#i have a habit of putting up walls and shutting down completely when presented with anything upsetting

[glitterdisposition]

how to recover after having a complete crying breakdown in front of ur bf TWICE in one night

[mama-qwerty]

Stolen Opportunity

So this is kind of a continuation of Signing Off. Inspired by an idea @quazart had, where Wade dies during an attack from some big bad, and Knuckles had a hard time dealing with it. Naturally I want to torture explore how Callie would deal with the death of Wade, so here we are.

For the sake of simplicity, she does not have Silver or Eclipse in this verse.

~~~

Callie stared at the larger envelope nestled in with her credit card bills and junk mail as she kicked the front door closed with her foot. It was one of those thick manilla-ish ones, with the cushioning inside. The words “DO NOT BEND” were stamped in red ink on the front, right between her address and the stamp. Her eyes moved to the return address, even though they didn’t need to. She recognized the handwriting.

It was from Wade. Sent two days before he died, if the postmark was anything to go by.

Why had it taken over a week to get to her? Green Hills wasn’t exactly a huge metropolis, it shouldn’t have taken so long.

She shook her head. Didn’t matter. It’s not like Wade would have complained to the post office had he known. That’s just not the guy he was. He didn’t complain, even when he should. Always tried to see the good in others. Tried to be friends with everyone.

Even those who were closed off. And had been for years. Who thought they didn’t need anyone, were fine in their self-isolation. Who was sure, 100% positive she didn’t want any friends.

Somehow, he’d managed to get her walls down. And they’d become friends. Best friends, even.

And now he was gone.

nope not thinking about this nuh uh

She turned, heading to the kitchen to put her few groceries away. She tossed the mail on the island, doing her best to ignore that envelope. It was probably another of his Jammerz CDs. Who sends that stuff in the mail these days? Just a waste of a stamp, honestly. He could just send a link through email or something. She’d asked him about it when she’d received the last CD, and he’d simply shrugged and said “Isn’t it nice to get a good surprise in the mail instead of just bills and junk?”

A little smile curled her lips. A good surprise. Wade always had a knack for surprising her. Saying something or doing something completely unexpected to make her laugh or smile.

Like giving his life to save a little fox boy. To save his town.

The smile dropped.

stop it stop it stop it

Callie slammed the fridge door shut and grabbed the rest of the mail from the counter. The CD envelope fell to the floor, and she pointedly ignored it as she tossed the junk mail in the trash and tucked the bill statements into the caddy on her desk. She’d have to do some bill paying soon.

A sound behind her, and she turned to see Bloom scratching at the envelope on the floor.

“Bloom!” she hissed, drawing a head tilt from the tuxedo cat. Callie moved over, shooing the cat away and retrieving the envelope. She stared at the return address for a moment, before tossing it on the island.

don’t think about it, don’t think about him, think of something else

Bill paying. Right. No time like the present.

The redhead sat herself at her desk, booting up her laptop. Out of habit she opened her email, deleting the junk and checking the important things. She skimmed the emails, her eyes coming to a sudden stop at a read one nestled in between one from her mortgage company and a monthly newsletter.

wadewrockz20@. . . Subj: Something to cheer you up!

Her throat tightened.

Her hand moved without her permission, clicking the email open. Inside was a short cat video, a little orange tabby meowing loudly and angrily at a closed door, only to drop to a sweeter little meow once his owner came closer.

Below this, Wade had written:

“Reminds me of you! Fierce and scary, but sweet and kind. Hope your day gets better! :)”

The video played on a loop as she read and reread those three short sentences. He’d sent it two days before he died, probably right after he mailed the CD. That had been a bad day for her—just one of those days when everyone seemed in a bad mood and taking it out on her. She’d vented to Wade about it, and less than 15 minutes later she’d gotten that email. And she had to admit, it had lifted her mood.

He was good at that. Making her feel better. Lifting her spirits. Making her laugh.

But she wasn’t laughing now.

With a grunt, she clicked off the email, slamming the laptop closed.

A lump had formed in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

She wasn’t going to cry. Wouldn’t allow herself. Even after the memorial service she’d thrown herself back into work. Focused on taking care of others—the Wachowskis, specifically. Wade was a friend to her, but like family to them.

She’d dealt with loss before. Had someone ripped away from her. She was used to this kind of pain. It was familiar.

And she was used to being alone. She’d been alone for a long time before she even met Wade, so it wasn’t like their lives had been so intricately entwined that she didn’t know how to function now that he was gone.

Besides, crying wasn’t going to bring him back. Falling to pieces wouldn’t change what happened. Life moved on, and she just trudged along with it.

Maddie thought she was in denial. She really wasn’t. She knew Wade was gone. Didn’t delude herself into thinking he wasn’t. She accepted it.

avoiding it, you mean

Her lips pulled tight. She wasn’t avoiding anything.

you’re avoiding it, doing everything you can to simply not think about anything that had to do with him

She let out a huff. Glanced back at the envelope on the island.

“Fine,” she said to no one. She got up and walked to the counter, snatching the envelope up. “This is me, not avoiding it.”

Callie tore open the envelope, and pulled the CD out. The label on the front was decorated in Wade’s doodles and stylized letters, titling the disc as “CalJammerz03”.

The corner of her lip pulled up in a little smile as she slid the CD into her stereo and clicked ‘Play’. A soft whirring as the disc spun, and then the track number appeared in the display.

“Hey, Cal!”

Wade’s voice rang clear and steady through her speakers, and her eyes went wide. He’d never recorded anything on her previous CDs.

"Welcome to another Jammerz CD, with songs I picked specially for you! Some are ones I think you’ll like, and others are ones that just remind me of you. Betcha can’t tell which is which, haha!”

A knot appeared in Callie’s chest, tightening painfully behind her ribs.

“Hey, uh, while I’m at it, there’s something I wanna ask ya. We both know I'll never have the guts to say this to you in person, warrior-in-training or not, amiright? But . . . I really like you. Like, ya know, like you like you. Gah, that sounds so dumb! But you’re so sweet and funny and I'd really like to, ya know, go out sometime. If that's something you'd want. I mean, no pressure. Totally okay if you don’t! Anyway, on to the tunes!"

A guitar riff with a heavy drum beat began, and filled her house with music.

She barely heard it.

She stared at the stereo, hand hovering over the back button. With a quick jab the music cut off, and Wade’s voice greeted her again.

“. . . I really like you . . .”

“. . . I’d really like to, ya know, go out sometime.”

The music was back, blaring out an upbeat tempo that ordinarily may have made her want to move or sing along to it.

But instead she just stared.

The knot in her chest shifted as his words echoed in her ears.

“. . . you’re so sweet and funny . . .”

She swallowed. Hard.

Thirsty. She was thirsty. She needed a drink.

Turning abruptly, Callie hurried to the fridge. She yanked the door open with a jerk, rattling the condiments on the door. Grabbing a bottle of water, she moved to close the door when another bottle caught her eye.

Beer. Wade’s favorite brand. She usually kept a six pack on hand for when he stopped by in the evenings, and the two of them would sit on her deck and chat. He with a beer, she with her wine cooler.

She stood there and stared at the bottle, this drink that would go to waste now that he was gone. She didn’t like the taste, and Tom preferred a different brand. There were four other bottles behind the first—he’d only had one out of the latest pack she’d bought.

When was that? Three days before he died. He’d stopped by after work, and they’d sat on her deck until nearly ten o’clock.

Just chatting.

Sharing time together.

Enjoying each other’s company.

Callie set the water bottle on the counter next to the fridge, and reached in for the beer. She pulled it out, watching as the liquid inside sloshed against the glass, a thin line of fizz floating to the top.

A little smile tugged at her lips. Wade could never open a beer without it spilling. No matter how careful he tried to be, he always had a foamy little waterfall flowing over his fingers. He’d gasp, before laughing and saying “Every time!”

And she would laugh, too. She laughed so much when he was around. He just had that affect on her. No matter how grumpy or sad or otherwise blah she felt, he knew just how to make her smile. Make her laugh. Make her feel alive.

The smile faded.

He’d never drink a beer again. She’d never watch him spill it on himself again. He’d never stop by after work just to chat, or to check in to see if she needed anything again.

The current song ended, and a new one started. The familiar guitar beats at the start told her it was Since U Been Gone.

As the first verse flowed over her, the words finding no purchase in her mind, Callie looked at the bottle in her hand. Ran her thumb over the label.

It was here, but Wade was not. This stupid bottle of alcohol was here, but Wade, the kind, funny, sweet, gentle soul of a man was not.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

What kind of universe allows someone as good-hearted as Wade to die? He was kind to all, even those who were unkind to him. He was good and pure and sweet and liked her damnit he liked her and there could have been more between them if she had gotten this damned CD earlier or made the first move herself if she weren’t so goddamned scared of letting herself feel!

The music ramped up as the chorus began, and Callie snapped.

She pushed out a scream, one full of anger and rage and fury and grief and regret. She screamed at the bottle in her hand before turning and hurling it across the room, where it smashed against the far wall. One by one she threw the remaining bottles of beer, relishing the satisfying crash of breaking glass.

Her wine coolers went next, sending a multi-colored splatter pattern over her walls.

Looking back in the fridge, she saw the jar of pickles—bought for Wade, for when she invited him over for burgers. She didn’t like pickles. No sense keeping those! Another crash and the brine joined the alcohol already coating her walls, a few pickle slices stuck to the mess.

She slammed the fridge shut, and moved to the cabinet next to it. If Wade stopped by before work, there were two mugs from her stash he favored. She pulled those out and threw them as hard as she could against the ever growing mess of her wall.

On and on she went, smashing and destroying anything and everything that Wade had used, or that reminded her of him. He was gone, gone, never coming back, and she did not want these things staring her in the face for the rest of time. Reminding her of what she couldn’t have, or what could have been.

The music played on, acting as the soundtrack for the release of her anger. Her grief. Sometimes she screamed. Sometimes she belted out the lyrics at the top of her voice. Sometimes she just growled as she destroyed.

But she did not cry.

Her phone rang, and Maddie’s contact photo appeared.

Wade would never call her again. Her last text to him would go unanswered.

She chucked the phone across the room, laughing as it smashed into the TV, cracking both of the screens.

And still her anger raged.

~X~X~X~

Maddie put her phone down, a troubled expression crossing her face.

Callie wasn’t answering. She hadn’t answered for days. “It’s just been busy,” the librarian had said once Maddie had managed to catch her at the library yesterday. A reasonable answer, Maddie supposed, but she wasn’t convinced. The redhead looked worn. Distant. Brushed off every query about her wellbeing.

Maddie was worried about her. But something else took priority.

She stood on the deck now, looking out over her backyard, watching the fireflies flicker to life. Knuckles had run off hours ago. He wasn’t dealing well with Wade’s death, but refused to talk about it. Refused to talk at all. She knew he was trying to be strong, but she’d seen the red eyes. The damp muzzle.

And he’d been inseparable from the discman Wade had given him. Sonic had found it out on the front walk, broken, and Tails was working on it right now, trying to repair it. Maddie had no doubt he would—that fox could fix anything—but right now she wasn’t worried about some CD player. She was worried about her eldest son.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Knuckles shambled out of the dark forest, looking disheveled and tired. Maddie hurried over, stopping before him and going to one knee.

“There you are,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “Are you okay?”

He gave a curt nod, refusing to look at her.

“Do you feel any better?”

A pause. He pulled his lips tight. A shake of the head.

“Tails is working on fixing your CD player.”

He jerked his head to her, his eyes pleading. “The CD, was it . . .”

“It was okay,” she said, and he let out a breath in relief. “Not even a scratch. Sonic tried it in his stereo and it worked fine.”

“Good,” he said, and his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “That is good.”

Silence descended over them, and the only sound in the backyard were the crickets surrounding them. He cast his eyes away from her, his brow furrowed in sorrow.

Maddie wanted to reach forward and take all his grief away, but knew it impossible. She hadn’t been as close to Wade as Knuckles had been. None of them were, not even Tom. This boy was going through something the rest of them couldn’t understand. The loss of someone so important to you, so close to you, you felt like a piece of yourself were missing.

Knuckles was having a hard time dealing with it, and he wouldn’t talk to any of the family about it.

But maybe he would talk to someone who was going through the same thing.

“Honey, are you up for a quest?”

He turned back to her, an eyebrow raised. “What sort of quest?”

“Callie isn’t answering her phone and I’m a little worried about her. Do you think you could go over and check on her? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding and standing taller. “I will check on her.”

She smiled. “Good boy. Thank you.”

Knuckles nodded again, and hurried off in the direction of Mockingbird Lane.

Maddie watched him go, hoping that they could help each other heal, if only the smallest bit.

~X~X~X~

Knuckles emerged from the dark trees at Callie’s house, eyebrow cocked at how dark the house seemed. Normally the librarian left a light on over her deck, or sat outside to watch the stars on nice nights. Tonight neither was the case.

Curious, he moved closer, climbing the deck steps and peering in through the glass kitchen door. A few lights burned inside, but something was wrong. What he could see of the interior of the house was a mess, destruction strewn across the kitchen and living rooms. He gasped, yanking the kitchen door open and hurrying in.

He skidded to a stop just inside the door. Callie sat with her back against the end of the island, her knees drawn up and hands limp by her sides. Her glasses were gone, and a quick scan around her found them on the floor a few feet away. The signature braid she always wore was loose, and her hair hung like a curtain around her face.

She breathed heavy, as though after an intense workout. Music was playing, some song he didn’t recognize.

Knuckles took a step closer, and the woman turned her head toward him, her face exhausted and haunted.

They stared at each other for a moment, as the song ended. There was a soft whirring as the CD returned to the beginning of the disc.

“Hey, Cal!”

Knuckles jerked, snapping his head toward the living room.

"Welcome to another Jammerz CD, with songs I picked specially for you! Some are ones I think you’ll like, and others are ones that just remind me of you. Betcha can’t tell which is which, haha!”

The echidna turned back to Callie, who looked away, bringing her hands up to press the heels against her eyes.

“Hey, uh, while I’m at it, there’s something I wanna ask ya. We both know I'll never have the guts to say this to you in person, warrior-in-training or not, amiright? But . . . I really like you. Like, ya know, like you like you. Gah, that sounds so dumb! But you’re so sweet and funny and I'd really like to, ya know, go out sometime. If that's something you'd want. I mean, no pressure. Totally okay if you don’t! Anyway, on to the tunes!"

A song began, another Knuckles didn’t know, and he watched Callie’s reaction. She took a deep breath. And another. And then she spoke, her voice small and cracked and broken.

“I would have said yes.”

A soft whine left her throat, and she spoke again, her voice edge with grief.

“I would have said yes.”

A sob, one that was deep and full of pain.

“I would have said yes!”

She kept repeating the words, with more sobs mixed in. Soon the sobs overpowered the words, and she curled in on herself, looking like a child drowning in grief.

Knuckles watched her for a moment, his own sorrow knotting within his chest. He watched as Callie cried, missing the man that had meant so much to them both.

Without a word, Knuckles moved closer to her, swallowing hard as her sobs awoke his own grief. He went to a knee next to her, and wrapped his arms around her as well as he could. He squeezed, resting his forehead against her temple in an attempt to offer comfort.

At first she didn’t seem to realize he was there, but she soon uncurled, looking over at him. They shared a look for a moment, before Callie reached for him, and pulled him into her lap in a tight hug. Knuckles didn’t hesitate as he wrapped her arms around her, tucking his nose into the crook of her neck as his own tears fell once more.

The two stayed like that for a long while, holding each other as their shared grief washed over them. Sometimes Callie would cry, and Knuckles would hold her tight. Other times Knuckles would cry, and Callie would rock him gently. And then they would both cry, squeezing each other as though they were the only thing keeping them both from falling apart.

The music continued to play, and the two continued to hold each other. There would be many more tears shed between them, and it would take a long time before it stopped hurting, but for now, they shared their grief, and sought comfort together.

[jujitto]

⠀ㅤᓭི༏ᓯྀㅤ ㅤㅤ𓂂⠀𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 ! — 𝗓𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗈 « 𝟣.𝟤𝗄 »

★ ! 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 · everything between you two was wrong. as much as you two try to pretend that everything was OK it wasn’t. you could dance all night long, but it wouldn’t help you to fix the problem you had.

★ ! 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 · zhang hao x reader

★ ! 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 · angst, some fluff

I don't want a friend…….just someone to give me that feeling. That feeling of being wanted. I want my life in two.

The dark filled the room……..waiting to get there. Waiting for you. A hand gripped yours. Fingers caressed your hand and your arm, you felt his warmth on your bare skin. His fingers sliding up your arm and then you felt his fingertips on your collarbone, the warmth of his palm on your cheek.

When I'm around slow dancing in the dark, middle of the night. You've been on my mind, you've been on my mind.

He pulled you into him. Your bodies pressed against each other, the feeling of his hard chest. He put his lips on yours and you melted. Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.

"I have no regrets."

"Not even me?"

"You're my greatest regret, and my greatest love."

His hand ran down your back, pulling you tighter. His other hand held the side of your neck, his thumb running across your jaw.

"This will be the last time I ask. Will you stay?"

"I'm scared."

"You can leave at any time. I will not stop you."

"Why not?"

You done made up your mind……..I don't need no more signs. Can you? Can you?! Can you see? See the way we shine?

Give me reason to believe that it's not over.

You took me by the hand and led me through the dark room. Your body swaying with mine, our eyes locked on each other. You pulled me close, our faces so close I could feel your breath.

As the music filled the room with its haunting melody, you found yourselves drawn to each other, moving in sync as if guided by an invisible force. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you swayed gently to the rhythm.

With every step, every turn, you felt a deeper connection forming between you, transcending words and doubts. His touch was reassuring, grounding you in the moment as you lost yourselves in the dance.

The soft glow of candlelight illuminated your intertwined figures, casting flickering shadows against the walls. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present shared between two souls entwined in a dance of longing and desire.

As the music reached its crescendo, he pulled you closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Give me reasons we should be complete. You should be with her, I can't compete. You looked into his eyes, "It was a mistake to come back."

He leaned closer, his breath was hot against your face, "If you don't want to be here, I can take you back." You shook your head. “Zhang Hao.” You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well. Can't you see?

I've been a fool, but still I have to wonder.

His lips brushed against mine. The kiss was sweet, soft, and passionate. The world disappeared. His lips on yours. Your hands held onto the sides of his neck, pulling him closer. I don't wanna slow dance. In the dark, dark. Give me one more chance.

To show you that it won't be the same. When you gotta run……just hear my voice in you.

You could feel his body heat through his shirt. He pulled back slightly and you both paused. "I know I've hurt you." You looked into his eyes. Shutting me out, you. "You have a habit of hurting people."

"I can't change the past." He whispered. Doing so great, you. You looked at the wall and saw the time on the clock, 2:30am. I don't wanna slow dance, I'll make this last. Used to be the one to hold you when you fall…..yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

You closed your eyes. "Hao, I've tried to hate you but I can't." Zhang Hao's eyes were filled with pain. He looked down at his hands. "I've loved you for years. I was happy with you, even when I wasn't."

He looked at you. I don't fuck with your tone. I don't wanna go home. He could tell that you were hurt by his words. His eyes filled with sadness and regret.

He pulled you close. Your lips inches apart. You felt his warm breath against your skin. You closed your eyes and kissed him. It was a long kiss, one that felt like an eternity had passed before he pulled away. Can it be one night? Can you? Can you?

"You are everything to me."

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not? I don't know what else to say."

I can't live without you. He put his hand on the side of your face and looked at you with a soft gaze. Give me reasons we should be complete. You should be with her, I can't compete. "We will never be complete without each other."

"Don't you have anyone else?"

"I love you, you idiot."

"Don't lie to me."

"You're the one who keeps running."

"You keep chasing."

"I'm not chasing anymore. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

"You will."

"I won't."

"Yes you will."

You looked into his eyes and saw the pain and regret there. You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well. Can't you see?

You could see the anguish and the torment in his eyes, and it tore at your heart. You had never seen him like this before. It was as if he was seeing a part of himself that he had kept hidden away from the world, and now he was showing it to you.

Can't you see?

"I can't be what you need. You need someone else."

"You're the only person who can make me whole."

"You'll always need more than just me."

"I will never need more than you."

You were silent. "What about her?"

"I told you, it's not the same."

You were quiet, and then you started laughing. Zhang Hao looked at you, confused. You shook your head, and continued to laugh. You could feel the tears falling down your face, and you tried to stop yourself, but the laughter wouldn't stop.

Zhang Hao reached out and wiped away the tears. "You are so damn confusing."

You looked up at him, and he leaned in and kissed you. "I love you." He whispered, as he pulled away. You shake your head pulling away. He's not gonna be the one to make you stay. And I can't pretend that we're okay. Give me one more chance. To show you it won't be the same. When you gotta run.

"I can't stay."

"Then go."

You could feel the tears running down your cheeks. He was holding onto you so tightly, but you knew that he wouldn't let go. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You opened your eyes, and looked up at him.

"I'll always love you." You say. You turned and walked away. You couldn't look back, because if you did, you would break down.

You're gonna be the one that saves me. You're gonna be the one that saves me. You're gonna be the one that saves. Zhang Hao watched as you left, his heart breaking. He knew that he had lost you forever. I don't wanna slow dance…..In the dark, dark. In the dark, dark.

[hijeatsdirt]

1984 by George Orwell Chapter 2

Chapter 2 As he put his hand to the door-knob Winston saw that he had left the diary open on the table. DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER was written all over it, in letters almost big enough to be legible across the room. It was an inconceivably stupid thing to have done. But, he realized, even in his panic he had not wanted to smudge the creamy paper by shutting the book while the ink was wet. He drew in his breath and opened the door. Instantly a warm wave of relief flowed through him. A colourless, crushed-looking woman, with wispy hair and a lined face, was standing outside. 'Oh, comrade,' she began in a dreary, whining sort of voice, 'I thought I heard you come in. Do you think you could come across and have a look at our kitchen sink? It's got blocked up and----' It was Mrs Parsons, the wife of a neighbour on the same floor. ('Mrs' was a word somewhat discountenanced by the Party--you were supposed to call everyone 'comrade'--but with some women one used it instinctively.) She was a woman of about thirty, but looking much older. One had the impression that there was dust in the creases of her face. Winston followed her down the passage. These amateur repair jobs were an almost daily irritation. Victory Mansions were old flats, built in 1930 or thereabouts, and were falling to pieces. The plaster flaked constantly from ceilings and walls, the pipes burst in every hard frost, the roof leaked whenever there was snow, the heating system was usually running at half steam when it was not closed down altogether from motives of economy. Repairs, except what you could do for yourself, had to be sanctioned by remote committees which were liable to hold up even the mending of a window-pane for two years. 'Of course it's only because Tom isn't home,' said Mrs Parsons vaguely. The Parsons' flat was bigger than Winston's, and dingy in a different way. Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, as though the place had just been visited by some large violent animal. Games impedimenta--hockey-sticks, boxing-gloves, a burst football, a pair of sweaty shorts turned inside out--lay all over the floor, and on the table there was a litter of dirty dishes and dog-eared exercise-books. On the walls were scarlet banners of the Youth League and the Spies, and a full-sized poster of Big Brother. There was the usual boiled-cabbage smell, common to the whole building, but it was shot through by a sharper reek of sweat, which--one knew this at the first sniff, though it was hard to say how--was the sweat of some person not present at the moment. In another room someone with a comb and a piece of toilet paper was trying to keep tune with the military music which was still issuing from the telescreen. 'It's the children,' said Mrs Parsons, casting a half-apprehensive glance at the door. 'They haven't been out today. And of course----' She had a habit of breaking off her sentences in the middle. The kitchen sink was full nearly to the brim with filthy greenish water which smelt worse than ever of cabbage. Winston knelt down and examined the angle-joint of the pipe. He hated using his hands, and he hated bending down, which was always liable to start him coughing. Mrs Parsons looked on helplessly. 'Of course if Tom was home he'd put it right in a moment,' she said. 'He loves anything like that. He's ever so good with his hands, Tom is.' Parsons was Winston's fellow-employee at the Ministry of Truth. He was a fattish but active man of paralysing stupidity, a mass of imbecile enthusiasms--one of those completely unquestioning, devoted drudges on whom, more even than on the Thought Police, the stability of the Party depended. At thirty-five he had just been unwillingly evicted from the Youth League, and before graduating into the Youth League he had managed to stay on in the Spies for a year beyond the statutory age. At the Ministry he was employed in some subordinate post for which intelligence was not required, but on the other hand he was a leading figure on the Sports Committee and all the other committees engaged in organizing community hike

[luminari-mc]

(Mammon x MC/Reader)

Prompt: "She doesn't compare to you. No one does.”

Genre: Angst, hurt(emotional)/comfort.

Pairing: GN!MC/Reader x Mammon

Summary: You and Mammon finally get to enjoy a well-deserving shopping trip just between the two of you. Just as you are about to hit the next shop, your attention is caught by an image advertised in the street.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: I wanted to try my hands at a prompt that is tagged as "fluff", but of course I ended up turning it into something angsty instead. But I like sad stuff, so that still works for me.

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It wasn't often that you got to spend time with Mammon without having any of his brothers around to bother you. But you had made it very clear to them that these few hours after school would be spent with Mammon, and only him. And for today's trip, you two had decided to go shopping in one of the busiest streets in the Devildom.

Clothes and jewelry stores, malls- you had done them all. When most of this time had been spent doing window shopping, Mammon had still insisted on getting at least a few bags of purchased goods for each of you by the end of the day. After all, what was the point of going on a shopping trip, if you didn't end up emptying your bank account only to regret it later?

And so, thanks to the demon's wonderful influence, your arms had now several bags hanging off of them. There was a certain guilt still looming over your head as you realized way overboard you might have gotten with your purchases, but Mammon promised he would take care of any financial problems you could encounter in the near future because of that. You still wondered how he was going to manage it, him being Mammon and all...

"Damn, now THAT'S what I call a good haul! Look at ya!" The white-haired demon grinned as he watch you hop out of the store, the glass doors opening automatically at your presence to let you out. He placed his wrists on his hips as his own bags dangled in his hands. "What'cha got for yourself this time?"

"They actually had that jacket I saw in a magazine the other day!" The doors closed behind you as you showed the white bag which contained the jacket. "You were right, that store was amazing. I can't believe you never showed it to me before."

"Ha! Told ya the Great Mammon knew where the best treasures were! Consider it an exclusive info, because I ain't gonna share more if any of my brothers are around next time." Mammon turned around before flipping a few of his bags over his shoulder, as you instantly began to trot to get to his level.

"What? So all this time you knew about it and you didn't tell me? Just because Asmo comes with us sometimes?" You expressed shock, right before your eyebrows joined together. "Really, as if you couldn't have told me over text or something."

"And have you go without me?! Nah, ain't gonna happen- you'd just get lost and end up in the worst store possible." Mammon glanced your way, and you could only smirk at his poor excuse.

"Sure, you're right. I forgot that humans don't have the same flawless sense of orientation as demons do." Despite your obviously sarcastic tone, Mammon didn't seem to register it as he nodded at your words.

"Exactly! Even if I gave you the full address, who knows where you'd end up? I don't want ya to come and complain to me afterwards, so it's gotta be with me or nothin'."

Even as you rolled your eyes, you noticed Mammon's face slightly turning away from yours, probably to hide the extra shade of color that had appeared on his cheeks ever so discreetly. Even when he was in his usual tsundere mood, it was endearing to see how concerned he was for your safety. And just how badly he wanted to be alone with you.

"So, where to next?" You asked without really thinking, surprising yourself that even after your extensive purchasing, you still wanted to do more. Or maybe it was that you didn't want this date to end right away. The past few weeks had been nothing but the brothers interrupting each other when any of them found themselves alone with you, so getting to spend some alone time with one of them, especially with Mammon, deserved to be extended a bit more.

"Glad ya asked!" As if a battery had been plugged into him, the demon brandished his arm into the air, the bags swinging by his face and missing him by a few inches. "I got this whole place where they're sellin' tons of stuff for pretty cheap, but it's actually authentic branded things. See, they're actually sold to that one guy who then has to sell them to another guy, and..."

As you listened to Mammon explain how he was able to find "authentic stuff" (probably not that authentic, you were pretty sure about that) for less than a quarter of its original price, your eyes found themselves drifting to an impressive ad plastered on a building the two of you were walking by. Recognizing the habit of Majolish to put their models on display for everyone to see was pretty easy, but that wasn't what caught your eye in the moment.

What tuned Mammon down completely in your ears, were the models themselves. The second born, sitting on a stool with a ripped shirt and pants, a few accessories hanging off his neck and barely covering anything of his exposed chest. He looked serious, staring straight at the objective- and at you, while the light shined on him to completely capture his frame for the picture.

And sitting down in the middle of the shot, between his legs, was a female demon wearing a red leather dress, her head resting on top of Mammon's leg. The clawed hand dangling off his knee- covered in golden rings, seemed to taunt you, as well as the piercing yellow eyes she had. Saying she wasn't beautiful would be lying. In fact, she was absolutely stunning. A perfect model for a perfect shot. Just looking at her made you feel small, like a prey that was about to be devoured by a hungry beast, the longer you were looking at her.

But that's what demons were supposed to make you feel like, right?

"Hey!" Mammon called out from the distance he had put between the two of you since you had stopped walking beside him. "Yo, MC!"

Watching as you kept staring into nothing, Mammon rolled his shoulders with a furrowed brow before walking back toward you, his head tilting to the side as he noticed your dead expression.

"Huuh hello, Devildom to MC? In which realm did ya get lost this time?"

"They replaced it." The words that left your mouth were weak, almost too silent for him to hear. It's as if all of the energy you had had evaporated from your body in an instant.

"Huh?" Mammon grew a bit concerned at this sudden change. His eyes perked up at the ad you were looking at, as you continued.

"The shoot we did together." Finally, you spared yourself from the sight, your gaze dropping to the ground. "They already replaced it with another one."

As soon as Mammon understood why *this* ad in particular seemed to be upsetting you so much, his jaw was already clenching. He remembered the stars he had seen in your eyes the previous week when you saw yourself on the Majolish ad, posing beside him- a shoot opportunity you had gotten while accompanying him after RAD a few days prior. In the middle of his shoot, he practically didn't leave any choice to his agent and had insisted that you be included in the shots to promote one of the new pieces of jewelry the brand was planning to release in the upcoming months. Asmo, who was there to witness your reaction on that day the three of you went out, had even taken a hundred pictures or so of you posing in front of the ad.

Except that, the jewelry you had posed with, was now present on the new model posing alongside Mammon.

He had made sure to engrave that smile of yours in his head at the time, even going so far as to snap a picture of your face while you were too focused on Asmo to notice him. But now, there was absolutely no trace of that same happiness anymore.

"The fuck?" The snarl that left him shook the walls of his throat. "That wasn't supposed to be advertised before another month! Why'd they have to take ours so soon?!"

"It's okay, Mammon." The demon stopped growling as his eyes lowered on the hand that was clutching his arm. "I mean... I'm not a model. Figures they wouldn't put it up for long... I-I mean, look at me. Seriously, who would want to see my face being exposed for longer than they can bare? It's hard to imagine. I wouldn't probably have sold their product anyway, so... it's okay."

The look on your face was devastating. Despite trying your best to smile, the tears pricking in your eyes were threatening to roll down your cheeks at any second. Mammon felt his heart being stabbed with a thousand invisible daggers, he couldn't bear to watch you feeling insulted in such a way.

His bags were immediately dropped onto the floor, the demon no longer caring for any of the fragile items he may have bought. His hands swung forward to cup your cheeks, forcing your face up to look at him straight in the eyes.

"Hey hey, MC. C'mon, look at me."

You did your best not to let your vision turn blurry because of the upcoming tears, and stared back at Mammon, your bottom lip trembling weakly.

"I don't care what anyone, model agents or not, can say- you'd sell a thousand more times than any fuckin' models out there, okay? In fact, you're worth even more than their stupid jewelry!"

His thumb quickly brushed away a tear from the corner of your eye as his other hand came to rest on your temple.

"They just put that one up there because that model is famous. They don't care about what's really beautiful, they just want to boast their popularity to the rest of the world." The blue of his eyes seemed to radiate the closer he moved towards you. "But I know what's beautiful. And her? She doesn't compare to you. No one does."

You could only look down in shame as his hands never left you, closing your eyes shut to let a couple tears out before Mammon grabbed a tissue from his pocket to dry your face. He patiently waited a few seconds for you to calm down, soothing you with slow caresses of your hair until your shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered, sniffling as you passed a wrist over your eyes. "I don't know why that upset me so much..."

"Ya got nothing to be sorry about." Mammon retrieved his hands from your head, only to grab the bags that were hanging off of your arms. He somehow manages to hold them alongside his own behind him, before wrapping the other arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, I'd call this a day. How about I prepare ya a bath when we're home? Courtesy of the Great Mammon."

You nodded, your lips arching into a smile as you grabbed the hand hanging off your shoulder. The day was cut too short for your liking, but you didn't feel up for any additional purchases, or to properly enjoy your outing anymore.

"Will you wash my hair?" You entertwined your fingers with his as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Pah, of course! Who else but me could do that?" He huffed through his nose, shaking his head at such an obvious question. Your laugh ringing in his ears gave him a brief moment of respite.

But the demon furrowed his brows as he lead you into your walk back home, keeping you snuggled at his side. Holding the bags in his left hand, his white nails sharply digged into his palm the more steps he took alongside you.

Making them cry? Such a big, big mistake. One thing was sure, Mammon wasn't about to let that one pass.

"But before that..." The hiss that escaped his throat went unnoticed by the two of you as your head rested against his shoulder.

"I'll have a few calls to make."

[bakugosbratx]

NSFW 18+ The Assistant— AU Levi Ackerman x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Smut, degrading, cursing, punishment, dom levi, sub reader, bondage, bdsm, some angst, toxic relationship, spanking, cheating, etc.

Words: 3, 673

Check out my other works here

A/N: Me and my irl moot @idfkwtfgof came up with this idea so I decided to write it out. Enjoy this fifty shades of gray moment. I’ve been working on this for over a month 🙃 I’m sorry it took me forever.

Tags: @idfkwtfgof @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie

You take a deep breath as you approached the double doors in front of you. Your heart pounded against your rib cage. The silent hallways seemed to be echoing the thumps. Anyone in your position would be nervous too if they had to meet with the CEO of the Ackerman Industries. He was not one to enjoy much company nor request it. His gaze alone could intimidate the strongest of people and you are no different.

Fist resting on the wooden door in front of you, you hesitate, but close your eyes and knock anyway. You did not hear a response as you patiently wait. Instead, the door swings open to be met with the CEO himself, Levi Ackerman. Not a word was spoken, but he ushered you inside his huge office.

Scurrying, you slightly jump as you heard the huge door slam. You are in Levi’s office. Only businessmen and women are allowed in here. You feel not even worthy to be stepping on the same floor these successful people walk on. It could also be the fact that the office seemed spotless. For someone as busy as the CEO, he sure did know how to make a stack of papers seem neat in a stack.

