#i keep fucking up in the exact same ways and its expensive and frustrating and stressful

[cutearose]

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[vampkillr]

Beware — Matt Murdock

the beginning — previous chapter

chapter two — 4.6k words — ftm! reader — angst — some of the dialogue in the argument was pulled from the roof scene where frank and matt argue in s2, but there aren't spoilers in the fic (currently, that's subject to change). reader's moral compass is vaguely akin to frank's which is why i did that. very important note at the end.

I've been in a daze ever since Matt had left, sitting in front of the open box that laid innocently on the coffee table. Its cleanliness despite the piece of filth that gave it to me made my skin crawl, observing something so inconspicuously cruel and knowing exactly what its dirty secret is. Knowing anyone other than Matthew and me would think nothing of it, knowing they would see it as a pure gesture. Every single part of my life was consumed by his taunting, and that in itself was no worse than if I had died that night. There was something sinister to the silence that surrounded me. Something gut-wrenchingly wrong with the way I was left to just ponder in a state like this. I felt terribly alone, and it was even worse now that I was so obviously missing a part of myself.

I had two options. I could take the leg, or I could get rid of it. But if I got rid of it, there was no telling when or if I'd be able to go after Fisk. If I didn't use it, there was no way I'd be able to cleanse Hell's Kitchen of the bastards that preyed on people's ignorance to get to the top— and that was not a choice I had the liberty of picking. Not for my own revenge and certainly not for good people like Ben, who deserve happy endings. I had to do this, because if I didn't then no one else would.

My fingers grazed the metal and I picked it up, sliding it over the compression glove that hugged my stump. As the sensors turned on, the knee of the leg bent to rest its foot on the floor. "Holy shit." I muttered. It looked exactly like my other leg, and fit perfectly. My breath quickened, tears pricked my eyes. "Holy shit..." I whispered once more, still in pure shock. With a design this close to my other leg, with a fit that was perfectly right— there was almost no way that I hadn't been measured for it. Which begs the question, when did it happen? And, if he had people working for him in the hospital, who was to say that Matt or Ben were safe from his watch as well? Who was to say that it wasn't his plan to rob me of my leg? Who was to say that the only reason I'm alive right now was also because of him? I tensed the muscles in my stump, testing it's mobility and range of function, but it seemed not to have any limitations, and it seemed to listen to every beck and call without much movement of my muscles regardless. It felt as if my brain was controlling it, just like my real leg. This wasn't just any expensive prosthetic. It was a metal carbon copy of my leg, even the toes moved. It was strange to watch. I stood up, almost doubling over at the pain that came with standing on my stump, but I bit my tongue and dealt with the ache that radiated from my bone. I needed to get the hang of this, and I had no time to waste.

I walked to the very end of the apartment, each step on my new leg eliciting a grunt from me. With a few deep breaths, I set out in a full sprint to the other side, falling forward halfway through. The frustration I felt pooled in the back of my neck, heat resting on my skin. "Okay... It's okay.." My words were of no comfort, yet I whispered them to myself regardless as I got back up. A slow limp back to the starting point, and I was on the floor again in almost the exact same spot. "God fucking dammit!" I screamed, hitting the prosthetic and regretting it the moment the metal met my fist. I needed to try again. However many times it took, I needed to try and keep trying until I got it right. I needed to.

I took a deep breath in, trying my best to quell my emotions. The amount of sheer anger resting in the marrow of my bones, vibrating through my muscles and out into the air I exhale— it was hard to handle. Hard to sit through. Hard to calm. There was a minute where I just sat with myself, bathing in all of the feelings I was trying so hard to hide and ignore. I've been too embarrassed to leave the house, too upset to get out of bed, too angry to actually get any sleep. The weight of my grief was crushing me, and I had nothing that would save me from it. The rage was a numbness of my rational thought, a glossy haze over my eyes— it was almost difficult to string together a coherent thought. The only thing that pumped through my veins was the itch to cleanse myself of my sins. To redeem the people I've hurt by hunting the scum I used to break bread with.

And so I tried again. And again. And again. Over and over, falling and screaming and getting back up only to do it once more and another time after that. My stump was killing me, the sharp throb begging me to stop, but I didn't listen. Eventually I got the hang of it, and it wasn't long after that Matt had come walking through the door. He set his stick next to the door and furrowed his brows, turning his head towards me. "Your leg, what did you do?" I let myself sit down for the first time in hours, the pain subsiding only just a little. "They told you to let it rest for a while longer before you started to use a prosthetic." He made his way towards me and sat down on one of the chairs across from me.

"I don't care." I got up from the couch and grabbed the bag I had stored in my closet, bringing it to the coffee table and stripping myself down to my underwear. "I'm going to be gone for a while. I should be back, but..." I trailed off, thinking about why I was living with Matt in the first place. "You know." My suit was inside of the bag, it was a suit I had made for myself, but I needed to get it fixed and to fit my new leg. Made out of a fiber that you can't cut through very easily, if at all— it was useful for my line of work. Matt took his glasses off and tried his best to look at me directly, but he wasn't looking high enough. His eyes were pointing through my scarred-up chest.

"Where are you going?" I didn't answer him. "Y/n." He stood up, hands reaching forward in search of me, and I didn't have it in me to back away from him. His fingers trailed the scars from my arms, and up to rest on my face. Still taller than me despite the coffee table being between us. "You can't just go out and kill people." I wasn't going to kill people; not tonight at least, I had things to prepare and information to gather before I took care of that, but his point would stand regardless. "The day I came and got you from your house, your heart was steady like you weren't fazed at all," He sounded upset at me, or sad— I couldn't tell. "like you didn't just put a bullet between someone's eyes and I let that go, because of what you went through and what he was about to do— but every time we talk about this I can't help but think you're no better than they are." No better than the men that ripped me of my dignity and comfort. No better. The insinuation was frustrating.

"You beat on people and what? A month, a week– maybe not even a day later they're back on the street doing the same goddamn thing, Matt." My voice was quiet, but venom laced my words. "What fucking good does that do? Huh? Do you really think that just because you slap them around they're gonna learn a fucking lesson?" This was turning into an argument, and yet I hadn't the reservation for the lives I was about to take to give a damn about what he thought of me for it. Matt was getting upset, angry at me, but the only aggravation in my voice was over the annoyance we had to have this conversation.

I pushed his hands away from me and walked to his closet, grabbing some of my clothes while he spoke. "You never think for one second, shit, I just killed a human being!"

"That's being pretty generous." I muttered as I put pants on, and he wasted no time to yell at me his point.

"A human being who did a lot of stupid shit, maybe even evil, but had one small piece of goodness in him." Part of me wondered why he was so passionate about this, but another part was beginning to seethe at the idea that he thought the people who did those fucked up things to me had the potential to be better. "And then you come along and that one tiny flicker of light gets snuffed out forever." I made my way to him, the pain and grief that were now forever part of me fueling my every step.

"I think you're wrong." I whispered, my tone making it very clear that I wasn't enjoying the turn of the conversation. "I think there's no good in the filth I'm about to put down, that's what I think."

"And how do you know?" That was the question that set me off. I grabbed at his collar and pulled him closer to me, matching his yell this time.

"You've felt what they've taken from me, you sick fuck!" I didn't care that I was screaming. I couldn't feel guilty over this. Not when he just implied what he did. "You want people like that to live?" My voice broke, and I couldn't keep the tears that spilled from my eyes. I was searching for something, anything to tell me that it wasn't what he wanted. His gaze, although glossed over and searching through a void, it was aimed with a guilty pity. A look that told me all I needed to know. He felt bad, but he wasn't going to change his mind. "You're unbelievable." I whispered. I let him go and walked away in search of another bag. I wasn't going to stay with someone like this. I couldn't. I couldn't let someone forgive people of crimes not committed against them. I couldn't let someone decide that there was goodness in a person like that.

"What are you doing?" I rolled my eyes at his question, walking over to the closet and putting a shirt on before stuffing my clothes into a backpack I found.

"Moving out." As I went to pass him again, Matt grabbed my wrist with a painful firmness, taking the backpack away from me. He clearly wasn't done with me, so I decided to speak. "You know what the problem is, Matt? You think that hope can be built. You think that redemption exists. You think that institutions can be utilized and fixed." I was bitter. Angry. "You're just a stupid little catholic boy that still believes in a god. A stupid bastard that doesn't know how the world really works. Shocking for a fucking Lawyer." I yanked my arm from his grasp and grabbed the bag back, shoving my suit in there and taking a couple stacks of cash from the duffel bag before leaving.

I'd be back. For the rest of my things, or for good, I didn't know, but that wasn't important anymore. I held my hand out and waited for a cab, one pulling up after a few minutes of others skipping over me. "Spotlight Costume Shop, please." The driver looked back at me, a look of confusion on his face.

"Isn't that place closed by now, kid?" I smiled and nodded, not denying what he said. The look on my face was as if I was having a much better day than I actually was. My ability to hide the things I was feeling was both impressive and appalling, depending on the way you look at it.

"Yes, but I'm meeting with the owner privately for a custom order." It wasn't that far from the truth, but it was still a stretch. The driver either was satisfied with my answer or didn't care enough to press, but regardless he turned around and started driving. The ride was silent apart from the noises of the city that seemed to surround the cab, I listened quietly. Sirens, conversations, car horns, radios that shook the doors of busted up Chevys. This city had never known peace. All of the voices and noises that contributed to the music of Hell's Kitchen were a part of something much larger. Tiny instruments in an orchestra of ignorance. Quiet bass lines you can only hear with earbuds on, one's you can only pick out if you know exactly what you're listening for. They were a brand of mediocrity. Unimportance in the grand scheme of things.

I was a part of that noise. We all were to Fisk, and I think there was a part of him that wasn't self-aware about it. He would do anything to run this city, anything to 'leave it better for the people', but his words were simply lies he'd tell himself. He didn't love this city. He didn't care for it. He was a cancer to Hell's Kitchen, spreading his rot and infesting every corner and alleyway with the stench. Fisk was eating it alive, draining it of it's blood, robbing it of its hope. It won't be long before he starts to see it too. Before he starts embracing it and pridefully making it worse. I have to stop him before that happens.

In the midst of my thoughts, we arrived. I pulled a crisp hundred out of the wad of cash in my pocket and handed it to the man, walking towards the shop and observing its emptiness. I could hear the faint whir of one of Melvin's tools— he was definitely in there. I tried the door at first, but of course, it was locked. I was going to have to get in another way.

I scaled the shop, scanning for an entrance before an open window caught my eye. "Melvin, you idiot, what did I tell you about that window?" I whispered, speaking entirely to myself, reminded of all the times I've told him that just because a window is high up, doesn't mean someone can't get into it. It felt familiar jumping and scaling up against the shop and building beside it because it was. I had shown him years ago that people could get into the shop through it, and now I was doing the same thing. The loud noise of his tools was enough to muffle my drop down, but I didn't need them to. I walked right up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He was getting ready for a fight until he saw that it was me, and when he realized, I was scooped into a hug. "You're alive!" I smiled as I hugged him back, separating only when he wanted to. "Mr. Fisk... Mr. Fisk said that he—" Melvin's face turned sour. "Said he took care of you." My brows furrowed. There was no way he didn't know I was alive. He would have heard that I had shot the guy he sent.

"When did he say that, Melvin?" He checked his watch, one of his hands still resting on my shoulder as if I'd disappear if he let me go.

"Hour or so. Before he left. Asked him if it was really you in the fire." He said simply. "News said your apartment burned down a week ago," My stomach dropped. "Said they found a body and they made someone identify you." Probably Ben. I needed to go see him, but first I needed to get what I came here for.

"You can't let Fisk know that I'm alive, okay?" He seemed confused, but nodded. "I need you to fix my suit, but it needs to be a secret. I can't kill Fisk if he figures out I'm still alive." I needed to work to my advantage. Surprise was a weapon I desperately needed. I slung the backpack from my shoulders and opened it, handing him the suit. Melvin took it to his workbench and inspected every part. The seams, padding, helmet, goggles, gloves— almost every bit of my suit was busted up from the aftermath of the last job I ever did for Fisk.

"It would be better to just make a new one," He spoke softly, turning to me. "Can I?" Melvin works fast, and he knows better than anyone what is best. If a new suit is safer than fixing what's left of the one I had, then I'll take what he gives me. I nodded and began undressing into just my boxers, just as I've done a million times before for him. Yet, upon seeing what was done to my body, his face fell. "Did Mr. Fisk do that to you?" He was going to get angry if I told him the truth, and I couldn't risk Melvin and Betsy's safety if he got angry at Fisk the next time he came in.

"No, just stole from the wrong people." I lied with a precision that made Melvin's face turn from one of anger and into disappointment. He took a notepad, pencil and measuring tape and got to work. His hands were gentle, quietly writing down the numbers as he went. "Why did you leave the window open? I've told you a million times already." I broke the silence between us, playfully scolding him as he grabbed my arms and made me spread them out.

"Didn't want to believe you were gone." His answer hurt. Melvin's been my friend for years, and to hear that he was hoping that I'd pop through that window again one day left me in shambles. "I'm going to make sure you won't get hurt like this again." His finger traced along the line on my back before he moved to write some more numbers on his notepad. "It's gonna be stronger than your other suits." I turned to look at him.

"Can you make my suit look different? I can't make it look like I'm the same person." He smiled at me and nodded. "I'm not on the bad side anymore. I don't want people thinking I mean harm." My spine still shivered when thinking of the way I was lied to. Killing innocent men and women for Fisk, being fed the idea that they had done bad things. It made me sick to my stomach.

"I can think of something." While he left to grab sample fabrics, I opened his mini fridge and took out one of the drinks I had stashed in it. Melvin came back soon after, holding different squares up to my skin and face. He discarded some of the samples that he deemed didn't suit me and laid the rest out on the table. "You can pick what your pallet is." I already knew which colors were the strongest, so I picked them both up. "White and black?" My eyes trailed to the accents on my prosthetic.

"And silver accents. If it's not too much to ask." He shook his head and got to drawing up some ideas. "Look, I've got to go, when do you think you'll be done?" I started putting my clothes back on and he hummed.

"Probably a week. Is that alright?" I slipped my shoes on and pat him on the back, nodding. "You be careful out there." I smiled.

"Always am." I slid my drink for him to finish, put my backpack on and left through the window. My next stop was to a black market arms dealer a few blocks away, so I didn't bother hailing a cab. The walk was quiet, uneventful. Aside from the sound of my footsteps along the sidewalk I was alone in my travel towards the Pawn Shop.

The front lights were off, but I knew Clint was inside. I opened the front door without issue, and seeing as it was unlocked, I was correct. Moaning came from the mini T.V on his desk and I scoffed. "Turn that shit off, will you?" He paused the tape, a look of shock illuminated only from the porn he was watching that I thankfully didn't have to see.

"Word on the street says you're dead, Mr. L/n." With the flip of a switch the light above him flicked on, illuminating the both of us to make business with each other. I walked up to his desk and leaned forward, grabbing his shotgun and unloading the shells onto the floor. I didn't need to be sure he wouldn't try to shoot me, but Clint was a sleaze ball who would probably try to pry the cash I don't use out of my dead fingers.

"Word on the street would be correct, Clint." I dug all of the money out of my pocket and curved the bills to make it easier to count. "You got what I need?" He sighed and walked to the back. I could hear some rummaging before he came back with a gun case. I opened the case, greeted by two 9mm Glock 45s resting in the foam. "The mags?" I asked expectantly, gazing up at him through a cocked brow. He pulled a box from under the desk and I started stuffing the empty magazines into my backpack, ten in total.

"Here's the bullets." He handed me four boxes of bullets, fifty per box. I counted out five hundred dollar bills before handing them to Clint, but he didn't seem impressed by the amount. "I could always tell some buddies of mine I saw a ghost..." He trailed off, gaze fixed on his open palm. Slimy bastard was making me pay to have him stay quiet. I sighed and handed him five more bills, but he was still trying to squeeze more out of me. "Could I interest you in a police scanner?" I closed the gun case and glared at him.

"What good would that do me?" Clint visibly slumped at my rhetorical question. "You're lucky I paid you that much. Don't push it." I shoveled the rest of my money into my pocket and grabbed my things, walking out the door without another word. I needed to speak with Ben, but I needed to wait until I knew for a fact I was dead to everyone. I couldn't risk his life just going over there to tell him that I wasn't. I got a ride back to Matt's apartment and when I walked up to the door, I hesitated for a minute. He was behind me. I could hear his steps stop just as mine did. "You gonna follow me around if I move out?" I turned to look at him. He was back in the mask and black clothes.

"We need to talk." Matt walked past me and into the building, walking for the elevator and holding the door open. He was waiting for me to follow. I sighed and made my way into the elevator, almost surprised we didn't use the backdoor like last time. I pressed the button to the top floor and leaned back against the railing. The silence wasn't something I enjoyed— in fact, it was making me anxious— but I kept myself together, grip strong on the gun case. The ding and opening of the doors filled me with an even stronger sense of dread. Matt took his mask off and walked with a precision to the loft, me following hot on his trail. The moment the door shut behind me, he turned and began speaking. “There are some things I haven't told you.” He started, and I could hear the way he was trying to tiptoe over the subject.

“Yeah, like how my apartment got burned down and how everyone thinks I'm dead,” I walked past him and set my guns and backpack on the floor next to the couch, lifting myself back up to face him once more. “you really could have fucking said something. I've been stuck here for a month with no contact with the outside world, no music, no T.V—” Listing off every normal human right that I've been deprived of without reason only fueled my passive aggressive ramblings. “I have read those law books so many times I think I'm qualified to go on fucking trial— who the fuck keeps books in the house that they can't read, anyway?” I couldn't help but point out how ridiculous it was that he had a collection of books I know he's never thumbed through. He sighed.

“I'm sorry.” His hands went for my shoulders, but I backed away from him this time. “I should've told you. I handled it poorly.” I scoffed, my head instinctively turning to search for a solace away from the anger that pooled when looking at him.

“You think?” I sighed, watching how he was fighting the urge to touch me again.

“I just thought—” He inhaled sharply. “I wanted to let you get better before I told you. I didn't want you to be focused on anything other than your health. I wanted you to be safe.” He took my hand in his, our fingers tangling with each other's. I watched as it happened and didn't fight the contact. “I don't know. You've become a really great friend in a really short amount of time. I didn't want to lose that.” He sighed, playing with my fingers. It made me feel weird, but I wasn't going to necessarily credit anything other than me being touch starved.

“This doesn't feel like it's something you do with your friends, Matt.” I let my hand fall out of his. “I'm upset at you. Everything you said to me really hurt my feelings. You can't just drop a bomb like this on me.” I said softly. “You can't.” I didn't exactly know how to handle the affection. Under the weight of becoming something I deem atrocious, even more so than I had already felt about myself, an advance like this one isn't something I have the ability to accept. The time we've spent together, although short in some standards, it's been nice. We've gotten close— but after what he told me, I didn't feel like engaging in something deeper with him. There's no taking back that he thinks the people who did this to me deserve to be left alive.

“Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow.” I sighed and made my way to the bed, undressing into just my boxers and sitting down. When I took my prosthetic off, grief flooded me all over again. It was a disappointment that I couldn't quite describe, it left me empty. I sat the leg down on my pile of clothes and covered up. Part of me felt bad for still taking up his bed, but I tried not to think about it and closed my eyes. There were a lot of things to do tomorrow.

likes, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated. i wanted to post something before i took a little break, so this is the chapter i've been holding off on posting. mentally just not doing well, i just really feel like shit. insecure as a motherfucker about every little thing i do including the way i write. so things have been tough on my end. give me a week or two and i'll be back on my feet enough to finish this request in my inbox and then continue this story. in the meantime, thank you for your patience.

[writteninkat]

Red Dragon | Toji x reader

summary: Toji has his way with you after finding out about the red dragon tattoo you have on your back.

f!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: 18+, dumbification(??), ass slapping

"It's hot today isn't it?" Kugisaki pinches her uniform with her index and thumb, flapping it to create some sort of air to try and cool down her body underneath her uniform. "Aren't you hot underneath all that turtle neck and long sleeves, sensei?"

You look up at her from your paper work, pen in between your fingers. You recall her question, taking a few moments to answer before shrugging your shoulders. "Ah, I get it now. You don't have anything else underneath, do you?" Kugisaki teases you, now her index finger is pointed at your chest as she gives you a teasing smirk.

You chuckle at her attempt but give in nonetheless, unbuttoning your uniform and peeling it off your skin to show the spaghetti strap uou have on. No, you don't feel as warm as Kugisaki, probably, but you can still handle the heat. You hand your uniform behind your chair to prevent it from getting creases.

You look around your table, frowning when you don't see any random hair ties lying around. Sighing, you take a pen and bite on it, busying your hands with rolling and putting your hair up in a bun before using the pen to secure it.

Kugisaki looks at you with sparkles in her eyes, at awe by how you just tied your hair up with a pen. "That's amazing sensei! Teach me how to do it, please?"

You smile at her, curling your finger at her, signaling her to come nearer. "Just look at how I did my hair, it's pretty easy to follow." You point up at your messy bun, a few steay hairs falling down in the front part of your face when you bend your neck down.

When Kugisaki is behind you, you feel a hand on your neck. "Woah, since when did you get this tatted?"

The other teachers, Gojo, Atsuya, Shoko and Toji all look up at you in sync, oblivious to the red dragon tattoo on your upper back. Everyone of them had curiosity glimmering in their eyes, especially Toji.

"Five years ago, after I graduated." You answer your student, but your eyes are on Toji who's still eyeing you.

"Did it hurt?" She asks.

You keep your gaze on Toji, your- what do you call him? Boyfriend? No, your relationship isn't really that serious with him. Then maybe a fuck buddy? That'll have to do -fuck buddy.

"I guess I liked the pain." A smirk twitches on your lips as you give Toji a teasing look, knowing full well the kind of effect you have on him. He gives you a look telling you to be careful, but you brush it off, going back to grading your students' school works.

By the time the sun sets, the school is quiet and the students have went back to their respective homes. You stay for overtime, trying to make up for the week you asked off. All one could hear inside the faculty was the sound of uour pen scribbling on paper, writing notes and pointers for your students as you correct their mistakes.

Then you hear footsteps. Shivers run up your spine at the thought that you knew exactly who they were from and where they're exactly coming from. Not long after, you feel a large presence behind you, looming over you, covering the light the moon is reflecting back inside the faculty.

"Aren't you going home, Fushiguro?" You try to play yourself off as nonchalant, leaning over to your desk to seem as if you were focused on your work when in fact your legs are squeezing together underneath the table. The smell of Toji's expensive perfuming wafting around you has your cunt dripping wet and clenching down around nothing.

You feel a finger- two fingers press against your nape. Electricity shocks you at the point where your skin and his fingers meet before shivers run down your spine when he begins dragging his fingers softly down your back, feeling over the spot where you know where your tattoo is.

"You never told me about this." Toji's deep voice resonates around the room like a dark melody, keeping you on your toes as you feel the butterflies lose themselves at the sound of it. "You never asked." You clench your jaw, holding yourself back from begging him to fuck upu right then and there.

"If you told me I would have done something about it." He runs his fingers back up on the center of your back, this time slowly running onto your shoulder, hooking his finger on the strap and pulling it off, letting it fall off your shoulder.

You turn your head to the side, looking down at his legs. "And what exactly would you have done after I told you about it?"

You're playing a dangerous game and you know it. You can practically smell the intense lust Toji's currently suppressing inside him. You know you shouldn't- not in the faculty at least, but you can't help it. He's wearing that black shirt that hugs his body perfectly, a bit tight on the biceps and chest area, giving you a good look at the effects of years of training and fighting curses. Arms that could lift you around easily, as if you weigh nothing.

It all happened so quickly- you feel Toji's arms on wither sides of your waist. He pulls you up from your seat, kicking the chair away with his foot so nothing was in between the two of you. He forces you bent over on your table, your short pencil skirt hiking up and showing off the base of your ass.

