leaning over to fish for the plastic bag from the drug store he went to a couple of days ago.

“I bought lube,” he explains, weighing the bottle in his hand and popping the lid open. The smell is neutral. He doesn't like any of the scented, self-warming shit, so this is just some random cheap brand.

When he scoots back, Bum has turned back onto his stomach. Sangwoo frowns.

“Turn around,” he says, pushing at Bum's shoulder, and Bum obeys, if reluctantly.

“I looked this up online,” Sangwoo explains, squirting some of the lube onto his fingers, “Sleeping with guys is a little more complicated. But I guess if you're used to taking that huge dildo, I don't have to be too careful.”

Bum lets out a shuddering breath, but pushes the panties down all the way, shimmying out of them until they are tangled around his ankles. His dick is still limp, but Sangwoo doesn't care about that for now.

He lets his lube-covered finger circle around the clenched hole a couple of time, waiting for Yoonbum to at least marginally relax into the touch. Then he dips in, just the tip, shallowly thrusting. It's unlike what he expected.

It's not like a girl, not like a girl at all. But while girls are hot and tight, Yoonbum is even hotter and tighter. It seems impossible that Sangwoo could actually fuck him, but he had seen the dildo and that was bigger after all. Still, he feels himself getting excited at the thought of actually pushing his dick into that heat.

He'd been vaguely curious before but now he has made up his mind. With a quick hand he adjusts himself in his pants, while the other lets his middle finger push deeper into Yoonbum.

He adds another finger soon, starts out gradually again, but then crooks his fingers like the online articles had instructed him to, and – there.

Bum's breath hitches and he bucks his hips. His eyes are wide and when a whimper escapes him he presses his hands over his mouth, as though surprised by the sensation.

Sangwoo, however, is distracted by how Yoonbum is clenching down around him, even as he repeatedly scissors his fingers. It's pure muscle down there and Sangwoo can't wait to actually fuck him.

Patience, though. Patience.

He takes his time, more or less, properly opening Yoonbum up, until he is subtly writhing against the sheets, but then he reminds himself that Bum has done this before, in a way, that he should be able to handle it.

With his free hand he shakes the pack of condoms from the plastic bag, wrestles it open and pulls out a condom. He carefully tears the wrapper with his teeth and then he pushes down his underwear to get at his dick. He has to pull his fingers free from Yoonbum to properly roll the rubber down; it barely takes a few seconds but as soon as he is done, Bum has rolled over again.

“What the hell, are you really that much into doggy?” Sangwoo snorts, “C'mon, it's no fun if I can't see your face.”

This time, it's more difficult to maneuver Bum around. His hands are clenched in the bedroll and Sangwoo has to knock his knees aside to get at him.

Bum is full-on shaking now, one of his arms thrown across his eyes as though to hide himself. His hesitant erection is wilting again. Sangwoo wrinkles his nose, annoyed by the pathetic display.

“Geez, I'm not going to rape you,” he sighs, before grabbing Yoonbum by the hips and then pulling him forward so that his ass is snug against Sangwoo's hard cock.

Yoonbum whimpers but does not move again. His breath is shallow and rapid. Sangwoo frowns.

So far, Bum had always wanted all of this. He had wanted to kiss Sangwoo, to jerk him off, too suck him off, to kiss his feet and massage his shoulders and wash his hair. He's supposed to be begging for this, too.

In the faint moonlight streaming in through the window, Sangwoo can see the shiny scar tissue crisscrossing along the blue pulse of Yoonbum's wrist.

Dick in hand, Sangwoo takes a moment and thinks about what little he knows. Bum has never exactly been forthcoming about the details of his life, clamping up whenever the subject arose, even though Sangwoo had told him about his own past the moment they really met. He had thought that Bum was just a loser who didn't have any hobbies beside stalking, that he was embarrassed about how no one wanted to keep him around. But maybe there is more to it than that.

Slowly, he connects the dots.