“Sit.” Levi instructed as he strolled over to his desk chair and doing the said action. You looked around the room. Behind Levi is a wall of windows to overlook the city of New York. His desk his a beautiful dark brown that was so clean that you could see your reflection. Along with seeing your reflection, you can see —and feel— Levi starring at you. Meeting his silver orbs, you gulp.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Y/N?” Levi questioned, his tone remaining calm as always. Somehow, this intimidated you even more.

“No, sir, I don’t.” You admit. In all honesty, you are not sure why Levi called you into his office. He waited until almost everyone has gone home for the evening to set up this meeting. You have felt nauseous all day about it. Receiving an email from the CEO was enough to make anyone’s breath hitch, but to have a meeting — alone — with him is enough to make one soil themselves.

“I want to offer you a promotion,” Levi explained, his gaze hardening. “That is, if you want it?”

This is way better news than you expected. Levi has employees for a reason. He always calls the shots since it is his million dollar company, but why get his hands dirty when he can pay people to do it for him? Since no one is allowed in his office without special permission, this seemed a bit off.

“What does the job intel?”

“Well, my company is expanding even larger than anticipated this year. I need a personal assistant. Examining the work you have put in over the years, I decided you are cut out for the job. What do you say?”

You take a moment to contemplate his words. The offer is amazing and would definitely look great on your resume, but working so close to the CEO of the company is quite intimidating. Any bad habits you have developed better end swiftly or else it’s your job on the line. Levi is not afraid to terminate anyone not fit for the job.

“I’ll take it.” You smile, the words flowing out before you could even think any further.

“You start tomorrow. I expect you in my office 8am sharp. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Standing up, you straighten out your black pencil skirt and head your way towards the door. Levi’s eyes did not once leave your figure. The way you naturally sway your hips as you walk and the way the skirt hugged your hips just right. His eyes are enjoying the desires most men have yet when you turned to look over your shoulder, his eyes where focused on his paperwork.

You went home that night, excited to tell your significant other about your promotion. He did not even blink an eye in your direction. Instead, he is pissed that you are home later than normal.

“Babe—“

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed.

“I-I was called into the CEO’s office. I got a promotion!” You stammered, nervous under your boyfriend’s glare. He always made you feel small and his anger tends to send you over the edge. This is one of those many times.

“Why would he have you in there this late? Do you think I’m really that fucking stupid?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Babe, I’m being serious. I would never lie to you.” You argued.

“And how do I know that?” He countered. “How am I certain that you aren’t cheating on me? Or even hurt? Are your damn thumbs broken, Y/N? Can’t keep me updated ‘bout what’s going on? I was worried sick about you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll do better.”

Your boyfriend walked over to you, embracing your body into a tight hug. You had so much more to say, but to prevent any further escalation of an argument, you apologized and kept your mouth shut.

The next morning arrived. You woke up extra early to have time to do your hair and makeup, dressed in your nicest attire, and wear the most expensive of jewelry. Since you are going to be around the CEO for now on, you cannot show up to work appearing sluggish. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“Dressed quite nicely, huh?” He spoke, meeting your eyes through the mirror. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“I have to be.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his orbs tracing your figure. He hated when you showed confidence. It killed him inside and knowing that other men saw your beauty as well made his blood boil. He just has to ruin it.

“For the circus? Your makeup looks awful and your hair is tremendous.” He scoffed.

You bit your bottom lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you prevented them from falling. You refuse to let him ruin your confidence. You are a strong woman and his insecurities shouldn’t be placed upon you. It is not your baggage to carry.

You meet his eyes again through the mirror. You feel your confidence crumble beneath you, but you remain strong. Turning around, you brush past him as you stroll out of the bathroom. You ignored him calling your name and demanding you to return. All he could do is watch as you left without even saying goodbye.

You arrived to the business earlier than expected. You have checked your hair and makeup more than once in the car review mirror. You are not necessarily even wanting Levi’s approval, — though he is quite handsome — you just want to look presentable. He is your boss, after all. He is not afraid to fire anyone on the spot. You are no exception.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you knock on Levi’s office door. You hear his approval to come inside and welcome yourself inside. You were not even receive a glance as you closed the door behind you. Levi’s gray orbs never left his monitor screen. You gulp nervously as you proceed towards his desk.

“I stopped to get some coffee. I brought you a tea,” you lay his cup on his desk, “just how you like it.”

He nods, still typing away. This did not help your anxiety at all. Is he regretting his decision making you his assistant? Are you disturbing him? Is he contemplating firing you? Your stomach turned at the thought.

The sound of the printer disturbed your nuisance thoughts. Levi grabbed the piece of paper and placed it on top of a neat stack. He stands up, finally looking at you.

“I have a meeting to attend to in an hour. I need these documents assorted in alphabetical order before then.”

Your eyes fall to the tall stack of papers. You definitely need more than an hour to get through them all. By Levi’s facial expression, you knew he was serious. Levi always looked serious.

“Yes, sir,” you grab the stack and meet his a gaze again, “I’ll get it done swiftly.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. Sit over there.” He orders, glancing at the couches and coffee table in the middle of his office. Maybe it is just your nerves, but his workspace seems bigger than remembered. This did not help your anxiety.

You began getting to work. You thought you are doing well on time, but time seemed to have passed you by. Levi is now towering over you, his unsatisfied silver orbs glaring down at you. You hesitate, but force yourself to meet them.

“Thought you said you would have this done?” Levi recalls.

“I-I’m really sorry, s-sir.” You stammered, expecting the worse.

“Sorry doesn’t sort the papers, Y/N.” He scolds, his silver eyes only being shown through slits.

“I—“

“We will discuss this after my meeting. Until then, I want my office spotless.” Levi continues, cutting you off. He begins walking towards the door and pauses once he reaches for the handle. “Oh and Y/N?”

You look up, meeting the CEO’s annoyed orbs. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on strike one.” Levi warns. You did not even have a chance to ask questions as his office door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone to sulk in your thoughts.

You tidied up Levi’s office like he requested of you. Every paper went into its appropriate home, cushions are straightened out, rug is vacuumed, and you are currently dusting. This man is a clean freak by nature so there was not much to do. Still, your nerves were pulsating. This is only day one and you are not on Levi’s good side. You are becoming worrisome as your job is now potentially on the line.

The door opening made you jump. You can feel Levi’s silver orbs on you as you dust his bookshelf. He did not disturb you, though, as he proceeded towards his desk and went to work like nothing happened. Curiosity is begging you to speak, but you remain silent and complete your task.

You gather the cleaning supplies and place them back into the small closet. Returning on the guest side of Levi’s desk, he does not even look up from his monitor.

“I’m finished cleaning, sir.”

Levi did not say anything. Instead, he stood up and went to the window. His fingers grazed along the exterior which collected dust on the tips. He studied it for a moment. Your heart stopped as your breath hitched. You did not mean to forget the windows, but they look so clean already. They truly do not need much more cleaning.

“Seems like you missed a spot.” He remarks, turning to face you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I thought—“

“Your cleaning is lamentable. Back to dusting. Now.” He demands, cleaning the dust off of his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.” You reply, gathering the cleaning supplies once again. You sprayed the windows and clean every inch of them until lunch time. Levi was sure to inspect your work before releasing you to go get something to eat.

“You’re dismissed.” He finally speaks. You are quick to collect your belongings leave his office. You stroll the long hallway to the elevator. You are finally alone with your thoughts and honestly, they were overwhelming. This job is very nerve racking and it’s only your first day. You are not making the best of impressions on your boss.

Digging in your purse, you check your cellphone. You have several missed calls and texts from your significant other. A pit in your stomach began to drown your appetite. You know this is going to cause a major fight between you two. A fight you did not want to participate in.

Reluctantly, you call your boyfriend back. He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed, sending chills down your spine. The elevator doors open and you head towards the cafeteria.

“Working. I can’t be on my phone while I’m—“

“So work is more important than me?” He interrupts.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.” You argued, picking up a bag of chips and a drink from the dispensers before checking out.

“Then answer my damn calls, Y/N!”

“I can’t when I’m at work!” You exclaimed. You hand the cashier money before mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ She gave you a worried look, but you disregarded it. This is not the first time that have heard a heated conversation between you and your boyfriend.

You go find an empty table to eat by yourself. The bickering between your boyfriend did not end on a good note as the other line went dead. You slammed your phone back into your purse and forced yourself to eat your chips. You did not even want them. Your relationship is falling through the cracks, you are failing at your job, and you are on the verge of losing what is left of your sanity.

Time really slipped away while you fumed in anger because you are now late to returning to Levi’s office. Tears prickled in your eyes. This is not good at all. Levi is going to be furious. Even possibly firing you.

You raced to his office. You did not even take the elevator as it will take far too long to get to his office. You are panting by the time you arrive and sweat droplets formed at the top of your forehead. Your hands began to shake as your hand rested on the handle. You need to go in there, but your body did not want to move. Your boyfriend is already pissed. You did not want to deal with your furious boss.

Sighing, you forced yourself to go inside. “I am so sorry.” You blurt out as you enter inside. Levi is giving you a disapproving look.

“Take a seat, Y/N. We need to have a talk.”

Following your boss’ orders, you sit in the chair parallel to his. You begin to tremble as you expect the worse. Levi’s glare does not help you feel any less uneasy either. His silver orbs are staring deep into your soul and making you feel small.

“You know you’re on strike three.” Levi begins. You gulp.

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry. I’ll accept any punishment you have in mind for me.” You sigh, trying to remain brave. Levi can see right through it, though. His gaze hardens and he makes his way around to your side of the desk. He folds his arms but does not remove his gaze from you once.

“What punishment do you think you deserve?” Levi ask, hoping you have the same answer in mind as him.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ll take anything. It’s what I deserve.” You admit, a flustered feeling coming across you. Levi studied your features, clicking his tongue.

“Bend over the desk.”

“What?” You whispered, not sure if you heard your boss correctly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His intimidating glare pierced through you.

“Talking to that lame ass boyfriend of yours must have you goin deaf. I said bend over my desk.” Levi instructs, letting go of your chin once you catch his drift. You do as your told, bending over his desk. You are uncertain what he is planning to do, but the removal of your skirt gave you a pretty good idea. Your cheeks felt hot as your bare ass is now exposed to Levi’s viewing.

“Lace panties, huh? You planned on being put in this position later?” Levi chuckles, his digits playing with the strap of your thong. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing what to say. A hard smack to your bare ass caused you to release a moan.

“I asked you a question. It’s only polite to answer, brat.”

“Yes. It was for my boyfriend.” You confess in embarrassment for more reasons than one.

“Oh, I see. Your toxic little relationship is in need of fixing, but the only thing you have to offer is your pretty little pussy.” Levi analyzes, rubbing his hand on your ass before delivering another slap. You wince in pain, but you mentally screamed for more. You wanted Levi to continue spanking you.

“That’s not it, sir.” You mumbled. His hand landed down on your sore ass once more while the other hand finds refuge in your hair. He pulls it, tightly, bending your head back.

“What really gets me is this mouth of yours. I suggest you use it to tell the truth before I stuff it.” Levi growls lowly in your ear, letting go of your hair to return behind you.

Another slap was delivered. Little melodies of moans escaped your lips that you attempted to conceal. Levi did not comment on it as he proceed with the punishment. Your cunt dripped with your slick. It is begging to be touched, fucked, anything Levi desires really.

A few slaps and a very red ass later, Levi’s digits founder their way inside your soaked cunt. “Someone enjoyed themselves, hm?” He teased, curling his fingers in you. You shuffle a bit, enjoying the sensation he is giving you. The removal of his fingers made you whine in a needy tone.

“I did, Levi. Please fuck me.” You cry, wanting his cock already. He chuckled at your begging, his hand rubbing your red ass then hitting it again.

“On your knees. Now.” Levi demands. You happily oblige before him. He pats your head in approval. “Good girl. You do know how to listen.”

Levi begins unbuckling his black belt. You are practically foaming at the mouth as he slides the leather out of each loop. He sets it on the desk before proceeding to unbuckle his pants, releasing his hard cock for you to pleasure. Your eyes light up at the sight. The tip of his erection is at your lips, ready for you to move forward. Your tongue teases his sensitive head before you let each inch slide in-and-out of your saliva filled mouth.

“Yeah, like that, baby.” Levi praises as you deep throat his length. You choke some, but continue taking all of his cock. Your tongue spends time playing with the veins in his cock while his head relaxes in your throat.

“The cock hungry slut having a hard time deep throating all my cock?” Levi mocks as you pull it out to catch your breath. A string of saliva connected your lips and his cock together as your lust filled orbs met his.

“Not a chance.” You grin, placing his dick back in your mouth. Levi groans in delight as you repeat the same patterns as before. His cock twitches inside your mouth as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down your throat. You gladly swallow it as his cock becomes overwhelmed, releasing his semen onto your tongue. Not a drop was spilled as you milked his cock for all he had to offer.

Pulling away, Levi praises you again. “Such a good little slut you are. Time we give your pussy some attention, huh?”

“Yes, please, sir.” You beg, eagerly. He taps his desk.

“Bend over my desk.” He commands. Following orders, you bend over his desk like before. You arched your back so your ass and pussy is more accessible for Levi. He spreads your legs out more so your weeping cunt is fully exposed. The cold air sent chills down your spine. Levi is already hard again as he stares at your pussy.

Aligning himself, the tip of his cock enters your dripping hole, sliding in perfectly. You moan as he thrust a rough rhythm. His hips slap against your ass and his hands cling onto your hips. You tightly hang onto his desk as he pick up the pace. You sob out pleas for more.

“Better quiet down. Don’t want your coworkers hearing me fuck you like the whore you are now do we?”

You did not even care. You wanted Levi and you wanted him bad. Groans and profanities filled the room from you two as Levi hits all the right spots. You babble incoherent sentences as you start to climax again on Levi’s girth. Your walls clenched on his size and released when he re-enters himself. This does not stop Levi, though, as he chases after his own high.

“Already cumming again, slut?” Levi teases as he is slowly losing himself inside you. He hit your ass again while his dick twitches. “Ask permission next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You cry out, not wanting him to stop. He pulls on your hair again, bending down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much that you have to hide it from your boyfriend.”

“Please Levi.” You beg, not even caring anymore. You wanted Levi. You have wanted him for a long time and the feeling is mutual on his end. That is why he hired you, after all.

Levi’s cock could not withstand the pressure anymore. Releasing into the depths of your cunt, he huffs profanities as every drop enters inside of you. You gladly take it as you breathe heavily. He finally pulls out, leaving you a cum filled mess. Giving your ass a gentle tap so you will get up.

“You are dismissed for the day.” Levi grumbled as he situated himself and you did the same. You straightened out your outfit and fixed your hair. You will fix your makeup in the restroom. You proceeded to exit your boss’ office when he called out to you. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You purred, looking over your shoulder.

“Let your boyfriend know you’re my slut now.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[sondepoch]

Lighter (3/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

MASTERLIST

There’s something demeaning about the outfit Childe has picked for you today. It’s nothing unlike what he had you wear when he last took you outside the apartment, when he brought you on a train to Xiangling’s restaurant, but the blouse and skirt he has you in today are looser than before, and skimpier, too. 

The thought confuses you until you realize that it’s because where you were previously dressed like a regular girl, in fairly modest clothes that were designed to shy away from attention, you’re now dressed like a slave once more: like a little sex toy that can only wear thin, loose clothes so her owner, alongside all her owner’s friends, can have easy access to the pretty tits and cunt beneath.

It should make you sick. 

Yet, as Childe slips his hand underneath your skirt to grip your thigh, the only thing that disgusts you is how easily you find yourself relaxing into his touch. 

“Angel,” Childe murmurs into your ear, voice hovering lowly under the quiet buzz of the van you both sit in. “Angel, I have a present for you.”

That catches your attention. You turn your head to your owner, eyebrows lifted in confusion, as Childe pulls a box from his pocket.

Immediately, you know what’s inside.

The first few gifts Childe gave you were all varied: the very first was, of course, the necklace he gave you in place of the ugly, metal collar all the other girls have to wear. The second was his jacket, too tattered for him to use anymore but literal paradise for someone like you, who had already grown used to spending every waking moment naked. Then, his presents began to come in the shape of services rather than material objects—the decision to allow you to sleep on a bed, the decision to let you eat better-quality meals, the decision to spare you from being sent to Scaramouche for a beating as punishment for a stupid blunder you once made—but after a certain period, Childe had granted you all the freedom he could give.

Then, his presents had to change.

He began gifting you jewels, all of them in different colors but always unfairly expensive, to make your collar sparkle.

You make no haste in opening the black, velvet box Childe gives you, eyes bright. You don’t think twice about how embarrassing it is that he’s conditioned you to associate these little gemstones (probably worth mere pennies to a man as wealthy as Childe) with happiness, but even you can’t keep the smile off your face as you snap open the box and see a blue twinkle staring back at you. 

“It’s a sapphire,” Childe explains, pulling the gemstone out by the short, silver chain it dangles from. “Since you told me that you like colorful stones.”

You remember saying that. It was true: being Childe’s favored toy meant that you were always by his side; it gave you no room for pastimes, and so you found that the most entertaining thing to do was toy with the shiny stones that dangled off your collar and angle them into the light to trace patterns into the ceiling. It’s an activity that works best with larger, colorful stones: the dainty diamonds Childe always used to gift you didn’t work half as well.

“Do you like it?” the man asks, staring down at you. “I thought you deserved a reward so behaving so well last time we went out. If you’re good this time as well, I’ll give you another one.”

I won’t be here for you to give me another one, you think. 

“I like it,” you say, ignoring how your heart instinctively speeds up with—is it fear? concern? hesitation?— when that thought runs through your mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

Childe grimaces.

“I mean, Ajax.”

Calling him by his name is still a hard habit to get into, but you find that the syllables roll off your tongue much smoother now. Alas, you shouldn’t need to worry about it too much longer. Not if today’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya goes as planned.

“Here, lean forward so I can put it on you.”

The way you arch your neck forward is familiar. You and Childe have been in this position countless times before, him always being the one to fasten his gifts to your collar, and it shows in how quick Childe’s fingers are in attaching the short chain of the sapphire to your necklace. Within seconds, you feel the task’s completion as you lean your head back and smile at your owner, the weight around your neck marginally heavier than when you both stepped inside this van.

“It looks good,” Childe says, squeezing your thigh gently. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say like a good little slave. Then, you decide to go the extra mile. “Ajax.”

The man doesn’t respond to that, opting to glance out the window as his driver speeds down the highway that’ll doubtlessly bring you both to the office Diluc and Kaeya share, but you can see the edges of his lips curling upward. It’s rare, after all, for you to address him by name. No matter how much he loves it, your tongue still says “sir” on instinct, a little crack in the homey picture Childe is building with you in his mind.

It’s not like it matters, you think, stopping yourself from thinking too much about your owner before you can begin to feel bad. If all goes well, I won’t ever have to see him again.

The thought instinctively brings a smile to your face, but it falls just as fast.

If.

Looking back, the message Diluc and Kaeya gave you was cryptic. ‘WE CAN HELP YOU’ provides no accurate timeline to place your hopes in. The second message, ‘COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU’ was of the same nature. Up til now, you’ve been vaguely interpreting their words to mean that they would free you immediately if you managed to go with Childe to this meeting. But the human trafficking world is so complicated, and you can’t help but think that things may be delayed even longer.

All you can do is hope for the best and pray that reality won’t disappoint.

“How much longer?” you ask your owner after the view outside the window has changed from a highway to a cityscape.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Childe chuckles. “We should be there any time soon. Keep an eye out. Their office is in one of the big buildings.”

That doesn’t tell you much, given that nearly every building this van drives past is over fifteen stories high. 

You’re in the middle of scoffing at Childe’s poor description of the office when the car finally stops: and only then do you understand that when he said “one of the big buildings,” he meant the biggest fucking building in the entire city.

You’re gawking like a fool as Childe helps you out of the car, mentally overwhelmed at the sheer size of what has to be the tallest office in Snezhnaya. 

“It’s…” 

Big doesn’t begin to describe the grandeur of this place. It’s nothing you’d expect from two men who are working undercover to free people from human trafficking: it's got to be the most eye-catching thing you've ever seen, one hundred stories high or taller, with every inch of the exterior covered in wall-to-wall windows. It looks like an upscale version of Childe’s own office, and if you thought his building was lavish, then this is full-on opulent.

Your owner has to forcibly pull you forward to get you to move. 

You almost forget to tuck your precious jacket—the one you so foolishly forgot when you last went out in public, the one Childe insisted you bring this time in case you have another episode—underneath your arm because you’re so busy marveling at the exterior of the building, though you thankfully remember to do so right before the van door closes. 

“It’s nothing impressive,” Childe grumbles as he pulls you past the professional double doors. “Diluc and Kaeya are only renting the top ten floors here. They’re not even rich enough to purchase them.”

“Ten whole floors?” you ask, eyes round as you stare at the inside of the ground floor. Childe tugs you towards the elevator, and you’re just barely able to slow him down so you can stare at the marble floors, the expensive-looking paintings on the wall, the embodiment of wealth unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “Why do they need ten—”

“They’re sex traffickers, angel,” Childe tells you when the elevator doors shut. (You have to force yourself to refrain from marveling at how even this elevator seems posh and refined.) “They use the top floor for their own operations. The other nine are where they run their prostitution rings.”

Your face darkens at that. It must be the exact same as Childe’s office, where he has you and his other favored prostitutes up at the top with him, and all the girls he doesn’t want to show favoritism to are forced into the life they were meant to follow when they were brought into the human trafficking world: either as unpaid sex workers that are sold by the hour from Childe to other equally-awful clients or as human trafickees to be shipped to someone else if they prove to be too much trouble.

But then, you remember Diluc and Kaeya’s message.

��WE CAN HELP YOU,’ they said.

There’s no way that they’re running a sex trafficking front up here. Childe must be wrong. It’s probably just a lie they told him to gain his trust so that they could best help you escape this life.

“They’re so arrogant,” Childe grumbles, crossing his arms. “I bet they chose this office just to piss me off. It’s bad business, too. They’re losing out on money by choosing such a fancy place. Not even the Snezhnayan sex work model will boost their profits.”

“What’s the Snezhnayan sex work model?”

“The system we use in the Fatui. It’s supposed to be the best, money-wise. You hand-train the elite girls as prostitutes so that the best ones become magnets for high-caliber clients. You sell off girls who don’t show promise early on. And then there’s a handful of average-quality, compliant girls you keep for the low-caliber clients that want a good fuck but can’t pay as much.” Childe folds his arms as he leans back against the elevator wall. “It's the most profitable method, even if it means that the girls you sell will always be low-quality.”

“Wouldn’t I be an elite girl?” you ask, staring at your owner. “You trained me, but I never had to work as a prostitute. And I only sometimes have to meet your clients, and—”

“You’re different,” Childe says, avoiding your eyes.

Immediately, you want to ask what he means by that. Unfortunately for you, the elevator doors open at that precise moment, and Childe leads you forward by the hand into an office that, now that you think about it, definitely was designed to upstage Childe’s own place of work.

“Come on, you can do it, baby.” A low coo from the left side of the room draws your attention, and your eyes widen in a mix of confusion, concern, and finally, horror. 

“Ignore Kaeya. Focus on my fingers. Relax your throat, doll, yes, just like that…”

Even Childe stiffens when he sees the three men splayed out on a couch: Diluc and Kaeya sandwiching a youthful-looking boy between them as Diluc shoves his hand down the boy’s throat and Kaeya strokes the boy’s small cock. 

For a moment, you don’t understand why the boy looks so wrecked, his braided hair dampened with sweat and his face covered in tears, but when your eyes watch as a trickle of sweat trails from the boy’s neck to his stomach, joining a copious amount of white fluid you can only imagine to be the result of countless orgasms, it’s clear that Kaeya’s overstimulating him. Add that to the way Diluc’s entire hand is slotted down the poor boy’s throat, and how the redhead is still stubbornly trying to get more inside, and it becomes clear that whatever this boy is feeling is far from pleasant.

The picture makes it irrevocably clear that this boy is to Diluc and Kaeya what you are to Childe. 

Instinctively, you imagine how you would feel if you were in such a position. Your worst memory under Childe, after all, is from the time when you were handed over to four men who fucked into your G-spot so vigorously that you cried at any sensation for hours. Your second worst memory is from the time when a client forced a massive dildo so big you couldn’t breathe down your throat and left you like that until Childe intervened. 

The idea of those two memories being combined into one makes you want to vomit. 

“Fucking hell,” Childe grunts once he’s past processing the image before him. “Get your toy out of here. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya responds, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t stop stroking the boy’s cock. “You had your little angel out during our last meeting. Let us have a little fun now, alright?”

“Hell no. Even I don’t dabble in…” Childe sneers when he sees how young the boy seems to be. “Children.”

Diluc laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through the room. “He’s older than he looks. We’re not scummy enough to deal in children, either, Tartaglia.”

“You’re scummy enough to have to share,” Childe says, scoffing. “What, did you guys spend so much money paying for this building’s rent that you couldn’t afford more than one kid to suit both your needs? The two of you look pathetic, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic,” Kaeya offers. “It’s more like we know exactly what we want. And if we both want the same thing, we’re not going to waste our time with…” The man’s single eye skirts over your figure with purpose. “Cheap replacements.”

“Really, now?” You can sense Childe getting offended for you. “You think your little toy is better trained than my angel?”

“I don’t think it, Tartaglia. I know it.” Kaeya grins. He gives the boy’s cock another few strokes, going at the same pace, the small, red-flushed thing twitching furiously in response. “Just watch.”

Kaeya abruptly pulls back from the boy, lifting his hand in the air for dramatic effect, and one, two, three seconds pass where nothing happens. The little organ he’d been stroking still quivers, either from overstimulation or from desire, but the boy suppresses his orgasm, and you can see the desperate, shallow breaths he tries to take from around Diluc’s hand.

Then, it happens.

“Cum, Venti.”

On command, the boy keens, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips spasm and jerk up into nothing. Venti’s cock looks abused, a thought demonstrated by how little cum actually shoots into the air and onto his stomach, the substance looking more watery than it looks healthy.

You grimace when you understand how far Venti must have been pushed to reach this point. 

The boy practically melts into Kaeya’s hold after the orgasm has left his body, boneless after something so intense, and the final shreds of resistance he’d been offering Diluc’s hand disappear as the redhead’s wrist edges deeper into his throat.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?” Kaeya says, grinning as he strokes Venti’s hair, brushing the sweat-stained bangs from his forehead. “He’s ‘Luc’s favorite. We haven’t had any discipline issues from him in years. Same goes for the rest of our merchandise.”

Kaeya’s words are a shameless flex on Childe: a reminder that your owner’s girls are so often poorly-trained and that even you, the star of his trafficking business, are secretly planning on running away.

You don’t need to look up at your owner’s expression to see the raw annoyance plastered onto his face. 

“No discipline issues?” Childe grunts. “So if I bought him from you and ordered him to kill himself right now, he’d do it?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Whatever response Kaeya was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Finally, Diluc speaks up.

“Venti, much like your toy over there, isn’t for sale.” Diluc withdraws most of his hand from the boy’s mouth, leaving only the tips of his fingers in such that Venti cranes his neck forward to suckle at them. “But if you want him gone that much, it’s fine. He has to go to work now, anyway.”

You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at that. Kaeya watches your expression, and he laughs.

“Sorry, girlie. I know your master over there likes to exercise preferential treatment with his pets, but we don’t do that in Mondstadt.” Kaeya gently pushes Venti to his feet, holding his hand until the shake of the boy’s feet subsides. “All our toys have to work. Favoritism should only go so far in a world like this.”

With that, Kaeya pats Venti’s butt and sends the boy off, and you watch in a mix of awe and horror as he stumbles towards the elevator to “work.”

If it were real, you’d be mortified. 

Venti was overstimulated to tears, his legs wobbling the whole time as he stumbled past you, the apples of his fair cheeks flushed a feverish red. There was saliva dripping down his chin, cum still smeared on his stomach, and the reek of sweat and sex wafting off the entirety of his stumbling, nude form.

But you comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was all just an act. 

You close your eyes and hold your jacket closer to your body as the elevator releases a low ding, forcing yourself to remember the message Diluc and Kaeya left for you that filled your heart with so much hope. What happened with Venti just now looked bad, but you’re certain that it was all part of their master strategy to deceive Childe until you’re free from him.

(If there’s a sudden thump of a body hitting the ground and a low groan from behind the elevator doors as soon as they shut, you force yourself not to pay attention to it.)

“Fucking finally,” Childe mutters as soon as Venti is gone. He shuffles forward and flops down onto a couch, pulling you with him. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya mumbles, using a sanitized cloth to clean his hands before slipping his usual gloves back on. Next to him, Diluc does the same. “All we need to do is fix a transportation route for the merch, right?”

“Yeah,” Childe grunts. “I already have some ideas. I own a parent company that sells furniture. If we can legally frame our transactions under the branch of…”

You zone out as soon as they begin using human trafficking jargon you barely understand.

This meeting is much more civilized than the previous, if the whole incident with Venti can be forgotten. The jabs Diluc and Kaeya make towards Childe are much more subtle, popping up rarer, too, and Childe doesn’t openly taunt them with your body the way he did in the first meeting. 

It takes nearly an hour before your owner even remembers you, and even then, his touches remain somewhat innocent. He only ever ghosts his fingers against your thigh, oft going down to drum his fingers against your knee while he continues to work out the logistics of his business deal. The touches honestly end up keeping you on edge with how delicate they are, and it’s right when his fingers have finally flitted up to the innards of your thigh, right when you’re holding your breath, right when Diluc and Kaeya’s eyes are fixated on where his palm has crept beneath your skirt, that his phone rings.

Immediately, Childe’s hands are off you. 

“I have to take this,” he says, wrapping a protective arm over your shoulder as he beckons you to stand next to him. “In private.”

“Take the elevator down to the second floor if you want privacy,” Diluc offers. “It’s not being rented out, and there aren’t any cameras there.”

“Thanks,” your owner says, leading you towards the elevator. 

“Wait,” Kaeya calls, right as you’re about to step in behind Childe. You glance behind your shoulder to stare at him, and the devious expression on his face concerns you. 

Kaeya winks at you a second before Childe, too, turns to face him.

“Leave your girl here with us, will you? Give us a treat to nibble on to kill the time.”

Immediately, you think that Kaeya has said the wrong thing. Childe is a fiercely protective man, over you more than anything else. There’s no way he’d leave you in the hands of two men he barely even likes, and it’ll probably only cast suspicion in his mind to hear Kaeya ask for you so candidly.

You shut your eyes, instinctively preparing to hear Childe’s rejection.

Instead, his tone is light when he speaks, almost amused. “Finally seeing how high-quality she is, eh?” Your owner is smiling at Kaeya, not an ounce of irritation, anger, or protectiveness on his face. “Fine. This call will take a while anyway. Just make sure you don’t wreck her too much.”

With that, the redhead steps into the elevator and leaves you with nothing more than a featherlight kiss to the temple, and you’re standing there, dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds before you process what has happened.

Alone, you realize with a start. I'm finally alone with them. 

Immediately, you sprint forward, grabbing Kaeya’s hand in an attempt to tug him off the couch, not caring about how you dropped your jacket on the floor in your rush.

“Come on,” you say, eyes wide. “If—if you want to set me free, we have to go now while he’s busy!”

But Kaeya doesn’t move an inch off the couch, instead pulling you onto his lap with a strength you didn’t realize he had. 

“What are you—”

“Shh, baby. We have to put on a show in case Tartaglia comes back, yeah?” You feel Diluc shuffle behind you, and the redhead is quick to wrap his hands around your hips from behind. 

The slowness, the casualness, the feigned normalcy of their actions dumbfounds you.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” you whisper, hands going up to grip at the fabric of Kaeya’s suit. “You said you’d free me if I managed to come to this meeting, so—”

“Relax,” Diluc mumbles into your ear, gloved hands sliding beneath your blouse to grope at your breasts. “Freeing you isn’t something we can do at the drop of a hat. It’s not just about you being here.”

“Right,” Kaeya says, his fingers slowly undoing the zipper on your skirt. “We asked you to come to this meeting to first check if it would even be possible to free you. A test, if you will. We weren’t sure you’d pass it. But if Tartaglia is willing to give you enough freedom to wander around with him, we figure you should also have enough freedom to do what needs to be done for us to free you.”

“What?” you whisper, trying to force back the tears that are pooling in your eyes. This is everything you’d feared: that Diluc and Kaeya’s idea of freeing you would be more complicated than you’d realized and that the whole process would require more time. “What do you need me to do to be free?”

“Aw, don’t cry.” Kaeya tosses your skirt to the floor right before he goes up to wipe away the tears from your face. “It’s not hard. We just need you to get ahold of Tartaglia’s fake documents on you.”

“His...what?”

Confusion is ultimately what brings a halt to your tears, and you cock your head naively at Kaeya right as Diluc speaks up.

“Fake documents,” Diluc explains, beginning to rub the front of his pants against your naked arse. “Every human trafficker has a series of documents for their merchandise that they can use for transportation and claim purposes. We need to get yours from Tartaglia.”

“Why can’t you take me away without them?��� you plead, still clinging to the hope that you might be able to go free today. “Why do I have to—”

“Because, depending on how smart Tartaglia is, he can use those documents to rightfully get you back, even if we set you free.”

“What?” you ask. “How?”

“Think. If he has you listed on those documents as a minor, then the State can only do so much to protect you. Especially if he has himself listed down as your guardian. Even if you try to speak out against him, the Snezhnayan police won’t care. They’ll send you straight back to him, and you can bet that whatever freedoms you have now will be forever lost to you the second time around.”

“B-but, if I can prove that I’m not the person in his fake documents—”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaeya interrupts. “If you’re lucky, Tartaglia’s fake documents would be low-quality. But if he was smart, which we both know he is, then his documents will be of a high-enough quality that people will believe them when they see them. And unless you happen to have your official documents on you, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself except steal the papers from Childe before he can use them.”

The annoyed, almost bored inflection of Kaeya’s voice shakes you to the core. They rattle this information off so quickly, so intuitively, so earnestly that you have no choice but to believe them.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll get the documents you want.”

“Do you know where he keeps them?” Diluc asks.