Toji's hand is on your head, fingers combed theough your hair as he forces it down on the table. His other hand runs up and down your sides, fingers following every curve. It reaches your thigh, giving it a squeeze making you moan softly.

"Oh fuck," Toji breathes out, gaze scanning over the red dragon tattoo on your back with you in this position. He has a very clear view of it and the fact that your ass is on full view has him rock hard in his pants. "I really fucked you missionary all this time when I could have had you in doggy or bent over a table like this?"

He pulls your leg up, placing it on the table to give himself better access to your dripping cunt. Your slick as traveling down your other leg as he presses two fingers against your clothed sex. You moan loudly, voice resonating around the room as you scrunch up your brows.

Toji leans in, a sadistic grin stretched across his face. "You're already so wet for me. You love having master force you down like this?" His fingers begin massaging circles on your clit, causing for moans to spill out of your mouth. Toji let's go of your head and pulls your hands together, pinning them behing your back. "Hmm? Yeah? Like it when you can't move properly like this?" He presses his fingers even deeper onto your cunt, making you throw your head back.

Toji begins licking on your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin as he listens to your moans as if they were opera music. You feel your legs begin to clench together as you near your high, your hips rocking back and forth uncontrollably. When Toji slips his fingers underneath your thin underwear, you drop your head on the table and let out a moan as your feet lift your heels, feeling your orgasm wash over you.

The fact that it's been a long and stressful day makes the orgasm even more intense- the pent up frustrations you had formthe day were just spilled over like that by two fingers and you couldn't even be more happier.

Your deep breaths replace your loud moans inside the room. You look around, feeling needier when you watch Toji lick and suck on his fingers, lapping on your juices as he looks at you dead in they eye.

You follow his hand as it reaches on the waistline of his sweatpants, pulling it down along with his briefs to let his cock spring out. It's red, it's hard, precum is oozing from its tip and you want nothing more than to drop to your knees and lap it up until Toji is fucking your throat.

"You're going to help me with this, or princess." Toji says, his tone sounding more of an order rather than a request and you gladly submit to him. He enters a finger in your hole, a second one immediately following after making you moan out his name loudly. He pumps them in a few times before curling them, the pads of his two calloused fingers pressing and rubbing against the particular part inside your cavern that has your eyes widening as well as your mouth.

"Ah- oh! Oh god!" Your toes curl at the feeling of Toji massaging that area, "Fuck! Toji! Toji please just fuck me now!" You yell, tears brimming your eyes as spit dribbles down the side of your mouth at the feeling of extreme pleasure.

"You're not cumming until you call me by the name we agreed on." He presses against the area even more andall you ever want in the moment is to cum on his fingers. "What's my name, princess?" He whispers into your ear.

"Sir!"

Toji thrusts his fingers inside you relentlessly, pressing on the exact same spot again and again until you're cumming hard around his fingers, cunt clenching around his digits as you rock your hips into circles while riding out your orgasm.

A while ago you didn't mention once that you were feeling hot, but now you feel as if your body is on fire. Toji once again brings his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean before grabbing onto your hair and pulling your head closer to his.

"I'm going to fuck you now, really really hard." He whispers into your ear and without warning, thrusts his entire length inside you. A gargled moan slips out of your lips in shock and he pushes you back onto the table, eyes on your tattoo as he pounds into you rigorously. You hear his sac slapping against your skin creating such lewd noises when paired with your uncontrolled moans.

He keeps your arms behind your back with one had as the other slaps red hand marks on your ass, his thrusts slowly going even faster with ever slap. Your moans are on and off- in sync with his thrusts.

You can feel yourself slowly losing to darkness as your body grows limp, your drool continues to deip down your mouth and your eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head.

Toji squeezes your face, forcing you to look at your laptop's black screen which served as a mirror. "Look at yourself as I fuck you dumb. You like having my cock inside you like this, hmm? Yeah you like it." His face contorts into a snarl as his thrusts become even harsher by the second.

"That tattoo on your back had me bothered all day princess. Hope all that teasing was worth it." He growls into your ear and all you can do is nod, nod at everything he says.

To be honest, you have no idea what else is going on today. All you can ever feel is his cock ramming inside you and its tip continuously abusing your g-spot again and again and again. You feel a know tighten inside you as you let out a long moan, arching your back even more as you lean your head back to Toji's shoulder.

"Fuck I can feel you tightening around me. Ready to cum a third time tonight, princess?" He growls into your ear, his free hand finding its way on my tummy as he feels himself ramming inside me. Toji can feel his tip poking against your lower stomach's skin, letting him know just how deep he is inside you.

"S-sir! Sir! I'm cumming!" You yell, letting yourself get pushed back down onto the table as Toji thrusts into you at an incredible speed, showing off his stamina after years of hard work and fighting. "That's right, cum on my cock princess. You deserve it."

You do as told, your toes are curling, a long moan slips between your tongue as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Toji's cock- it feels too good inside you, especially right now when he's nearing his high and his thrusts are turning sloppier and sloppier until he reaches his high and pulls out, cumming all over your ass and back. He watches as his load reaches all the way up your tattoo, covering some of the intricate details.

The room is filled with your ragged breaths as you two calm down from your highs. You feel your slick run down your inner thighs as Toji's cum on your back begins to feel uncomfortable as it dries up.

Toji pushes himself off of you, tucking his dick back inside his pants. He pulls one of your drawers open and takes out the tissues you keep in their. All while pressing you down on the desk, he cleans you up, wiping off all the slick and cum all over your body. Once he finishes, he softly pulls you up and sits you on your desk. You flinch at the feeling of your ass on the table, it hurts.

Toji presses kisses all over you- your face, neck, shoulders, arms and especially your lips. He then continues to burrow his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he realizes it really helps him calm down.

"Shower at my place so I can massage you right after." He says, his tone different this time. It sounds like more of a request rather than an order.

"I'd rather not let one of my students know his dad just fucked me dumb." You joke, eyes scanning all over Toji's nonchalant expression.

"That wasn't a request." He says.

Okay maybe his tone isn't that different from before.

navigation

[simkjrs]

Would you be willing to do Uchiha Kaeru for the ask meme?

uchiha kaeru from the scorpion and the frog by @zarinthelwrites :)

favorite thing about them

i love how she makes things worse on purpose. and i love her sense of humor. its so inspiring how she was dedicated to making things hurt more for everyone involved, at everyone's expense. girlboss of all time

least favorite thing about them

the most frustrating aspect of kaeru's character is probably that she had the ability to change things, but wasn't interested in doing so, and didn't try. as the reader you constantly are wishing that kaeru would let go of her belief that there is no point in changing "canon" because the cycle will continue, no matter what... but it is also a really excellent part of her character that makes you think again about what kind of lasting change kaeru could have made, if she tried. could she have stopped the deaths of her clan? what about the oncoming wars? and what of the fighting that would continue even after naruto swore he would change everything?

having knowledge of canon events, kaeru knows that naruto & sasuke & everyone else will fall into the exact same cycle that they swore to change. kaeru doesn't change because the world around her doesn't change. she doesn't see a point. she has the people she cares about, and fuck the rest, really. she's a great distorted mirror of the naruto world i think, so even though her refusal to change is her most frustrating aspect i also think its one of her most interesting traits. queen

favorite line

it's so hard to pick one. she had the best one liners ever and they came practically every other paragraph. i am paralyzed by choice.

favorite one liner:

"I'm just tired. I'm done fighting people, Kaeru. I sacrificed my own life to avoid causing more harm."

"I died to cause someone a ton of harm, so at least I'm going to be continuing that trend."

favorite serious moment:

"You know, Naruto," Kaeru says. "I don't have any faith in you."

"What?"

"I don't believe you can save Konoha, or change the world, or even forge a lasting peace that isn't built on blood and rot."

"I--"

"Shh, I'm still talking. I hate the world that I grew up in, and I'm going to hate the world that you grow old in, and I'm going to hate the world that still exists long after you've joined me and Nagato in the ground. But, despite all of that, I am going to go, right now, and have Kabuto release every corpse in this war that he still controls."

Kaeru smiles at him, body dissolving into slowly falling white feathers as she continues to talk.

"You're a good kid, Naruto. So, just this once, I'll act like that's going to be enough."

brOTP

kaeru & tatsuma & maruten :) the way that they are best friends despite being a missing-nin, a ROOT agent, and a t&i agent respectively is literally the funniest thing in the world. i love how they all play off of each other and how they are all ride and die. probably one of the saddest things in this story is that we dont get to see more of them being the funniest friends around

OTP

hmm well we are venturing very far into the realm of head canons about someone else's OC now. i think kaeru likes women but also is not interested in a relationship like at all. but she would find it funny if someone flirted with her probably

nOTP

kaeru x a serious romantic relationship. shes happy being dying & dead. she doesnt want one

random headcanon

i think that when orochimaru left akatsuki it was because kaeru kept driving him to tears by virtue of her insufferable personality. and i think it really hurt orochimarus feelings that kaeru thought his attempts to experiment on & kill her were funny and amusing more than anything else. he wanted to be taken seriously but he just couldnt get any dignity from her. itachi chased him out of akatsuki on purpose but kaeru wouldve been perfectly happy letting him stay in the same space as her so she could keep poking him forever. he just could not take it anymore

unpopular opinion

is there such a thing as an unpopular opinion about kaeru? i think people who are mad that kaeru didnt go on a power trip with all of her cool abilities are just haters with no understanding of how much funnier it is that she couldve done something but didnt. "you wouldn't get it" -- me to all the SV commenters who do this

song i associate with them

trigger finger by coyote kid - the kaeru & sasuke song of all time

You've got a steady hand that's cold to the touch You've only got one shot but do you have the guts To make it count. Don't let me down

You've got guts kid but Is that enough to turn this around

favorite picture of them

using my own drawing for this.

[blxetsi]

HIIIII!! can i get a pieck finger dating headcanons if that’s alright with you of course? your stuff makes me soft, stay safe!

yuh ‼️ tysm for your request

pieck finger dating headcanons (modern au)

pieck finger x gn!reader

warnings: literal fluff, no angst or anything i love pieck

- bc pieck is assumed to be like 23-26 this wont be a uni au or anything

- idk i rlly think you guys wouldve met in a mundane way

- like you bump into her on the sidewalk and try to the really awkward "oh im so sorry i didnt see you there- no really it was my fault- are you sure youre okay ?- okay great- no im not hurt- yeah- okay have a good day and again im so sorry !!" thing with her

- and then maybe you guys see each other again at a coffee place, youre there with your friends and shes there with hers, and you dont wanna talk to her obv bc that would be awkward

- then ur friend makes u go and order another coffee for them, and while youre waiting for your order pieck comes and stands beside you

- and shes very observant yknow ?? if she sees a face its very hard for her to forget it

- so she immediately recognizes you and blurts out "its you !"

- and you have to be like "oh yeah ! it is me ! its you too"

- she finds it quite cute and giggles about it

- a very laidback person but also a very blunt person

- she doesnt find any harm in asking "can i get your instagram @" look she doesnt wanna be a creep and ask for ur number right at the start

- and it gives her a chance to find out what kind of person you are

- it would absolutely suck for her if such a cute face was posting fishing pictures and alt right propaganda yknow ??

- so you two do and then both of your orders come so you two give awkward goodbyes before going back to your groups

- her instagram is very pretty, nice themes

- she posted a couple of hours ago, with her and her friends in a park, taking a couple of posed photos while some looking like they were natural

- shes adorable and you cant help but feel your cheeks go warm as you basically stalk her page

- she dms you and says "are you too busy looking at my feed that you havent followed me yet ?" and you see this mf staring at you across the room like 👁️👁️

- okay nosy lets calm down now 🙄🤚

- you try to defend urself but ur typing so quick you keep making errors in your writing, she ends up saying something else

"you know, i was doing the exact same thing. youre beautiful you know"

- thank you pieck 🥰

- over the next couple of weeks thats how you two communicate. she'll send you instagram memes and edits of her favourite shows, movies, games etc. and you find yourself having a lot in common w her

- you check her story so frequently it becomes one of the first accounts on the top of your homepage

- and FINALLY, when she feels she can see you as a friend and not just some pretty stranger she met on the street she asks you out

- it was a simple thing, just to the movies, and she even let you pick which one !! (imagine its pre covid idfk)

- you two go and its an awkward hug before you both head inside

- you pay for your tickets and she gets an extra large popcorn and a drink

- you assume shes just v hungry but before you can order yourself something shes like "what are you doing i got this for us !!"

- rlly cute bitch omfg

- during the movies, after she eats literally most of the fucking popcorn, she pulls your hand out of your lap and holds it with her buttery one 🥰🤚

- this bitch had crumbs and didnt even think to wipe them off

- you still held her hand tho anyways

- after that night you parted ways in front of the theater after making sure you two would be getting home safe

- and that became routine for a couple of weeks, not going to the movies obviously bc thats expensive but watching movies together !! youd go over to her apartment or she would come over to yours

- one thing about pieck is that shes very touchy

- one way or another she will end up cuddled with you on the couch

- it doesnt matter if its you being forcefully pulled on top of her body or her draping herself over you like shes a blanket, you two WILL be cuddling and you WILL enjoy it

- but finally, as if the gods gave you mercy, she finally kissed you

- it felt so nice, her lips were soft and sticky from her lip gloss and she tasted like the swedish berries you had gotten for her to munch on

- and the rest of the movie you two just sat there, kissing each other and giggling like teens

- she ended up staying the night, and complimented your bedsheets

- your relationship moved pretty fast after that

- she had already told all of her friends about you, they werent very surprised

- when you got officially introduced her friends zeke and porco tried to do that whole "if you hurt her.." speech before she slapped them and had marcel pull you away to safety

- other than that the night was very fun, you got to talking about your career, why you moved to the city, and other mundane topics

- pieck is actually a graphic designer, and everytime she comes to sleep over she just HAS to bring her laptop with her

- its basically just her laying in between your legs while she types away, youll pet her hair and lay soft kisses on her neck, and occasionally ask what shes doing

- she likes to tell you, has no problem in answering the questions you have, even if you think theyre stupid ones, shes very soft with you

- also a bit of a trickster

- for your first april fools together she slept over, you didnt have anything planned for her bc youre a good person and wont hurt the ones you love

- she stuffed your breakfast muffin with mustard 😁👍

- you gave her the cold shoulder for the rest of the day until she apologized by getting you a new muffin

- now she always dropped the l bomb to you, but she never needed you to say it

- thats why, when you were helping her cook dinner at her place you softly said "see ? and thats why i love you" she kind of,,, stopped what she was doing

- you realized why she wasnt washing the knife she used to cut your vegetables and tried to backtrack, but it was too late, she was already tackling you into a hug and taking you down onto the floor

- she just gave you kisses while repeating "i love you i love you i love you" over and over again

- bc of her you burnt ur fucking chicken smh

- you spent that night eating junk food and watching movies

- piecks a very observant person, so she always knows when youre sad too

- when you give that little huff when you come home to your (new !) shared apartment she knows something is up

- she'll slowly trail behind you as you walk to your bedroom, stripping to your underwear and changing into your pajamas

- you crawl into bed just wanting a nap to forget about the day, and she'll crawl in with you and hold you

- you never like to cry but youre so frustrated and upset at your coworkers, at that rude customer, at those deadlines, that you just breakdown

- and she lets you, she lets you almost suffocate yourself in her chest with how much your pushing your head into it, she strokes your hair while you choke on your own cries and hands you tissues when you need to blow your nose

- "what do you need my love ?" "i just need you" "okay baby"

- communication is a big thing in the relationship, and because shes been so open and honest from the beginning, talking about how you feel has never been easier

- in fact, you like talking about how you feel about your relationship, or how you didnt like what pieck said to your friends the other day, this and that, you feel comfortable and safe with pieck no matter what, which makes talking about even the most hardest things seem so simple and natural

- all in all, even when she wakes you up with spontaneous ice cream dates or asks that you put raisins in the popcorn during movie night, even with the fights and the crying and the exhaustion the next day, life would be much duller without her, and you only have to thank your clumsy self

uhh i feel like this is very short but yeah ❤️ requests are open so go crazy mfs ‼️

[harryspet]

wrapped in red | p.parker & b.barnes

[Warnings] dark? peter parker x reader, dark bucky barnes x reader, peter is still pretty sweet and bucky is evil, aged up peter, mafia/gang au, gang boss!bucky, waitress!reader, noncon/dubcon sex, light bondage, kidnapping, bucky likes to watch 

A/N: idk its 7 am and I still haven’t slept and now I’m posting this. THIS IS ADULT & TRIGGERING CONTENT READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

In which Peter likes you and Bucky makes you both regret that. 

main masterlist

word count: 2.9k

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” You asked the blue-eyed man sitting at table eighteen. Your coworker had an emergency call so you found yourself tasked with tending to the table of two men. You didn’t recognize the man at first but as your eyes connected with his left arm … your breathing hitched in your throat. You smiled through your worry though, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that you knew exactly who he was. 

Bucky Barnes ran this neighborhood, but since you had never run into him, it was easy to believe he was just a myth. 

“No, doll. Just the check please,” He spoke simply and you might not have been intimidated if you hadn’t noted the many expensive rings on his right hand. The man sitting across from him was younger, his eyes were nervous too as he looked you over. His face was familiar and you thought you might have seen him in one of your classes. 

There were several empty beers on the table as well 

You nodded your head before turning away, “I’ll be right back.”

Peter’s eyes lingered on you as you walked away from the table. For a moment, he forgot that he was supposed to be counting. His pen roamed over the sheet and over all the numbers. 

“See, you’re only making a hundred grand from this guy's shipments. He’s using all your resources to make sure the product is clean but you could easily just do that for yourself. You cut out in the middle man and I think you could triple your profit,” Peter turned the paper so Bucky could look over all the numbers he was running. Peter folded his hands, trying to read the man’s expressions. 

As you returned to the table with the check, Peter was once again caught in the trance you put in. He recognized you from his anatomy class. He arrived at class five minutes early every day just to make sure that he could watch you come in. Part of him was unsure of what you’d think of him now, knowing who he was sitting with. 

Money didn’t grow on trees and Peter was the man of the house. College was expensive and the rent was even more expensive so he had to do what he could to get by. You were working minimum wage at a rundown restaurant, Peter didn’t doubt that you could understand that. Still, what you did was honest work and Peter couldn’t say the same for himself. 

“Thank you, doll,” Bucky thanked you, resting his arms against the table as he smirked up at you, “You doing something tonight? What time do you get off?”

Your lips parted as you stared in shock. Could you just answer a simple no? “I actually have to close up today … so I … uhm-”

“I-It’s okay,” Peter rushed out nervously, seeing the way that Bucky was eyeing you, “That’s it, thank you.”

Your smile was thin and awkward before you walked away. 

Peter’s eyes widened with frustration as he stared across the table at the older man, “What are you doing?” Bucky chuckled as he grabbed the check, clicking his pin in order to sign it. Peter didn’t know it but the man was leaving you a hefty tip, “Were you trying to scare her?”

“I was trying to get you a date!” Bucky retorted, “Your good with numbers, kid, and I appreciate you helping me out. I really do but your game with women is a little laughable.”

Peter shook his head in disbelief, “Why does it matter?” Peter lowered his voice as the realization set in that Bucky was right, “Why does it matter what kind of game I have? I’m just here to count your money, right?”

The look in Bucky’s eyes was almost sympathetic, “You count money for now but you’re strong, I can tell. You could become a very valuable person to me if you work at it. And part of being in my little family is having some fucking confidence. You were drooling over that girl instead of manning up and asking her out.”

Peter crossed his arms, “What if she said no?”

Bucky smirked at the younger boy, “She wouldn’t if you had some fucking balls,” Peter rolled his eyes, “But if she did said no … then you chase her. That’s the best part.”

There was something evil in the man's glare but Peter brushed it out. The man was a professional, drug dealing murderer. “You want to ask her to prom or something?”

Peter shook his head, annoyed, “I’m not in high school, Mr. Barnes. I just like her, okay? And it doesn’t matter that I like her because it’s not like we can date. I’m sure we both have bigger things to focus on. Now ... can we go back to talking about the deal that’s going on tomorrow?”

Bucky seemed amused by the kid’s awkwardness, “I like your idea. I hate that Brock guy anyways. He’s overcharging me because I used to mess with his sister. You know … maybe if he’s out of the picture then his sister is free territory.”

“Out of the picture how?” Bucky sensed Peter’s worry and grinned. 

“That’s right, you’ve never been on one of my infamous boat rides. You should come,” Peter knew exactly what he meant. If Bucky didn’t like you, you did not want to go on a “boat ride” with him. That was a quick and easy way for your body to end up chained to a brick at the bottom of the Hudson. 

“I have a biology project to work on,” Peter said.

“It wasn’t a question, Queens.”

+

Your heart skipped a beat as a black Escalade pulled up beside you while you were walking home. You didn’t look over as you heard the window roll down. You winced as you continued to walk. You only turned to look as you heard a whistle. 

You thought he’d give up after the weird encounter at the restaurant but here he was in all his handsome and dangerous glory, “You need a ride, doll?”

“Uhm, no. But thank you!”

What was it with kids your age? Perhaps Bucky was losing some of his edginess with the younger crowd, “Get in,” Bucky said, much more forward this time, “I just want to talk.”

You took a deep breath as you clutched your purse tightly. You found your feet moving before your mind could catch up. Your body thought you’d be safer going with him rather than arguing with the famous criminal. You heard the rumors about people that went missing because they pissed him off. Every time they seemed to arrest him, he was back on the streets weeks later. The cops, ones who he didn’t pay off, could never pin him to any of the murders. 

If you went missing because of Bucky Barnes, you and your legacy were effectively wiped away. 

He opened the back door for you and you climbed into the leather seat as he slid over. Shaking, you grabbed your seat belt and buckled yourself in. Bucky was used to the lack of eye contact and shaky fingers. It usually annoyed him but, for you, he found it endearing. 

As the door closed, the man in the front seat drove off, “What exactly do you want to talk to me about?” You asked, still confused about the entire situation. 

“My friend that sat at the table with me. Peter Parker,” Bucky spoke vaguely. 

“We don’t really know each other,” You explained, hoping that guy wasn’t somehow in trouble with Bucky, “We just go to the same college.”

“No, I know,” Bucky continued, “I just know that he’s interested in getting to know you better. And Peter’s a good friend of mine, you know?”

You nodded slowly. That meant Peter was dangerous, “Right. He’s … he’s never talked to me.”

Bucky chuckled, “He’s the shy type. You’re a pretty girl, he probably doesn’t think he’s good enough. That’s why I’m here talking to you.”

“What do you want me to do?” You asked hesitantly.

“That’s a good response,” Bucky gave you a smug look, “You’ll find out soon, doll. Sit tight.”

Your eyes widened as you looked out the tinted window, watching your apartment building pass by. Bucky’s driver gazed at you through the rearview mirror before focusing back on the road. 

+

Peter thought he wouldn’t be able to stomach. Watching a grown man cry and beg for his life before being tossed over the edge. You watched him sink and the bubbles slowly start to disappear as he went deeper, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bucky had said to him.

Peter hated to say that it wasn’t as bad as he believed it would be. Perhaps the years of struggling had blackened his heart. After the murder, Bucky proceeded to drag you back to his million-dollar apartment, wanting to share a drink or to. 

Peter almost opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t twenty-one yet but knew the exact reaction he would get from Bucky. Bucky had his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulder as he showed him to the kitchen, “One day, you’re going to have a place just like this,” He said, hinting at your luxurious surroundings, “You stick with me and you won’t need that piece of shit degree.”

Peter only nodded, accepting a beer from the man. Bucky watched as the boy chugged the content of his glass. Peter hoped it would get him through the rest of the night and help give him some liquid courage, “You’re a weird kid, Queens,” Bucky laughed, “I like it. C’mere, I want to show you something.”

You followed Bucky down the hallway, hoping it wasn’t another disturbing thing that the man found amusing, “What is it?”

“A present,” Bucky grinned, guiding Peter to the door at the end of the hallway. Peter would’ve preferred to be wowed by a million other things. Instead, his mouth was agape because he saw you. 

