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ancuninfiles · 3 months

Text

Comfort Pt. 6

6k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Named Tav (Nym) - 18+

Warning: Graphic depictions of violence

Summary: Nym lets Astarion drink from her until he's full—perhaps too full—using multiple scrolls of Lesser Restoration. His erection grows unignorable in the process. How will he cope?

Tags: smut, fluff, angst, p in v sex, creampie, cunnilingus, fingering, blood drinking, multiple vampire bites, blood loss, inappropriate use of the tadpole, PTSD, reference to past trauma, F! OC is autism-coded

MASTERLIST (The other chapters and other works)

Read on AO3 for full tag list (Recommended)

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Notes: Sorry that it took me so long to release this chapter. It's literally been sitting 90% finished in my files for quite some time now lol. I've just been putting off finishing it because I didn't know how to end the chapter! Thanks for your patience <3. No beta-read for this chapter.

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔: 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐢

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Too soon, the morning crept in, and Astarion wanted to hold Nym a while longer—an action that was beginning to feel both self-indulgent and generous.

Nym drooled on his chest in a trance so deep that it could be mistaken for sleep. She often tranced like that, and it was certainly something that he envied. Most nights since the nautiloid, he'd been plagued with unwelcome nightmarish visions of his old master.

Astarion toyed with Nym’s unruly waves, pinching a lock of hair between his fingers and twirling it nonchalantly. The sun had only just risen. The birds were singing, signalling for everyone to awake, but he knew that it'd still be some time before anyone woke, including Nym who always rested like a rock.

He stared at the roof of his tent, basking in the warmth of Nym's embrace. He wondered if she felt comfort in the coolness of his touch, or if it was something she merely tolerated, but he suspected the latter.

Her meltdown during their sexual encounter the night before had caught him off guard. It was something he wouldn't have expected from the free-spirited, promiscuous wood-elf. After guessing her circumstance, it felt wrong to label her as such.

He wondered what happened, but when her words melted into his ears, he felt like he knew—given his own experience.

— “Am I just a warm body to you?”

He had pondered this about himself with her before, just as he had for centuries during countless nights spent priming victims for Cazador. Everyone—all of them—would spout platitudes of love or lust, making everything to do with sex feel sullied over time. Yet now, whether it was his newfound free will or Nym herself, something felt different about their budding friendship—something unlike his experiences with all his other lovers.

With his hand slotted between his head and the pillow, he craned his neck to get a better look at her.

But. . .

What he saw was not Nym, but Sebastian—the man he'd brought to Cazador almost 200 years ago—with saturated sharpness and sordid eyes that seemed to burn holes into Astarion.

In a panic, Astarion leapt up, shoving Sebastian off of his chest. The corpse—bleeding profusely out of two small bite marks on his throat—stained the blankets there with blood.

As the scent of rot became overpowering, within mere seconds, Astarion watched in horror as the face morphed into hundreds—no, thousands of other nameless faces that he’d faintly recognized.

All before landing finally back on Nym. . .

He was almost relieved until he realized that the bite marks were still gushing, her face lacked its typical bright and lively complexion, and her eyes were missing their usual lustre.

—But—she couldn't be. . .

He hadn't—

As the blankets that surrounded him became wet with warm blood, he brought his hands into view, and they were covered in Nym’s sweet ichor.

Shamefully, he felt a pang of hunger as he watched her blood run down his forearm.

“If it isn't our prodigal son, how I've longed to find you once again,” a sinister and familiar voice spoke, snickering with satisfaction.

—Cazador.

Looking up, he saw his tormentor towering above him. Taking in his surroundings, he noticed that he was no longer at camp, but in the Szarr Estate.

“Though, don't entertain the idea that you'll forgo punishment only because you've brought home such a delectable treat.” His patented intonation assaulted Astarion's eardrums.

Glancing at Nym, he saw her lifeless body on the dirty floor of the kennels.

He felt frozen, but his undead heart raced unrelentingly.

“No,” Astarion growled, forcing eye contact with the black-haired man.

“Ungrateful, as always. Perhaps I will do the honours of punishing you myself instead of Goedy. How I've missed your sweet screams; the most beautiful of melodies.” With hands behind his back, Cazador stalked around Astarion, much like a predator.

Astarion’s stomach lurched with anguish, not knowing whether to grab Nym and run, or to shield her, because surely she wasn't dead.

Surely he could save her. . .

But, all at once, he heard a command, muffled by the ringing in his ears.

It wasn't until he felt his stomach and cheek being pressed into the cold-hard floor that he realized what had happened.

—A compulsion.

He was, once again, in the jaws of a monster—his master—who'd begun to straddle his backside and smash his head against the ground hard enough to crush bone.

Astarion groaned as he felt the familiar sting of his master’s cherished blade—so-called Rhapsody—carving into his back.

The pain was visceral and sharp as Cazador carved from shoulder to shoulder without lifting his blade.

Astarion stifled his screams, but tears fell unbidden as he panted off-beat.

Cazador only removed his blade to find purchase elsewhere. This time: the side of his ribcage, starting from below his right armpit. The new spot was too sensitive—too filled with nerves—and the pain was so terrible that it almost caused him to faint.

Finally, Astarion began to wail, “Stop! Pleas— master!” His entire body felt as if it were rejecting the honorific—as if he could cough it back up.

As the blade traced a line towards the flesh on the side of his waist, he couldn't help but expel a gut-wrenching scream so deep that it felt as if it came from the hells.

To this, Cazador chuckled maniacally, provoking more tears to fall from Astarion’s scarlet eyes as he sobbed. Choking on his own saliva, he retched onto the musty ground that was mere millimetres from his lips.

In this moment, Astarion’s only wish was his own death, because he knew now that his recent freedom had been solely evanescent.

“Astarion,” Cazador spoke darkly, snapping Astarion back to the present.

He leaned in, and screamed, “Astarion!”

“Astarion!” He heard, but this time, a woman's voice. Nym's, and she sounded afraid; he had to find her, to help her—

. . .

Blinking, the kennel was gone, along with its fetid scent.

He squeezed his eyes together, trying to make out the blurry shapes in front of him.

The shapes came into focus.

—Nym.

Her face was red, her cheeks were wet. Was she—crying?

“I've been trying to wake you—ah,” she winced. “I'm so glad you're awake now.”

—I'm awake. It was only a. . . a nightmare.

Just then, he felt something touch his cheek, causing him to flinch before he realized that it was just a finger—Nym’s finger.

“Oh—sorry. I just. . .” she grabbed her wrist and held her hand close to her chest as if it were a grubby little thing to be chastised. Frowning, her gaze fell.

Astarion brought his knuckle to his eye and swiped experimentally. Pulling it into view, he saw a clear droplet that dripped from his finger to his lips. He licked instinctively, tasting the salty flavour.

—A tear?

He recollected the events, pseudo and otherwise, that had occurred within the past few moments as he stared perplexedly at his hand.

—My tear?

—Better than her blood, he thought, shuddering at the memory of his nightmare.

Nym's gaze was fixed on him as her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but no words left her mouth.

With a huff, Astarion let his head fall back on the pillow and stared at the tent's roof. “Thank you.”

Nym, squeezing her wrist and gulping, shifted slightly as she sat on her heels. “Are you okay?” she asked, seriously.

“What did you see?” Astarion closed his eyes, almost sure as to what her answer might be and feeling discomfort at the thought.

Nym, releasing her wrist, repositioned herself to sit cross-legged, sighing with eyes closed. “Well. . . you were pleading—pleading for mercy, it seemed. You started grimacing and crying. . .”

She seemed to hesitate to speak her next words.

“Anything else?” Astarion asked.

“Your master—you pleaded for him to—” but she choked on her words as tears began to stream down her face, which screwed up in anguish.

—To stop.

Nym wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I'm sorry, I know this isn't about me.”

—Odd, this doesn't feel like simple pity.

“I swear,” she started, her face contorting with anger as an undignified sob overtook her. “We’re going to kill that bastard. He can't have you.” Her fists balled up, knuckles turning white. “He can't,” she nearly whispered with a pleading intonation, squeezing her tear-filled eyes shut and hanging her head. She rocked back and forth, digging her knuckles into his blankets futilely.

Witnessing Nym’s raw display of emotion in response to his night terror—which bled from the seams of his unconscious and into his waking life—stirred a tumult of feelings within Astarion. Her anger and sorrow were palpable, and it confused him why she seemed so affected by his problems which had nothing to do with her.

He'd made an educated guess about the shadows in her past, particularly after her emotional breakdown the previous day when she had asked if he liked her. He knew Nym was sensitive but it seemed to come out of nowhere. At least until she asked if she was more than just a warm body to him, after that, things became clearer: she must’ve gone through something similar to him. Why else would she have broken down that way during such a physically intimate moment?

She was an enigma, appearing self-sufficient and remarkably knowledgeable about various topics, yet almost sheltered and unaware of the typical rhythms of everyday life.

He couldn't quite place the feeling, but it felt different than the simple pity he'd received thus far. She wasn’t just feeling sorry for him in a way that made him feel weak or patronized; she was standing with him, sharing his burden, even.

The strange and burgeoning camaraderie that he shared with this sweet little druid was proving more fruitful than he had expected, and only after a few days of fighting at her side.

He wondered if the others would come to care for his problems in time as well, and he hoped that they might even help bring an end to Cazador's reign.

But even so, could they really stand a chance against Cazador? He could show up at camp any day, and Astarion wasn’t confident in their abilities. Consequently, they would—he would—have to stay vigilant until the moment his master ceased to exist. Until then, blind hope was all he had. That, and the tearful Nymsy who was currently watching over him at his bedside as if he were a sick child.

He reached for Nym’s wrist, which was feebly grinding into the blankets. At first, his fingers simply grazed her skin, snapping her out of her fit. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, their shared gaze conveyed more than any words could.

Nym dropped her gaze to weave their fingers together. She smiled, though her eyes looked pained, and squeezed his hand tightly before meeting his eyes once more. Difficult to ignore—an unusual presence fluttered in his ribcage.

As his eyes fixed on her trembling lips, he was overcome with the sudden urge to kiss her, though he didn’t know why, as the moment didn’t feel sexual like every other time he’d kissed her. It was as if his lips simply yearned to be connected with hers.

With his free hand, he pushed himself up and swiftly locked lips with Nym in a passionate and bruising kiss, unsure if he was rewarding her, or perhaps being capricious.

His entire relationship with her thus far has been a confusing stew of manipulation and lust. When she had asked if they were friends, the question initially perplexed him.

—Do friends kiss? Do friends sleep with one another? Do friends hope for exclusivity in their relationship?

What they had wasn't mere friendship, but something adjacent, or perhaps more intense, though he'd never admit just how intense.

It seemed like Nym settled into their quickly-developing relationship as if it were second nature to her, Astarion on the other hand, had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that somehow, something would go wrong.

Why did he even care, though? It had only been naught but four days since they'd met on the cliffside; an interaction in which Astarion had threatened Nym's life at knifepoint.

No, there was no way that Nym cared for him deeply enough to want to participate in his plot of revenge, could she?

Nym sobbed, breaking the kiss. “I'm sorry,” she apologized, wiping her tears. “I hope that soon, you feel safe enough to talk about it. I think I have some things I'd like to talk about, too.” Nym took both his hands, gently caressing them with her thumbs.

He was utterly stun-locked, unable to form words—unable to think.

“Um—here.” Nym shifted, pulling her hair away to bare her neck. “I’m still game for our experiment if you are.”

Astarion decided to temporarily set aside his disbelief in favour of Nym’s offer, slipping his mask back on.

“You're too generous, my sweet little druid,” he professed, locking eyes with her. Her fiery gaze held not fearlessness, but bravery.

She feared him, and it aroused him—not because of her fear, but because she was determined to overcome it and her trust in him, despite occasionally trembling under his touch.

Trembling the way she did now.

And, of course, it did wonders for his ego.

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Hush—Relax, darling. I've got you,” he purred, stroking her hair back and ghosting his lips on her throat. Though, he wasn't entirely sure he did have her—if he could keep her alive.

He wondered why Nym specifically settled on five scrolls, conveniently still placed off the side of the bedrolls. Knowing her, and the bookworm she was, she probably made up some clever calculations and wrote down her hypothesis somewhere.

He may not have trusted himself enough to maintain her heartbeat, but he trusted her enough to know that five scrolls would be sufficient, and it took everything in him to hold back his excitement.

Keeping his face nestled between her head and shoulder, he cradled her head with one hand and placed the other on her waist, gently rotating her to rest comfortably on the bedroll. He pointedly avoided looking at her face, knowing that seeing her grimace with trepidation would make him hesitate—he couldn't afford to squander this opportunity.

He dovetailed his legs with hers, one of his knees landing between her thighs.

With a dichotomy of shame and eagerness in his mind, he bit down and began to drink hungrily, eliciting a small whimper from Nym.

As the blood pooled in his mouth and slipped down his throat, he used all of his will to maintain peerless focus on her pulse. He could sense it with his entire being, in the way that he felt its throb on his tongue and the way her ichor gushed rhythmically out of her body and into his like a mycelium network. Not only that, but he could hear it, and feel it on the parts of his body that made contact with her’s. As a result, he could sense the strong, quick pitter-patters that always took place before he’d sink his fangs into her flesh, as well as the slow, weak drumming that it became when she’d had enough.

He could do this, he was confident.

He could sense that she was likely halfway to her limit, and their circumstance was beginning to feel erotic. He hadn’t discerned it earlier due to his inner turmoil, but the way Nym’s precious hand had started to massage his curls while her sun-like heat engulfed him was causing his member to grow hard and heavy against her hipbone.

Refusing to get distracted, he ignored his growing length and shifted his attention to the ambiance of her pulse, and indeed, she’d had enough.

Lifting himself hurriedly, he grabbed one of the scrolls as Nym lay like a ragdoll on her pillow. He couldn't help but glance at her face, to find a sleepy reassuring smile that had painted both her mouth and eyes, charmingly.

Opening the scroll, he smiled too, as he chanted the famed “te absolvo”, curing her impending exsanguination.

Before he could get lost in moral contemplation, he dove back into her in the same position as before, utilizing the puncture wounds he’d previously made.

—Her flavour is the same as before, except sweeter? Is she becoming aroused as well?

The poor thing, she’d been keeping so still with such desirous little thoughts swimming through her mind. It was unmistakable, but still, he was sure to maintain his resolve as he imbibed.

Again, her pulse slowed and Astarion routinely detached and swiftly used one of their scrolls.

—Three more to go.

He nipped and then sucked at her tender, bruising flesh, taking greedy pulls off her lifeblood until she couldn’t stand to lose anymore, affording himself no time to peer at her expression before hastily using the next scroll.

His length was now painfully hard, and this time, he unbiddenly released an animalistic groan into her as he supped. It was almost becoming more distracting to not be inside her. But he continued to drink, pushing the thoughts away.

Until. . .

He felt a sudden presence in his mind.

The presence felt simultaneously unknown and familiar, and he sensed he had no choice but to let it invade, as Nym’s pulse was his main priority.

As the folds of his mind slipped open, he felt an overwhelming pleasure surge through his body, accompanied by visions of himself wholly entwined with Nym.

—The tadpole.

Nym must’ve accidentally projected her thoughts into his mind; disruptive, salacious thoughts that felt impossible to ignore. However, the thoughts came and went within a few moments, jolting his attention back to Nym, whose pulse was exceptionally weakened.

“Shit.” He sat up and frantically grabbed the third scroll, chanting the incantation and embuing Nym with its magic.

This time, Nym coughed, covering her mouth with her forearm as the healing scroll dispelled her daze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Faint?” He attempted to finish her sentence.

She exhaled exasperatedly. “No—I didn’t know that we could do that with the tadpoles. I promise I didn’t try to on purpose,” she exclaimed, rising to her elbows with flushed cheeks.

“I know you didn’t. You’ve been such a good girl.” He crawled toward her, gripping her thigh. “I’m beginning to think this might be better—easier for us both if we capitulate.” He ran his hand up her thigh and to her folds, which he found weeping.

With upward canting brows, Nym parted her legs, bringing her knees up to accommodate his plot. She bit her lip, unsuccessfully stifling a moan as Astarion's mouth descended to her bud.

He inserted a digit, pumping into her languidly before beginning to silkily lap up her clit consistently with his practiced tongue.

Feeling generous due to the enormity of her favour, he thought it best to avoid teasing. He promptly inserted a second finger, stroking her plush inner walls with fervour as he continued his oral worship.

To this, she bucked her hips, but Astarion used his free arm to pin her hips down, halting her movements with his strong grasp without removing himself from her mound.

Nym’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she approached her climax, her body fluttering around his digits. “You’re so good to me,” she slurred between breaths.

His brows knit together at her words. Astarion didn’t feel like he’d been good to her; he felt like a leech, constantly draining her for all she was worth—metaphorically and literally. However, the part of him that hoped to be good enough for her felt traitorous to his entire being.

Was he really using her like he’d been used—subjecting her to his machinations to gain her support? And yet, when that support was passionately given, he couldn’t even accept it. He couldn’t accept that she truly cared, as if choosing to see his own Machiavellianism within her.

His dirty, tainted Machiavellianism.

The sound of her quickened pulse in her inner thigh was relentlessly beating in his ears, pulling him from his rumination.

He flicked her clit a few more times before she came, her pussy quivering around his fingers as her nectar sluiced through her swollen folds. Groaning, he pulled his face from her thoroughly cared-for nethers only to sink his teeth into her inner thigh, all without removing his slowing hand.

She tensed at first, reminding him to hold her thigh instead of her hips.

He held her closely, forcing her to keep still on his maw as he drank and fucked her with his digits. Opening his eyes, he saw her fist grasping the blanket with white knuckles as she cried out; though Astarion wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure, pain, or both. Nevertheless, he avoided pursuing his dismantling thoughts again—focusing solely on the way her quim felt around his fingers and the way her blood pulsed on his tongue.

Finally, the incessant drumming of her pulse weakened. He abated, unsheathing his fangs before snatching a scroll with one dexterous hand and wriggling his fingers into her spongey sweet spot with the other.

He spoke the incantation hastily, and once she’d been healed, he cavalierly tossed the scroll to the side, discarding it.

He pulled his fingers out, causing Nym to whine sweetly as she seemed to tremble from trepidation.

“Sh— I know you want to be filled—desperately,” he purred, climbing atop her, caging her between his elbows which rested on either side of her head while he keenly caressed her hair, slicking it back and out of her face. “I'm so very pleased with you, darling—my sweet, experimental little druid.” His last words came out slurred, as if he were drunk.

While he stroked her, she seemed to melt in his touch—all fear dissipating from her demeanour.

Astarion prodded at her hole with his tip before attempting to ease into her slowly; however, he was beginning to feel off-balance. He inadvertently fully sheathed himself as he toppled onto her ungracefully, causing Nym to squeak in surprise.

“Are you okay?” she asked, panting.

“Never better,” he babbled, lifting himself to his elbows again.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt better—he didn’t think a negative thought could cross his mind even if he tried. And he wouldn’t dare to try, lest he risk spoiling the moment.

Growling, he began to rut into her at a consistent pace, noting that she felt much tighter than usual—likely due to the extra blood pumping through his erection, expanding it.

He watched her face as she frowned in pleasure, her body undulating with each thrust. Her wetness enraptured him, spurring him into a bout of eagerness. His pace became punishing, as he jerked into her with great abandon.

Nym, in turn, began crying out in pleasure, speaking words in elvish that he didn’t understand nor care to understand as his inhibitions dwindled.

Though, he could feel his climax approaching, and he didn’t want to cum yet.

—Not like this.

Craning his neck forward, he slowed as he instinctively tried to catch his breath, but he noticed he could only manage to take shallow breaths as if there were less space for his lungs to expand.

He was a wreck, with his chin covered in Nym’s ambrosia and his body gleaming with sweat. His hair was no different, as it drooped and swayed, wet on his hung head.

He seated his girth within her, trying to avoid his orgasm as he kissed the unsullied side of her neck. Recalling his routine, he brought a hand to the back of her head, carding his fingers through her hair and rubbing her scalp tenderly.

“Last one, my dear,” he whispered, only somewhat coherently.

Upon hearing her whimper of assent, he bit into her soft flesh—this time, groaning raucously as he started to roll his hips again, angling them just right within her channel.

He began to feel an odd sensation within his torso, as if his abdomen was tight and uncomfortable, accompanied by the pressure in his chest. His usual post-meal clarity had dissipated; he felt foggy, inebriated—absolutely soused, in fact.

Nevertheless, he continued making a meal of his cherished woman—

—Or. . . not my woman—the woman that's helping me, or something of that effect. He giggled internally, his smile on her throat.

However, he became frustrated as he approached his precipice unbiddenly once again. Annoyed, he growled, spattering blood and creating a mess which, to his surprise, didn’t make Nym shudder. Slowing his pace again, he snaked a lithe hand to her bud, causing her breath to hitch. Her sex was silken and pert when he began his reverence, circling her nub languidly.

She mewled words of supplication as her body tensed, her hips tilting back. Consequently, Astarion sped up his toying, as he rolled into her with lissom, pacing himself.

Then, he could feel Nym’s body clenching around his member as she came at last, crying his name like a sinful melody.

He applied pressure to her clit, teasingly, causing her to squirm on his velvet hardness and signifying her fulfillment. He always thought it was cute when the overstimulation would make her wiggle, especially when he was inside her. However, he abated, moving his hand to her hips, where he would grip her and rutt into her hungrily—finally allowing himself to chase his own release.

He was sure that Nym’s throat would be adorned in pretty, dark bruises when he was done with her.

—She’d make anything look good, he thought, fleetingly.

He forced his final gulps as stars began to addle his vision and his pace became ragged. Fire pooled in his abdomen as he snapped his hips into Nym. Unrivalled pleasure rippled through him as he pulsed into her, filling her with his essence. He thrust shallowly as he removed his fangs from her throat, replacing his sharp bite with the flat of his tongue.

Her pulse was steady, stronger than it usually was after his feedings.

Astarion took his time, caring for her fresh bite with his tongue, followed by his lips which he'd use to kiss her gingerly—tracing a line with them towards her mouth.

His lips connected with hers, but he was dizzy and sloppy. His teeth briefly clicked on hers while he ravished her mouth. Humming into his lips, Nym lithely wrapped her arms around him as she wriggled her hips.

Astarion bestowed one more experimental thrust before pulling out and ungracefully searching for a scroll. His vision was doubled—or tripled, he couldn't tell. He felt heavy as he roamed the side of the bedroll with splayed fingers.

“Where in the hells is the Godsdamned scroll?” He piped, slurring his words.

Nym sighed into a mirth-filled giggle. “You're three sheets to the wind,” she chided.

Astarion swung his torso to see her, but his eyes failed him, as she, too, had an identical pseudo counterpart. The world began to spin around him, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

A twinkling sound and a bluish-white light came from what he thought was Nym’s direction, befuddling him further. He swore he could see Nym approaching when he felt something cold and wet on his forehead.

“Here—lay down. It's my turn to take care of you,” she crooned, holding the back of his head.

Her voice was mellifluous, lulling him into submission as he laid back.

“On your side,” she instructed, removing her hand from his scalp. The object, seemingly ice, disappeared from his forehead for a moment, only to be returned whilst wrapped in cheesecloth or something of that nature.

“Can you hold this here for me?” She inquired.

“Anything for you—hic—darling,” he murmured, a hiccup breaking his sentence.

He fumbled his hand towards the ice, and his fingers brushed on hers before she resigned.

“How can you be so filled with blood and still be so pale?” Nym asked in a joking manner. “Te Absolvo,” she chanted.

“Ha!” He laughed. “How can you be so kind when I’ve done nothing but—ah,” he hissed, feeling a wet cloth against his member.

“Ope—sorry! It'll be over in just a second.” She continued to wash him, before finding a new cloth to dampen and wipe his face with.

“Alrightalright—I'm not a child,” he protested, attempting to move his face from her torture.

“But you've got blood all over your stupid face,” she retorted.

“Oh, have I now? And who's fault is that?” He asked, garbling and raising a brow as he attempted to look at her. Unsuccessful, he closed his eyes again.

Nym let up her washing and placed the cloths somewhere irrelevant, but likely the hamper.

“Hmm—good question. . .” She paused. “I think the fault lies equally in both our hands.”

“By the Hells—I’m only teasing.” He pouted. “You think I’d actually blame you for that? And after ravishing you, so?” he rasped.

He felt the blanket cover him as the ice he held dripped water down his wrist.

“Open,” she instructed, and he felt glass touch his lips.

With a lack of inhibitions, he obeyed, parting his lips and tilting his head back. Whatever potion she was giving him smelt floral, and sharp, but its flavour was dull and slightly bitter; his ability to taste anything but blood was less than keen.

After downing a small amount of liquid, he—surprisingly—started feeling better. Opening his eyes, he saw a slightly blurry Nym, who had thrown on her poncho, smiling at him with adoration.

“Ginger,” she beamed, “one of my fancy druid's tricks.”

He blinked intentionally a few times, clearing his vision fully before sitting up and removing the ice from his forehead. “Thank you.”

Although he remained off-balance and intoxicated, he wasn’t queasy anymore. He recalled the last time he retched; It was after he drank from a rotten rat, the first thing he had eaten for weeks. It reminded him that he hadn't told Nym about Cazador yet, which gave him a sudden urge to spill his most personal secret.

“You want to know about my master,” he babbled, without a second thought.

“Shh—tell me when you’re not drunk—or—whatever this is,” she whispered while fussing with something in the corner of the tent.

Nym spun to face him, holding a thick, weathered, brown and purple book of blank parchment as well as a piece of charcoal. “So, first of all, how do you feel?” she began her questioning, shimmying eagerly as she sat on her heels.

—Right—the experiment.

Astarion had been enjoying himself so much that he'd forgotten the true purpose of their recently concluded mischief.

“Er—dizzy, but amazing,” he responded, trying to be helpful while rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.

Brows knitted, Nym wrote on the parchment like a true specialist. It intrigued him, reminding him of his sister, Dalyria, one of Cazador's spawns who had been a doctor in her mortal life.

“And would you say that you feel full?” She asked.

Pondering his answer, Astarion tried to tune into the feel of his body. He knew his abdomen felt tight and uncomfortable, but he wasn’t quite sure if full was the right word. Additionally, the heavy feeling was becoming less noticeable by the minute.

“When we'd first finished I felt stiff and uncomfortably heavy—but now. . .” he paused, “I am less uncomfortable, I suppose.” His face contorted in confusion.

—Is this what it feels like to be full?

“Ah—so my theory was correct,” she added before putting her book and charcoal down. “Say, for example, I were to drink a broth—that would take approximately forty minutes to pass through my stomach and into my small intestine,” she explained, pulling her poncho to the side and illustrating with her finger on her abdomen. “I hypothesized that blood—if it were similar to broth—would take forty minutes give-or-take to pass from your stomach. So really it must feel like if I were to drink broth; I'd only feel satiated for mere minutes,” she spoke while gesticulating.

—Clever girl.

Nym continued her gleaning, picking up her book and beginning to write something else.

“Why did you think we would need five scrolls?” He prodded.

Still writing, Nym pursed her lips before answering his question. “Well, it was simple, really. The human body contains five litres of blood. Losing forty percent of that blood causes exsanguination, and you could probably stand to lose thirty percent without fainting—do you follow?” Nym asked, checking in.

Astarion held a finger to his chin, and his brows came together as he focused, seemingly becoming less woozy by the minute. He gave her a curt nod, urging her to continue.

“Good. So assuming you also are supposed to have approximately five litres of blood running through your veins, and the average stomach can hold about three litres of volume, and if you account for the fact that my blood that you drank last night is likely coursing through you, then you would need to consume. . .” she paused to write on the parchment.

She flipped her book to show Astarion what she’d written.

5+3-0.5=7.5

5x0.30=1.5

7.5÷1.5=5

5 scrolls for 7.5 litres of blood.

“Of course, it's all just based on estimation and assuming that you slept off around a litre of my blood from last night—which I'm starting to think you didn't. Either that, or your stomach is smaller or you have less space in your cardiovascular system than I'd guessed. There's also the possibility that you drank less than one point five litres last night.” She shrugged. “Oh well—no harm, no foul.”

Astarion was intrigued, however, he noticed that she had failed to make one crucial calculation.

“You've never seen me bleed, have you?” He asked, earnestly.

Nym's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing as they frantically darted along the open page of her book. “No. . .”

“I thought not. We haven't been in many battles as of yet. I haven't been injured,” he added.

“Right.” Looking towards him, she nodded in agreement.

“I bleed, too—regardless of whether or not I've eaten. Blood runs through my veins, though how much of it, I don't know.” He shook his head, gazing at the floor. “There's a chance that I have less than a mortal, I suppose. That would explain the lack of colour in my complexion.”

Nym’s eyes widened. Dropping her book, she grabbed her scalp, looking down. “Agh—how could I forget to think of that? Gods, I'm so stupid sometimes.”