“I think so. He has a locked briefcase that he always keeps in his office. I don’t know the combination to open it, but I should be—”

“Good,” Kaeya interrupts. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, hesitant. The man’s words seemed like a compliment, but his tone felt much more derisive. “Um, is that all, or is there anything else I—”

“That’s all,” Diluc says. “Two weeks from now is when we’ll be ready to get you out of here. We’ll be staying in the hotel across from Tartaglia’s apartment. The two of us will be in rooms 213 and 214. Come find us at any time, and as long as you have the documents on you, we’ll be able to set you free.”

Your heart beats a little faster at that. 

“Really?” you whisper, almost not believing it. The goal you’ve been given is finally real: it’s tangible, so clear that you can already see yourself using something sharp to tear into Childe’s briefcase and retrieve your documents before you’ll finally be able to live a life you can be proud of.

Kaeya smiles when he sees the look on your face.

“Really,” he whispers, reaching a rough, gloved hand up to cup your cheek with infinite care. The kiss he coaxes you into is gentle, soft, and sweet. It’s everything he is, everything Childe isn’t. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. You don’t care about the fact that Diluc has unbuttoned and pulled off your blouse now, leaving you effectively nude as you embrace Kaeya, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers in response, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

The next minutes are marked by more peace than you’ve felt in months. Sandwiched between Diluc and Kaeya, you feel oddly safe. The roughness of their gloves stops bothering you, the silky brushes of their hair stop tickling you, and the closeness of their bodies, the warmth and the heat that radiates off them as naturally as light off the sun, only relaxes you in their arms.

When Kaeya begins playing with the jewels on your necklace, you don’t stop him.

“Tartaglia gave you this?” he asks, tugging gently at a diamond. 

“Yeah. They're all presents for being good.”

You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face as you say that: it’s like a reminder that you’re special, that you’re important, that even though you’re down in a world where your life isn’t even your own, you still have worth.

Behind you, Diluc’s fingers reach over your shoulder and begin lifting up individual stones to the light. “These are expensive,” he mutters, twisting a ruby among his leathered fingers. “More expensive than what someone would normally give to a slave.”

“I know,” you say. “It's because this is supposed to incentivize my good behavior, and—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, voice soft. “It’s supposed to manipulate you.”

Your voice catches at that, and you glance at Kaeya for confirmation because you doubt it can be true. Not when Childe always seems so sweet when he gifts you these presents. Not when you've come to look forward to them as the one light in your life in this dark, dark world. But when the blue-haired man’s face twists into sympathy, your heart falls.

“B-but...I like…”

“You’re supposed to like it,” Diluc’s voice, rich and deep, rumbles out into your ear. ”But you need to understand that it’s not a necklace, doll. It’s a collar.”

“I know that,” you say, now wrapping your fingers around the chain protectively. “But I don’t—I don’t want—”

Kaeya kisses you, bringing two hands to your cheeks to cradle your face in his fingers.

“We’re not going to take it away from you, baby.”

He kisses you again.

“Relax.”

Those words soothe you in a way you can’t quite explain; the idea of losing your necklace, even being told that your necklace was a ploy to manipulate you (though you already knew that, to some extent), was unsettling. You much prefer the notion that it’s an innocuous gift: mainly because you’ve grown far too attached to it for it to represent human trafficking and all the pain you’ve had to endure thus far.

But, right when you’ve calmed yourself and forcibly stopped yourself from panicking, you feel a sharp tug on your neck.

“What did you—”

“Nothing,” Diluc says, holding two gemstones—two diamonds, one blue and one pink—in his palm. They still have their chain attached to them, but that's it: there's nothing connecting the diamonds to your necklace, the chains having been ripped off.  You feel your expression change as you see what he's done. “Just—”

“What did you do?!” you blurt, panic beginning to overtake your heart. “Childe—Ajax—he’s going to notice! I—I’ll get in trouble, and—”

“Shh,” Kaeya whispers, trying to calm you down with a kiss, but you pull back before his lips can touch you. “It’s not—”

“Put it back. Put it back!”

You've turned around and are about to hit Diluc when the man grips both your wrists, holding you with such a force that it freezes you. The look in his eyes is fierce, fiery, red eyes shining brighter than the rubies dangling off your neck—and for a single second, you can’t help but think that the man looks furious. 

Then, the expression is masked, and you’re both left calmer for it.

“Tartaglia won’t notice. Unless he makes a habit of regularly counting what’s on your neck, only you’ll be able to feel the difference.” Right. That makes sense. Childe likes to look at your necklace, but you doubt that he’ll actually know how many presents he’s gifted you. Not when he barely touches the thing, dexterous fingers always reaching out to feel your body instead. 

“And besides,” Diluc says, easing you back into your earlier position with your back resting against his chest. “It’s a promise. The two diamonds.”

“A promise?”

In front of you, Kaeya smiles in understanding.

“Right. It’s a promise, baby. We’ll give you these two diamonds back once we’ve freed you, and until then, they’re our weight to bear so that every time we look at them, we remember that we’re waiting for you so we can set you free.”

“It...is?” you ask, hesitant. You haven’t been in the outside world in a while; is this how people do promises now?

“Yes,” Diluc mumbles, kissing your ear as he strokes your hair. Every brush of his fingers against your head instinctively relaxes you, until you’re almost as calm as you were before he took two stones off your necklace. “Do you trust us to return them to you?”

It’s a disguised question.

What Diluc is really asking is this: Do you trust us?

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s the only right answer.

Then, the two men go silent. They focus on relaxing you once more, running their gloved fingers up and down the sides of your body, almost massaging your skin as you sit between them. 

Unfortunately for you, all you can think about is your necklace.

It’s the first time you’ve had it be lighter than before: Childe only ever adds to it; he never takes. Now, right when you’d grown used to the weight of the sapphire he attached this morning, you’ve got the odd situation of it being even lighter than it had been when you woke up.

You know that you should feel freer now: less chained down to Childe and to the Fatui.

But deep down inside, you miss the weight.

Minutes later, when you’re a little less emotionally overwhelmed and a little more relaxed as the two men gently run their arms around your body, another thought surfaces.

“A-also,” you say, hesitant. “Um, everything you said at the beginning of this meeting…”

“All lies,” Diluc says, pulling you closer against his broad chest after you slink too deep into Kaeya’s embrace. “Tartaglia had a negative impression of us coming in, so we had to play to that. Everything we said was just for show.”

Your shoulders sag in relief at that, but another thought continues to poke at your brain.

“And Venti?” you finally manage to ask, remembering how ruined the boy had looked as he stumbled away from the two men holding you.

“He’s a masochist,” Kaeya blurts. “We asked him beforehand if he’d be okay with participating. Not sure he realized how all-out we were going to go, but I’m certain that he enjoyed himself.”

That...makes sense! You’ve heard before about masochists, and looking back, everything Diluc and Kaeya did to the boy really did seem to be for the sake of his pleasure. You’ve heard countless times about overstimulation being something sexy, something desired, something liked by the select few who could bear it. Similarly, the way Diluc had his hand down Venti’s mouth...that’s the equivalent of Childe having you suck on his fingers during sex, right? 

You laugh a little when you realize that everything you’d been scared about had an explanation. You should have known better than to doubt Diluc and Kaeya, two people who are saving you from hell itself. If anything, you should be on your knees thanking them instead of raising questions over what they had to say to be able to help you out.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” you confess, sheepish as Kaeya’s fingers begin toying with your breasts. “I’m just...really nervous. And a little scared.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kaeya asks, a tinkling laugh spilling from his lips. “We were the same way when we first came out here to save people from human trafficking.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes round. “Do you guys do this for a living? How many people do you save?”

“Uh...whoever we can, really. We use our covers as human traffickers to identify targets that would be easiest for us to free. You seemed like one. Before you, we helped that boytoy from Zhongli. Before him was some Khaenri'ahi girl, and…”

Zhongli? You ask yourself, trying to figure out where you know that name from. It’s familiar, so familiar, and…

“Wait!” You blurt, sitting up straight and nearly knocking Diluc backward in the process. “You guys were responsible for freeing Xiao? The one who’s always by Zhongli’s side?”

You remember the short little man, beautiful in his own right, from when Childe had a business meeting with Zhongli. That was the first time you learned of Xiao, the last time being just last week when you heard Scaramouche say that the green-haired boy had somehow disappeared. 

Hope blooms in your heart as soon as you realize what that disappearance was: the successful removal of one more slave from the human trafficking network, something you're next in line for.

Diluc lets out a light laugh when he sees how your entire face has brightened up now that you have genuine proof that these two men are for real, that they’ve helped people escape in the past and that they’ll help you escape in the near future. 

“Wait, if you guys freed Xiao, then were you also the ones responsible for setting, uhm…”

Your brain blanks out as you try to remember the second person Scaramouche mentioned when speaking to Childe. What was her name? Amine? you think, but that sounds off. Umino? Lumina? You continue to guess names in your head, brain fixating on Childe’s interaction with the other Fatui executive until finally, you remember her name.

“Lumine!” you declare with pride. “Were you the ones who set her free, too?”

Kaeya stares at you with a shocked expression. His lips part and his face freezes, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead, and you turn around to glance at Diluc, but the redhead is in a similar state.

“You’re telling me,” Kaeya begins, “That Lumine...”

He can’t bring himself to finish, and so Diluc steps in to complete the question: “Lumine belonged to Tartaglia?”

You glance back and forth between the two men, unsure of why they seem to be regarding this news with such shock.

“I think so?” you say, now beginning to doubt yourself. “I’m not sure. But Scaramouche said something like that to him, so I—”

You’re cut off by a sharp cackle of laughter from Kaeya. You stare at him in shock, and then behind you, Diluc has begun chuckling, and then Kaeya’s laughing even louder, and within seconds, both men are laughing their heads off at something you barely understand. 

“Oh my gods!” Kaeya blurts between fits of almost-hysterical giggles. “You’re telling me that Tartaglia? Fucking Tartaglia? Was the one to lose Lumine?” He laughs some more, loud and merry and cheerful. "So I was right when I called you a—a—" Kaeya stutters in his laughter. "A cheap replacement?"

You stare at the blue-haired man in confusion, not understanding a word of what he's saying nor why he seems to find it so hilarious that Childe and Lumine are connected. You want to open your mouth to ask why, but you have to stop yourself because it's at this precise moment that your owner returns; and this is the picture that Childe sees when the elevator dings with the announcement of his arrival: you, completely nude and squashed between the two Mondstadt business partners, Kaeya in front of you, laughing his ass off as if you’ve told the joke of the century, and Diluc behind you, the most stoic man in the room losing his composure in an equally graceless manner.

“What the fuck…” your owner mutters at the sight, but seeing Childe only makes the two men around you laugh harder.

It takes a full minute for them to calm down, and in that minute, you rise from their couch and move back towards Childe like an obedient slave, only wearing your clothes when Childe nods at you that it’s okay for you to do so.

“So,” Childe deadpans once Diluc and Kaeya have finally stopped laughing, though Kaeya still releases a giggle every now and then. “Did my girl tell a funny joke or something? You guys sounded like a bunch of dying hyenas.”

“Something like that,” Kaeya says, smiling at Childe, but you sense something deadly in his eyes. 

“Alright, well…” Childe awkwardly tries to steer the conversation back to what they’d been discussing before. “I guess the final details will have to be ironed out once I actually use this company as a cover to ship the girls to you, but is there anything else we need to talk about? Transportation-wise, we seem solid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya drawls, a strange smile on his face. “But, real quick, I want to talk about prices one more time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Childe grunts, annoyed. “We already agreed on five-hundred thousand mora per shipment. Don’t try to haggle with me again on this.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Diluc says, crossing his arms. “But we just learned some interesting information.”

Childe’s eye twitches in annoyance. “Right,” he blurts, leaning back. “What is it? Did you find out that I’m giving a better deal to someone else? Because that sucks, but that’s how this business works with new partners. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” Diluc interrupts, lifting a hand. “It’s moreso that before, we thought we were purchasing merchandise from a valued, respected dealer.”

Diluc’s lips quirk into a cruel grin. 

“Not from the infamous idiot trafficker who lost Lumine.”

You can hear the ice settle over the room before you feel it, the abrupt, chilling silence suddenly making every second feel like an hour. You’re almost scared to move, scared to pull your eyes to your owner who, for the first time since you met him, looks like the child his codename was assigned for.

Childe doesn’t try to speak, but his every thought is displayed in his eyes alone, the cerulean blues giving insight to a hurricane of emotions wilder than the sea. In his eyes is fear, horror, despair, and pain, so much pain. 

Something about the look on his face makes your heart break.

Diluc and Kaeya don’t care.

“I think charging five hundred thousand mora is a tad much for a douche who almost brought the entire industry down. Hell, you should be paying us for even being willing to deal with you, but…” Kaeya glances at Diluc, a single blue eye flitting down to where Diluc extends three fingers against his knee. “We’ll settle for a drop in the price instead. Three-hundred thousand mora per shipment. That good with you, Tartaglia?”

You’re expecting your owner to bargain, to argue, to scoff, to do something other than stare into the distance with those bright blue eyes that now look more blank than anything else. 

When you hear Childe mutter a meek “Okay,” you nearly recoil in shock.

Even Kaeya is surprised. “R-really? Damn. Actually, I think we should go even lower, y’know? Every trafficker in the world was scared for their life because of you, so maybe drop the price some more as reparations for that? Whaddya say, two hundred thousand? Per shipment?”

You stare at your owner, silently begging him to do something. Even you can tell that he’s being taken advantage of now, and that awful look in his eyes is something that even you’re unfamiliar with.

“Okay.”

“Fu...okay then? But also, you were kind of a dick to us last time, so how about you make it one hundred thousand? Seems more fair to me.”

“O—”

You grab your owner’s hand before he can agree, and the touch seems to snap Childe out of the awful fog that had been wrapped around his head. The look in his eyes is only less marginally troubled when he abruptly stands up, gripping your hand in a silent plea for you to move with him.

“I’m going,” Childe announces. 

He begins walking away so fast that you just barely have time to grab your jacket before you’re at his heels.

The man completely ignores Diluc and Kaeya as he waits for the elevator to open with a rigid posture, seeming to feel uncomfortable or fearful or panicked or a mix of all three. Kaeya begins laughing behind you both, and you almost want to tell him to stop: tell him that yes, Childe is an awful human trafficker and yes, you hate him as well—but the poor man looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack, and you know first-hand how awful a feeling that is. 

You’re grateful when the elevator finally opens, more grateful when the doors close and you and Childe are finally in isolation together. 

Only then, in the silence of the box as it moves you both down to the ground floor, do you hear Childe’s shaky breathing. It’s jagged, uneven. Then, you take note of the way his hands are clenched into fists, palms enclosed so tight that his arms are shaking—and despite everything he’s done to you, you feel some semblance of pity for him.

“Ajax,” you mumble, hoping that the name will calm him. “Relax.”

A moment of silence.

“I am relaxed,” he responds, and when you glance over at him, he’s completely back to normal: breathing even and palms loose.

His eyes, though, are just as pained as when the two of you were sitting upstairs on that couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re the one who let it slip that Lumine and Childe were connected. Even if you don’t understand the scope of what you said, it's clear that it had an impact. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t apologize.”

More silence. It feels heavy, unlike the usual, comfortable stretches of quiet that you and Childe like to bask in.

“What...were they talking about?” you ask quietly, still staring at your owner. “Diluc and Kaeya said that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A moment of silence.

It feels so heavy that it seems to crush you under its weight.

“Who is she? Lumine?”

More silence. 

This time, Childe is the one to break it. 

“The only girl I ever loved before you.”

That’s a lie, and you know it. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t be bringing you around to meetings, dressing you like a cheap slave, and handing you off to other men to flex how ‘high-quality’ you are. If Childe loved you, you would be long gone from the human trafficking circuit because he would have set you free. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t force you to stay by his side because he’s your abuser, your trafficker, the monster that haunts your life. 

Most importantly, if Childe loved you, he would have given you a proper answer to your question. Not some flimsy skirt-around that only furthers his attempts to manipulate you into loving him back.

Your eyebrows furrow the slightest as you feel the elevator hit the ground floor, brain still focused on everything Diluc and Kaeya said. Everything Childe didn’t want to talk about. Lumine.

Curiosity begs you to stick around and learn the truth.

Logic, reasoning, and the desire to lead a life of your own tell you that you’ll be long gone from Snezhnaya before that’ll ever happen. 

MASTERLIST

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

Word count: 7.9k

Notes: eyyyy i'm alive! i promise i never forgot about this fic, it's just that after i missed the original due date, my mind was just like 'eh, it's already late, what's a few more days?' and that's the story of how this is two months late. thank you to all the kind commenters from the last chapter - to the people who checked in on me, ily; to the people who sent me those wholesome asks on tumblr, ily ily; and to the people who made guesses on what would happen in future chapters - guess what :D you acc helped me shape this :3 i originally meant for lumine to be a passing thing mentioned once and never again, but she'll end up being important for chapter 4 ^^ so thank you to everyone who'll still be here after i disappeared for so long. hope you liked this chapter (lmk your thoughts!) and i can't wait to see you all in the finale <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/11

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part V

[ previous ]  Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x Reader, Zeke Jaeger x Reader wc: ~ 8.8k Warnings: pining, testosterone, Zeke being a dick (who woulda thought), subtle manipulation (both on Zeke’s part that goes unchecked and accidentally on Mike’s part) A/N: Well, we’re gettin’ there. We’re truckin’ along. I’m sorry for the last chapter. And, I’m sorry for this one. But, I do still hope you enjoy it. I think we’re at the halfway mark here. 

Mike gets a text from you at nine PM three days before he’s supposed to go back to campus. It’s just a few words, a question that makes his heart drop to his stomach because you’ve never asked it before.

 Can we talk for a sec?

 He waits for a few minutes, tries to get rid of the panicked feeling rising in his chest, but he can’t get it to go away entirely, so he just bites the bullet and calls you. 

 “Heyyy,” you greet. Mike can already tell a difference in your tone. Something is definitely going on.

 “Hey, what’s up?”

 “I just, uh…” He hears you suck on your front teeth, a nervous habit he’s well versed in now, then you tell him, “I just wanted to give you a heads up before you get back here.”

 Mike swallows. “Heads up about what?” 

 Are you leaving? Did you fail your summer classes despite all his help? Did you get into some kind of accident?

 You let out a long breath that Mike wishes he could feel on his skin. He wishes he could see your expression, wishes he could hold your face in his hands and tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. Seems like he’s always wishing for things.

 “Um, I—uh… I’m kind of seeing someone.”

 The floor falls out from beneath him, and Mike drops with it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, trying to breathe normally—in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is about the last thing he expected you to confess.

 It’s apparently taking too long for him to gather himself, because you say his name, “Miche?” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

 “I’m here. It’s, uh, fine,” he lies. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it?” You sound worried, as you should because while Mike isn’t mad, he’s extremely disappointed, probably the most he’s ever been. 

 Taking a page out of your book, he tries to play it cool, act like he doesn’t care. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “Well, you—...” Met your mom? Learned your secrets? Tried to tell you that he loved you? All valid responses, but you just dismiss it with a quiet, “Nevermind.”

 Mike hums, lets the line go silent for a while, then musters the courage to question, “Do I know him?”

 “Yeah, I think so.”

 “What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

 “I mean he’s mentioned you, so I figure you’ve had at least a few conversations.” You’re getting that sassy tone, the one that signals you want to drop the subject, but you can’t this time. You’ve already warned Mike that you’re off the god damn market. You might as well tell him who exactly he’s gonna see you holding hands and sucking face with. It’s the merciful thing to do. 

 “It’s not one of the Pike guys, is it?”

 “No, no,” you laugh and it makes Mike want to scream because he doesn’t find this amusing at all, and it only gets worse when you finally answer, “It’s Zeke Jaeger.”

 Mike nearly hangs up then and there, but he somehow fights the urge. He does hold his phone away from his ear, though, stares up at his ceiling for a few seconds and stretches his arm out, then brings the device back. “Cool. He’s a… Talented dude.”

 “Yeah, but I mean, I’m not exactly starstruck or anything. Not after hangin’ out with you all of last year.”

 Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his skull. “You don’t have to make this about me, ba—...” He catches himself before finishing the pet name. He can’t do that anymore. He can’t call you what he wants to. He can’t flirt or smooth hair out of your face. He can’t pick you up and hold you against the walls of the house. He can’t show you how much he cares for you. 

 “I know. I just feel kinda bad,” you mumble. 

 “You shouldn’t. It’s cool.” His flat tone is anything but cool, and you can probably tell, but there’s not much Mike can do about that.

 You’re pouting when you question, “You’ll still be my friend?” Mike can see the expression without actually seeing it, the doe eyed look you’d be giving him if he were in front of you right now. He can also imagine looping his arms around you and smiling crookedly and kissing your forehead, and fuck, he feels broken. 

 “Yeah,” he sighs. “Shouldn’t even be a question.”

 “Good.”

 You lapse into another silence, just breathing and waiting for the other to break. It’s you who does. You clear your throat and state one more time, “I just wanted you to know.”

 “Thanks.”

 “See you in a few days.”

 “Yeah,” Mike is barely listening at this point, just looks at the poster on the wall and lets it fall out of focus. “See ya’.”

 You don’t hang up immediately, like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but Mike saves you the trouble and presses the ‘end’ button on his phone then tosses it on his pillow and falls back onto the mattress. 

 He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand any of it. You’ve gone an entire year denying him, keeping yourself closed off and never once bringing up the possibility of actually being together. After all the time spent together, after all the date parties, all the sex, staying at each others’ houses. He feels like he knows you better than anyone else probably does. You let him in. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. You acted like you trusted him.

 So, why isn’t he your first choice? As soon as you realized you were ready to make a fucking commitment to someone, why wasn’t it him?

 Mike doubts he’ll ever get the closure. He’ll just have to cope with seeing you around campus with Zeke god damn Jaeger, have to pretend like everything is fine, like you haven’t ripped his heart out of his fucking chest. 

 Unbearable. It’s going to be absolutely unbearable. 

 *

 Moving somewhere new always blows. It takes so much energy that Mike doesn’t have, yet here he is, hauling bags and boxes up to his new apartment unit. Honestly, he would almost prefer to stay in the frat house instead of having to make all the trips up and down these god damn concrete stairs, but at least now he’ll finally be away from all the parties. That will definitely come in handy this year considering he’s not gonna want to go to a single fucking one of them. 

 Once all of his belongings are stacked in his fairly small living room, Mike glances around his new haven, already thinking about how empty it feels without all the guys milling about and dicking around. He doubts he’ll miss the constant noise, but it’s still something that will take some getting used to.

 What he will miss is seeing you all the time, waking up in his old room to see you still fast asleep on his pillows, sitting in the main room with the others, heckling them as they play various games. He’s been focusing on the small things for the last couple of days, the things he never took the time to really enjoy. It feels like he didn’t stare long enough or laugh hard enough when he had the chance, and now he doesn’t know when his next opportunity to do either of those with you will be.

 Mike scrubs a hand down his face, scratches the hair he’s let grow out a little too much, then slowly begins to unpack his things. He’s being melodramatic, he knows, but he can’t help it. He can either let himself feel sad, or he can let the unbridled fucking rage take over, and out of the two, he prefers the former. 

 Mike’s class schedule gets pinned to the wall in his bedroom. His laptop gets set up. Textbooks are tossed into a corner. He really doesn’t care to do much more than that, but he figures he should make the place at least a little presentable. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find someone to entertain.

 The thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, but it’s a sensation he’s slowly getting used to as more time passes.

 Mike knows he needs to pull himself together, needs to put on a brave face. Pretty soon all the frats will be dealing with the dirty rushers, all the kids who weren’t able or didn’t think to suck up to the brothers during the spring. Then there’s inductions and hazing… Fuck, fall semesters are so tedious even without living in the house. He’s never been a huge fan of it all, but he’s had this image to uphold since he became a pledge.

 Now, Mike isn’t so sure he can keep that image in place.

 He stays locked away for as long as he possibly can, but eventually there’s a knock on his front door—Erwin who shoots Mike a broad grin and wriggles his ridiculous eyebrows. “You ready, bro? Got a place all your own with no one to bother you—”

 “You’re bothering me.”

 “Can do whatever you want,” Erwin powers on, completely unfazed. “Bring back whoever you want, no pesky frat boys to get in your way ‘cause fuck those guys, right?” He goes to grab Mike’s shoulders while laughing at his own joke, but Mike swats him away. 

 It makes Erwin scoff, and then he’s pushing past Mike to get into his new home, looking around for just a second and breathing out a little, “Eesh,” before turning back and giving Mike a look of condescension. “Don’t tell me this bad mood is because of your little toy finding someone else.”

 “Okay, firstly, fuck off,” Mike squints at him. “And, secondly, how do you already know about that?”

 Erwin examines his manicured nails, buffs them on his shirt and tells Mike, “Saw her and Jaeger walking out of the bookstore earlier. They looked pretty cozy. Pretty giddy, too, all smiles and—”

 “Shut. The fuck up.”

 The other man snorts. “Calm down, dude. I’m sure you can get her back or whatever you’re trying to do. Zeke’s an assole. Won’t take her long to figure it out.”

 “We’ll see.”

 This time Mike lets Erwin clap a hand on his shoulder before he walks out but not without suggesting, “You really should brighten things up a little in here. Hang some fairy lights or something. Girls love fairy lights.”

 Mike rolls his eyes, not bothering to remind his friend that he only started unpacking half an hour ago, then physically shoves Erwin out of his apartment.

 So, you’re already walking around campus flaunting your new little fling, he thinks. Perfect. He’s really looking forward to seeing that everywhere. 

 Mike eventually has to go by the PKA house for a meeting. Some of the members are already discussing plans for rush week and parties. Should they have lists or just keep them open and direct everyone to the yard? Are they gonna stick to their regular forms of hazing or should they change things up this year? Did anyone stick out from spring? Mike doesn’t pay much attention, just scrolls through his phone skimming through the same three social media apps over and over. He reads through the text thread he shares with you, the one he’s never deleted, and thumbs all the way up to a few months ago just to see if anything had been different back then, if he had said or done something wrong. 

 But, he’s gone through it a dozen times already, and he never finds anything. Maybe you just grew while he was away, experienced some kind of self-actualization that prepared you for an actual relationship. 

 Or, maybe Zeke just has something that Mike doesn’t. 

 *

 Mike runs into you on the second day of classes. Thankfully, you’re alone, and as soon as you catch sight of him, you grin widely and launch yourself at him. It comes as a surprise, your full weight hitting him square in the chest when you jump, and he has to catch you like you’re an excited child.

 It’s too close. You’re too close. Body against his as you slide down to your actual height and rest your head on his chest.

 “I missed you, Zacharias.”

 He wants to lift you up again, lock your thighs around his waist and kiss you like he used to. Instead, Mike pats the top of your head and gently untangles you from himself. He makes sure to smile when you look up at him, and he’s glad you aren’t pouting or frowning, your expression soft when he tells you, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

 He asks how your summer classes went. You ask what his course load is like this semester. It’s just small talk, and Mike hates it. 

 “How’re your parents?” You question like you’re interested, but he can’t imagine you actually are.

 “They’re good,” he shrugs. “Dad got a promotion at work a few weeks ago. Mom is doing the same shit she always does.” Like, making his favorite meals to heal his poor little broken heart. Mike hadn’t even told her about the conversation he’d had with you, and yet, as soon as he came out of his room the following morning, she just knew. 

 “Glad to hear it,” you nod. “Hey, do you wanna grab lunch or something? My next class isn’t til two, so I’m tryin’ to kill some time.”

 “Actually, I told Erwin I’d meet him,” Mike lies through his teeth. He’ll be using excuses like that for as long as he can. “Sorry.”

 “No, it’s cool,” you wave him off. “I’ll just grab Hitch or—”

 “There you are.” Mike stiffens at the vaguely familiar voice ringing out from behind him, hand flexing by his side as the school’s golden boy walks right past him and to you. “I was looking all over for you.”

 “Well, here I am,” you laugh, but Mike notes how forced it sounds. It’s a laugh that stems from nerves, he thinks. But why? Is it because Mike is here? Are you afraid of how he’ll act? Or, is it that you’re still in the phase of this “relationship” with Zeke  that you’re still anxious around him?

 The other man doesn’t even acknowledge Mike for a full twenty seconds. He heavily considers just walking away without a word, but the blond does eventually turn around to look at him and shows a smile that Mike would describe as slimy but you would probably call charming.

 “Zacharias,” Zeke greets and holds out a hand. “It’s been a minute.”

 Mike doesn’t like the way he says his last name. He only likes the way his friends say it. How you say it. Even if it started off as a way to keep your distance, he grew fond of it. Not as fond as his given name, of course, but hearing those four syllables from your mouth, always laced with attitude, never fails to make him smile.

 “Yeah, it has,” Mike agrees, clasping hands with him.

 He immediately feels Zeke stick his index finger out over his wrist, an attempt of taking control of the shake. Mike has seen it too many times to count, the petty attempt to flip hands so that one man’s is on top of the other. It’s a terrible way to flaunt one’s masculinity or power, and it’s never worked on Mike. 

 His hand is quite a bit larger than most people’s, after all. It’s definitely larger than Zeke’s, so when he tries to turn it, Mike doesn’t have a problem keeping his wrist straight. 

 The blond has to look up at him, actually tilt his head back because Mike has a good five inches on him, and after a couple more seconds, Zeke gives up on the pathetic display of dominance. That doesn’t stop Mike from squeezing his palm just a little too hard, though, just enough to see the muscles in Zeke’s jaw twitch. 

 When he lets go he chances a glance at you, finding you rubbing your temples. You mumble something Mike can’t hear, probably about men being stupid because there’s no way that little show escaped your notice. 

 Zeke steps over to you once again and asks the same question you had asked Mike—”You wanna get lunch, babe?” 

 Hearing him calling you that causes Mike’s blood to bubble in his veins, blistering from the inside out. It’s time for him to leave.

 “Yeah, sure,” you nod. Eyes flicking back to Mike, you force another smile and tell him, “See you around.”

 The two of you walk off, and Mike watches for just a little too long as Zeke laces his fingers with yours. Once you’re both a safe distance away, the fucker looks back at Mike from over his shoulder and smirks at him.

 Mike has long legs. He could easily catch up to you and punch Zeke square in the jaw, make his head snap to the side so that he drops to the ground. 

 But, what would you think of that? There’s no way you’d be happy with him, and if there’s one thing that would  be worse than Mike having to see you parade around with someone who isn’t him, it would be you ignoring him completely.

 *

 The first couple of weeks are honestly a blur. Too much is happening for Mike to focus on. The only thing that seems real to him is the ache in his chest. It distracts him day in and day out, through the late rushers and all the sucking up, through the first couple of parties, bid day and the first rounds of hazing. It’s just always there. 

 He is notably quieter when in the house, and it seems like everyone knows why. While Erwin pokes fun at him for his moodiness, Nile takes a more adult approach and simply asks how he’s doing, if he needs anything, going as far as offering, “You need me to punch that dude in the throat? Plant drugs in his bag? I’m pretty sure Gelgar has coke on his person at all times.” 

 He’s a good guy. Mike is glad he got voted in as PKA President this year despite Erwin giving him a run for his money. Nile is just personable enough to bring members in and have a good time at events, and just controlling enough to make sure things in the house are taken care of. Plus, Erwin doesn’t seem too broken up about getting Vice instead.

 It’s a relief when lacrosse starts back up, finally gives him a way to get some of his frustration out. The other teams have never been luckier to be wearing helmets otherwise Mike would have broken several noses within the first game alone. 

 The season has some overlap with baseball, games scheduled on the same day, sometimes at the same time. Mike keeps himself from looking into the stands to try to find you, scared that you’ll be there or scared that you won’t be, he isn’t sure.

 And, of course, Zeke’s face is plastered everywhere after he pitches a perfect fucking game. Mike wants to be angry, wants to spit on the flyers and punch every computer that’s displaying the college’s home screen, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it were anyone else, Mike would be impressed. Pitching a perfect game is pretty fucking cool, and the school is lucky to have a player as talented as Zeke, but god, what Mike wouldn’t do to just curbstomp him.

 Your name still lights up on his phone fairly often to ask how games went or how his classes are going. You’ve asked for help with homework on one occasion and lunch on another, but after Mike lies about only being able to walk you through the material over the phone and shoots you down for lunch, you seem to get the picture. 

 He doesn’t want it to be awkward between you, but he doesn’t know how to act now. His entire relationship with you started off as a drunken fuck, and it’s been mostly physical since then. How is he supposed to be able to spend time with you without touching you? Even the semester you refused to hook up with him, there were still times when you were both actively fighting the temptation. Mike can remember seeing it in your eyes all the time, probably just as often as you’d see it in his. You’d sit with a leg pressed against his, fall asleep on his arm every once in a while, and he wants that back now, but there’s no way the two of you can do that anymore. He doesn’t possess the same self-control.

 Over the weekend, you end up cracking and trying again, asking for help with studying for a quiz, and Mike has to contemplate it for at least fifteen minutes before he gives in.

 Coffee shop on 7th? you text him, and Mike chuckles to himself. The only places you’ve ever studied together is at the library or in his room, and while he could only get as far as a hand between your legs in the school building, he would usually end up in bed with you whenever going over something behind closed doors. 

 It makes sense that you want to go to a busier place, more eyes to watch you. It’s irritating, but he understands.

 Mike grabs one of his own textbooks from the previous year, the one he actually bought so that he could highlight and take notes in the margins, then makes his way to the little cafe.

 He’s been to this particular shop many times before, with you as well as the girls who came before—the ones that never mattered. Mike easily spots you at a little table by the window, your own book and several papers spread out around you. When you see him, you grin then hurry to clear a space for him, organizing what Mike recognizes as reading guides. 

 “Hey, stranger," you greet.

 Mike nods, eyes landing on the green hoodie you’re wearing, the one that covers too much of you, that spills over the tops of your legging clad thighs and hides your little hands. It’s his, but it’s always looked better on you. The fact that you still wear it makes Mike’s heart swell a tiny bit as he takes his seat. The sun is hitting you just right and making your face glow, making your eyes twinkle, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

 “So, what d’you need help with?” He prompts before he can make up his mind to turn right back around. 

 You slide one of the guides over to him and point out several circled questions. The blanks are filled in, but you ask him, “Why?” dramatically. “None of that makes sense to me.”

 Mike laughs through his nose and glances at the page your textbook is flipped to so he can open his own.

 “Why’d you keep your book from last year?”

 He glances up before turning it to show the highlighted lines, the starred passages, the little annotations for better understanding. 

 “One, because I worked hard on making it better, and two,” he feels his mouth curl up, the teasing coming naturally when he tells you, “I figured you’d probably benefit from it.”

 You squint at him, scrunching your nose up, and Mike takes a mental snapshot to tuck away. 

 “Rude,” you utter.

 He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I think ‘thank you’ is the term you’re looking for.”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just explain this to me if you’re so smart.”

 “You know I’m smart.”