Whatever drugs he had given you to keep you relaxed had completely worn off. It kept you from fighting them when your clothes were cut off from your body. Your vision was blurry and your muscles were weak as they restrained your body. Now, clear as day you could see your captor … and his friend Peter. 

You were laid out on the bed, your hands handcuffed behind your back and your ankles tied together by a red ribbon. A red thong barely covered your lower region and a red ribbon wrapped around your front barely covered your nipples. Right in the middle of your chest was a red bow to compliment the red ball gag in your mouth. 

Peter flashed Bucky a mortified look. Bucky only sipped at his glass of beer, “Happy fucking birthday, kid,” Bucky beamed, “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

It wasn’t Peter’s birthday and he was definitely not feeling thankful. Peter watched as you struggled in your bondage, frightened tears staining your cheeks. “What the hell are you doing?” Peter asked, his teeth gritted in anger, “I-I didn’t ask you to do this.”

“What?” Bucky sounded offended, “It’s creative! Think of it as a welcoming gift. I know you want to fuck her so here’s your chance. Fuck her and get rid of her-”

Get rid of you?

Bucky was interrupted by a muffled scream which only caused him to roll his eyes, “Or fuck her and keep her, I don’t care.”

“No, no, I’m letting her go-” Before Peter could take a step forward, Bucky’s metal arm gripped his shoulder. 

You felt relieved only for a moment.  Bucky stepped in front of him, “I’ll fuck her then, no point in letting the opportunity go to waste.”

Peter’s heart stopped, “Mr. Barnes, please.”

“You do it or I will,” Bucky said firmly, “You’re smart and I want to keep you around but if you can’t … take a few fun risks then maybe you’re not the type of person that should work for me.” Bucky’s words settled over him. Peter thought about losing this opportunity and all the money that would come along with it. Looking into your teary eyes, Peter thought about how rough Bucky would be with you. Maybe he could explain that … Peter mentally cursed. 

Peter didn’t answer verbally, only pushed past Bucky, walking towards the bed. Peter felt a sudden rush of adrenaline as he stalked towards the bed, “That’s my boy,” Bucky spoke excitedly. He moved towards a lounge chair in the corner of the room, still taking swigs of his drink, “There’s no point in asking. If you want it, take it. Now put on a good show for your dear boss.”

Peter knew there was no going back now. He reached out to touch your arm, only to have you flinch away from his touch. Peter had imagined touching you for the first time and it was nothing like this. Peter turned that sadness to anger in order to fuel his adrenaline. 

Peter undid the ribbon around your ankles first. As soon as they were free, you were struggling against him. Peter was much stronger than you assumed and held you in place easily. Next, he moved to your gag, “Pl-Please don’t hurt me,” You begged, your voice hoarse. 

You saw something in his eyes similar to regret. Regret for the inevitable. As you shook your head, he said, “I won’t. Just … just don’t struggle,” He tried to assure you but as he moved your body over the edge of the bed, parting your legs and settling between them, you panicked again.

“Peter, please don’t.” He perked up at the sound of his name on your lips and you thought for a moment that you had gotten to him. He paused for a moment, only for a moment, before lifting his shirt above his head. He leaned his body over yours, his mouth brushing over your ear.

“Trust me, you don’t want him touching you. Just relax,” A shiver ran down your spine and you turned your head. Your scared eyes connected with Bucky’s and he smirked. It seemed the two of you were his sick entertainment for tonight. Your breathing was heavy but you tried to keep your muscles calm. 

You tried to convince yourself that Peter was the better option. He was your age and he didn’t have that evil look in his eyes. You hated that you preferred him. You hated that you were preferring this. 

Peter placed soft kisses along your collarbone and up the side of your neck. It baffled you that you got the feeling that he wanted to be gentle with you. You were ready to jump out of your skin when you felt your panties being moved to the side but you were interrupted by Peter’s lips crashing onto yours. 

Soon, you felt him at your entrance, teasing your opening. You gasped against his lips as he slowly sheathed himself inside of you. You wanted him away but you still found that your legs wrapped around him for support. 

Peter moved his lips against yours and you felt his own body shudder as your warmness wrapped around his length. He started to move in and out of you and it took you time to get used to the invading feeling. As Peter kissed your tear-stained cheeks, you bit down on your bottom lip. His pace quickened and wished desperately that your hands weren’t handcuffed behind you. 

“Y/N,” He grunted into your ear as he made long, deep strokes inside of you, “Fuck, I’m sorry… y-you feel so good.”

As he pushed deep inside of you, your head tilted back and a frustrated moan escaped from your throat. You hated that he was making you feel good too. You felt his hand running up your thigh  and then it was between your leg, slowly rubbing that sensitive bulb between your legs. That was enough to have you moving your hips against him. 

Bucky watched intently, the blood rushing to that area between his legs. He’d keep you in mind when he was deep inside Brock’s sister. 

“Ah, ah,” Peter kissed you, swallowing your moans as you both climaxed together. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Peter was supposed to finally gather the courage to ask for your number towards the end of the semester. You were supposed to text back and forth for a few weeks and then go on a few dates. You were supposed to fall for each other the natural way. 

Bucky had stolen all that. 

As Peter pulled up his pants, zipping them up, Bucky stood from his chair, “That was moving. Very romantic,” By his tone, Peter could tell the man was hoping for something for brutal. Peter scowled at his boss, “I knew deep down you were a ladies man-”

Peter interrupted, venom in his tone, “What do you want me to do now?”

Bucky only chuckled, “Nothing like some emotional trauma to toughen someone up,” He patted Peter’s shoulder as he made his way to the door, “Why don’t you buy her dinner and then take her home? You can take my car.”

“That’s fucking it? After all that?”

Bucky turned his head as his hand grabbed a hold of the doorknob, “She knows what’ll happen if she runs to the cops. Welcome to the team, Parker.”

+

hope you enjoyed!!

[lacharcutiere]

still [sawamura daichi]

1,6k words

previous | masterlist | next ➪

part eight of i’m gone i’m gone i’m gone miniseries. you can only put these things off for so long.

JST: japanese standard time (GMT +9). EST: eastern standard time (GMT -5). EDT: eastern daylight time (GMT -4).

tings // fluff, a little bit of angst, kinda suggestive at the end ?? // i swear this søng is abøut eating øut my best friend's pussy - cøzybøy // dm, ask or comment to be added to taglist ! minors dni.

☾𓆙𓂻

— JAPAN, SUMMER 2024.

the summer passes like this: you and daichi laughing too loudly in busy restaurants and train cars; having arms around each other in the back of taxis on the way home from clubs; making instant udon at three a.m.; walking up and down the neighborhood a hundred times; laying silently side by side and not needing to say anything. it's a routine, it's familiar—it's home.

a couple weeks before you're set to head back to new york, daichi asks you a question as you lay next to him on a blanket in your driveway, staring up at the stars.

"have you decided what your plans are after college?"

"i'm gonna come back here."

"i thought you wanted to go to grad school? you can do way better in the states, especially with a degree from columbia."

you roll onto your side so you can look at him better. "i know. but i've been away too long already. i miss you."

he gives you a little smile. "but i'm right here."

"right here is pretty fucking far from america."

"hm."

"hm."

that's the end of the conversation.

— 2 AUGUST 2024. 23:09 JST.

everything happens the exact same way it has for the past three years: he takes you to the airport. you try hard not to cry; you say your goodbyes. check-in, security, buy some candy to eat at the gate. board the plane. sixteen hours later, you're in america.

one thing was different, though.

when he said goodbye, his lips touched yours.

you don't stop thinking about it for weeks.

☾𓆙𓂻

— AUGUST TO NOVEMBER 2024.

slightly relieving is the fact that amid thesis writing and too many classes and working an internship under one of your professors (that one's nice, it even earns you enough to get a small apartment a few blocks from campus), there proves to be little time to be spent missing daichi.

you finesse your schedule to fit weekly facetimes on friday evenings (new york time) and shoot random texts back and forth about your day between classes and during meals, and without much space for anything else, it's enough. good things are worth waiting for, anyway.

— DECEMBER 2024.

but then winter sem break rolls around and there's no school so it's back to having too much lonely alone time with your thoughts. you write daichi a christmas card and drop it off at the post office. it's early this year, but oh, well.

☾𓆙𓂻

a week before christmas you receive a call from an unknown number. the phone speaker crackles when you accept the call.

“hello?”

“hey.” the voice on the other end is bright, smiley, accented. it’s tōru.

“tōru? what’s up?”

“i’m outside,” he says, “come down and meet me?”

you’re a little confused, but you decide to humor him. “uh, okay, give me a minute… do i need anything?”

“bring a coat, it’s cold out. i’ll be waiting down here.” the call ends.

a few minutes later you push through the doors of the building to be met with a brisk wind and tōru standing by a payphone, grinning.

“do you have your subway pass?”

you feel inside your pocket for it and nod.

“good,” he says. “come on, we’re in a hurry.”

“where are we going?”

“downtown.”

“ohhkay?”

he laughs. “‘s not anything you won’t like, promise.”

you follow him into the nearest subway entrance, lost in thought as you push through the barrier and step onto the train. it's only when he nudges you and says, "this is our stop," that you realize you've been looking at the ground the whole time.

tōru notices how absent you seem to be and asks, "are you okay?"

"i would be if i knew what was going on," you respond.

"yeah," he says, leading you up the stairs and into the terminal, "yeah, i think you will be."

you're in grand central. tōru asks if he can borrow your phone for a second. when he hands it back to you, he doesn't say anything, just takes you by the arm smiling widely and leads you into the fray of commuters that fill the station.

"tōru!" you groan, "can't you just tell me where we're going?"

"magnolia," he replies simply.

"we came all the way here just for coffee?"

"mhm."

"tōru!" he stops walking and turns back to you, trying and failing miserably to stop grinning for a second. "what the fuck?"

"come on," he says, "you'll like it."

"we've been here before! what's so special about—"

"you'll see."

☾𓆙𓂻

coffee in grand central is surprisingly good. it's also surprisingly expensive. ah, well, it's new york. new york has much more to offer than just overpriced cafés.

such as... this. such as a laughing man that leads a remarkably pissed-off looking girl by the arm, towards this stupidly good, stupidly overpriced café.

the pair are weaving through a stream of people, almost there, and then they're there, and the girl is looking much less agitated now. she looks somewhere between crying and wanting to run in the opposite direction. thank god, she chooses the former.

he loves you. so much.

☾𓆙𓂻

"daichi?" you mean it to be a scream but your voice cracks a little and it comes out airy.

he has the exact same look on his face that tōru's had this whole time. "hi."

"oh my god, what the fuck?"

"you said it was lonely, tōru told me maybe it would be nice for you to have a date for new year's, i had some extra money saved up. so i came."

"you— what?" you look back at tōru. "you planned this? just? last minute?"

"nah," daichi laughs, "no, i meant to come visit you for christmas a while ago. i already had tickets and everything, i was gonna tell you but then i got your card and figured it might be more fun if it were a surprise."

"oh my god." that's all you can think to say.

— CHRISTMAS 2024.

you can't even explain how good it feels to wake up and walk into the living room to find daichi asleep on your couch on christmas morning, how good it feels for it to not just be you. the whole time he's been here, though, you've forced yourself not to think about the fact that he's going back home in a week and a half, forced yourself not to do anything just yet. soon, though. just a few more months.

☾𓆙𓂻

when he wakes up, you're making coffee for the two of you.

"merry christmas," he says, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. he places a card on the counter in front of you. "open it."

its message is simple.

you do as it says.

"i, uh, haven't gotten you anything yet, but—"

"daichi," you laugh, "it's okay. and um, i may have also not been able to get you anything. also because i didn't know you'd be here."

"wait, wait, i'm not finished."

"okay?"

"what do you want to do after you're done this year of school?"

"i already told you," you say, "i'll move back home."

"no, what do you want to do? you want to go to grad school, right? continue studying here?"

"no, i just want to stop waiting." you sigh, a little frustrated. "i don't wanna have to keep putting this off, it's been—"

he cuts you off. "i'll be here."

"huh?"

"i'll be here. or wherever."

"i don't get it?"

you've always loved the way daichi's nose scrunches up when he smiles. "you're the one planning on studying more, not me. not immediately, anyway. i'll go with you."

"daichi."

"what?"

"you're fucking joking."

he laughs; you look so confused right now. "i'm not. promise."

"i don't even—"

"hey."

"hm?"

"think you can handle long-distance for five months?"

"uh—" you inhale sharply. "yeah."

"good," he says, "then we don't have to keep putting this off."

it's been five months since you last let your lips touch his. it still feels just like the first time it happened.

— 31 DECEMBER, 2023. 19:36 EST.

he tries not to let you pay for dinner, but in the end, you slip the waiter your card while daichi's in the bathroom. it's his birthday; it's your treat.

and after dinner, there's that new year's eve party that tōru's been going on about. it feels good, so good, not to be there alone. it feels good to watch the broadcast from downtown and count the seconds to midnight as daichi's arms are wrapped around you from behind. the clock reaches zero; daichi kisses you hard. you're both drunk on champagne.

you watch him smile across the room at tōru, who's got his girl on his arm. the two of them look happy, too. everything is warm.

— DEPARTURE: 3 JANUARY 2025. 08:15 EST.

daichi's asleep next to you when the alarm on his phone goes off. you'll miss not waking up next to him for the next five months, but at least that's all it will be.

he makes faces at you in the mirror as you both brush your teeth; keeps trying to tug your sweater off when you get dressed. you spend these thirty minutes laughing with him until it hurts. the two of you take the subway back to grand central; make out in a corner of the terminal while he waits for his train to jfk international to arrive.

"see you in may."

— 21 JANUARY 2025.

taglist: @sakruisin-thru @softetsurou @oligbia

[consumedkings-archive]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

[sugar-petals]

BTS Scenario: Taking Care of Them When They Have a Cold

↳ ♡ NOTE ⇁ time for fluff. autumn season is coming, let me set the mood right here, we’re going cozy 🍂

warnings ⚠️ hurt/comfort, brief mention of sexual tension

⌈jimin⌋ ⇢ Jimin’s cold is unusually subtle. In terms of visible signs, it’d take some time to notice it for someone who doesn’t know him or doesn’t check just how heavy another person’s breath is going. But feedback? You will definitely get. Compared to how he’s pouting about it, which will melt your heart is what I’m saying, the symptoms are understated in comparison to the other members. Taehyung’s cough can shatter an entire neighborhood, Jimin sneezing is as graceful as a gazelle. Mind you, his nose is runny, and the slight fatigue of the first two days isn’t negligible, but the major thing to actively mend is more psychological than physical. In other words, his body does its thing, you don’t have to overextend yourself. 

That’s what you have to figure out first to really take care of him properly. After laying him down and bringing both snacks and liquids, talking is what he needs rather than ten thousand types of medications and cool towels all over him. Jimin doesn’t want to see you become sick as well so you don’t sit up close, but at talking range, and you text a lot during the day while you work. He’s worried about not being able to practice and hopes the cold doesn’t show in his appearance. You assure him it takes five days at best and he is okay again and promise a lot of kisses. With that prospect, healing is even sweeter. And, you know the guy, Jimin misses seducing you, so.

⌈taehyung⌋ ⇢ Absolutely enjoys being babied ten times out of ten. Nothing better than you preparing a hot herbal bath. Rosemary, thyme, camomile. The steam spiraling off the water surface looks so relaxing in the candlelight, the classical music you put on sways him into a trance, he lays there for half an hour just motionless. He gets a little tray of coconut cookies on the bed stand, you play the guitar to him, you massage his feet before he sleeps… Which, and he hates admitting it, makes it nice to be sick. By all means not because of the fever, but the extra attentions, the hot chocolate for bed. Taehyung thinks about that twice and concludes something. He doesn’t want to get a cold just to receive this treatment. Not for his own health nor to worry or overwhelm you, he’s not gonna guilt-trip you into being a servant. 

So, you agree for later: It’s good to treat him sporadically just because, whenever and wherever, cue Shakira. That Taehyung so enjoys a good healing and mending time and it just explodes when you both have a reason to, that’s rather something to expand to the whole relationship. Taehyung will do the exact spoiling for you, with a romantic twist the way you know him. It doesn’t need a sickness to resort to doing nice things for your partner. At the end of the day, the body will remember it and get sick again because it sees what it gets through being ill. That’s something to squarely avoid doing, a random gesture is good for its own sake, amen.

⌈yoongi⌋ ⇢ Grumpy, murmuring, disgruntled he can’t work without getting a headache, needs a lot of silence to recover so he curls up on his own with earphones in and fifty playlists on repeat. He’s like tch, only thing I need is tiger balm to whip me back into shape. Or… wait. Wait a second. A cup of steaming hot coffee with extra foam he will not reject. Or a plate of fried rice. Anything fried and super crispy, really. Yoongi likes those things, especially when prepared by you. Nothing is more honoring. Actually? I’ll change the initial statement. Yoongi does accept some help. You simply gotta find out his catnip I mean favorite dishes and either know the place to order it from or have some kitchen basics down. Nothing super fancy though, it doesn’t need a God’s Menu. The right seasoning does the trick already. 

He wants it mega spicy, sweating out the cold is the way to go said Yoongi’s mom back in the day so he goes by that motto. Love starts in the stomach for felines. If another BTS member drops take-out at the door, even better, that uplifts him greatly. When he munches, that’s the most gratifying thing in the world. Yoongi wants you to eat with him by the bed so that means chili in the bedroom but screw it. All that food and you cranking up the heater distracts Yoongi from his cold and some head pats have him on his way to recovery. And, by the way. He’s kinda turned on by you cooking for him so… the frustration is real, you’re gonna fuck like rabbits once he’s okay again.

★ ⌈namjoon⌋ ⇢ The friendly giant will stay in denial about his cough for at least three days and walk around with way too much medicine in his system. He begs for someone to relieve him, mostly himself, but all those sky-high standards are in the way. Responsibility! Hard work and endurance! Solve it in your head! What is the spiritual reason for colds? How many pills keep you awake for an all-nighter to write an album in one go? What’s next on the schedule? So it goes on, you know the deal with Joonie. You have to kick that leader butt so he finally enters the healing cave under the sheets. Don’t kick too hard though, he doesn’t have Jimin-level cushions. He topples over into his sheets fast anyway, he’s that level of exhausted from his own suppression. 

The story goes on, Namjoon feels extremely guilty for getting pampered and still ponders the reasons why he is ill rather than slowing down a minute and closing his laptop for a hot second. It gets a little awkward unless you figure out your secret weapon. What he feels better with is you reading him stories while he rests on the sofa. I’m not kidding. Or if you’re busy or he wants to be alone, audiobooks. That input is like a lullaby to Namjoon who gets knocked out by the soft whispering only to descend into 12 hours of sleep. Ah, he’s namjooning. Yep. His cold will force him into resting, but by the time he recovers, he is six books wiser and has had the pleasure of listening to your voice which he finds soothing. Thankful he is, anticipate an expensive present and flowers.

★ ⌈jungkook⌋ ⇢ Meal and fluid intake: Quantity explosion! Wow, wow, and wow again, the sheer amount that he can snack and turn into what seems even more muscle and more sweetness. Guinness World Record. He knows his system is currently resetting, he wants to hand it the building blocks, he knows the math. Yes, even sick Jungkook is the cutest foodie in the world. Yes, he will eat his veggies. He worries about not being able to work out so you at least help him stretch his legs ever so slightly in bed. He’s missing his boxing gloves like crazy, he wants to see the members in the practice room, he wants his milk. The latter is easy to get for him, and FaceTime comes in handy. 

Namjoon does a little motivational speech, and Jungkook feels better almost instantly. Later on, you have to scold him — well, just a little bit — for getting up in all that enthusiasm to do some of his routine on the second day, but he already knows it’s not good for him to get his heart rate up like that. He patiently snuggles in a cocoon of duvets with only his eyes being visible. Until, finally, his red lil’ nose goes back to normal and his lungs feel a lot lighter. Jungkook really hates being dizzy, so it’s a weight off his hunky shoulders all right. Then, he can join you at the dinner table for a double portion of extra Parmesan Spaghetti, and you settle on the couch to bingewatch romantic animes and any Studio Ghibli movie in history.

★ ⌈jin⌋ ⇢ It simply can’t be helped, he even wants to make this funny. Humor really is a never-ending well, Jin is Spongebob’s long lost cousin if you go by his amount of meme talk. He calls himself Rudolph the Red-Nosed Jindeer, stuffs handkerchiefs into his nostrils, draws smileys on his knees with the cream usually meant for a dry philtrum (he now has very hydrated knees, how about that), does impossible contortions to find the right sleeping or reading position. Honestly, you don’t really have to take much care of him nor worry, Jin will cure himself through laughter. The power of positive emotion. Entertainment is nothing to provide for, he’s a one-man show after all. Jin is the least bored when he’s sick among the group, however! It needs someone else to exchange with, you know. No punchline without an audience. Listening is the best thing. 

Sit, lean back, see what he has to say. The only thing you gotta actively do is stop him from choking on his own spit after a particularly dead-on joke. Maybe it’s introducing some room for serious time that helps Jin enter a different track. I can imagine that. Some talk about memories, talk about sorrows and issues. Jin is a complete man, but he still has plenty of ’em, demons don’t evade handsome people. And those need to be talked through in a silent minute. Jin also enjoys movie nights with a cup of tea in one hand and syrup in the other, that’s the go-to way to unwind. You can finally go all out and pour him his tea, bake for him, serve some self-made popcorn, extra sticky and sweet, oh yum.

★ ⌈hoseok⌋ ⇢ If Jimin and Hobi ever get colds at the same time, this will be the poutiest contest. They’re the most vocal about it in the group. Hoseok, and that will come to surprise you a little, becomes needy. Not at the beginning where he’s confused and emotional about what’s going on with him (someone who works this hard and needs a fully functioning body is thrown out of their lane even by the slightest symptom), but shortly after. You’ll come to understand how sensitive his body is, almost as perceptive as Jungkook’s actually. His body blows up with a strong fever, a hot man heating up even more is just an explosion of physics. 

He needs handkerchiefs, he needs tons of water, he needs music to distract him a little, he needs a heating blanket for his feet once the fever is gone. Granted, every sick person depends on those things, but Hoseok is someone who calls out of the bedroom often because he ran out. He’s not afraid to ask for things unlike Namjoon who would refuse out of overt politeness. You certainly have a lot to do because his cold comes in strong so it’s important you enjoy taking care of him and don’t do it out of obligation. Quality time is what we’re talking about here. It’s not about you doing the things, it’s about the presence. That’s why Hoseok will use his money well and always order proper take-out that’s not just classic fast food, you don’t have to cook or anything.

related: putting bts to sleep after a hard day 

© 2017-2020 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed.

[javisjeanjacket]

Circles : A Mamma Mia! AU - (javi gutierrez x reader)

PART ONE

A/N: this is based solely off of the press photos from the uwomt behind the scenes, so I'm sure the characterization won't be canon once the movie comes out but hey, thats fiction baby😌✌🏻

If we like this, I have more parts that I could write, I just wanted to get a feel for how many of you wanted Javi G content! 

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: non-descript smut, light choking, kissing, weird campy writing?, cursing

The sun burned hot on your skin underneath the cover of the ocean side trees. The sand below your bodies was scorching, but the stinging heat of the minute granules didn't compare to the white hot passion crackling and thumping in your veins. You could taste the salt in the air from the waves lapping at the shoreline. Your emotive cries mixed with the seagulls cawing to keep the two of you hidden from everyone but yourselves.

Javi's wide palm wrapped around your neck, his fingers intertwining with the gold necklaces he had bought for you earlier in the week and putting firm pressure on your throat.

The jewelry pulled against your quivering skin as his hand flexed around the column of your neck, sending a delicious ripple of pain and pleasure down your spine.

His face was tucked into the curve of your neck, his breath awakening each pore as it fanned upon it and his mustache sending off tiny explosions on your skin. "One sip from Aphrodite's fountain." He whispered, tugging the end of your earlobe in between his teeth as he chuckled.