Astarion giggled at her dramatism, “It’s okay, but I think I overindulged more than we thought. I started feeling tipsy after the fourth scroll, so perhaps three was enough. It's. . . possible that I couldn't recognize the sensation of being full.”

“Gods—are you in pain?” she asked, pressing her palms into the ground and staring at him, concerned.

“Agh—no. Don't you worry your little head about me. You've already done so much,” he scolded. “Now, quit being so nice to me or I'll have to be nice back.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Nym paused at his words for a moment. “You're already. . . nice to me, Astarion. Did you not know that?” she asked.

—Helpless, stupid, little druid.

He smiled wryly, condescendingly tilting his head. “I'm joking. Now, what's our plan for the day?” he asked; though, he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to move around much yet.

“Oh!” Nym beamed, clapping her hands together excitedly and causing Astarion to flinch in his addled state. “We’re going to visit Auntie Ethel!”

—Ethel? The demented old bag from the grove? he mused. This is going to be fun.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

End notes: I've nothing to say <3 thanks for reading.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion x original female character #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion fluff #astarion x #astarion x f!oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female oc

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prime-adeptus · 8 months

Text

ONE LOVE, ONE LIFETIME – YONE X READER

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.” Or, the one where Yone fell first.

CONTENT.⠀female reader; romance, light angst and hurt/comfort, family issues, elitism in the family (yeah), Asshole Father bc I have problems, family member death, very heavily implied that MC was an accident baby, talks about death and the afterlife on yone's end, brief talks of arranged marriage, allusions to misogyny. + Spirit Blossom AU with some changes to fit the narrative. ~11k words

NOTES.⠀I wanted to finish this before I start properly using the break so woe ~20 pages be upon ye. I've had this in my drafts for ages and it took longer than I would've liked but! we made it! this is a gift for my beloved @kakujis, a dear friend and my Shimada Liker in Arms. <3 I hope you enjoy!!

divider by cafekitsune | cross-posted on ao3

Pride and honour stood above all else.

Such a lesson was established in your clan from the moment of its founding, forging ahead generations of noble swordsmen who have never strayed from their paths. Every child born into the family is bound to duty, raised and trained by the elite until they are seen as ready for the battles ahead of them. Pride flowed in your veins and you were taught to believe that what you bleed is your negligence. Honour is engraved in your bones, down to the marrow—strong as the seas, and immovable as the mountains.

Every child of your family knows this by heart, including you, the broken one. The odd one out. The blemish on what would otherwise be a pristine reputation.

Born without the same mana or prowess that all of your brothers possessed, you were deemed a flawed child undeserving of the honour of your family name. Fate restricted you from following the path you wished to take as soon as they decided on where your life began. How was it fair at all to put such a heavy burden on a child’s shoulders? On someone who hadn’t opened their eyes for the first time yet?

You craved to learn the ways of a warrior, to be someone the younger generation could trust and look up to. Instead, you were scorned in your own home by a family that was hellbent on upholding tradition and their position among the elite. All because you were born differently. Anything said about you was always done in contempt, especially from your own flesh and blood—your father, your brothers, and your sisters.

‘You are not my child.’ It was your father’s way of saying he didn’t want himself or his beloved sons associated with you, his flesh and blood. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. So long as he and the oh-so-esteemed council were alive, you would never be seen as a part of the family. So long as he continued to breathe, he would look down on you as much as he could. And yet, even though he so explicitly despised you, you still did everything you could so you could be worth his time.

A fruitless endeavour. He held your weakness over your head, his glare a constant reminder of how he’d always see you as a failure. You would never be enough. You wanted to leave, but where would you go? Without your family name, you had nothing. With your name, all you were was a bastard. You were bound to a home that didn’t welcome you.

‘You are not my child.’ You didn’t want to be.

You wished you had the chance to meet your mother. She abandoned you on the doorstep, they would say whenever you asked about her, your father saved you. It wasn’t until years later that you learned the truth. She never abandoned you—she was threatened, forbidden from stepping foot inside the mansion again. You used to wish she had fought more and taken you with her, but the more you grew, the more you understood. Whatever fury you harboured towards her dwindled like a flame dying on its own.

She didn’t have a choice. You knew firsthand what that felt like. Everything the elders said was law; within these walls, there was no going against them. They saw her as disposable, a lowly commoner who just happened to earn the affection of a nobleman for a night. And dispose of her they did. As the midwife took you away, your mother was sent off to another city in a carriage that never returned. No one spoke of her again. Whether it was by command or a collective agreement, you weren’t sure.

There were times when her name would come up in hushed whispers. Some of them were from your father. You remember being six years old and listening to your father’s drunk mumbling. With a hand on your head, he told you that you looked just like your mother. It was the gentlest he’d ever been with you. But when the inebriation left his system the next morning, your loving father was gone, and the patriarch was back.

His soft tone became harsh once again. His eyes burned with hatred. It was as if everything was just a dream. It might as well have been. You chalked it up to him having a bad day, just like yesterday and the day before that. Surely he’d be kind to you again if he drank.

He wasn’t.

And as if taking your mother away wasn’t already enough of a mockery, you were constantly reminded that this was not your home. That you were here because you belonged to the clan. You’ve always been. You were already their property from the moment you inhaled your first breath.

Your life was theirs, but even that wasn’t enough.

(You don’t think you’ll ever be.)

A child in a loveless family. Your father thought it wasn’t worth trying to train you, having decided that you were beyond help. Your brothers didn’t see you as someone they had to protect. Your sisters didn’t want to be seen with you. All you had were your grandparents.

With them, you were treated as family. It didn’t matter to them that you didn’t have what your siblings did. They loved you.

You spent mornings in the apothecary room with your grandmother, learning all about herbs and medicine from all around the world. In the afternoon, you’d spend time training with your grandfather in the dojo and listening to his stories of ages past. Then, every evening, you’d spend time with both of them at the temple that they cared for. All of your best memories were made there. When your grandparents inevitably passed, you didn’t hesitate to pick up from where they left off.

Your volunteering to maintain its upkeep seemed to satisfy the elders enough. At least you’ll be useful in something, your father said without batting an eye. You liked to think you’d become numb to all the jabs thrown your way, but you were wrong.

The temple was your getaway, somewhere you could hide from the world and feel more at home than you did in the estate. The smell of flowers and herbs inside the temple, alongside the sight of the sunrise or sunset, never failed to lull you into a state of tranquillity. The voices you’d hear from around you weren’t those of disappointment, but those of birds chirping in a joyous tune. It was the only place you’ll ever feel at peace in. Seeing the names of your grandparents engraved on the stone slabs broke your heart whenever you walked by. You might not grieve any more, but you were still alone.

Ionian faith and tradition flowed in your veins. You were taught about grace by your grandmother and what it meant to be dignified, worthy of respect even without noteworthy achievements. Your grandfather taught you strength and combat so you could protect yourself and others from monsters, both human and unknown. You wouldn’t have gotten the chance to learn the blade elsewhere. He was more than enthusiastic to pass on his knowledge to you. He’d grown weak with age, he said, but you’ve always thought he was the greatest swordsman you know. Aside from the temple, the dojo was where you felt the happiest, but as always, good things never lasted long for you.

In your world, secrets were nearly impossible to have. Spies and traitors lurked in the walls, engraving every decision you made and every word you spoke into their memory. It didn’t take long for your father to find out about the lessons his father had been giving you. In fury, he forbade you from entering the dojo or holding a weapon again and told you that you didn’t deserve to carry on his father’s legacy. Forced to leave behind your passion and descend into monotony, the art of the blade eventually left your mind. Had you just fought back—

No. Not everything was under your control. As long as you were in your father’s home, he would continue to treat you however he liked. The cruel words will keep being said, behind your back and to your face, but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You swore not to let anyone see you at your weakest again. You hated the name that you bear, but you would honour it the way you were taught to. The world might be against you, but there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Staying hopeful in a place like Ionia was all you could do.

Dawn always comes after dusk. The sun always rises for a new day. You didn’t see why it should be any different for you.

—

Your days got busier as the Spirit Blossom festival approached.

More and more people came to honour their loved ones every day, praying and making offerings to their ancestors for protection. You weren’t sure if you ever attended the festival yourself. You knew of the legends and stories behind it, of its reasons and purposes, but you had only been a bystander. You couldn’t see spirits even if you wanted to anyway, you thought bitterly, so there wasn’t a way for you to see your grandparents again.

‘In the Spirit Blossom festival, the dead reunite with their loved ones until the afterlife calls for them again.’

Whether or not it was possible to see said spirits, it was still hard to ignore the longing in your heart. The cycle of life and death was not unknown (you were more familiar with it than you’d like) but you didn’t think anyone could ever get used to it. You loved deeply, and when the ones you love are taken away from you, you’re left alone with yourself. You weren’t a stranger to partaking in as many tasks as possible to stop needlessly thinking, either. You spent your entire morning doing chores and running errands for this reason. You needed to keep yourself busy so you could drift away just for a little while.

With all of your tasks completed, you had nothing left to do. Leaves were swept into neat piles that the farmers always came to pick up later per routine. It took longer than you would’ve liked, though you supposed it was bound to happen when the workload wasn’t meant for one person, but two. The other shrine maiden had an ‘urgent matter to attend to,’ as her messenger informed you and left. You knew right away she paid him to cover for her. You’d like to think you mellowed out with age, having lived for almost three decades, but you were wrong. You were just as easy to irk as you were as a child.

‘It’s not a good thing to harbour negativity in a sacred place,’ your grandmother’s voice rang in your head, ‘it brings bad luck.’ But there you stood, the most irate you’ve ever been as you wished a terrible week upon the both of them.

Thanks to the tedious work done in all your lonesome, the tile flooring within the temple was spotless. The altar was dusted and reorganised, ready to accept the next batch of offerings. The place smelled more like soap than the usual floral incense you were used to. On any other day, you’d return to your quarters after such a productive time, maybe read a book before you go to sleep, but nature had other plans in store.

The wind howled and rain started to pitter-patter against the rooftop while the sun began its descent. Silhouettes of nature and man-made structures were the only company you had as you made your way back into the prayer room. Away from the rain, you idly watched the world go by from inside. You remembered your grandfather telling you about his battles in a storm and how tumultuous it had been. The retellings of his past exploits were your favourite stories to listen to in your childhood. He travelled through the lands and protected those he held dear with honour. He lived a life of pride and accomplishments that you wanted to have in yours. You still did.

A singular incense stick burnt in the centre of the bowl of ash and sand, its smoke disappearing into the air as it did so. The air grew colder as the sun set, painting the sky in warm hues and your skin in gooseflesh. The storm outside threatened to extinguish the flames within the lantern posts outside. Your uniform robe and long skirt, despite its many layers and the fabric, didn’t aid much in shielding you from the cold. A shiver ran down your spine from the sudden drop in temperature.

If you were asked what you disliked about this time of the year, you would say the weather’s unpredictability as the veil was lifted. The day started pleasantly; the sun was bright and the spring breeze was refreshing. There was no way you could’ve known that there would be a storm approaching.

The doors slammed shut with a loud bang, making you jump in fright and instinctively reach for a sword you no longer owned. You frowned. Years had passed since you last held a weapon, and you weren’t sure if your body had any memory of it at all. If danger were to actually happen, your only means of defence would be the old wooden broom in the corner, which you doubted made for a good weapon. Still, you found yourself keeping it close, your fingers curling tightly around the handle. It was better to be safe than sorry. You were fortunate enough to live in a densely populated area that was well protected, but as typical of an Ionian village, worse things awaited after sunset.

You were a cautious person for as long as you could remember. As optimistic as you tried to be, you weren’t exactly so convinced that there was such a thing as a safe haven. So long as peace exists, so will chaos, and with chaos comes things that are out of your control. You were taught to let things progress the way fate and nature intended them to, to let go of your anxieties because you always worried over ‘nothing.’

But that was easier said than done. You worried for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Fate weaves the threads of life the way it wants to. The strong are led to lives of fame and power, and the blessed are led to lives of love and fortune. But you weren’t strong or blessed, you were cursed. If the Creator put you on earth for a reason, what is it? What path does fate want you to take, and what did you do in your past life to be put in such a suffocating position?

The anxiety at the pit of your stomach grew stronger the longer you observed the forest and the shadows in between. In the daylight, the temple was comforting and tranquil, picturesque, but it hadn’t occurred to you until then how daunting it was in the dark. It was a quiet night, eerily so, and the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you padded into the prayer area. Tentatively, you placed the broom down and knelt before the statues of the gods you worshipped. The incense burnt itself down to the base, gradually putting out the flame on its own.

‘If you are afraid, pray. The gods will protect you.’

You weren’t a child anymore. Monsters only existed in stories—there was nothing to be afraid of. But the feeling persisted and it became worse as the door swung open and slammed against the wall. You heard something breathing.

It wasn’t the wind.

A low growl rumbled from the chest of whatever was stalking towards you. An animal of some sort. A predator. Your mind screamed at you to just run, but you were terrified, you couldn’t move and your body just wouldn't listen—

It drew closer.

You were going to die, ripped apart by a monster, and it was going to hurt more than anything ever had. Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered a prayer under your breath in hopes that it would help. Maybe it was a spirit that couldn’t pass on. If you prayed for it, you could alleviate its pain and then be left alone. You were frantic, the words coming out incoherent as you got tongue-tied and struggled to remember the rest of them. When you felt it breathing down the back of your neck, your voice died in a choked whine. It watched you with hunger and it raised its claws with murderous intent, ready to slash.

It never did.

Instead, you heard the gargling of blood, followed by a clatter on the floor. Your body finally listened and you turned around to see what you could only describe as a demon. The glow in its mask’s eyes dimmed as it died with a sword speared through its chest, inches away from your face. In terror, you watched it bleed as the crimson splattered on your skin. It crumbled into dust as if it was never there. Just like that, it was dead and gone.

The mask dropped where your saviour stood. Wordlessly, he picked it up and attached it to a grotesque belt adorned with similar faces. All you could do was watch as everything slowly sank in. The downpour became louder, heavier. Your ears rang and your body felt numb. The only sound you heard was your ragged breathing as you tried to calm down and think. This must be a nightmare. It had to be. It had to be a hallucination from your paranoia and lack of sleep.

You closed your eyes and opened them again. The man was still standing in front of you.

You weren’t dreaming.

It was all real, from the blood splattered on the ground to the man in front of you. Half of his face was covered by a red mask, more menacing than what the monster had worn. Bandages were loosely wrapped around his torso and his arms, revealing some of his pale skin and scars from what could only be combat.

You weren’t dreaming.

A monster you had never seen tried to kill you and you were lucky enough that this man came to save your life. It felt as though your mind stopped entirely. You didn’t know where to start. Were you supposed to ask about the monster or ask about him?

You decided on the latter. “How did you know it was here?”

A beat of silence passed, and then he spoke.

“It is my curse to bear.”

That didn’t really answer your question. You attempted to ask again, but one glance at his face made you realise that he didn’t care about answering them. It was essentially impossible to tell what he was thinking and you’d rather not agitate someone as intimidating as him.

“Thank you,” you opted to say instead.

Your gaze landed on the swords in his hands. Blood was still dripping off of the red blade that seemed to be glowing. If his mask was menacing, his blades were worse—you had never seen anything quite like them.

He didn’t respond. All he gave you was a nearly imperceptible nod, a sign of acknowledgement. Seemingly satisfied with his kill, he made the move to leave, and your thoughts ran rampant. You wanted answers, an explanation, anything to make sense out of what happened.

You should let him go. You should run home before you encounter another one of those things again when you’re not as lucky, but you didn’t.

“Wait!” you called out, louder than you intended. “Teach me how to fight.”

He stopped in his tracks, then slightly looked back at you. The action had you fidgeting nervously. There was a gut feeling that he was going to say—

“No.”

You needed him to teach you. He was strong. He knew what those things were and how to kill them. He could help you. If that thing could come in here so easily, undeterred by the protective runes and wards placed around the temple, another could do it again. You couldn’t afford to let this place get destroyed because of your inability to defend it. You needed to protect your grandparents’ memory, a small sliver of their legacy that you were allowed to touch. You had to.

The chance was falling out of your hands right in front of you. Your confidence wavered, but you tried again. “I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please?” Your voice was quieter, more hesitant. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

“Please—wait!”

This time, he didn’t spare you another glance as he walked off into the night, leaving you afraid and alone with the monster’s blood still on your skin.

—

No matter how many years passed, Yone’s hands would always be stained in blood.

The village was different from what he remembered. He knew of it when it was in flames and scattered with bodies of the brave. With what little time it had after the war, the village has been rebuilt from the disaster that the Noxians left behind. It was stronger, safer, liberated from their clutches. More swordsmen and warriors were patrolling the area, all bearing the crest of the clan that owned the village itself.

That didn’t. The clan of where men were raised to be elite warriors and women were raised to be the most adept of mages, known for their noble blood and valiance. Their estate was fortified and bigger than it used to be, looming over the smaller houses that unsurprisingly didn’t get as much protection. What seemed to be the most protected, though, was the temple. It was known to be a sanctuary to the villagers and the most important value to them was faith. Seeing said sanctuary well-protected wasn’t a shock. It was always that way.

As a child, he used to visit the temple on particularly rough days. Sometimes, his brother would come along, and they’d go find the master swordsman who took care of it with his wife, the shrine maiden. His brother in particular enjoyed hearing all about the swordsman’s stories, inspired by his strength and bravery that remained well into his older years. His wife was stern but motherly to all, more doting towards children than adults.

They weren’t like the rest of the clan who looked down on the weak; they loved. They loved their home, they loved their fellow men, and they loved the world. The people loved them, too. He loved them, just like they loved this sanctuary they built.

Yone stepped into the courtyard. Though it was past sunset, he could see that the place was much greener. More flowers had grown since then and the spring was well-maintained. He thought that the temple remained the most welcoming place he ever found himself in. It was clear that whoever was taking care of this place did it with the same love that the elderly couple had. He spotted their names on the stone slabs written in gold. There wasn’t just one bouquet on their grave, but several. Well-loved even after death as they deserved.

As he approached the main building, he sensed it—danger lurking within, undoubtedly the work of a monster he was all too familiar with. The wooden doors were broken and splintered. Cautiously, he stepped inside. True to his suspicion, at the end of the hall was an azakana hunched over someone, its grotesque mass a stark contrast to the pristine state of the walls as it growled and breathed heavily. His swords glinted in the light of the moon as he drew them.

Yone’s kills were clean and precise. He didn’t need to destroy his surroundings to prove his strength, nor did he think that he was destructive to that extent. As disciplined in life, as disciplined in death, and even more so in between. His physiology was wholly different from what it had been when he was alive. His being alone defied life itself.

He felt weightless, numb yet still in full control of his body as he moved into the prayer room, his footsteps not making a single sound. He heard what sounded like crazed muttering from where the azakana stood, something akin to pleading or perhaps a prayer. The azakana raised its hand. Its talons grew longer and sharper, prepared to strike whoever it was hiding. Before it could, Yone pierced his blade through its heart, silently watching as it disintegrated back into nothing but ashes and dust on the ground.

“How did you know it was here?” you asked, still struggling to catch your breath.

He was silent for a while as he picked up the mask it left behind and pinned it to his belt as proof of yet another successful hunt. You were staring up at him with teary eyes, still shaken from being so close to death’s grasp. He didn’t want to alarm you—he knew he looked ghastly—but you were obviously different from what he was. You were alive, vulnerable, and from the way you quivered like a leaf, you had never encountered one of those things before.

“It is my curse to bear,” he replied smoothly. A practised response, one that he hoped would be all you asked for. Yone knew it didn’t answer your question. As if you had more questions—you most likely did; he didn’t blame you for that—you parted your lips to speak, but no words came out.

Slightly defeated, you exhaled and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Yone glanced at you. Your face felt familiar to him like you were an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. You must be related to the previous caretakers somehow. The resemblance you had with them was striking. The way you spoke was timid, unlike the boisterous master swordsman or the confident shrine maiden. It didn’t bother him. If he was like you, defenceless in your position, he would’ve acted the same way. You seemed to be calming down with each breath you took, making him relax just the slightest. You weren’t harmed.

Aside from the azakana’s blood, tonight, his hands were clean, and he wouldn’t need to repent.

He decided to leave. There was no reason why he should stay for any longer. The sooner he could find the other stray malevolent spirits, the safer his childhood home would be. Things like him didn’t have the privilege of resting. He didn’t need it. Before he made it past the door, you called out for him, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

“Teach me how to fight.”

He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

You looked less and less confident with each passing second. Dealing with stubborn people wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him. He grew up with Yasuo—he was more than used to it. He pursed his lips.

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please.” Yone should’ve been out for the next hunt by now, but there was something in your voice that kept him staying where he was. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help you. He wanted to protect what he could too. It just… wasn’t for him. He thought you’d be better off learning from a master. Surely you could go to the dojo that your clan owned?

“I can’t,” he replied, realising that he had left you hanging. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

He didn’t look back this time. The cold air of the night greeted him as he stepped out and put his swords back in their sheaths. The rain washed away the blood and its remnants on the stones beneath his feet. The skies seemed to be clearer than they were earlier. The moon and stars glowed brightly in the darkness, illuminating the paths before him. There was a nagging feeling in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something was off—were there more azakana hiding in the area? He decided he’d patrol the forest one more time before moving on elsewhere.

He left without a trace, just like a ghost like him always did.

—

You started to carry a dagger with you wherever you went.

It wasn’t a naginata or ootachi like you were trained to use, but it made you feel safer to have something you can defend yourself with. Thankfully, the temple wasn’t damaged too badly, though it would still take some time to repair. One of the older mages dropped by and offered to cast a protective seal, which you gladly accepted.

“Miss?” you asked, fidgeting nervously as she finished up her work.

She hummed. “Yes, dear?”

“Is the… The veil, is it already open?”

“It should be by now.” She contemplated for a bit. “I will say, it wasn’t this disastrous last year… I assume it’s because the magical energy is stronger this time around. Don’t worry, dear—nature will have adapted to it by now.”

“I see. Thank you,” you chirped. “I’m more worried about the temple getting attacked or broken than anything… I can’t see spirits the same way you can. I won’t be able to protect myself.”

“The seal will keep out malevolent entities.” She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Then she lowered her voice as if she was worried someone would hear her. “Was this really done by the storm? I could feel something strange in the air when I came here.”

You hesitantly shook your head. “There was a monster. It broke in and some—something else killed it.”

“What did it look like?”

“I was too scared to look,” you said apologetically, “but it was wearing a mask.”

“A mask?”

“It looked like a demon. The same ones in stories I used to read as a child.”

The mage frowned. “We’ll need a stronger seal than the one I put here, then.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“They’re called azakana. They are demons,” she explained. “You’re really lucky to have made it out alive. Those creatures are ruthless. They’ll stop at nothing.”

Azakana. You didn’t think you heard of them. You weren’t allowed in the magic library. Your grandparents didn’t like going into detail about the unknown, said it was just hearsay. You never got to explore the world the same way they did. All you knew in your entire life was the estate. You contemplated sneaking into the library to learn about everything that was kept from you, but there were bigger matters at hand.

“How do I stop them?”

“You kill them before they kill you,” she answered wryly. “I’ll do all I can to help keep the temple safe, but I can’t guarantee your protection.”

You had a busy afternoon ahead of you—more errands to run, more favours to do—so you couldn’t stay for long. With a polite goodbye, you went your own way, her words echoing in your mind all the while. You’d have to retrace your steps and learn to fight by yourself. The thought of how ridiculous you’d look training alone made you grimace. But she was right; it was kill or be killed. You wouldn’t always be as fortunate as you were a few days prior.

You idly swung the empty basket in your hand as you walked through the estate. The gardens look much better now. The hedges were trimmed, wilted flowers were removed, and the pond was clear. You couldn’t believe a storm just happened. The weather seemed to have settled for good, too. It was a warm and sunny day, the perfect weather for you to collect herbs and flowers for the village apothecary. She had become more frail with age, and considering her station isn’t too far from the temple, you offered to do the job for her. In your pocket was a written list of what she needed. It was nothing too difficult to find.

You were about to leave until you heard your name coming from someone in the meeting room. The doors were closed, but the walls were thin enough for you to be able to hear through them.

“—a leftover person,” a voice said—you recognised it as your uncle’s. “Past the age of marriage, but it could still be an option.”

Your heart dropped. You hid behind a wall, your fists clenched tightly around the handle of the basket as you tried to calm down and stay quiet lest you get caught eavesdropping.

Another voice chimed in. “—offspring would be cursed as well. Are you sure you don’t want to set up an arranged marriage? It’s been years—”

“Being constantly reminded of a mistake I made nearly thirty years ago is quite irritating, councillor,” came the unmistakable haughty voice of your father. “I said no. I refuse to tarnish our family name.”

You should be used to this. The cruel words, the hatred, the anger, but you can’t, no matter how much you’ve tried. It’s not as if you’re unaware of your power or lack thereof. It’s been said to you time and time again: you were weak, you were nothing.

“—what about training? It could help with getting started,” a feminine voice added. You weren’t surprised that she was the only one who was less harsh with her words talking about you so far. She of all people would know how you felt.

“Out of the question,” your father replied snidely. “Our mages and swordsmen are all pure-blooded. The bastard doesn’t deserve the honour of being one of them.”

Their words slipped through your ears. You were no longer listening; instead, you bit down on your lip and tried to hold back tears. How could someone hate their flesh and blood so much? How could he take everything away from you so easily? Not caring that they would hear you, you stormed out the gates while harshly wiping away your tears with your hands. Knowing them, they probably wanted you to.

You ran and pushed past strangers, unbothered by the concerned and irritated looks you were given. You ran until you found yourself deep in the forest, far enough so you could be left alone. Everything you tried to hold back then burst. You wailed, nails digging into your skin and your body wracked with sobs. The sound of water flowing down the stream slowly but surely calmed you down. The sobs eventually became quiet sniffles until they stopped entirely. Your tears dried on their own and you could finally breathe again.

Looking up from your hands, your gaze drifted to a fawn across the river. It lovingly nudged its mother with its head, stumbled a bit as it tried to keep up with her pace. The sight warmed your heart. It was always nice to see beings, human or animal, be gentle to one another. You hoped to be in that position someday.

A twig snapped behind you. Alarmed, you reflexively grabbed your dagger and whipped around, but the threat you were going to say died on your tongue when you saw who it was. The masked man—the one who saved you from the azakana—stood before you, huffing at you as if he found something funny.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

You glowered at him with furrowed brows before hesitantly relaxing, putting the dagger back in its sheath. “What are you doing here?”

“The dojo.”

“What?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you not ask me to teach you how to fight?”

“I did, but…”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was kind of him to seek you out again to tell you this, but you weren’t sure how you felt. Part of you wanted to say yes, to learn to protect yourself and others. The bigger part of you already felt defeated. You could only be tough for so long before you started to break.

“Thank you for reconsidering,” you said. You meant it. “But I’m not allowed there.”

“Not allowed?”

“My father is quite a stickler for the rules.” You chuckled humorlessly. “Only his sons are allowed in that dojo. The ones with noble blood, not the bastards. Take a guess where I fall between those two.”

He mulled over your words for a bit. Then he said, “Tell me your preferred weapon.”

You blinked dumbly. “Huh?”

“Your stance. It doesn’t belong to someone who uses a dagger.”

You supposed it made sense for someone like him to know something that even you didn’t notice. Awkward as he might be, it was evident that he was passionate about what he knew. A man of honour and discipline, a dual wielder with effortless lethality. You wondered how someone like him wasn’t revered and well-known the same way that the bladesman from Wuju and the blade dancer of Navori were. You broke the silence with a noise of disbelief. How strange, indeed.

“My grandfather thought I was best suited for a naginata, so that’s what he trained me in as a child,” you told him. “I don’t think I remember anything, though. It’s been a very long time.”

“You do,” he cut in. “No one forgets the art of the blade. Your mind may not remember, but your body does.”

“That’s very kind of you to say… Thank you,” you responded, smiling softly at him, “but what made you change your mind? I thought you had your… duty.”

“I do, but helping you can also be one of them,” he replied bluntly. “You have something you want to protect. As did I.”

You tried not to think too much about why he said it like that. It was not your place to pry, but you had always been a curious one. He must have lost something or someone along the way. For someone so stoic, he didn’t hide the regret in his tone well.

You glanced at him, deciding to end your train of thought before you slipped up and said something you regretted. “Are you sure you want nothing in return?”

“I only ask for your name.”

Heat rushed to your face. It was an incredibly mundane thing to ask for, normal for people who were getting to know each other to do. His forwardness caught you off guard, made you lose your balance for a moment. You cleared your throat and gave him your name, which he repeated quietly to himself.

He nodded at you. “My name is Yone.”

Yone grabbed a bamboo stick (where did he even get that from?) and tossed it your way, visibly pleased when you managed to catch it with ease.

“Well, then, let us begin.”

—

You developed a new routine since you started training with Yone.