 Mike doesn’t understand where the casual back-and-forth is coming from. Is it easy because he's done it so many times before? Words tumble from his mouth before they actually cross his mind, and he’s both grateful (it’s better than the awkward small talk he thought he’d have to make) and worried. If he’s speaking without actually thinking things through, what else might he do before his brain catches up? Will he smooth hair out of your eyes? Will he brush his hand over yours? Will he stare at your lips for too long? All of those are habits he hasn’t managed to break yet, but he will break if he accidentally offends you by crossing any of these lines.

 He sits with his hands tucked between his legs, only moving to flip a page or point something out with his pinky finger. He's reading upside down, and you're leaning over the tabe, staring at the book then staring at him. Mike tries to look through you instead of at you, but it's hard as you let out a little oh! when something clicks or pouting when it doesn't. 

 "I still don't get it."

 So, Mike finds different ways of explaining things because he knows this information very well now. It's still pretty fresh in his brain, and he may or may not have reviewed some of it when he saw how many of your classes matched up with his. 

 "Okay, I feel a lot better," you sigh once Mike has gone through every page. 

 Mike is more or less sitting on his hands at this point, gritting his teeth behind the grin plastered on his face because this is the part where he asks if you wanna go back to the house. This is the part where you wind down together, watching dumb TV shows or pawing at each other, rolling in his bed and laughing and moaning. That's what's supposed to happen. 

 "Alright, well, if that's it, I should get going," Mike tries, stretching his arms out and nearly smacking the person sitting behind him right in the head. 

 You snort, cover your mouth, and look away. It's what you always do. You can't look at him when you start laughing or you'll just laugh harder and harder, and while Mike adores it, the general public usually does not. 

 But, then Mike is snickering because he can feel the stranger trying to burn holes in the back of his skull, has to bite his fist to keep himself quiet, and when you chance a glance and see, you slam your head down on the table, whole body shaking with giggles. 

 It's always the little things that get you. On one of the walks with Scout over Spring Break, Mike had tripped over a stick on the trail. He managed to catch himself, but Jesus Christ, you didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. 

 "God fucking—" he's starting to lose it too as he stands and gathers your supplies from the table, tucking them all under one arm then using his other to pull you out of your seat. "We have to leave before they make us." 

 You hide your face in your hands, trusting Mike to guide you by the shoulders, and once you're both outside, you belly laugh until you wave your arms and gasp, "I can't—I can't breathe—I can't breathe!" Your voice is all high pitched and hysterical, and all Mike can do is bring you to his chest so that you can let your giggles die off in the privacy of his t-shirt. 

 He can feel your breath through the material as you calm down, eventually looking up and wiping tears from your eyes as you continue to grin. 

 Mike tilts his face down to stare at you, aware that all of his affections are shining right through his eyes, but he doesn't care because you don't seem to. 

 “You’re a fucking dork,” he hums, has a fully conscious thought of touching your face—no accident, no impulse, a complete, coherent, thought, so he does it. He just does it. Palm over your cheek, thumb gently tracing to wipe away another tear from your little fit. 

 You let out a long exhale, close your eyes and hum, then reach up to cover Mike's hand with yours. 

 Your fingers lock into the spaces between his, and you hold on for a few seconds before letting your hand fall, taking his with it. And, just like that, all the good feelings that had grown inside of him over the course of the study session disappear.

 "Miche," you sigh, still holding onto two of his fingers. 

 He smiles in a way that makes you frown, then mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

 After handing your supplies back, Mike kisses you on the top of the head before you can stop him, then turns and starts walking toward the street his apartment is on. 

 *

"Why are you always wearing that hoodie?" 

 You look up from your laptop just as Zeke steps out of his room freshly showered and shirtless. It's a sight that should probably make your mouth water, but instead it's gone dry at his question. 

 "Oh, uh, I don't really know," you bullshit. "It's just big and comfortable, I guess."

 Zeke uses the towel around his neck to dry his hair a little better, questions, "Well, whose is it?" while his face is slightly obscured. 

 If you pause, he'll probably be suspicious. If you answer, he will also be suspicious. And, you can't really blame him. People know you on campus as Mike Zacharias' friend or girlfriend or plaything or whatever. You assume Zeke having to walk around with that hanging over his head is pretty annoying.  

 "Oh, wait," he starts before you can answer. Squinting without his glasses, he grumbles, "That's one of the lacrosse hoodies, isn't it?" 

 You look down at the cracked logo and try not to smile at it. "Yeah. It's one of Mike's old ones."

 "Right." He pads over to you and takes your laptop from your legs despite your protests of being in the middle of an online assignment, setting it on the coffee table behind him. Then, using one arm to brace himself on the back of the couch, Zeke holds himself above you and takes your chin between two fingers so that he can tilt your face and kiss you. 

 It makes you melt. It always does. Your heart beats like a drum in your chest for about two seconds before it relaxes into a subtle thrumming, a white noise that drowns out everything else. 

 You straighten your back in an attempt to get closer, but Zeke pulls away ever so slightly, makes you chase after his lips and you do. You do because you want more, want him. 

 It's been weeks now and the farthest you've gotten with him, the farthest he's let you get with him, was the series of harsh kisses he'd ladened you with up against his front door a few days ago. He'd pushed your shirt up and shoved a knee between your legs, giving you something to grind against, but it never progressed to anything more. 

 You don't understand. It's not like he's never had sex. You've heard girls talk about him on campus, how he'd been seeing so-and-so for a couple months in freshman year, fucked some other chick at a party, etc., etc. 

 Then you'd met his actual ex the other day, one he dated officially for a semester last year before breaking things off. Her name is Rhi. She's very pretty. And, she had pulled Zeke into a full blown conversation without looking at you once. The way she batted her eyes and smiled at him, twisting her hair and shoving at him playfully—Oh yeah. She's definitely seen him naked. 

 You didn't say anything about it for a while, just stewed in silence until Zeke finally sighed and asked, "What would you like to know?" 

 He'd given you the vague outline—met her in class, studied together, decided to date, left her to focus on baseball. That excuse hit a little too close to home, but you'd let it roll off your shoulders. 

 The point is Zeke has fucked other girls, but he won't fuck you, and you need to know why because you're starting to get desperate. It's not a good look. It's one you never wanted to wear, but the way he stares at you and the way he talks to you, always pointing out your strengths, encouraging you, complimenting you is intoxicating.

 When Zeke's eyes are on you, it’s like you're the most important person in the room. He has some ability to make you feel that way, to make everyone feel that way you realized one night after a game. People flock to him. They want to listen to what he has to say. They want to agree with him where he can see. 

 It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't met him, but the best way you can describe it (a way only a few people will understand) is that he has a twenty for charisma. He's talented and smart and engaging, can convince anyone of anything the same way he's convinced you that he wants you. 

 Hand slipping behind your arching back, Zeke presses you against him for just a moment, then drops onto the couch next to you only to tug you on top of him. 

 You're already breathing too heavily, clutching his face in both your hands as you grind your hips against his. He squeezes your ass, smirking against your mouth when you whimper, then moves his hands to push both the hoodie and your shirt off. 

 You lift your arms, letting Zeke strip you as your mind grows hazy. He mutters more to himself than to you, a low, "Get this shit off," then carelessly tosses your clothes over the armrest. 

 Fingers climb up your ribs, almost tickling, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel that he's getting hard, thank god. This just might be the night, please fucking let it be. 

 You've never been a big fan of terms like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘blue-bean’, never even thought it existed, and it really doesn't; it's just a form of manipulation, of guilting your partner into sex, and you know this because you've had an entire rant about it prepared since high school, but right now, in this particular moment, you're aching. Your insides ache. Your clit aches. You just want—

 Zeke pinches one of your nipples hard enough to clear your head for a second, causes you to cry out and pull back. He lets go, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you and flicks over the sore bud with a fingertip. 

 "Zeke," you breathe, body trembling. 

 "What is it, baby?" He coos. 

 "I—"

 He snakes a hand between the two of you, ridding you of any and all thoughts as he rubs over your covered pussy. You're almost positive that if he keeps doing it, you'll start to leak through your leggings, right into his hand. 

 Panting, an old track plays in the back of your head, a deep voice, breathy and promising, gonna fuck you dry tonight.

 You lean forward to kiss Zeke again, letting him suck and bite hard enough to make the frown on your face look natural, like he put it there. 

 Flames are licking up and down your legs, then your arms, but even though it's Zeke's lap you're sitting in and Zeke's tongue in your mouth and Zeke's fingers massaging your pussy, it's suddenly Mike you're thinking about, and well… That can't be good. 

 You tangle your hands in Zeke's hair, the different texture bringing you back to reality. His thick beard is scratching against your face. His bare torso is wiry with muscle and pressed to yours. He moves his hand and raises his hips to meet yours, a groan catching in his throat. It looks like he's finally losing his composure, cheeks flushed, eyes are foggy. When you break away, he licks away the string of spit holding you together, tongue running over his lip seductively.

 "Can we—" you start, but Zeke speaks at the same time. 

 "It's getting late."

 Blinking at him, you find yourself experiencing too many emotions to actually identify a single one. You feel your eyebrows knit together, but it’s more from your confusion than it is your frustration. 

 But, you don’t want to be frustrated. You don’t want to be or look upset about not getting sex. That would make you a terrible person, and you’re not about to make him feel bad for not being ready to take that step with you. You’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it doesn’t feel good.

 The amount of times you’ve had to masturbate in the last few weeks is a little fucking ridiculous, though. 

 Nodding mostly to yourself to get your thoughts back in line, you slide off of Zeke to stand up. Your hand is trembling when you reach for your clothes, heat still coursing through you, but you manage to gently grab them from the couch rather than snatch them. 

 Shirt and hoodie back in place, you gather your things, feeling Zeke’s gaze on you the entire time. You don’t say anything, just nibble on your bottom lip as you run over all the events that took place over the night, what you possibly did wrong, what turned him off or just failed to turn him on in the first place. 

 After slipping everything back into your bag, Zeke finally gets to his feet and takes it from you, walking with you outside to your car. 

 “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he tells you, the picture of calm and collected while your body remains buzzing.

 “Okay, yeah.” 

 He puts your stuff in the front passenger seat, shuts the door, and gives you a sweet little peck that you wish lasted longer.

 Zeke says good night, begins walking back to the building, but stops and calls to you right before you shrink into the car. 

 Even from this distance, you can tell he’s looking you dead in the eye, face suddenly very serious when he tells you, “You can go ahead and stop wearing that hoodie.”

* For the first time since the semester started, lacrosse and baseball games do not overlap one another, and you're able to spend the warm afternoon in the stands, cheering on the friends you made over the last year. 

 The home team is dominating, Mike and Erwin are too fucking quick for their opponents to get in the way of. The way the ball just flies back and forth between them, like a game of keep-away, shows just how on-the-same-page they are. The other guys are good too, doing a spectacular job of staying one leg ahead, defending their star players and assisting in the offensive effort. 

 The last goal is made by Mike who launches the ball from the center of the field right into the goal, and both the crowd and the teams lose their fucking minds. 

 You're up on your feet screaming and clapping, voice breaking as your shrill cry tears your throat. You know you're being drowned out by everyone around you, but as Mike gets lauded for being the god he is—putting up with backslaps and hugs and a headlock from Erwin—he still manages to find you in the second row, grinning in that crooked way you love so much. 

 You don't know exactly when that started happening, probably sometime after Spring break. Or, maybe it was there since the beginning, just laying dormant at the back of your head so that you could focus on denying him. 

 It doesn't really matter now since you're actually with someone. That someone isn't around right now, but he's in your thoughts as your chest fills with affection and pride for your friend. 

 Erwin is shouting about another open party, and your mind is made up to not attend because Zeke wouldn't appreciate it, but then Mike is suddenly lifting himself onto the raised, concrete stands and pointing at you, and before you know it, you're hopping down the next bleacher without a care for the fans who have to lean out of the way. 

 He's incredibly sweaty as you wrap your arms around his neck, but you don't mind. You were so convinced he would be mad at you or try to avoid you. 

 You're very aware that you had hurt him by getting with Zeke, and while he had been pretty guarded for the first few weeks, he's opened up some since that day in the coffee shop, when you'd nearly giggled yourself to death. You hadn't expected that to be what cracked his walls, especially considering how that visit had ended, but you're glad that it did. 

 "Haven't seen you cheering for me in a while," Mike laughs next to your ear. 

 He's dizzy with adrenaline, swaying back and forth as he squeezes you, and you tell him, "If you make us fall, I will beat you up, I swear." 

 "Okay," he says in a stupid voice of obvious disbelief, "Whatever you say." 

 You've been texting more, going over homework together, though you haven't needed his help in-person since he had switched books with you that day. It had been so smooth and subtle, you didn't realize until you opened it to study the following day, immediately noticing all the notes and highlights. 

 It had made you cry like a little bitch in the middle of your dorm, and you called Mike to thank him without bothering to hide your tears and hiccups. 

 "Come to the party tonight," he demands, but it's so soft, like he's still giving you a chance to say no. 

 The crowd is still yelling, so you have to keep speaking into each other's ears, and you ask, "Why? All the Pike parties are sticky and gross."

 "'Cause we haven't gotten drunk together in a while," Mike states in the form of a whine. 

 You snort, feeling his hair dripping onto your shoulder. You should probably be disgusted, but it's not the first time you've gotten sweaty with him, and it's definitely not the worst bodily fluid he's made a mess on you with. 

 "You know what happens when we get drunk together," you remind him with a smile he can't see. "Can't do that anymore."

 "I promise I'll behave."

 That's not the problem. You don't know if you can behave. You've been wound up for over a month now, and it is driving you insane. No matter how many times you get off alone in your room at night, you still ache as if you're being edged. 

 So, getting fucked up with someone you know for a fact can fuck you stupid… probably not the best idea. 

 "Miche," you protest, drawing his name out. 

 "Just think about it."

 He leaves you with that, hopping down and walking away with his arms in the air as everyone surrounding you cheers for him until he disappears. You just stand there amidst the noise, shirt now wet as you contemplate the pros and cons of going to another PKA party. 

 As always, Zeke asks what your plans are for the night, but for the first time since you met him, you lie. * King's Cup and Rage Cage and Beer Pong galore. Party-goers are pooling onto the lawn, and you're just waiting for campus police to show because of the chaos, but you're not necessarily scared of it. So you go to jail for a couple days. Worse things could happen. 

 Currently, you and Mike are sitting on the sidewalk nursing beers and giggling at the new pledges who keep running around the house in less and less clothes. 

 "Honestly, this isn't that bad," Mike tells you. "Erwin suggested we make them all watch snuff together."

 You give him an incredulous look as you raise the glass bottle to your mouth. "Erwin is a god damn psychopath, what the fuck."

 "We had to do it and didn't turn out too bad."

 "And, just like that, I'm scared of you."

 Mike laughs before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling as a brawny blond speeds past in nothing but boxers—Reiner, you think his name is. 

 There are only a few new guys who stick out to you—that one, a long-faced kid named Jean, freckle boy Marco, and, naturally, Zeke's younger brother, Eren. He sorta skeeves you out, so you've been doing your best to stay out of his sight despite never formally meeting him before. 

 "Kid's kind of a prick, a little too cocky. Always talking about how he's related to Zeke, or should I say your lo-ver," Mike chuckles, sounding amused, but he still downs the rest of his beer afterward. 

 You let out a little growl, just drunk enough to be too honest, and grumble, "Not my lover. Also, I would never use that term. So cringey."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I mean it's weird and dramat—"

 "No," Mike cuts you off, "What do you mean about him not being that?"

 You fall back on the concrete, bumping the back of your head a little too hard and scrunching your face up. 

 "We haven't had sex. The dude just will not fuck me for some reason."

 "Are you serious?" 

 You glance at Mike and find his eyes wide in alarm. 

 "As a heart attack. I have never been so frustrated in my entire life." 

 You probably shouldn't be talking about this with him, one, because you assume it's like twisting a knife right in Mike's gut and two, because the more you drink, the less self-control you have. 

 He grunts then tosses his bottle into the yard for some poor pledge to slip on. 

 "His loss."

 "Whatever. I'm sure he'll come around eventually," you sigh then sit back up. "And, until then, I guess I'm practicing celibacy or some shit."

 Mike laughs hard at that, and it makes you smack him on the arm. "Yeah, good luck with that."

 "Shut up."

 "I'm just saying," he raises his hands. "You're, like, the neediest person I know."

 "Excuse the fuck outta me?" 

 "In the bedroom, dummy. Obviously not all the time."

 This is not at all where you wanted this conversation to go. The more you think about it, the more you feel that ache, the more you want to quell it. 

 "We should change the subject."

 Mike looks at you, flipping hair out of his eyes and smiling like the cocky frat boy he pretends to be. 

 "Why? Gettin' all worked up."

 "You are literally the worst."

 You stand and finish your drink, throwing it a few feet away from Mike's as you tell him, "I need to get a little more fucked up if I'm gonna deal with your ass all night."

 "Uh huh."

 He follows you back inside, but while you make your way into the kitchen, Mike stops to talk with Erwin about one thing or another. It means he has to entertain the masses, talk about the game, and you post up against a wall to watch him. 

 You should leave. Mike is looking a little too attractive in his stupid fucking pastel polo, and you're supposed to meet Zeke for lunch tomorrow anyway. Zeke, your boyfriend. 

 Or, well, he hasn't said it explicitly, but you hold hands in public and ignore other people, just make it obvious that both of you aren't interested in anyone else. 

 Except when Mike sidles up to you with foggy eyes and a smirk he hasn't worn around you in a long time, you groan at the thought that you are interested in someone else. Even if it's just one night, god, you need it so bad. And, you know Mike can give it to you. Exactly the way you want it. 

 It's Zeke's fault, really. You know he knows how desperate you're getting. If he'd just explain why he doesn't want to have sex, you could deal with it much better than you are now, but he continues to leave you in the dark. It makes you think you're doing something wrong. 

 Then, there's the problem of feeling like the shittiest person alive every time you get frustrated. You've spent nights trying to rationalize it, but it's hard to think straight when you're so, undeniably horny. 

 "Don't look at me like that," you tell Mike with a scoff. 

 "Why not?" 

 "'Cause you said you'd behave tonight."

 He cocks his head to the side and makes a face. "Did I? That doesn't sound like something I'd say to you."

 "Oh my god, you're impossible. And, drunk."

 "I'm not really that drunk," he waves you off. "It takes more than a few beers to get me fucked up, remember? Downfall of being this large."

 Jesus, he really is rubbing it in your face now. Wide with muscle and so fucking tall. Not to mention his—

 "I really cannot do this, Miche," you try again, gritting your teeth when his pupils dilate. "Zeke would be so pissed."

 "So? Come on, just one more time. I didn't know the last time would be the last time."

 You hadn't either. You don't know what you would have done differently had you known—maybe just taken the time to appreciate his incredible body more—but it doesn't matter now. 

 You try to sound firm and irritated when you snap, "You know you're being kinda manipulative, right?" 

 Mike tilts his head back as if you just shoved it, blinks a couple times, then swears out loud. "Oh, fuck." He takes a step away, eyes clear for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

 "It's fine," you wave. "I just wanted you to know. I'm drunk and you're hot, and I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke."

 "Yeah, I get it. Fuck. If you, like, wanna leave, I won't stop you. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t a joke and—That was a shit thing to do."

 "Little bit, but you get a pass this time," you laugh through your nose. "Just don't go pulling that bullshit on some unsuspecting freshman or anything." 

 He runs a hand through his hair, red with embarrassment, and you think to yourself, Mike is a good guy. One of the best. You don't know of many who would take that kind of criticism to heart—how many would feel genuinely guilty. It is college, and every girl knows the trend of fratty sports players getting off scot-free after being charged with sexual assault. Given his status at the school, Mike could definitely do something like that and get away with it.

 But, he would never. 

 You push him gently to show you aren't mad, tell him, "I still wanna hang out with you. We don't get to as much as we used to."

 Mike's small smile looks relieved as he takes a deep breath. "This isn't exactly the best place to just chill, but—"

 "I haven't seen your new apartment yet." 

 You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, your little tune changing ridiculously quickly, but you can't deny that you're curious. He's still your best friend, and you want to know what he's done with his new place. Is it bland like his old room in the house, or did he let his real personality show through? 

 "You sure?" He questions. 

 "Yeah. We can just, like, play video games or something."

 "Are you sure?" 

 He must feel terrible. You can relate.

 "If you don't want me over, just say so," you snort. 

 "No, no, of course I do. I just don't want you to feel weird about being alone or anything."

 "Nah, like you said, you're not really drunk. I'll sober up with water. We'll be fine."

 You don't know if you're trying to convince him or yourself. Without the presence of alcohol, you should be able to keep it together, and the distraction of Zelda or Mario will surely help. 

 "Okay, yeah," Mike nods. "Let's go then."

You don't even bother finishing your drink, just set it on a countertop and follow him out to his Wrangler. It's been a while since you've ridden in it. It's been a while since you've ridden him, your brain helpfully supplies, and as you pull up to the unfamiliar apartment complex, you once again begin to think that this was a bad idea.

[ next ]

[divinerulerluvr]

Let Me Violate You

Summary - in 1985 after taking some funny coke at a recording studio, she finds herself at the Cortez and meets Mr. James Patrick March only to meet her fate, as well

Warnings - smut (duh), bondage, coercion, murder, bondage, drugs, power kink, james is a dom per ush, idk its very dark dare i say

Words - 2.7k

Inspired by the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails ;)

- - -

The world was blurry as i stumbled into a random hotel in Downtown LA. I had been recording a new song at the studio just a few minutes away and the idiots i work with gave me some fucked up coke and now here i am, barely lucid and tripping out of my mind.

Leaning against the receptionist counter for support, i look up to the woman who reads a book. She peers at me over it, a certain look of disappointment in her eyes as she sets it down. “I-I would like a room,” i ask, blinking quickly.

“Fifteen dollars for the night,” she says flatly. I give her a twenty, too high to care about change. She smiles at me before standing up and grabbing a key from the wall and handing it to me. The key had a ‘64’ chain on it.

“Room sixty-four. Sixth floor,”

I nod before stumbling to the elevator, getting to the sixth floor, and walking through the halls until i got to room 64. Unlocking the door, i push it open and walk into the large suite. Going straight to the bed, i lay back on it with an exasperated sigh.

I am too high for this.

Staring at the ceiling that looks like it was twirling and twisting, i feel eyes on me. Sitting up, my eyes glance around the room. My eyes land on a man who stands at the end of the bed, a cigarette in his hand.

I jump, trying to confirm whether he was real or not with the state i was in. “W-Who are you?” i stutter nervously, my eyes wide with fear. The man smiles, drawing at his cigarette to build some sort of anticipation.

“I should be asking who are you? This is my suite,” he says in return, his voice coated with a thick 20’s accent. He was an attractive man. His dark hair was styled perfectly and in the dark of the room i could make out his sharp jawline and piercing eyes.

“I paid for this room,” i argue, confused to who this strange man is.

He grins a predatory and evil grin that made my stomach twist. “Would you like a drink?” he offers, ignoring the previous conflict. “I’d like you to get out of my room,” i bite back. He turns his back to me, pouring something into a glass.

Turning back to face me, he extends a glass of the drink to me. “No need to be so rude, darling,” he advises, his head tilted patronizingly. He takes a slow step towards me, his eyes dead on mine. Swallowing thickly, i accept the drink.

Suspiciously, i drink from the glass. The alcohol burned down my throat and the drugs already in me didn’t help. Finding it wasn’t poisoned, i chugged the rest of it down.

He sips from his own glass, his eyes never leaving mine. “Who are you?” i ask yet again. “James March,” he replies simply. I just nod, finding that i had this strange fuzzy feeling in my mouth.

I had already finished the drink he’d offered and it was too late to go back. I had jinxed the fact that it was drugged. Because i know what being drugged feels like.

Before i could do anything, i was out like a fucking light.

-

I woke up after god knows how long. I felt rope rubbing my wrists raw and rope that kept my feet tied to the bed. Panic fills me as i look around the room frantically. It was that James guy who fucking drugged me and fuck knows what he’s going to do to me.

I breathe out quietly, trying to calm myself as i pull at the ropes that keep my arms tied apart to either post of the bedframe. I was in a starfish position, rendering me completely helpless.

“You really should never take a drink from a stranger, my sweet Y/n,” i hear James’ voice say from beside me, startling me at his sudden appearance. “Fuck off. Let me go,” i complain, glaring up at him.

He chuckles, reaching his hand down and petting my hair. I recoil from his touch, my heart beating quicker than if i was on acid. He notices my reaction to his touch, a look of anger crossing his face right before he slaps me.

Not a playful smack, either. A real smack. It stung my cheek, a groan leaving my lips. He exhales sharply, his ominously black eyes glaring at me with disgust. “I think you forget who’s the one tied up and the one who did the tying,” he says, walking away from me.

I still fight against the ropes, my wrists burning like hell. I was lucky i was still clothed. But with this man, i wasn’t sure what he wanted from me.

“Why are you doing this?” i ask him, watching as he takes off his belt. My heart jumps, my thighs instinctually trying to push together but failing due to my position. He glances up at me as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“You were just so beautiful, dear. I had to have you for myself,” he says with a charismatic smile. His white button-down sits loosely on his shoulders, exposing his toned chest and abs to me. “That’s fucking creepy,” i scoff, watching his every move with precision.

He shrugs. “I think it’s romantic. When i’m done, you’ll never leave the confines of this hotel again,” he counters.

“Yeah right,” i mumble to myself, moving around on the bed still trying to free myself from the bonds keeping me at his mercy. He glares at me. “You have a horrible habit of talking back,” he points out, running his hand up my bare leg and playing with the hem of my skirt.

I swallow thickly, a dull heartbeat growing between my legs as his soft touch trails further up my leg and under my skirt. His hand cold but his touch was warm. Bunching up my skirt, his eyes fall onto my black panties.

“Maybe i should do something about it, hm?”

Keeping quiet, my cheeks burn in embarrassment as his eyes rake over my bare legs. He walks away from me, retrieving something from a drawer and coming back to me with it in hand. He presents a ball gag and i feel my breathing pick up.

Placing the pink plastic ball of the gag in my mouth, James buckles the strap around my head and i could feel myself lose every last ounce of power i had.

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a hand knife and placing it to the waistband of my skirt. In one fluid motion, he cuts it into two pieces and tears it off of me. He does the same to the top i wore, shredding it and discarding it carelessly.

His eyes fall on my now bare chest. I never wore bras. Softly, he runs his fingers over my breasts, enjoying how my skin breaks out into goosebumps at his feather-light touch. He runs his hand down my stomach, feeling how i pant with anticipation.

Cutting off my panties, i was completely exposed to him. He sees how wet i am, a proud smirk spreading on his lips. “I’ve barely even touched your pretty body yet, doll. And yet look at this,” he taunts, running his finger through my slick folds.

I whimper, my hips bucking back at the sensation of his touching me. He uses his free hand to hold down my hips, keeping me flat on the bed. “I thought you didn’t want this,” he teases, his eyes admiring my naked body.

Unable to speak, i just furrow my brows pathetically. He smiles, enjoying how mindless i look. He rubs slow and teasing circles over my clit, his touch gentle as he stimulates me.

Weak moans leave my lips but are ultimately silenced by the gag in my mouth. My legs tremble slightly as i occasionally jolt with pleasure. He was giving me the bare minimum but it felt so fucking good.

Spit falls from the corner of my mouth, my eyes watering with the pain of him only touching me lightly. I could see the bulge in his pants and i knew i was in for quite the night. Men like him didn’t like vanilla sex. I would know. I’m in a goddamn rock band and it’s the eighties.

His hand leaves between my legs and instead uses his already wet fingers to wipe the spit that had left my mouth. His dark eyes meet mine as he returns his hand to my pussy, this time pushing his middle finger into me.

I arch my back, my head pressed into the pillow i lay on as i feel his finger curl inside of me. Not caring, he pushes a second finger into me and starts an even rhythm of finger fucking me

My whimpers sound pathetic and tears fill my eyes. I beg internally for more pleasure. But i was unable to actually ask for it which i knew was his entire point. I was wetter than i’ve ever been before. His fingers were like heaven inside of me.

His palm every once in a while grazes my clit, making my body shudder from the brief stimulation. “Look at you. How pitiful you are,” he degrades, his eyes taking in the way my eyes water and how a squirm on the bed.

“Little girls like you need to be taught a lesson,” he clicks his tongue, his fingers slowing down from their rhythm before he pulls them out. I groan at the loss, my eyes locked on his. “They need to be put to good use, for once,”

I watch with doe eyes as he throws off his shirt and takes off his pants. He gets on top of me, staring at me like i was prey and he was a starving predator. “You look positively beautiful tied to my bed," he compliments, caressing my hot cheek.

“To be fair, it is also very beautiful to watch you squirm with pleasure, my pet,” he says with a grin, repositioning so he was kneeling between my legs. He runs his hand up my stomach, reaching my breasts and massaging them. Giving special attention to my sensitive nipples.

His clothed boner rubs against my sensitive pussy, making me want him even more. My hands pull against their restraints, causing the red marks on my wrist to hurt more. He sees this, noticing how raw my skin was. “You know better than that,” he tsks, trailing his hand down my body and running it along my leg.

I didn’t know how to convey to him that i wanted him to absolutely destroy me, so instead, i just push myself against him, grinding my hips against his clothed dick.

He smirks, pushing my hips flat against the bed to stop me. “Patience, my pet,” he warns, feeling every inch of my naked body with a tender and almost caring touch. My eyes fall shut in irritation, trying to just enjoy his teasing touches that continue to lead me on.

His hand runs up my thigh, following the curve of my body and stopping at my neck where he lightly wraps his hand around it. I whimper, knowing full well he could feel my pulse against his hand.

“Do you think you’ve earned the privilege of pleasure?” he questions, his eyes dark with lust. I nod rapidly, my pussy practically hurting due to the lack of stimulation. He smiles, tightening his grip on my neck so he’s squeezing the sides.

His hand leaves my neck and i watch as he pulls off his boxers. Getting excited, i let him pull me down to meet him, the ropes pulled tautly and rubbing on my ligature marks even more. The sting was damn near unbearable but the pain would soon be forgiven.

Without mercy, he pushes himself into me. I cry out, my pitiful cries muted by the gag. It hurt. Of course it did. I may have been wet, but his dick was too big to just pull that shit. My nails dig into my palms as he bottoms out in me, his tip pressed into my g-spot deliciously.

The tears in my eyes fall down my cheeks, causing black streaks to trace down my face in the trail of the tears. I pull my hips back a little, his dick hitting unmarked territory inside me. He places his hands on my hips, pulling them down even closer to him as a way to punish me.

The ropes were now extremely painful. He pulls his hips back and starts fucking me rough without warning and especially without care. The pain quickly blossomed into pleasure. His hands dig into the flesh of my hips as he holds me steady so he can use and abuse me.

His hair had fallen out of its pristine style. A curl falling in front of his face as his eyes took in my body as he destroyed it. Soft grunts and groans would leave his lips, his thrusting pace harsh and deep.

If there wasn’t a gag in my mouth, i’d be so fucking loud right now.

He uses one of his hands and slithers it up my body, dragging some of the spit on my face down my chin and neck. His eyes lock on mine, a sort of animalistic starvation in them. He felt so good that i thought i would cum right now.

I wanted to touch him. To run my hands down his back and pull his hair. But then again, i couldn’t. Because i was tied up. Powerless. I knew his game and i knew it well. But i also fucking love the game.

My walls contract around him and i can already predict his reaction. He clicks his tongue, slowing his hips just a bit as to pull me back from the edge of an orgasm. I groan, my eyes falling shut and my head laying back.

He reaches and grabs my neck, startling my eyes open. “I want you to watch me use you, darling,” he instructs. I have no choice but to obey. My eyes trail down his toned torso to where he fucks me roughly.

It was so hot. Watching him go in and out of me. My wetness coating my pussy and even his dick. How you could see how deep he was hitting inside me due to the way my stomach pushes out in sync with each snap of his hips.

My eyes water even more, making it hard to keep them open to watch the scene before me. “Be a good girl for me and listen to my instructions,” he comments, noticing how my blinks got longer with each close of my eyes.

I try my best, my eyes flicking up to meet his. His hand that was around my neck moves to my pussy, rubbing circles on my clit with his thumb. I shudder, my entire body writhing at the new sensation.

The pleasure got to the point where i couldn’t take it anymore.

I attempt to pull my hips back, my body overwhelmed with pleasure to the point where it is borderline painful. “Uh uh,” he hums, reaching his hand up and smacking my cheek hard enough to make the previous mark sting even more.

With a dull cry, i stop trying to resist and give up every last ounce of power i had left to him, letting my body go limp so he could have his way with me.

He uses this to his advantage, fucking me harder than before. My breasts bounce with each merciless thrust, my eyes rolled into the back of my head as the mix between his touch on my clit and how he fucks me brings me to an orgasm.

Surprisingly, he lets me have my orgasm. My ears ring and i can feel every single drop of blood that runs through my veins. All my senses were heightened as he fucks me through my orgasm. With my eyes closed, i feel a sharp pain in my chest.

I open my eyes to see he had stabbed me, a proud look on his face. I begin to bleed as he removes the knife from my chest. “Now you’ll be with me forever. Like i said,” he comments as i feel his cum fill me up.

He collapses on top of me, my blood coating his pale skin as i take my last breath.

And i was dead.

[ironhusband]

Bucky picks up the most beautiful bouquet he can find on the way home. 

It's their tradition for Shabbat. His father used to do it for his mother, bringing her flowers so they would have something nice when saying Kiddush and lighting the candles. In their tight little Jewish community, they would sale flowers just outside the synagogue... Bucky was barely ten before the tradition was brutally stopped by the synagogue being burned down. 

Bucky no longer honored Shabbat. It was hard to believe in Elohim after all that happened. Sometimes, he would feel guilty about not honoring his parents’ religion anymore. He wished he could carry on their traditions with faith. But he couldn’t. So, instead, he took on little habits like this, and used them to honor Sarah. 

Sarah always blushed whenever he presented her with the flowers. “They're beautiful, Bucky,” she would say. 

Bucky smiled, said “just like you, honey” and kissed her cheek. 

She would smile shyly, put them in a vase, and then clear her throat, “set the table for lunch, boys.” 

After Sarah’s boys would return home (Sarah liked to take off Saturday, taking advantage of Bucky running the business with her), they would eat lunch together, and Bucky and Sarah would listen as AJ and Cass would tell them all about their stories from school. Bucky always listened intently - they both knew that pretty soon the boys would be all grown up, and they’d better appreciate it while it lasted. Bucky liked their lunches - it was his favorite part of the week. And after eating together, they would solve puzzles together or-

Bucky’s phone beeped. This wasn't a normal part of their Saturday.

Bucky groaned, knowing exactly who it was. 

“Your brother in law is annoying,” Sarah pointed out, glaring at the phone. 

“Oh, so now he’s my brother?” Bucky teased before rising from the table and answering the phone. “What, Sam?” he asked, annoyed.

As soon as Bucky answered the phone, he heard gunshots on the other line. He had to put the phone further away from his ear and leave the room, not wanting the boys to hear their uncle in danger. 

“Can you drive?” Sam asked on the other line, almost yelling at him. 

Bucky paused, not expecting that question. “What?” 

“I asked; can you drive?” 

“Why do you need to- yes, I can drive, I took my driving test two years ago. Why?” 

“Me and Sharon are in a little bit of a tight spot here and we could uh... we could use your help.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, and then realized Sam couldn’t see him. “You want me to pick you up from a fight and drive you?” 

Sam paused for a moment, as if realizing how insane he sounded. “...Yes.” 

Bucky sighed, giving up on his plans with his family. He didn't know why Sam kept dragging him into this. Maybe it was because he knew he would never deny him help. “Text me your location.” 