You moaned as your back arched up from the hot sand, your arm reaching up to claw at his back and-

Your alarm blared in your small bedroom and you awoke with a start. The heat of the sun and of dream Javier, faded from your skin. 

With a deep sigh, you allowed the dream to float out of your mind and up to the blue-painted dome ceiling. You ran a defeated hand over your face and stretched your groggy limbs.

~~~~~~

Your day trekked on-wards, but your mind was stuck trying to water down and digest the feelings your dream had brought back to you. It had been years since you had seen Javier Gutierrez, five to be exact, and there was no reason that he should have been something other than a quick 'What a wild two weeks it's been! Javi and I danced on the beach, and we kissed on the beach, and we...all over the beach' in your journal.

But he hadn't been.

With his perfectly tanned skin and the shimmer of his golden rings, he had become stuck in your memory for the better part of five years. The want of him served as the only string that pulled you to think farther than the island. The fantasy of the life you could have had with him, or he with you, carried you through your days, a welcome distraction to the mundane toil and grind of running a tourist hotel.

You fiddled with your breakfast at the makeshift break room table; a lousy portion of eggs, bread, and sauteed vegetables taking up your plate. Sighing heavily and looking down at the cold coffee at the bottom of your mug, your mind began to replay your memories of Javi and the summer you shared. You remembered the weight of his hand in yours and how safe you had felt in his arms. 

Just then, an employee called your name from the lobby, and with a quick swig of the coffee at the bottom of your mug, you stood from the break room table and replied, "Be right there!"

~~~~~~~

Javier Gutierrez did not get nervous. His business demanded that he remain forever stoic, calculating before emotive, strategic before impulsive. Nevertheless, as his Tom Ford's crossed the threshold into the brightly colored tourist hotel, a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and tickled his golden skin. His dark eyes searched the bustling hotel for the face he knew so well, the one he had taken apart and put back together over and over again in his mind for years since he had last seen it. But, to his dismay, you were nowhere to be found.

Letting out a deep sigh, he moved through the lobby and to the front desk. "Javier Gutierrez." He said with a tight lipped smile.

"You're checking in?" The frizzy-haired woman behind the counter asked, flashing him a doe-eyed smile.

He nodded and shook his golden watch in agitation. He looked quickly behind him, a motion he most often used to keep himself from danger, but now instead, to keep himself from missing the sight of you.

The receptionist’s cheeks rouged and she turned her face from him, bashfulness overwhelming her small form. She bent down to the desk and scribbled something on a piece of paper before tearing it away from the whole and tucking it in her hand.

Javi leaned against the desk and looked over her as she searched for his name in the computer. He pulled his lips into his mouth before asking for you by name.

"Oh, yeah." The receptionist answered, turning from him to retrieve his room key from it's spot in the lock box fastened to the wall. "She's the manager here. I just saw her a second ago..." The young woman trailed off, looking past the counter and into the rancorous lobby for you. "I'm not sure where she is," The receptionist said, turning back to him. "But, if you're looking for some company while you're here, here's my number." She slipped his room key and a scrap of paper into Javi's large hand.

The kingpin took the key and the paper from her and quirked the side of his lips upwards. "I appreciate it." He looked into her ocean-colored eyes and nodded, leaving her to sulk for the rest of her day behind the front desk.

Javi maneuvered his way through the busy lobby, clutching the strap of his bag and hopping up the brightly tiled stairway to the rooms and hopefully, to an elevator. His shoes struggled to gain traction on the unevenly sanded floor, its glossy finish not helping in the slightest.

A crowd of women passed him, each set of eyes flicking to his, roaming over the scandalous bare chest his shirt left exposed, and the way the expensive fabric tightened around the bulge of his biceps. Lingering on the wave of his chestnut-colored hair and the blonde streaks hidden between the folds of brown.