In the morning, you took care of the temple, which you said was ‘good as new.’ In the afternoon, you helped the apothecary with preparing medicine. In the evening, when everyone went home, you trained by the riverside with Yone. Then, at night, he walked you home per your request.

For someone who was adamant that they forgot everything, you got familiar with the blades quite easily. You were a quick learner, he noticed. He didn’t understand why you thought so lowly of yourself. He didn’t understand how your family could hate someone like you. From first glance, he knew that you were kind. Stubborn, but a great listener. Thoughtful, quick-witted, and gentle even with those who didn’t treat you the same way.

It had taken a while, but you started to be more confident in yourself as well. You hesitated less. He could see you rising up the ranks in the dojo quickly; you just needed encouragement and practice. It didn’t make sense to him why your father was dead set on restricting you from everything.

No matter, Yone thought. His heart swelled with pride every time he saw you. You didn’t even seem to realise that you were nothing like your family said you were. As much as he wanted you to know that, he wasn’t good with words. On top of his unfamiliarity with comfort or praise, he also didn’t know where his relationship with you stood. You weren’t friends, you weren’t strangers, but you weren’t distant like acquaintances would be. Regardless, he didn’t want to overstep. All he could do was hope that you’d understand him.

Steel clashed against each other as you parried his attacks. Something was different, like you weren’t completely there. He was proven right when he managed to pin you down to the floor, the edge of his sword hovering only a breath away from your neck.

“You faltered,” he said more as a statement than a question. “You can not hesitate in a fight.”

You averted your gaze from his intense stare. Were you afraid of him?

“I’m sorry.”

“We should stop for today.” He smoothly rose to his feet and offered you a hand, helping you up. “Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”

“The festival is tomorrow,” you murmured. “But I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t wish to participate in it,” he finished for you.

You gave him a strained smile. “I can’t. I just… can’t.”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his and squeaked out an apology. He hadn’t noticed they were still joined together, but there was a strange feeling pulling at his chest when you let go. Still, he didn’t say anything, choosing to let the conversation end there. He knew what it was like to lose someone. Rebirth might have changed him, melded him into stone, but some things could break through and get to him.

(He hadn’t known it then, but you were one of them.)

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, then,” you said hesitantly. “I should go back.”

He nodded. “I understand. Get home safe.”

You looked as though you wanted to say something else, lips parted and eyes curious, but you didn’t. Instead, you smiled at him—softer this time, less strained—and left without a word. As you faded into the distance, Yone sighed quietly and sat down on the grass, his swords laid next to him. He didn’t want to take you away from your other responsibilities; he knew fully well that you were quite dutiful as he was. He’d gotten so used to spending evenings with you, training and listening to you talk about whatever was on your mind that your absence felt off.

Though you were sure that you weren’t going to join in the festivities tomorrow, you most likely had to help out somehow. From what you told him about your family, he doubted that they’d leave you alone as well, taking the chance of reuniting with loved ones to look down on you. His lips tugged into a frown. Feelings weren’t exactly his strong suit since his new life began, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t understand how you would feel.

The breeze caressed his skin, taking him in its cold embrace. The drop in temperature didn’t bother him. It never had, really. He was more than used to how inconsistent the Ionian climate could get. So what was this weariness and uneasiness clouding his mind? Lingering somewhere between life and death, feelings were the least of his concerns, but he didn’t like what it was doing to him as he thought about you.

He stared at the moon’s reflection in the river. It did the same thing not long ago when you sat together and talked to him about your fondest memories. It was the first time you were so open with him. He listened to your stories, your laughter and the bittersweet tinge in your voice.

He saw a spirit walking hand-in-hand with another person somewhere not too far from where he was. A festival meant for reuniting with their loved ones, the only chance spirits and humans got to see each other again. He didn’t have anyone to visit—even if he did, he doubted he could bring himself to face someone he had failed years ago.

His thoughts wandered back to you and what you told him about your grandparents. It was a relief to find out that they never changed even after the war, having stayed the same loving people until their end. A thought popped into his head. If he could just find them—no, he could.

He knew their names. He knew them.

He wasn’t a magic user, but he was confident in his ability to search. Reinvigorated, he grabbed his swords and got up. Pondering under the stars would have to wait, he had a mission to do.

The only advantage to being something he was, Yone thought, was that fatigue was never an issue. He traversed through the plains, made his way up the hill, taking every twist and turn he could think of. Not wanting to risk being seen by civilians—he wasn’t exactly unaware of how… appalling he looked—he stayed in the shadows, hiding in the darkness. After what seemed like a few hours, he finally spotted the silhouettes of your grandparents, distant but familiar.

“Yone? Is that you?” your grandfather said in disbelief, his tone still full of the same joy it had whenever he spoke to Yone and his brother. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at the younger man. “I haven’t seen you in… in years! You’ve changed!”

Your grandmother was less boisterous, though it was clear she felt happy to see him as well. Upon taking a proper look at him, her face fell, and she approached him with a concerned expression.

“It’s far too early for you to be like this,” she sighed. Yone wanted to argue that he wasn’t exactly young anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “What happened?”

“It… is a long story,” Yone replied, his voice lacking the same strength and volume it had earlier in the day. Grief was such a fickle thing. He’d feel nothing one moment and everything in the next. He didn’t mourn himself, never had nor did he ever think it was necessary, but he did regret. Regretted being unable to protect his family, regretted being unable to protect your family. The curse laid upon him gave him the chance to atone, and even then, it never eased the chains wrapped around his soul.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

—

Yone was acting suspiciously.

To start, when you arrived at the clearing of the forest you usually trained with him, he wasn’t there. You didn’t know how long you waited until he arrived, offhandedly apologising for his tardiness. The sky had already faded into dark shades of blue, the sun nowhere to be seen and replaced with the moon peeking over the horizon. It might have been immature of you to scold him while being as huffy as a petulant child, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The day didn’t start out well for you, to say the least. The only things spoken around town were how excited people were to see their late relatives again and how much they looked forward to spending time with them for the next three days. It wasn’t like you wanted to feel bitter about it all. You were glad on their behalf, but the feeling of being the odd one wasn’t something you could control that easily. You wanted to be able to experience the same magic and happiness the others did.

As if that wasn’t enough, a councillor—likely the same one you overheard that time—left you a letter summoning you to a meeting the same night. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve kept that in mind and made sure you arrived in time. But you knew what it was going to be about. You were already in a loveless family. A loveless marriage wouldn’t make your life better and the only one benefiting from it was your father. You didn’t exactly like being spiteful (it’s a sin, a monk would say) but there was nothing wrong with it if they deserved it, was there? You ripped the paper to shreds, threw it out somewhere you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter as long as you got rid of it.

There were a lot of things to be angry about, like how irritating it was to still be under your father’s control as an adult, or how they all never broke their habit of speaking as though you weren’t there. It didn’t mean you liked being angry. You weren’t built for such aggression.

You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about this.

“You’re late.” You didn’t mean to say it as whiny as you did. Overly aware of how you sounded, you looked away from Yone and crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring whatever reaction he had to it. “I’ve been here for hours.”

“I’m sorry. I… had something to attend to,” he said. “I have something to show you. Follow me.”

Without realising it, you pouted. “And you have the nerve to boss me around…”

Yone’s silence made you begrudgingly glance at him again. He looked anxious, which was a surprise—you always saw him so calm and collected. It was… concerning. You sighed. He didn’t seem like he meant to leave you waiting for so long. Heaving out a quiet sigh, at last, you relented.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The walk was quiet. You had a bunch of questions in your mind, both from curiosity and a bit of pettiness you had left. He deftly navigated through the woods, turning back once in a while to see if you were still following him. It was dark, almost as dark as it had been when you met him in that storm for the first time, but you weren’t as afraid anymore, either. You couldn’t describe it. Something about him felt safe. It could be that it was because he saved you from death and helped you become stronger. You didn’t think that was it, though.

You caught up to him, now walking beside him rather than behind. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. You huffed. Fine.

But you couldn’t stay annoyed for long. You found your gaze drifting over to him; the curves of his mask, the clenching of his jaw. How was it possible for someone who scared you so much when you first met to also be someone who you’d trust with your life? You knew nothing about him. He was a strange person, impeccable swordsmanship aside. He never spoke about his family or his home. He was familiar with the village like he lived here before, but you’d never seen him. Just who was he?

Yone led you to a cliffside. The trek—how wasn’t he tired?—felt worth it in the end when you saw the night sky. The crescent moon smiled at you from her place among the scattered stars, sparkling and glowing brightly on what would normally be pitch black. A hand was placed on the small of your back, taking you by surprise and making your breath hitch before you relaxed. It was just him.

“I brought you a gift,” he said plainly. You narrowed your eyes at him. He didn’t look like he was one for gifts, but who were you to decline? It must be a reward or something, or an apology because you were left for hours—

Someone called your name. A familiar voice, one you hadn’t heard in years. You must be imagining it. They were dead, there was no way it could be. Were you so tired that you were imagining things?

“They’ve been waiting for you.” Yone gently pushed you forward. “Go.”

Sceptical as you were, once again, you relented.

The figures were clearer the closer you approached. You recognised the clothes, the voices—was this a prank? Would someone like Yone play such a cruel joke?

“You’ve grown so much,” came the voice of your grandmother, laced with a tenderness you’d recognise from anywhere.

“How…” you trailed off. Your grandparents stood in front of you, happiness radiating off of them in waves as they walked your way. You didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Were you hallucinating? “I don’t understand…”

“It’s us, kiddo.” Your grandfather placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair affectionately. It was cold, but it felt real, too real. “We came to see you.”

You fell apart. Tears sprung to your eyes as you fell into their arms, broken sentences and wailing leaving you at its will. It was real. You didn’t understand it. You weren’t supposed to be able to see them, to see spirits—you didn’t have that gift, your father always made sure you knew that. So how was this possible? How could you see them, touch them, feel them?

“We tried to come find you every year,” your grandmother spoke, her voice as soft as a whisper. “But we—we couldn’t come in. The estate, it’s… locked away from us.”

“You left me,” you snivelled, “you left me here—you…”

You didn’t know what you were saying anymore. Giving up on trying to voice your thoughts, you kept crying until you grew weary, the devastated weeping gradually dissolving into shaky breaths. You felt her hand on the top of your head, lovingly smoothing down your hair as she hummed the tune she always sang to you when you were young. Your grandfather leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, chuckling under his breath—they were as overjoyed as you were.

“We can’t stay for long,” he murmured. “But we really wanted to see you. That young man helped us. Quite the man you’ve found, hm?”

“He’s just a friend,” you grumbled. As cross as you were with him earlier, you were thankful that he’d done this for you. There were many unanswered questions you had lingering in the back of your mind, but those weren’t that important anymore, you thought. Finally pulling away, you smiled for the first time that night. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too, sweetheart.” Your grandmother returned the gesture, brushing your stray tears away with her thumbs. “Why don’t you come sit with us, tell us what you’ve been up to?”

As you followed them, you turned to look back at Yone, mouthing ‘thank you’ with another smile. He nodded. You learned to pick up on his cues in the past month you spent with him, so you knew what he meant. You’re welcome. He wasn’t the best with words, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves. You wondered if he knew how important this was, how you’d always remember his kindness.

Lost in conversation with your loved ones, you missed how Yone’s stern expression melted into fondness as he watched the scene, the corners of his lips curling up just the slightest. It was the happiest he’d ever seen you.

(And it was the moment he knew—he’d do whatever it took to protect your smile.)

—

Existing somewhere in a plane between life and death, Yone spent his days on autopilot with only one goal in mind. Cursed for as long as his afterlife would last by the azakana, he’d continue to hunt them down one by one until there was nothing left. He saw his ‘life’ differently, ‘felt’ differently.

Bound to the world of the living, denied the peace of death, as he used to say. Time was no longer so important to him now that he became what he was. It passed as it willed, and he would only follow until it was over—assuming it would ever be. Yone didn’t care—or rather, he just tried not to think—about the state of life, the meaning of his existence. If he was bound to duty, at least he’d try to accomplish this one, unlike what he failed in his youth.

He should have left Ionia when he killed the last azakana in that temple. But more and more showed up every day, dangerously close to where you lived, and he knew that they would come find you again eventually. Deciding to take your request wasn’t an impulsive decision. He found your determination admirable even with the chains that held you back. It reminded him of who he had been. Who he craved to be once again. He tried to keep himself distant, staying within the boundary of just a kind stranger, but before he knew it, he found himself feeling tethered to you.

You weren’t just someone he saved. You were someone he had grown increasingly fond of. Yone knew you were kind, that you had a lot of love to give even to those who didn’t deserve it. He believed in his ability to predict what would happen, to adapt to sudden changes, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the whirlwind that was you.

For the first time in years, he felt alive, and it was all because of you. Your smile, your voice, the way you’d playfully talked back to him, the way you were always concerned for him. That much still held true as he sat beside you on a hill, his gaze focused on you over the sunrise you meant to show him.

He didn’t expect you to invite him to something that could be seen as so intimate. He didn’t expect himself to agree without a second thought either. He prided himself on being someone who always thought before he did anything, but something about you had him caving into his whims more frequently. He’d find that irritating if he was the same young man he used to be, but he didn’t. If he was bold enough, maybe he’d go as far as to admit that he liked how you made him feel.

It seemed his gift for you had changed you overnight. You weren’t mad at him anymore; if anything, you seemed to be more gentle with him. Like you saw him differently. He didn’t want to assume you did—that would be unfair to you.

This was what made it difficult for him to leave.

He couldn’t stay here for long. Fate would guide him to other places, more obscure and dangerous, and as much as he felt like he overstayed his welcome with you, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t know if he’d get the chance to see you again, to talk to you again. Getting attached to what could be temporary wasn’t a smart idea—he knew that. But for once, he wanted to let himself live again.

Seeing your face fall when he told you about his imminent departure was, perhaps, the worst he ever felt. He lived through countless battles; the scars on his hands proved that. He didn’t lose his senses even with his state of being a ‘ghost’ of sorts. He still felt the sting of a cut, the aches in his muscles after exerting himself. Emotions, on the other hand, were more complicated. Growing up with his brother, he had to be stern, calm and confident. He had to be assertive. He had to be strong.

With you, he could let all of that go. He wouldn’t lose his habits, he didn’t want to, but with you, he could let his guard down.

“Yone?” you broke the silence. He blinked, suddenly overly aware that he had been staring at you like a fool in love. Maybe he was. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I’m sorry for worrying you,” he responded. “I was only… thinking of the future.”

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

You went silent. He frowned, wondering if he should’ve kept it a secret after all. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never did.

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Yone felt like time and the world stopped for him.

“I know I’m a lot to handle.” He didn’t think you were. Still, he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak your mind. “And I know this is just some favour, but you know… I’ve grown pretty fond of you. I’d be sad if you left without telling me.”

Your tone was lighthearted, playing off your words as if they were only a joke in case he didn’t feel the same. He felt warm—the warmest he’d ever been—and he was never one to be timid, but you always managed to bring that out of him with ease.

Yone said your name. You hummed, urging him to continue.

“You should be proud of yourself,” he said. The words felt unfamiliar to him, foreign, but he needed you to know. “Like I am of you.”

You smiled. He wanted to engrave this sight into his memory, make it something he would never forget. You teasingly nudged him with your elbow, giggles leaving your throat as you replied without missing a beat, “So you’ve grown fond of me too, huh?”

This was the most casual you had ever been with him. It was a nice change, he thought, one that he really liked. In a matter of a few weeks, you’d gone from a meek, terrified person into someone confident and much happier than you were when he first met you.

“I have, indeed,” he replied. Perhaps more than I should.

With another chuckle, you fell back into a silence that was tranquil this time, more comfortable. He wondered if it was obvious that he was staring at you—he was trying not to be, but he was always told his gaze was intense. It didn’t seem to be an issue with you. Sighing in contentment, he let his eyes wander back to the sunrise before him. The last day of the Spirit Blossom was fast approaching, which meant that you’d once again find yourself in a busy schedule. But he didn’t have to think about that, so he stopped. Instead, he let himself indulge in this rare moment with you, thinking of nothing but how much things have changed. How much he has changed.

You never let go of his hand. Neither did he.

—

“Will you be going back too? To the spirit world?”

He did say he would be leaving, after all. You weren’t really sure what you’d do if he left. His presence had become something you were accustomed to. Since the moment he found you again in the forest, your routine seemed to have more and more of him. It would feel odd, having something you were so used to just disappear so suddenly. You knew you’d get over it, but you didn’t want to.

“I’ll be staying in the human world,” he said, “only elsewhere.”

A selfish part of you wanted him to stay. You liked having him around. With him, you could forget all about the people who shunned you. Your initial lack of strength or inability to use magic never bothered him; he saw you for who you were, treated you like any person should be treated. You weren’t lying when you told him that you’ve grown fond of him—you truly did.

No, you didn’t want him to leave. But he had to.

“I see,” you whispered. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

The longer he took to reply, the more anxious you became. The familiar stinging of your nose and the watering of your eyes had you trying to hide your face from him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. A quiet whimper was all you let slip before you held back the onslaught of tears. You didn’t want him to think you were strange. Someone who got more attached to him than they should’ve. Someone lonely, desperate for company.

“Would you like to join me?”

Even with his mask on, you could still feel Yone’s gaze on you.

“What?” you echoed dumbly. You must’ve misheard him. You could’ve sworn you just saw his lips twitch like he was amused by something. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve said before that the only thing stopping you from leaving was your fear,” he continued. “You’ve become stronger. You fight well, by yourself and by my side. We might also be able to find your mother if we travel together. And, I…”

He trailed off, seemingly to collect his thoughts before he added, quieter, “I enjoy being with you.”

Flustered, you couldn’t say a word. It took a while before you could properly process what he said.

“You mean…”

“Yes. I’d like you to come with me.” He cleared his throat, hesitating as if he was nervous. “You can decline if you’d—”

Yone was cut off by you tackling him into a hug, nearly sending him falling backwards had he been unable to keep his balance. You buried your face in his neck, smiling against his skin before you pulled away to properly look at him. Seeing how close you were made your eyes widened, and you were about to pull away before he leaned down to kiss you softly, which you melted into with ease.

Hesitantly, he pulled away. You could’ve sworn he was blushing. “I assume that’s a yes…?”

“You already know what I meant, Yone.” You grinned, unable to resist the urge to tease him. “You just want me to say it.”

“Well, it… would confirm my thoughts.”

“Of course, it’s a yes!”

“I must warn you it won’t be easy,” he hesitated, giving you another chance to say no. Like he couldn’t believe that you wanted to join him. “So if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to… Why are you laughing?”

“I mean it, you old fool,” you teased.

“Old fool—”

“I would love to come with you.” You curled into his side, laying your head on his shoulder as you watched the river flow in front of you. “I’m not scared anymore. I have you.”

Yone pulled you closer, leaving a ghost of a kiss on the crown of your head. “And I have you.”

It felt like something straight out of a fairytale. You were going to leave this wicked place with someone you fell in love with. You couldn’t believe it was happening, but it was, and your heart raced, not out of fear but out of excitement.

You couldn’t wait for the adventures you’d have together.

#I had default Yone in mind writing this bc I like that design better so I'm sorry if that broke the immersion </3 #all #yone x reader #lol yone x reader #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #edit: changed it to fem reader after some consideration

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solarsa1nt · 8 months

Text

𐚁֙࿐ GINGERBREAD

ryōmen sukuna & itadori yuuji x fem!reader

Tags — fluff , cuddling , soft sukuna , established yuuji/reader

Notes — christmas special! …ignore the fact this isn’t being uploaded anytime near christmas. when i first posted it on ao3 and wattpad it was

"Yuuji! Yuuji! I made cookies!" Y/N announces, rushing into the dorms common room with a plate of human-shaped gingerbread cookies in one hand and two mugs of hot chocolate in the other.

Without hearing her boyfriend's response, she sets the two mugs on the wooden table infront of them, placing the plate between the mugs.

Y/N grins proudly before pausing, turning on her heel and running back towards the kitchen hurriedly.

Yuuji didn't even get the chance to question what she was doing when she re-emerged from the doorway with a bag of miniature marshmallows, opening the top of the plastic bag as she drops a few in each of their mugs.

"Aaand... there!" Y/N sits back on the couch with a satisfied smile. "Ta-da~"

"Have you decided on a movie?" Yuuji wonders, noting the generic Christmas theme of the snacks.

When they first started dating, Yuuji quickly learned that Y/N liked to make the snacks themed base off of whatever movie they watched— like when she made mini cupcakes that held a similar appearance to the Susuwatari when they watched My Neighbor Totoro.

Although she always put the most effort into the snacks during Christmas.

"Mhm! Tokyo Godfathers— I've been meaning to watch it since forever but I always get distracted by new movies coming out!" Y/N complains dramatically, picking up a gingerbread cookie and biting its arm off. "But since there aren't any new ones I can finally watch it!"

"What are those... things?" A familiar voice questions, disgust lacing his tone.

"Huh? Oh, Sukuna." Y/N stares down at the mouth that had formed on her boyfriend's cheek, the red eye above it peering open to give an unimpressed look at the snack.

Yuuji blinks in surprise at Sukuna's sudden appearance, about to hit the mouth to force the curse go back to his innate domain when his plans were interrupted by his girlfriend replying.

"They're gingerbread cookies! You want one?" Y/N asks, tilting her head to the side as if asking the king of curses if he wants a gingerbread cookie is the most normal thing in the world.

"Why do they look like humans?" Sukuna questions instead, ignoring her inquiry.

"Symbolic cannibalism." Y/N answers flatly, unamused by the curse ignoring her question. Her deadpanned look lasts for a beat of silence before she perks up again, "Now try!"

Y/N shoves the cookie forward, waving it infront of the mouth as if she were trying to tempt a dog with a treat.

Sukuna scowls at that, biting the head of the cookie straight off with a sharp glare at her that promised death. Y/N only laughs at the murderous look, retracting her hand back towards herself before the curse could try to bite her hand off next.

"Well? Are my baking skills to my king's liking?" Y/N teases, expecting an immediate insult back only for silence to answer her.

Huh? Y/N watches in confusion as the red eye widens slightly before instantly closing, the mouth disappearing back into Yuuji's skin.

"What was that about?" Y/N asks, glancing back up to meet Yuuji's eyes, which seemed equally as lost.

"I don't know, he's weirdly silent." Yuuji frowns to himself, "He's not even trying to get control at all."

"Huuuh..." Y/N's lips pull down thoughtfully, a contemplative look on her face before she shrugs uncaringly.

"Well; whatever!" Y/N claps her hands together, as if to draw the focus back to whatever she was going to say. "Sukuna can sulk all he wants, 'cause I want to spend time with my boyfriend!"

━━━━

Y/N leans her head further against the crook of Yuuji's neck, her boyfriend being fast asleep as his head leans atop hers.

Yuuji's arm was circled around her back as his palm lays flat against the curve of her waist, the warmth of his hand heating up her bare skin. Her shirt had ridden up slightly to reveal the bottom half of her torso, although she payed no mind as the dorm wasn't too cold and her boyfriend provided ample body heat.

Y/N watches as the couple on screen share a chaste kiss, the first movie having ended a couple hour ago as she changed it to some k-drama Nobara recommended.

"You enjoy this stuff?" An unimpressed voice asks, Y/N not completely registering the deeper tone nor the way the hand tightened around her waist almost possessively.

"Hmm? You know I do, besides, it was recommended by Noba—" Y/N couldn't even finish saying her friend's name before her chin was roughly taken by a familiar hand.

"Eh—?" Y/N stares up to meet a familiar gaze, E/C eyes meeting four red ones.

"How'd you even get control?" Y/N questions, not even bothering to try and struggle out of the grasp as she meets his gaze unfaltering.

Well, it's not like she would be able to free herself anyway, Y/N supposes.

"Like I would tell—"

"Did Yuuji give you control or no? Was it a binding vow? Or did he take your word that you wouldn't kill anyone?" Y/N questions, not allowing Sukuna to finish what would likely just be another insult towards her.

"Yuuji's dumb like that, but cute dumb. Like a puppy, y'know?" Y/N asks, ignoring the murderous glare and scowl from Sukuna.

"Most would lose their tongue for daring to interrupt me." Sukuna finally speaks, a threat underlying his tone.

"I'd bet they loose their heads too, you don't seem like the type to settle for something so lackluster as just their tongue." Y/N laughs, booping the curse on the nose as though they weren't speaking about maiming people.

"...You're an odd human." Sukuna mumbles after a moment, watching the girl who was still snuggled up against his side with an unreadable expression.

"Aw, thanks!" Y/N beams like it was the nicest thing someone has ever spoken to her.

Sukuna sighs, giving up on trying to intimidate the girl who seemingly had no self-preservation.

"But, yeah, k-dramas are fun to watch! Not my first choice, but I told Nobara I'd watch it, so." Y/N shrugs uncaringly,

"Why? Does the king of curses like these type of shows?" A sly grin spreads across Y/N's face, leaning closer to Sukuna in an attempt to tease him.

Sukuna pauses, expression becoming unreadably blank as he stares down at the girl who was basically straddling his lap at this point.

"Such impiety for someone so weak." Sukuna mutters— although, the words didn't seem to be intended as an insult, it was a mere observation; an undeniable fact. The hand holding her chin in a tight grip loosening as his hand falls down lower.

The cold hand encircles the base of her neck— the tips of his fingers connecting at the back of her neck.

"Huh?" Y/N blinks in confusion, briefly glancing down at her neck before looking up again to meet Sukuna's gaze.

Four red eyes scrutinize her, narrowing slightly as the hand around her neck squeezes lightly before he retracts his hand entirely.

"Hm. Get some rest, brat." Sukuna orders— voice sharp and cold despite his previous actions which were uncharacteristically gentle; careful to not actually injure her.

Y/N stares up at Sukuna owlishly for a second before slowly nodding, unsure of what to make of the curse's action.

At her lack of move to do anything, Sukuna clicks his tongue in annoyance; rolling his eyes as he pushes her forward against his chest.

Y/N isn't sure what to think of the curses, dare she say, soft behavior, but she wouldn't mind getting use to it.

© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad

#ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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yesbutmakeitgay · 3 months

Text

Pain Is Just A Simple Compromise

Carol Danvers x Reader

We’ve Loved A Thousand Lives

Part 1

Summary: Unconnected oneshots exploring your relationship with Carol amongst many universes. Same beginning, different story every time.

A/N: First installment of a new collection I've been working on. Every part is individual and can be read in any order. Content warnings will be noted in each part.

Angst with a happy ending.

Word count: 1.9k

Masterlist | This collection | AO3

Captain Marvel enters her ship after another successful mission wanting for nothing more than to relax and rest while reaching her next destination, that is until she senses someone else’s presence in her space home.

She walks slowly, pointing one of her lit up fists in a general forward direction, "I know you’re in here, who are you? Who sent you?" she warns the intruder.

A human silhouette appears in her line of vision, it’s arms up in surrender. She continues to walk towards it until she can make out the person’s face.

"It’s just me," you announce, hoping that’s enough to deter her threatening state.

Carol sighs in annoyance and puts her fist down, you do the same with your arms, "How did you get in?" she questions in a harsh tone.

"Kamala…" you hesitate, unsure if you need to elaborate on your answer, her eye roll and cursing under her breath tells you, you don’t.

"What do you want?" she follows, clearly angry.

You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible, "I wanted to talk."

"Now’s not a good time."

"It’s never a good time, is it?"

"Make it quick, I have somewhere to be." Carol is growing more impatient by the second.

"Oh, good, I was just on my way to wherever it is you’re going." You sit down on the couch making sure to exaggerate your motion, so The Captain knows you’re not leaving anytime soon.

Accepting her defeat, Carol walks to the control panel of her ship to set the coordinates for her next mission, "I’m gonna take a shower, you make yourself at home," she grumbles, still annoyed.

When Carol comes out she searches for you on the couch, but doesn’t find you there, instead, she walks towards the noise coming from the kitchen.

"I made your favorite," you bargain, in hopes that a warm, home cooked meal will make The Captain a little more amicable.

"Thanks," she responds dryly, but you don’t miss the way her eyes light up when she sees the dish.

You both sit at the table and eat in silence. When you’re done, Carol attempts to get up and clear the plates, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder, "I got it." You feel how her entire body stiffens under your touch, so you let go immediately.

You do all the dishes and tidy up the small mess you made, along with the bigger mess that was already there before you arrived.

Carol leans on the counter, her features slightly softer than when she first saw you, "So…?" she asks expectantly, when she receives no answer, she presses harder, "I thought you wanted to talk."

You stand still in front of her, your heart pounding in your chest, "I figured when we got to this point I would know what to say," you begin slowly, "I’m sorry for the way we left things off."

She lets out a humorless chuckle, "You’re sorry?" she mocks, "you show up to my home after 4 months and all you can say is you’re sorry?" Her voice gets louder, not holding any of her emotions back. "I looked for you everywhere, I called everyone I know! Have you any idea how worried I was about you?" Tears are now streaming down her face.

"I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t have a choice," you plead, trying to maintain your composure.