~~~

Sam pulled Sharon into the back of the SUV, and bullets flew in right after them. They all ducked just in time. “Go, go, go!” Sam yelled. 

“This a new car!” Bucky screamed as he drove off with a loud screech. 

People in motorcycles kept chasing after them, bullets grazing the side of the vehicle. Great, Bucky thought, we can't afford to fix it up. 

“So, Sam, besides having me pick you up, what's your plan here?!” 

As Bucky glanced at Sam’s expression through the mirror, he noticed him frowning, “uh, turn a left.” 

Bucky did as asked. 

“Now a right. Now another left.” 

“Turn right,” Sharon said, grunting with pain. 

“Uh, no, he should totally turn another left.” 

“The alley isn't that way, don’t you remember-” 

“GUYS, NOT THE TIME.” 

Bucky had made all the turns needed to reach the alley, losing the people on the motorcycles - and he only had bullet holes, overheated tires and a large scratch on the front of his car to show for it. Fantastic. 

“I think we lost them,” Bucky noted, carefully exiting the alley to turn back to the road, “where to next?” 

“The hospital,” Sam said, tone insistent. 

Sharon groaned, “Sam-” 

“Hospital it is,” Bucky announced. 

“We need to get to the safe house!” Sharon protested.

“You need medical care!” Sam shot back.

“I’m fine,” Sharon dismissed. 

“You’re bleeding from a bullet wound.” 

She huffed, “I’ve had worse.”

When Bucky glanced at their heated argument in the rearview mirror, Sharon’s legs propped up on Sam’s legs, he noticed the determined look on Sam’s face. “That is exactly what I’d like to change,” Sam said, earnestness in his voice making the statement almost too touching, even without the look in Sam’s eyes. 

Sharon softened, eyes scanning Sam’s gaze. She held her breath as she looked at him. 

Bucky had to look away; the moment felt too intimate to look at. 

He cleared his throat, “nearest hospital is ten minutes away.” 

Sharon relented, letting her head fall onto the door, “fine.”