Javi nodded as he passed them and smiled to himself, his eyes still searching for an elevator or at least a sign to point him towards the penthouse.

~~~~~~~~

Your tongue stuck out from the side of your mouth and you grunted as you pulled the wrench as hard as you could to one side. With a heavy sigh, you threw your head back in frustration and moved both of your hands to your hips, cursing under your breath.

"Stupid fucking light fixture."  You whispered to yourself.

Most tourists didn't want to shell out the money to stay in a penthouse for a week-long vacation to Greece, and for a moment you considered leaving the upsetting broken fixture and your frustration behind, but a family was flying in to have a big wedding, and you reasoned that they would want to let the bride stay in the penthouse for at least one night, surely.

You clicked your tongue and huffed in frustration before bracing yourself on the rickety ladder and reaching out try and loosen it once more.

"Hello?" A voice said from behind you.

You stopped mid-motion and furrowed your eyebrows. Your lips parted and the demanding light fixture no longer held your focus.

The sound of the voice was just as you remembered it to be. Deep and luxurious with a twinge of gravel. Like a velvet blanket wrapped around pebbles from the shoreline near the hotel. Your heart leapt with possibility.

'Could he?'  You thought to yourself, but then stopped. It had been five years, surely it's wouldn't be him. Surely. 'Could he have come back for me?'  The thought finished itself all the same and you had to stop your hands from shaking as you turned on the ladder to face the man in the doorway.

The shape of his face hit you like a punch to the gut. His stubble and the mustache he kept so perfectly trimmed, the curve of his nose and the shocking intensity of his eyes. His hair was longer now, wavy and curly at the base of his neck. 

Just looking at him pulled a whimper from your throat. 

He had grown broader and stronger with age, but it was still Javier Gutierrez who stood before you.

The two of you grew still there, falling deeper and deeper into the other, completely undisturbed by the need to return his hello, to climb down from your ladder, or for him to set his bag on the ground. Not with the two so close to becoming one again. Like the crash of the waves on the shore, you felt the memory of him come rushing back into you, overwhelming your beating chest and thundering across your whirring mind. You felt his arms, secure and so long awaited, you remembered the wind whipping across your skin and Javi's mouth on your shoulder. The feeling of his heavy hand as it pushed into yours, the sand around the two palms shifting to accommodate the passion surging through the granules. The taste of his mouth revived itself in yours, subtle like honey, but raw and alive like the berries he was so fond of.

With a sudden crash, the troublesome light fixture fell to the floor below your ladder, cracking and splintering into hundreds of pieces.

You both jumped at the sound, the gaze of the other having fully enraptured each of you. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and began to step down the ladder.

Javi was quick to move towards you, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag to the floor on his way. "Careful." He said, extending his hand as he stepped carefully in between the shards of wood and broken bulbs.

Your heartbeat thumped behind your eyes as you descended the ladder and you worked to squelch the shudder in your chest when you allowed your hand to touch his once more, the tanned palm warm and wide and strong. The power and passion raging through the veins beneath yours snapped and beckoned to you, as if his very skin was aching for your touch.

You let out a soft hum at the contact and Javi's eyelashes fluttered slightly. He allowed his face to twinge upwards slightly; a smile playing bashful. He kicked the broken fixture's pieces out of your way, keeping your hand tight in his own as you stepped off the ladder and walked to ground that was unperturbed by the scattered chunks of wood. His golden and jeweled rings pained your hand, but the pain in your palm meant that it was in fact, Javier's hand that you were holding. And Javier's hand was worth a bit of pain.

Standing now with him in front of you, the years past suddenly were brought to the present.  

He kept your hand in his as it dropped to his side. "You work here now?" He asked, his voice slick with emotion and his gaze devastating.

You dropped your eyes from his dark ones and smirked, "No, I just fix every light fixture I can find."

The kingpin chuckled, a inviting and seductive sound, one that filled his entire chest and compelled the listener to ascend upwards with him.  

"I wanted to call you," You began, your voice warbling under his presence. "but I thought it was a long shot that you'd even reply." You took in a deep breath as you ended, "But I knew something would bring you back to me, a siren's song maybe."

"A siren's song?" Javi smiled, his cheeks filling. He dropped your hand from his and moved a palm to your cheek, the golden rings still warm from the touch of you.

You gasped softly as his thumb drug down your lips and chin.

He shook his head, a caramel-colored curl falling to frame his ravishing features. "No. No one else brought me back here but you. You're someone worth coming back for."

Heat began to pool in your stomach and you licked your lips as his hand moved down towards your neck, intertwining slowly with the golden necklaces glittering there.

"Javi..." You whispered, your dream suddenly replaying in your mind.

He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows, taking in a deep breath as he looked over you. His mind could not process your return to him, how could he have been so lucky? The most precious thing he had ever found, he had somehow loved and lost and now, in some wondrous twist of fate, he had been given a second chance. "Can I kiss you?" He whispered, his eyes shackling yours in an iron grip.

You swallowed and felt your heart leap at his request. You nodded meekly and moaned just before his lips found yours, the pressure and heat of them instantly knocking your knees out from under you and the wind out of your chest. You placed your palms on his chest, your thumbs running softly back and forth over his exposed skin.

His hands moved up from your neck to cradle your jaw. His mustache tickled your sensitive skin and the taste of him was quick to overwhelm your senses- sweet, warm, and wet.

You let one of your hands wander up from his chest to clutch the curls at the base of his neck, the feeling of his hair in between your fingers starting up a kaleidoscope of memories in your mind.

Javi moved one hand to your hip and he pulled you to meet his body. He hummed into your kiss and the vibration sent a tingle down you and the feeling bubbled and popped in your abdomen. With his broad frame, he stepped towards you, pushing the pair of you back towards the wall behind you. The kingpin reached out and slammed the penthouse door closed as the pair of you passed by it, his hands quickly moving back to cup your face.

“Of course you’re staying in the penthouse.” You sneared in between gasping  kisses. 

“I was,” He replied, then moved his lips from yours to suck a bruise onto your neck. “Until the manager dropped a light fixture in my room.” 

You let out a laugh filled with lust and wrapped your arms around the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

“Guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay now.” The man teased, his dark eyes flicking up to look into yours.

“There’s room in my bed if you want it.” You answered, your back arching against the wall and your eyes fluttering closed.

Javi hummed on your skin and nipped at your chin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

JAVI G TAGLIST: @oloreaa @filthybookworm (I just assumed y'all wanted a tag, lemme know if not lol!)

GENERAL TAGLIST: @softly-sad @over300books @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell

[amedetoiles]

In another installment of things I should absolutely not be adding to my already large collection of unfinished google docs, I once more have absolutely no self control, so about that post on wedding planner!WWX.....

Set in the same verse as this. Very on brand of me to start writing a sequel for a fic I have yet to finish. Post-canon, post-reconciliation, and WQ is alive because I say so.

---

In retrospect, Jiang Cheng probably should have predicted this.

Jiang Cheng has grown up with Wei Wuxian. He knows exactly the level of ridiculousness his brother can reach. Nearly all of his childhood was dedicated to learning this exact fact. Compounded with that is how fully Wei Wuxian always throws himself into any project that catches his brother’s attention. For a long time, that had been a-jie’s wedding.

All those late nights he and Wei Wuxian had spent planning together, mapping out detailed seating charts, and designing elaborate challenges for the groom. Wei Wuxian, practically delirious with childish excitement, had proposed and demanded in equal measure extravagance after extravagance because their sister only deserved the very best in the world.

Even still, Jiang Cheng can’t say that he had expected exactly... this.

Three days after Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing tell their family about their betrothal, Wei Wuxian bursts into Jiang Cheng’s office mid-morning, his hair still uncombed and sticking out in multiple directions. His arms are full of scrolls, which he proceeds to unceremoniously dump across Jiang Cheng’s desk.

Wei Wuxian ignores Jiang Cheng’s indignant squawking and speaks rapidly, all of his words running together, and practically vibrating on his feet with a frenzy that brings Jiang Cheng abruptly back to their childhood, laying on the floor of their shared room with scrolls strewn all around them and listening while Wei Wuxian raves enthusiastically about his latest idea for a challenge.

Lan Wangji stands at the doorway, alternating between looking worried that Wei Wuxian might asphyxiate with how fast he is speaking and giving Jiang Cheng a look that says this is under no uncertain terms completely Jiang Cheng’s fault as usual.

(In the three years since his brother married Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji have formed an extremely respectful and productive relationship of tolerating each other’s presence for the exact minimum duration it takes to make Wei Wuxian happy. It is still too long for either of them.)

“The Mao and Guo sects are still feuding so they need to be seated as far apart as possible,” Wei Wuxian is saying, barely pausing for breath as he flits from topic to topic with a speed that leaves Jiang Cheng feeling faintly dizzy. “Fan shushu says he will share his recipe for Qing-jie’s xi bing. The head of the lotus harvesters will arrange to have water lilies transported from the southern borders. I have some designs for the invitations that you and Qing-jie can take a look at. And – Oh!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up suddenly with an unholy fervor that has never, ever boded well for Jiang Cheng, and then Wei Wuxian turns, calls I have to go! over his shoulder, and leaves as quickly as he came. Lan Wangji makes sure to shoot Jiang Cheng one final accusatory glare before following after his husband because Wei Wuxian couldn’t have married someone that wasn’t a huge petty bitch.

Jiang Cheng sits, shocked still, his desk looking like a storm had blown by, and stares at the empty space where his brother was just standing.

He may have slightly miscalculated.

---

A month later, Jiang Cheng contemplates taking Wen Qing and running away to a deserted mountain. (Who says Wei Wuxian is the only one allowed to do that anyway? At least his mountain won’t be prone to murder.)

He won’t of course. He is the Jiang sect leader, and since his birth, his wedding has always been expected to have the pomp and circumstance befitting that of a leader of a great sect. He would never run out on that responsibility no matter how fucking crazy Wei Wuxian is driving him.

But Jiang Cheng does think about it, very wistfully.

He even brings it up half-seriously with Wen Qing one morning after a disciple comes to inform him that Wei Wuxian had had his schedule completely cleared without Jiang Cheng’s knowledge or permission. Jiang Cheng is now expected to meet his brother at the gate in a quarter shichen’s time for who knows what because his brother is as obnoxiously forthcoming as he has always been.

Wen Qing laughs at him because she is terrible, and he has clearly made a huge mistake.

She also presses a light kiss to his cheek and promises to threaten Wei Wuxian with needles later if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and rest before leaving to have tea with Luo Qingyang because she’s also pretty fantastic, and Jiang Cheng has made the best decision of his life.

Even if it means standing in the middle of the tailor shop while Wei Wuxian darts around him like a deranged bird, dangling various fabric samples in front of Jiang Cheng, frowning for some obscure reason he doesn’t deign to tell Jiang Cheng because who cares what Jiang Cheng thinks about his own wedding, tossing the piece of fabric onto the growing no pile, and then picking up yet another.

On the eleventh turn of this, Jiang Cheng feels a sharp throb against his temple and takes a deep slow breath, then another, and another, so he doesn’t scream, or strangle his brother with the fabrics.

“You do realize that this is my fucking wedding?” Jiang Cheng growls with frustration.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, nodding in a way that feels like he’s actually taking Jiang Cheng seriously even as he picks up yet another fabric sample. Jiang Cheng bites his tongue to keep himself from shouting and glares.

Wei Wuxian continues before Jiang Cheng can speak (yell), moving to hold the fabric against Jiang Cheng’s face, “But you’re my little brother.”

Jiang Cheng blinks, opens his mouth and then closes it. His throat feels suddenly inexplicably tight. An embarrassing warmth expands rapidly beneath his rib cage, and he thinks he might actually choke on it.

He looks at the fabric instead of his brother’s face because he will not cry. The red silk is a shade lighter than Wei Wuxian’s customary color and of exceptionally high quality. (That Wei Wuxian has been choosing from the most expensive of silks has not escaped Jiang Cheng’s attention. He has been trying and failing to not have feelings about this.) The patterning is beautiful, the soft, gentle swirls reminiscent of the lakes surrounding Yunmeng.

It isn’t something Jiang Cheng would have chosen on his first glance through. It is, he realizes with a swoop in his stomach, something a-jie might have picked out.

Jiang Cheng has, until now, avoided thinking too hard about all the empty spaces at his wedding, still riding the steady wonder that fills him every time he looks at the comb tucked neatly against Wen Qing’s hair. And after these last few years of having his brother beside him again, of their misshapen family relearning to fit together with all its new pieces, it is almost, almost, unfamiliar to feel that old aching loss rise within him.

He wonders how much of Wei Wuxian’s frenzied insanity is because he is feeling it too.

After all, Jiang Cheng remembers the months of spreading himself thin between sect obligations and wedding preparations, of tracking down the finest fabrics and jewelry that Jiang and Jin gold could buy in between meetings and conferences, of trying and trying and trying to make up for an absence that creased the edges of a-jie’s eyes in sorrow, even when she stood, radiant in red and gold on her wedding day.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice and gaze softening with concern.

Jiang Cheng swallows several times, his eyes prickling along with his nose, and he stares at the spot above Wei Wuxian’s head. You don’t have to do this, he wants to say. You don’t need to do this. “It isn’t atrocious I guess,” is what comes out.

Even in his periphery, he can see Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle with a familiar fondness. His brother nods and lays the fabric gently down on what Jiang Cheng supposes is now the yes pile.

“As expected of Jiang zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says in a teasing tone that he only uses when he wants to piss off Jiang Cheng.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says swiftly, without any heat. Then, adds, “Yiling Laozu.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and shoves him. “Fuck off,” he says, but he’s smiling as he turns and picks up the next sample, and Jiang Cheng feels his own lips curve in an answering smile.

Okay, he thinks. Okay. He can do this.

He can let his brother have this. Maybe they can both have this.

[alreadyblondenow]

Moments of Impact

Yuta x reader // SMUT, ANGST, fluff?, college student! Yuta, camboy! Yuta, virgin reader Summary: You got in an accident and Yuta waits for you to wake up. While waiting for you, he can’t stop thinking about the good times you’ve had together.  Word Count: 6k Warnings: Sad ending, swearing, explicit mature themes, mentions of motorcycle accident, mentions of other idols, virginity loss Note: I have a few notes, hihi.  - Everything italic and indented are flash backs. There are date stamps you won’t get lost. -This story is inspired by my favorite movie The Vow, if you haven’t watched it yet I’d definitely recommend it. It’s a beautiful film, inspired by true events.  -Another inspiration for this story is Forgotten written by @upinthestarsx3​ I will never forget that beautiful fic, so please go check it out!  -Again, I apologise in advance if there misplaced words, etc. 

Pulling up the blanket to keep himself warm, trying to fit his long legs on the small couch, forcing himself to get some sleep amidst the noice of busy nurses and doctors talking to people, Yuta tries so hard to get some rest. After doing two jobs everyday, Yuta always stays in the hospital lounge so somehow you can feel his presence. At least that’s what he thinks.

You’ve been in a coma for 3 weeks already but for Yuta it felt like its been years. He constantly blames himself for where you are now, blaming himself for not taking care of you enough. As much as he wanted to tell you “I told you so” he would rather want you to wake up and hold you.

He felt someone tap his shoulder while he’s staring at the blank ceiling. It’s your brother Mark, offering him some cheap tea from the hospital’s cafeteria. Mark is the only person in your family that he can talk to, maybe it’s because Mark was like a brother to Yuta. From the moment you introduced Yuta to your family, they quickly disagreed to your relationship. They thought Yuta corrupted you and that he’s using you for your money. After the accident, they were so mad at Yuta telling him he cant see you anymore. Of course Mark defended Yuta but he couldn’t change the decision of his parents. Now the rest of your family is mad at him, not letting him see you even after the surgery.

“Any good news?” Yuta asks Mark.

Mark shook his head, “at least she’s still pretty while she’s sleeping” Mark gets his phone and shows Yuta a picture of you sleeping soundly in the hospital bed. It hurt him.

In years of being with you, Yuta loved seeing you sleeping beside him or when you passed out on the couch after watching a movie. But this time, he never thought he would hate that you’re sleeping now. He closed his eyes letting his tears fall, remembering good memories of you sleeping.

3 YEARS OF BEING TOGETHER

It was a cold morning and you are snuggled beside Yuta, enjoying his warmth and his soft skin on you. Sleeping naked after having sex was not the best idea but you love how the both of you shivers under the thick duvet. Yuta pull up the covers over your head making the bed warmer, hugging you closer and kissing your exposed shoulders.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” you teased him, hovering your leg on his side caressing his soft butt cheek.

Not saying a word, Yuta’s other hand intertwined with your free hand, while his other hand roams around your body, softly and slowly. You can feel his touch on your leg, drawing small circles with the tip of his fingers. Teasing and slowly going up to your waist and back, whispering praises how soft your skin is while his eyes are closed. You didn’t miss how he’s touching your breast carefully not to hurt you or make you sensitive.

“Sleep. I’ll see you in the morning beautiful” he whispers softly behind your ear.

After the accident, Yuta’s life turned upside down. The life he had with you was a life full of happiness even though you both have personal struggles. Unlike you, Yuta is not rich. He came from a good family in Japan, but not rich enough to provide money for both  school and other expenses. You offered him a deal one day, where he can’t actually refuse. You told him you can provide food for the both of you and the rent money, so he can focus on saving up for his college tuition. He agrees, taking your offer and he pays you back by loving you deeper everyday.

You didn’t made that deal just for the sake of being domestic, but you made that deal because you hated the idea of different girls having sex with your man. Yuta was a camboy before you came into his life, a rather popular one. Knowing that he’s having sex with different girls around the campus or with a specific someone and then coming home to you smelling like a stranger, hurts. It’s not that you’re against with the industry he’s on, but what if one day you can’t provide what Yuta wants in bed and he became sexually frustrated because of you? You always fight whenever Yuta goes live and have sex in front of many people. He always says “baby the sex I have with those girls were for money. It’s my work. No love.” Usually the fight went on for days and Yuta is the one who always accepts defeat.

Now that you’re not present at the moment, he didn’t have much choice but to go back on being a camboy. Reminiscing all the fights you’ve have regarding this issue, Yuta thought he would rather fight with you everyday just so he can hear your voice again. Being a camboy can provide all of his needs. Food for everyday, pay for the rent, money for his college fees and your hospital bills.

“Dude, my family is packed. Crazy rich. Really you don’t need to chip in money for the hospital bills.” Mark nagged Yuta when he found out Yuta was the one who payed for some of your hospital expenses.

“But I want to” is all Yuta can say as defense to Mark. “Anyway Mark, thanks for the talk. I have to go to work now.”

“Work as in…” Mark questions Yuta, giving him a look. Yuta nods, knowing all too well that Mark knew that he came back to the sex industry.

“Ugh! Dude! She’s gonna be pissed when she wakes up” Yuta waves goodbye at Mark leaving him at the hospital lounge.

On his way to the hotel where he’s going to “work” he saw these cheap chocolates you always loved and decided to buy one, with the hope that maybe you would wake up today so he could hand you the chocolate. Yuta was never a fan of chocolates, but this chocolate is delicious and this is the only chocolate he could eat. But the thing he loves the most about this chocolate is its the reason how you two met.

THE NIGHT YOU MET

It was Jaehyun’s house party and Yuta was bored to death so he decide to creep in Jaehyun’s kitchen and eat anything he could find. He was hoping to see something instant that he could cook easily without catching too much attention in the kitchen. After looking for some time, he gave up and decided to look for snacks instead. He found this chocolate wrapped in gold on the table near the beers. So annoyed that Jaehyun’s house does not have anything instant, he’s not very happy that he found a chocolate and not something that will give him a good burp. To his surprise, it was fucking delicious.

“Who fucking ate my chocolate?” you screamed trying to be heard under the loud party music. “I left it here. I was just getting a cup, then it was gone” you were practically screaming in front of your brother Mark.

Yuta felt guilty because he basically stole your chocolate. He made his way out of the party and went to the nearest store and tried to look for the exact same chocolate. Not knowing how to approach you, Yuta was nervous not to mention he got intimidated by your beautiful looks. Waiting for the perfect timing, he follows you around the party waiting for you to be alone so he could talk to you. But instead, he admires how you look good in that dress, how your hair follows your every move, your smile can light up the party, your laugh is like music to his ears. He didn’t notice he’s growing a little crush on you.

After three bottle of beers, the chocolate stays in his pocket while he chats with his friends. You notice that he’s following you around, stealing a glance from time to time, you decided to follow him when he went to the bathroom.

You waited for him to come out, and by the time he does you were somehow amazed by how beautiful he is. Fair skin, pointy nose, his hair looks softer than yours.

“I swear I didn’t mean to eat it” Yuta blurted out.

“Eat what? Sorry. I was just going to ask you why are you following me?”

He gave you a beautiful smile, one that you will never forget. He handed you the chocolate, his cheeks are turning red and his eyes somehow got smaller. You wanted to shout at him, show him your rage but his smile somehow calmed you down. “You ate it?”

“Yeah. But I went out to buy you a new one. I’m sorry. If this isn’t enough I could-“

“Ask me out” you didn’t know where that bravery come from but it felt good. You can feel your heart beating so fast, your chest could explode any minute.

And he did. For Yuta, it was the best decision he made in his fucked up life. For you, Yuta was the cherry on top of your colorful life already. Both of your worlds were completely different but you didn’t have second thoughts on giving up the world you used to know for him. Same goes for him, he made you the sun and moon of his life. You’ve been together for four beautiful years, ready to graduate from college in a couple of days and finally go to Japan to meet Yuta’s parents, stay there for a couple of months and get married with or without permission from your parents. That was the plan. Leave everything behind and live in Japan for good.  

But the accident happened.

“Hey” Charlotte snaps her fingers in front of Yuta, bringing him back to reality.

He sees Charlotte already half naked wearing only her lingerie. “Sorry. I haven’t have enough sleep” Yuta proceeds to take off his shirt.

Assembling the camera to go live in a few minutes, he tries to gather himself and focus on his work. He has been having sex with a heavy heart so his performance was a little down lately, but today he plans on putting up a show to raise more money.

Yuta was an animal in bed, but he is always gentle to you whenever you have sex. Not very vanilla, he still chokes you and spanks you from time to time whenever he’s in the mood to have rough sex. But he doesn’t degrade you and call you a slut which you think is hot. Even though you hate his last job, you still think he’s good at what he does because he’s always great in bed. That’s why you never want to share him with anyone.

Graduation came in, Yuta’s parents finally came and they were excited to meet you. Yuta didn’t have the choice but to be honest with his parents and that he’s not going back to Japan with them as planned. It broke their heart but they understood that Yuta is struggling too.

After graduation, Mark somehow convinced his parents to let Yuta visit you, it was a tough battle but Mark made it possible. He was so happy that he can finally hold your hand again and be beside you while he waits for you to wake up. You didn’t know but you graduated with honors and Yuta was the one who came up on stage to get your awards.

“Baby, at least I get to experience receiving an award even though its not mine” he laugh while his tears fall continuously. He was admiring all your hard work over the years reminiscing some moments, reminding you all the sleepless nights you’ve had, every project you needed to redo, Yuta witnessed it all. He was so proud of you but he couldn’t show it enough because of your current state. “Graduation was sadder than I thought, Imagine I wouldn’t have to see Jaehyun and Johnny’s face everyday. I never thought I’d miss those fuckers” Yuta was tucking you in bed, making sure your comfortable before leaning closer to you, lips almost touched. “Congratulations to us baby, we made it” and he kissed you sweetly, careful but full of love.  

Yuta continued to visit you in the hospital and he tries being with you as much as he can. Talking to you about almost everything even though you still show no response, for him it’s better than staying silent. He finally talked about how he got back to being a camboy again because life was hard for him when you got into the accident, but he’s finally looking a job as a college graduate and talks about it proudly.

He was so used on taking care of you, the nurses were surprised that Yuta was the one cleaning you with a warm damped towel and changing your clothes whenever he can. Of course the nurses thought Yuta was cute.

As time goes by, your parents saw the sincerity of Yuta towards you. All Yuta did was love you like he normally does even though you’re still in deep sleep. With that, Yuta didn’t expect your parents to be moved by his gestures and how he takes care of you. It was a bold move for your parents to talk to Yuta in front of you sleeping, hoping that you could hear every word they said to Yuta. “Baby, did you hear that? All is well now. We can finally get married without hurting your parents” he left a kiss on your left hand. Still no response.

One fine day of looking after you in the hospital, Yuta decided to take a peak at your journal out of curiosity. “Baby, I’m sorry I’m reading your journal now. Its just I’m so bored and I miss you so much” as he flips through the pages his eye caught this special day or rather fun night with you that he will never forget. It was the night when you two had sex for the first time, and the night Yuta took your virginity. He reads it with enthusiasm letting out soft and loud laughs whenever he reads something funny that you wrote. “I was tired, but I want Yuta to feel good” he read it out loud, the exact words written in your diary. “Baby, I wish I could turn back time just to tell you, you didn’t have to” he said while petting your head and goes back to reading.  

2 MONTHS OF BEING TOGETHER

“What do you mean you’re a virgin?” Yuta teases you pretending that he doesn’t know that you’re still a virgin.

“Stop teasing or I’ll bite your dick off”

Yuta was still laughing because you were cute, “okay okay. easy” he pulled you close. “Mark told me actually” you shrugged by the thought of your own brother betraying you.

“You’re going to be the first and last dick I’ll be having. It sucks not being your first tho.”

“Someday, you’ll be my last” Yuta intertwined your hands on his and kissed you deeply like you always want to. But the first word that he said, still lingers in your mind. Someday. Maybe he really needed to work that’s why he can’t leave his job yet.

You pull away from his kiss, biting your lower lip while stroking his. You’ve been meaning to say that you wanted to have sex with him and you decided it has to be tonight. “I know you’ve been wanting to have sex with me” you breathed deeply, “and now I’m ready” Yuta cant believe what he just heard but it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dreaming for this moment to happen. “You sure about this? It’s not that I don’t want to- Fuck I’ve been waiting for this to happen. But we’ve only been together for 2 months. I don’t want to rush you or anything”

Everything you heard from him is plain sweet. You can’t stop blushing and you couldn’t hide it either. He noticed that you’re being shy for a moment but he loves teasing and tickling you until you’re out of breath. While he was tickling you and kissing your neck at the same time, he absentmindedly touched your clothed pussy. You felt it through your thin shorts and you let out a gasp because of what he did. You two never went further than first base because you’re still this innocent girl in Yuta’s eyes and he respects that. “Sorry- uh, fuck I didn’t mean to touch it without your consent. It’s just, maybe because of my work baby. My hands are used to do it automatically-“ Yuta was rambling already but you were just looking at him with loving eyes. “Do it again?” you asked him spreading your legs a little. Hesitantly, he came closer to you slowly, caressing your exposed legs, asking for consent to put his hand inside your shorts. You nod.

It was a feeling like no other, you thought. One touch of Yuta’s finger on your wet slit made your eyes closed and pulling closer to him. Grinding your hips with his finger inside you, Yuta thought you weren’t innocent as he thought you could be.

He hovers on top of you making you aroused and needy enough to get wet. Kissing you softly and biting you from time to time. You keep your hands lock on his long hair, giving it soft pulls that made him moan. Whispering soft i love yous whenever you have enough air in your lungs.

Slowly peeling his clothes and your clothes off, you felt kind of shy when he got you on your bra and laced panties. He continues to kiss you softly and deeply, cupping your cheeks and drawing circles along your back.

“Just promise me, you’ll make me stop if something hurts. okay?”

“I promise”

Yuta unclasp your bra and slowly teased your left boob using his point finger. Careful not to touch your nipples yet, it makes you frustrated and needy enough. Kissing the valley between your breast, down to your abdomen, he removes your panties slowly his eyes not leaving yours. Blowing his hot breath on your soaked pussy, Yuta takes his time kissing your inner thighs and blowing on your entrance again and again, enjoying how you react on his teasing.

Parting your folds with his left hand and drawing circles using his right hand, you feel your pussy get soaked even more because of what Yuta is doing. You thought you could cum here and then but the moment he finally puts his tongue on your pussy, it felt so good you wanted to savour the feeling. When he finally see that you’re relaxing, he inserts his middle finger while licking slowly against you pussy. Adding another finger he makes sure you’re wet enough for his cock.

“Baby do you have anything in mind? Anything you want?” Yuta asks hovering you again while still playing with your soaked pussy. You shook your head “Okay. Just follow my lead, I’ll be gentle as possible” all you can do is nod.