"You are unbelievable!" she yells back, "No goodbyes, not even a note? You could have said something!"

"No, I couldn’t," It comes out as a whisper, "I tried, but you wouldn’t listen," she scoffs, "you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you barely acknowledged my presence. You were working yourself to death." She takes a few steps away, her head down and her back facing you, "Carol-"

"Don’t," she hisses, her voice is laced with poison. She turns back to look you in the eye, "Leaving on the day of our anniversary sounds like a very conscious choice to me."

There is silence for a moment, the air so tense it feels like hours.

"I didn’t leave on our anniversary," you pronounce every syllable carefully, she frowns with a mixture of anger and disbelief, "I left three days before that, I couldn’t bare the thought of spending it alone, so I left."

Carol sits on the couch, her face full of confusion, you can almost hear the millions of thoughts going through her head, "It took me three days to notice you were gone?" she whispers, a loud sob escaping her.

You take a cautious step towards her, "I couldn’t help you, but I could make you realize that you needed help, I’m so sorry, angel," you tell her softly, no longer able to hold back your own tears. She nods shakily, barely registering your words.

After some time you collect yourself again, "It’s getting late, you should get some rest, I’ll take the spare room." She nods again and goes to her bedroom wiping her tears away.

You stand still until she closes the door and take a deep breath. A familiar feeling of fur helps you settle your emotions, "I missed you too, Goose."

When you wake up, Carol is already gone to her mission. You decide to make yourself useful and clean the place up for her.

The Captain returns to her ship, she takes her boots off and pulls her suit down to her waist. You walk out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel covering your lower half, unaware that she was back already. When Carol sees you she instantly turns around mumbling some apology, you rush to cover yourself, "I didn’t think you’d be back so soon."

"It’s okay," she quickly reassures.

You run to the spare room to put on some clothes you borrowed. When you come out Carol notices her sweater on you, but makes no comment about it.

She walks into her bedroom to find a change for herself, "Did you wash my sheets?" she asks plainly.

"I did, they were getting a bit musky."

"Thanks," she mumbles, somewhat ashamed of the state of her home, you simply nod in response.

Later that evening you sit at the table again to have dinner together. You try to make small talk and she attempts to humor you, but the interaction is awkward, as if you had never spoken to each other before. You are close to giving up when you notice a red stain on her t-shirt.

"What’s that on your shoulder?" you worry.

"Huh?" Carol looks at where you’re pointing.

"Did you injure yourself?"

"I don’t think so."

"Let me have a look," you insist, already getting up from your seat. You pull up a chair beside her and lift the sleeve off her shoulder. Right underneath the stain you find a prominent cut, still bleeding.

"It’s a nasty one, let me clean it up for you."

"You don’t have to do that," she’s quick to respond.

"Do you not want me to?" you challenge her.

She stares at you for a moment, "Fine."

She’s hesitant at first, but as you get to work on patching her up she relaxes into the familiarity of your touch.

"All done," you chirp with a satisfied smile when you’re done.

You look up from her shoulder, your faces impossibly close and before thinking twice she leans in to kiss you. Once she realizes what she’s done she pulls away, "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that."

You linger for a bit, "It’s okay," you whisper into her ear before walking away to store the first aid kit.

A few days go by and you fall into a routine, one far from the perfect harmony you used to have before, but it's a good start. Carol goes from planet to planet completing her various missions and you stay on the ship making sure it remains in livable conditions.

"Incoming call from Earth," the spaceship announces, you’re in Carol's room tidying up and decide to take the call there.

"Hello?" you yell out, waiting for the image to load. A smiling Kamala greets you from her home, "Hi, baby, what's up?" she blushes at the pet name.

"Hey! Just checking in, it's been a minute."

"How sweet and pure of you to worry about me without any ulterior motive," you tease her, fully aware of her intentions.

Unable to keep it together, she drops the act, "Have you talked to her? Did guys make up? Tell me everything!"

You chuckle at the girl's antics, "Um, yes and no," Kamala looks at you attentive, "we talked, but I wouldn't say we made up."

"What? Why? What did she say?" The girl can't help herself.

"It's complicated, a lot has happened," you pause, "she did kiss me briefly, but I haven't dared to bring it up again."

Kamala's eyes light up, "She kissed you?" she repeats with the biggest smile on her face.

"Yes, it was nice." All of your confidence is suddenly gone.

You continue talking and catching up together.

When Carol gets back on the ship she finds it is suspiciously quiet. She calls out for you, but receives no answer, prompting her to search for you all over her home, unsuccessfully.

The worst thoughts start running through her mind, she rushes to her room for a communication device and finds you sound asleep on her bed. She lets out a relieved sigh trying to be annoyed at the sight, but coming up empty.

She pulls the covers over you and goes to lay down on the other side of the bed. You instinctively cuddle into her, still in your unconscious state, and she can't even try to deny you, she holds you closer and places a kiss on your forehead.

The next morning you wake up before Carol, it takes you a moment to realize you're in bed together and she has her arms around you. A part of you wants to stay and enjoy the moment, but you decide against it, not remembering how you got in that position in the first place.

You carefully get up and make your way to the kitchen to get started on breakfast.

Right as Carol's alarm goes off, you use the laser to get Goose to make coffee the way your Captain likes it.

"Morning," you greet her when she comes out.

"Morning!" she responds in a livelier tone than usual.

You sit to eat together expecting to have another awkwardly silent meal.

"So, where have you been?" she requests after a while, "I really looked for you everywhere."

"I asked The King to keep a secret," you respond coyly, taking your time to make eye contact.

"Val?" she exclaims with her mouth full.

You smile proudly, "Mhmm."

"But I went to New Asgard, I was in New Asgard!"

"Oh, I know."

Her voice turns small, "I went to get help."

"And some help you got," you smirk.

"Watch your tone," your Captain warns, but you know she doesn’t mean it.

There is a calmness and a sense of comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time, "I’m glad you’re doing better." There is nothing but sincerity in your voice.

"Me too."

Goose hops on the table and drops something from her mouth, you both watch her hop off and direct your attention to the small object.

"Is that your ring?" Carol gasps.

"I didn’t know where I was going, I wanted to make sure it was safe," you put the ring on your finger, where it belongs, "I always knew I was coming back."

Let me know what you think :)

@unicorniusfallapatorius @cordeliasdarling

#carol danvers fic #carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel #carol danvers angst #captain marvel x reader

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daddy-dins-girl · 6 months

Text

Playdate - Chapter Eight

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm posting both chapters 7 and 8 today so just make sure you didn't actually miss 7 or this one might not make much sense, lol. Also I'd recommend having chapter 7 fresh in your mind when you read this one. This chapter serves as an 'interlude' chapter that occurs before/during/after Chapter 7 but is told from Dave and Marcus' POV's (not Reader's). One final note, a page break/divider indicates a shift of POV to another character, but hopefully that comes across easily enough in the writing anyway.

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 5.1k

Notes: Who gave me the right to put all this ANGST in my PORN story? dw, I have a couple more chapters planned out, I'll fix this mess I've created eventually :P

Chapter Warnings (BIG TIME spoilers in the warnings... I'd recommend skipping them if you don't want to be spoiled. If you're at this point in this story, you're fine with whatever I have left to throw at you lol): 18+ MDNI. M/M (Yeah that's right. Reader who? Sorry babe, I'll make it up to you next time!). Oral sex. Hand jobs. Anal play. A shower stall is our 3rd main character in this chapter. Inexperienced!Marcus. Dom!Dave. Daddy Kink. Derogatory talk. Praise kink. Little sprinkling of Soft!Dave. Porn with too many feelings that these idiot men don't know what to do with (we'll work on them, ok?). Infidelity-ish (again, these three got some shit to work out).

MASSIVE thank you for @janaispunk for beta'ing and being my sounding board.

Page dividers by the generous and talented @saradika-graphics

When restfulness fails to come for Dave he eventually decides to pull himself away from the two sleeping forms next to him in the bed and head off to the shower instead. He could use a thorough washing, and not to mention the relaxing spray and solace of the shower may just offer him a bit of a chance to clear his head, hopefully.

Letting out a heavy sigh once he reaches the bathroom near the front entryway of the suite he shrugs off the oversized fluffy hotel robe and hangs it on the back of the door before closing it shut, reaching inside the shower stall and turning the temperature up to near scalding. He hisses the moment he steps inside the large enclosure, immediately turning his back to the water and facing the door instead but within a few seconds the temperature starts to feel perfect and he rolls his shoulders and aching muscles under the steady beat of the massaging spray.

“Fuck” he groans, head tilting back to let the water wash over his face and through his hair. In hindsight he maybe should’ve had a cold shower because he’s been rocking a semi for the last… god knows… since not long after his two bedmates had fallen asleep. He resists the urge to wrap his fist around himself and take care of it solo, thinking he can will it away with sheer mental focus instead. As if he could focus on much of anything right now. His mind was scrambled, and that just wasn’t Dave. He had an innate ability to compartmentalize, always had. It’s what made him so good at his job and had gotten him through many obstacles in his life thus far. But then he met fucking Marcus Pike, which ultimately, also led him to you, and now here he was playing fucking house with what was meant to be a one or two time fun “hookup” and goddamit if he didn’t feel himself starting to fall. What’s worse is that he hadn’t just fallen for you, either. Annoyed with himself yet again for not being able to shut his brain off, Dave turns around to face the spray again and gets to the task of washing his hair instead, needing something else to focus on besides the insistent need that’s hanging between his legs.

The quiet ‘snick’ of the bathroom door latching shut catches Dave’s attention, even with his head under the hot spray of the water in the oversized walk-in shower, because of course it does. Dave is always super aware and hyper vigilant, even when in a relaxed environment. His eyes squeezed shut as he rinses the shampoo from his hair and back turned to the door he calls out, “it’ll be all yours in a minute, almost done here”

So when he hears the sound of the glass door sliding open and the cool air hitting his back, despite his offer to give up the shower momentarily, he chuckles. A low, raspy laugh from deep in his throat as he pushes his hair back on his head and finally turns around, his eyebrow raising in amusement as his gaze settles on his unexpected visitor standing just outside the shower door.

“Well, what have we here?”

Marcus doesn’t say a word. Too nervous he’ll psyche himself out if he attempts to speak. Instead he unwraps the towel from around his waist, leaving him fully naked and exposed, and tosses it to the ground behind him before stepping inside the enclosure and sliding the glass door shut behind him.

Dave waits, stock still, because he hadn’t been expecting this. Not that he should be too surprised, he supposed. It was probably bound to happen and truth be told he was far from mad about it. Over time he’d grown to care for Marcus a lot, and more than what he knew was realistic for a ‘friendship’. And with the fondness for Marcus growing so did the sexual tension, he supposed. It wasn’t immediate, as he had felt with you, but as he spent more and more time with both of you Marcus had unknowingly carved out a spot for himself under Dave’s skin, just as you had on that very first night he’d met you. It started out slowly, he would feel his own arousal spike watching Marcus get pleasure but he had chalked that up to being natural, not unlike getting off to watching porn. But then it started to change, and Dave began to wonder what it might be like for him to give Marcus that pleasure and earlier this evening he gave in and did exactly that. Holding his hands around Marcus as the younger man submitted to him and came with Dave’s mouth at his ear nearly had Dave spilling inside of you the moment Marcus let go. He loved hearing the sweet cries from Marcus’ perfect pouty lips as Dave held him tight to his naked chest. And the way you looked up at both of them, pure lust and adoration in your gaze he felt his chest constrict around his heart like it might just explode.

In that moment he wanted to just gather you both in his arms and tell you, beg you, to keep him.

And now, here Marcus stood just inches away from him, naked and vulnerable.

Dave was well and truly fucked.

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat from his nerves, Marcus carefully, slowly and wordlessly sinks to his knees in front of Dave and pauses. Peering up at him with those honeyed brown eyes, silently begging for whatever had come over him to be reciprocated. He’d woken up when he felt the weight under the mattress shift when Dave had gotten up and watched with more focus than what was probably considered appropriate at the back side of Dave’s naked form as he crossed the room and snagged a robe from the back of the door and threw it on. Marcus had to stifle a groan as he felt his cock instantly begin to swell at just the sight of the slightly older man before him. Once he exited the bedroom Marcus let out a sigh and dropped his head back to the pillow with a heavy thud, closing his eyes and focusing his breathing for a few seconds but still, his dick betrayed him. He rolled over to his side and watched your sleeping form, debating whether he should wake you to help him with his little situation or not but quickly dismissed the notion. He knew you must be exhausted, it wasn’t like you to be sleeping in the middle of the day so clearly you were worn out. Plus he’s pretty sure the actual reason for his current state of arousal just walked out the bedroom door anyway.

He lays in bed for as long as he can stand it, until he hears the shower come to life on the other side of the suite and his cock twitches again involuntarily, his mind conjuring up images of Dave naked and letting the hot spray of the water cascade all over his body and suddenly Marcus feels jealous over a fucking shower head of all things. Before long he finds himself getting up and out of bed, quickly tying a discarded towel around his waist before he leaves the bedroom and makes his way through the suite.

A grin spreads across Dave’s lips as the hot water continues to beat down his back and he reaches a hand forward, gripping the younger man’s jaw in his hand and angling him further upward as his thumb gently caresses back and forth at his cheek as he rasps out, “Well what are you waiting for, Champ? This cock isn’t going to suck itself”

After taking in a quick deep breath to steel his nerves, Marcus, ever obedient, presses forward. His eyes close as he takes Dave’s semi-hard length into his mouth, his lips wrapping around him as he finds his footing, as it were, never having actually done this before.

“Eyes on me Slugger” Dave tuts, hand going underneath Marcus’ chin and forcing his gaze upwards with the flick of a single knuckle. Marcus’ gaze is weak as he tries desperately to hold Dave’s but when he feels Dave begin to grow and swell against his tongue he gets a newfound confidence and can’t help the low moan that leaves his throat as he envelops him further into his mouth and finally begins to move his tongue and lips around him, licking and sucking and tasting every inch offered to him. He may not know exactly what he’s doing, but he does know what feels good to him and tries his best to mimic those same behaviors.

He pulls off for just a moment, collecting saliva in the back of his throat and messily spitting onto Dave’s length before he wraps his mouth around it again and begins to bob his head back and forth, letting his tongue drag along the underside as he swallows him down the best he can, easing off only slightly when the thick head of him nears too far to the back of his throat and causes him to momentarily gag before he resituates himself to a comfortable feel and can enthusiastically continue.

“Fuck, that’s it. Good boy,” Dave sighs, hand pushing through Marcus’ golden brown locks and a little whimper escapes Marcus at the subtle praise, eyelids fluttering shut for only a moment before he remembers Dave’s words from earlier and opens them again to hold Dave’s gaze. “You suck cock almost as good as your wife, you know that pretty boy?” Dave teases and despite himself, it only turns Marcus further on. He takes one hand and wraps it around the base of Dave’s cock to pump as much as his shaft that won’t fit in his mouth while the other hand goes to his own aching need as he begins stroking himself to the same pace that his head bobs.

“Fuck” Dave curses again, a little breathless this time as his head tilts back into the spray of water. He wraps his hand around the back of Marcus’ head and helps him by setting the pace that he wants, fast and rough and nearly hitting the back of Marcus’ throat each time his hips jut forward. Marcus does his best to take him but before long he’s coughing, sputtering, gagging and gasping for breath as he pulls off of him after just a few short seconds of Dave fucking his throat, a long strand of saliva still connecting him to the now rock hard cock in his face and Dave lets out a little chuckle at Marcus’ obvious inexperience.

“Well, maybe you could learn a thing or two” Dave laughs. “Up,” he commands suddenly, hand gripping under Marcus’ bicep and hauling him quickly to his feet. Marcus goes willingly, all too eager to comply as Dave turns him to face the wall, grabs both of his hands and forces them above his head and flat against the warm tiles. Dave quickly crowds his space, stepping up behind him, the hot, hard length of him pressed right up against Marcus’ lower back.

His breathing laboured, Marcus tenses momentarily but then relaxes as he feels a large wet hand slide down his side, across the smooth skin of his hip and lower still until it ghosts over the globes of his ass and then back up to hold firmly at his hip again as Dave leans forward, breath hot against Marcus’ ear.

“Colour?” He asks and Marcus takes a steadying breath.

“Green. Uh… green. I - I think” he stammers out nervously. Dave hums before his hand snakes forward to grasp around Marcus’ hard, leaking cock and gives it a light squeeze that has Marcus whimpering.

“I’d say you’re doing just fine” Dave taunts before he languidly strokes Marcus a few times, causing his knees to nearly buckle as a desperate whine escapes his lips.

“I’m uh.. I’ve never.. with…” Marcus trails off, his eyes squeezing shut when Dave gently ruts into his back, his hand still slowly stroking him. “H-Have you?”

“When you’re young and in your prime and stuck in the service for twelve plus months at a time, a warm mouth is a warm mouth” Dave shrugs nonchalantly. “But it’s not something I indulged in often, or ever pursued outside of that environment” he adds, still slowly working Marcus over with shallow pumps of his fist. “Truth be told I’ve never looked at or even thought twice about another man. That is, until you”. He finishes the last part quietly, like it's a secret he can’t voice out loud.

“S-same here” Marcus stutters, eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on his breathing, hoping to stave off his orgasm for at least a little while longer. “Did you ever, ah fuck” Marcus groans, trailing off as his train of thought leaves him when Daves hand comes up to pay special attention to the head of his cock, his hand twisting just right over and over again at the sensitive tip.

“Did I ever what? Hmmm?” Dave taunts, hand stilling around Marcus as he lowers his hips slightly and presses further against him, his stiff length now pressing into the meat of Marcus’ asscheek. “Did I ever fuck a man’s tight little asshole?” He asks into the shell of Marcus’ ear and Marcus shudders before biting back a moan and nodding his head.

“No” Dave answers honestly. “Why, did you want to be the first?” He chuckles, rutting into him and Marcus lets out a stuttering gasp before shaking his head against the tiles.

“I don’t think… I’m not… No. I… I don’t know” Marcus answers helplessly, his shoulders tensing.

“Relax baby, relax” Dave soothes, pulling his hips back slightly but resting his forehead on Marcus’ shoulder. “You don’t have to be ready for that right now. And to be honest, if my cock is going to be in your ass then I want yours inside your wife so I can fuck you both at the same time” he chuckles darkly into the heated skin of Marcus’ back and a shiver passes through Marcus’ whole body at just the thought of that.

“Oh you like that don’t you” Dave laughs again. Feeling Marcus twitch in his hand gets Dave’s dominant confidence swelling in his chest again and he easily slips into the role he prefers to play, where he feels the most comfortable and less vulnerable.

“Wanna be the meat in our little fuck sandwich, sweet boy?” Dave taunts, his hand going back to slowly stroking Marcus again. “You gonna fuck your tight little ass against my fat cock while you’re buried inside of her?”

“Jesus, fuck” Marcus groans. He’d never once judged his wife for what she was into, but now he understood it first hand. The way Dave could have you falling apart just by the words that leave his mouth.

“Maybe a little friendly competition, see who can cum inside of who first” he laughs darkly and Marcus’ whole body shudders as a wrecked moan escapes him.

Dave hands picks up the pace a little as Marcus squeezes his eyes shut, face resting against his own forearm and teeth clenched as Dave draws him closer and closer to that edge he’s been teetering on since he sunk to his knees in front of the man in question just minutes ago.

He didn’t know what came over him, what possessed him to get out of bed and follow after Dave, but he couldn’t get what happened earlier out of his head. The way Dave had wrapped his hand around his throat, called him his good boy, and made him cum so hard his vision nearly blacked out. He needed more. Dave was like a drug, he understood it now. An addiction, a craving that could never be satisfied, always leaving you wanting more.

His breath catches in his throat when he feels Dave’s free hand that’s not currently wrapped around him back at his ass, a single finger sliding through the cleft of his wet cheeks until it stops to tease at his hole. The pad of his finger presses at the puckered flesh but doesn’t breach inside, just wanting to rile Marcus up and it is absolutely working as the younger man whimpers and squirms under Dave’s hands. Dave shifts slightly so that the water beats down more so on Marcus, ensuring he’s not dry as Dave continues to tease him.

“Colour” Dave demands again, finger pressing in again with just a fraction more pressure than the previous time.

“Green, fuck. Please” Marcus is trembling, his body leaning against the wall the only thing holding him upright and he feels the smirk reach across Dave’s face from where his mouth is still pressed to his ear.

“That’s my good boy” Dave chuckles. The sound of Dave spitting a giant glob of saliva between Marcus’ cheeks is downright sinful as it echoes off the four walls of the shower enclosure and Marcus has to bite into the meat of his own arm to keep from moaning too loudly when Dave finally pushes a single saliva slicked finger just inside as he continues to stroke Marcus’ length with delicate precision.

“Oh my god, oh fuck! I’m - ” Marcus cries out at the welcomed intrusion of Dave’s finger, barely inside but slowly moving back and forth creating just enough of a foreign pressure that it’s enough to push Marcus over that edge within seconds. He orgasms with a wrangled cry leaving his lips, spurts of his warm spend splattering onto the tiles in front of him and down Dave’s hand that still loosely grips him as he continues to pump him dry.

“That’s it” Dave’s voice soothes against his ear, still gently working him over with both hands as Marcus comes down from his high. “So good for your Daddy, hmmm?”

“Mmmhmmm, fuck” Marcus groans out once more, leaning heavily into the tiles now, shoulders and chest heaving with each laboured breath he takes. He lets out another whimper as Dave gently slips his finger out, sighs happily when he feels Dave’s lips press into his shoulder blade.

“Okay?” Dave breathes against Marcus' warm flesh, checking in with him and the younger man can do little but eagerly nod his head, still trembling in the aftershocks of his orgasm. Dave’s hand still wrapped around Marcus’ length finally slows to a stop and he releases him fully, both arms coming up to wrap around Marcus’ middle and hold him tight against his chest for a long moment and Marcus sighs happily, sated, leaning into the warmth Dave offers. He does his best to ignore the little flutter he feels in his chest as Dave's lips continue to pepper little kisses across the back of his neck and shoulders, wills his own heart to stop hammering in his chest when Dave breathes in deep and then rests his check against Marcus' back, apparently content to just hold him until his own breathing evens out.

“What um… what about you?” Marcus asks meekly. He hadn’t exactly gotten to finish what he’d started earlier once the attention shifted to him and his own pleasure. He can still feel Dave pressed into his back, though with the delay for his own gratification Dave has softened somewhat again, his needs seemingly less urgent now.

“Let me finish getting cleaned up in here and then why don’t we meet back in bed, hmm?” He finishes his thought with a sharp little smack to Marcus’ ass and chuckles before he bites down gently onto his shoulder. “See if you can wake up that wife of yours while you’re at it”

“Yeah, o-okay” Marcus stammers, stealing himself for a moment before he heaves a deep sigh, lets his shoulders relax and finally reaches for the shower door and slides it open. Dave lets him go, watches with piqued interest as Marcus bends over to pick up his earlier discarded towel and secure it back around his waist again, and then, he’s gone. Door closing shut behind him again and leaving Dave to finish his shower in privacy.

Dave is doing his best to act nonchalant, normal, though nothing about what just took place was normal for either of them. He’d never held another man in an embrace like that before and found himself not even wanting to let go. It took everything in him not to spin Marcus around and hold him even closer. And it wasn’t just sexual, this feeling he suddenly had. Though that part was definitely good too, but now he felt himself feeling suddenly nervous about going back out there, like he was completely transparent and the two of you would see through him immediately. He dreads the day, and he has a feeling it’s coming soon, that the two of you extract yourselves from his life. He knows the texts and visits will become fewer and farther between until suddenly he stops hearing from you all together and he’ll go back to his life before the two of you were in it, wishing he’d never gone along with it in the first place because then he wouldn’t be in the fucking predicament he found himself in now.

He should put a stop to this himself before that happens, he thinks. Like a bandaid, just rip it off and the pain will dissipate before he even notices it’s there, right? He can fake a work emergency, or say somethings come up with his children and he needs to cut this weekend short. You’ll both understand, of course you will. Maybe even be secretly relieved that you can spend the rest of your time here together with just the two of you.

He’s doing everyone a favour, he thinks.

Mind made up, he takes a little extra time than necessary in the shower, turning the temperature way down to hopefully rid him of what’s left of his hard-on and finishes cleaning himself off, being sure to scrub every inch of his body to wash away any lingering traces of this weekend from his skin, hopefully soon enough from his memory. He takes the removable shower hose off the fixture as well and sprays down the tiles where Marcus’ cum still lingers, watching it wash down the drain past his feet and then hangs the shower head back up and finally turns the taps off and steps out.

Speech fully prepared in his head, what he didn’t expect was to walk back into the bedroom to see you with a very worried expression on your face and for a moment, he feels his heart literally fall into his stomach. Did Marcus just confess what happened and you’re so enraged you’re about to throw him out on his ass? Throw your husband out too? Likely not the latter, he thinks. If anything it’s probably further cementing the fact that the two of you need Dave out of your lives, he’s only going to cause problems in what is a beautiful, perfect marriage.

“You have to go?!” He hears you say and oh. So Marcus is leaving? He asks what’s going on and then just hangs back after Marcus responds to him but then focuses his attention back to you, Dave idly listening to the conversation in the background as your husband continues to apologize to you about an apparent “work emergency” that’s come up.

Dave was already set in his decision to leave, but with Marcus going he knows he really, really needs to leave. Being alone with you might just kill him, and he doesn’t deserve a death that blissful, he reasons with himself.

Not long after saying an endearing goodbye to you, Marcus brushes past Dave with a vague ‘see ya later’ and just like that, he’s gone and Dave is left alone with the person currently possessing the other half of his traitorous heart. The heart that wasn’t supposed to fall for either of these two people who already belonged to each other, let alone apparently falling for both of them.

Marcus is in the cab, half way back to his own house where he most certainly does not have any type of work emergency waiting for him, when he starts an inner battle with himself about just what in the fuck he is doing. Should he have left? Should he turn around right now and go back and stop being a fucking coward? What the hell was he supposed to do?

He felt so fucking guilty the moment his orgasm ripped through him like a freight train with Dave’s hands on him and you nowhere in sight that he just couldn’t get out of that hotel room fast enough. He had cheated on you, in his mind. What’s worse is that it wasn’t even all sexual, though that is how it started and how he pursued it but his feelings for Dave were beginning to get overwhelming and he thought maybe if he just ‘got it out of his system’ he could forget about it and move on, but then Dave had to go and fucking hold him afterwards and asked him back to bed and his throat just plummeted into his stomach. How could he just walk out of that bathroom and pretend that never happened? Is that what Dave wanted? Or did Dave want you to know exactly what happened? How would you react? Marcus didn’t even have his own feelings about the whole thing sorted out, he couldn’t expect you to understand. He crossed a line, that much he knew.

Ultimately he decided to let the cab driver continue to their destination. He was already well on his way home anyway, might as well keep going. He’d fix himself some dinner, maybe a drink and just have some time alone to sort out his thoughts before he joins you back at the hotel. He briefly wonders if Dave will still be there when he gets back. If he is, maybe it would be a good time for the three of you to have a conversation, one that’s surely long overdue. Marcus hopes he doesn’t have to speak first. What if he voices what he thinks he’s truly feeling and you all look at him like he’s grown a second head?

He’s equally worried at both ends. He’s worried that Dave, despite the tender moments he is occasionally capable of showing, might laugh the whole thing off. He signed up to be a fun ‘playmate’ for a couple of weekends here and there, not a more permanent fixture in an already existing and functioning marriage. And you… what would you even think? Sure Marcus knows you’ve warmed to Dave over the months during your encounters but you’d never discussed with Marcus that you’d felt anything for the man in question outside of sexual desire. Not to mention what would you think of him if he asked you to have another man be an active participant in your relationship? The last thing he wants is you feeling like you’re not enough for him or that something is missing from your marriage.

It would kill him if this drove any kind of rift between the two of you. No, he needs to shut up and keep whatever is in his head and his heart to himself and hope things sort themselves out. He’ll start to distance himself (and hopefully you both) from Dave and you can go back to your lives. He cares about Dave, far more than what he knows is appropriate, but he can’t lose you. He won’t.

Marcus finishes his dinner, accompanied by a rich glass of wine, and waits a while, letting his food settle and his mind attempt to find peace within the waging war that are his thoughts still battling on inside his head. A few hours since he’d left the hotel pass before he finally heads back outside to his car and types the address of the hotel into his GPS.

Dave York is a bad man. He knows it the moment he reaches the penthouse floor again, not even thirty minutes since he left it, and lifts his fist to knock at the hotel room door. He'd had every intention of getting into his car and leaving this place. Just one drink first, he'd reasoned with himself, then he'd leave.

He knew shouldn’t be here at your door now. Not without Marcus. Though, he supposes he shouldn’t have been in the shower with Marcus without you, either. Marcus knows it, clearly. It’s the only explanation for why he high-tailed it out of there with some half-assed lie of an excuse of having a work emergency on a Saturday night. Dave saw right through it of course but didn’t voice his concern, he certainly wouldn’t do that in front of you. He wouldn’t wedge himself further into the complications of your marriage than he already was.