Sam smiled triumphantly. 

~~~

The hospital didn’t ask questions about the bullet wound when Captain America walked through their doors. They rushed Sharon to the emergency room, where the bullet would be removed and Sharon would be stitched up. “She would be completely fine,” the doctors assured Sam. Bucky noticed that the tension in Sams’ shoulders eased at that. 

All they could do now was wait. 

“You owe me a new car,” Bucky muttered. 

Sam snorted, “sure, man. I’ll even get you one that is more suburban dad.” 

Bucky’s head whipped towards his brother in law, annoyed at the comment. “Sarah and I saved up for that car, Sam.” 

“I’m sure you did,” Sam nodded, serious, but eyes mischievous, “you’re a very picture perfect family, you know that? Man, you’re so old fashioned, I bet you still open up the door for her.” 

Bucky bit his tongue, stopping the snarky reply he had prepared. “Yeah, Sam,” he said instead, “we are. We are a perfect family. And I’d like to keep it that way. And... you know I’ll always answer when you call, but I promised Sarah... You know, I promised Sarah... I can’t make her a widow again.” Sarah also made Bucky promise that he’d always protect Sam, but it was difficult to do both.

Sam winced, pained expression on his face, probably thinking about the first time his sister lost her husband. “Yeah... yeah, I know...” Sam sighed, tipped his head back towards the wall, closing his eyes, “I’m sorry, Buck, I really am. I want Sarah to be happy, and I’m glad you’re making her happy. I promise myself every time that I won’t call you... but then... and then...” 

“Sharon gets hurt?” Bucky guessed. 

Sam looked away, “this time that was the reason. But you know. It varies.” 

“Sure,” Bucky said, trying to hide his smile, “when will you just tell her you like her?” 

Sam looked at him, shocked, “I don’t like Sharon!” 

Bucky chuckled, “sure, Sam.”

“I don’t!” 

Bucky shrugged, as if not caring. 

Sam hesitated for a moment, before sighing, “is it that obvious?” 

“As obvious as the fact she clearly likes you back.” 

Sam gave him a small smile, “you think so?” 

“Definitely,” Bucky nodded, “so if you both like each other... why don’t you just... get together?” 

Sam bit his lip, thinking, “it’s different for us. We can't have what you and Sarah have.” 

“That’s what I thought too,” Bucky pointed out, “and look at me now.” 

“Still taking my calls,” Sam retorted. 

Bucky pursed his lips. 

Sam rolled his eyes at the way Bucky was glaring at him. “I don’t want to give it up,” Sam admitted, “me and Sharon? We’re doing a lot of good. I’m doing a lot of good. I like doing a lot of good. The picket fence, 1.9 kids lifestyle? That isn’t us. It isn’t me.” 

Bucky went silent at that. What Sam said, it sounded exactly like what he’d always say. His reason not to come to dinner or his reason not to retire. As if Sam was using the shield as an excuse. “Okay,” Bucky said, accepting this, “but Sam, you’ve been Captain America for the past five years - you deserve happiness, you know.” 

Sam looked down at his shoes, suddenly embarrassed. Bucky knew that Sam rarely heard this. He knew his much he needed to hear it, too - Sarah told him stories about a kid named Sam always helping others, often at the expense of his personal well being. Sam needed to hear it... and he deserved to be happy. 

However, when Sam looked up he was smirking. “Look at us,” he teased, “how the tables have turned. When did you get so good with emotions?” 

Bucky shoved him, “shut up, Wilson.” 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Melted Mask

awitchbravestheverge prompt: I don't know if you're still taking prompts but you are a master of hurt/comfort and would sell you my soul for some of that for Janus. Maybe where he's feeling insecure or like he's worn out his welcome post acceptance, or maybe a little touch starved, or both. Preferably with Virgil or Patton as the comforter, but if not thats ok. I just have a never-ending need for fic where people are soft and gentle with the snake boy, and I love everything you write with my whole heart

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: DLAMPR, focus on anxceit and moceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide I don’t mind

Warnings: uhhh sympathetic deceit and remus

Word Count: 4804

 “How many masks of your own face are you currently wearing?”

 “At least four.”

Between the gloves, the cape, and the hat, there’s not an awful lot of Janus that is seen most of the time. Not that he particularly minds. There is a certain benefit that layers upon layers of clothing provides. One, they’re perfect for concealing his cane—the others always look so surprised when he summons it from nowhere. Two, he is Dark Side, thanks to Roman’s fantastic naming system. There is an aesthetic standard that must be met. What was he going to do, show up in some ratted old hoodie?

 Three, well—there is an awful lot to look at. If the others are focused on the clasps at his throat, the shock of the yellow gloves, the logo hidden under the black fabric, they’re not looking at him.

 If they were, they’d see his scales.

 He is the only side with a visible animal trait, after all. The scales cover the left side of his face, down beneath his collar. He doesn’t mind the stares—come on, it’s so easy to catch them off guard, how could he?—but sometimes he does wonder if they’ll ever get used to it.

  To him.

 The scales are a reminder. That he’s different. That he’s not like them. He’s not like the others, he doesn’t look like Thomas, at least not to the extent that they do. Thomas doesn’t have golden scales along the side of his face. Thomas doesn’t have a mouth that curves up along his cheek. Thomas doesn’t have a slit-eye pupil. No, no, Thomas is normal.

 How dreadful.

 Then, of course, there are the lies.

 ‘Deceit.’ Such a funny word. And so…polarizing.

 ‘Deceitful,’ ‘dishonest,’ ‘dastardly’—lot of ‘d’s, here, hmm?—all of the words that just mean he’s a liar. And lying must be bad, right? So it follows logically then, because we simply adore logic in this house, that he must be bad.

 He’s not to be trusted, he’s a liar. He’s not honest, he’s a liar. They have to double and triple-check everything he says because he’s a liar.

 They always conveniently seem to forget that you can always trust a dishonest person to be dishonest. It’s the truthful ones you have to watch out for.

 Janus knows he’s a liar. Frankly, he’s quite proud of it. He’s gotten very good at it too; twisting the words together just right in order to tug slightly at a heartstring there, block off just a little rationality there, get the job done. The others always get caught up in his words, too busy focusing on the minutia of it, the details, leaving him free to step around them and speak to Thomas.

 They see the gloves, they see the scales, they see the lies.

 They see the masks.

 Oh, sometimes he’ll put on a little bit more of a show if he needs to make a point, if the normal masks aren’t quite enough to get Thomas to listen. He’ll tie a hoodie around his shoulders, push a pair of glasses up his nose, knot a tie around his neck. Problem is…those ones are a little easier to see through. No matter how hard he tries, all of his disguises end up being a self-portrait.

 Which is how he ended up here.

 “You know the rules,” Patton says, his hands on his hips, “no impersonating others outside of filming!”

 Janus rolls his eyes and idly flicks a speck of dirt off one of his gloves. “Oh, please. You don’t want me to do it during filming either.”

 “No, I don’t, but we made a compromise, kiddo, now we both have to stick to it.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure the others will be relieved to hear so.”

 “What have we said about impersonations?”

 He sighs. “The others may be idiots—“

 “Oi!”

 “—but idiots are also deserving of respect,” Janus finishes, glancing at Virgil draped over the back of the couch. “And I would never dream of being anything less than perfectly respectful.”

 Virgil snorts. “What do you even get out of it anyway?” He sits up a little straighter. “Wait, you haven’t been tricking Roman into telling you how to impersonate us better, have you?”

 “Now why would I do that?”

 “Janus!”

 “What? Like you don’t make a habit of going to the others for advice.”

 “There’s a difference between openly asking for it and tricking them into giving it to you.”

 Janus levels a stare at him. “I suppose there is, isn’t there?”

 “Hey!” Patton steps between them. “That’s enough.”

 “Oh, well—“ Janus makes a show of resettling his cape—“if you say so.”

 Patton sighs. “Janus, we are trying, okay? You heard Thomas, you’re…well, you’re more welcome now.”

 “And you’re doing a marvelous job of that.”

 Patton doesn’t quite deflate, but it’s close. “Well, maybe we could all try a little harder.” He gives Janus a pointed look.

 “Yes, I’m sure my efforts will be richly rewarded.”

 “Well, you could start by showing up as yourself more often.”

 “Myself?” Janus gasps theatrically, putting a gloved hand to his scales. “Who’s that?”

 “Dude,” Virgil sniggers—Virgil did always appreciate his sense of humor—“how many masks of your own face are you currently wearing”

 “At least four.”

 Patton lets him go with another verbal slap on the wrist and Virgil flips him off. Janus sinks out, striding down the hallway near his room. It’s quieter here. The walls hum a little less. He can think.

 He hadn’t gone to Roman to gets tips on his acting. He’d gone because Roman doesn’t want to talk to Janus.

 Janus, the liar. Janus, the manipulator. Janus, the Dark Side.

 Janus shuts the door of his room and instinctively slumps, the cape hanging off his shoulders. He knows Patton means well, and Virgil’s…Virgil, but sometimes it stings a little more than it should. Not that the others will ever see it.

 He’ll never forget the look on Thomas’s face when Logan said he was the side that acts with the one priority of self-preservation. Of how it instantly demonized the idea of protecting yourself. Of Thomas keeping himself safe.

 He looks at his hands, sees the gloves. They still don’t fit quite right, even after all these years. He can’t get the seams to run down the sides of the fingers, not curve around to the front or the back. It really shouldn’t be this difficult. Especially considering how much use he’s gotten out of them.

 Lying kept Thomas alive. It kept him safe. He helped keep Thomas safe. When Virgil couldn’t breathe, when Logan faltered, when Patton froze, Janus would quietly make his way over to Roman and whisper a suggestion. Just a suggestion. To lie. To keep Thomas safe. To get them out of here. And it saved them. So many times.

 Janus walks over to the mirror. It’s a fairly modest thing; about the size of a small sink, oval, large enough so he can see himself completely if he takes a few steps back. He ignores his own face and reaches for the golden latch on the side. He turns it.

 The cabinet swings open to reveal a dark velvet interior with several small podiums. Each has a thin mask laid atop it. They gleam in the low light of the room. Janus reaches out and carefully makes sure each is perfectly centered. As he does so, his gloves linger on the fine print beneath the podiums.

 Everyone has masks. Versions of themselves to present to the world when they need to. A mask that keeps you safe, a mask that keeps you alive, a mask that has the courage to speak when you don’t. The mask they wear around their homophobic relatives, the mask they wear when they need to make a phone call, the mask they wear when they need to pretend they’re something they’re not.

 Janus is very, very good at making masks.

 He never wears these. These are for Thomas. When Thomas needs help, Janus slips one of these out of the cabinet and sets it on the desk in front of the mirror. He looks at it, then at the mirror, and works. These masks are what helps Thomas.

 He shuts the cabinet with a decisive click, suddenly confronted with his own face.

Janus is so good at making masks that he doesn’t even need a mask to wear one.

 A mask because you’re the bad guy. A mask because you can never be trusted. A mask because when you try to be vulnerable they won’t listen. A mask because they don’t want you, they want the character that you embody to survive.

 He pities the others sometimes. They don’t have these masks and they hurt. They can’t distance themselves, pull away just a little more, embody a role so that when it’s over, when they’re safe again, they can take it off and breathe. But they don’t. So they just get hurt. Over and over and over.

 Janus’s lips involuntarily curl up into a snarl. The hand on the mirror closes into a fist.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

 He’s not supposed to hurt them.

 Part of him argues that he has to. If he keeps working the way he’s been working he can get right to Thomas, who is who needs the most protection. If he tries to do it their way they risk Thomas getting hurt and Janus won’t have that.

 Part of him whispers that this is good for them. If he can make them a little tougher, help them get thicker skin, they’ll be safer. And then it won’t matter if they hate him. They’ll be safe. That’s all he cares about.

 The rest of him—

 …well, the rest of him is currently the reason he’s having trouble looking in the mirror right now.

 The problem with wearing so many masks is that it becomes harder and harder to figure what’s the mask and what’s not. And he’s gotten so good at making them that now…now he doesn’t have to think about it.

 A mask for when Logan asks to debate about philosophy. A mask for when Remus wants him to help him and Roman make something new. A mask for when Patton wants to bake. A mask for when Virgil comes to him for help.

 A mask for all of them. A mask for none of them.

 Janus doesn’t want to wear the masks all the time. He wants them to be warm, to care, to smile when he comes into the room, or even ask where he is. He wants to laugh as Patton smears batter all over his nose accidentally. He wants to listen to Logan ramble about some new advancement in quantum gravity. He wants Virgil to come plop down next to him while everyone else is in the living room. He wants Remus to stay with him while they watch the others get into ridiculous fights over board games. He wants Roman to not be afraid to come talk to him.

 He wants.

 Janus is selfish.

 But he isn’t stupid.

 He knows they don’t want him. He knows they don’t want him, even without the masks. Deep down, he knows they don’t need him either.

 But Thomas does.

 So here Janus will stay, in the dark, in the cold, wearing too many masks of his own face to keep count.

—————————————————————

The Mindscape is cold. It never quite feels solid. Drafts blow in and out of the walls, through the little gaps in the floor, from places that Janus can’t find, no matter how many times he looks for them. He bundles himself up in his cloak and his hat and does his best to hold still, sink in as much warmth as he can. He sneaks up behind the others, pressing himself up near them, purring in their ears, just to snatch their body heat. They always shove him away with flustered protests and blushy little faces. They’re so adorable.

 Plus, he knows that’s all he’s ever really going to get from them.

 But he’s cold, goddamnit. Why do they keep the air conditioning so high in this house? Snakes are cold-blooded. They get slow. Lethargic. Hypothermic, if it gets very bad.

 Janus can’t afford to be slow.

 So he wears his gloves, his cape, his hat. He stands opposite the window so he can get the most sunlight. He finds the patches of warmth where none of the others will find him and he can curl up for the warmth he needs...

 …and fine, maybe it’s a little more than just being cold.

 The others are…touchy. Patton throws his arm around just about everyone. Bumps his hip against theirs. Pats their shoulders, squeezes their hands, kisses their cheeks. Roman sweeps people into his arms, pulls them in for hugs, keeps an arm around their waists for as long as he’s allowed. Remus can and will just tackle whoever he wants. Logan holds himself a little further away, but even he’ll lay a comforting hand on someone’s arm. Janus will admit he was shocked when Virgil started exhibiting spider characteristics. That Side is a cat and you will not convince him otherwise. And everyone knows if a cat falls asleep on you, you’re not allowed to move until it wakes up.

 Not that Virgil has fallen asleep on him recently.

 Janus is not too proud to admit that at first, he didn’t want their touches. He had a job to do, he didn’t need to be distracted. But now…now he does.

 He sees the way they move around each other and it stings. The accidental brushes he gets from standing too close or when they aren’t thinking about it sear through layers and layers of clothing to burn into his skin. When he stays close to them—close, but not too close—his whole side begins to tingle, reaching for them, their warmth, for them. But now it’s too late. His mask is already firmly in place and they know Deceit hates being touched.

 That’s another reason for the layers. For the gloves.

 Janus knows that if they ever touch him directly, skin to skin, his mask will shatter. And that is too dangerous to risk. With his gloves, his cape, his hat, his masks, the only way that would happen is if one of them tried to touch his face.

 And that is certainly very likely indeed.

 The clothes give him a barrier. A last line of defense. No touch is better than unexpected touch.

 But that doesn’t stop him from being cold.

 He can tell it’s going to happen when he can’t quite close his fingers around the end of his staff in the middle of their conversation. His gloves don’t catch on the wood quite right and he has to fumble to grab it properly. He glances up. No one’s looking at him.

  Are they ever?

 He tucks his hands smoothly out of sight, frantically burrowing them into his cloak to see if they’ll warm up. He locks his knees. No good. His fingers start to hurt as he flexes them. They’re still not moving faster. It’s cold.

 He glances at the clock. Two minutes. He can last two minutes. Or so he thinks, until his jaw starts to clench. He clenches it harder, ignoring the protest from his neck, his shoulders, trying to make it stop. He takes a deep slow breath and tries to relax, to stop his muscles from tensing. It works, barely.

 One minute.

 His hands aren’t responding properly. He can barely move his fingers. He just needs to get out of here. If he gets out of here he can get warm. He has his electric blanket, he has everything he needs. He just needs to leave.

 Thirty seconds.

 The conversation draws to a close and Janus nods deeply, tossing one last barb over his shoulder as he sinks out, only to collapse in the hallway as soon as he does. A draft flows out right next to his shoulder, freezing fingers dancing up his arm, along the back of his neck, diving into his collar to snatch more of his warmth. He curses, heaves himself to his feet, and makes it to his room. It’s so cold.

 Something tugs in his chest. No, no—!

 “I suppose there must be a good reason for summoning me back,” Janus drawls, snapping his gloves right back into place as he appears in the living room.

 Patton and Virgil stare back at him. Patton fidgets with his hands. “W-well, we, uh, I had a question for you.”

 Damn. “Well.” Janus spreads his arms, trying to play off how slow he’s moving for dramatic effect. “I’m here. Ask away.”

 “I, uh, a few days ago you mentioned that you didn’t feel as welcome here.” Patton looks at him with such an expression of sincerity that it makes Janus’s tongue itch. “And I wanted to know what I could do to help.”

 “Aren’t you sweet?”

 Patton won’t be deterred, it seems. He stares at Janus, resolute as ever. It’s so cold in here he’s going to start slurring in a moment.

 “Janus?”

 “That is my name, yes.”

 “Are you…are you feeling alright?”

 Janus gestures to himself, movements growing slower by the second. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

 Slow. Too slow.

 Patton frowns. He gives him a look. “You don’t seem like you normally are, are you sure?”

 “I am entirely in one piece.”

 “That doesn’t answer my question.”

 “Honey, if you’re looking for a straight answer, I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong place.”

 Virgil moves. Right, Virgil was here too. Janus is slow. Too slow. He can’t move. He can’t get away. His mask forms a bored expression on his face, quirking an eyebrow. Virgil approaches him and holds out a hand. A cold part of Janus’s chest leaps.

 The lips of the mask part. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”

 “This,” Virgil mutters, and cups the side of Janus’s face.

 Everything stops.

 Distantly, he feels Virgil’s hand leave his face. Hears something about being too cold. Sees a blur of blue rush away. But all he can focus on is—

  Warm. Virgil touched you. Warm. Warm. So warm. Keep the mask on. Don’t let the mask slip. Warm. If the mask slips everything will be ruined. Warm. Don’t you remember how to take the mask off? Virgil. Patton. Warm.

 “Janus? Janus!”

 Janus blinks. Virgil is still standing in front of him. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows. The mask is frozen in place, iced into a neutral expression.

 “Hey,” Virgil says quietly, “you’re freezing, bud. You gotta get warm.”

 Janus can’t speak. The mask is so cold.

 “You remember what happens when you get too cold,” Virgil continues, taking a step closer. Janus can’t move. Virgil’s frown deepens and he tilts his head. “What’s going on, Janus, you don’t normally let it get this bad.”

  Yes, Virgil, we’re aware.

 “You could’ve asked, dude,” Virgil says, taking another step closer, a little exasperation mingling with the concern, “any of us.”

 The mask smirks. Barely. “Yes, because I’m sure everyone would be so willing to cuddle me so I could steal their body heat.”

 “You don’t know that.” The mask doesn’t move. Virgil glances over his shoulder. When he speaks next, his voice is lowered to a whisper.

 “You don’t have to keep that on right now, Jan,” he says quietly, “it’s okay. It’s just me. I know you. You can…you know. Emote and stuff.”

 Janus huffs a laugh. It’s weak. 

 “You ever wear a mask so long you forget how to take it off?”

 Vigil pauses. “Huh?”

 “Ever pretended to be something for so long you forget which is real and which isn’t?” Janus’s smile turns sad. “Made yourself believe it too?”

 Virgil’s eyes close for a second. When he opens them, the concern in his gaze takes the last of the warm breath from Janus’s lungs. “Does this have anything to do with…?” He waves in Janus’s direction.

 Janus nods, slowly, so slowly. “I can’t. Because I’ve been…I’ve been trained out of it. I built my masks to hide behind. And now I can’t take them off.”

 “And we haven’t been good about helping you do that, huh.” He sounds so tired. He’s been through so much…

 “I’m…”

 The mask won’t let him apologize.

  Like they would ever accept it.

 “No, no,” Virgil says, “don’t apologize. You aren’t to blame for what you’ve been put through.”

  Oh, Virgil…

 Virgil glances over his shoulder. Then he shakes his head. “Just…look, go.”

 “What?”

 “I know this isn’t the time to talk about stuff. You’re not in any sort of shape to do that and Patton will understand. Go get warm.” He gives Janus a pointed look. “You take care of yourself first, okay?”

 He tries. He goes back to his room and buries himself in blankets, in pillows, in more layers than he can stand. The pressure is good but it’s still so cold. The weight of the electric blanket is nothing compared to the warmth of Virgil’s hand. Everything in here smells sterile, clinical, detached. It’s all so cold.

  You take care of yourself.

 The last sentence rings through his head late at night. He wants. But everyone’s probably asleep by now, and god knows they need to sleep. Surely it’ll be alright if he just goes to the living room? That’s not too far, right?

 There’s a fire going in the fireplace—since when did they have a fireplace? And there’s someone sitting on the couch. Hmm. Maybe if…if he’s quiet, if he doesn’t make too much noise, he can slip in and soak up some of the warmth. 

 Virgil turns around.

 “Hey, Janus,” he murmurs, standing, and comes over to him. “Can’t sleep?”

 Janus shakes his head. It’s warm in here, but he’s still cold. Virgil can see that, apparently.

 “Here,” he says, handing him a cup of tea that appeared out of thin air, “drink. It’ll warm you up.”

 Janus takes it cautiously. Isn’t it Virgil’s? There’s no way Virgil would’ve know Janus was coming…right?

 “This is my third one, figure I should let you catch up first.”

 He gestures to the couch, an encouraging smile on his lips.

 “Sit. C’mon”

 Janus does, sinking into the plush couch and cradling the warm mug in his hands. The couch groans as Virgil sits next to him. He can feel Virgil just out of reach, just there…

 “I like watching the fire,” comes a low voice from next to him as he sips the tea. “Helps me think. Or stop thinking.”

 He keeps talking in that low voice and the warm tea flows through Janus, sapping the cold slowly away from his body.

 Distantly, he feels someone steering him down onto the couch, and heavy arms around him.

 “Or maybe you just need a cuddle. Go to sleep, Janus.”

—————————————————————

 “ — stop twitching, Remus! You’ll make a mistake!”

 “Stop tugging his arm all over the place and then you won’t.”

 “Will you two pipe the fuck down? You’re gonna wake him up.”

 “Says the loudmouth!”

 “Roman, stop it.”

 “Stop moving his arm!”

 What is…? He’s lying on something. It’s warm, really warm. It smells like…coffee, makeup, and…cinnamon? He shifts slightly, and oh he slept on his neck wrong. A low groan escapes his throat.

 His pillow stiffens. “Shit. He’s awake.”

 “Good going, Remus.”

 “You were the one yelling!”

 “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” The chest underneath him vibrates. “Shh, snake-face, go back to sleep. You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

 Janus shifts again, trying to look around, but he’s held down by another strong arm. A hand cards itself through his hair—where’s his hat? “Shh, be still, buddy, you’re okay. Can’t we get you back to sleep?”

 “What…’s going on?” His tongue feels heavy, swelling up in his mouth.

 “I believe the chances of getting him back to sleep will increase if you tell him what you’re doing.”

 It’s…Logan? He appears, fuzzy but definitely there, over the back of the couch. Janus tries to turn to make it easier to see him but his right arm is pinned and he can’t move—

 “Easy, J, easy, shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, just keep your arm nice and still, okay?” Virgil, it’s Virgil he’s lying on, runs his hand through his hair again. “I’m pretty sure Roman would pitch a fit.”

 “Hah.” Roman snorts from somewhere close to the ground. “If this got ruined, yours would be too.”

 “If you hadn’t insisted on going last,” Remus says, “this wouldn’t’ve been an issue.”

 And then he feels it. Something is drawn sharply across his right wrist.

 “Shh, shh, Janus, breathe, breathe, you’re okay, damnit, Princey, stop! You’re making him freak out!”

 It’s gone, the contact is gone. His arm is still hanging over the edge of the couch but it’s held there by Virgil’s arm and another hand.

 “Hey there, Snakey.” Remus appears over Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re just making sure you’re okay.”

 Roman snorts. “There’s something wrong with how you phrased that.”

 Then suddenly Patton appears out of nowhere and doesn’t surprise him at all. Luckily, or unluckily, Janus is far too exhausted and disoriented to react more than rucking up the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie a little. Patton looks at the couch.

 “There isn’t room, Pop-star,” Virgil says, lazily stretching so his bulk takes up all of it, moving slow enough so Janus isn’t jostled too much. Then Virgil yelps and their lower bodies are lifted and he can feel the couch sag under another body.

 “What the hell, Pat.”

 “Now there’s room.” Patton reaches up and ruffles Virgil’s hair.

 There are so many people and it’s warm but why are they all here? Did he miss something? Does he need to leave?

 “Looks good,” Patton says, interrupting his train of thought, “it’s coming along well.”

 Logan clears his throat. “Would someone like to inform Janus about what exactly ‘this’ is?”

 “Oh, right, sorry, Snakey,” Remus says, crouching back down, “let’s show you.”

 Virgil turns over slowly, lifting his arm and using the leverage to shift Janus onto his chest. “Jeez, Janus, you’re light. Patton, have we been feeding him enough?”

 “I suspect there’s been a lack of communication, kiddo.”

 “Now is not the time to yell at him, Patton,” Logan says quietly.

 “I’m not yelling! But yes, now is not the time.”

 Virgil coaxes his head to one side, and Roman lifts his arm by the back of his hand.

 Janus’s mouth drops open.

 There are little animals drawn on his right arm, from his wrist to his elbow. There’s a navy cat, simple and clean, near the vein. A light blue frog with little glasses. A purple and black spider. A green octopus with large black tentacles. And an unfinished red dragon right near his wrist.

 “If I could finish,” Roman asks softly.

 “Alright, calm down, here.” Remus lowers his arm and holds it steady. Roman puts the brush back to his arm and starts painting again. Virgil and Remus start arguing about something, probably, but he can’t focus on anything besides the soft bristles of the brush on his arm, the rumble of Virgil’s chest, and the warmth of the weight on his legs.

 Logan stands behind his head. “You don’t need to wear a mask here, Janus,” he says softly, “not unless you want to.”

 No one else hears him except for Patton. He gives Janus’s leg a squeeze.

 It’s warm. It’s so warm.

 He wants to watch as Roman paints the dragon but he’s tired but he doesn’t want to sleep yet…not just yet.

 Patton reaches towards his face. His finger lands on his forehead and drags gently down the bridge of his nose.

 What…?

 Oh.

 As he follows his touch, Janus’s eyes drift closed.

 It’s so warm.

 And a warm hand on his cheek wipes the last of the mask away.

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[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 4

18 + Minors DNI Please Check Rules Before You Follow

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!Reader (brief reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, allusion to nausea (once), brief sacrilegious language (dabi), mentions of alcohol (dabi), mentions of smoking (dabi), dabi is just a whole warning of his own, gender neutral pronouns for reader, fem cause they're called a woman as an insult, Shiggy is an asshole, grinding, degradation,

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which a project is completed and a new one begins

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged)

Your project was almost complete.

In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was a creature of habit by nature, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair.

He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out.

You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down.

So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait.

would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?—

there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop—

That wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like.

bitch (endearing):

—no problem

—what’s your address?

Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way.

He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner until you texted back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside.

“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table.

Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in.

When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink.

He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over.

“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”

“Well the bitch is coming over so…”

“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot.

Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe.

“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”

His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat.

“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.”

Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye.

“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked.

Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.

The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar.

He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and a loose tank top.

He had on fucking eyeliner.

God and he thought Tomura was being desperate.

“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door.

“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”

But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips.

“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off.

“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—”

“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door.

“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face.

Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird.

“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment.

“Yeah…”

He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls.

“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony.

He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it.

You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his word, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was illuminated only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light.

His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them.

“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program.

And just like that.

It was over.

“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered.

He didn’t really mean to say it so softly, but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded.

There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk. Your hands rested way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product.

It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition.

The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah.

It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it as he took advantage of you position to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff.

In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder.

Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be.

“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.”

You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath. He knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that this was just a thing people said when they were relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in.

Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before.

And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer.

His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see how he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up enough scant courage to maybe close the gap. But then you started laughing?

It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else.

You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but—

But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him.

You were fucking kissing him.

Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones like he thought he was supposed to.

And holy shit your lips were so soft??

So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning.

God and when you pulled back and just enough to look at him again:

It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main characters look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes—

Yeah.

Yeah he got it now.

And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting.

“Eager are we?” you had that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him.

Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when you licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle.

Did other people always taste this good or was it just you?

He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you prodded the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress.

Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again.

“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.”

“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum.

“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that kinda thing.”

“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you.

“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?" you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.”

He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character.

“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”

“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.”

“Uh, what?”

He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, toying with the pooling saliva.

“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.”

You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman.

He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe him unless he walked through the door right now.

“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled back, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest.

“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”

[after-witch]

Office Hours [Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Secretary!Reader]

Title: Office Hours [Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Secretary!Reader]

Synopsis: He gave you the outfit. The blouse, the skirt, the nylons--the heels. A secretary’s unofficial uniform. You can’t help but feel mocked, in a way. Hurt. Was he being cruel on purpose, to make you think about your life before all this? 

Word Count: 2000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, some secretary adjacent kink material (tickling, spanking)

The mirror is streaked and dirty and you can only assume that it’s never been washed. Your captor certainly hasn’t washed it since you were taken, which was… weeks? Months? He doesn’t keep track of time, and he doesn’t do a lot of cleaning, or tidying, or much of anything in the way of keeping this room (his room, your room, he says) decently habitable. Even your occasional sweep of old food wrappers and cans stuffed into stray plastic bags earns you a sarcastic comment or shut-down; but if you’re going to be held captain by some rough villain, you decided, then the least he could do is keep the room from being rock-bottom filthy.

At least you’re not streaked with dirt. He does let you shower. Alone--sometimes. He likes to watch, so you’ve learned to shower at lightning speed. It all depends on his mood, and his mood is always volatile, shifting, unsure. Which brings you to your present predicament, staring in a dirty mirror in the bathroom of your kidnapper, dressed in an outfit that is both familiar and strange.

You pull your hair back and watch yourself silently as you pin it with a black clip. You don’t look like yourself anymore. At least not any version of yourself you conceived seeing before. Your eyes and lips are painted up--cheap stuff, you assume, given the quality and lack of a label. At least it wasn’t used. 

But your face--it’s different now. You’re anxious and tired all the time, no matter how much you sleep when he’s gone or how much he tells you he won’t hurt you (sometimes even as he’s hurting you). And it shows in your eyes and face and the way your shoulders slump, making the thin white fabric of your blouse wrinkle.

He gave you the outfit. The blouse, the skirt, the nylons--the heels. A secretary’s unofficial uniform. You can’t help but feel mocked, in a way. Hurt. Was he being cruel on purpose, to make you think about your life before all this?

All of the motions of the morning were familiar… sitting on the toilet lid and slipping on the nylons, ever so slowly so they don’t get a run. Buttoning up each button, retracing your fingers when you button up the wrong hole. Slipping into the skirt and wiggling your hips before sliding your feet into the heels--a size too small, they pinch--and appraising yourself in the mirror.

But you’re not getting ready to stride into your office; you’re not getting ready to prep your boss, a Hero that you are slowly realizing will likely never find you, on today’s meetings and missteps and PR campaigns. 

You’re about to walk out of a dingy bathroom into a dingy room and indulge in some sick fantasy for your captor, and the very thought of it makes you want to vomit. But vomiting would ruin your makeup, and you’ve already taken long enough in the bathroom. He’ll think you’re stalling on purpose (you are, sort of) and that won’t end well.

So you look in the mirror one last time and take a deep breath and turn away, leaving the minor sanctuary of the bathroom for the uncertainty of the bedroom.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to Shigaraki, who has--unusually--cleared off the old sofa pushed against the wall. It's normally covered in dirty clothes and trash, things he tosses and never throws away unless you spring into action; but it's clear now, save for Shigaraki, sitting on one end with his palms spread out on both thighs. Casual. Waiting. And for what?

"Come here," he says, voice low and scratchy.

You don't want to--your body feels like lead. But you see his fingers twitch and you feel a surge of adrenaline thrum through you, like a lightning bolt that forces your legs to move. They feel heavy, and it's a wonder that they don't drag. The heels are hard to walk in, he probably grabbed (stole) the first pair he saw at the store.

You stand in front of him and it's awkward and humiliating and the lead feeling has gone from your legs to your stomach, heavy and foreboding.

"Sit next to me," he orders.

And you do. Wooden. Stiff. You shift just an inch, so your thighs don't touch his.

He sighs and you feel yourself cringe. "Not like that."

It's hard, really, to know exactly what he wants all the time. It feels like you're walking a tightrope, miles high, unable to look down to see where your next step should be. And there's no net underneath to catch you, either.

"I... don't know how you want me to sit." You keep your voice even and neutral. It's better than protesting, better than whining. It keeps him calmer.

"Get--get comfortable." He huffs, but it's not mean. It’s just annoyed. You can work with that. You lean back against the couch and force your posture to relax. You uncurl your fingers and let them rest in your lap, a bit primly, but no longer white knuckled. You glance down at his hands, glance up at his face. It's hard to keep eye contact, so you focus on his hair. You wish he'd wash it.

"Now put your feet in my lap."

"What?" You do make eye contact now, incredulous. He's looking away from you, which is... something new. He likes to stare you down and threaten you with looks or twitches of his hands, but now, he almost looks embarrassed.

You don’t want to make him mad, so you slowly lift your legs and shift on the sofa, making it easier to slide your feet into his lap. You keep staring at his face, his cheeks now tinged a slight pink, if only to avoid looking down at your feet cradled in his lap. What if he's hard. It wouldn't be the first time you saw him sporting an erection. At least you weren't in the shower this time.

He suddenly slides a finger into the side of your heels and you force yourself to stay still as he pulls them off and tosses them on the ground. So much for the complete look, you think. He stares down at your nylon-clad feet for so long that you wonder if you did something wrong.

"What are you--"

Shigaraki slides his rough fingers haphazardly down your feet, and your breath hitches the second they make contact. Instantly, instinctively, you jerk your feet away from him. But he must have known it was coming, because he holds your foot firm in a nearly bruising grip while removing all but one finger trailing down your sole.

"I bet..." You breathe steady, in-out-in-out, watching as he drags his teeth on his too-chapped lips. "I bet this--" he digs in deeper with his nail as he says it, and you gasp--"is why that shitty Hero wanted you to wear stuff like this, huh? Sicko..."

You bite back a snarky reply, half because you know calling him a hypocrite will piss him off--and half because you know that if you try to say something, anything, right now that you'll end up breaking the very thin dam that's holding back your desire to laugh. He's gently scratching towards your toes now and it's killing you--it really, really, really fucking tickles.

"Tomu--" you start, then stop, because you can feel the laughter bubbling up inside you. It makes you feel helpless. You close your eyes and will the feeling of his finger to go away, but it doesn’t; it’s maddening, and you can feel your breath get faster and faster and it hitches--the dam bursting is a small cry at first, nearly a hiccup, and suddenly you’re kicking at him with your other foot and laughing, hard and low.

You thrash and mindlessly throw your weight around, kicking and flailing, but it doesn’t stop. It goes on and on and it’s horrible and it tickles until finally Shigaraki stops to grab your free flailing leg and hold it tight. 

It’s over, mercifully--or maybe not, as you feel the breath practically knocked out of you as he suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your stomach. You try to move--all thoughts of appeasing your captor thrown out in the last seconds--but he presses his thighs hard against your hips and you’re pinned in place.

You breathe, hard, and you feel sweat from exertion beginning to bead at your temples. For his part, Shigaraki reflects your own exhaustion, slightly panting, cheeks flushed but--you think, you feel, actually--not for the same reasons.

“What--what are you doing?” You say, blinking away tears that are now just as much from the cheap mascara as they are from Shigaraki’s previous ministrations. You keep your face angled to the side to avoid having your nose pressed into the sofa--and into a highly questionable old stain.

Shigaraki’s stares at your face for a minute, before reaching down with a finger and brushing away flecks of streaky mascara.

“You’re a bad secretary,” he says, his voice lilting with a strangely humorous tone that you’ve never heard before.

“What?” Should you be… insulted? Was he stalking you at work and criticizing you? You weren’t perfect--who was?--but you’d manage to boost your Hero’s presence in the media and never missed a deadline for submitting sneaky PR-laden editorials to the local paper.

His hand trails down, softly tracing against the back of your neck with two fingers. You shiver as he continues downward, gently tickling as slowly makes his way down your thin, slightly sweaty blouse.

“I said you’re a bad secretary.” He’s got two hands--two fingers, actually--of your hips and you’re briefly horrified at the thought that he might tickle you there before he yanks down your skirt zipper and pulls it down instead.