He gets the condom beside the table and rolls it on his hard cock. By the time he’s in between your legs again, he’s slowly putting the tip inside your pussy. Pushing slowly and pulling out, again and again until he’s balls deep. You told Yuta that it hurt but you didn’t want him to stop. He became gentler than ever before being comfortable enough to move inside. He kisses you and whispers countless i love yous beside your ear while waiting for your signal to allow him to move. Your giggle making you gasps, you can feel your pussy stretched like never before “still okay?” he checks on you before he moves.

You accidentally clenched your pussy and it made him moan, you thought he was crying out loud. But he smiled and told you not to do that because that can make him cum fast. It feels good laughing while in the middle of having sex Yuta thought. He never felt this way before while having sex and he’s happy he get to experience this kind of feeling through you.

He kisses your boobs while moving his hips slowly. Making you moan and scratch his back because of the amazing feeling. Hands all over your body, Yuta can’t get enough of the feeling you’re giving right now. “Baby, you make me feel like a virgin again” Yuta whispered in between gasps while his working on slow deep thrust.

Surprised when he pulls out, he gently changed your position and making you bend on all fours. You were familiar with this position, feeling kind of excited by what Yuta is about to do next. He spreads you legs wider from behind, caressing your ass cheeks before giving it bites that made you whimper and wet even more.

“Not-so-fun-fact, but this is my favorite position” he whispers beside your ear and fucks you from behind. It was different than earlier you thought, this positions makes your mouth open and it makes you let out soft moans. “feels good?” Yuta managed to ask, you moan in response. This position hits different spots inside your pussy that makes you gasps and breath for more air. You finally understood why this is his favorite sex position.

After fucking you slow and deep for a good twenty minutes, now Yuta is pounding you in some sort of animalistic way, hearing him moan behind you. He grabbed both of your shoulder making you arch against his chest. You were startled by his sudden move but lust is taking over you now. He placed wet kisses on your cheeks hearing him moan when you try moving your hips on your own. “You’re the only girl that can make me moan baby, did you know that?”

Driven by lust and his love for you, he asked permission before he does something he’s sure you will love. “Baby, just say yes. You wont regret it” he said gasping for air while you still fuck back. “just don’t hurt me baby. okay, I’m ready” you answered trying to catch your breath, feeling your hips give up.

He encircled his right arm on your waist and his left hand on your throat, choking you. To be honest, you never thought choking would feel so good while he fucks you hard. Hearing only slaps of skin around the room, your eyes rolls back when you felt a knot on your abdomen. His hand on your throat does something to you that you can’t understand, but it feels good. He felt your pussy clenched again around his dick and you finally cum. Hard. But to Yuta’s surprise you were still moving your hips against him trying to overstimulate yourself. He was surprised by your sudden action, it made him catch his sweet release and he cums inside you for the first time.

“Baby stop, I have to remove the condom now” Yuta needed to convince you in order for you to stop moving your hips. Still against his chest and his arms encircled on your waist, you felt your high go down as Yuta place soft kisses on your shoulders whispering telling you to stop. After removing the condom and cleaning you up, he didn’t expect himself to enjoy pillow talks and cuddles after sex. Maybe because its you he’s sleeping with tonight.

“You were kind of wild for a vigin. Does it hurt?” He asked looking a bit concerned while snuggling you.

You scoffed, “how can you expect me not to act wild when you fuck me so good Nakamoto Yuta?” you kiss him to lessen his guilt.

“That was the best sex ever. Im afraid I will always ask you to have sex with me from now on” he’s kissing your neck now and checking your folds if you’re still wet.

“Can I ride you?” with wide eyes Yuta stopped what he’s doing completely in shock seeing this side of you.

Yuta accepts your offer and you rode him four times that night using him to go off again and again and again. He was already tired but the view of you bouncing on his cock was so addicting and the feeling of you doing all the work because its your request makes him happy that you’re comfortable with him.

“I didn’t know you are this wild and needy. I was going easy on you earlier.” he said catching his breath after his third release for the night.

“Its fine, baby. You did great earlier.” you said catching your breath too. You were rocking your hips again, teasing his cock and making him hard again. “oh - ah!- baby you’re going to be the death of me” Yuta complains but he’s gripping your boobs already, making you moan and so turned on. You move your hips again making Yuta crumble beneath you, it makes you proud being the only girl in his life that can ruin him like this. When he close his eyes and just let you do the work, when you’re the one making him beg for more, when he furrow his brows trying to stop himself from cumming, you thought about how these are only for your eyes. And you love him for that.

When you finally stopped and flopped on his chest, Yuta seized this moment to throw the condoms as far away as he can so you wouldn’t have to ask for another round. “Baby aren’t you tired? You do know that we can still have sex after this night right? There’s no need to rush” that made you laugh. You kissed him deeply and thanked him for a beautiful night. “I will never forget this Yuta”

After that night, you and Yuta have sex comfortably whenever you want. Pretty sure you had sex on every corner of his apartment. Sometimes if you’re both lucky Mark walks on the two of you having sex on the couch and all you do is laugh. Poor Mark. Whenever you’re needy, the two of you have a little quickie in Yuta’s apartment before going back to class.

And by the time Yuta finally quit his job, he never used condoms anymore whenever you have sex. It was also the time he decided you’re the one he’s going to spend the rest of his life with. On your fourth year of being together, he talks about marriage comfortably with you. The both of you started to plan out your future together, he said he wanted three kids but he doubts that you two will stop making babies.

2 MONTHS LATER

Yuta was waiting for the nurse to finish changing your IV fluids before talking to you alone like he does everyday. “Baby it’s Jaehyun’s birthday today. I’m going to his house tonight with the guys and you know have fun like teenagers.” Yuta jokes while combing your hair.

“Its Valentines day too so, I got you a present.” He opens a red velvet box beside him and put the ring on you. He was supposed to propose to you on Valentines day to make it extra special but unfortunate events happened.

“Will you marry me?” it broke his heart hearing you not say a word. But he knew you will say yes.

“Please wake up, so you could say ‘yes’ already, okay? I’ll be back tonight, I love you.” he kissed you on the lips leaving some tears on your cheeks and heads out.

Yuta was hesitating to set foot on Jaehyun’s house because this was the last place you went to before the accident happened. He tried not to think about what happened but he can’t help it. When Jaehyun finds Yuta on his doorstep, he was quick to hand Yuta a bottle of beer and told him to enjoy the party just like old times.

It was nice having fun after being so stressed and sad with life lately Yuta thought, he felt alive again tonight. Playing beer pongs, drinking beers with the guys, dancing under loud music. He missed being this alive.

He felt his phone vibrating, he got nervous and quickly looked for a quiet place to answer Mark’s call.

“Hello. I’m at Jaehyun’s its too loud everywhere. What’s up?”

“Hyung… She’s awake”

Yuta left the party immediately and rushed back to the hospital. Your room was crowded with nurses and doctors, and your whole family is present. When Yuta stepped inside the room he cant believe you’re sitting and talking in front of his eyes. But why does it feel like you’re not excited to see him? He felt scared when Mark brought him outside the room and told him he has something to say.

“Hyung… She remembers the accident” Mark breathes in deeply, “But she doesn’t remembers you”

In that moment he felt his legs give up on him as if it forgot how to carry him upon hearing the news. He felt a little dizzy but not because of the alcohol he had from the party. It’s too much he thought. He left Mark and decided he would like to be alone for a minute. Thinking of a way how he can handle his feelings when you finally saw him and you don’t recognise him.

After three cups of coffee at the hospital’s cafeteria, Mark talked to him again. Trying to be careful with his words, he tried to explain what you remember and what’s left with your memories about Yuta. Just like Yuta, Mark was heart broken.

“We asked her whats her last memory” Mark started, destroying the tissue in front him piece by piece. “She told us about the accident, but not in detail. And that her last memory before the accident is… our trip to Paris” Mark looks at Yuta finally, “And hyung… We went to Paris three days before you guys met” Yuta was feeling sick again, he wanted to cry in front of Mark.

“But” Mark added “she remembers tiny scenarios flashing in her mind, she told the doctor something about tattoos? Do you know something about it?”

For the first time at that moment, Yuta smiled. She remembers, but not entirely, but still.

“That memory was two years ago. She was forcing me to have matching tattoos with her but I didn’t want to because of my work. And she put up a fight, throwing everything she sees at me. She didn’t know that the work that I was talking about was my internship” Mark let out a small laugh hearing the story, how stupid of you for getting mad over matching tattoos.

It was quiet for some time, maybe the both of them are still digesting what’s happening right now. Nonetheless they were both thankful that you’re finally awake. Mark brought Yuta back to your room, and left him to face you alone. Not sure what will happen when you finally see him. It will hurt Yuta, but he wanted to see you already.

The room was cold and Yuta caught you shivering when he entered the room. He gave you his blanket that he kept in the room whenever he stays over and take care of you. “Hey” he greets you softly, “This is mine, you can have it” you took the blanket with a small smile. A smile that Yuta craves to see, and it made him fell in love with you again.  

You don’t recognise his face but you recognised his voice. You sat while you watch him play with his own fingers. The air in the room became colder. You heard him clear his throat and you looked at him again.

“Do you want to say something?” you asked trying to get him comfortable.

“Do you know me?” Yuta asked even though he already knew the answer.

“No.. but your voice is something I hear when I was sleeping. Are you a nurse or something?” Yuta was glad that you can actually hear all that he said to you when you were sleeping. He chuckled and points at the small table beside the hospital bed. Just near the fresh flowers you can see your college diploma, your journal, several pictures of your family and friends, and pictures with the guy sitting across the room.

“I’m Yuta” he introduced himself to you for the second time in his life and that left a sting on his heart. Trying to hold back his tears, he saw you play with the engagement ring that he gave you earlier today.

“I’m sorry If I don’t remember you Yuta. But I will work hard to-“ he came closer to you with a slight panic, asking permission if he could hold your hand. You let him.

“You don’t have to do that. Yes its hard for me but I know its harder for you” he puts his forehead on yours, arms encircling around you and gentle swaying you. Everything this guy do is too much for you, you wanted to push him because he’s basically a stranger in your eyes. But you knew all too well that he’s not a stranger to your heart.

On the next day, your parents talked to Yuta about how you should live your life when you get discharged from the hospital. They were kind enough to consider Yuta to take care of you and for that he was thankful. Knowing all too well that living with him will be hard for you, but he promised himself that he will be strong for the both of you.

“but” your father started and Yuta got nervous all of a sudden.

“We asked her if she wants to live with you and go on with her normal life with you. We also explained to her that that’s the best option… but she didn’t want to. And that’s her final decision” Yuta was once again feeling weak and unable to move after hearing your father’s explanation.

“Yuta, we want her to be well. Everyone does. That’s why we should talk to her even more, and convince her to live with you” your mother added, being hopeful that Yuta would convince you to live with him.

In your four years of being together, Yuta never forced you to do something you don’t want. Even when it comes to the smallest things like if you don’t want his shoes inside your shared bedroom, he complies. Yuta knew you so well that he trusts every decision you make. That’s why he explains to your parents that he can’t force you to live with him. “We all love her. I think, we should respect her decision” those are Yuta’s final words to your parents. They didn’t have any choice but to agree with Yuta. But your parents think Yuta deserves to be with you too. They told him to come see you tonight before they leave first thing in the morning and that he’s welcome to visit you anytime if he wants to.

For the last time, Yuta visits your room while you were sleeping. Sitting on your hospital bed carefully not to wake you. He strokes your soft hair, memorising your features more.

“I will never forgive myself. I should’ve taken care of you, baby it’s my job. I should have pinned you down instead of just telling you not to ride that motorcycle with Lucas” he cries again, pouring everything out. “I’m sorry if none of our dreams will come true. But I know you will live happily even without me baby. Just promise me you’ll never be sad or cry over something or someone. I could’ve been the one making you happy forever but, we can’t force anything to happen now.”

He slowly caress your arm, down to your hand. Kissing it several times, your hands became wet because of his tears. With a heavy heart, Yuta slowly takes off your engagement ring.

“I will never forget you. Thank you for making half of my life as beautiful as your face” he forced to let out a giggle, and quietly leaves the room with a broken heart. ................................................. Masterlist Hey there! If you’re at this point I would like to thank you for reading this. If you have any comments or questions, in between scenarios I’m more than happy to answer them :) Talk to me! I want to make new friends. 

[graceslavenderhaze]

haunted {connor stevens}

synopsis: connor knows your soul and you know his.

authors note:

 friends to lovers? fuck yes! forbidden love? hell yes! ‘no one gets me like you’? double hell yes! ‘we balance each other out because we’re exact opposites?’ triple yes! 

also readers outfits are high key inspired by the iconic julie molina bc she’s a style queen.

fem! reader because request asked for a female reader, usually i write gender neutral unless specified. 

 i threw another jatp easter egg bc we haven’t gotten a renewal and i am on the borderline of becoming feral. 

also this is going to be split into two parts for maximum angst and fluff purposes.

Your parents were always hard on you. Tough love was their specialty, as one would say. So they had certain expectations for you. They wanted the best for you. So there were rules to make sure you always did the best. No going out late on school nights. No slacking off in school. No disobeying.

However any adult who had ever been a teenager should’ve know that challenging authority is a coming of age tradition. You snuck out on school nights for midnight society meetings. You managed to keep good grades in school while being involved in a few clubs to look good for college applications. And for your parents sake you’d managed to be obedient almost all of high school. The ‘perfect girl next door’.

But it was all bullshit. The only person who ever managed to see through it was Connor Stevens. There never was an odder pairing to walk the halls of shadow bay high school than the two of you. He rocked the classic ‘dark and distressed’ aesthetic. He was on the wrestling team and was popular. He was a natural born risk taker and ignored everything that had a warning sign. 

You on the other hand were everything Connor wasn’t. You clashed standing next to him with the bright colors you usually wore in your daily outfits and bracelets that adorned your wrists. You were in the environmental club, art club and theatre. You weren’t popular is the same sense Connor was, sure people knew your name but you were nice to everyone so it was a given that no one forgot the girl who gave out lollipops on valentines day so no one felt left out. You strayed away from trouble and gave distance to warning signs.

You met Connor through Hanna, well sort of, she was in environmental club with you and eventually talked to the midnight society about accepting a new member, you. Everyone knew of with you ,except Connor. He swore he’d heard your name before but he couldn’t put a face to that name at all. So he’d hung around after one of your environmental club meetings with the intention of bumping into Hanna and her introducing him to you. But the day he’d hung around Hanna had a dentist appointment and not knowing anything about Connor’s plan whatsoever, he was left in the dark. 

September, sophomore year

Connors eyes skimmed over the crowd of various classmates but he failed to find his red headed friend, his lack of subtlety gave him away. You were walking with your friends Carrie and Kayla. When you noticed the lanky boy dressed in all black. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You said to your friends as you parted ways. Once Connor noticed you he tried his best to look as if he wasn’t spying.

“Hey.” You introduced yourself playing with the strap of your backpack as your looked at your classmate who was currently leaning against a tree. He turned acting as if he hadn’t been caught by you. “Hi. I was just.. hanging around.” He said brushing several fallen leaves off of his jacket that had fallen from the light fall breeze that had started to roll in. 

You nodded, “You totally weren’t spying or anything like that right?” You crossed your arms in front of you. His face went slightly red with embarrassment before he started to stutter. “N-no. I was waiting for Hanna.” He said with composure. 

You laughed dipping your head down for a second before looking up at him again. “She had a dentist appointment today.” His face drops flat. You tilt your head. “I knew that.” He rebuttal quickly. 

“You’re Connor right?” You asked. “You’ve heard of me?” He asked with confidence. “Oh yeah, Hanna talks about her friends a lot. Luke, the mr. perfect, Gabby, the smartest girl she knows, Jai, the comic book nerd that everyone loves and Connor, the lanky stalker.” You said with a satisfied smile. 

“I’m not a stalker.” He defended himself. You nodded. “I’m Y/n and I’m not a stalker either.” You said with a wink before you walked away. Connor smiled to himself before pulling out his phone and clicking the messages app. 

October, sophomore year

You laid on your bed, clad in your costume aimlessly scrolling through your instagram feed. Your parents had given you a sun down curfew and due to daylight savings it was dark by six. Halloween was your favorite holiday and you felt like a prisoner in your own house. It wasn’t fair, you followed their rules and were in turn met with more rules and restrictions. 

You sat up sighing, you had been so excited about this night for weeks. Hearing rustling at your window you stand up and cross towards it. Startled slightly when you see Connor there in his ghost face costume. You opened your window leaning against the frame.

“What are you doing still inside its halloween!” He said with excitement, like a kid in the candy store. If anyone loved halloween more than you, Connor came neck and neck. “I’m aware it’s halloween and keep your voice down.” You said to him looking back at your bedroom door listening for your parents footsteps before turning your attention back to Connor.

“Are you grounded?” He asked with a hint of confusion in his voice as to why you would be grounded. You didn’t answer, which only egged him on. “What’d you do?” He scoffed almost not believing you had it in you to do anything bad. You cross your arms sitting back against the windowsill. He noticed your mood change.

“Hey, you can tell me what’s wrong you know.” He said gently, no longer mocking or teasing. He laid his hand on top of yours his thumb stroking back and forth. “I didn’t do anything. I do everything they ask of me and it’s never good enough. They gave me a sun down curfew.” You said to him making sure your volume stayed low in fear of alerting your parents you weren’t alone. 

Connors eyebrows furrowed, “The sun went down at six. Seth has a later curfew than you.” He joked as he let out a laugh but once he noticed that you weren’t amused he stopped. “Sorry.” You let out a frustrated groan, “ I get perfect grades, I act like the perfect daughter that they want at my own expense, I sacrifice my own personality for them and its never enough.” You said looking out at the sky that had a full moon. 

Connor sat there in the full moonlight. Your colorful bracelets were discarded, your smile that always was on your face was gone, your eyes were slightly teary eyed, and looking slightly past you saw your room. your doors had artwork and posters on the back but the rest of the room was calm. 

“I think you’re enough. I know you’re enough.” He said in almost a whisper but even if he said it any louder no one else would hear other than the stars and the moon. Your attention turned back to him. “You’re just saying that.” You said looking down at your lap. He placed a finger under your chin and lifted your head back up so your gaze was back on him. 

“No i’m not. I’ll say it everyday until you start to believe it if i have to.” He said looking in your eyes. “I really want to kiss you. Is that okay?” Your voice was so quiet that if Connor wasn’t so close he probably wouldn’t have heard it. He smiled, “Yeah, that’s okay.” You leaned in and closed the gap between the two of you. Through all of this Connors hand was still enveloped over yours. Breaking apart with huge smiles you both giggled. 

“C’mon, we have halloween plans and your parents are asleep on the couch downstairs.” He said standing up and outstretching his hand to you. You hesitated, you’d never snuck out before. “You trust me right?” He said. “Duh.” You said. 

Turning around you grabbed a jacket then, went into your desk drawer grabbing your array of colorful bracelets and hastily putting them on. Turning around Connor still had a hand outstretched for you as you slipped your shoes on. Climbing through your window and regrettably, looking down. 

“Have you never snuck out before?” Connor said concerned about the way you were looking at the ground. You turned your head and shook it. He nodded. “I got you.” He grabbed your hands and lead you along the incline of the roof. Turning around so he could climb down. “It’s okay.” He said before climbing down leaving you up alone. You swallowed hard, was it too late to go back inside? 

“Okay, swing your legs over the ledge.” He said in a hushed tone. You hesitated for a second before slowly moving over the ledge. “There you go!” Eventually you got your legs steadily over the ledge. “Okay so place your right foot right there and then turn around and place your left foot parallel.” Your fear filled eyes met Connors. “I’m right here.” At a turtle speed you started to shift down the shaft. Slipping once or twice and white knuckle gripping the side of the shaft. 

“Are you okay?” You swallowed. “Is it easier getting up than down?” You asked. “Much.” He said bluntly coming closer to make sure you’d be okay if you slipped.  “Thank fuck.” You nervously laughed. “Okay now just go down one at a time.” He said standing at the bottom ready to catch you when you got to the bottom. 

“There’s no more.” You said after your foot slipped. “Yeah now you jump.” He said. “You said nothing about jumping.” You argued. “You’re a foot and a half off the ground, i’ll catch you. I promise.” He said. You turned looking down. “Do i just let go?” You said hesitantly, part of you wishes you stayed in your bedroom. But part of you is glad you didn’t. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna put my hands on your waist, is that okay?” He asked looking up at you. “Whatever gets me on the ground faster.” You said as you felt his hands fall onto your waist. After a few moments you loosened your grip on the shaft and then completely let go putting all your trust into Connor. 

Falling into his chest and your feet plant onto the ground your eyes stay shut as a reflex. Once you were still you opened them, turning around you looked at Connor who had a hard time reading your face. You started laughing. “I just snuck out. With a boy. That i kissed! My heart is racing!” You said taking Connors hand and placing it against your chest. He smiled looking at you. 

present day

“You are blowing things out of proportion.” You said to your mother as you were practically prison marched into your house. She scoffed at you. “Oh i’m blowing things out of proportion! What have we talked about and instilled into you your whole life?” She said rhetorically, she didn’t want an answer but you had one granted she wouldn’t like it. Your dad stood by the door silently as if you’d make a run for it. 

“To do everything and anything to be perfect regardless of who you have to destroy even if you destroy yourself!” You exclaimed crossing your arms. If your parents wanted to play manipulation games you could too, after all you were their daughter. 

“We break our backs to give you amazing opportunities and this is how you repay us? Lying and going behind our backs? Like an ungrateful brat!” Your father finally spoke up. You were never ungrateful for those opportunities, you just wanted to be a normal kid and when you were with your friends you felt like one. 

“I never said i was ungrateful! I just want to be a normal teenager, hang out with my friends and be myself! You guys have made me disregard all mentions of who i am for the sake of this nuclear family image that you so desperately want to achieve.” You said spilling out years of emotions. You hadn’t known how long they’d been in there. Bubbling over and just poisoning your happiness. 

“You just want to hang out with that trashy shawn hunter wannabe!” Your mother exclaimed about Connor. Low blow to an already low battle. “This has nothing to do with Connor and he’s actually a really great person! The only person who seems to care about the real me.” You exclaimed. Your parents were slack jawed. 

“You are to never hang out with that boy again, do you understand us?” Your father said coldly. You were taken aback. Your heart had sunken to your stomach. “We forbid it.” Your mother added on. “You forbid it?” You scoffed. 

“Do you understand?” Your father asked again. You crossed your fingers behind your back. “Crystal clear.” As you turned to go upstairs to your bedroom tears of anger and frustration filled your eyes. Opening your bedroom door and closing it shut. You looked at your window, you were already in trouble. What’s a little more? Shooting Connor a text you then climbed out your window. Connor was right, it did get easier the more you did it. 

After a sneaking around to his house being quick to avoid anyone who you knew would tell your parents about seeing you, you made it there in the average fifteen minutes it usually took to get to his house. “You look like you need a hug.” He immediately after opening the door pulling you into his awaiting arms. You wrapped your arms around his torso. You pulled away and he gently grabbed your chin a sad look washed over his face. “You’ve been crying.” His tone wasn’t questioning it was more of a matter of a factual. 

Your silence only proved what he thought. “Please just talk to me, i hate seeing you upset.” You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you’d even inhaled. He grabbed your hand and lead you to his couch for you both to sit down. He threaded his fingers and yours together, a habit both of you developed during the time you’d started dating. 

“My parents found out about everything and now they’re forbidding me from seeing you.” You said with a bitter tone in your voice, through the whole year you’d managed to keep everything up. Your grades, your attendance in the clubs, and anything else that tied to your limbs pulling you like the puppet your parents treated you as. “Did you sneak out to see me?” He said with a smirk.

“Possibly.” You said quickly biting down a smile causing him to lean in and steal a quick kiss. 

“Wow i’ve really corrupted you.” He whispered, up close you noticed the eyebags from the lack of sleep, his room had light shining that was brighter than usual, and a quick look into the kitchen when you first walked in showed freshly brewed coffee. “Are you okay?” You asked. You could tell the gears in his head were turning at half speed. 

“I’m always okay when you’re around.” He said slyly. You didn’t wanna pry but he looked exhausted. “Did you sleep last night? Like at all?” You said softly. He looked down. “Con, what’s going on.” He thought for a moment about telling you but he couldn’t. He’d be putting you in direct danger, offering you straight to the shadowman. So he did what he did best to protect those he cared best about, he pushed away. 

“Why do you care?” He said swallowing harshly, protecting you was breaking his own heart in the process in a way he thinks might not be fixable. You were taken aback. “”Because i love you, i have since halloween.” The pieces that broke? Yeah they just shattered into more pieces, those pieces all loved you fully. 

“Your parents are right, i’m not good for you.” He had to hold his own tears back before continuing. “You shouldn’t be here.” You had tears welling up in your eyes for the second time that evening. Both your broken hearts were breaking and you had no idea where this was coming from. 

“I don’t want to lose you, i don’t want to lose this.” There had been numerous times during your relationship where you and Connor swore that you were soulmates. There was no word for explaining it, it was just this immense feeling that was mutual and overtaking. Like a wave that constantly crashed over you both every time you saw the other smile. 

“Someday, i hope you’ll forgive me.” He said with his own tears going down his face, and you nodded. Nothing lasts forever. No matter how much you want it to. You stood up and his heartbroken eyes followed you as if you were the sun constantly orbiting. You went for the door. 

“Wait!” His voice beckoned, you turned. His arm outstretched holding out a jacket for you. “Here, take my coat.” You had no fight inside of you. You took it. 

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore you don’t have to.” He cut you off. “It’s an old one from sophomore year, i have a new one. Plus its freezing outside and we both know you look better in that than i do.” He rambled before stopping himself. You nodded and slipped the jacket onto yourself which loosely hung off your figure. He gave you a tight smile. You noticed from the zippers that it was the one he was wearing when you first met and kissed. That was salt in a fresh wound. 

You both stood there, he couldn’t turn back now and you couldn’t know what would happen in the coming week. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye. So you didn’t, you went to the door without saying anything else to him. Then, he just stood there watching. When the door closed he inhaled. 

His lights flickered and he realized he was running out of time. He had to get the cottage and do the ritual before it was too late for him. But he was already out of time. 

[tearsofsyrup]

troublemaker

— It’s difficult to ignore the wet dream you had when its starring lead is sitting right across from you. In a sleeveless shirt, no less.

pairing. lee jihoon / reader

genre. smut, f2l au(?), uni au

word count. 3.3k

warnings. explicit descriptions of sexual activity, profanity, pining™

notes. an accurate depiction of what I would be like in this man’s presence. yikes.

-

You had never wished more for the ground beneath you to open up, swallow you whole and keep you buried away forever.

When Seokmin had texted you to go with him and Soonyoung for a coffee, you had accepted the invitation ardently, thinking that the distraction would do you some good that morning. But Seokmin had failed to mention that you weren’t the only ones that were going, as you ended up taking a tense seat across from Jihoon when you arrived, panicked red rising to bloom across your cheeks after you had snapped your stare away from him the moment you had spotted him.

Logically, there was no reason as to why Seokmin would have warned you of that certain boy’s presence, as only yesterday the verb ‘warn’ would never have been associated with the boy. A friend of many years, the young man who had helped you with chemistry in middle school, someone you had confided in when your parents divorced in your junior year of high school, the person you had shared knowing looks with when your friends were acting too silly for your liking. For Seokmin to have given you a heads up regarding Jihoon’s attendance would have made no sense whatsoever.

Because he didn’t know about the endlessly unexpected and extremely inappropriate dream you’d had of said man that night. And he didn’t know that this trip to the campus’ nearest café was supposed to be your way of keeping your mind off of Jihoon, as ever since you had woken up that morning, flushed and needy, self-painted images of Jihoon had kept flashing across your eyelids.

And Jihoon himself didn’t know either, seeing as he had chosen to wear a sleeveless shirt in the late-summer heat, that spared no expense in displaying his smooth yet sinewy arms and shoulders.

Fucked, was what you were. And not in the pleasant way you had imagined that night.

Gulp.

“Ah, thank god there’s an AC in here, I can’t stand the heat,” Soonyoung complained, causing Seungcheol and Jeonghan to exhale short words of agreement. You kept your focus in that direction, your heart still hammering in your chest from being in proximity of Jihoon when you hadn’t prepared for it, refusing to look at him in fear of what it might do to you.

“It’s so humid, too. Taking showers feels useless, suddenly,” Seokmin added and you nodded your head stiffly.