He’s really fucked this up. But he knows, even before you pull open that door, that tonight is his last chance. The last time he’ll allow himself to see you before he forces himself to go back to his old life so you can have yours back with your husband. And if he was a better man, he would’ve just left earlier when he said he was going to and not come to see you one last time, knowing full well what he was doing and feeling and how it might affect you. How it might affect Marcus, and moreover how it might affect your relationship with Marcus.

But Dave York was not a better man. Not a good man.

Dave York was a bad, bad man.

"Hi" you breathe out the moment the door swings open and lands on him leaning against the frame on the other side.

"Hi"

Marcus lets himself into the hotel suite, quietly and carefully making his way through the rooms that are bathed in darkness, only slivers of moonlight peaking through where the curtains aren’t fully shut. Pushing open the double doors to the bedroom he frowns but is otherwise not surprised to find you sleeping alone in the bed that now seems comically oversized for just your body alone, especially given how crowded it was only hours earlier.

He glances around the room, pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight, making sure not to shine it on you so as to not wake you up. He tilts it around the room, looking everywhere but there's no sign of Dave. His belongings seem to be gone, his duffel bag no longer occupying the corner of the bedroom where it was before. Marcus had walked through the living room to get to the bedroom so he knows he wasn’t asleep on the couch either.

Dave was gone.

Clicking off the flashlight and before he can talk himself out of doing so, Marcus taps on the Messages icon on his screen, wanting to send a quick text to your group chat, just to ensure wherever Dave was, everything was OK.

Once again Marcus gets that all too familiar feeling of his throat falling into the pit of his stomach when he reads the tiny grayed out letters that greet him at the bottom of your conversation.

Dave York has left the group.

Dun Dun Dunnnnnn! I am so sorry, but believe it or not this was my plan for this series all along from the moment you guys lovingly bullied me into turning my one-shot into a series, lol. Fear not though, we haven't seen the last of our dear Dave. He's just a bit of an idiot, and is going to continue to be one for a little while, but have faith in me.

Next Chapter

I really appreciate you taking the time to read this chapter! If you liked it please leave me a little note or a reblog, it means the world to me!

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

#pedro pascal cinematic universe #dave york #marcus pike #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x dave york #marcus pike smut #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction

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pumpkinickel · 9 months

Text

A Mix-Up || Egon Spengler x reader

Summary: Gender-neutral reader mistakes Elon as Egon (they really do look alike from the back!)

Relationship: Egon Spengler x gn!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: 669

Warnings: Not beta-read, but other than that none! This is just fluffy slice of life

Author's Note: This is actually a little old (early 2022). I'm currently writing for a different piece of media BUT I thought "hey, why not post this now because...why not!" I've always been kinda shy to post my writing on the internet in general but to hell with it tbh ! Cringe culture must die and I love my blorbos past, present, and future too much lol

On AO3

It was a regular, snowy day in downtown New York. Ray was in the downstairs of the firehouse, fixing whatever new problem the Ecto-1 had come up with. Janine was reading some magazine with smart shopping tips while Louis was on the phone discussing taxes, the latter having piles of paperwork on his desk. Business during the holiday season usually slowed down, and that meant getting to spend more quality time with the guys. Peter and Winston were engaging in a friendly but competitive game of pool, and Egon was nowhere in sight. He mentioned something about “bringing a surprise” to the station, baffling everyone since Egon certainly wasn’t the surprise type. You sat on the couch, head propped up by your hand, watching as Peter lined up his shot.

"I never understood this game," you said with a yawn.

Winston had a small laugh and shook his head. "It's alright, kid, neither does Pete."

"Hey!" The other man said as he thrust his cue stick, completely butchering the shot in the process. "I just don't play this game often enough, alright, Z? I got no practice,"

You and Winston share a laugh at the expense of your colleague, Peter placed his hand on his chest in feigned offense. Winston took his shot, clearly doing a better job than Peter as the other man had scowled as the ball went into the hole. As the two continue playing, the sound of familiar footsteps enters the second floor. Turning your head, you smile brightly as you finally see your boyfriend Egon. His back was turned, preoccupied with refilling the snack cabinet in the kitchen. As he rummaged through the seven eleven bag, you took the chance of slowly sneaking up behind him to give a surprise hug. The two men playing pool had paused their game to watch you, amused from the sight of seeing you crouch up behind their friend.

“Gotcha!” You yelled as you wrapped your arms around Egon’s torso and chest, placing your chin on his shoulder. Unexpectedly, he was completely frozen, unlike how he would usually turn around to return the hug. Your expression quickly morphed into one of confusion as the seconds passed and he stayed completely still.

“Anyway, Elon, I want you to meet-” You whip your head to the left to see Egon standing next to Ray, both the men having mildly concerned looks on their faces.

“...(Y/N)?” The man you were hugging spoke, his voice only slightly different from Egon’s but you could tell it wasn’t your boyfriend. Hastily taking your arms off him, you spew out apology after apology, face fully red.

“I’m so sorry! God I- I should’ve known the second you didn’t hug me back I-”

Elon waved his hand with a laugh, the other guys in the room except Egon cracking up as well. “No matter, no matter, at least I know my little brother is well loved,” Elon took the liberty of pulling you in for a hug this time, and just like Egon he was surprisingly good at giving them.

Egon’s cheeks turn a light pink color from his brother’s statement as he pulls you in for a hug and forehead kiss. Elon had headed over to the billiard table to greet the two men who ended their pool game. The mood in the room turned joyous as all the guys had not seen Elon in a while, making this occasion a real treat.

“Sorry, Eggs, he really does look a lot like you,” you whispered. He smiles before putting his lips on yours, causing your face to go red once again. Getting kissed by Egon certainly did not get old no matter how many times it happens.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), I missed you too.”

Ray called out, “Hey, lovebirds! Get over here before we finish all the pizza.”

You pull away from Egon and adjust his tie, taking his hand and walking over to the others to get a fresh slice of pizza.

#RARE ELON SPENGLER TWIN SIGHTING!!#i love my earth day special boy he's so funny to me #so far this is the only fic i've ever posted anywhere #making it my mission to actually post more of my writing in 2024 or by the end of the year!!#to hell with being shy i need to share my love of x reader fics and my blorbos #egon spengler x reader #ghostbusters x reader #egon spengler #elon spengler #ghostbusters reader insert #ghostbusters #egon spengler imagines #x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

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divine-knight-hand · 6 months

Text

A Show of Temptation

Loki Masterlist || Full Masterlist || Read on AO3

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Female Reader

Summary: The show must go on! …But who will be the first to break in your and Loki’s game of temptation?

Content Warnings: Teasing, elements of exhibitionism, hints of jealous!Loki, dom!Loki, sub!reader, mirror sex, praise, degradation (use of the word “whore”), a touch of dacryphilia, and a little aftercare (<3).

Notes: Everybody send lots of birthday (month) love and wishes to the love of my life, @fandxmslxt69! Do it, neowwww!!!! (This is her gift, after all~) 🥳💕🎁

I've turned this little fic idea around and around in my head ever since we had this interaction, which was almost a year ago but feels like yesterday. (And, of course, none of this could have happened without the amazing and talented original artist, @grrrenadine!)

Also, I didn’t realize until I was almost done writing this, but some parts of this piece lowkey (Hehe! Get it?) remind me of Lesson Not Learnt. So, I guess this is a tribute as well as a gift. 😅

Word Count: 4,151

Dividers by @saradika

“The supernatural hour is at hand!” A disembodied voice boomed throughout the theater. “Please take your seats, and prepare to be amazed by the mischievous man of mystery, Loki, and his breathtaking assistant in magnificence, Y/N!”

That was our cue. Loki and I pushed through a set of curtains, arms interlocked as we strode to center stage.

With a wave of his free arm, he silenced the roaring cheers of the crowd in front of us. Before he even began to speak, everything about him commanded attention from the audience. Even offstage, he carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, but he always had the intelligence and skillfulness to hold weight to it.

Tonight, he stood beside me in a sleek, neatly tailored black suit, paired with a green silk tie around his neck, which served as his outfit’s pop of color. My eyes continued to trail up his body, following the collar of his shirt before reaching the sharp cheekbones just below his piercing gaze. I used to think that he could see straight through me. He was so generally intuitive that I figured, in a way, he could.

On the other hand, my revealing costume didn’t help me retain any sense of mystery. I wore an emerald green sequined bodysuit with equally green elbow-length satin gloves. The only thing left to cover my legs was a pair of translucent tights. The costume left very little of my body to the imagination.

Every time I stepped onstage with Loki, I felt vulnerable, but I also felt safe. Had we not sold out every show we put on, I would have even found the experience intimate. As I worked with him onstage, he made me feel that was where I deserved to be, and with each show we put on together, I quickly managed to grow a confidence of my own.

Finally, after another moment of silent anticipation, Loki spoke, not even needing to raise his voice as the audience eagerly ate up his usual pre-show spiel. “Good evening to each and every one of you. Welcome to, not a show, but an experience of magic and mischief.” His eyes sparkled, holding promise for tonight’s show. Magic and mischief, indeed. “Tonight, with the help of my beautiful assistant, I will make you see and feel things that will leave you questioning the very world around you…”

I knew his introduction by heart at this point, so I allowed my thoughts to drift into more dangerous territory, mentally undressing the man I had interlocked arms with as the softness of his voice filled my ears, but the words stopped finding my consciousness.

I imagined that same voice talking me through it as he slowly thrusted in and out of me, our fingers interlocked as he held my hand. His soft hair would fall around our faces as the emerald green glow of his eyes in the low light would trail along my body, appraising me as he flattered me with sweet nothings and praise that seemed to roll off of his tongue with ease. How skilled he was with that silver tongue…

“Darling,” Loki’s sudden shift in tone snapped me out of my trance. “I believe I just asked you to grab the props for our first trick.”

“Oh!” I felt my cheeks grow warm as I rushed offstage, towards a small table that had a black top hat set atop it. The audience laughed at my absent-mindedness, adding to my embarrassment.

As my hands grabbed the corners of the velvet tablecloth, a naughty idea bloomed in my mind. The show was already off to a bit of a shaky start, on account of my excessive daydreaming, so I thought I’d made it up to Loki. I figured it was a good thing our nighttime shows only allowed adult audience members. After all, tonight was a good night for a little teasing.

I couldn’t help the smirk that curved at the corners of my lips as I wheeled the table over, making sure to sway my hips with each step. Sparks ignited under my skin as Loki’s eyes trailed over my body, his gaze seeming to caress each curve, dip, and contour my suit clung to.

“Here you go, my love~” I set the table right in front of him.

“Thank you, darling.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as I rested my hand on his shoulder.

Then, I scurried offstage to prepare my- I mean- his next trick.

As he amazed the audience by summoning the illusion of a rabbit to pull out of the hat on the table, I gathered the props for our cup-and-ball trick.

Once the gasps and and awed chatter from the audience died down, I wheeled over the next small table. Arriving in front of Loki, I spun myself around and kicked the previous table with the back of my heel, sending it wheeling backstage. Someone in the audience whistled, setting off a chain of scattered catcalls.

“Putting on a show tonight, are we?” He purred into my ear as his hands slid around my waist, guiding me in front of where he stood.

“Of course,” I whispered back, “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

“You clever minx… Two can play at that game…” I felt his chest shake against my back with soft laughter before he spoke loud enough for the audience to hear again. “In front of us are three cups, but only one red rubber ball. Care to assist me in mixing them up, my dear?”

“Gladly,” I trapped the ball under the middle cup before shuffling them with practiced ease.

Though my movements looked sporadic and careless, I actually moved with rapid precision, my eyes never leaving the cup with the ball under it. All the while, I felt Loki’s hands trail along my costumed hips, and I was overly aware of his breath at my ear as he softly gripped my thighs.

I bit my bottom lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape me as I was struck with a pang of desire. Damnit! He was too good at this. I had to be better.

Feeling myself fill with a playfully competitive spirit, I dropped my hands from the cup, tapping the back of Loki’s leg three times to signal that the ball was under the cup to the left. But, instead of dropping my hand right after, I kept it there, using my grip on it to pull myself closer to him.

“Now that the cups have been shuffled, I will reveal which one the ball remains under.” He announced.

In reality, he’d already used his seidr to make the ball appear invisible, so the audience would believe that it had completely disappeared.

His deft hands went to work lifting each cup with dramatic flair. “Nothing under cup number one… nor under cup number two… and- Hah-” Loki cleared his throat to hide the moan I elicited from him once I began slowly grinding back against his crotch.

A satisfied smirk spread across my face as I felt a faint twitch from behind me.

Loki finally recovered before lifting the last cup, revealing nothing. The crowd gasped in awe before erupting into applause.

Loki’s hands found their way back to my hips before he murmured by my ear. “You sneaky thing. That’s hardly fair…”

I softly giggled, reaching up to caress his face. “I don’t remember us making any rules.”

The applause began to die down, and for a moment, I could have sworn that I saw a glint of pride in Loki’s eyes.

“Enough with the party tricks.” He let me go, and I immediately missed the feeling of his hands on my body. “Now’s the time to truly astound our audience.”

“With pleasure~” I purred as I strutted backstage.

I wheeled over a longer table with an openable wooden box attached to its top.

“Allow me.” Loki took me in his arms, hooking one under my legs to rest me within the open box. Only my head and legs were left peeking out.

He then secured the latches on the box, locking me inside. “Comfortable?”

“Ye-” I gasped as I felt his touch slide up my leg–that which he could reach–and it was enough for me to feel a fluttering between my thighs. “Yes…”

Damnit! Of course he’d take the opportunity to tease me while I was locked up. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“I’m sure this next trick needs no explanation.” He announced as he raised a handsaw in the air. “Though, I must assure you, my dear assistant will escape this one unscathed.” He positioned the saw over the middle of the box and winked down at me. “Ready, darling?”

“Ready, my love~” My eyes were glued to the saw.

I wasn’t nervous. This next trick was purely illusion. The saw wasn’t even real. That was why I had to watch it carefully. I had to be able to see how close it was to me, because once it neared where my body was…

“Mmmm…” I rolled my eyes and tilted my head back as the illusion of the saw passed through me.

The audience got a kick out of my feigned ecstasy, erupting into laughter. Meanwhile, I opened my eyes just in time to see Loki’s lip twitch. He was completely unreadable.

Finally, a smirk broke across his face, and he tossed the saw offstage. It disappeared behind the curtains in a burst of green before he began to work the locks on my box.

“It would seem my assistant is more interested in being a little temptress tonight.” He helped me down from the table before effortlessly sending it wheeling backstage.

This was weird. He’d never stopped mid-trick before. What was he planning?

“Stay put, if you will, darling.” He booped my nose. “I’ll fetch this next one.”

He walked offstage, and I mentally panicked. Had I gone too far?

Loki returned with a tall box. He brought it over to me and opened the door.

“There we are.” He then approached me and guided me in by my hips. “Since you’ve been so keen on distracting us tonight, how about we make you disappear for the time being?”

The audience gasped in wonder as he positioned me inside the box, and he leaned in to growl by my ear. “I can’t imagine you being a little tease for this one.”

With that, he shut me inside, plummeting me into complete darkness. That was when I knew I hadn’t gone too far. In fact, I hadn’t gone far enough. As soon as I heard the clinking of a lock, a smirk spread across my face. He was testing me. Challenge accepted…

This trick fully depended on me. As Loki gave his spiel to buy me time, I was supposed to slip behind the fake back of the box, hidden from the audience’s view once he opened the door.

But, how could I resist using the quick-change skills that he and I learned for our past shows in Vegas? So, I got to work in the dark, being careful not to hit the walls and tip off Loki–or worse, the audience–as to what I was doing.

Satisfied with my work, I leaned against one side of the box, crossing one leg over the other as I rested my free hand on my hip.

“And with that…” Loki threw the box open. “She’s- Oh, Norns!”

The audience gasped in shock. There I stood, in nothing but the lacy green underwear I wore under my bodysuit. There were whoops and whistles from the crowd, and once my eyes found Loki’s, I licked my lips.

He was utterly frozen. I’d never seen him in such a state of shock. Had I actually managed to catch him off guard? His wide eyes dipped up and down my body, unsure of where to focus.

He finally seemed to come back to his senses–Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard–before slamming the door back shut. “And it looks like that’s all we have for our show tonight! Thank you for coming, and we hope you had a magnificent time.”

I heard the roaring cheers of the audience begin as the box started to move. Then, they started to slowly fade just before dying out entirely.

It was only after a moment of silence that Loki spoke. “Don’t bother putting your costume back on.” His voice sounded close, as if he was right by my ear. “You won’t be needing that for what I’ll be doing with you.”

My pulse started to thrum in my ears as I awaited my fate with nervous, yet eager, anticipation. Suddenly, the door flew open, and I was whisked into another room while my eyes were still adjusting to the light.

My back hit a wall, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to knock the wind out of me as Loki pinned me against it. He only needed one hand to hold my wrists above my head, the other gripped the bare skin of my hip.

“What was that?” He breathed, his face inches from mine. “Hm? What was that stunt you pulled out there?”

“I- I-” I stammered, at a loss for words.

“What’s the matter?” He cooed. “Suddenly feeling shy? You certainly weren’t just a few moments ago.”

“I- I didn’t mean anything by it.” I gulped. “I just wanted to-”

“To what?” Loki growled. “To parade yourself in front of an audience like a common whore?”

“I-”

“I don’t remember saying I was finished speaking.”

I shut my mouth, embarrassment flooding my cheeks.

“So, what?” He went on. “You risk ruining our show just to show off your body to our paying viewers? Hm? To take us from a magic show to a peep show?” When I didn’t immediately respond, he barked, “Answer me.”

“N- no…” My voice came out small. Pathetic, even.

“Then, what?” Loki spat.

“I just wanted you.” Was I whining? I wasn’t sure. My heart was pounding too loud in my ears for me to hear myself clearly.

I noticed a small smirk twitch at his lip before he managed to hide it. “You did this to get my attention?”

“Yes.” I squeaked.

His expression softened, but his grip on my wrists and waist tightened. “Oh, my darling pet,” His tongue darted over his lips as he appraised me. “You do realize that all you need to do to have me is ask, yes?”

“I’m sorry.” And I was. I didn’t mean to take my antics too far.

“What’s done is done.” He softly chuckled. “And besides,” He moved one of my hands to the crotch of his pants. “Your little performance worked.”

My eyes widened at the feel of his hard cock pressing against the fabric of his trousers. I almost felt weak in the knees as I was hit with a strong pang of desire.

“However,” My eyes snapped back up to meet his when he continued. “Now that you have my attention, it would do you well to prepare for the consequences of that.”

“I’m ready.” I breathed. “I don’t care how. I just want you.”

He suddenly spun me around, my back against his chest as he turned us to face a nearby vanity. It was then that I realized we were in his dressing room.

“My darling pet,” He purred by my ear as one of his hands slid along my skin to cup my breast. “You have no idea what you’ve just asked for.”

I shuddered as his other hand moved from my hip to the hem of my panties. “Please…”

“Please, what?” He murmured as his lips neared my neck.

“Please- Ah-” My legs quivered as his hand dipped into my panties to tease fingers between my folds.

“Gods,” He panted between kisses on my neck. “Already so wet for me,”

“Hah… Loki…” I moaned, lightly bucking my hips in a desperate attempt to get more friction. “Please…”

“Still wanting more?” He gently chided. “You’re needy tonight.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but another moan tumbled from my lips as Loki’s passionate kisses quickly shifted to possessive bites.

An animalistic growl escaped his throat as he began to slowly grind against me from behind. “The things you do to me, girl… I have no more patience to summon.” He paused his movements to walk me towards his vanity. “I have to have you… Now.”

I whimpered as he pulled his hand away from my panties before he quickly bent me over. Letting out a yelp of surprise, I threw my hands in front of me to catch myself on the desk.

My eyes found the mirror in front of me and locked onto Loki’s reflection. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat collecting on his brow. He appraised me with wild eyes, and took a moment to loosen his tie as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing before his chest continued rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

He deftly hooked a finger into my panties before effortlessly ripping them off and tossing them into a tattered heap on the ground. Then, he tore my bra off of me in the same fashion.

I licked my lips in anticipation as I felt the soft touch of his hand against the curve of my ass.

He softly rubbed it before giving it a squeeze. “Mmm, glorious…”

I felt him let go before the clinking of him undoing his belt filled the silence between us, sending a jolt of excitement into the pit of my stomach.

Finally, the clinking stopped, and I bit my lip as electricity crackled underneath my fingertips. I saw his arm in the motion of slowly stroking himself as he lined up with my entrance.

“Oh, darling…” He murmured as he ran a hand down my spine. “Take a deep breath for me.”

Take a deep breath? Confused, I did as he asked just before he pushed in with a single thrust, quickly filling me up as he bottomed out.

I cried out, my nails scratching the wood of the vanity as I scrambled to grip something. Anything.

I’d just barely adjusted before he gripped my hips and set a brutal pace, sliding almost fully out of me before slamming back in.

“Ah-” I squeezed my eyes shut as I was dizzy with pleasure. Loki was all I could feel, and all I could hear.

His primal grunts reached my ears as I slowly made sense of his praise. “That’s it… Mmh… You’re taking me so well… Ah- G- Gods- You look so perfect around my cock…”

“Loki…” I groaned as my back arched.

“Yes,” He panted. “Don’t forget who’s filling you up like this… Hah… Who’s making you feel this good… Mmh…”

My nails etched grooves into the wood of his vanity as he managed to keep up his merciless rhythm.

“You wanted this?” He grunted. “You wanted me to fuck you into submission? Mmh… To use you like a little cockslut? Ah- Like my little cockslut?”

I was so overwhelmed with ecstasy, I almost didn’t notice the tears beginning to stream down my face. Was I wearing makeup? My reflection was too blurry for me to see.

“Oh, Norns…” Loki groaned. “You look so perfect- Mmh- when you’re overcome with pleasure… Hah… So divine… Ngh… when you cry for me…”

The switch between praise and degradation nearly gave me whiplash. I couldn’t decide which one my body liked more. Seeing as each one made my cunt clench around his delicious cock, I decided I was eager to have more of both.

I felt the pressure mounting in my core as I approached my peak, and by the slight sloppiness creeping into his thrusts, I could tell he was close, too.

“Oh, darling,” I could have sworn his voice curled into a whimper. “Cum for me… Mmh- I need to feel you- F- Fuck- clench around me…”

That was all he needed to send me over the edge.

“L- Loki!” I cried out as my eyes rolled back.

I saw a flash of white, then for a moment, nothing. All I could do was feel. I felt wood chips from the vanity dig into my fingernails as I attempted to tighten my grip, and I felt the vibrations of my loud moans escaping my throat.

But, stronger than the rest of the sensations in my body, I felt my inner walls flutter around Loki’s cock as I came around it, as well as the way he unceasingly pistoned in and out of me, helping me ride out my high. Each drag of his cock sent another twinge of weakness into my knees. I was certain that, had he not been holding me by my hips, and had I not been bent over on his vanity, I would have keeled over.

I was still only semi-coherent when his cock twitched, and Loki sharply pulled me flush against him, spilling his release inside me.

“F- fuck!” Loki’s cry broke through the haze in my mind. “Ohhh, yes…”

My eyes fluttered open, and the first thing I was able to refocus on was his reflection. His head was thrown back as his shoulders and chest moved in time with his heavy breathing and panting.

As he came down from his high, and he lowered his head to look at me, I saw the small wisps of hair that stuck to his still flushed face. He loosened his grip on my hips, which I’d almost forgotten he’d been holding, and rubbed the red marks apologetically. They would bruise over by the morning, and I’d admire them each chance I got. His marks on me. Proof that I was his.

I finally caught a look at myself in the mirror, and I looked ghoulish. As it would turn out, I was wearing makeup, and mascara tears made a mess of my cheeks, which also shone with sweat.

“Oh, dear…” Loki slowly helped me up, taking care not to pull out just yet. “Was I too rough with you?”

I swayed the smallest bit before he righted me, holding me against his chest. I was still catching my breath, so I couldn’t find the voice to respond just yet.

He tried to wipe my tears away with his thumb, frowning as he pulled away to rub my ruined mascara between his thumb and forefinger.

Instead, he resolved to cup the side of my face with his hand. “Breathe for me, darling. Just breathe. I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

I silently nodded before he pulled out of me, and I squeezed my legs shut as our shared mess began to drip down them. It was absolutely filthy, and it felt amazing.

“I’ve got you,” Loki picked me up bridal-style and carried me over to a small green sofa to lay me down. “There we are.” He gently stroked my cheek, and my eyes fluttered shut under his sweet caress. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” I croaked.

“Thank the Norns.” Loki chuckled before conjuring a glass of water for me. “You had me worried for a moment.”

“Sorry.” I gave a small smile as he helped me sit up to take a sip of water.

I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “And you weren’t too rough, by the way.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “It was perfect.” At least, that was what I said. What I wanted to imply was, You could fuck me senseless any day.

“Good.” Loki’s mouth twitched into a smirk, almost as if he heard my filthy thought. “Though I do hope I’ve discouraged you from assisting me in any future shows with such… obscenity.”

“Are you kidding?” I giggled. “Now that I know this is how teasing you ends, I’m gonna tease you at every show!”

“Oh, gods…” Loki massaged the bridge of his nose. “What have I started?”

“I’m just kidding.” I gently coaxed Loki’s hand away from his face. “From now on, I’ll behave onstage. Okay?”

In one fluid motion, Loki lifted me up and sat down on the sofa, pulling me into his lap. “That’s more like it.” He gave me a peck on the cheek.

I rested my head in the crook of his neck, melting into his hold on me. “Well, I’ll behave most of the time.”

Loki’s chest heaved with a sigh of disapproval. “Is there no end to your shows of temptation?”

“Nope!” I answered in a heartbeat.

“What a shame.” He softly chuckled, rubbing my back before planting a kiss on the crown of my head. “All well. What am I to do? As always, the show must go on…”

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highlordofkrypton · 2 months

Text

ACOTAR Omegaverse Week // Day 1 - Nesting

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

SUMMARY: Tamlin's things have been going missing from his manor in the Spring Court. More specifically, all the clothes Rhysand has gifted him are disappearing one by one. It's time for him to get to the bottom of this mystery.

PAIRING: Alpha Tamlin x Omega Rhysand

TAGS: General Audiences, fluff, light angst, nesting, no smut

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ahhh, my very first entry to @acotar-omegaverse-week! I've never written for Omegaverse before, so this is totally new to me. Hopefully, as the week goes on I get a better grasp of the universe. I hope you guys like it!

TAMLIN AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF UNGIVEN THINGS

That's strange… It was here just last night.

Tamlin stares at the plush velvet chair by his closet, the one where he tosses things that he is either far too lazy to put away in the separate room three feet away dedicated to his and his mate's clothes, or that he uses frequently enough that there is no point in putting it away. The shawl was made of white fur, purchased somewhere in the Winter Court—or so Rhysand told him.

He liked that shawl. It was nice to throw over his shoulder and run his hands through its softness, absent-minded, while working.

Perhaps it has been sent to cleaning.

The High Lord catches Alis, startling the little urisk who was puttering around the manor chasing chirping dustmites with her broom.

"My lord!" She straightens, as if she should never offend him with the sight of her… doing her work. Alis has old values, ones that Tamlin does not particularly adhere to.

"Good morning, Alis. Have you seen my shawl? The white one?" Tamlin describes it, holding his hands out to better show its size. "I would think it was sent to cleaning since it's not on my chair."

"No, no… I instructed the others not to touch anything on your chair unless you put it away for cleaning." Alis hums. It's better that way, so not to assume their lord was done using it when he still needs it. "Perhaps someone took it by accident. I hope it's not another sock elf."

"I thought we put out old clothes for them to steal instead of our laundry." Tamlin frowns. The sock-elves had stolen a sweater he rather liked, too.

"I thought so, too. I will look into this myself, my lord." Alis bows and shuffles away as quickly as she can without running.

Maybe he shouldn't kick up such a fuss. A new shawl can easily be bought, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Rhysand that he lost yet another gift from him. Come to think of it, Rhysand has been giving him a lot of things lately. Tamlin should give him something in return; he's been so busy with work, the gifts must have been a quiet way to ask for his attention.

Rhysand, much like the shawl, is nowhere to be found in the manor. He left a note on their beside table, a vague but trustworthy 'be back soon'. His absence gives Tamlin time to think of a way to shower him with the adoration he deserves, so he gathers a piece of hand-pressed parchment, a quill with gold ink and heads to his library to sit in his favourite chair—

"My chair is missing?"

Now this is ridiculous. It was an egg-shaped chair with a base made of marble and a very comfortable cushion. The chair was large enough to accommodate Tamlin both in his already massive Faerie form and in his beastly shape, should he want to curl up in something den-like.

"Your what?" Rhysand asks, popping his head into the library.