“Don’t!” You try to squirm, but he keeps you firmly set in place even as your skirt fabric bunches against him.

He ignores you, and instead shifts his weight so that he’s facing your legs and--you realize with increasing stress--your nylon-covered ass.

“To--Tomura!” You say, throwing out the name he’s forced you to call him, the name that sometimes gets him to take a step back when he’s crossing lines you want to keep secure as long as possible. “Let’s just... watch a movie or something!”

He tsks. It’s a firm, decisive sound that threatens to bring bile to your throat. “That’s Boss to you, sweetheart. You know better than that.” No, you don’t know--what is he getting at? You squirm again but you know it’s fruitless, you know you’re not going anywhere.

A fact that is made even more clear when you feel Shigaraki rolling down your nylons at the waist, revealing your soft skin, your bare ass, underneath.

“I told you what would happen if you didn’t--” he clears his throat, a gesture that makes you far more aware of the hardness pressing against you from under his pants--”If you didn’t finish your paperwork.”

“Tomu--” There’s pain, suddenly--he spanked you, firm and fast, and the knot in your stomach feels like it’s being pulled in a thousand different directions. “Boss,” you self-correct, feeling breathless. It’s a game, you think, a twisted game and you’re an unwilling player.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it does nothing but make you wish you could sink into the sofa, stains and all. “But it doesn’t make up for a sloppy job. You have a punishment coming.”

He slaps your ass again in a swift, hard motion, the tips of his four fingers striking your skin with a decisive pain. Then again. And again. And again. You’re sniffling now--it hurts and more than that, it’s humiliating. The weight of your embarrassment seems to settle on your waist along with Shigaraki, who seems content with making your cheeks--both sets--hot with shame.

“Boss… Boss,” you say, desperate, wiggling, thinking of anything to redirect him. “Can’t--Can’t I make up for it some other way?” It comes out before you can think about it, a cliché ingrained in your brain from porn and pop culture, and you wish you could take it back. You definitely--definitely--don’t want to follow up on that request.

You swear you can feel him get harder as the words leave your lips. He shifts on your waist and there’s a slight wetness there, sticking to your blouse and your back. He’s breathing heavy and if you were to look--you can’t, you won’t--you would see his face is just as disheveled as yours.

“Maybe,” he pants, “Maybe later. For now…”

You brace yourself in anticipation of the next strike. And the many more to come.

[temilyrights]

ask her out

Summary: Alex Blake x Fem!Reader. Your crush on Alex is getting out of hand, so the team calls you out on it and tries to convince you to ask her out. 

A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing for Alex, but I’ve been rewatching season 8 and completely feel in love with her all over again. I definitely will continue writing for her if people are interested.  As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated :) Enjoy!

Fluff, light angst, and a little nsfw/smutty. James doesn’t exist in this fic but she’s still referred to as Blake because I forgot her maiden name was Miller. 

Alex’s eyes flick to you as you step into the room, the door shuts behind you with a click that earns the attention of the students in the hall. Her speech doesn’t falter, drawing back the students to her lecture, she smiles at you though, subtlety telling you she’d be done in a few minutes.

You lean back against the wall and watch. This was the first time you’d seen her teach. You didn’t get the art of linguistics like she did, but you couldn’t help but be captivated by the passion in which she taught. She looked comfortable, confident, and relaxed. It was nice to see. At work there tended to be a constant furrow of her brows due to the stress of the cases, but here, none of that was present.

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was attractive. The way she controlled the room and quizzed her students with such confidence...Your schoolgirl crush had been active since the first time you met her but by god, this was going to spin it out of control.

“Okay, that’s all for today. I’ll see you next week.”

The students quickly pack up their stuff, the rustle of paper and bags along with the screeching of chairs filling the room. A few of them shoot you interested looks as they exit, their eyes falling to the gun strapped to your waist. You don’t pay them much attention as you push yourself off the wall and make your way to where Alex is packing up her own things.

“You were early.” She says in way of greeting. You lean against the table beside her and shrug.

“Wanted to finally see the legendary Dr Blake in action.”

She shakes her head with a small laugh, slipping the last papers into her bag before putting it onto her shoulder. She looks at your gun and arches her brow. “And you couldn’t leave that in your car?”

“Habit.” You shrug. You really hadn’t thought much about it to be honest, but the half-smile on her lips makes you happy you were wearing it. You liked making her smile.  

“Right.” You stand up properly and you fall in step with her as you make your way out of the room and down the corridors towards your car. “So, what did you think?”

You tilt your head, a guilty smile crossing your lips. “Still not my thing, but if I was going to attend a linguistics lecture, you’d definitely be the tutor I’d pick.” oh my god were you flirting?

She looks at you with interest, humour in her eyes as she hums. “Well, there’s still time.”

Your cheeks tinge pink and you quickly avert your gaze, laughing lightly to try and cover up your reaction. Luckily, you’re at your car now, so you unlock the doors and slide in and by the time Alex has moved to get in the other side your cheeks are back to their normal colour.

“Thank you for this again.” She says as you strap your seatbelt on and put the keys into the ignition.

“It’s not a problem.” You smile. Her car had broken down a week ago and she’d been stuck relying on the subway and cabs to get around. It sucked, especially when she had days that switched between lecturing and at the BAU, so you’d ended up offering to give her lifts. She’d tried to refuse but you knew how frazzled she’d been every time she arrived. She’d eventually relented and accepted your offer to pick her up from Georgetown.

“Still, you didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Alex smiles, her eyes soft. The way your heart thumps in your chest has you scrambling for a change in conversation.

“Plus, it’s not for free.” She arches a brow as you smirk. “I want coffee and you’re buying.”

She breaks out into laughter as you pull out and onto the road.

---

After that, it becomes harder to ignore the butterflies in your stomach every time you see her. You felt ridiculous for letting the feelings take control, but you couldn’t help the way your eyes always travelled to where she was in the room. Her desk being opposite yours did not help.

It’s about two weeks later after she’s left for a class (she finally had her car back) that Spencer hesitantly approaches your desk. You look up at him with a frown, noticing the way his fingers were drumming against his leg.

“Is everything okay with you and Alex?” He asks sadness and concern deep in his voice. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“You keep sending her these sad looks, and you won’t stop watching her. Do you not trust her? Did something happen?” He pressures, a slight dread to his tone. You knew how important Alex was to him, the idea that something was wrong would not do him good.

“Of course, I trust her. Nothing has happened. I promise.” You look around the room to make sure no one else is listening. JJ’s lips are sitting in a subtle smirk, but her eyes remain attached to the paperwork in front of her. She was obviously listening, and you didn’t know whether to be grateful or not that she hadn't joined the conversation. You look back to Spencer who’s frowning.

“Then why do you keep staring at her?”

“I don’t.” You try to refuse, but your cheeks are already turning pink.

“You do. When we’re in here working your eyes flick to her roughly every seven minutes.”

“Seven minutes? No that’s ridiculous.” oh god. oh god. oh god.

“Hers is about every 10. Although last Tuesday it nearly halved in time. She never looks sad though whereas you do.”

“Alex doesn’t stare at me.”

JJ chuckles from her desk, and finally stands up and makes her way over. “Game is over Y/N. You’ve been called out.”

“Game?” Spencer frowns, “What game?”

“The game is which both Y/N and Blake pretend they don’t have a thing for each other.”

“I don’t have a thing for Alex.” You bristle, but your cheeks betray you as they turn pink.

“Right, uh-huh.” JJ laughs.

Spencer’s eyes widen as the realisation hits him. “Oh.” He seems to turn an almost pale shade of green, obviously thinking about the woman who was practically a mother figure to him with someone wasn’t the nicest thing. “Well, uh, I think she feels the same.”

You scoff, “No she doesn’t because there isn’t a thing.”

Spencer smiles genuinely, “Last Tuesday, you wore a shirt that was a lower cut than normal. That was the day Alex wouldn’t stop staring at you. I didn’t make the connection until now. If she’s getting coffee, she’ll almost always offer to get you some too. On the jet, after a bad case, you always sit next to her because she makes you feel safe and relaxed. You listen to her talk about linguistics even though you find it boring. You both are constantly aware when the other is in the room. When-”

“Okay, okay, okay!” You shout, cutting off his ramble. “You win. There may be some feelings but it’s just a crush and I’ll get over it.”

“Or you could just ask her out?” JJ laughs.

You shake your head, “No. We work together. It would be unprofessional, and really uncomfortable for everyone if it didn’t work out. Plus, just because she looks at me occasionally doesn’t mean she likes me like that.”

You did silently feel proud that Alex hadn’t been able to stop looking at you when you wore that shirt, but you could find someone attractive without wanting to date them so really it didn’t mean anything.

“You smile more when she’s around. You should ask her out.” Spencer says, rocking on the balls of his feet slightly.

You sigh and shake your head, but he continues before you can speak. “We should tell the people we care about that we care about them. You both deserve to be happy.” A shadow crosses his face before he pulls a smile back to his lips.

JJ clears her throat, “Spence is right. Ask her out.”

You look between them for a moment and then release a long dramatic sigh, “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it.”

JJ claps her hand while Spencer smiles. You can only groan.

---

The next morning the team is called to Colorado for a case. JJ keeps sending you looks, and Derek won’t stop smirking which means he knows and by extension, Penelope probably too (though she’s yet to say anything). She’s terrible at keeping secrets which means your days are numbered until Alex finds out.

“Why do they keep looking at you?” Alex asks quietly from beside you on the jet. You shoot JJ a glare and turn to face Alex. Your heart immediately starts pounding in your chest when you realise just how close her face is to yours. You clear your throat as you turn away.

“Who knows.” You shrug, burying your face into the book in your hands. Alex watches you for a moment longer before turning back to her own book.

You glare at JJ again over the top of your book and Alex pretends not to notice.

The second the jet hits the floor you’re in case mode. It’s not until the evening that you finally get to sit down properly. Everyone’s still at the police station waiting for the dinner that Rossi and Derek had gone to collect.

You collapse into a chair and yawn, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

“Here,” Alex says as she approaches, holding out a fresh cup of coffee.

“You’re a godsend, Alexandra Blake.” You release a satisfied sigh as you accept the cup and take a sip. Alex moves to sit in the chair beside you arching her brow.

“Alexandra, huh? No one has called me that in a long time.”

You shrug, “It’s a pretty name.”

“It means-”

“Defender of Mankind.” You cut her off and enjoy the impressed look she sends you. “Did my research.”

“I’m proud.”

You roll your eyes, “Please, looking up a few name meanings isn’t exactly difficult, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes are officially low, don’t you worry.” She smirks and takes a sip of her own coffee before looking back at you. “What other names did you look up?”

“Mine and the rest of the teams. Couldn’t have you thinking you're special.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She holds your gaze, and it isn’t until JJ enters the room saying something about the food being here that she looks away.

---

The case only lasts a few days and before you know it, you’re back on the jet on your way back to Quantico.

Penelope’s waiting in the squad room, practically jumping on her feet as she welcomes you all. Her eyes flick between you and Alex with absolutely no subtlety and you have to suppress a sigh.

She follows you to your desk and you pray she doesn’t question you with Alex still in the room.

“So?” She asks as you take a seat at your desk. She’s trying to talk quietly but in Garcia’s terms, that’s just normal volume. You look at Alex who’s standing by JJ’s desk, her eyes meet yours and she smiles at you with a slight furrow of her brows. You look back to Penelope.

“No.”

Penelope’s face drops, “Why did she say no? You’re amazing and wonderful and-”

“She didn’t say anything. I didn’t ask.” You turn back to your desk, busying yourself with papers that didn’t actually need your attention. You just wanted her to drop this before Alex’s suspicions that something was wrong were confirmed.

“Well, why not?” She moans.

You release a frustrated groan, “We were on a case, I couldn’t exactly ask her while standing over a dead body.”

“Obviously not, but there were evenings. You could have asked her over dinner or on the jet or literally any other time.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” You growl, dropping the papers to your desk and turning around to glare at Penelope.

“You said you would!”

“Seriously? Do any conversations stay private in this place?”

“Not when you have them in the squad room,” Alex says as she approaches, Penelope spins around her face frozen in a way that tells Alex she was definitely the topic of conversation. “Everything okay?” She focuses on you, her brows furrowed in concern and you have to look away.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. It’s late and I’m tired so I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You push yourself up from your desk, grabbing your bag and avoiding both their eyes as you hurry out of the room.

You’re nearly at the elevator when Alex catches up with you. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You shake your head, your eyes not leaving the elevator as you wait for it to hurry up and arrive. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I give you a lift home?” Alex offers.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you though.”

“Please. You shouldn’t drive home if you’re that tired.” You meet her concerned gaze and after a long moment of consideration, you sigh.

“Okay. Sure.”

You expect her to start questioning you the second the doors close, but she doesn’t and you’re relieved. Instead, you both just talk like normal. The conversation comes to an end on the drive home though, and you fall into a comfortable silence. Your eyes remain fixed to the window instead of on her as you debate asking the question everyone wanted you to ask.

You frown when she drives past the turning to your house, “Hey, we just drove-”

“I know.” She cuts you off, eyes not drifting from the road. You release a resigned sigh and sink back into the chair. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her.

You’re only half surprised when you arrive at her house. She parks and turns off the ignition without a word, and you follow her lead as you make your way into her house. You take your shoes and coat off just as she does and follow her through to her kitchen.

“Tea?”

“Sure.” You agree, leaning back against the counter as she begins making it. It’s silent between you and her, the only sound is the whirring of the kettle and the nervous tapping of your fingers against your arm.

“Here you go.” She passes you the cup before leaning back on the island counter opposite you.

“Thank you.” You take a sip and hum, “Is this from Emily’s tea of the month thing?”

“Yes, Penelope gives me some every time it arrives. This one is my favourite so far.”

You nod, not sure how else to respond. It’s silent for a moment before Alex speaks. “So, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You sigh, “It’s just the team trying to get involved in stuff that isn’t any of their business, and you know them, Penelope especially, the second they get their hands on a bit of gossip…” You roll your eyes.

“The bureau thrives off it.” She places her cup of tea down on the counter beside her before crossing her arms and looking at you with a thoughtful expression, “You didn’t quite answer my question though. This gossip, it’s about us, right?”

Her tone leaves no room for argument. You sigh and place your own cup on the side. There was no point in lying to her, and you didn’t want to. “Spencer came to me a few days ago because he thought that we weren’t getting along.”

She frowns, “That wouldn’t cause this amount of gossip because it’s obviously not true. Why would he think that?”

“I know.” You sigh, rubbing at your neck and not quite meeting her eyes. “Uh, so, apparently I look at you a lot and he thought that that meant I didn’t trust you or we’d had an argument or something. I explained that wasn’t the case, but he insisted something must be wrong and then JJ was there and teasing me about it all and it all spiralled out of control and before I knew it, I was agreeing to something that I didn’t want to agree to, not because I didn’t want to ask, but because I was scared that if I do ask that it’ll change things or ruin things and I don’t want-”

“Y/N,”

“-that to happen. I knew you’d find out anyway though, I’m terrible at lying and Penelope can’t keep a secret to save her life and you’re an amazing profiler and I just don’t want to ruin things between us just because I have a giant crush on you and am scared to ask you out on a date. I understand if you’re uncomfortable now.”

“Y/N, honey, look at me.” She comes closer, her hand touching your chin to try and get you to lift your head. You resist. “Please.”

The plea gets you to lift your head. She’s smiling and your heart flutters.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” You can only nod and then she’s gripping your neck and pulling you in. The first brush of her lips has your heart pounding, and then there’s another and another and another and your hands grip onto her blazer and her fingers brush the hair at the base of your head and all you can breathe, and smell is her and it’s amazing.

She pulls back all too soon, and you make a small noise of protest which has her smirking. Your cheeks are flushed and both of you are breathing a little deeply. Her hand leaves your neck to wrap around your waist.

“W-why?”

“For a profiler, you suck at reading the cues when someone is interested in you.”

“I don’t, I just didn’t want to assume or-”

“Y/N, my first case in Seattle, one of the detectives spent the whole case trying to flirt with you and you didn’t see it.”

“She was just being friendly.”

“Right because it would be totally normal for me to tell Dave he has really pretty eyes while touching his arm.”

“I-fine. Okay.” You pout. Alex suppresses her smile by biting on her lip and your eyes immediately zero in on the action. Your tongue swipes over your lips. “I need you to kiss me again.”

Her own tongue swipes over her lips before she dips her head, her nose brushes against yours. Her breath hitting your lips. “I think it’s your turn.”

You take a heavy breath as your hand slides up to grip her neck. Your eyes flick to hers, enjoying her darkened gaze before you close the final bit of distance between you. There’s none of the hesitancy of last time, just kisses that quickly heat up as your hands move to grip at her hair and she pushes you back into the counter.

Her leg slides between yours causing a whine to escape your lips. Alex wastes no time in taking control of the kiss, her tongue sweeping against yours as you begin to squirm against her knee.

“Alex.” You moan as her lips begin to leave a trail of kisses down your neck. “Please, Alex.”

“Please what?”

“I-uh, oh.” You groan as her teeth scrape your neck and her hand begins to make its way under your shirt.

“Use your words.” She smirks.

“Bed. Please.”

“It’s not a sentence, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

You hum as she captures your lips in a toe-curling kiss before completely stepping away. You feel lost without the contact.

“Come on honey, follow me.”

You don’t need to be told twice as you quickly hurry after her, grabbing her hand and twisting her back into you before kissing her deeply. It’s her time to moan against your lips.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Follow me.” You smirk, stepping away before quickly making your way to her bedroom as Alex follows behind you.

[searenbound]

This took me so long to get done and I wish I could tell you why but I got nothing. So uh here and Please let me know how it was! I might do more stuff like this because I enjoyed writing it.

Warnings: swearing, mutual voyeurism, masturbation

It was funny really. How innocent everyone thought her to be. How sweet and demure she was believed to be. How naive he thought she was. It was hilarious just how oblivious he assumed she was to his old habit when in reality it was the reverse.

She was a number of things. Smart, kind, a total whore for his undivided attention, but never has she been innocent or naive. It was evident in her favorite pass time of frustrating the living hell out of her perpetually angry neighbor. Her neighbor who just couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

He always had hard time with that, ever since high school. It was something she didn’t realize she would miss so much when they graduated. She had grown so used to his intense gaze that it had felt wrong to not be watched by him.

So imagine her absolute elation when she discovered that not only was her new home close to his, but that his bedroom window looked into hers. More importantly, that she had a full unobstructed view of him sitting on his bed, his hungry eyes scanning over her as she stripped down. He must have missed her just as badly to just assume that she wasn’t able to see him. She figured he must’ve forgotten that her quirk granted her super vision. His room being pitch black didn’t mean much when she could see him crystal clearly regardless.

She was beyond thrilled with this. He still wanted her. Still lusted for her. She sighed dreamily, she was so happy. So happy in fact, that she wanted to give him a special treat. She bit her lip, pressing her thighs together at the thoughts that ran through her mind. She’s never gone this far for him before, really she just pranced around her room in various states of undress, but her body ached for this. Besides he really did deserve something really special for waiting this long for her.

She had to start slow though. Get him all riled up and wanting more of her. She faced her mirror to examine her own form, thrilled to feel the set of burning red eyes set fire to her body. She wondered how much hotter that gaze would be if she was face to face with him.

If he was sitting on her bed watching her innocently fussing with her hair, before turning this and that way to admire her own ample curves. If he’d watch patiently until she was ready to give him her attention or if he would wrap his arms around her thick waist and demand she stop teasing while her hands ran up her thighs, over her hips and stomach before resting over his arms.

How gentle would he be?

How rough?

Would he praise her?

Tease and toy with her?

Would he take her right there against the mirror or lay her down on the bed?

The possibilities were exciting her more than she had thought they would. She ran her fingers along her clothed sex, shuddering at her own sensitivity and biting her lip. She had wanted to tease him just a little bit longer, but she just couldn’t hold out anymore. She had to rush this game a little bit and take care of this quickly developing neediness now.

If only she could have heard the noise he made when she laid on her bed, sliding her panties over those plush thighs of hers. It was somewhere between a chocked moan and startled gasp. Something he thanked every possible deity in existence that she couldn’t hear.

He got over his shock quickly, to preoccupied with the sight of that cute little slut spreading herself open. He never thought he’d get a chance to see her like this. Hell, he didn’t even think he would ever get another chance to watch her walk around in those skimpy things she called underwear. A good eyeful of her greedy, pretty little cunt wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be blessed enough to get the privilege of seeing. Even if it was from a distance, even if she wasn’t aware of it, he wouldn’t take this opportunity she was presenting him for granted.

He groaned lowly, palming himself while she put on her little show for him. He wasn’t going to let this chance slip away from him. He was going to hold out as long as he could and take his time, really enjoy this. After all this time he deserved to indulge in this didn’t he?

He’s never even considered another woman other than her. He was completely faithful and loyal to her even if she didn’t know it yet. He’d tell her that someday, maybe someday soon, but for now he’ll just indulge in the way she played with herself. The thought of her possibly getting off to him exciting him further. If only he knew.

“K-Katsuki mm… fuck” she whined, spreading her legs wide, refusing to hide anything from his lustful gaze. He deserved this. He deserved all of her and maybe someday she’d work up the courage to give herself to him properly. For now though, knowing he was just the next building over watching her get herself off would have to do.

She gave a breathy moan, pumping her fingers in and out of herself. She loved this. Loved how it felt to have his eyes all over her again. She couldn’t help but wonder how his hands would feel though.

She shudder at the thought. Lifting her other hand to her chest, pinching and rolling her nipple in between her fingers and closing her eyes.“Katsu” she whined , wishing he was the one working her clit instead. Rubbing and massaging the bundle of nerves occasionally giving it a pinch before sliding his fingers into her sopping cunt.

She could practically here the way he would groan, praising her body and telling her how badly he needed her while he made her come undone with just his fingers.

“What a dirty little slut you are” she moaned, closing her eyes and imagining him with her, growling against her neck as he spoke. She could almost feel him over her, just barely able to imagine his calloused fingers rubbing against her inner walls as he continued to speak “Hiding such a cute little pussy from me for so long, making me wait for you like this”.

She let her thoughts snap back from her fantasy at the realization that he was in fact still waiting for her while she focused just a little too much on herself. This was meant to be a gift for him after all.

She should at least make sure he was enjoying himself shouldn’t she?

She chanced a look at him, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was aware of his actions. If he found out like this she would never live it down.

Her breath hitched at the sight of him tugging off his clothes. The fact that he had so much restraint to just sit there and watch her was somehow more attractive than if he had been getting himself off to her. Something about it made her feel so wanted. Like even without being aware of it he had put her needs first.

Maybe it was just her lust talking or maybe it was the fact that he had never been the patient type, but it drove her crazy regardless.

The sight of his cock once he finally got his damn pants off only confirmed what she already knew. She needed him so badly but for now “F-fuck… Katsu” for now this had to do.

Her breath came out in stutters pants, slowly pumping two of her fingers in and out of herself. She kept her eyes on him, focused how his hand worked himself and wishing she was the one getting him off herself.

She did her best to commit his actions to memory. Hoping to learn how to make him feel good watching him pump himself. Slow and firm strokes that slowly built in speed similar to her own fingers that delved into her.

A loud moan lift her when she realized that he had to be mimicking her tempo. Was he trying to keep with her? Was he imagining that he was the one fucking her? God what she’d give to know for certain. To know what he was thinking, what exactly his moving lips were saying.

"Damn Princess…" he groaned watching her bring her other hand up to play with her chest “You’re so fucking gorgeous”. He began picking up his pace, intently watching her eyes screwing shut and adding a third finger to fuck herself with.

What a sensitive little slut he fell for. So pretty with her desperate face and shaky legs. He wondered how much she could handle. If she could take it once he got his hands on her and just how damn beautiful she’d look coming undone up close.

He wanted know everything and just imagining that cute little pussy of hers clenching and twitching around him wasn’t enough anymore. He needed more.

He needed to actually feel her. Watch her whole body bounce with every buck of his hips. Hear her pretty little moans and listen to the way his name fell from her lips.

He could almost hear when he focused. “K-Katsuki, Katsu please. I’m gonna- ahah!“ his hips snapped up, thrusting himself into his hand frantically. He threw his head back, letting himself get caught up in his fantasies of her with his eyes shuts tight. Trying to imagine fucking her instead of his own hand.

He laid back, imagining how her tight, wet warmth would feel around his cock. Her adorable incoherent babbling where the only sense she made was his name and desperate love yous. Another moan left his lips, the muscles in his thighs tensing. He sighed and swore under his breath stroking himself hard.

He so close, he didn’t even care that he’d get off before she could finish for him. He just needed his release. “F-fuck, damn (Yn)” he groaned thrusting into his hand and moving his free hand to his balls, rolling and massaging them.

He spared her one last look before spiraling off the edge. The sight of body locked in her own orgasm pushing him into his own.

[neo-culture-taste]

Abeilles au Printemps - Ch 9

Alternate Title: Bees in Spring  

Genre: AU, romance, drama, comedy, smut, who’s the daddy

Pairing: NCT x Y/N (fem)

Rating: Mostly mature themes/ language. Smutty chapters will be labeled 🐝.

Word Count: 11500+

For other chapters, see the masterlist.

OMFG. I can’t believe it has been an entire year since we posted the last chapter. 2020 was truly a mess, lmao. We’re SO sorry we made you wait that long! We had everything written and then we started adding and changing stuff to the point where we had to rewrite the entire thing. But it’s here now! And you’re in for a WILD ride. - D

“So is this how the rich and famous live?” commented Yuta as he drove down the wide street, passing various mansions in the neighborhood. “I bet there's a pool in every backyard and everyone owns their own boat.”

“Probably,” you responded weakly. You were too busy trying to pull the skin off from the sides of your fingers. A nasty habit you had since you were younger, which only manifested when you were extremely anxious. You had no reason to be stressed, right? Jaehyun would explain everything and everything would be fine, wouldn’t it?

You motioned for Yuta to make a right at the stop sign. “Are we leaving the neighborhood?” he asked you.

“No, not really,” you answered, forcing yourself to put your hands at your sides so you wouldn't pick at them anymore. “He just owns more land than his neighbors. He likes his privacy.”

“I completely understand. That’s how I would be if I had all this money. I’d even have my own little pond of ducks,” he joked. “They’d be free to walk the grounds and they’d just add to the beautiful and serene scenery that I would curate for my land.”

You rolled your eyes at Yuta before sitting up straighter in your seat. “Speaking of ducks, drive slowly and don’t run over Quackers and Mr. Bill.” Right as you said that, two ducks waddled in front of Yuta’s car, making their way through the iron gates to their pond on the other side. 

“He actually has ducks?!”

“Per my request, yes. Our evening walks at the park during the early part of my pregnancy also consisted of feeding the ducks. I enjoyed it so much I joked about him making a pond and having ducks of his own.”

“And so he dug a hole in his yard and purchased you two feathered creatures?!”

You slouched back into your seat. “Five, actually. The other three should be around here somewhere. They came with the ring, the beautiful nursery, and the wall he tore down for my walk in closet.”

Yuta almost slammed on his breaks in shock. “The wall he--Woah, wait he already built you a nursery?”

Sighing heavily, you turned your head to look forlornly at the swaying motion of Mr. Bill's feathery butt as he walked into the distance. “Yeah…”

“And now you want to barge in this man’s house and accuse him of what exactly?” he asked as he pulled to a smooth stop right outside the Jung estate gate. “You said you’d explain on the way, but you haven’t breathed a single word.”

Well, you were confronting Jaehyun about Mark being arrested for a car that supposedly belonged to Jaehyun and not his cousin Taeil being reported stolen, secret photos following the every move of you and your male friends since earlier that day, and the relationship between those photographs and those of Kun cheating while overseas. There was no way you could explain any of that to Yuta in the short amount of time you had between now and seeing Jaehyun.

“It’s complicated,” was all you told him.

“Tch. Complicated,” Yuta clicked his tongue. “You have a giant envelope of evidence you’ve been trying to hide from view since I picked you up. I’m a lawyer, too, remember?” 

“Yuta, please.”

“Let me be a voice of reason before you do something you’ll regret." Yuta rested his chin in his palm as he propped his elbow onto his armrest. "You just became his fiancée only what? A week ago?  There’s probably a logical explanation--”

“Thanks for the concern Yuta, but I have to do this if I want to stay engaged.”

Yuta ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, and he drummed his fingers of his other hand on the steering wheel while he thought. “I won’t say anything more. But just promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t hesitate to do." 

Ha! You couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped you. You leaned over to kiss Yuta on the cheek and gave him a somewhat reassuring smile. “This just might be the day that I do.”

His brows furrowed. “Should I call the cops?” he responded with evident concern in his voice.

You rolled your eyes and proceeded to fish for Jaehyun’s electronic gate key out of your pants pocket. But then...your attention quickly turned to the large iron gate slowly opening on its own. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a surprise mission?” Yuta lifted himself away from the armrest and took his foot off the break, then proceeded to pull through the gate towards the front of the mansion. 

“It is. I didn’t call beforehand. He is obviously watching us on the monitor in his kitchen. Fucking creep.”

“Y/N! That’s your fiancé you’re talking about!”

You shook your head. “He has to be guilty of something since he’s not coming outside to greet me.”

“Right...” Yuta pulled into the circular driveway in front of the mansion and put the car in park. There was only one other car in the circular driveway and you recognized it to be the same make and model of Jeno’s car. He must have driven straight there after dropping Mark off at your place. No telling what conversations were being had within those walls. You imagined how lucky Mark had been to have Jeno in the right place at the right time after he was pulled over by the police. Was it a coincidence or was it on purpose? 

Theories continued to fill your head as your eyes shifted, and they ultimately landed on Jeno’s license plate. “That’s…” You rummaged through your envelope and pulled out the photo of Kun and examined the sticky note attached to it. Doyoung’s scribbles matched the license plate in front of you. “Oh my--“

“Woah, who’s the hot chick with Kun?” Blurted Yuta as he snatched the photo out of your trembling hands. 

“Give it back, Yuta!” You screeched in desperation. You tried to grab it from him but he pulled it out of your reach and batted your hands away.

“Where is he, at a resort?” You tried to grab it once more but he swatted you away again. “Why is Yangyang taking photos of this no name?” 

"Yuta!" And he blocked you again. 

“Why does this sticky note say ‘you don’t know who else he’s watching?'” 

"Please!" And again. 

“With a license plate number that matches the car in front--” You finally succeeded in snatching the photo from his grip and put it back inside the envelope, then let out a heavy breath, thankful that Yuta had only seen the picture of Kun and not the one with him and his son at the ER. “Y/N you need to tell me what’s going on,” Yuta demanded. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I’m starting to get an idea of what’s happening and I really hope I'm wrong.” You started to ask about his assumptions but decided not to, because you were too afraid to get confirmation for your own thoughts. “But if I’m not,” Yuta continued, “do you want me to come in with you? I won’t say anything, but I’ll be there to support you in this apparent kerfuffle you’re about to have with Jaehyun.” And fight him if he had to. Yuta didn’t care how much Jaehyun's face was worth if he ended up hurting you in any way.

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “No. I have to do this alone. But you can help this pregnant lady out of your car.”

“Suit yourself.” Yuta got out and went around to help you out of his car and straighten you onto your feet. 

“Please just stay here. If I’m not out in exactly twenty minutes come and get me?”

“You’re asking me?” No, you weren’t. The inflection at the end of your sentence was because you had just realized how unprepared you were to confront Jaehyun. You were still in your pajamas for crying out loud. All the tension had built up on the way there, and all the questions you had for him began to mix with your feelings for him. You weren’t exactly sure how you were going to pull this off without breaking down.

“No. I’m telling you,” you corrected Yuta.

“Understood.”

Yuta helped you walk up the front steps before turning around and walking back to his car. You tugged on the doorknob and, like you figured, it was unlocked. You slowly opened the door and shut it behind you. The chilly air of the beautifully decorated foyer ran down your spine and left behind a trail of prickly ice crystals. It was eerily quiet. You took a left towards the kitchen and ran your hands across the granite countertop. The same countertop where the homemade cookies he made for you sat on the night you had welcomed him back home. You continued walking and stepped into the living room where the two of you made love countless times on his ridiculously expensive furniture. 

Deciding not to continue searching on the first floor, you made your way to his staircase. The last time you walked up those stairs was the day of your baby shower--the day he proposed to you and presented you with a fully furnished nursery, a broken wall, and some gotdamn ducks. You were afraid of what would be waiting for you inside that room this time. 

“Okay, little bee. Hold on tight.” You patted your stomach before you gripped the railing, ready to start your ascent. But you hadn’t made it two steps up when Jeno suddenly came flying down the stairs. 

“Hey, Ms. Y/N!” He seemed to be in a rush and didn’t even stop to properly greet you. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

“Where’s Jaehyun?” you managed to ask the young man before he made himself scarce.

He stopped in his haste and turned around to face you. “My former employer is in the nursery as you probably already guessed,” he informed you frantically.

You were more than taken aback by his choice of words. “Former employer? Wait, Jeno, what happened?”

“I have to go. The moving van will be here bright and early in the morning, so I have to make sure everything is packed and ready to be moved out of the pool house.”

“He fired you? And kicked you out--”

“I have to go, ma’am. I’m sorry it all had to come down to this. I really enjoyed having you as an acquaintance the past few years. And I’m really sorry about Mark. He wasn’t supposed to get mixed into all of this.”

“Mixed into what, Jeno?” You gripped his arm, stopping him from fleeing your presence. “Please, I have to know.”

Jeno looked you in the eyes and clearly saw the desperation he had already picked up in your voice. Guiltily, he averted his gaze downward, but he suddenly stopped breathing when his eyes landed on the envelope you were holding at your side. He didn't know exactly what was inside your envelope, but he had a pretty strong idea. “I have to go. Please send my love to the baby,” he said and pulled his arm out of your grasp, continuing his hasty retreat through the house. 

You took a deep breath and continued the ascent towards the second floor with more determination in your steps. Reaching the top of the staircase, you turned and walked toward the nursery. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light peeking through. You put your hand on the doorknob before readjusting your posture and reclaiming your confidence. You opened the door only to be greeted by...no one. Confused and thankful nothing jumped out to scare you, you turned every which way until you were dizzy, thinking you had somehow missed the six foot man in the beautifuly decorated nursery.

“Jaehyun?” You called out but there was no reply. You walked further into the room towards the crib. You braced yourself along the railing, the smoothness reminding you that Jaehyun built this himself with his own two hands. Two hands attached to a warm body that also proposed and promised you a lifetime of happiness. You should feel happy in this room like you did a week ago. But now you felt different. Off. “What is wrong with me?”

What were you there for exactly? What were you trying to accuse him of? What you were thinking he did could all have been something your mind made up because you were actually too scared to finally settle down and commit to someone. It was entirely plausible. You did this in all your relationships. You ran away from Taeil, from Doyoung, Taeyong, and Kun. Jaehyun wasn't special. The only thing he did differently was propose to you before you could escape. But you actually truly did want to stay this time. And maybe that was why you were so afraid. You were afraid of finding out something you actually had to run away from.

Tired of being in your thoughts and standing on your increasingly aching feet, you called out for him. “Jaehyun, we need to talk--“

“Let’s talk.” 

Startled, you dropped the envelope inside the crib before turning to face your fiancé in the doorway with a rod in his hand adorned with bumblebee patterned curtains. He was wearing a fitted, plain black t-shirt— one of several in his closet, jeans and canvas sneakers. Damn, he looked good. Simple, but so good. And you looked like a mess of a creature before him in your pajamas, house slippers, and wild bed hair. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked after taking in your tousled appearance. “What are you doing here? Did Jeno let you in?” He placed the rod against the wall before walking up to you and grabbing your hands in his. He led you to the rocking chair, ushering you to sit while he crouched down in front of you. “Today has been very weird. First I had to pick you up from the emergency room. Then the release of my new movie was delayed by the studio. Jeno suddenly quit. And now you're here out of nowhere. Not that you being here is strange or anything. I love your company—wait did you drive here? Didn’t the doctor say—“

“Jeno quit?” you interrupted his rambling. “You didn’t fire him?” With the way Jeno ran down the stairs, you were pretty sure he was running away from something--or someone. But Jaehyun’s features gave off a look of concern and slight offense that you would think he’d fire Jeno for any possible reason. 

“No, he quit on his own. He said the stress of being my assistant was finally starting to weigh him down. I guess having to deal with your brother getting arrested wasn't exactly something he wanted to experience.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you remembered exactly why you were there in Jaehyun's home in the first place. “Why did you have my brother arrested? And why didn’t you let him call me from the police station? I may be pregnant, but Mark is still my brother. Not yours. I could have handled the situation.”

Jaehyun cupped your face in an attempt to calm the rising anger he could see wanting to boil up inside you. “I was going to go over to your place, actually. Sit down face to face and explain how Mark got involved in this silly feud between my cousin and I. But my agent called to give me ‘bad news’ and then Jeno came shortly after giving me his less than 24-hour notice.”

“I should have been a higher priority, Jaehyun. I’m your fiancée!” You all but screamed in your heightening temper and pushed his hands away from your face. That probably sounded selfish on your end, but considering your reason for showing up to his house unannounced, it needed to be said. You hadn’t planned on blowing your top so quickly, but every thought inside your mind was racing, making it hard for you to stay level.