“Your uncle, huh?” he says dispassionately, watching as Yoonbum flinches violently, and that's enough confirmation. It's really too much of a cliché, but Sangwoo mainly finds himself disappointed by the fact that Bum is not a virgin anymore.

He's glad he bought the condoms, though. He doesn't watch to catch anything.

“Hey,” Sangwoo reaches out, prying Yoonbum's arm away and revealing his face. Bum is crying now, the sobs raking his body, and it's really a quite pitiful sight.

Sangwoo bites the inside of his cheek.

“Stop crying, it's annoying,” he says, though it does little good. Yoonbum merely presses his other hand over his mouth, feebly trying to silence himself. His tears should be ugly and they are, but there is something about them, too. Something innocent.

Distantly, Sangwoo finds himself wondering when the abuse might have started, whether Bum had been a still a kid, whether anyone ever noticed or cared. He wonders if Yoonbum actually tried to kill himself over it or whether the cuts on his wrists were just cry for attention. He wonders whether Bum always knew he was gay or whether that realization only hit him when he came for the first time with his uncle's dick up his ass.

“Bum,” he Sangwoo says, bowing down to nuzzle his face against Yoonbum's neck, “This is our first time. I want to enjoy this with you. Don't you wanna make me enjoy it?”

His tone his persuasive, saccharine sweet. It's the voice he always uses to take Yoonbum hostage with, the one that made him understand that chains were no longer needed between them. All Yoonbum wants is to be loved and Sangwoo's words can paint such a pretty picture.

And really, a few moments later, Yoonbum's milk pale arms twine around Sangwoo's neck like the tendrils of a young plant and Sangwoo presses a sweet kiss to his tear-stained lips.

“There you go,” he whispers, “Thank you, Bum. Thank you.”

He reaches between them then to take himself in hand and guide himself in. Yoonbum is still tense, still shivering, but he hides his face against Sangwoo's chest this time and lets it happen.

The size difference between the two of them is really rather ridiculous, and Sangwoo wonders whether he could crush him just with his body weight alone. Instead, he presses farther in, until Bum's back arches, his head falls back and his mouth forms a perfect little o-shape.

Sangwoo gives a smug little smirk. That first time he'd allowed Bum to jerk him off, Bum had been blushed at how big he was, but now he was feeling the full extent of it.

Yoonbum's ass, in turn, feels incredible. It's definitely different than take a girl, the angle is a bit off, and it's even tighter than expected. Sangwoo groans lowly.

“That's it,” he praises into Yoonbum's starving ear, “You're doing so well.”

Bum lets out a stuttering breath, forcing himself to relax; then he presses back.

“Yes,” Sangwoo says, pulling out and immediately fucking back in, “You've wanted this for a long time, right?”

He thinks of Yoonbum in his shitty little apartment, splayed on the equally naked mattress and furiously fucking the dildo into himself, like an animal wanting to be mounted. A surge of arousal hits Sangwoo and sits up again, pulls Bum into his lap instead and keeps thrusting up.

Bum's crooked legs try to find purchase on the sheets but he whimpers in pain, hoists his upper body up instead, his thin arms quivering under his own weight and the force of Sangwoo's thrusts.

Soon, his hair sticks to his forehead and, when Sangwoo looks closely, he can see sweat like dewdrops collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Sangwooo grunts again, digging his thumbs into the grove of Bum's hipbones as he keeps him in place. And a criminal should not be leaving fingerprints, but this is more a question of an artist claiming his masterpiece.

Yoonbum, it turns out, sounds quite lovely when he comes.

Diptych.

Afterwards, Sangwoo pulls him close, so that Yoonbum's head rests against his chest. Their naked bodies are still entangled with each other, half-wrapped in the sheets. It would not work any other way. Remove one and the scene is destroyed, the meaning lost.

They belong together, juxtaposed like this. This is how it was meant to be.

Surrealism.