"My chair. My favourite chair. It's missing." Tamlin motions at the very empty spot in the very full library. There's even a circle on the ground of dust and discolouration where it used to be—that's how long it was there.

"Oh my," Rhysand says in muted concern. "This is a tragedy. Oh well, we'll just have to order a new one."

"I don't want to order a new one. I liked that one. Do you know how long it takes to get the cushions to fit you just right?" It also smells of him, his childhood, and it has all the memories that matter. "What if they don't make them exactly like that anymore?"

Tamlin huffs, trying not to pout. Oh, if the other Lords could see him now, sulking because he can't find his favourite egg-shaped chair.

Rhysand approaches him, reaching up to cup his cheek and caress it with his thumb. "I'm sure it'll be alright. I remember the exact dimensions. We'll get you a new one and break it in together?" He grins.

The thought of marking their territory and just basking in each other, erasing the scent of anyone else who's ever touched the chair makes him happy. Tamlin is a simple faerie; he asks for very little, and if Rhysand promised to cuddle him for all eternity and nothing else, he would be a very, very happy man.

Tamlin leans in, pressing a kiss against Rhysand's lips, smiling, and pulling him close. He moves to his neck, breathing in the scent of him and nipping at the skin there lightly. Humming, a very different kind of territorialism spurs in him.

"Wait, wait," Rhysand palms his chest, politely asking for distance. "I wanted to give you another gift."

The Night Prince steps back, opening a drawer encrusted in one of the ornate wooden bookshelves and pulls out a black box. He hands it to Tamlin.

"What… What is this for? Rhys, you're spoiling me. I should be begging for your forgiveness for being busy." Tamlin accepts the gift, but doesn't open it. "You should know," he starts, looking openly guilty. "I keep misplacing the things you've given me. I suspect we may have a sock-elf problem, but I should have been more careful."

Rhysand smiles; he isn't angry at all. "Things are… things. What matters to me is being able to give you these gifts. Even if you make use of them for just a day, it's good enough for me. Open it."

Tamlin kisses Rhysand again, opening the gift. It's a beautiful dark green robe, almost black, that glimmers with colours when held directly under sunlight. It's beautiful. More importantly, it's so soft and velvety.

"You should wear it. Make sure the size is right," Rhysand grins.

***

There's only so much Tamlin can lose before it starts to keep him up at night. The beautiful deep emerald robe disappeared after a day of having it, which is a record, honestly. He can't pass it off as a conniving creature playing a trick on him anymore. It's now a reflection of his capabilities as High Lord. A skill issue, per say.

Then again, he could be awake because the right side of his bed is empty and there is nothing more sobering that missing a part of him.

Tamlin worries. Everyone knows that.

He sits up on his bed and realizes his sheets are missing too? What is going on? Tamlin expects the slide of cool spidersilk against his bare skin, and though he naturally runs hot and kicks the sheets off, he still expects them to be there.

A part of him wonders if Rhysand was kidnapped, bundled up in the fancy sheets he insisted on and carried away into the night. The thought makes Tamlin jealous. If there is any sweeping away to be done, it is by him and him alone.

Fuck taking the stairs; Tamlin must find his mate quickly. He blows open the windows with a hint of magic, launching himself out of his manor and tumbling onto the ground, two floors down, with ease and grace. He sniffs the air, and locks onto the scent, sprinting straight into his forest.

Any other night, he would drink in the beauty of the trees, the symphony of the cicadas, the owls and the foxes, but Tamlin is on a mission. He cannot and will not be stopped until he finds his mate. His hunt takes him down a familiar path, straight towards his second home—a den that he played in as a child, then turned into his own safe haven as he grew older and his father grew crueler. It is the only place where his secrets are harboured and his vulnerabilities are shown.

He hasn't needed his den since Rhysand came into his life—since Rhysand stayed in it.

Tamlin blinks, and his eyes shift to better accommodate the darkness.

"Rhys? I know you're in here."

No response.

As he steps into his den, he realizes… it's been transformed.

The den has always been nothing more than a cave. It's walls were enough to make him feel safe and he would always sleep facing its entrance. No one could get him without his knowledge. The animals would visit and watch over him, of course, but no one else was welcome. (Not until Rhysand.)

Now, it's brimming with things. All the things Tamlin thought he lost, the gifts ungiven and taken back by one clever mate. He walks along the edges, touching the portraits of them and of Rhysand's family. He finds nearly every toy from his childhood; his mother had tried to save what she could from his father's annihilation of his childhood, and Rhysand must have found where she hid them. Tamlin picks up a toy cart with a long, long string. He used to fill this thing with flowers and berries, then drag it along behind him through the forest and all over the manor.

There are books here too. Tamlin recognizes them as Rhysand's. The Spring Court has never tolerated human 'fairy-tales' and he only knows of them because Rhysand has read him each one as proof that humans are brilliant.

Naturally, his egg-chair is here, too. Tucked at the back of the cave, right up against the wall, its opening is blocked by pillows upon pillows. Rhysand's scent leads right to it.

Tamlin tries to hide his smile as he leans in and plucks one pillow out. The rest start to topple, but Tamlin is careful to push them inwards into the nest.

"It seems I have found my thief."

Rhysand's expression is far too cool for someone buried to the neck in Tamlin's clothes.

He's hiding.

That's the problem with faeries like them. The way they were raised—it didn't matter what their natures were. They needed to be exactly what their fathers needed of them. Tamlin needed to be strong and immovable. Soft things were barred from him, even his heart needed to be made of stone. Rhysand needed to be sharp, but not bothersome. He always handles things alone.

Tamlin doesn't ask why he wasn't told or invited to help.

"May I enter?"

Rhysand shrinks into his pile, hiding his face except his watchful violet eyes. "You may," he says without a hint of emotion.

Tamlin crawls into the nest, careful not to squish Rhysand or disturb the hoard of things. Rhysand likes his things in particular order. Tamlin has no preference, so he's happy to adjust to his mate.

"I'm wounded," Tamlin sighs dramatically, taking Rhysand's own words and intonation for when he isn't getting his way. "My mate would rather my things than me and my," he pauses, trying to find a word that only Rhysand would use. "Luscious self?"

"Luscious? I do not say luscious." Rhysand unburies himself to glare at Tamlin. "You were busy."

"And you know that I would drop everything for you, if you told me you were nesting."

"I don't need you to drop everything. I have everything under control." Rhysand's jaw ticks, determined to handle himself. Were they in the Night Court, Rhysand would run his court, nest and make sure that Tamlin doesn't lift a finger because that's just who he is.

Tamlin crawls closer, squishing him purposely this time.

"Then control me," Tamlin leans in, breathing his words against Rhysand's warm lips. "Fit me into your plans. Hoard me like all these things. I am yours," he reminds his mate, kissing him slowly. "Do with me as you please, as long as you're doing it with me."

All this is new to both of them.

Tamlin has always known his dominant Alpha nature, and for his own safety, he had to swallow back his instincts. He wasn't afraid of what his father would do to him, but rather everyone else between them—his brothers, his mother and everyone Tamlin has even glanced at. The battle between Alphas is ugly and violent, especially in the transition of power. At the end, they both knew it was his father's mistake for not killing him at birth.

For Rhysand, Tamlin knows it was the opposite. Suppress, suppress, suppress, was his mantra. Not only did he have to hide, but he needed to deny every instinct within him. At least Tamlin could be a lesser version of himself, but Rhysand…

"You are perfect." Tamlin whispers between kisses. "You are stronger than I am."

"Liar," Rhysand denies.

"You are," Tamlin hums, catching his lower lip between his teeth. "I wouldn't have been able to do this alone. I need you by my side. Also, my den is a lot cozier than it was before. I might have to move out here."

Rhysand rolls his eyes and kicks at him from the layers of stolen clothes. "Flatterer." He says, clearly won over.

Tamlin pushes the clothing aside, snuggles in beside Rhysand and curls at his side, before putting the nest as it was. He says nothing, happy to kiss Rhysand's shoulder and listen to him breathing.

"I want to have a baby," Rhysand says suddenly.

The confession has Tamlin tensing, a reaction that comes from deep within rather than anything to do with actual thoughts. He eases after a moment. "Okay."

"I'm not even sure we'd be good," Rhysand can't even finish the sentence. The shame is visceral. His mother did her best and his father was selective in his affections. He knows how true mates love each other, and he knows how it feels when an Alpha rejects his offspring. It's not that he thinks Tamlin would—Tamlin would be a great father. "I just… With you… I feel ready. My body wants…"

The half-Illyrian flushes, turning to try and bury his face against Tamlin, but they only end up in a more intimate position, foreheads pressed against one another. Tamlin can see the worry on his face. Tamlin kisses them way.

"We will be good parents."

"How do you know?"

"Because we know pain. We know everything not to do."

Tamlin will never raise a hand against his mate or his children. He will never use them as weapons. He will listen when they speak. Everything his mind and body has come to know—all the violence and punishment he has come to expect—he will go against it. He will raise his little ones without fear. They will be free to be happy.

"That's horrible, you know that right?"

"But it's the truth." Tamlin assures, nuzzling Rhysand. "We have all the time in the world. You can over analyze this as much as you need," he teases.

"Oh, fuck you."

The Spring Lord grinds against Rhysand's hip with a playful grin. "Mmm, is that a request?"

#ACOTAR OMEGAVERSE WEEK IS FINALLY HERE #I AM SHYYYYYYYYYYYY DOING SOMETHING NEW #acotaromegaverse2024 #nesting #omegaverse #acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #rhysand #tamsand #my fics

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hongcherry · 1 year

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pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 6 (m)

“After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol’s obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?”

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (f)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst, smut; Unrequited enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: General tws + the big talk 🫣, mentions of slut-shaming and degradation (not in bed) -> plz lmk if im missing any! | [Smut warnings] protected sex, oral (f.), multiple orgasms, fingering, cum play, cum swallowing

🍒 WC: 12.6k

🍒 Betas: Sarah, Indi, Kelly, Freya 😻

🍒 Author’s Note: It's always so exciting and saddening when a series ends! It's been over a month since this series started! Special appreciation and thanks to those who have given me feedback and/or were here from the beginning! I really enjoy reading your reactions and analysis!

As I said before, this is the longest fic I've ever written, so this fic holds a special place in my heart for that reason alone. Anyway, thank you again (no this won't be the last time I say it!). Please enjoy the last chapter of "pretty please (stay with me)" 🥹❣️

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // the end

You haven’t stood still in the past hour—buzzing around to everyone in the dressing room to make sure everything is being executed correctly. From last-minute wardrobe alterations to doing makeup and hair touches, you’ve been moving non-stop. Overseeing a fashion show is not easy, or maybe you’re just overthinking the tiniest details.

You aren’t getting a second chance at this, so you want to reduce the possibility of mistakes.

“Everything looks great; take a rest,” Mingyu tells you gently.

You glance up from your clipboard, having printed your to-do list and notes prior. Mingyu stands next to you with a kind smile. Your eyes scan him briefly. You reach forward to fix his outfit for the nth time, but he carefully grabs your wrists.

“It looks fine,” he chuckles.

“Exactly. It looks fine. I need it to be perfect,” you huff.

“You have twenty minutes before the show starts. Let’s go get some fresh air,” he says.

Despite your several headshakes, Mingyu pulls you out of the dressing room and toward the lobby.

“…doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my text or calls. I’d figure you’d be here.”

“We should talk another time.”

You strain your hearing when the voices register in your head. Mingyu glances at you and slows in his steps. From how clear their voices are, you figure Hajun and Seungcheol are around the corner.

“Let’s go out the other way,” Mingyu says, stepping in the other direction. You put a hand on his arm to stop him. You’re too curious to not eavesdrop.

“I’ll be quick,” you hear Hajun say.

Seungcheol sighs. “I already told you over the phone that I didn’t want to be around you when you’re being disrespectful.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I’m sorry I said all those things to her. I just…I just wanted to look out for you.”

You have no doubt who she’s talking about. If she wants to apologize, she should apologize to you.

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine. She’s fine. She’s not as bad as you think,” Seungcheol replies.

“I think you’re just too kind, Cheollie,” she says. “She’s not very nice. She’s not been a good influence on you.”

“That grade wasn’t because of her,” he reasons as if he knows what she’s referring to.

Your eyebrows scrunch at that. What is he talking about? What grade?

“No? Then why have you been so distracted in class? Or why do you show up exhausted?”

“Those have all been my choices, though,” Seungcheol argues.

“Perhaps, but does she know the world doesn’t revolve around her? She should be considerate and stop being so clingy,” Hajun explains.

Maybe if you viewed her neutrally, you would think she genuinely has his best interest at heart. But with how she’s treated you, it’s difficult to believe that.

Mingyu tugs on your arm gently.

“You have ten minutes until showtime,” he whispers in your ear.

You close your eyes, listening to Hajun give more reasons for why you aren’t fit for Seungcheol. You want to stay and hear it all. You want to know if he will keep defending you. However, you’re not about to let all your hard work go to waste.

You nod, tearing yourself away and striding back to the room. You roll your shoulders back, head held high as you channel your attention on doing another round of adjustments.

When it’s three minutes until the show, you discreetly peep your head around the curtains. The theatre is packed, mostly with faces you don’t know. Though on one side, you can see your dad and sister. On the other side, are your new friends. Though the one person you are hoping to see isn’t there.

Seungcheol’s seat is empty.

You know he’s here. You hate how your mind starts forming negative thoughts. Perhaps Hajun has succeeded in making him hate you. Maybe he left with her.

You move away from the curtains and stare at the floor. There’s a tightening in your chest that’s a painful discomfort. After the argument, you were prepared not to see him here. Yet after the brief conversation and learning he had still gotten tickets, hope had risen. Even if it was just a sliver, you wanted to believe you could go back to where you were. Part of you even wished you were blissfully ignorant of his assumptions of you—even though they’re wrong and a “joke” to him.

You have the sudden urge to stand him up tomorrow. You don’t want to see him knowing he was here for you but left with her. However, you need to stop running away. You know you will be happier in the future if you have closure.

Before you can take another glance at the audience, Dr. Lim’s voice sounds.

“Alright, everyone, you’ve all been working hard this semester, and I’m very proud of you all,” he starts, “Remember, you’ll all give a quick introduction of your collection, and then once all your models have walked, you’ll give a final statement.”

You feel a hand on your arm. You turn to see Dae beside you. She’s smiling at you, wiggling your arm as if to say, “We did it!”

You offer a small one, trying to focus on the show again. Too much is going through your mind, and you need to narrow it down.

“You look nervous,” Dae whispers in your ear while Dr. Lim keeps speaking.

“I am, a little,” you answer.

“Don’t worry, I am too. At least we’re done, though. Well, we will be in a few hours,” she giggles.

“Okay, everyone is free to watch from anywhere backstage except for the person on deck. If you’re next, you must be here and ready to go. Everyone ready?”

You nod along with the rest of your class.

“Great, George, you’re first. Siwon, you’re on deck. Don’t forget your order, everyone!”

With that, people start moving. Dae guides you to a corner backstage that has a decent view. It’s angled so you can see your family more than your friends. You crane your neck to check the seats again. This time, two seats are missing. Jeonghan isn’t there anymore. Odd.

“Good evening, all,” Dr. Lim greets as he walks onto the stage. There’s faint music playing in the background, and your heart starts to race knowing there’s no going back now.

“Thank you for coming to support our designers. I am eager to show you the student’s work. Please keep in mind that each student was in charge of their theme, hair, makeup, music, lighting, promotion, and of course, their clothes,” he explains.

“There won’t be an intermission as the show is rather short, so if you need to go, please exit quietly. With that, also please turn off your cellular devices. Now that I’ve rambled long enough, let’s get started!”

The audience claps as the lights dim. You and Dae watch your peers conduct their shows, both commenting on them quietly every so often. The themes range from specific colors, to movies, to holidays. Although you don’t like most of your classmates, it’s nice to see the variety of art being presented. Soon, it’s yours and Dae’s turn. You wish each other good luck before tending to your models.

You’re on deck, going down the line of your models as you listen to Dae’s introduction.

“Hello everyone, I’m Dae, and my collection is titled, ‘Limitless’.”

You smile when you hear a few familiar hollers. You’re glad she befriended all your new friends too.

“My theme is space as I want to learn and grow endlessly. Although our space is dark, I want to be one of the stars that shine.”

Dae’s voice fades out as you continue your inspection.

“Take deep breaths,” Mingyu says when you approach him. You reach up and shift a few pieces of his outfit. He stands still as you do so.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “No funny business out there, okay?”

Mingyu smiles. “Of course. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Good, because I know where you live,” you threaten. It’s meant to be told jokingly, but you both know you’re serious.

“Always so charming,” he laughs.

“So I’ve been told,” you smile and pat his chest. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, Mingyu.”

“I could never say no to showing off my handsome features,” he replies, tilting his chin up with confidence.

“Maybe I should have asked Jeonghan instead,” you tease.

Mingyu scoffs playfully, opening his mouth to reply but stops when Dr. Lim appears.

“Yn, ready?”

You face him and nod. “I’m good to go.”

“Excellent,” he pauses, “It was nice having you in class again. I’m wishing you a bright future. You have talent, and I’m excited to see what you do with it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lim,” you reply. He gives you a grin before leaving again.

Mingyu’s thumbs raise in encouragement when you glance at him. The small smile you offer fails to hide your nervousness.

“People are going to love your designs,” Mingyu reassures. “Now, go get yourself ready.”

“R-right,” you say.

You make your way to the front of your model’s line as you hear Dae give her ending speech. You want to listen to what she’s saying, but you’re too anxious. You glance at yourself in the mirror that is situated backstage, quickly adjusting the outfit you made yourself.

It’s all red—not because of Seungcheol, you tell yourself, but because you needed to match the fabric Jeonghan had bought you—with the top being covered in rhinestones and fading out. The dress hugs your torso and then flares into a flowy bottom with a slit. Over your neck and shoulder blades is red lace that is attached to the fabric Jeonghan got you, giving you a cape that pools on the floor a little. The space between your dress and the cape shows enough skin to be sexy but not overly so to be inappropriate for a school event.

Although the fabric was meant to be used for one of your model’s outfits, it wasn’t the blue you wanted, and you had already switched your design after Tori took the original from you. You had already planned to make your own dress for the event but hadn’t decided on the design. Since you didn’t want Jeonghan’s fabric to go to waste, you created a design based on it—using your original idea meant for the blue fabric but tweaking it.

Applause erupts, cueing you that you are next. Although you aren’t able to watch Dae’s show, you know Seoah is recording, upon your request, so you can watch it later.

Dae walks backstage as Dr. Lim goes to introduce you.

Dae is beaming, eyes crinkling and mouth open in utter happiness. She goes to you and wraps her arms around you.

“What a rush! That was so fun,” she gushes. “You’re going to do great.”

You return the hug quickly. Her energy bleeds into yours, and your heart races with nervousness. After years of being a spectator of the show, it’s finally your turn to be a participant. You feel all your years at the university have led to this moment.

“Please welcome Yn,” Dr. Lim says.

Dae gives you an encouraging pat on the back before she steps away. You take a moment to inhale a deep breath, rolling back your shoulders and stepping out onto the stage.

The stage lights are blinding, making it difficult to see out into the entire crowd. You take the mic from your professor and curl your fingers around the object a little tighter than you should. Your eyes dart across unfamiliar faces as your eyes try to adjust to the lights.

“Good evening. My name is Yn, and my collection is titled, ‘Pinwheel’,” you start, voice wavering to show how anxious you are. As you take a quick second to recollect yourself, your eyes snag on a face you’re keen to see.

Seungcheol.

He didn’t leave.

Normally, you would question why he took so long to be seated, but you’re too jittery with the show. You don’t have the energy. Rather you focus on his eyes. They watch you fondly. His hair is pushed from his face like he put some product in it. You feel honored he dressed up for you.

He tilts his head and stretches his lips into a reassuring smile. Although it makes your heart pump quicker, it also gives you the push you need to continue.

“You’ll see an array of colors and designs that represent the four elements—air, water, earth, and fire. I wanted to try different styles that still coordinated together in some way. I hope you all enjoy,” you continue.

The crowd applauds, and amongst the noise, you can make out a few hollers from your friends. It eases your nervousness as you walk off stage. The lights adjust, and the track Jihoon created begins to play.

You motion for the first model to begin walking. You stay in the same spot as your volunteers ascend the runway. You fall into a rhythm as you time your models. When it comes to Mingyu, you expect him to sneak in a joke. However, his face is set in stone and is serious. You smile softly and lightly touch his arm to signal him.

You glance beyond the curtain to watch him for a second. As Mingyu promised, he doesn’t do anything to ruin your show. If you didn’t know he was a photography major, you would suspect he was an actual model. A goofy part of your brain wonders if he practiced his walk in his apartment.

Two models left and then everyone will do one more walk. That’s all you have left. Despite the already short time of your portion of the show, it feels a lot shorter. Everything has been going well so far. No models slip, your outfits stay intact, and there aren't any technical difficulties.

You appear in front of the audience again as your models finish their last trip around the stage. Your models stay on the stage, allowing the audience to associate the designs with the designer.

“As you’ve heard many times tonight, thank you for coming. This project was challenging, but the reward was worth it. If you have any questions about my collection, please don’t hesitate to ask me after the show. Thank you,” you conclude, giving a bow.

Each clap from the audience chips away at the weight on your shoulders. You can breathe easier knowing that that is it. The project you’ve been waiting to do since before your freshman year has finally come and gone. And gone well nonetheless.

You watch as your friends and family stand, big smiles on all their faces. Although they all mean a lot to you, you can’t help but look for Seungcheol out of all of them.

He stands tall, hands clapping together, with a huge grin on his handsome face. His eyes shine with pride, and you can feel that familiar warmth spreading across your chest again. It feels like you’ve just given your first fashion show as a big-name designer, but in reality, it’s simply a senior project. Seungcheol makes it feel more than it is. And that makes you feel all the more confident.

There are only three more students after you. You and Dae go back to you where you were originally seated, this time accompanied by Mingyu—now dressed in his own clothes. As the show ends, all the students file onto the stage.

“It was a joy to witness the progression of the student’s works. Thank you for another successful show. Seniors, you should all be proud of your work,” Dr. Lim pauses to glance at you all. “Please enjoy the refreshments in the lobby. You’re welcome to mingle and network for at least another hour. Now, please give another round of applause for our talented students.”

The sound fills your chest with a bittersweet feeling as you take your final bow.

“Your designs were gorgeous!” Seoah exclaims when she finds you in the lobby. She runs into you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. Your father comes next, joining in a three-way embrace.

“You did amazing, sweetheart,” he compliments. Your heart is swelling from their kind words. They have seen some of your past designs, but this is different. Even though it’s a school production, it’s still the biggest fashion show you’ve ever been a part of.

“I need you to make me that green one! The one that looked like it was made of leaves and vines. That was my favorite. You get to keep your clothes, right?” Seoah speaks quickly in excitement.

You laugh softly, nodding. “I’m afraid family relations only grant you a five-percent discount.”

“What?” she huffs. “I should get it for free for being the best sister.”

“You’re my only sister,” you argue.

“Which makes me more special!”

“Alright, girls. We can arrange a business deal at home. I’m going to take Seoah to get some ice cream. We’ll see you later,” your father says. You give them each a last hug before waving them goodbye.

You don’t even get a minute break before you feel arms wrap around you.

“I told you you would do great!”

Soonyoung’s loud voice rings in your ear, causing you to flinch. He tears himself from you with a big smile. Your friends gather around in a semicircle, all showering you with praises and words of encouragement. However, like before, one face is missing from the crowd.

“Even though I just met you this semester, I’m proud of you,” Yejun says. You thank him before watching as he leaves to go to Dae. He’s more her friend than yours, but you’re still grateful for his words.

“Does Mingyu get to keep his outfit?” Vernon questions.

You shake your head.

“Good,” Seungkwan chimes in. “He doesn’t deserve such nice clothes.”

“Hey!” Mingyu gasps, offended.

“Excuse me?” an unfamiliar voice interrupts your crowd. All heads turn to see an older woman, dressed professionally. “Yn, right?”

You turn away from your friends to greet the stranger. “Yes, hello.”

“My name’s Park Quinn. I work for a local agency and wanted to give you my contact information. I loved your collection,” she says.

Your eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be great.”

You take the card she gives you.

“I don’t want to take time away from your friends, so please contact me whenever you can. We can try to arrange something if you’re interested.”

You nod, trying not to seem too enthusiastic and eager at the proposal.

“Of course. Thank you, Ms. Park.”

She smiles and then turns away. Before you can dive back into your friend’s bickering, which you can hear faintly in the background, more people come up to greet you. Many of whom you don’t know. Some are prospective students; others are more recruiters.

You’re talking to different people for what feels like ages before the crowd finally slows down. Your friends left a few minutes ago, telling you they’ll arrange a time you can all hang out.

You’re backstage to gather your belongings and clothes when there’s a soft knock on the open door.

“I’m almost done,” you announce, figuring it’s Dr. Lim coming to tell you to hurry so he can lock the theatre.

“Take your time, Cherry.”

Your hands pause in reaching for a garment bag, gaze whizzing to see the person.

Seungcheol stands in the doorway with a small bouquet of flowers. They’re a mix of reds, pinks, and greens. It’s beautiful.

Too nervous about the show earlier, you finally take in his attire. He’s wearing an all-black suit, the undershirt being a turtleneck. You saw his new hairstyle while on stage, but it still surprises you to see it up close.

He looks stunning.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, a little shocked to see him.

He smiles, walking farther into the room. “I wanted to give you these.”

He holds out the bouquet. You stare at it a little too long because Seungcheol starts to chuckle.

“Not the ones you like?” he teases. He begins to set them down on a nearby table, but you stop him. You take it in your free hand, the other occupied with other items.

“They’re pretty,” you reassure. “Thank you.”

He grins when you finally accept them. In exchange, he grabs your belongings from you. You tilt the flowers to your face, breathing in their fresh smell and grinning slightly.

“Your collection was incredible,” he says.

“You think so?” you hum, eyes glancing at the clothes which are hanging in bags.

“The best out there.”

You smile. “You sound a little biased, Seungcheol.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, “but I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Silence fills the room as you both stare at each other. His eyes drift to your body. You feel a little shy, and the need to fill the silence grows. You want to ask what took him so long to come into the theatre, but that would mean you were actively looking for him. It would also mean Hajun would most likely be mentioned if he decided to go into detail. That topic could wait until tomorrow. You’re enjoying being able to talk to him like you used to, albeit a little more consciously.

“D-do you like it?” you ask in lieu.

Seungcheol’s eyes move back to yours.

“You made this?” he asks, gesturing to your dress.

You nod.

“You’re very talented,” he praises. “Though that was evident earlier… You look beautiful, Yn.”

Something about hearing your real name from his mouth has the compliment’s meaning more impactful.

“I do?” you ask, shifting your weight.

“I’ve never heard you so doubtful before,” he observes with a gentle grin. “First about your designs, and now about your looks.”

He reaches out to you, and for a split second, you think he’s going to caress your face. Instead, he grazes his fingers over the cape’s fabric.

“You do look pretty,” he hums. His eyes scan the material, gaze softening as if recalling something bittersweet.

“Jeonghan bought it for me,” you state. You’re not sure why you disclose that information. Why does it matter to Seungcheol if Jeonghan gifted the fabric to you? He probably doesn’t care. The air just felt too suffocating to stay silent.

“That’s nice of him,” he mutters before pulling away. Maybe you’re imagining it, but he sounds more monotone than before.

“Y-yeah.”

Another pause.

“Actually, I should probably change out of it. Do you mind?” you ask. You expect him to make a joke of “having seen it all already,” but he doesn’t.

“Oh, yeah. Of c-course,” he answers, turning around.

You wait a few seconds to ensure he isn’t going to peek before finding your bag with your spare clothes. The dress you don is too long to wear outside. You don’t want it to get snagged on anything; plus, you’ll probably get your foot tangled in the fabric in the car later.

You quickly change into a simple dress and sneakers, stuffing your red dress in another garment bag.

“Okay, I’m done,” you announce.

Seungcheol turns slowly. He takes in your new outfit, and if you didn’t squirm and look away, you would’ve spotted the little smile on his lips.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” he asks, glancing around the room. It’s mostly empty. You just need to carry the clothes back to your car.

“You don’t have to stay. Thank you for the flowers,” you say.

“Well, I’m not letting you walk to your car alone,” he replies.

“I’ll be fine. The campus is well-lit.”

Seungcheol eyes you, mouth pursing to tell you he doesn’t care.

You sigh and hold out the bouquet, knowing he isn’t going to leave. “Hold these.”

He does so and watches as you drape the garment bags over a table. You start to dissemble the clothing rack.

“I could’ve done that,” Seungcheol says.

“I’m sure you’re capable, but it’s quicker if I do it. I know how to take it apart,” you reason. You place the pieces in the bag they came in, zipping it and placing the strap on your shoulder.

“Let me,” Seungcheol offers.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, stepping away. “You look awfully pretty holding those flowers.”

And he does.