His hands went down and gripped the armrests of the rocking chair. “I know and I’m sorry. But you’re here now, so please let me explain.” You didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. You just wanted him to admit whatever your brain was accusing him of so you could leave and be heartbroken alone in your bedroom. But of course you said okay, anyway, since you literally had no other choice but to listen to him. “I truly did not know Mark was borrowing cars from Taeil. If I had known that information beforehand, I would never have put him or Taeil in that position. Mark was simply an unexpected factor in this ongoing tit for tat game of family rivalry.”

“Ongoing?” After he proposed to you, Jaehyun had promised you that he would talk to his cousin about everything. So why was this beef over you between the cousins still unsquashed? “Jae, what does that even mean if you were the one who bought him the cars in the first place?”

“It means that my cousin is a leech and I finance him in order to keep him functioning.” Your eyes went wide, but you didn’t say anything so he continued. “Taeil’s weak attempt to separate us with his words spoken at the baby shower did not sit right with me. So since he decided to bite the hand that literally feeds him, I felt petty and decided to report both my vehicles that I allow him to drive as stolen.” 

Petty? There was nothing petty about that at all! It was straight up mean! Almost cruel! How could Jaehyun do that to his own cousin--his family? He wasn’t unprovoked, but nothing Taeil did or said deserved for him to get thrown in jail.

“How could you do that to a member of your own family, Jaehyun? If you were to get mad at me, would you do something like that, too?” Your mind had already wanted to make him out to be a bad person if it would help you confront him, but there he was convincing you himself. 

“What? Y/N, no! Please don’t make this more than what it is,” he pleaded, squeezing the armrests tighter. “Taeil and I have our issues, and I know I went too far. But I would never hurt you like that.” You didn't want to believe him, but the sincerity in his eyes instantly calmed you against your will. “In hindsight it was not the right thing to do. I admit it. But I truly didn’t know Mark was using the cars and had been for some time apparently. And if Mark needs a car, why didn’t you just tell me? I have plenty he could borrow. They’re all nicer than what Taeil was rolling around in anyway.”

Your eyes narrowed, the brief reassurance you felt from him fleeting at his flippant remark. “Mark and Taeil have had a relationship with one another since way before you came into the picture,” you snapped. “Taeil knew Mark when he was still in diapers. He looks up to Taeil like an older brother. Whenever Mark needs brotherly advice, Taeil is always there to lead or guide him. I was happy their relationship picked back up once Taeil moved back here. He’s done more for my little brother than anyone else has. And to think that you almost put that in jeopardy.”

Seemingly having touched a nerve, Jaehyun's nostrils flared slightly when he sighed. “I apologize, Y/N. I really am sorry. The charges were dropped and Mark has nothing on his record.” Your eyes followed his hands as he let go of the armrests and reconnected them with yours. “I promise I will make it up to Mark. And you. We can move on from this.”

Move on from this? Like it was just that simple? Your brother was handcuffed and thrown into the back of a cop car for no reason. It was something totally preventable if Jaehyun hadn’t been an asshole in the first place. And even if he had known Mark was driving the cars, he would have just put a report out on a day he knew Taeil was driving one of them. It would have been easy for him to figure out. Taeil wasn’t that hard to follow.

To follow…

Your eyes quickly shot back up to meet his, startling him back a bit. The words you spoke next came out in a sizzling string, climbing their way out from being forced into the dark corners of your mind. “I find it really hard to believe that you had no knowledge of Taeil letting Mark borrow the cars when you seem to keep tabs on everyone else connected to me.”

You hadn’t wanted to outright accuse him like that in case you were wrong about everything, but the anger growing inside you had finally taken over. You couldn’t take it back. And now the thread that held together your relationship with your fiancé was being tested.

Jaehyun’s mouth opened and closed in shock as his eyes flickered with confusion and something else you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to say it was fear. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone a cross between offended and worried.

You stood up from the rocking chair, pushing him out of the way to move towards the crib. You retrieved the envelope you dropped inside of it and shoved it into his hands. Standing to his feet, he looked at the envelope like it was an unidentified object never before seen on planet earth. And then his eyes went blank.

He walked over to the other side of the room and simply placed the envelope on the fully stocked bookshelf without any attempt to open it. Aghast, your eyebrows went high into your hairline. “So you’re just not going to open it?”

“Yes,” he said too simply.

Your fists balled at your sides. “And why not?”

“Don’t need to see what I already know is in there.”

You hiccuped. A premature sob getting stuck inside your throat.

“Didn’t think it would show up again after Jeno lost it.”

The room was spinning. You needed to grab onto the railing of the crib for support. Jeno? No, you had received the envelope from Doyoung who had supposedly received it from Winwin. Wait! Was that why Jeno’s eyes grew wide when he looked at it on the staircase? Was this the reason he quit his job so suddenly? Nothing was adding up. “H-how do you know the contents belong to Jeno?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Are there photos of Kun and some random woman in there?”

“Yes,” you answered him shakily.

“Jeno’s photos.”

Eyes glazed over, you stared at your fiancé standing across from you as your train of thought went back to the dark edges of your mind. For a moment you felt weak, and you thought your legs were going to give out beneath you. Jaehyun had thought the same thing, for he was at your side in an instant with a hand on your back, coaxing you to sit back down in the rocking chair.

“No. I’m standing,” you said firmly, your strength returning with full force, reignited by his audacity to touch you right now. You jerked away from him and walked over to the bookshelf. You aggressively grabbed the envelope off it and opened it before him. You held up the photos of Kun and the woman before throwing them down onto the floor. You pulled out the rest of the photos taken earlier today and threw those down as well before balling up the entire envelope in your hands. “Make this make sense, Jaehyun. Make it all make sense!” you yelled at him then threw the wad of paper at his chest, where it bounced off and unceremoniously landed at his feet.

Unflinching, he swallowed thickly as he studied the contents of the envelope on the floor. “The envelope did feel a bit thick. I now see why Jeno quit so suddenly.”

Jeno, Jeno, Jeno! Why did this all keep going back to Jeno? “What are you saying,” you demanded slowly.

“He was sloppy. Or careless. Maybe he did it on purpose.” He toed one of the photos on the floor that had been facing downwards and turned it over with his shoe. “I see he had these taken today. They never crossed my desk, but somehow ended up in your hands. You were never supposed to see them.”

Your throat became tight and you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Involuntarily, you sat back down onto the rocking chair as your body betrayed you. You were weak. You could no longer stand because he had just admitted it in less than so many words. It wasn’t a complete confession, but it was all you needed to confirm what you desperately didn’t want to believe. You didn’t like the sound of where any of this was going, but you still wanted him to continue, to say he had a perfectly good and logical explanation for why Jeno would have all of those photos taken. But you couldn’t say anything, not immediately. You were rendered speechless by the truth you so hopelessly wanted to deny.

“Jaehyun,” you said barely above a whisper. “I’m going to need a little more than that.” He looked at you, his eyes soft with the unspoken words he saw mirrored inside your own--with the fear of knowing how this was going to end. “If you don't want to start with the ones from today,” you continued, “then start with Kun. Just tell me something.”

He took a breath and ran his hands through his hair. A gesture that forewarned he was about to unload a massive amount of unpleasant information. “Kun didn’t deserve you. He only appeared to be faithful to you," he said when he began. But of course, this was something you already knew--facts already revealed to the both of you outside of Ten's clinic the day of the paternity tests. "The woman in the photo was a fling from his past," he continued. "They started hooking up again towards the tail end of your relationship.”

A fling from Kun's past? You knew Kun had been in other relationships before you, but the two of you made a point never to bring up past relationships while you were together. You didn't want to talk about your exes for obvious reasons, but what reasons did Kun have? From what you knew, Kun refused to be stuck in the past and always looked at what was in front of him--who was in front of him. But then again, what did you actually know about Kun other than what he showed you on the surface? 

“And you became privy to this information how?” you asked Jaehyun. Obviously he had known for some time before the paternity testing since he was able to orchestrate having Kun's pictures taken.

“Remember our conference call last year when I asked you to review my contracts for the scripted series?”

“Yes.” 

“Well Jeno caught sight of Kun dropping you off in front of your office building that same day he brought over the contracts. A kiss on the lips between the two of you and he figured you were an item.”

A deep frown set into your face and your head tilted to the side in bafflement. In your head, you put together what Jaehyun had said and what you already knew and came up with your own conclusion. “So Jeno told you that I had a boyfriend, you became insanely jealous, and then decided to start following Kun around, waiting for a perfect moment to expose him as unfaithful?” 

“Not exactly." He took note of your skepticism denoted by your stance and quirked eyebrow. “I was happy you found someone. I figured the moments we shared before I left was the extent of our friendship and physical relationship. Especially since we hadn’t decided on if we were a 'we'. I truly was glad you found someone to be with," he reiterated his first statement while continuing to look straight into your eyes. "I was a little sad when I found out, but I knew that I should have worked harder to be with you or just have you wait for me. I had come to terms with losing you. I was going to move on. But then Jeno went for his regularly scheduled dental appointment and coincidentally his dentist that day was Dr. Qian.”

“You’re lying,” you said before your brain fully caught up with what was going on. It was too good to be true--too easy. Did he actually think you were going to fall for that? There was no way Kun could have fallen into Jaehyun’s hands so easily. 

“I really wish I was. Jeno usually sees the other dentist that works with Kun, but that day his partner was out and Kun was in charge of all the clients.” 

You were suspicious of his answer, but you remained silent with confirmation that you wanted him to continue given by your facial expression.

“Jeno, being the diligent assistant that he was, prodded for information regarding your relationship--without me knowing about any of this yet, I might add. But when Kun told him about the hot date with his girlfriend that same night, imagine his surprise when Kun named a woman that wasn’t you.”

Heat radiated through your body once more as you processed his words. “If you knew about him, then why did you keep that from me, Jaehyun? I could have gotten out of that relationship a long time ago!” The volume of your voice raised with every word. You couldn't fathom why he would do that to you. Everything that happened up until now could have been avoided had he just told you when he found out. But instead, purposefully or not, he wronged you by keeping it a secret.

“I had every intention of telling you," he said, holding his arms open in surrender. "I just didn’t know how to do it. If I told you then, you would have accused me of snooping like you are now. Or you would have gotten mad at me and said I was trying to come between your relationship or something, like lying to win you over. And you seemed happy with him, so why would I ruin that for you? I was stuck between multiple options.” He let his hands fall back to his sides in exasperation.

“So instead of telling me, you decided to take matters upon yourself anyway and have the man followed by your henchman, Jeno and Yangyang, all the way to his fake convention tour?” you interrogated him. Jaehyun finally broke the eye contact he held with you by looking down at the floor and rubbed his neck. The guilt etched onto his face was not being masked one bit. Frustrated by his behavior, you reached out to him and yanked him closer to where you sat by his other hand. “Talk, dammit.”

He sighed and forced himself to look at you again, and swallowed thickly before continuing. “It was actually...an all expense paid vacation purchased by me.” 

You let go of his hand, stunned into silence as your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes held so much anguish and disgust. Disgust directed at him. It pained him to see it--to acknowledge that he was the one to make you look at him that way. He knew he had royally fucked up everything he was trying to build with you, and the only thing he could do in this situation that he caused was to completely come clean. “I figured that if I sent Kun away, I could come home and tell you everything I found out about him. And when you decided to leave him--”

“You would already be there to put my broken heart back together,” you finished for him. There was no point in sugar coating it, but it sounded so much harsher when you said it out loud. His face flushed with shame. He looked so sorry--so pitifully guilty. You had every impulse to get up and slap him right then, but you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself speak freely. “That was your master plan? To set Kun up so you could swoop in and fix me like I’m some kind of broken object?”

“No, Y/N, I--”

“I can’t believe you of all people would do this, Jaehyun.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” he disclosed in a panicked attempt to deflect some of the blame.

You wanted to slap him again for even trying. “Yeah, Jeno. I’m sure he did a lot following your orders--”

“It was Winwin, too. It was his idea.”

You frowned, confused. You had momentarily forgotten that Winwin was involved with all of this. It was his idea? That would explain the way he acted in court earlier that day. And you did recall Winwin saying that he was the one who sent Kun on the fake trip. Now that you thought about it, what Winwin had said in court sounded a lot like what Jaehyun had just told you. But how? You had only met Winwin when you began dating Kun. Which meant…

“How long have you known Winwin?”

Jaehyun took another deep breath. He seemed to do that everytime he was about to hit you with more unpleasant information. “Winwin was my assistant before Jeno. Before I met you. He quit because he couldn’t handle the job anymore. He ended up becoming a travel agent because that was all he could find. We’re still friends and we met up from time to time. I told him about you one day. About us. That I wanted us to be serious. And when I told him your name, he said he already knew you and that he already knew about Kun. So, I elicited his help and together we sent Kun on that phony trip.”

No thoughts. Head Empty. 

He already knew Winwin before you ever met either of them? The two of them were close enough with each other and became close enough to you to come up with this ridiculous plan to blackmail Kun? It was a really dumb way to avenge your honor. And you couldn’t tell if you were mad or happy after hearing all of what they did. You were...conflicted. Very. Conflicted.

“I..this explains a lot and so little at the same time,” you managed to say coming out of your stupor. “I would have never guessed the two of you were once friends. The way you hid it from me...wow. Did you give Winwin acting advice?” you asked him bitterly.

“We never stopped being friends. He was willing to expose what type of man Kun really was so he played along as best as he could. We both thought we were doing the right thing. We just went about it in the wrong way. I’m really sorry, Y/N.” He looked at your hand, wanting so badly to reach out and hold it, but he knew you wouldn’t let him touch you right now. So instead he turned around and faced the wall on the opposite side of the room as he continued trying to exonerate himself. “In hindsight I should have just called you and told you. Whatever your decision would have been I would have supported it and moved on.” He walked toward the wall he was facing and placed his hand against it to support himself through his speech. “I truly thought I was doing the right thing. If I hadn’t screwed up the timing then my blackmail plot would have worked, haha...” He laughed after he said it, but there was no feeling in it whatsoever. “But then again it wouldn’t have mattered. I let Kun extend his vacation for a whole month with plans of getting back to you as quickly as I could so I could tell you all of this. I just needed him away from you for as long as possible so you would forget him by the time I came home.” He turned back around to face you. “But I was two months too late and already sixth in line. I didn’t think I would need to compete with any of the other guys for your heart.”

Sixth in line.

Suddenly, you found yourself gripping the armests of the rocking chair as your ears honed in on his last few sentences. You processed what he just said, repeating it a million times in your head until it finally clicked into place. You were a pretty sharp and smart individual. You earned several academic achievement awards and scholarships in college, graduated at the top of your class in Law school, passed the Bar on your first attempt, and you were highlighted as one of the top entertainment lawyers in your area. So your brain quickly connected the scattered dots after your eyes went down to the floor and you saw the other pictures you had carried inside the envelope. 

Your eyes went back up to look at him. “You knew about them before you came back, too.” 

“FuCk.” 

Jaehyun turned around and walked out into the hallway with you following without warning. He had gotten caught in another lie and couldn’t face you anymore.

Now sitting alone inside the nursery, you felt your anxiety go through the roof. Your hands began to shake and your bottom lip trembled as you held back the urge to scream.

“Come back here...” It came out choked and barely loud enough for him to hear wherever he had gone. “Come back here, Jaehyun!” Your rage took over and you were able to yell for him as loudly as you could.

You got up from the rocking chair and made your way out into the hallway to search for your fleeing fiancé. Luckily, you didn’t have to walk far. He was pacing up and down the hallway between the nursery and the master bedroom. His back was tense at his shoulders and his fists were tightly clenched at his sides. You knew words weren’t going to stop him, so you walked to him and forcibly grabbed his shirt to turn him around and face you. When you did, you saw his eyes up close. They were red with tears begging to be let loose from his ducts. They spoke volumes. Within them you saw fear and shame doing a tantalizing dance together with immense sorrow. 

Jaehyun hated it. He hated the way you looked at him like he was some kind of monster. Your eyes read back to him anger, betrayal, and genuine suffering. He couldn’t bear to have you look at him like that any longer and wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t a monster. But when he quietly spoke your name and tried to caress your shoulder, you immediately smacked his hand away. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” A tear ran down his face. 

“No, Jaehyun! You do not get to cry!” You pushed him away from you by his chest, causing him to stumble backwards a bit. “How long? How long have you had YangYang following me around and secretly taking photos of me with the others? And don’t bullshit me. I want the whole truth!”

“Since I sent Kun away, okay! I knew you’d try and fill some preexistent void...” he trailed off and rubbed his wet chin, and then wiped his hand on his pants. “So I had you followed. What if you had gotten involved with someone similar to Kun? Or what if you found someone not good enough to be—“

“So the fuck what, Jaehyun! It’s my life and you had no reason to meddle with any part of it. Did you manipulate the other guys, too? Did you find a way to advertise phony trips to them, too?”

“No! I never meddled with anyone else, only Kun. At some point I realized those momentary flings were something you needed. A release. And by the time I had enough of your dick hopping with guys that weren’t me, who didn’t want to be with you long term except for maybe two of them, that’s when I decided to become the last participant in your ongoing sexcapade. I may have been sixth in line to get to your heart, but I was determined to be the first one you chose to share it with completely.”

“Then why didn’t you stop having me followed around?” You were teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff at this point. You felt a small kick inside you, your little bee signaling to you that if you kept this up she’d physically join you sooner rather than later, but you ignored her warning. 

“I had every intention to have you not followed anymore. After I returned early from filming, I decided to try really hard to make you see that I was the man you wanted and needed. But then you ghosted me when you decided you wanted to try again with Kun. After all the things I did that you were unaware of, you still chose to be with him. I could have sent you the photos then, but I didn’t want to hurt you like that after you and I had just emotionally and physically reconnected. Plus if I did, we wouldn’t be having the conversation now after all that has happened between us this far.”

“Tch. Of course we wouldn’t be like we are now! Jaehyun, look at us! I wish you would have shown me those photos when you wanted to because I’d be done with both you and Kun. For good. It would have saved me a lot of tears and heartache.”

Delusional, he was genuinely shocked at what he heard about you being done with him. He thought he may have finally gotten through to you with his ridiculous explanations. “You don’t mean that, Y/N. We would have worked through it after you heard where I was coming from and my reasoning behind the decisions I was making--”

“I don’t mean it? You don’t think extortion and manipulation isn’t a reason to cut ties with someone?”

“Yes, but I had to do what needed to done--“

“You didn’t need to have me followed or exploit Kun. My life isn’t a movie where you can just play whatever role you feel like!”

Those words cut him deep, and his countenance flickered with pain. “Y/N, I’m sorry--“

“Stop saying that! Because if you meant it you wouldn’t still be having me followed to this day! You were the last person I thought would hurt me this much!” 

You had not cried once up until this point, but the dam had finally been breached. Tears fell fast from your eyes as your heart shattered into a million pieces. You covered your face with your hands as you sobbed uncontrollably. Your baby was shifting inside you, agitated by all of the stress you were putting on her. And the thought of her safety was the only thing keeping you from falling to your knees.

“I never meant to hurt you like this...” He said as his own heart crumbled from watching himself single handedly destroy yours. “But...even after all I’ve done,” he continued, though you couldn’t imagine what more he could possibly have to say. “I’m still better than all the other guys you’re still hung up on.”

“I’m not hung up on anyone! I said yes to being your fiancée, remember?” You aggressively removed your hand adorned with the beautiful ring from your face and held it up to his. “I said yes without hesitation. But knowing what I know now, maybe I shouldn’t have. Even the fourth guy in line wouldn’t have hurt me this badly!”

Jaehyun’s eyes grew wide then narrowed before he quickly rushed a hand through his hair. It had become increasingly unkempt since the beginning of the argument. “Who, Taeyong? He wouldn’t know how to take care of you even if he tried. He can’t even properly manage his own bar.” You didn’t even ask how he knew which exact guy was fourth and let him continue talking. “This is actually his third attempt at a bar. His first two bars closed shortly after opening because of the shady dealings he was doing to keep the place afloat. He’s managed to make it past six months now because he was threatened again with more jail time. Plus you started sleeping with him again, and of course he believed he would have a life with you. So that forced him to start changing his way of living.”

“Well it’s good to know I’ve had such a positive impact on someone trying to turn their life around. At least he was honest with me about the type of person he was before and after he met me. All my other partners seem to have been more honest with me than you ever were.”

“Not the six foot phony who was one-third of your impromptu threesomes,” he said with a scoff before wiping any remaining tears he had with the back of his hand. “He’s engaged, Y/N. Has been for an entire year.” 

“What?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah. The troll is afraid of commitment. But you already knew that considering you had multiple rendezvous with him while I was away. You were so devastated to hear Kun cheated on you after all this time, meanwhile you were the other woman for Johnny.”

“I didn’t know they were engaged! If I knew that I wouldn’t have slept with him again. But she knew about us before that. It’s not my fault he didn’t tell me everything about them.”

“Still didn’t make it right. Especially since you were also cheating on Kun at the same time.”

“I know it’s not right, Jaehyun! Why are you trying to redirect the conversation to make me look like a vile person?!” He didn’t have an immediate response for you, so you decided to keep going in your state of turbulent emotions. If he wanted to be nasty with his accusations, then you were going to be nasty right back. “Does Johnny intimidate you? You think that if you hadn’t come back or if I wasn’t with Kun, then maybe I would have ended up with Johnny instead? He is my type, after all, which is why I slept with him so many times. He’s tall, handsome, well-endowed, and has a dazzling smile just like you. Did you view him as your main competition?”

“Now you’re just saying stuff to try and piss me off,” he said with a set scowl on his face. “I don’t need to compete with someone who voluntarily cheats on his girlfriend. If the two of you had gotten together, he would have done the same thing to you and you would be in the same situation you were with Kun. Look around, Y/N. All those guys are terrible compared to me!”

You crossed your arms over your chest and shifted your weight onto one foot. “Fine. Since you seem to have some dirt on every single guy I slept with. Enlighten me. Tell me all the information you paid Jeno, YangYang, and whoever the fuck else you hired to find. Because I know you didn’t try to find anything out for yourself. Tell me all the secrets Yuta, Taeil, and Doyoung are keeping from me.”

Accepting your challenge, he began divulging facts without hesitation. “This is a secret not even Yuta knows, but he has another kid out there in the world. Maybe more, who knows. Jeno went above and beyond my authority and paid his ex-wife for the details. The kid’s mom had been trying to reach out to Yuta for a while, but the ex always intercepted and kept her quiet.” He saw your face fall, as you were very affected by this tidbit of information. To console you he said, “I’ll admit I created a monster with Jeno, and it wasn’t until Mark got arrested that he regained his good natured consciousness.”

“Why haven’t you disclosed this information to Yuta?”

“I wasn’t even supposed to know about that. Besides, you and the baby are my top priority. Not him.” Jaehyun leaned against the banister of the railing overlooking the first floor of his estate.

“I’m going to tell him,” you asserted.

“Suit yourself. I don’t care anymore,” he said with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. 

“Well, what about Taeil? Did he steal your girlfriend when he was younger? Is that why you’re making sure he doesn’t end up with me either?”

“No.” He said affronted. 

“Then why?”

He looked down as he ran his hand back and forth along the polished wood of the banister. “Because I hired the love of his life to be my lawyer, pursued her situationally and then romantically, maybe fathered her first born child, and then I told her I loved her and proposed.”

“That’s not what I asked nor is it new information. Shit, everyone at the baby shower could have figured that out—they probably did figure that out.”

“No, it’s not. But to add insult to injury, he can’t provide for you like I can. Taeil’s broke. He’s a terrible accountant that made some piss poor investments in the past. He has no money. No savings. Nothing tucked under his mattress. He drives my cars because he can’t afford to buy his own. His house? Mine. His gym membership? He’s a guest on my account. Those bad investments? Good investments now since I got my hands on them. The only reason he was able to successfully get you in bed was because he moved back here while I was busy filming my movie; before I could convince him otherwise. He was the one that recommended I hire you as my lawyer. He just didn’t expect that I’d steal your heart, too.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but some things were starting to make sense. “So…,” you began as you spoke your thought process out loud. “When Taeil went to study abroad where you stayed, he lived with you and confided to you about our failed relationship. And then when you saw the opportunity, you sought me out and continued to pursue me even though you knew about his strong feelings towards me?” Jaehyun looked to you and said nothing, affirming your assumption. “You’re sick.”

“It sounds worse when you say it that way. But my feelings have always been genuine. I originally sought out your professionalism and just so happened to fall in love with you while we worked together. I didn’t fall in love with Taeil’s memory of a long lost girlfriend. I fell in love with a respectable, successful, and mature woman. Different time. Different place. Different feelings.”

You hated that he was right. He didn’t make himself fall in love with you just so he could steal you away behind Taeil’s back. He fell in love with you naturally. But as you have come to find out, he loved you a bit too much and was willing to do whatever it took to make him look like the better man.

Feeling your heart wavering, you squeezed your arms tighter against your chest before you asked him about the last person he supposedly had information on. “And Doyoung?”

“The only thing I have on him...” He hesitated mid-sentence as if he was contemplating whether or not he wanted to say what he was going to tell you. “...is that he pawned the ring he purchased for you. He was going to propose to you after graduation, but Taeyong got in the way.”

You audibly hissed as you violently sucked the air between your teeth, causing Jaehyun to flinch slightly. “Jeno didn’t tell you this,” you told him with a clenched jaw. “You’re lying to me again?”

“I’m not lying. And it wasn’t Jeno. Ten told me after the paternity test.” 

“Liar,” you huffed out. You could feel your body temperature rising as your breaths became shorter.

He let out a dispiriting chuckle to himself. “Apparently you didn’t know, but he’s Team Jaehyun. Has been for quite some time now. He also got caught up in this ‘who’s the daddy’ drama and couldn’t help but dip his toes in. So he gave me some insight. He joked that the last men standing would be me and Doyoung. Even if the baby is for neither of us, we’d still be the last two actually vying for your heart.”

“Doyoung and I despise each other,” you hiccuped.

“And you despise me, too, now. So I guess Ten was way off with his assumption.”

“Just shut up!”

All of this had to be a lie! There was know way Ten had told Jaehyun that Doyoung was going to propose to you after you graduated law school. If Ten did know about it, all the way up to the detail about Doyoung pawning the ring, why hadn’t he ever told you? And why did he tell Jaehyun? Was Ten working with him, too? And how much of a financial hole was Doyoung in that he needed to sell the ring he was going to use to profess his undying love--

Jaehyun noticed the way your breathing had become irregular, and urgently pushed himself away from the banister when he registered the frantic look on your face as the cogs whirled inside your mind at the thought of Doyoung wanting to propose to you. “Y/N, listen to me. I know this is--“ 

“Sorry, pretty boy. Your time is up.”  

Equally stunned by the interruption, both you and Jaehyun whipped your heads around towards the staircase to see Yuta making his entrance onto the scene. You were so caught up in Jaehyun’s bullshit that you had momentarily forgotten he was still waiting for you outside. The tightness in your chest loosened at the sight of him, and you were thankful he kept his word by coming to your rescue at the right time.

“Y/N, it’s time to go?”

Jaehyun’s narrowed eyes darted quickly between you and the other man standing before him. “How long have you been in here?”

Yuta made his way over to you and gently uncrossed your arms that were still pressed tightly against your chest. “Long enough to know I have another kid somewhere out there. Not the way I wanted to find out, but then again, you can’t always get what you want.” While looking into your glossy eyes, he cuffed his hand around one of yours and let you squeeze it as hard as you needed to in order to keep hold of your sanity. He could feel the fast pace of your heightened pulse through your palm. “My ex-wife is pretty trash, huh?” He asked, then turned his head to face Jaehyun to now look directly into his eyes. “Don’t make the same mistake I did and marry the wrong person, Y/N.”

Beneath that cold, blank expression, you knew Jaehyun was fuming. You, his fiancée, had come unannounced to confront him, and now stood in his home holding hands with another man who also held claim to a piece of your heart. You stared at him as he seethed in silence, letting every letter of Yuta’s words sink into his prefrontal cortex.

“Don’t call me, text, email, or anything,” you commanded Jaehyun after you were able to find your breath. “I need time away from you to think. I need time for myself, my health, and my baby. Our possible baby.” You pointed between all three of you within the space. “Just let me think. No matter how long it takes.” You paused briefly to shift a bit of your weight onto Yuta, as you were now too tired to stand on your own. “If you want any little bit of hope that I’ll stay with you after all this, you’ll do these things for me.”

With your other hand you reached out to Yuta’s, and he proceeded to help you walk down the stairs and out of the mansion.

There wasn’t anything he could say. The only thing Yuta could do was listen to the sniffling of your nose and breathy sighs as you cried softly beside him while he drove you home. You had a great deal of things on your mind and you would talk when you were ready. He himself had a lot on his mind. His ex-wife had been blocking him from seeing his other child. The only reason he could think of for her to do something like that was so she could secure their son’s inheritance, to ensure that he got all of it without having to split it with another sibling. He didn’t put it past her. She already tried to wring his bank account dry during the divorce. This made him wonder what his ex had in mind to do if he was the father of your baby, too. He needed to do something about that conniving woman and get his son away from her before she did something else he wouldn’t be able to forgive.

You sighed heavily, snapping Yuta out of his thoughts. From the corner of his eye he saw you wipe your nose with one of the tissues from the packet he got for you out of his glove compartment. Seeing you like this was so upsetting to him. He was used to seeing you as a strong, independent woman who didn’t have any problem taking care of herself. To see someone like you so broken up because of another person made him so mad. He should have punched Jaehyun like he originally wanted to.

“I’ll stay with you until your brother gets back,” Yuta said, breaking the stagnant air around you.

You shook your head. “No, your family needs you.”

“Are you sure?”

You weren’t. You weren’t sure if you actually wanted to be alone until Mark came back. You weren’t sure you could be alone. But you were sure that you didn't want to drag your brother or Yuta any further down this deep pit of despair you dug for yourself. You didn’t want to go home anymore. You didn’t want to be there alone with your thoughts and you didn’t want to be there with Yuta who had his own issues that needed to be sorted out right away. But where could you go? The man you thought you could trust your heart to just ripped it out of your chest and stomped on it. There was nowhere else for you to go but home to cry on your brother, but you refused to keep stressing him out. So you would have to go to a place where you could cry on someone else who actually had a role in your messed up storyline. Two of which would more than likely turn you away, and one of them would definitely welcome you with open arms against their better judgement. And the other would…

“I want you to take me somewhere else instead,” you answered Yuta’s question.

“What? Where?”

“I just don’t want to go home. Please, Yuta?”

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I’m going to have to charge you cab fare.”

Because of Yuta’s joke, a small smile was able to make its way onto your tear stained face. “Thank you. Take the exit after the next one and then make a left at the light.”

Yuta followed your instructions as you directed him to your destination. He had an idea on where you were going and his assumption grew stronger when he began to drive through a residential area. You pointed to the house you wanted him to drop you off in front of and he pulled up to the curb to park his car.

“That’ll be $36.00, please,” he said, reaching out his hand towards you. You ignored his antics and began taking off your seatbelt. “Whose house is this anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh no. I’m not letting you out until you tell me.” To reinforce his point, he pressed the button to re-lock his car doors that had automatically unlocked when he put his car into park.

“I’ll be fine. What more can be done to me after what I just went through?” You unlocked the door manually and then struggled your way out of the car by yourself. By the time Yuta had taken off his own seatbelt to stop you, you were already halfway to the front door of the house, so he gave up and let himself watch you go up the rest of the way and ring the doorbell. After opening the door, the owner of the house’s hands went immediately to your puffy cheeks as the sight of your distressing appearance suddenly caused him to become overcome with urgency.

Yuta craned his neck as he tried to see who it was you chose to use as a supportive pillar. When he got a good look at them he made a hum of enlightenment before sitting back properly in his seat. “I was expecting to see her mother, not the rabbit.”

You were immediately ushered into the house and made to sit on the living room sofa. Doyoung left you briefly to make herbal tea after you accepted his offer for a cup. Once done, he set the cup and saucer into your hands, and then he sat down beside you on the couch with his elbows resting on his legs. “What happened to you?” he asked you after waiting for you to take your first sip of the tea. After your visit with him to the ER earlier that day, he assumed you had gone home to rest like the doctor prescribed.

“I found out who really had the pictures taken.” Doyoung didn’t say anything, allowing you to continue when you were ready. He watched as you took another sip of your tea, noticing the way your hand slightly trembled when you placed it back down onto the saucer. “It was Jaehyun.”

As if he had already known the answer, Doyoung closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. “I figured as much.”

“How long have you known?” Leave it to Doyoung to be so perceptive. He should quit being a lawyer and become a detective. 

“I found the pictures the day you had us all tested. I put the pieces together a little bit before your baby shower.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Doyoung looked down shamefully at his hands. “You ask that like you were actually willing to talk to me.”

“It didn’t stop you from giving me the envelope.”

He moved one of his hands to push back his hair from his face. “I’m sorry about that. My mind was grappling with so many emotions that day. I wanted to talk to you about everything in person, but he kept getting in my way.” From the way he spit out the word, you knew he was talking about Jaehyun without having to say his name.

“I’m glad you did it when you did,” you told him as you gazed dismally into the orange liquid inside your cup. “I was able to use what you gave me to confront him and he revealed his true self.”

Doyoung’s eyes moved from your face to your hand that held the saucer. You were still wearing the engagement ring from Jaehyun. He didn’t want to make any assumptions about where your relationship with him stood. “Are you still…” he asked tentatively.

You followed his gaze and inferred what he was asking you. “I don’t know,” you said after taking a deep breath. “I just...he told me a lot of things. I don’t know if I’ll be able to trust him again.”

“I see,” was all he could say to you in that moment.

There was another small period of silence between you so you could drink more of your tea, but in actuality you were mustering up the nerve to ask him this next question: “Is it true that you were going to propose to me?”

Doyoung’s entire body went stiff beside you. And you swore you saw his eyebrows hit the sky. “Who told you that lie?” 

You turned your body slightly to face him more and looked into his eyes for the first time since entering his home. “Everybody has been lying to me lately and I just want to have an honest conversation with someone. So is it true?”

“Did Jaehyun tell you that to mess with your head? It’s obviously false,” he said, becoming defensively indignant.

“Ten told him.” 

Doyoung didn’t respond right away, and so you knew it was the truth.

“How much money did you lose on the ring?”

“Why does that matter? You still left me anyway, so I would have had to sell it regardless.”

And here you thought the two of you would finally be able to put aside your differences.

“For fucks sake,” you gritted and practically threw the tea cup and saucer onto his coffee table. “I’m sorry I left you, okay! Is that what you want me to say? Stop reminding me of one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made! So can we please have a conversation like two human beings?”

Something you had just said lit a flame inside him and he could no longer hold back all the conflicting feelings he kept inside him. “Fine! If you want me to be honest, yes! I was going to propose to you. You were my everything just like you were to all these other guys that worship the ground you walk on for some reason. And I just don’t know why it has to be like this!” He took a second to take a shaky breath as tears began to prickle behind his eyes. “Because you were with me! You were supposed to be with me forever! But then you just left me to be with Taeyong, and I made myself hate you all this time even though I was the one who told you to go!” He hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve before any of his tears could fall. “Fuck!”

You stared at him wide eyed in disbelief at the fact that he was finally being honest about himself. But then you shook your head when something other than his current state came to your attention. “Was it really Taeyong or were you too afraid that I might have rejected your proposal to be with someone else?”

Doyoung sniffed and wiped his eyes once more. “Don’t psychoanalyze me right now.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He responded by rolling his eyes at you, making you scoff. “You know, you're the whole reason I have commitment issues. You’re the literal reason I ran into Taeyong’s arms. But he turned out to be crazy, so I left him. Then the next thing I knew I was  working with two guys who only wanted me for my body rather than have a functioning relationship. I said I was fine with that, but I really wasn’t.  So I found a seemingly good natured man to settle down with, but I was still unhappy with him because I wanted to try the no sex thing like an idiot. If you hadn’t run me away in the first place, we’d be married by now with our joint practice like we used to talk about, and I wouldn’t have come out of some crazy sex bender not knowing who the father of my daughter is!”

“I know, I know! And I’m so sorry!”

“Are you?!”

“Yes! And I wish I could take it all back!” He cradled his face in his hands as he fought back a sob. “I never stopped loving you, Y/N.”

“You made sure I believed otherwise.”

He slid his hands down and off his face. “Because I’m stupid.” 

You shook your head at him again. “No, I’m stupid. I still don’t know who my baby’s father is because I’m too scared to look at the results.”

Doyoung’s eyes widened slightly. “You have the results and never told any of us you got them?”

“I know I’m terrible for keeping everyone in limbo. I wasn’t ready before. But now...I think I am. I have to be.” Doyoung watched quietly as you lifted up your left hand and twisted off the engagement ring on your finger. “Knowing who he is determines how I’m going to move forward with my life,” you continued and placed the ring onto the coffee table next to the small puddle of tea you spilled. “And I need to be able to face head on whatever fate the universe has chosen for me and my child.”

Dun dun duuuunnnnn!

For other chapters, see the masterlist.