“Not that Soonyoung takes any showers, anyway, the dirty bastard.” Everyone snickered at Jeonghan’s remark, except Soonyoung who began protesting immediately. And you, whose reaction was belated in your state of nervousness.

It was just a dream, just a dream. No matter how detailed and real it felt, it was just a dream. It’s meaningless and thinking of it is useless. That’s the same Jihoon I’ve known since I was twelve, nothing has changed. It was just a-

“(Y/N) seems overheated, too,” Jeonghan stated, snapping you out of where you’d been staring aimlessly at the wooden table in front of you. You could see Jihoon - along with everyone else, staring at you through your peripherals. “She’s all red and... dazed-looking.” Shit. “You should get a cold drink, maybe.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was going to,” you all but squeaked out.

“Ah, me too,” Soonyoung replied quickly and you mentally thanked him for diverting the attention away from you, despite it very likely having been unintentional. “I ain’t drinking coffee in this heat.”

“Or maybe an iced coffee, huh?” Seokmin questioned, then turning to you for confirmation. You didn’t have time to answer before another voice butted in.

“(Y/N) hates coffee, you dummy.”

You stiffened.

His voice.

The rest of your company became busy with teasingly scolding Seokmin for having forgotten such a fact, even though you would bet none of them had remembered it either.

You were forcing your eyes to stay on Seokmin, as you felt a renewed heat begin boiling throughout your face after having been met with Jihoon’s voice for the first time since that morning. Why his voice - which you had heard an infinite amount of times before, was garnering such a massive internal reaction from you, you did not have time to question. You were too caught up in trying to calm yourself back down.

His soft praises whispered in your ear, pink lips brushing over your lobe before traveling downwards to place gentle kisses on the sensitive skin of your neck. Hushed sighs as he pressed his hips into yours, your back flush against the wall as he trapped you there with his body. Lighthearted giggles whenever you did something he then called “cute”.

The pit of your stomach tightened.

Double-gulp.

If Jeonghan thought you were noticeably red a second ago, there was no knowing what he thought of your shade now. So you dipped your head, praying that at least Jihoon wouldn’t notice your odd behavior. You convinced yourself that you couldn’t feel his stare on you as your gaze dove into your own lap.

It was soon decided that Jeonghan and Soonyoung would go order for the whole table, despite there being a few people that had failed to arrive yet. As conversation was born among the three other people left at the table, you watched your fingers fidget anxiously in your lap as you tried to think about anything and everything that could not be connected to the man almost touching feet with you. It was hard not to think of someone when the only other thing you could think of was not thinking of him. You wished you could interrogate your brain and ask it why it would place you in such a bizarre, uncomfortable situation, but no answers came when you tried.

Pursing your lips in frustration, your back slumped a fraction, toes curling against the soles of your shoes as if it would somehow help you in trying not to remember the scenes that-

“Hey, you okay?”

Your head snapped up involuntarily and your stare found a wide-eyed Jihoon. 

Lungs forgetting to breathe for a second, your body froze and the tips of your ears grew uncomfortably hot.

He looked absolutely gorgeous, you thought. The charming shape of his eyes, the firm curve of his jaw, the bleached, fluffy ends of his bangs. The curious and soft gaze that pierced you still. Despite looking the exact same as he had a couple of days earlier, you felt breathless. Images of the way you had seen him in your dream quickly dove to the forefront of your mind and you returned to reality with an all but violent landing, willing your body to begin functioning again.

His face hovering over yours, eyelids hanging low, lips parted and panting against your-

“I’m fine.” You forced your eyes to stay trained on his face, the alluring display of his bare arms teasing you in the corners of where your sight turned blurry.

His prettily shaped eyebrows furrowed, obviously sensing that something was wrong. You then realized that your right leg was bouncing nervously underneath the table.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you added, turning to meet Seokmin’s face so you could will yourself to smile in feigned reassurance.

His lips curled slightly in response and you wondered if your inner turmoil wasn’t as visible as you feared. But you also knew that Jihoon was impressively perceptive, so you didn’t dare glancing his way again to observe his reaction.

That was until a few minutes of staring out through the window had passed and Jihoon’s wonderfully contagious and disarming laughter bloomed throughout the air around your table. You had tuned out the conversation that was happening beside you and thankfully nobody had seemed to notice, being too passionate about whatever they were discussing. But the tones of Jihoon’s guffaws hooked you in without wasting a second and you couldn’t stop your head from turning to sneak the tiniest glance.

His smile was heart-stopping while directed at Seungcheol, eyes curved in the same way they had been in your dream, lips pink and soft-looking as they formed a pleasant shape around his pearly teeth.

He stared at you with an unmistakable intensity, nose a mere inch apart from yours as a smirk curled his lips. You knew what he wanted and realized you wanted it to, staring expectantly back at him before he caught his lower lip between his teeth. Smiling cheekily, you leaned forward and he met you half-way, lean fingers curving around your waist.

Digits burying in the dry tresses of his hair, you willed him closer, his warm tongue curling into yours and producing a moan from your panting chest. He chuckled cutely then, fingers traveling to find a featherlight hold on your neck as he separated your mouths, dark gaze locking with yours.

The veins along his neck strained gently against his smooth skin, hushed laughs escaping his throat as Seungcheol continued talking. You swallowed the saliva that began piling along your tongue.

Your eyes landed on the exposed span of Jihoon’s neck where it poked out from underneath his button-up. Diving in and licking the skin there, Jihoon sighed above you and you felt heat pooling in the space between your legs. His palms held you against him by your back, face bending forward to nip at your earlobe with a soft grunt before silky, melodic notes were whispered into the shell of your ear.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, you have no idea.”

Your muscles physically jumped as Soonyoung’s loud voice broke you out of your daydream, him and Jeonghan having returned with everyone’s orders. Cheeks thriving with a fiery blush, you fell forward to hide your face as you began sipping on your iced tea when Jeonghan handed it over, heart pounding loudly beneath the bars of your rib cage. Your focus set solely on the surface of the table before you, you surprisingly managed to feel thankful somewhere in the back of your panicked mind. Because the way your thighs were pressed together was shielded from anyone’s prying eye and most importantly, Jihoon’s.

Jesus, I’m so fucked.

Conversations advanced. It took you a moment to gather yourself before you were fit to participate in the socialization, hoping that doing so would help in not gardering too much suspicion. But you refused to look at Jihoon again, now completely aware of how your mind - and body, would react if you did. And you fought a good fight, almost forgetting about your obscure situation for a while as you discussed ice cream flavors with a fervent Soonyoung and protesting Seokmin. You nearly wanted to pat yourself on the back for momentarily stepping out of your self-pity and mortification, but it seemed you were jinxing yourself by just thinking the thought.

“Remember when Taehyung broke up with you in high school and you showed up at my house at eleven at night, telling me that we were gonna buy a shit ton of Ben & Jerry’s to decide which flavor was the best?” Jihoon chuckled at the memory and you watched him with a tight throat, his eyes on you suddenly such a heavy, stifling weight to carry. Your lips formed a thin line.

“What, really?” Seungcheol questioned, fascinated by the information.

Jihoon’s happy giggles returned and your heart flipped, the feeling making your eyes widen in panic.

“Yeah. Our allowances really suffered that weekend.” Jihoon’s gaze returned to you from where he had acknowledged Seungcheol and your shoulders tensed. “But it was a lot of fun, actually.” A wide smile flourished across his cheeks.

Fuck, don’t look at me like that, idiot. Not today.

You nodded hastily, forcing out a huff of a laughter as you averted your stare to your drink.

“So, which flavor won?” Soonyoung asked curiously.

A moment passed before the subject of your current... whatever it was, spoke again.

“Do you remember?” he finally asked you.

Forcing your attention to turn to Soonyoung, you cleared your throat before responding.

“We couldn’t decide between Chocolate Fudge Brownie and Phish Food. Honestly, I still kind of can’t.”

Your mind flitted back to the way you had sat cross-legged opposite each other on Jihoon’s bed that night, spilling chocolate to stain his blue sheets as he entertained you in your heartbroken state. He had turned his essay in late the following week because of you and when you found out, all he had done was smile, reassuring you that it was all worth it. He had always been such a good friend.

Friend.

Friends don’t dream of fucking friends.

You inhaled sharply as a heated discussion about different flavors of Ben & Jerry’s pursued and you leaned back to take a step out of the conversation. You let yourself remember the previous weekend, when you had celebrated Jeonghan’s friend’s birthday, sat comfortably on a cheap couch with your shoulder pressed into Jihoon’s, sharing a bottle of raspberry liquor and talking nothing but nonsense. Two friends being friendly and enjoying their very friendly time together. A longing for returning to that moment ached in your chest.

You wondered when your subconscious view of Jihoon had changed, and why. And how you could change it back.

Or have I always seen him that way?

Before you realized it, your eyes found him again. He looked relaxed and happy, laughing at Soonyoung’s dramatic comments and Jeonghan’s mean but playful jabs. He looked like the Jihoon you had known all of your life. Except his smile shined brighter, his eyes burned warmer, his skin gleamed smoother, his hair bounced airier, his voice rang prettier. The mere view of him caused your heart to skip a bit.

Jihoon laughed heartily, probably at whatever Soonyoung was shouting about, and raised a hand to thread through his hair. His forearm caught your attention, which it kept until it dropped back onto the table to lean on it. Your gaze danced along the naked skin of his arms, watching observantly as his muscles visibly flexed with his movement. He turned a bit to the side then, exposing a sneak peek of his torso through the dip of his tank top and you swore you could feel your pupils dilating.

The grip around your iced tea tightened.

Your nails dug into Jihoon’s bicep as you straddled him on the bed, grinding your crotch down to meet his, your dampened underwear rubbing against the zipper of his jeans with fervor. Carefree moans poured out of your parted lips as Jihoon leaned into kiss and lick at your perked nipples, hands on the small of your back to steady you. You looked down and he met your gaze, an infinitely attractive smile caging you under his spell.

“You look so cute right now, (Y/N).”

The muscles in his shoulders flexed as his hands gripped your thighs from where he was now settling between your legs, pouty lips leaving a glistening trail of saliva along your inner thighs as he kissed his way to the pulsing heat found between them. His dark eyes pierced you from under his fair strands of hair as he looked up at you dangerously, and it set butterflies off to begin panicking in the deepest part of your belly. Jihoon’s lips curled around the swollen, pink bud between your legs and you cried out blissfully.

His biceps flexed when he steadied himself above you, a breathy grunt slipping his gleaming lips while he slowly pushed himself into you, watching you unerringly as you let him intrude you and stretch you to fit him perfectly. Mouth curling into an addictive smile, he trusted slowly, tall fingers intertwining with your own while his forehead settled against yours.

“You’re so pretty, letting me fuck you like this.”

His wet lips met yours and you basically melted under him. He giggled breathlessly.

“I love you.”

The way your teeth were pinching your cheek harshly was what eventually carried you back into the real world, two dents having formed in your plastic cup under the pressure of your fingertips. Your heartbeat was all but erratic, pumping hot red into the apples of your cheeks and the space below your navel. An uncomfortable stickiness had made itself known in the warmth of your crotch, thighs clamping together as to relieve the need for pressure. Lastly, you found that you were all but panting.

Jihoon’s veiny arms and hands still laid victim to your fierce glare, teeth coming down to nip at your bottom lip before you could stop yourself. You knew you could stare at his arms all day and never even think to complain. Moments earlier, that thought might have made you panic but now, you didn’t care what all of this entailed. You just wanted him to hold you with those arms, grip your wrists with those hands, make you squirm with those fingers.

Caught in a complete trance, your gaze lifted slowly but then it stopped dead in its tracks, your whole being growing rigid in the matter of a split second.

Jihoon was staring right back at you, wide eyes meeting your half-lidded, dilated ones.

For how long has he been looking at me?

You could feel the hot blood draining from your face, heart stopping for a concerning amount of time while your lungs had frozen still, teeth releasing their grip on your lip. It felt as though you were shaking yet completely unmoving at the same time, unable to look away as he kept his sight steadfast on you. His eyes reminded you so much of the way they had watched you in your dream and made you feel like you were dreaming now, too. The briefest hint of nausea stung in your chest at your escalating panic.

But then Jihoon’s lips formed a knowing smirk and your heart shot into the middle of your throat.

Boiling blood came rushing back into your face, heartbeat picking up a wild and untamed pace and the pit of your stomach churned as it did somersaults. Your mind was nothing less than a chaotic tornado of confusion, mortification and bewilderment, threatening to render you dizzy.

Jihoon kept your gaze, the curved slits of his eyes penetrating your impossibly wide ones, untold secrets dancing behind the windows to his soul. It made you feel small and clueless, as if you were the unknowing one left in the shadows of something he knew and not the other way around.

The gulp that fought its way down the tight walls of your throat almost hurt in its decent, your hands clammy and heartbeat pounding obnoxiously in your ears.

Jihoon’s smirk widened a fraction more and you felt naked.

What is he trying to tell me?

“Hey, guys!”

Jihoon finally released your stare at the bright voices that had called out, Sojung and Hana having appeared beside you. Everyone in your company turned to greet the two girls and even though you managed to tilt your head to watch them, too, you voice was stuck somewhere deep in your chest, pure disbelief and fear aching there.

“Sit down, sit down,” you heard Seokmin insist.

Hana rounded the table to plop down next to Jeonghan while Sojung found her premeditated place beside Jihoon. You watched the latter two smile at each other sweetly before Sojung placed a brief peck on Jihoon’s pink upper lip in a personalized greeting reserved only for her boyfriend. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands.

The way they looked at each other reminded you of their first interaction during your freshmen year of college, when you had introduced the two to one another on Halloween. Sojung claimed she would always owe you a favor for having helped her meet her The One. For the first time, the notion left a bitter taste on your tongue.

“(Y/N), you good?”

Sojung’s voice successfully caught your attention, your expressionless face turning to meet her properly. You could see Jihoon also staring at you in the corner of your eye.

Exhale.

“I’m great.”

You were in serious trouble.

[a-very-fond-farewell]

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 10/?

Single Dad AU (not the one you expect): “Water my Bones”

[Pushing Daisies meets florist!au]

*

First it was the beekeeper suit. Then the astronaut one. THEN the Darth Vader costume. Every time a different attire. Lan Zhan is starting to think he better be changing grocery shop soon if he wants to fill his cart in peace without stumbling upon that weirdo during his weekly visit at the store.

Things he knows about said man: 1) he is competitive af, 2) he seems around his age, thirty five at most, 3) he has a flower shop in town, 4) he has a son.

The last thing, he knows because the child is always perched on the man’s cart when they shop. The third thing, he knows because his brother Lan Huan is the owner of the building where said man works. The second, he noticed once in passing, as they both waited in line to pay at the express line. And the first, he got to realize since day fucking one, when they entered the shop together and noticed they were following a similar path and unconsciously started rushing their way through their respective lists as fast as possible to win over the other.

It’s been four weeks already and Lan Zhan regrets moving to that part of town big time. The day he discovers something new, however, is when the florist decides to wear a simple black mask over the lower half of his face instead a full on costume. So even the usual lady clients cannot flirt with him asking if it’s yet another laundry day. The lot of them surprised to see him dressed normally for once. If wearing a black mask, black latex gloves and a black turtleneck in August can even be considered normal to begin with. The fact that he also looks unbelievably hot dressed in such a manner goes without saying. Not that Lan Zhan’s looking, of course.

Yet, it’s one thing to dress to impress and another to be affectionate towards your own child without taking your mask and gloves off not even to kiss him on the cheek or to check if one of his baby teeth is really falling off or not. So, when one of the ladies jokes about it, nobody expects the child to plainly say what Lan Zhan ends up hearing that day.

“If Dad touches my skin I’m going to die.”

The fact that said dad also conveniently runs away and forgets to take most of their bagged groceries with him right afterwards is also telling. But for the life of his Lan Zhan doesn’t know what such a dramatic exit can possibly mean.

[under the cut for details]

initially I thought to let Mo XuanYu be the baby, but then I kept A-Yuan/SiZhui. Also he is not Wei Ying’s actual son, but more on that later. ALSO he’s a savage child with snark for ages and channels every ounce of his adoptive father’s mischievous spirit.

Just like in “Pushing Daisies”, Wei Ying can revive the dead for a minute or two just by touching them [from Wikipedia: “If something is revived for more than one minute, a similar "life value" in the vicinity drops dead as a form of balance. If he touches the revived person or thing a second time, they die permanently.”]

But in this AU, ever since he was young, Wei Ying has revived a bunch of people, in the beginning without worrying too much of the consequences, not knowing someone of the same value (someone close to the revived dead person) must die if not given back to the realm of death after those two minutes.

His family used to take care of the needs of mourning families by running a funeral home. As a child he would simply touch the dead and go his merry way, happy to make others happy. But the dead would always run away, fearing their families would never take them back or not believe them to have been actually revived. Unaware of this, with bodies disappearing left and right, Wei Ying’s parents are accused of smuggling organs and corpses and are taken to prison before being put in house arrest for the rest of their sentence.

(In the meantime Wei Ying has been looked after by a new family, but after coming of age he decided to wait until the end of his parents’ sentence and buy them a house where they could live together again. In fact, he lives with them and his son) -> a perfectly rational choice bc I wanted to give them a chance to look after each other, okay? Also because a family trying to keep a common secret is fun and fresh and the exact opposite of the movie “Keeping Mum”, which is highly recommend btw.

He never experimented with the double-touch until (at fifteen) accidentally reviving a corpse of a dog, getting scared of it, and consequently smacking its tail in a (hilarious) fit of frustration bc “oh damn it... not again/go back to sleep I cannot deal with you/dogs are scary” and so on. The poor guy plopped down as if nothing had happened afterwards.

After that he learned his lesson and knew he could never touch a revived person again. Also dogs, especially dogs. They bite >:(

The first time Wei Ying actually understood something was wrong was when he was 21 and revived his stepsister YanLi, but her mother died as a consequence. He has brought his stepbrother Jiang Cheng back to life, but his own father was taken in his place. Before that time he had never considered the damage he had caused, because the consequences never involved his close ones but mere strangers up until then. So he vowed to never use his powers again afterwards.

The only exception being A-Yuan/SiZhui: the child was found in a dumpster, abandoned at three months old. Wei Ying revived him and didn’t want to wonder who might have died in the baby’s place... nor did he care. So he asked his parents to help. They’ve been raising the child together for five years, but Wei Ying has never directly touched him, always wearing gloves and masks around him.

He has also never hugged his step-siblings either since reviving them from their car accident from fourteen years back, but neither YanLi or Jiang Cheng knows the reason why. The only thing they know is that at the time, right after seeing them waking up from their “coma” and attending their parents’ funeral, Wei Ying has distanced himself from them, never to return.

(Insert shenanigans with Wei Ying trying his best not to run into his siblings, before they actually discover the truth along the way and bundle him up in quilts and coats just to be able to hug the hell out of him)

Lan Zhan is a detective and thanks to Wei Ying’s powers they solve crimes together. THEY REVIVE THE DEAD FOR TWO MINUTES and ask them what they remember before dying (which is basically the whole point of “Inquiry”, right?) and then Wei Ying touches them back and they drop dead for good.

Wei Ying knows his limits now and doesn’t play with empathy (got it? got it??)

Jin Ling has BOTH of his parents (can you imagine??) and he’s best friend with Lan Zhan and Lan Huan’s younge cousin, JingYi. And they SNOOP like nobody’s business bc they know there’s something fishy about “Uncle Wei”. But also they love to play with the other baby even if they pretend to be tough. They’re also friends with Wen Ning, who will teache them archery for their after-school activities as soon as they start elementary school and they are thrilled.

Wen Ning was actually one of the few corpses Wei Ying has revived in childhood that made it back home and was believed by others. (Wen Ning was still a child himself when he died, so he went straight back home and nobody questioned it, too happy to care......... which is basically canon)

His sister Wen Qing is the only friend Wei Ying has that knows about his secret and she’s the one suggesting Lan Zhan to..........wait a minute or two before leaving the morgue where she works at.

“You might never know what the dead could be able to say after you switch off the lights. You get me?”

He doesn’t get it. Not at first.

But! He grows interested in Wei Ying and the fact that he cannot touch his own child. Is it an allergy? Is it an illness? Lan Zhan has questions and he needs to find out the truth by himself.

Wei Ying’s child needs to be properly held by a parent at least once in his life tho... and Lan Zhan is made by very fine, very expensive husband material.

(I wanted him to meet Wei Ying’s parents. Sue me.)

Also I thought Wei Ying would like to make things grow (hence the florist!au you never asked for) bc he might feel guilty about the things he has done + his trust issues about getting attached to someone and then seeing them die AND THEN HAVING TO ACTUALLY LET THEM GO FOR REAL.

I’m sad now.

[new-endings]

The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting

Summary: As Hell’s bastard prince, Crowley is expected to wed an Archangel of Heaven’s kingdom to bring peace between the two warring nations.

It really is too bad he only has eyes for his sweet, bastard of a Guide, the Principality Aziraphale, who is dead-set on making sure the engagement happens.

For the sake of their kingdoms, Aziraphale leads him through the long, arduous road of winning an Archangel’s favor and affections. However, Crowley would much rather use that romantic guidance to win him over instead.

Chapter 5: Plan an Exit Strategy 

Chapter Summary: In which a vacation is had and skinny-dipping is involved.

Now would be a great time—the best time—c’mon you bastard, just—say it, say it now—

Say it now, when his eyes are bright with starglow, when he’s smiling at the rain and sky like they’re one in the same, when you know damn well you put that smile on his face as you carded your fingers through his wings when no one else has for bloody ages, when he’s so close that he must feel the way this wretched heart beats and breaks for him—

Say it now, now that the time is right—before the moment slips through your fingers. 

“Angel…”, Crowley started, half-whispered, half-begging, “I—”

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, ao3

As far as first meetings went, this was certainly not Aziraphale’s ideal.

Still, careening off to the skies whilst in the clutches of a dragon stood a bar just a little below the humiliation Aziraphale faced having been bamboozled by one particular demon prince.

“Say, you—err, wouldn’t happen to be thinking of turning around, would you? Your owner must be terribly concerned—AAAAAH!”

Unruly thing. Bentley seemed to give a conceited warble after a rather steep dive that made Aziraphale’s insides twist with dread. Calming himself after the bloody dragon took off soaring at a more appropriate elevation, Aziraphale steadied his heart, attempting to tame the panic. If the blasted thing wouldn’t listen to reason, then perhaps it was time to make a break for it.

He may not have the agility to outfly a dragon—but he might have a trick or two up his sleeves.

He squirmed in her claws, striking up conversation once again. “You know, it really wouldn’t do to fly so far off—it’ll be night soon you know so—Ah!” Another rough switch in vector, this time steering straight towards the clouds, affording him a little more freedom to thrash in her hold and masking his intentions with fear.

It was ever his fortune that Bentley wasn’t crushing him with her massive talons and if he wriggled just a little bit more—

There. A bit more room. The dragon let out a shriek, a threat, a warning, as she felt her grip loosening and not for the first time in Aziraphale’s life, he decided to take that warning to Sit, stay, don’t do anything rash and completely fuck it.

He gave one last heave, the unexpected burst of strength allowing him to slip free and drop straight into the waves.

There was a roar behind him and Aziraphale unfurled his wings as they tore open from his back, gliding through the gales and gyres.

He didn’t get very far before a mass of scales appeared in his periphery.

Right.

There’s actually no way for him to out-speed the beast, as demonstrated by how easily she was about to overtake him. He feigned a dodge to the left, noting with both intrigue and terror at how the dragon lunged mid-air in attempts of trapping him. Luckily, Aziraphale dropped and hurled a few meters beneath her just in time, catching the winds to keep him aloft and to keep up his speed.1

It afforded him a few, precious seconds, but dragons were notoriously intelligent.

He wouldn’t be able to pull off that trick twice.

After gaining some distance between them, Aziraphale rocketed upwards, expending more and more energy as the snarls from below came closer and closer. Breaking through the lowest layers of skies, Aziraphale sustained flight and laid in wait for a massive snout to crest through the clouds. Once he caught sight of the black maw, gnashing in frustration a few seconds later, he did the only thing natural for a bird like him.

He dove.

He spiraled downwards as he closed his wings, the rush of the night air escaping him and leaving him breathless. There was another bellow of the beast breaking through the atmosphere and fear seized at the Angel.

Fall too slow, he’ll be caught again and then who knows what will become of him. The bloody dragon may be fond of Crowley, but that did little to ease Aziraphale’s concerns. A shock of guilt trembled its way down his spine at the thought of leaving Crowley alone to face his burdens—alone with the guilt should the unthinkable happen to Aziraphale at the hands—err, claws—of his own dragon—

Oh, not to mention the ensuing war should Crowley fail to marry an Archangel without his guidance.

Fall too fast and. Well.

He’d shatter all his bones. That was hardly ideal either.

But Aziraphale knew how to control his dive, knew at which exact moment to allow the winds to break his fall. Once more, as loathe as Aziraphale was to even mentally admit it, Gabriel was a very good teacher.

Moments before crushing impact against the black waves below, Aziraphale unfurled his wings, its large span catching onto what little windspeed remained. The Angel drifted onto a windward climb at a more comfortable speed and braced himself as a few seconds later, a roar followed by a crash onto the waves resonated throughout the night.

Aziraphale never thought he’d be so grateful for a dragon’s one-track mind in chasing down their prey. He never thought he’d be grateful for their large size, leaving them quite ineffective at keeping their momentum in check, either.2

But he didn’t celebrate for long; he still had a prince and a stern talking-to awaiting his return.

.

Thankfully, the bloody dragon hadn’t taken them far, using loops and dives to keep Aziraphale busy with pure panic rather than covering a grand distance.

Still, that was far more exercise than Aziraphale had signed up for and the Angel noted with displeasure at the deconditioning his body had undertaken. He was out of breath for goodness sake! And he could barely muster up the energy to start berating the bloody idiot that got him into that situation in the first place!

And it had absolutely nothing to do with the relief flooding Crowley’s eyes at his return. “Oh, good you’re back!” Not that Aziraphale almost entertained the notion of forgiving him at the concern lacing the prince’s voice. “You all right there?”

“Tickety-boo,” he wheezed out, ever-grateful for the sea’s winds keeping him afloat on the flight back.1 What he wasn’t grateful for was the shadow towering over him and the snout that nosed at him from over his shoulder.

“Ah!” A startled yelp seemed to be the only appropriate reaction—

—as was flying straight into Crowley’s arms. “Hey, look at that,” the prince noted, thoroughly ignoring the way Aziraphale scrabbled to get them away. “She likes you!”

The little—

He had the audacity to sound delighted! “Crowley, please.” Aziraphale gave another squeak and tightened his hold on the prince’s shoulders as the dragon pressed a curious nose into his curls. Reflexively, he folded his wings, covering them both. He didn’t think he had enough physical or mental energy left to expend in another escape attempt.

Crowley gave a chuckle and a soothing hand over his back that did little to settle Aziraphale’s frazzled nerves. “All right, all right. Hey, Bentley.” She seemed to consider his words for a few moments before turning attention to the Demon. “Give the Angel some space, would ya?”

Aziraphale wanted to scoff. Nicely put, Crowley.

There was another snort and a nuzzle to Aziraphale’s back that left Aziraphale squirming into Crowley further before she trotted over some feet away, those golden eyes watching on with mild interest as Aziraphale hesitantly looked over.

“Oh. So now she listens,” Aziraphale muttered, extracting himself from Crowley’s hold. When did the prince put his arms around him anyways—

But Crowley only shrugged, looking pointedly at the ground. “She’s usually quite good at it, but she must have just wanted to…get to know you personally?”

Right. Because snatching him from the ground and taking him across the waves was a completely proper way of self-introduction.

“Quite possible,” Aziraphale returned. He obviously learned quite a few things about Bentley. Mostly in that she adored Crowley and perhaps that played a major reason as to why he was taken. Perhaps she viewed him as a threat. Perhaps she wanted Aziraphale to prove something to him.

Aziraphale could only hope he passed whatever test this impetuous reptile had rigged up.

At least the prince seemed to be in high spirits again as he greeted the dragon with soft adoration. “Must’ve given the little Bird a scare, didn’t you girl? Yeah?” Bentley gave a soft rumble and Aziraphale had to remind himself that this was the nasty little beast that up and plucked him from the ground, not an adoring house-pet. “Scared the feathers off of him?” Crowley cooed.

Bentley gave a warble of contentment, rumbling happily at the attention and Aziraphale would have found it completely adorable—

Had it not been at his expense.

Crowley gave a snicker, calling out, “Say Angel, did the life flash before your eyes again?” That reminded Aziraphale again, this was the rotten little trickster that humiliated him once before.

That was when Aziraphale decided that his patience was taking its own vacation. “No, not at all,” he replied primly, dusting himself off and—good lord, he was exhausted—ambling off back towards the direction of the capital after a wave goodbye. “Well, now that’s done, do enjoy your vacation—”

He could hear the frown in Crowley’s voice. “Angel—”