His dark clothes and hair contrasting with the bright colors of the flowers, create a pleasing sight.

Upon hearing your teasing tone, he grins. “You look prettier with them, so take them.”

He holds out the object, but you shake your head. You hang the clothes over your arms despite his second protest.

“I need a good view on our walk to my car,” you explain and start to move to the door. He follows reluctantly.

Somehow along the journey, you end up swapping items anyway. You now hold the bouquet, unable to stop taking several whiffs. You can’t remember if you’ve ever gotten flowers before. Maybe one or two, but never a whole bouquet.

Seungcheol packs your car carefully, ensuring he doesn’t accidentally destroy any of your outfits. They’re all protected in bags, but that doesn’t make them invincible.

“Are we still meeting tomorrow?” he asks when you’re seated in your car; your window is rolled down to talk to him. He has one hand resting on the roof of your car as he peers in.

“If you’re still willing to,” you reply.

“I am,” he answers.

“Okay.”

A pause.

“Will you text me when you get home?” he asks.

“You don’t need—”

“Or I can tail you. It’s your choice, Cherry.”

You exhale audibly.

“I’ll text you,” you decide.

He smiles. “I thought so.”

He stands up to leave, telling you a goodbye you barely register as you debate something in your head.

“Wait, Ch-Seungcheol,” you call and peek your head out.

He pauses in his steps to look back.

“Will you… text me when you get home, too?” you ask hesitantly. The question shouldn’t make you nervous, but it does. Maybe because it’s a hint that you still care about him.

The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth rises, a gentle chuckle escaping into the night.

“Yes.”

The simple word has you reflecting your own grin, giving him a final wave as he walks to his car, which is easily visible due to the nearly-empty lot. You wait for him to get into his vehicle before you leave.

You [10:48 PM]: Home.

Choi Seungcheol [10:56 PM]: good

You [10:57 PM]: Are you texting and driving, or are you home as well?

Choi Seungcheol [10:57 PM]: home (:

You [10:58 PM]: Did you forget to tell me?

Choi Seungcheol [10:59 PM]: no i just got home

You [10:59 PM]: Okay.

You [10: 59 PM]: Thank you for coming and for the flowers.

Choi Seungcheol [11:00 PM]: u dont need to thank me. i enjoyed it

You [11:01 PM]: Still… Goodnight, Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol [11:01 PM]: sweet dreams cherry

The trek to Seungcheol’s apartment door is grave.

As much as you try to push away the last memories you had here, they’re difficult to ignore. Each step makes the feelings resurface. You just wish this visit won’t end in the same way. His words from that day still sting, but you’re tired of staying in the past. The short interaction with him last night reminds you of how nice it is to be around him when you aren’t fending off his business friends. It spurs the hope you once felt that you could somehow make it work with him.

Seungcheol had messaged you earlier that something had come up and asked to meet at his apartment instead of the café. You were hesitant at first, but he reassured you he wasn’t going to offer a ride. It’s a bit silly that the decision is based on whether he is driving you, but you feel more comfortable knowing you don’t have to rely on him if things go awry.

Seungcheol opens the door with a kind smile.

“Come in,” he greets, stepping to the side.

You move past him and take off your shoes while he shuts and locks the door.

“I’m sorry about the change in plans, I—”

Your scream has him halting.

You hastily push yourself behind Seungcheol, shoving your back against the wall and clutching his shirt roughly.

The abrupt yank on his clothes has Seungcheol stumbling backward. His hands come up to steady himself on the wall, trying not to crush you.

You hold him close to your body as a shield.

“Get it away! Please, Cheol! Make it leave!” you yelp frantically.

“W-what? What’s wrong?!” Seungcheol asks, completely startled by your sudden outburst. He tries to turn to face you, but your strong grip on his shirt limits his range of motion. “It’s only… Oh.”

Seungcheol laughs.

A chorus of “ha’s” that has you hitting his back in frustration.

“Cheol!” you whine when a loud woof sounds in the room.

“I didn’t know you were scared of dogs,” he muses.

In front of Seungcheol is a big, furry dog. The breed is unknown to you, but that’s the least of your worries. You truly don’t give a fuck. You just need it gone.

“Well, I am, so make it go away!” you cry and give his muscular back another thud.

“Okay, okay. Let go, Cherry,” he chuckles. You slowly release him, keeping your body one with the wall.

“Come on, Cho, let’s give Cherry some space,” he says cheerfully to the dog; the pitch is higher than before. Why does the beast get to hear that tone from him?

“It’s staring at me,” you huff, eyes on the animal carefully.

“He’s just interested in you,” Seungcheol chuckles, hand rubbing the dog’s head. He moves away and tries to call the dog to him, but it doesn't listen.

Another yelp comes from your lips when it starts to walk toward you again. Seungcheol kneels down and holds onto its chest instead, almost as if he’s hugging it.

“Go to my bedroom; I’ll be there in a second,” he instructs kindly.

“It’s going to chase me,” you say.

He laughs softly. “I’m holding onto him. You’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” you ask cautiously.

“Yes. Go on,” he smiles encouragingly, nodding in the direction of his room.

Slowly, you push away from the wall. You stay a good distance from the beast in Seungcheol’s arms. As if it wants to tease you, it barks at you. That lights a fire under your ass that makes you break out into a sprint.

You shut his door in a hurry.

You step away from the entry in case the dog decides to knock it down. As you unwind, your eyes scan his room. Nothing has really changed—not that it should’ve. While his bathroom door is ajar, his closet is on full display. You don’t think anything of it, but then your eyes catch on to something red. He has red in his closet, so the color isn’t what intrigues you. What catches your attention is that it’s a dress.

A red dress in Seungcheol’s closet.

You shouldn’t be touching his stuff without his permission, but your hand reaches out on its own. You carefully graze your fingers over the material. The silk is smooth under your touch. It feels good against your skin.

There’s a bag hanging off the hanger. You should stop while you can—snooping never ends well for anyone. Yet, that doesn’t halt your hands from removing the bag and peering inside. It’s empty except for a receipt.

You figure it’s for the dress; however, the name of the place at the top isn’t a clothing store.

It’s a fabric store.

Seungcheol’s door suddenly opens, jolting you from your spot, paper still in hand.

“Are you okay? I would’ve put him in another room if I had known you were scar—”

His eyes fall onto your hand. They grow slightly, and he stands still.

You take the moment to look back at it, scanning the item to try to figure out what it’s for. Before you can examine it for long, it’s pulled from your grasp.

“What’s that for?” you ask as he stuffs it in the pocket of his jeans.

“Nothing. Why are you looking through my stuff?” he questions back. His tone isn’t unkind, but it’s not as cordial as it was before.

You can lie about it, but it was in a bag you deliberately opened. Unless he forgot where he put it, he would know the truth.

“I was curious,” you answer truthfully.

“It’s not polite to look through people’s things,” he scolds and walks to his closet door. He starts to shut it, but you can’t move past the mysterious dress.

“Are you seeing someone?” you wonder. There’s something sharp prodding your heart at the possibility. Perhaps it shouldn’t matter. Maybe you’re just here to mend a broken platonic friendship rather than a romantic one. You were never his to begin with, but something breaks in your chest at the idea of the opportunity being taken from you.

Suddenly, “Are you dating Hajun?”

All those times you pushed him away… Were you pushing him into her arms instead? Is that why he never let go of her? But he didn’t sound like her boyfriend in the theatre’s lobby.

Seungcheol finishes shutting his closet door before he focuses on you. His eyes dance across your face for a moment. You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“What makes you think that?” he asks. He moves to sit on the bed, patting the space beside him, but you shake your head. You don’t want to be close to him right now.

“The dress,” you trail off, “in your closet.”

He releases a dispirited exhale.

“It’s not hers,” he says.

The grip around your heart loosens an inch but still holds on tightly.

“Hana’s?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Let’s resolve our other issues before we get into another, okay?” he suggests.

Your eyebrows furrow. “So, the dress would cause another issue?”

“Hasn’t it already?” he sighs. “You weren’t meant to see that.”

You scoff, arms crossing. “I would’ve never guessed.”

Seungcheol frowns at your sarcasm.

“We can talk about it later.”

“Why dance around the topic? Just tell me if you’re seeing someone,” you argue.

“Why?” he replies, eyebrow quirking.

“Because—” I want to know if there’s a chance for us. “—that would explain the dress.”

“Just dro—”

“What’s the big deal?”

“It’s—”

“Just tell me.”

“Cherry,” Seungcheol groans.

“Yes or no. It’s simple.”

“No.”

“No, you’re not dating, or no, you don’t want to answer me?”

“No, I’m not dating anyone.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Some relief floods in your chest, but there’s still something odd about the wardrobe addition.

“Then—”

“It’s yours,” he finally huffs out, irritation laced in his tone.

That shuts you up successfully.

“It’s for you,” he sighs, voice softer, and stands up. “Or, it was for you.”

He pulls open his closet and takes the garment off its hanger. He grabs one of your hands and places the item in it. Before you can get a proper grip on it, Seungcheol lets go which forces you to clutch it quickly.

“Wha-What do you mean? I-I didn’t leave this here. I’ve never worn this. I—”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “It’s new. I got it before… before our fight. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”

Your eyes drift to the dress in your hands, lifting it up to see it better. It’s nothing too flashy, but it’s still beautiful with its simplicity.

That pang in your heart comes back but for a different reason.

“You’re not just saying this as an excuse, right?” you ask, the thought bubbling in your mind.

He gently takes the dress from you, laying it out on one side of the bed while guiding you to the other. He sits you down.

“No,” he answers. “I’m telling you the truth. It’s yours if you want it—no strings attached. If not, I can donate it.”

Your eyes move back to the clothing item.

“Why did you get it for me?” you ask and look at him.

Seungcheol rakes a hand through his hair, ears turning a light pink. “I was going to ask you on a date.”

“Y-you were?” you stammer, eyes wide. You’ve always wondered if what he told you while you were crying in his arms was true or if it was all just said in the heat of the moment. Your heart races knowing he meant them. He really did like you then.

“And I was going to ask you to wear this,” he explains, eyes moving from yours.

You continue to stare at him, flabbergasted. His plan was sweet, and part of you feels bad for having ruined it. Though, that wasn’t entirely your fault.

You’re not sure how to respond. You feel utterly honored that he got you a dress for your potential first date with him. However, you don’t know where you stand right now. Unresolved issues still hang in the air.

“Let’s talk about something else, then get back to this, alright?” he tries again.

This time, you nod.

“I know I already apologized, but I truly am sorry for what I said here last time,” he begins.

“Were you really just joking?” you wonder.

“It was a mix, honestly. I was a little shocked at the thought of you never having sex before.”

You frown but try to keep your emotions in control. “Why?”

“Because I’ve heard you’ve gotten around.” He winces as the words come out. You glance in your lap for a second, grabbing the hem of your skirt to play with it.

“From who?”

You aren’t too surprised to hear this information. You have plenty of “enemies” on campus. One of them was bound to start rumors. Hell, you have a few exes that go to the university, so they could’ve spread false information too.

“Several people,” he speaks softly so he doesn’t hurt your feelings. “I actually knew about you before we met at Jeonghan’s.”

“Really?” you question and look at him again.

“Yeah, but I heard about you a lot more when Hajun and Hana realized who you were,” he explains. “I guess their words stuck without me knowing.”

Your lips dip down. “Did you believe them?”

You hold your breath as you wait for his reply. You already have a feeling Hajun and Hana have talked enough shit about you to fill two whole toilets, but their opinion of you isn’t the one that matters.

Seungcheol sighs, gaze drifting from you and then away.

“I’ve never seen you act the way they described, so not completely,” he answers.

“Not completely?” you repeat.

“There was always that thought in the back of my head… Wondering if you just wanted to sleep with me.”

A scoff. “You thought that even when I kept pushing you away at the start?”

“Maybe you were playing hard to get,” he attempts to reason.

“No, I was genuinely annoyed,” you say.

“Ouch,” he frowns.

“Also, need I remind you that you were the one that kept approaching me?” you add.

Seungcheol leans back on one hand, the other running through his hair again.

“I know,” he says. “I think I just heard Hajun and Hana talk so much that the thought was just always there because of them. I never saw the person I heard about… Well, you weren’t always nice, which I also heard.”

You roll your eyes, not truly irritated at his last comment since it isn’t entirely false. “I’m not one to play along if I don’t like you.”

“I’m aware,” he answers, a small smile on his lips.

“Why did you stay friends with them when they said bad things about me?” you question next.

“Like I said that day, I had known them a long time, and we were in a project together.”

You recall his reasoning, but you still want to ask. “That’s it?”

“Why do you think I did it?”

“Because you agreed with their views on me,” then you mutter, “or maybe because you liked Hajun.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows angle downward. “I’ve never felt anything romantic toward Hajun, and I didn’t believe them.”

“Did it not bother you when they said that stuff?” you ask.

“It did. I really did tell them to stop when you weren’t around,” he answers. “It’s not easy to let go of people you’ve known for years.”

“I beg to differ,” you huff.

“Would you ditch Dae if she spoke badly about me constantly?” he questions.

You tilt your head. “That would mean I have to care about you a lot.”

“Don’t you?” he teases lightly, leaning toward you.

You smile small. “More than her? No.”

“Breaking my heart, Cherry,” he chuckles and pulls away. He inhales deeply and then continues. “I was hoping something would change, and you would all get along.”

“I told you it would never have worked out,” you reply.

“Wishful thinking,” he shrugs.

You nod, moving your gaze again. An important question lingers in your mind. You want to ask, but you’re truly nervous about his answer. At one point, you would’ve found a way for it to work, but now, you don’t know if you can.

“Ask me,” Seungcheol coaxes softly. You glance at him, wondering how he knows you have a question for him.

He chuckles. “I know there’s more running in that pretty head of yours.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod.

“Are you still talking to them?”

He was just talking to Hajun yesterday, so you aren’t going to be surprised if he says yes.

“No, I’m not,” he answers sternly.

That shocks you more.

“Y-you’re not?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I realized I care about you more than I do them,” he says, echoing your earlier words. “I choose you. I’ve always chosen you in the end—even if it didn’t feel like it.“

You’re on the edge of inwardly celebrating. It’s relieving to finally hear he has cut ties with the people who made your life miserable.

“I-I saw you… I mean, I heard you yesterday with Hajun at the theatre,” you confess.

It’s his turn for his eyes to open bigger. “Nothing happened between us.”

“What was she talking about with your grades?” you ask, recalling how she used that against you.

Seungcheol rubs his temples. “I just got a low test score. It really isn’t a big deal.”

“Because of me?” You frown.

“No,” he’s quick to reassure, “it had nothing to do with you.”

“But Hajun said—”

“She was just finding excuses for me not to be there,” he explains. “Her words didn’t mean anything. I’ve gotten low grades before.”

“She seemed serious,” you argue.

“Because she was,” he sighs.

“Do you really think she was looking out for you?”

Seungcheol rubs at the back of his neck. “Sort of, but I also think she was exaggerating things to make you seem worse.”

“I’m sorry if I distracted you from your studies. I should’ve left you alone,” you apologize, averting your gaze.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab one of your hands. You look at him when you feel his touch.

“Even if you tried, I would’ve kept bugging you,” he replies. His words make you feel a little better, but you still feel guilty despite him saying it isn’t your fault.

“Why would you have?” you ask.

He smiles kindly, eyes softening at the thought of his reply.

“Because I liked you and wanted to get to know you more.”

Your face heats at his words, or maybe it’s because your body is tingling with his skin against yours. Regardless, you feel the butterflies awaken in your stomach.

“Do you—do you still,” you trail off, feeling anxious at the question.

“Do I what?” he presses gently. His thumb glides against the top of your hand.

You stare at his floor when you continue slowly, “Do you still like me?”

There’s a moment of silence before you feel his fingers against your chin. He guides you to look at him; he’s staring at you as if he cherishes and adores you.

It’s the same look he had when he was watching both of your friends at the restaurant. It’s difficult to believe he’s giving that gaze to you now.

You can’t tear your eyes from him.

“I like you very much,” he declares confidently.

Your mouth twitches as you try to suppress your smile, but it’s pointless. Your lips stretch until they hurt.

Seungcheol mimics your grin. “Do you like me?”

At one point, you would’ve profusely denied it. You’ve been pushing away those tempting thoughts for so long that you can’t do it anymore. There is something about Seungcheol that you can’t shake off.

It could be the way he always holds the door open for you. It could be that he always takes care of you—carrying you so you won’t hurt your feet, offering his home when you need it, holding your belongings so you have to lift as few fingers as possible. Or perhaps it could be the way he makes you feel like your head is in the clouds.

You always thought you’d want a partner who you didn’t constantly argue with, but you found the light bantering between you two entertaining. Sure, it does get under your skin at times, but you never stay truly mad at him.

Seungcheol makes you feel special. He makes you feel wanted.

He makes you feel loved.

So, with the smile still etched on your face, you answer, “Yes. I like you.”

Seungcheol’s eyes go from quarter moons to waxing crescents. Small wrinkles form as his mouth widens to a gummy smile. The happiness on his face has your heart skipping.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, eyes hopeful.

You nod without hesitation. “Please.”

Seungcheol’s lips still have the same effect as before. It takes your breath away and makes you giddy.

He moves a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until you are nearly on his lap. The position doesn’t offer you much balance since you’re trying not to knee him in the jewels.

You start to pull away when you feel your body slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Wait, Cheol—” you try to warn, but it’s too late.

You tumble to the floor, dragging him with you.

You both land with a thump as you’re pulled from each other.

Seungcheol’s booming laugh echoes in his room, causing your own stomach to hurt from giggling.

“Are you okay?” he asks between breaths while sitting up. You stand from the floor, straightening out your clothes. He follows you up.

“Yeah,” you reply. “You?”

“I’m fine,” he reassures.

You jump when the dog outside barks at the noise. Seungcheol smiles at you and reaches out to give you a comforting pat.

“Relax, Cherry. Cho isn’t going to hurt you. He’s a big baby,” Seungcheol soothes.

“It didn’t look like one,” you huff, recalling the size of the animal.

Seungcheol guides you back to the bed.

“Do you have any more questions for me?” he asks, easing back into the somber conversation.

You pause as you think. When nothing comes up, you shake your head.

“Do you?” you offer.

“Three,” he answers.

You breathe slowly, preparing yourself for them. “Okay, what’s your first?”

“What else did Hajun tell you by the restroom?” he wonders.

“Oh,” you mumble, not expecting that. You go back to that memory in your head. “A-are you sure you want to know?”

Seungcheol's face grows serious, head nodding curtly.

“She said you left me because I was a slut. She told me you said I was the ‘worst fuck you’ve ever had,’ and she called me worthless,” you pause as Seungcheol’s jaw clenches and eyes narrow. If you weren’t talking about someone else, you would be worried to see such an intense stare.

“She said you were trying to get rid of me, and the only way you could do that was to sleep with me… Since you know, I just need ‘something between my legs to be satisfied’.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Usually, it doesn’t bother you, but combined with his stare makes you shift uncomfortably.

“I didn’t say any of that. I hope you know that. She made that up,” he says, expression easing when he speaks to you. “I wasn’t even going to say anything, but she kept wondering why you weren’t around. I just told her we had a falling out, and that’s it.”

From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, you believe him.

“I believe you,” you voice aloud.

His once-tensed shoulders relax at your words. “I never wanted you to leave. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re not any of the names she called you.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Although you’ve been trying to ignore Hajun’s words the past few days, you feel better knowing Seungcheol’s true feelings.

“I’m still sorry,” he says.

“I know. I forgive you,” you respond, hand resting on his thigh.

“You don’t have to. I know what I said was disgusting and rude.”

“It was,” you concur, “but I’m willing to forgive you because I don’t think you mean what you said.”

And now he won’t have those toxic people whispering lies in his ears.

“I don’t,” he repeats. “I think people are intimidated by your confidence. You know what you want, and you know your identity, while some people don’t. It scares them, so they take it out on you. They’re jealous of you.”

“It sounds like you're buttering my biscuits, Mr. Choi,” you hum as you listen to him analyze the people who dislike you.

“I’m just being honest,” he says, a slight frown on his lips.

“I appreciate it,” you reply more earnestly. You’re grateful he confirmed he didn’t think those negative thoughts about you. You feel you can circle around the topic for hours, so you ask for the second question.

“Do you like Jeonghan?” Seungcheol asks.

That takes you by surprise. “No, why do you ask?”

You almost laugh at the idea of dating Jeonghan, but you refrain from it. You don’t want Seungcheol to think his question is stupid even if it is.

“You two just seem close,” he says.

“I tolerate him more,” you explain. “I only like you. Now, next question.”

“Wait, I want to make sure you don’t like hi—Hmph!”

Your lips meet his to stop his sentence. He melts quickly against your mouth, a hand reaching out to your waist. You pull away before it can go any further.

“I would never kiss Jeonghan like that,” you smile.

Seungcheol grimaces at the image you put in his head. “That doesn’t mean you don’t like him.”

“So, I would like that fool, but not kiss him?” you wonder. “Okay. Then I like you, but we can’t kiss anymore.”

“What?” he asks, startled.

“If I can like Jeonghan and not kiss him, then I can like you and not kiss you.”

The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth pushes down. His lips purse slightly when he speaks, “Alright, I get it. I believe you. Kiss me.”

“No,” you say defiantly.

“If you like me, then you’ll kiss me,” he explains.

“But you just said—”

“I lied. You have to kiss the people you like,” he corrects quickly, leaning toward you.

“Is that so?” you ask, a mischievous smirk forming on your lips.

Not having a good feeling with the look on your face, Seungcheol sulks, “You only like me, so that means you can only kiss me.”

You smile at hearing his dragged-out words.

“Is that the rule?” you tease.

“Yes,” he huffs.

“Then I guess I can kiss you,” you say. However, you don’t move from your spot.

Seungcheol fusses, “Now, baby.”

“Oh,” you giggle. “Fine.”

You move in closer, smiling when he meets you halfway. The kiss doesn’t last long as you pull away to ask for his third question.

His tongue darts across his bottom lip as he stares at you. His gaze is solemn, and you mentally prepare yourself for what he has to ask.

“It hurt me to know I caused you pain,” he starts slowly. “I never wanted you to think I believed the rumors about you, but I guess they had an effect on me that I wasn’t conscious of. I regretted everything I told you that day the second it came from my mouth. I was so desperate to fix my mistakes that I didn’t take the moment to think.”

You watch him intently. Each word is taken in with great care, trying to push aside the initial feelings of anger and hurt to hear him objectively.

“I know I made a mistake by keeping them my friends for so long. I just wanted things to work out, and I wanted you all to see the good in each other. I know that sounds a little cliché, but it’s true… Maybe I just didn’t want to choose between you all,” he pauses to take a breath.

“Though, most of all, I wanted to know you more. Despite not having the best first impression, I realized quickly you weren’t what people made you out to be. Along the way, I started to see you as more than a friend, but I had trouble finding the right moment to see things through. Then I fucked it up, and I didn’t think I could fix it… but you’re here now. And we’ve talked things through.”

You nod to show you understand what he’s saying.

“So, where do we stand?” he finally asks.

“I’m sure we could go around each other for days, but I’m ready to move on. I was fully prepared to never talk to you again, but I couldn’t,” you stop gradually, not sure if you want to disclose your next thoughts.

“You couldn’t talk to me?” he asks, confused.

Sighing, “No. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh,” he replies, a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t get too happy now. They weren’t all good thoughts.”

“I know,” his smile faltering, “but there were some good ones?”

“Yeah… There were good ones too,” you reply softly.

Seungcheol takes your hands in his, shuffling closer.

“What were they about?” he ponders.

You squeeze his hands. “Your smile.”

At your answer, his lips begin to lift again.

“How you held me,” you continue.

Seungcheol takes that as an invitation to push you back against his pillows. You smile, raising your arms to wrap around his neck as he presses his body against yours. One of his hands snakes under your back while the other rests on the mattress so he doesn’t squish you completely.

“How you kissed me,” you whisper.

The man above you grins wider, pecking your lips tenderly. You chase his lips, and he grants you a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“And most importantly, how you made me feel.”

Seungcheol rubs your back gently. “And how did I make you feel?”

“Like I was yours,” you murmur as your face warms at the confession.

“Will you be mine? Officially?” he asks, gaze darting back and forth between your eyes.

You wonder if he can feel your racing heart against his chest.

“Yes,” you say. “Officially.”

He chuckles, pressing his mouth on yours as if to really make it official.

Your mouths move languidly. You can feel his hair fall around your face, tickling your cheeks. Smiling, you tuck the strands behind his ears and then keep your palms cupping his cheeks.

When you adjust a leg to wrap around his lower back, he moves the hand under you to rub your bare thigh—exposed by your skirt. His hand trails up and down your skin for a moment until it goes lower. He grabs your ass, massaging it over your panties. His lips slip from yours to kiss along your jawline until he finds your neck. You have no doubt that you’ll end up having to hide a purple mark later.

Both your clothes are off in a matter of seconds. Seungcheol’s hands move across your body, exploring each bump and crevice as if it’s his first time. However, you’re no different. You feel like you’ve touched every part of him, yet you still want more.

Your soft moans fill the room when he scatters kisses down your body before latching his mouth on your clit. His hair quickly becomes tangled as you grab it. Your hips roll against his face, chest rising and falling as you get closer to your high.

His fingers accompany his mouth, pumping and scissoring in your wet hole. His raspy voice sounds sexy as he praises you when you come, but his moans are sexier. His eyes are hooded, drinking up everything you give him until you lax on his mattress.

You don’t even realize he put away your new red dress and slipped on a condom until a dip in the bed catches your attention. Your vision is coming back to you gradually. Seeing Seungcheol with messy hair and his lower face covered in your juices has you pouncing on him.

His laughter rings out, grabbing your face and slotting his mouth against yours while you straddle him. You don’t care that you can taste yourself on his tongue. You just need him to fill you.

You slide your dripping folds along his thick length, making sure it’s coated so he can sink into you easily. And easy it is.

Both your sighs and strangled moans permeate his room. You stare down at him, mouth open as you move your hips. His brows meet; he’s trying to control his breathing. Each drag of his cock against your walls feels heavenly. Although the pace is similar to the first time, it feels different. There’s more meaning with every circle and rock of your hips. Maybe you’re making it up all in your head, but when Seungcheol pulls you down on top of him to hold you as he begins to thrust his hips up, you know you aren’t.

The way he kisses you tells you he feels the same.

There’s less desperation in his movements now. You don’t have to worry about this being the last time. You don’t have to worry about him hooking up with another person. He isn’t available to anyone anymore. He’s loyal. He’s kind.

He’s yours.

Your legs press against his sides, a loud cry tearing from your throat as he pushes you over the edge. Your walls flutter around his cock that’s still gliding inside you.

“Just for me,” he pants. “You’re just for me.”

You nod, spewing a variation of agreements as you cling to him. Your body rubs against his while he keeps thrusting up. Mewls fall from your mouth as you start to become overstimulated.

Seungcheol coos in your ear, telling you he’s close and that you’re a good girl for letting him use you for his pleasure. His hips stutter each time you clench your walls around him.

By the time Seungcheol pulls out, you are a moaning mess. He flips you over, pulls off the condom, then comes onto your stomach and breasts. You’re sure the sight arouses Seungcheol as he fixates on your body.

His fingers run through his seed, spreading it more across your skin. His tongue darts out against your breast. You watch as he trails the wet muscle along your skin, his cum gathering on it until it’s full. Before you understand what he’s doing, he brings his mouth to yours. You open your mouth, greedily drinking what he’s giving to you. You don’t even stop to think how filthy the act is.

Even though you can tell Seungcheol is spent, he still cleans you with a damp towel before snuggling back in bed. You both fall into slumber a few minutes after.

You wake to a sudden cold breeze.

Whining in your sleep, you roll over to snuggle closer to Seungcheol; however, you’re met with empty space. You peel your eyes open reluctantly, leaning up on an elbow to see where he is.

Seungcheol sits on the edge of the bed with a sweatshirt and sweatpants over his body.

You crawl closer until he’s in arm's reach.

“Where are you going?” you murmur as you snake your arms around his wide frame.

He jolts at your abrupt touch but quickly relaxes once he realizes it’s you. He places his arms over yours, craning his neck to see you.

He pecks your lips. “I have to go walk Cho.”

“Can’t it wait?” you ask.

“He,” Seungcheol corrects, to which you roll your eyes. “And unless you want to clean his pee or poop, then no.”

He carefully pulls your arms from around him and stands, leaving you shivering as the cold air hits your bare body.

Seungcheol pauses by the bed when his eyes see your naked torso.

“You do make it hard to leave, though,” he sighs.

You smile and put a hand out for him to grab. He does, and you instantly tug him back onto the bed.

You kiss him quickly, bringing his hands to your chest, covering them so he can’t move away.

“Stay,” you say between kisses.

“Baby,” he protests while squeezing your breasts. His lips purse every time you lean in for another kiss. You grin in hopes you’re convincing him.