Yoonbum is full of surprises. Yoonbum doesn't make sense. Yoonbum does not stab him, but tries to feed him rat poison. Yoonbum begs to suck his dick, but flinches when Sangwoo brushes a strand of hair from his face. Yoonbum tries to escape but hides from the nosy police officer.

Since Yoonbum showed up, it's as though Sangwoo's world has been titled, bit by bit. At first he didn't notice, but one day he looked up and everything was off and he couldn't quite recall how things had been before.

He's not sure what to make of it. It should feel like a loss of control but instead he merely finds himself intrigued.

So he waits. And he waits. One day, he is bound to find an answer.

Impressionism.

It's a Sunday and Sangwoo does not feel like studying. His professors are always lenient with him, even when he hands in his homework late, so he's not too worried about lazing about.

They are lying on the sofa together, with some dumb action movie playing on the TV. Sangwoo's eyes are on the screen, but he isn't really watching.

He's got Bum pulled into his lap instead so that Bum lies cradled against his chest, but if he glances down along the bridge of his nose he can see the tension coiled in Bum's shoulders, in the line of his neck.

Sangwoo bought some cheap chocolates at the corner store and he's been dropping single ones into his mouth at irregular intervals.

“Hey, Bum,” he says now, chewing on another praliné, “Want a taste?”

He tilts Bum's chin up to kiss him, to push the remnants of sweetness into his mouth. The mixture of molten chocolate and saliva is honestly somewhat gross, but there is always something intimate about sharing bodily fluids with someone. Maybe Sangwoo will do him bareback after all one day. It's a nice thought for the future.

“Okay, this sucks,” he says a few minutes later when he has finally given up on the movie and is reaching for the remote control. He hesitates.

“You wanna keep watching?” he asks with a sideways glance at Bum.

Bum, fingers curled into Sangwoo's shirt, quickly shakes his head.

“Alright,” Sangwoo says and presses the off-button. The screen goes black. “Next time, you get to pick.”

He leans his head back against the armrest then, looking up at the wood-paneled ceiling. His hand comes up to settle between Bum's protruding shoulder blades.

A few minutes later, Yoonbum has fallen asleep.

Self-portrait.

It's quite strange to think that Yoonbum's life seems to be the inverse of Sangwoo's. Sangwoo killed his parents to escape them, but when Yoonbum was orphaned he ended up in the hands of his uncle. Yoonbum stalks people to get them to like him but keeps getting caught while Sangwoo kills the people who trust him too easily and no one suspects anything. Yoonbum, a really sweet gentle guy if you get down to it, but easily written off as a creep, and Sangwoo, who is constantly underestimated, misinterpreted, just because he has a nice smile.

They really are made for each other, in a macabre sort of way. Their jagged edges fit where previously Yoonbum had cut his wrists with them and Sangwoo had sliced through people. They fit and they match and someday, maybe, they will even merge and become one, indistinguishable from one another. Maybe it's already started.

“I love you,” Sangwoo says and the words quietly echo off the steamed up bathroom walls. He brushes the wet hair out of Bum's face, laying him bare, even though they are both already naked.

“I love you,” he repeats and Yoonbum's eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo's madness back at him.

Abstract.

Yoonbum's gaze is liquid, his voice gossamer. He's a whore who learns to ride Sangwoo's cock with little prompting. He still cries sometimes, lachrymose as he is, though most days he is more demure than deceitful. He kisses like he smiles, with panic crouching at its edges, but he is always there when Sangwoo returns after vagrant hours, and usually that is enough.

He's a parasite who has dug his roots into Sangwoo's flesh, or maybe its a symbiosis, or maybe they are not living things at all.

So they fall asleep next to each other and there's something cathartic about the sunrise now, something almost sanguine.

Sangwoo thinks of slaughter and of the steel he keeps in his basement. Yoonbum mumbles in his sleep, rolls over to bury his nose in Sangwoo's side of the pillow.

Death, Sangwoo knows, would really be too easy.