“—and be sure to return within three days’ time or I’ll have the Powers fetch you from Old-End.”

“Angel—” As well as that insufferable whine.

But Aziraphale will not be swayed. He turned, giving a blithe, terse smile. “Have fun, try to be safe, and avoid slipping on any rocks and cracking your hollow head open, dear.”

As for Crowley, he winced at the cold, placid expression his Angel wore. “C’mon, I’m sorry!” All right, he might have taken the teasing a bit too far. The dragon seemed to read the situation straight away as she gave an unhappy cry. Crowley smoothed her scales, murmuring a calming, “Stay, girl,” before turning and chasing down his flighty Bird. “Angel!

Thankfully it seemed Aziraphale was still too exhausted to simply fly off. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would appreciate being chased down by a dragon twice in the same day. That, or his Bird really wasn’t thinking of leaving Crowley all by his lonesome on some island in the middle of nowhere. Not when Crowley had painstakingly planned this entire trip for them both. Sure it went a bit…pear-shaped at the end with him meeting Bentley, but surely he’d forgive that, right?

At least, Crowley hoped so.

“Crowley.” Said Demon stopped immediately in his tracks at the sound of that icy tone. He immediately scrambled to attention when Aziraphale turned, face impassive and eyes giving off a chilling glow.

But alas, the poor Bird was far too exhausted to keep even his irritation aloft. “What do you expect me to do at Old-End?”

What indeed. Obviously, Crowley’s best-case-scenario was out of the question since his bloody mate couldn’t read a poetic profession of adoration and worship if his life depended on it. “I don’t know, just…” Take some time off. Enjoy your time off. Enjoy your time off with me. “Make sure I don’t slip on a rock and crack my hollow head open?” he offered weakly.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale was hardly moved.

“C’mon, Angel, I’m begging here. Plus, isn’t it your job to make sure that I stay out of trouble?” he needled and ah. There it is. Crowley felt some inkling of guilt as seeds of doubt were planted. Later on, he knew he’d feel much worse about his next words choice of words, but right now? He had a vacation to save. “That you’d protect me?”

There was a spark of fury that erupted in those lovely eyes, not that Crowley could blame him.

But he knew he’d always be able to win Aziraphale over in the end.

Crowley tried to hide the self-satisfied smirk on his face as the Angel’s resolved cracked with an exasperated, frustrated, and exhausted, “Oh, you wily—serpent—” Poor Bird could barely muster a scowl as Crowley politely, sweetly, offered his arm with all the smugness of the cat that got the cream. He took it anyways. “Fine. But if I smell even a whiff of peril, then we’re flying straight home, do you hear me?”

“Agreed,” Crowley promised; he wouldn’t be putting his Angel in a situation like that again—even though he was certain Bentley wouldn’t allow any harm to come to someone Crowley considered his.

Fairly certain.

Also, “What does peril even smell like?”

Aziraphale gave a sniff and looked deliberately at Crowley. “Usually of fire and brimstone.”

Crowley didn’t bother holding back his laughter this time.

.

As they approached Bentley, Crowley felt Aziraphale instinctively stiffen against him. He frowned. It seemed his Bird was still very much wary. But Bentley merely gave a snort and lowered herself to the ground as the pair rounded towards her back.

Gingerly releasing his grip on the Angel, Crowley hoisted himself over on the saddle. He looked over, noting the hesitancy in Aziraphale’s eyes. Once more, he extended his hand, figuratively and literally.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, dropping the bravado. “She knows better than to pull off the same stunt twice.” Please. Crowley held a breath as a conflict of emotions flickered across the Angel’s face. Just trust me. Ever-so-reluctantly, Aziraphale took his hand and Crowley’s heart thundered in his chest. “Up you get, Angel. And,” Oh thank  Go—Sata—Someone the Angel chose to ride behind him instead. “Hang on tight, all right?”

If he had ridden in front, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d be able to survive having that sweet, soft form to hang on to before it ruined him and his trousers.

“Bentley,” he warned as the dragon suddenly rose on all fours, causing Aziraphale to simultaneously gasp and clutch at Crowley’s middle. Satan preserve us. “Go easy on him all right? It’s his first time on a dragon and I—"

The dragon paid no heed and immediately took off, straight into the clouds and by the blinking of the stars, soaring, diving, wheeling, and careening to an aerial dance to the moonbeams above.

And Crowley loved it—there was nothing quite like the speed, power, and freedom he had when on the wing. Just him, Bentley, the rush of the winds and the blur of the skies and seas—

And now, he had his Angel with them as well.

Aziraphale let out a scream—a fantastic mix of abject terror and pure exhilaration— and a very besotted, very sadistic part of Crowley swore it was one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard. He committed the sound, this moment, to memory.

Something bubbled in him, bright and warm, loosening a laugh from his throat as Bentley flew, faster, and faster still as Aziraphale held him tight, warm and solid behind him.

It felt like happiness.

.

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to recover from the shock; it also helped that Bentley eased up on the airborne acrobatics. Crowley leaned back and placed a hand on the arm clutching at his left hip. “There’s nothing like it, eh, Angel?”

Goodness, his poor Bird was still shaking. “It’s—quite different from flying on your own, I assure you that.”

Crowley gave a hapless shrug. “Wouldn’t know. Demon and all.”

“Oh.” The Demon scoffed. Of course Aziraphale would forget. “Right…”

Flight was only a small part of what they lost when they broke away from Her kingdom. Removed from Her light, their bodies changed, transformed until they were Angels no longer. Many embraced it—what else could they do? But many, Crowley knew, mourned as they looked to the skies and all it held with a marrow-deep longing. Cursed are you above all She had proclaimed as the gates of Heaven slammed behind the first of the Fallen. You will crawl on your bellies, groveling in the dust as long as you shall live.

And now…now She wants to make amends? End the wars, forge peace, but to what end?

Just what is She planning, Crowley wondered.

He was pulled from that rather unsavory road of thought by his Angel’s sweet voice. “You know, dear…” Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle at the other’s wavering; he thought Aziraphale would know by now that Crowley would never rebuke him for anything he had to say. “I was a bit concerned that your inability to fly would put a damper on the courtship flight—”

Except for this one time. Wait—

COURTSHIP FLIGHT?

“—but with Bentley here, I’m sure she could impress any of the Archangels!” Aziraphale chirped merrily.

I knew there was a bloody mating dance involved in this—augh it certainly explains why these blasted wings keep popping out every time we’re in his nest… Crowley sighed. “Angel, we’re here to relax, not talk about work!”

“Right, sorry!” Aziraphale amended.

Crowley let out a breath, stamping down his mounting frustration. Would that have worked then? If he were able to fly, would his feelings reach Aziraphale that way? If they weren’t so bloody different, would Aziraphale understand what Crowley felt for him?

“It’s just a—very important aspect of courting—”

Crowley groaned. “Angel!”

At least his Bird was quick to relent. “Okay, we’ll resume our talk later!” But really, there was no need because Crowley already took it to heart.

If it took a bloody courtship flight to get his Angel to see, then a courtship flight he’ll have.

.

If Aziraphale was honest with himself, the smart thing to have done was keep track of exactly where they were headed. They had been traveling east for a few hours now and while the moon still hung silently over them, it was difficult to gauge how much distance they covered.

If Aziraphale was honest with himself, the smart thing to have done was to stop at home to pick up a map rather than depend on Crowley’s self-proclaimed fantastic sense of direction3and Bentley’s affirming huff.

It Aziraphale was honest with himself, the smart thing to have done was to have was to stay home and turn in his halo, because deep down in his gut, he knew this Demon was going to end up killing him.

Inadvertently or otherwise.

But just when all hope was lost and Aziraphale started to seriously consider slipping off the saddle and gliding his way back home—wherever direction that may be—Crowley made an animated gesture that dragged Aziraphale out of his doubtful and skeptical lull by nearly smacking him in the face.

“There we are, Angel—” he announced giving a grand sweep to the mote of land over by the stretch of the horizon. “Old-End.”

Aziraphale could only hum, the awe not quite catching up to him yet; it was probably left behind some kilometers away, along with his remaining sanity.

Bentley landed on its shores, a gust sending sand flying every which-way. Crowley jumped off and landed with the grace of a slug. Understandable after hours of flying. The very fact that Aziraphale didn’t comment on it other than making a noise of concern reaffirmed to the Demon that this Angel was indeed meant for him.

True to the legends, beyond them laid an impenetrable fog where even moonlight wouldn’t dare touch. It was a barren isle in that no Angel-made structures dotted the land, no light shone to pollute the skies, but rich in its overgrowth of vegetation that even swallowed the old post created by Angels decades before. The latter had been a concern for the Angel as he assumed they’d make camp there, but instead Crowley took him by the hand into the brush and trees.

Bentley followed diligently, clearing a path behind them. And while Aziraphale would never say it, it gave him some modicum of comfort now that the dragon wasn’t actively trying to kidnap him like a damsel. She did, however, startle him as she suddenly ran headlong into the grass of a clearing, disrupting a host of birds and other small creatures and sending them scurrying off.

Crowley gave a laugh as Aziraphale ducked from a rather irate waterfowl, squawking off after the dragon’s disturbance. “Well, looks like she found the perfect place to make camp.”

.

“Crowley, you didn’t happen to…pack any bedding, did you?”

Crowley turned over from where he laid against the curve of Bentley’s underbelly and just from that look alone, the one that said You’re looking at it, Aziraphale knew he was in for a very long weekend.3

Or however long they’d survive until then.

While Aziraphale should have known better than to trust Crowley to pack the essentials, he again…trusted Crowley. And now he was basically marooned on this God-forsaken spit of land without so much as a blanket for bedding, and without any utensils to cook with.

At first, Aziraphale had been furious—but it was late. It would require expending more energy to maintain that anger, and it was far past dinner time. Not that he’d start arguing now; the Angel knew better than outwardly berating the Demon while his pet dragon slumbered nearby.

So instead, Aziraphale followed in Crowley’s lead and tentatively sat against the warm beast (quietly letting out a breath of relief as she did nothing but turn towards him in curiosity and laying her head back down again). That seemed to brighten Crowley’s mood immensely and the Demon shuffled closer.

Shoulders almost touching, Aziraphale allowed himself to bask in the peace and stillness of forest, with starlight raining down on them from above.

Speaking of which: “What if it rains.”

Crowley cracked one eye open. “It’s not going to rain,” he insisted.  

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“Cloud-readers said the weather would be good all weekend.”

“The meteorologists only read the forecast for the capital’s weather.”

The Demon gave a lazy stretch, careless and carefree. “Okay sure. But for the record, you jinxed it.” Then, as if in realization of something, Crowley frowned. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Good lord, Gabriel was right. He really had adapted a little too well to civilian life…Not that it had been anyone’s fault. But, in Aziraphale’s grouchy mind, if he had to take a guess, he’d have to point a finger at the Demon Prince who’d been fattening him up like a Light’s Festival goose. “Starving, actually,” Aziraphale admitted with pinked cheeks. “How can you tell?”

“We’re usually finishing up our dinner at this time,” Crowley reminded him as he stood, causing Bentley to grunt in dissatisfaction. “And you always want to start an argument when you’re peckish.”

Aziraphale tried (and failed) not to look too affronted. “I do not—”

“You’re only proving my point, Angel,” Crowley sang as he clambered onto Bentley’s saddle. “Say, what’s your favorite animal?”

Aziraphale had opened his mouth to disagree once more but paused at the rather odd turn of conversation. What indeed… “Oh, I have so many…rabbits are particularly nice, I suppose?”

He always did love them, soft and shy as they were with their cute, twitchy little noses…he loved his dear Harry the moment he adopted the dear little thing and never quite got over her rather unfortunate fate.

Since then, rabbits always reminded him of a robbed innocence. But they were still his favorite.

“All right,” Crowley nodded and with that, whistled to Bentley. The dragon (grumpily) stood, causing the Angel to lose his support and fall over onto his back.

There was a disgruntled roar and Bentley took off once again, leaving Aziraphale gazing up at the stars where a mass of scales had once obscured his vision. The Angel wondered briefly what on earth just took place but found little reason to leave the wide indent of the grass where Bentley sat, nice and warm.

When he came to, it was to Crowley’s golden eyes gazing at him with a sort of…strange expression that his sleep-addled brain couldn’t quite name. “Crowley?” he murmured, voice still laced with sleep. The prince helped him sit up and it was only then that Aziraphale noted that some feet away, there laid a fire atop some freshly dug earth, clearing away the surrounding grass.

A flask was thrust into his hands as Crowley smiled. “Rise and shine, Angel.” Aziraphale took a gulp, relishing at the cool, refreshing taste of clean water. They must have found a stream nearby as well, keeping themselves quite busy.

All while Aziraphale was sleeping.

How embarrassing.

There was a gentle warbling beside him, and the Angel startled at the large snout pressed against his side. “Oh! Erm, hello dear.” A different set of golden eyes looked to him and, with all sorts of reluctance yet at Crowley’s encouragement, Aziraphale ran a soft, plump hand against the smooth, midnight scales. There was a pleasant rumble from deep within her throat and Aziraphale felt his breath hitch.

Not from fear, however.

Aziraphale also didn’t know how on Heaven’s gates he’d managed to get on the dragon’s good side, but he’ll take it.

Crowley was looking at them with that same look again. “Well, would you look at that. She’s taken quite a shine to you.” The very one that, even with his mind slipping more and more into consciousness, Aziraphale still couldn’t decipher.

“Oh, also—here!” Crowley hummed cheerily as he reached over behind him and dropped a bloodied, furry thing at Aziraphale’s feet. Upon further inspection of the mass, Aziraphale felt the very blood drain from his face.

A…rabbit.

Aziraphale was definitely awake now.

A RABBIT!? WHAT IN THE—

“Caught that one especially for you. Little bugger was a runner,” Crowley rattled on excitedly and Oh no, oh goodness gracious this was not what Aziraphale meant by his favorite animal—

But at the earnest look of pride on the Demon’s face and the honestly good intentions behind it, and the thought that Well, it’s actually a very sweet gesture of him to try and…hunt me my favorite animal—Aziraphale could do little more than give a small smile as his face seize between a mix of horrified concern and helpless gratitude.

It seemed to appease Crowley immensely at least. “And look! Peace offering!” Crowley gesticulated excitedly as Bentley lumbered over, dropping a heap of wet fur, and bloodied lumps, and dragon-drool—all onto the Angel’s awaiting lap.  

“I think she really likes you,” Crowley duly informed as Aziraphale’s throat tightened up before he could let out a shriek.

Aziraphale nodded stiffly, a wooden smile upon his face as he regarded the dragon with awe and quite a bit of trepidation. “R-right.” Turning to his left, “Thank you, Crowley…” At that, the Demon gave a bright grin. And tuning over to his right, “Thank you, Bentley.”

She gave a cry of delight that almost made up for the blood stains on his robes.

Almost.

For the first time in Aziraphale’s life, after giving a short prayer begging forgiveness from his dearly departed Harry, tasted the savory, tender flesh of fire-roasted rabbit.

And to his utter horror, found it delicious.

.

Daylight found Crowley waking to the lovely sight of his Angel and the Demon vowed then and there that one day, it would be a sight he’d get to see every day: sleep-tousled white-blond curls, sea-storm eyes, and alabaster-smooth skin bathing in the soft morning glow.

And currently in mourning at the red stains on his robes.

“Dragon-drool,” Crowley muttered, startling Aziraphale out of his grimacing. “A nightmare to wash off.”

Crowley regretted the words as soon as it left his mouth from the look of despair on his Angel’s face. The Demon groaned, rolling over to the side, hoping to shield himself from the effect of those blasted pleading eyes and that damned kissable pout. But it was pointless.

He was besotted.

And Aziraphale, bless him, had Crowley wrapped around his well-manicured pinky.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he extracted himself from Bentley’s cozy warmth and stood, wobbling onto his feet. “Come on, let the reptile rest.” He bit back a scowl at the sight of that same, pleased smile Aziraphale wore whenever Crowley begrudgingly indulged him.

Spoiled little thing.

As he should be.

“There’s a stream with a small waterfall further inland. We’ll get washed up there,” Crowley said, offering his hand again.

The Angel took it with enthusiasm.  

It was a mostly quiet trek into the island, with the pair abiding by the early hours’ silence until the sound of rushing water broke through the trees. The pair followed the gentle hum and Aziraphale found himself internally apologizing for ever doubting Crowley’s self-proclaimed fantastic sense of direction.

A cascading waterfall stood at the mouth of the lake, crystalline waters rippling into the deep body of water from the stream further up the cliffside. Its rocky shores surrounded by paradise-greens from the forest framed the painting-perfect lake and Aziraphale had to pause to allow his breath to catch at the sight of such a picturesque and undisturbed beauty of nature.

Only for him to choke on said breath as Crowley began to wriggle out of his clothes right in front of him, exposing inch after inch of toned sun-kissed skin and lithe muscle.

A beauty of nature, indeed, came an unbidden thought as Crowley thoughtlessly dropped his undergarments and strutted recklessly in the nude. Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat up before he could sputter out in affront. “C-CROWLEY!”

Said Demon didn’t bother hiding a smirk as he turned to the delicious sight of those fiery cheeks. Crowley knew how to look good, how to dress well, and despite being on the trim side, was graced with handsome features and the swagger to back it up. And while Crowley obviously didn’t make it a habit of intentionally displaying himself, he understood the importance of giving them a little taste now and then. Sampling the goods so to speak.

Besides, as scandalized as Aziraphale may sound, it at least let Crowley know that the Angel was intentionally looking.

And right now, Crowley would very much like it if he could have a look at the Angel too. “Come on, Angel! That stain’s not going to get itself out!” he called as he dipped his toe in the water before diving in.

Aziraphale took a breath and uttered a short prayer for divine strength—and possibly intervention—before heading to the shore. He picked up the bottom of his robe, utterly ruined after hours of drying by firelight and the cool night breeze. There really was no point to washing it, now was there? There wasn’t any reason to go in…

More unbidden thoughts surfaced, particularly the unpleasant echo of Gabriel’s words.

Soft, he had called him. Unbecoming of a warrior. It was honestly such a silly thing to ruminate on, but he couldn’t help but feel that familiar burn of shame, hot and unrelenting at the back of his neck. Especially next to Crowley—

That train of thought was promptly derailed as Crowley gave an obnoxious wolf-whistle. “You know I could stare at those bare calves for ages, Angel.” Aziraphale whipped his head to where Crowley swam, eyes sparking with mirth. “But there’s no need to draw this out, you utter tease.”

The Angel felt his eyebrow tick with irritation.

That little—

And without further preamble, Aziraphale disrobed hastily—to Crowley’s absolute delight—and chucked the ruined clothes straight at his face.

“Souvenir?” the Demon asked with a smirk, easily catching it.

What he didn’t catch, however, was the Angel diving straight at him with all the grace and tact of a military-grade projectile and smacking him right in the face with a wet wing.

And as much as Crowley utterly loved that reaction, he couldn’t help but give a startled yelp, immediately causing Aziraphale to retract and fret at his impulsive actions. “Oh my—oh I’m so sorry—”

Wiping the water from his eyes, Crowley would have cackled at the modest reaction had he not been rendered completely helpless at the sight of all that delectable soft, bare skin laid out before him like a feast.

And oh, how Crowley longed to take a bite, sink his teeth into him, and mark him up for all the damned kingdoms to see.

He cleared his throat, suddenly dry and thirsting. “Think nothing of it.” What was that saying again? Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest? “I think I’d prefer you as a bastard as long as you’re enjoying yourself.” He tossed the robes over to Aziraphale, who gave him a grateful look in return and Crowley silently wondered just how far that darling blush could go. “And of course, if it’s not always aimed at me,” he added with a wince as Aziraphale unfurled those lovely, messy wings, the Angel taking to the water with candid ease.  

“You shouldn’t be so crude,” Aziraphale defended, continuing to fruitlessly scrub at the stains before sighing. Just as he had feared, the stain had long since set. He tossed the ruined garb over to the rocks dotting the shore and dove into the water with effortless grace. At the very least, he could enjoy his bath.

And at the very least, all Crowley could do was stop and stare.

His Angel had never looked lovelier with that blissful grin on those pretty lips (it made Crowley wonder how they would look, screaming in rapture), sun beaming down on him and his blessedly plump form (it made Crowley wonder how his Angel would look, bathed in the glow of firelight, that soft body against his silken sheets), the sight of him glistening with water, rivulets cascading down from his slopes and curves (it gave Crowley a very good idea of how his Angel would look, dripping with sweat, panting with exertion, and crying out for more, more, more—)

And it had the worst (best) effect on Crowley.

Here his mate was, displaying himself, bright-eyed in unrepentant joy and Crowley couldn’t help the satisfaction it gave him knowing he had a hand in putting it there, the spark of desire that rushed through his blood at the knowledge that he could fulfill his mate in every sense of the word and that his darling Bird may or may not be unintentionally goading him to give him more of what he deserved.

The very threads of his self-control were snapping one by one, especially at the realization that right here, right now, they were alone.

No Birds.

No Archangels.

No Hastur and Ligur.

Nothing stopping him from letting Aziraphale know exactly what that poem had meant.

Could he do it right here? Right now?

Could he bare his heart and soul, offer it up on a silver platter to his sweet, guileless, tormentor? And how would Aziraphale take it? Would he take it with an appalled gasp, loyalty to his kingdom, to his people, to his Queen superseding his own heart? Would he take it with confused hesitancy, still unknowing of his own heart but willing for Crowley to take his hand and show them that they were meant to be? Would he take it with bated breath and coquettish bliss, asking, begging Crowley to draw him to a princely, perfect kiss?

Would he take it on his hands and knees, offering his body for Crowley to take, own, ruin, and worship?

There was another throb of heat and Crowley wondered if Aziraphale would even question it if Crowley waded over by the plunge pool to cool his head.

Both heads, as it were.

A roar reverberated through the air and Crowley simultaneously thanked and cursed Bentley for her (un)timely arrival.

Especially since Crowley was on the verge of combustion as Aziraphale waded his way to shore where he laid his clothes out to dry under the sun, his scrumptious backside in all its glory exposed to the wilderness and immortalized in Crowley’s greedy gaze.

That was enough wanking material to last Crowley throughout this entire, frigid, courting process…

As if sensing eyes trailing ravenously over his body, Aziraphale turned as the prince ducked into the water, the latter uselessly commanding his arousal to ease. “Crowley, get out of the water!” his Angel called. “You’ll wrinkle like a prune in there!”

“No thanks, Angel,” he croaked out as he resurfaced. “I’m fine where I am.”

Aziraphale sighed as he fixed his robes. “You can’t just spend the rest of the day there!”

Bloody Bird— “We’re on vacation, Angel! We can do whatever we want!”

And I’d rather not go through the mortifying ordeal of letting my feelings be known in such a humiliating and visual manner.

Aziraphale gave roll of his eyes and looked over to the dragon, sunning herself over by a slab of rock. The dragon lifted an eyelid to look over at the pair and Aziraphale shot her that same, damned pleading look Crowley was more than familiar with.

Bentley gave a languid stretch before lifting herself up sluggishly and made her way to the lake towards where Crowley swam. The Demon watched with distracted curiosity at what Aziraphale could have asked of her with those pretty blue eyes. That curiosity quickly morphed into abject horror as the blasted beast blew fire straight into the water.

With a yelp, Crowley leaped out of the lake and clambered onto a proffered dragon wing. He felt suddenly stabbed with vicious betrayal. “WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON!?” he hissed.

He was only met with a warble of amusement from his dragon and peals of laughter from his Angel.

“I do believe you’re right, my dear.” Aziraphale— damn him—gave an adorable giggle that made the irritation dissipate almost immediately. “She’s definitely warming up to me.”

“Traitors,” Crowley grumbled, as Bentley dropped him off to shore, his lips twitching to a smile despite himself. “The lot of you.”

.

Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember what lead up to it, but as Crowley expertly preened his feathers, slim, nimble fingers combing through the coverts of his wing, the Angel found himself caring less and less.

Even if the Angel had an inkling it involved a few crude words from Crowley’s behalf on the state of his wings.

He gave a sigh of pleasure as the prince dug into scapulars, tension oozing out from his aching wings after the distressing flight yesterday. In turn, he smoothed over the dark feathers, finding little to do with how immaculate Crowley always kept his wings.

He did his best to tidy them anyways. It was only fair, after all, especially with how much Crowley seemed to enjoy the attention he gave to the little spots he couldn’t reach himself.

“Ohhh,” the Angel moaned as those fingers massaged the joint just right, choosing to ignore the breathy chuckle Crowley let out in turn. Utter tease, indeed.

The sun had long set after a pleasant meal and the stars began dotting the sky to light a path for the moon. Bentley slumbered nearby after drying her scales from the dip in the lake, and the fire crackled at the pit where they had roasted the native island’s fruits they gathered that afternoon.

Aziraphale can’t remember the last time he’d been so at peace.

So much so that he almost didn’t mind the drop of water that landed on the tip of his nose.

But then those drops quickly multiplied, so much so that even Bentley was awoken with a grunt. Crowley let out an annoyed hiss but made little efforts to move from his spot by the Angel’s side.

Even then, all Aziraphale could do was chuckle as Crowley glared at him at the fire’s dying gloom. “I told you it might rain,” the Angel reminded.

“And I told you that it was your fault for jinxing it,” the Demon shot back.  

But instead of retorting, Aziraphale merely lifted the wing Crowley had been working on, shielding him from the light downpour.

And what was a poor Demon to do but fall even more in love?

Especially with the delighted and grateful laugh his Angel gave Bentley as she opens a massive wing, providing refuge for them both.

The two settled themselves against her, Aziraphale’s wing still hovering over Crowley instinctively. Now the Demon thought, Now would be a great time—the best time—c’mon you bastard, just—say it, say it now—

Say it now, when his eyes are bright with starglow, when he’s smiling at the rain and sky like they’re one in the same, when you know damn well you put that smile on his face as you carded your fingers through his wings when no one else has for bloody ages, when he’s so close that he must feel the way this wretched heart beats and breaks for him—

Say it now, now that the time is right—before the moment slips through your fingers.

“Angel…”, Crowley started, half-whispered, half-begging, “I—”

“How wonderful our Queen must to be to have had a hand in making all those stars,” Aziraphale murmured in awe and the in that statement, in that second, the moment slipped away, sand in sieve.

And with it, Crowley’s bravery. He sighed, almost heartsick with himself at his cowardice. “You really believe in all that?” he muttered, turning his attention back to the Angel’s words. “I mean, it just doesn’t make a lot of sense, right? The Queen herself is barely in court and we’re all to believe that she’s off doing bigger things in places unexplored beyond our realms when there’s still turmoil here.” He gestured vaguely, at the air, to the horizon, to himself. “Not only that, but what about the Other Side? Since the war started, it’s yet to be fully explored.”

Aziraphale frowned. “What is it that you’re saying, Crowley?”

The Demon gave a thick swallow. “I just want facts…that’s all.” Why did She decide this—and why now? They say She’s omnipotent, that knows and sees all— “Can’t fault someone for asking questions.” Did She know that I’d fall in love with you? Did She know that you’re the one I want…

And that your sense of duty may never let me have that?

Crowley half-feared that he overstepped a boundary somewhere; he always knew Aziraphale was devoted to his Queen—it was why he took Crowley under his wing (literally and figuratively speaking) in the first place.

But the other half of him knew that Aziraphale wouldn’t fault him.

Not him. Not his Angel. “It’s…understandable.” He gave a hesitant nod. “And it’s hard to put logic and faith together, isn’t it?” Aziraphale gave a rueful smile. “The point of faith is to abide and believe, despite what it may seem. And logic falls to the opposite—the likeliest of chances.” Aziraphale leaned against him, his weight comforting, anchoring. “What matters is, in the end, is truth, and both faith and logic fight for what they ultimately can’t prove yet.” His Angel looked to him, those sea-storm eyes ever-honest. “I can’t imagine how one could possibly fault you for that.”

Crowley felt his heart swell, the wild thing thrashing against the cages of his ribs and all Crowley could do—for the first time in his life—was pray to Her that he would get to keep this. If She would allow it. If She had known that he’d fall so perilously and deliriously in love with him, that it wouldn’t be for naught. That he’d earn and keep his love, his Angel, his Bird, his Aziraphale—

But, as he cast his hopes to the heavens, there was only the resounding rumbling of thunder overhead.

“I understand what you mean about the Other Side as well,” Aziraphale added, almost as an afterthought. “I’ve actually got a small collection—some fragments of maps that I—uh, borrowed from a cartographer!” Crowley couldn’t help but snicker. There was absolutely no chance of that guy ever getting his maps back.  But then Aziraphale was humming contentedly, a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. “I wonder if we’ll ever set our eyes towards other lands again. You know. After this entire debacle of hellfire and holy water subsides.”

And maybe, that was where Crowley’s answers laid.

Not in the vast taciturn promises of an omnipotent Queen, but in the sleepy words of his Angel who—despite previous warnings—always seemed to give his Demon the best ideas. “I don’t know, Angel,” Crowley murmured, laying his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, plans forming, preparations taking shape, a storm brewing overhead.  

It’s here under the rains of a new beginning that Crowley decided on this last-ditch effort: if he can’t get their respective sides to maintain peace without him selling his life and tying his soul to one of Heaven’s Divines, then they can run off. Together.

It would start with those maps—

—And lead them to their Own Side.

“Only time will tell,” Crowley said, the words spoken like an oath of love.  

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The cheese factor was kicked up a notch because my friend came over and brought me cheesecake.

1-Aziraphale is built like an Albatross here! They’re known for dynamic soaring which helps them not only pick up speed but also expend very little energy to travel great distances (up to weeks at a time out at sea!) and some species are quite good at diving.

2-(And dragons, being larger, have more momentum and thus need far more energy to stop, like with what happened with Bentley here.)

3-Crowley looked at a map from Old-End earlier; he memorized it instead of taking it with him. He’s traveling light because he doesn’t want to arouse any suspicion from Hastur and Ligur.

Also, I do plan on writing smut.

You know. Eventually.