“I have,” a kiss, “to go,” a second kiss, “walk the dog.”

You finally stop your torrent of smooches to pout at him.

He chuckles at your expression. “You’re welcome to join.”

“I rather not get mauled,” you scoff and try to pull him closer, but he resists you this time.

“Why are you scared of them?” he wonders.

“I got attacked by one as a kid, and they never are friendly to me.”

“My poor baby,” he coos as he brushes your cheek. “Don’t worry, Cho is really sweet. Why don’t you meet him? Let him sniff you and then I’ll go walk him quickly.”

You shake your head frantically. “I don’t want it—him anywhere near me.”

“I promise you’ll be fine, but I understand. Maybe another time, okay?” he replies.

You nod and let your arms fall when he pushes off the bed.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he informs while walking to the door.

“Okay,” you mutter and pull the covers over your body. He smiles at you before pushing open the door. Your body freezes when you see black fur at the entrance.

“Hey, sweet boy,” Seungcheol greets the animal happily. He stops the dog from coming inside the room, giving him a few pats and ruffles of the fur before easing him backward. “No, she’s not ready to say hi yet. Come on, let’s go out. You wanna go for a walk?”

Your body relaxes at hearing Seungcheol’s light voice. You’ve never heard it before, and you realize there’s still more to learn about the man.

The door shuts softly. The last thing you see is the dog jumping excitedly as he runs out of view. You hear Seungcheol laugh.

It dawns on you that you don’t know when he got the animal. He definitely wasn’t here the last time you were here. Does this mean you’ll have to stop coming to his apartment now? He spoke highly of the dog, and you trusted Seungcheol to keep you safe, but animals can be unpredictable. Still, you can tell how much Seungcheol likes him.

As instructed, Seungcheol comes back ten minutes later.

“So, how much did you miss me?” he teases while raking a hand through his hair. He takes off his sweatshirt, giving your eyes something to stare at as he walks toward you.

You stop him when he begins to climb into the bed. “Wait.”

“Did something happen while I was gone?” he questions, playfulness replaced with concern.

“No, I just,” you breathe in slowly, “I’d like to meet your dog.”

His eyes grow. “There’s no pressure to do so.”

“I don’t want to be run off by your dog anytime I come here,” you grumble. “Just a quick sniff; that’s all he gets.”

Seungcheol laughs and raises a hand to rub circles against your back. “I forgot to tell you that Cho isn’t mine. My brother had an emergency and needed me to look after him for a few days.”

“Oh,” you hum.

“So, you want to come back here?” he asks, recalling that part of your sentence.

“If you want me here,” you bashfully answer.

He leans down to kiss your forehead, easing your nerves.

“You can come over whenever you want,” he offers. “I would prefer it actually.”

“Why?”

You expect a sweet response, but instead, he just smirks and says, “Because I need someone to clean the place.”

You scoff, smacking at his chest and rolling your eyes.

“Kidding, kidding,” he laughs. He grabs your hand when you go to hit him again. He tugs you closer for a playful kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. “Do you still want to meet Cho?”

“Are you sure he won’t bite off my hand?” you ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies confidently.

Hesitantly, you nod. “Okay then.”

Seungcheol smiles and leaves you with a kiss on the cheek. Like before, the dog greets Seungcheol as soon as the door opens. His tail is wagging, and his mouth is open as he breathes.

“Cherry wants to say hello,” he tells the dog, slowly guiding the animal closer to the bed. Your body is rigid, and you clutch the sheets to your chest. You just hope this isn’t going to be your end.

“Sit,” Seungcheol commands. You watch as Cho does so.

“Okay, hold out your hand, palm down. Yes, just like that. Breathe, baby, it’s okay,” Seungcheol instructs you softly. You glance away but quickly look back. Maybe you can pull your hand away quickly enough before he chomps.

The dog leans his head close, nose wiggling as he sniffs your hand. The few seconds it takes feels like half an hour. Suddenly, the dog’s tongue sticks out. The act coats your hand in slobber, and you screech as you tug your hand to your chest hastily, thinking he bit you.

“It’s okay, Cherry. You’re okay,” Seungcheol soothes you, sitting on the bed. He puts the dog between his legs as he rubs your arm softly. You pull your hand back, sighing with relief when you see it still intact.

“Cho just licked you,” Seungcheol explains.

“S-sorry,” you say, eyes searching for the dog. He sits staring up at Seungcheol with his tail wagging. The pet isn’t lunging at Seungcheol or nibbling off his flesh.

“It’s okay. You did good, baby,” Seungcheol praises, giving you a kiss on the cheek as a reward. “I’m going to take him out, okay?”

You place a hand on his arm. “Has he ever bit you?”

Seungcheol glances at Cho and shakes his head. He gives the pup a loving head rub. “He’s just a big baby. He’s well-behaved. He’s even good with kids.”

“Has he ever bit your brother?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replies.

You peer down at Cho once more. You’re still scared of him, but seeing how much he likes being around Seungcheol, you feel a little bad kicking him out again; especially, since he doesn’t have anybody out there to keep him company.

“H-he can stay if he doesn’t come close to me,” you say cautiously.

“He’ll be fine out, it’s okay,” Seungcheol reassures.

“I trust what you say about him. He seems… okay.”

Seungcheol grins, slowly letting the dog go before climbing into bed. “He is.”

The dog stands, shakes out his fur, and then does something that has you clutching onto Seungcheol. Cho jumps on the bed.

“Oh god, he’s going to eat me,” you cry. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your body, pulling you close. He rubs your arm tenderly.

“No, he’s not,” he laughs. You watch as the dog walks around himself once before plopping down. Luckily, he’s on Seungcheol’s side. Cho rests his head on the bed, watching you both. His tail wags a little, but not as much as before.

“He just wanted to sleep up here. Is that okay?” Seungcheol asks you.

“You let him up here?” you question, knowing some people don’t like their pets on their beds.

Seungcheol shrugs. “The covers are dirty anyway. Might as well let him have a comfy place to nap. Speaking of, do you want to stay the night?”

“That’d be nice,” you smile at him.

You reach for the purse you brought when you first ran from Cho. You tap on your phone to see it’s nearly four in the evening. You didn’t realize how long it’s been since you arrived at eleven.

“Unfortunately, I’m not the best cook, so we may have to do takeout,” Seungcheol says shyly.

You giggle, sending a quick message to your sister that you won’t be home tonight.

“I can cook,” you offer.

Seungcheol looks at you sadly, hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Actually, I only have ramen. I haven’t gotten groceries yet.”

“Oh. I like ramen,” you reply and put your phone down once Seoah replies. Your phone keeps buzzing as she tries to get more information from you, but you simply put the device on Do Not Disturb and place it back in your bag.

“I wanted to treat you to something better than ramen,” Seungcheol says. There’s a faint frown on his lips.

“I don’t mind,” you reassure. “Now, can we sleep a little longer?”

You carefully guide Seungcheol down until his back hits the mattress. After pulling the covers over the both of you, you snuggle against his body.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” he chuckles as he lets you lay him down. He holds you close, eyes staring at the ceiling as he rubs your back.

“Hm.” You close your eyes, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest hypnotize you.

“Baby?” Seungcheol asks. You’re on the verge of sleep, but you hum again to let him know you heard him.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You smile, forcing your eyes open to peer at him. “Can I still wear the dress you got me?”

“You can wear whatever you want, Cherry.”

“Can I pick out an outfit for you, too?” you ask.

“While you have great fashion sense, I’m not sure—” he stops when you begin to plead with your eyes.

“Fuck,” he curses more to himself.

“Please, Cheol?” you ask, voice soft and lips pouting.

“You know I’ll eventually become immune to this, right?” he grumbles.

The way he words it makes it seem like you’ll be around long enough for that possibility to occur. You nuzzle closer at the thought.

“Maybe, but right now you’re not,” you smile wickedly. “What do you say?”

“Fine, alright,” he caves.

You lean up, giving him a big kiss as a thank you. He hums against your mouth. You feel his hands go south, but you quickly stop him.

“It’s sleepy time, not sexy time,” you scold light-heartedly when you pull away.

Seungcheol sighs dramatically but yields. “Hurry and sleep then.”

“You’re not going to run away, are you?” You narrow your eyes.

“Never,” Seungcheol smiles down at you.

Your gaze lingers on his eyes, quickly scanning his face. Finally, you let your mind wander freely. You let yourself indulge in how comfortable you feel around him. You don’t have to ignore those illusions you had produced, nor do you have to convince yourself that you only see him as a friend. You can fulfill those fantasies little by little. You don’t have to hide from your emotions. You already feel lighter at letting go of those conflicting thoughts.

Although Seungcheol jokes about keeping you around to clean, you wind up doing it without being asked. You suppose he knows you won’t be able to handle the clutter.

You’re picking up his discarded jeans when something flutters to the floor when you do so. You bend down to grab it.

It’s the receipt from earlier.

While Seungcheol is in the bathroom, you finally have the chance to examine it.

You notice the fabric store name, having only been there a few times since it isn’t local. Your eyes trail down to the item's name. Although it’s a shortened version of the name, you know what it is.

That brat.

The sound of the bathroom door opening has your eyes snapping up and hand lowering to your side.

“Why did Jeonghan lie to me?” you ask him before he can take two full steps.

Seungcheol looks at you, head tilting and eyebrows knitting.

“What did he lie about?” he questions.

“He didn’t buy that fabric for me,” you scoff and hold out the receipt. “You did.”

Seungcheol’s gaze drops to the paper in your hand. He releases a small exhale.

“It’s not a big deal,” he replies.

“You always say that,” you huff. Your eyes fall back to the receipt, glancing at the price. That makes more sense as to how Jeonghan got it.

“Because it’s true,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you. He carefully takes the receipt from your hand. “I just wanted to give you something you wanted.”

“Why? How’d you even know?”

He folds the paper as he answers, “Dae mentioned it at dinner that one time and Jeonghan told me about it.”

��You didn’t answer the first part,” you call out.

He chuckles softly. “That’s because it should be obvious. It’s because I liked you… I still do.”

“You can like me without buying me expensive things,” you reason.

“I know,” he says. His eyes fall down to the sweater that you wear—it’s his. Your legs are bare and have ankle socks on. “But I still wanted to. So, deal with it, Cherry.”

He gives you a smile before walking away and into the living room. You follow, still weary of Cho and huddling against Seungcheol if he gets too close.

“Hey, wait, you didn’t tell me why Jeonghan lied to me.”

Seungcheol takes two glasses from a cabinet and then shuffles to the fridge. “I asked him to.”

“You? He didn’t steal it or something?” Although you know Jeonghan likes to con others, he isn’t one to steal. Yet, you still want to ask since the whole situation puzzles you.

He laughs, filling the cups with ice as he replies, “No, he’s not like that. I wanted you to have it before the show, but I knew you wouldn’t take it after our fight.”

“You let me think he got it for me,” you state; your lips begin to dip down as you ponder on the thought.

You remember feeling so thankful to Jeonghan for getting it for you. There’s a pang of guilt knowing you were thanking the wrong person. You finally understand the look on Jeonghan’s face when he gifted it to you.

Seungcheol sets the glasses on the counter, grabbing your chin gently to make you look at him. His fingers are chilly, but they feel good against your warm skin.

“I’m just glad you used it, baby,” he says kindly. He lets go of your chin with a smile.

“Cheol,” you call, a hand reaching out for his bicep. He pauses in turning back to the fridge.

Once he is staring at you, you speak, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t the blue you wanted. It was out of stock, and it would’ve taken too long to ship,” he explains.

You shake your head. “It was perfect. I liked the red more.”

Seungcheol smiles, though one side is lifted as if it’s a borderline smirk.

“I did too. Red looks good on you,” he compliments. One that takes you back to that cursed poetry lounge night. It was the first time he called you Cherry, and you called him Cheol. The first time you were alone with him for longer than fifteen minutes. The first time your body reacted in ways that went beyond the line of friendship.

“So I’ve been told,” you murmur.

“Have you?” he teases. “Whoever said that must be really smart.”

“Yeah, sure—” you begin, only to jump and knock into Seungcheol when Cho unexpectedly rubs his nose against your leg.

Seungcheol’s laugh doesn’t drown out the sound of your thudding heart in your ears, but at least it offers some (annoying) comfort. Cho is going to take some getting used to.

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // the end

A/N: Although the series is over, I would love to continue writing this couple in the future! Please look forward to some bonus scenes... Perhaps from Cheol's POV? My ask box is open for any questions or comments about this series! Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭 omg *trying not to freak out that it's over* (also wattpad says this fic's read time is 6 hours and 11 minutes LOLOLOLOL... nice 😅 but if you're a slow reader like me, that time is prob way more haha. this being said, ty for ur time while reading!)

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

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whispering-ways · 1 year

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•♡✿⁠ tulips and katsudon ✿♡•

✿ summary: you and izuku go on your first date after crushing on each other for quite some time

✿ pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

✿ tags: no warnings, just fluff! :)

✿ notes: hi everyone! this is the first fanfic i've not only posted to tumblr but also the first i've written in general, so any constructive criticism is appreciated <3 it's also on my AO3 (whisperingways)

You’re searching for your earrings when you hear a soft knock at your door. You turn your head toward the door before calling out, 'Just a minute! I’m just finishing up in here.' Upon opening the door, you see Izuku standing there with a bouquet of flowers, looking as cute as ever. He is practically red all over as he all but thrusts the bouquet into your hands.

'Th-Those are for you; I remember you mentioning that tulips were your favorite, a-and I know that your favorite color is pink, so I picked them up for you. I hope you like them!' Izuku says with a slight chuckle.

'Thank you so much! Come in real quick while I put these flowers in a vase,' you say, opening the door wider so that he can come in. He carefully brushes by you and stands near your door as you fill up the vase at your table. As you run the vase under the faucet, you become more excited for your first date with Izuku.

You’ve been classmates for three years now, and while you've been friends for a long time, it was only in the past year that you started to fall for him. It has been hard not to, honestly. He is one of the sweetest, kindest boys you've met, not to mention academically driven and passionately loving everything and everyone he cares about, including you. He has also filled out over the years. All those years of training have given him a lean build, but he still retains that same old boyish smile that you love.

What you didn’t know is how he adored you as well. Yes, he thought you were absolutely adorable and gorgeous, but he also loves your personality. He admires how hard you work towards improving your quirk, striving every day to be the best hero you can be. He appreciates how sweet you are, not just to him, but to everyone around you. You have this caring aura about you that makes you so likable. He thought someone like you would never like him back, so he was content being friends. So, to say he was surprised to find a little note from you asking him out would be an understatement.

And that leads us to this afternoon, the first date. You two decided to go to a nearby restaurant for lunch, a tiny mom-and-pop shop that you suggested solely for its signature dish: katsudon. You"d have to admit, things seemed a bit tense at first, but as the day went along, you two slowly fell into your usual comfort.

"Wow! This katsudon is amazing! I mean, I really hate to say it, but it might even be a little better than my mom"s, but only by a little bit," Izuku said.

"It definitely is really good. I"m glad I got the spicy one though. You know, that reminds me of when Katsuki made that super spicy ramen. Kaminari took a bite of it, and he seemed like he was going to explode or something. Poor guy just kept drinking more and more milk!" you said with the most harmonious laugh Izuku had ever heard.

You both kept reminiscing about memories from the dorms until it came time for the bill. Although you insisted on paying for your meal, Izuku paid for both of you, saying that his mother raised him to be more gentlemanly than that. As you walked back to the dorms, the conversation continued, and as you neared the dorms, it was clear that neither of you wanted the date to end just yet.

"So um... would you happen to be free for just a little while longer? It"s okay if you"re not, but I know there"s this art museum nearby that I heard might be a little interesting," Izuku asked, wringing his hands. "Admission is free and all, so don"t worry about fees, but would you like to come with me?"

"I"d absolutely love to, Izu!" you said, elated that the date didn"t have to end just yet. "Would you maybe like to hold hands while we walk there?" you asked nervously, wondering if it would be too much too soon.

Izuku lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes! I-I mean, yeah, that"d be nice. We can definitely hold hands," he said excitedly, offering his hand to you. You placed your hand on top of his, and you could have sworn you turned beet red. His hand nearly engulfed yours, and you loved the coarse feeling of it wrapping around yours. He interlaced your fingers together, and you both started the walk to the museum.

The museum was about a 15-minute walk from the dorms, making the stroll in the cool spring breeze absolutely lovely. Once you reached the museum, the receptionist informed you that they have a traveling exhibit about past heroes and art created with their quirks, which piqued both your and Izuku"s interest. You both looked at all the artwork pieces in awe while Izuku stood beside you, analyzing every piece, never letting go of your hand in the process. On the walk back, all you could talk about were the beautiful pieces of artwork.

"I think my favorite piece had to be those stone sculptures done by the creation quirk artist. I mean, it"s gotta be really useful to create all the tools you need at your disposal and definitely a great way to store things. What about you? What did you like the most?" you asked, looking into Izuku"s eyes, which seemed so much brighter than you last remember.

"I loved that one installation by the strength quirk user! I"m no artist myself, but it"s very creative to use that sort of magnified strength to create a huge installation, not to mention the use of her engineering background. Using both the background and her quirk to create an interactive, domino-effect-esque installation that allows all ages to enjoy the art was absolutely ingenious in my opinion. Plus, the use of colors was really- oh God, I"m rambling, aren"t I? I"m so sorry," he exclaimed, looking down towards the ground.

"Don"t worry, you weren"t rambling at all. I think it"s cute, honestly," you replied, sending Izuku into a tizzy.

"W-Well, I"m, uhh, glad you like it. You"re pretty cute yourself," he said, beet red, squeezing your hand.

You both kept talking about the exhibit until you reached the dorms, and Izuku walked you up to your room. "Thank you so much for this date, Izuku. It"s been nothing short of lovely, truly," you said, gently holding both his hands in one of yours, with a soft smile painting your face.

'Honestly, the pleasure was all mine. I never thought you’d actually ever want to go out on an actual date with me, so this has all been like a dream come true. In fact, I was going to ask... whether you’d be interested in possibly having another date sometime soon?' Izuku asked tentatively.

'Yes, I’d absolutely love that! Just text me the day and time you’d be free, and we can plan something out if that sounds good to you?'

'Perfect! Well, I guess this is goodbye then, huh? I’ll see you in class tomorrow?' he said, looking up at you with that boyish smile that you oh so adored. It’s clear that neither of you wants the date to end, but it's a school night, and you both prioritize having a full night’s rest.

'I guess so, Izu. I hope you have a nice evening, though. And again, thank you so much for making this day as lovely as you are!' you beamed. You thought about it momentarily and then gave him a quick peck on the cheek before wishing him goodbye and closing your door, leaving him a blushing mess.

You slid down, back against your door, giggling like a schoolgirl at the kiss. Something about it just made your heart absolutely burst with giddiness. You were already daydreaming about what your next date was going to be like. There was no way you were getting any sleep tonight.

#bnha mha #mha x reader #mha #bnha fanfiction #izuku midoria x reader #izuku x reader #bnha izuku #mha izuku #izuku x y/n #ao3 izuku #izuku fluff #deku my hero academia #deku midoriya #deku x reader #deku fluff #izuku midoryia x you #izuku midoriya #deku mha #midoriya deku

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simping-overload · 1 year

Text

Day 2 - Dottore

including: bondage, excessive use of vibrators, multiple orgasms, gn reader

note: if anyone has any tips to improve my snut writing lmk! // ao3 link

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You've been working with Dottore for a while now as his assistant. You, of course, run his errands, fetch what he needs, and occasionally have to find someone for him to experiment on next.

This time, however, he wanted you to be the experiment. Due to the fact you were in no position at all to decline, you agreed. That's how you ended up here, tied down to his table, with a vibrator strapped to your sex while the other is in your hole.

You aren't sure how long you've been like this, only that you know you've had around 3 organisms in a row. You try to rub your thighs together, an attempt to create friction that the vibrator can't replicate it the way you want.

Your to focused chasing after your own pleasure in your lust clouded mine to notice Dottore had entered the room. While he takes great pleasure at the sound of your moans, he doesn't like it if you are disobeying his orders. Ones that were simple enough for his darling assistant to understand.

The icy cold hand that rests itself on the hallow of your neck is enough to cease your movements. You freeze, eyes widen in fear and surprise. You slowly begin to lean your head back and look into those peirceing eyes.

"My, what do we have here? You went against my orders, one that was very simple. All you had to do was not move, my dear. It seems I've overestimated your obedience."

Dottore moves his hand to have a hasher grip on your neck, and in his other hand, he holds the remote for the vibrators. His thumb rests on the increase symbol.

"Now, I can either increase this, making you become even more of a drolling mess than you already are. Or decrease it enough to have it still give you your pleasure, but not in the amount you want."

Dottore challenges you. He knows you well enough to be aware of what you will choose.

"Increase it, please, my lord. I promise this time I won't dare to move." You plead, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he increases it to what seemed to be the highest level.

Dottore removes his hand from your neck, putting on the left side of your chest to feel your racing heartbeat. He then moves down to where the vibrator inside you would be, someplace under your belly button.

He presses down on it, applying pressure to the area, making the vibrator press against that bundle of nerves even more. As much as you want to move, to have the vibrator pressed against it even more, you don't dare to.

Dottore lets this go on for a few more minutes before removing his hand from your stomach, walking around the table to undue your ankle restraints.

"Lord Dottore...? What are you doing?" You ask, mind still clouded, trying to comprehend his actions as he gets onto the table with you, fishing his cock out from his pants.

"Just part of the experiment, no need to worry." He tapes another vibrator to the tip of his cock before lubeing the rest of his shaft generously. He didn't even flinch when he turned the vibrator on to max volume, as if it didn't affect him.

He keeps a firm grip on your thighs as he rests your calfs on his shoulders. Lining up his tip with your entrance he shoves his cock in, his balls hitting against your ass with a loud slap noise.

You suck in painful breath at the feeling, fingernails digging into your palm. He was generous enough to let your body adjust and for the pain to subside. You calm your heaving breaths, forcing your body to relax.

Dottore caresses your hip, rubbing small circles into it as he continues. He starts at a slow pace, the vibrator tapped to his tip, rubs against yours. The pain quickly turns into pleasure at the overwhelming feeling.

You felt amazing around Dottores cock, walls clenching around him, sucking him in as if your life depended on it. He whispers praises, as he goes faster. The power of the vibrators amplifying the pleasure.

He leans down, bringing your knees to shoulders while he presses his forehead against yours. His crimson eyes looking into your unfocused lust filled ones.

"Look at you. You're taking me so well. If I'd knew you'd be such a good cock sleeve I would've done this sooner." He praises, attacking your lips with his. The kiss was aggressive and greedy. He nips the bottom of your lips with his shark like teeth, enjoying the way your blood tastes on his tongue.

You can feel his pace quicken, his movements getting sloppy as he deepens the kiss. Forcing his tongue past your lips and teeth and into your mouth. His tongue twirls around yours. You can feel that knot in your stomach beginning to unravel.

You break the kuss to both speak and regain your breath.

"My lord, I'm gonna—!"

You moan loudly, throwing your head back against the table as you cum all over yourself and Dottore. He seems to be close aswell, slamming his hips against yours a final time.

He bites into your shoulder, making you, as he realses his load into you. He licks up the blood from the bite wound, before kissing you again.

He pulls himself out of you with a wet pop, resting his now limp duck against your stomach. He however, keeps the vibrators still attached and in you.

"I hope your experiment was a success, my lord." You say, with heavy breaths.

"Oh you're mistaken my dear, the experiment isn't over yet."

"...What?"

#x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #il dottore x reader #dottore smut #sub reader #dom character #dottore genshin #il dottore #dottore x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #kinktober

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rambleonwaywardson · 3 months

Text

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 9

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: This one got away from me a bit so it's longer than usual. And I've finally started putting this on ao3, so you can also ready here.

Acronym and terminology definitions

---

November 15, mission day 9 Lunar Orbit

The crew wakes in a groggy panic to the sounds of an alarm going off in the cabin, a red warning light flashing over the console. Bucky, dressed in NASA-issue pajamas with his curls stuck up in ridiculous directions from the zero G and lack of product, struggles to unzip his floating sleeping bag, which is suspended in the middle of the Orion capsule and secured at both ends. Alex and Rosie’s seats had been stowed once they were en route to the moon in order to make more space in the capsule for sleeping, working, and generally existing without being right on top of each other, but it only helps so much. They’ve been stuck in this glorified minivan for going on 9 days now, and they are only very slightly sick and tired of each other.

As Bucky tries to drag himself over to the console, his foot catches on Curt’s arm, flipping the other astronaut upside down in his own sleeping bag. “What the fuck, Bucky,” Curt groans. With nothing within arms reach to push off of, there’s no hope of flipping himself back over, so he starts trying to free himself from where he is.

“Gotta see how we’re gonna die this time,” Bucky replies unapologetically, settling into his commander’s seat so he can see the console properly.

“What time is it?” Alex asks with a yawn.

“5:50.” Bucky silences the master alarm, bringing quiet to the cabin once again. They’re ten minutes short of their typical wake-up call.

From the other side of the capsule, Rosie rubs his eyes with one hand. “Jesus Christ, we’d be screwed in an emergency.” The unconcerned way with which they’ve reacted to this alarm is not unlike the way college students would react to their apartment building’s fire alarm going off in the middle of the night for the third time in a row. But that’s because that’s basically what this is. They’ve had a number of false alarms already in the days since leaving low earth orbit.

Bucky ignores him and switches on his coms. “Houston? How do you read?”

Benny’s voice comes back. “We read you Bucky, loud and clear.”

Curt slides into his seat as Bucky squints at the silenced alarm still flashing bright red in front of his face. CO2.

“Looks like we’re suffocating again, Benny,” Bucky informs him.

“Copy that.” There’s a pause as Benny checks with the Emergency, Environmental, and Consumables Officer. “Our readings look fine. Don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Can you confirm up there?”

Curt and Bucky glance at the carbon dioxide meters on the console, and Curt shrugs, sighing in exasperation. “Looks fine here,” Bucky agrees. “Another false alarm.”

This is the third time the carbon dioxide alarm has gone off without cause, but at least this time it happened relatively close to their normal wake-up time. On mission day 4, the cabin pressure sensor had jolted them all awake around 2:00am GMT. They spent nearly two hours sorting that out with Helen on CAPCOM, checking every square inch of the capsule and every line of telemetry data for an explanation. Turns out it was just some bad wiring, and Houston had to walk Alex through the steps to repair it before it would stop going off.

Fortunately, Dr. Huston and Jack Kidd, as Flight Surgeon and Flight Activities Officer, found a way to work some extra sleep into their schedule that day. Unfortunately, instead of just having a faulty wire, the CO2 sensor itself is fucked.

“We’ll get those sensors checked out when you come back Earthside,” Benny promises. “Unfortunately, our electricians have not agreed to extend operations to the moon. At least, not without a hefty house call fee.”

Bucky laughs tiredly. “The audacity of some people. What has the trade industry come to?”

“I could just break the sensor,” Curt offers.

“That’s a negative, Curt,” Benny responds. “EECOM says no.”

“Maybe EECOM should try wakin’ up to this fuckin’ alarm at all hours of the night.”

Benny kindly reminds them, “EECOM is wide awake with you.” Mission Control operates on GMT, along with the crew, meaning that while it’s 5:50am mission time, it’s actually 12:50 AM in Houston. These flight controllers just started their shifts fifty minutes ago. During a mission, normal work schedules simply don’t exist for the team on the ground any more than they do for the crew in space.

Before either Bucky or Curt can say something snarky back, obnoxious pop music is blasting through the cabin from Bucky’s tablet, which is their designated alarm clock on board Orion. “There’s our wake-up call,” Bucky mutters.

“I got it,” Alex calls over to him, floating across the cabin to get the tablet, which is velcroed to the wall.

“Hey hold on!” Curt reaches his hand out. “Give it a minute!” He starts obnoxiously singing along, jamming out beside Bucky to the point that he loses his grip on his seat and starts floating away.

“I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, they said babe you gotta fake it ‘til you make it and I did.”

The other three join in despite their exhaustion, Bucky and Curt not even bothering to switch off their coms. “Lights, camera bitch, smile, even when you wanna die. He said he’d love me all his life.” Bucky is, admittedly, very pleased when he realizes he can hear many of the flight controllers singing along in the background. It’s a small thing, but their wake up music choices make everyone’s day just a little better. Alex shuts off the alarm.

“Hey Benny,” Bucky says. “Can you ask Gale if he’ll love me all his life?”

“Ask him yourself in… five to six hours.”

“But that’s too long,” Bucky whines. “I need to know now.”

“He’s asleep. Ask your wedding ring, you idiot.”

Bucky grabs at the wedding ring that’s dangling – or, rather, floating – on a chain around his neck. Astronauts often choose to wear rings on necklaces like this in space, since it’ll be easier to grab them if they float away. Bucky has only lost it once so far, which everyone is quite impressed with. He rubs his thumb over the silver band, and Curt makes a gagging noise beside him.

“Astrofag,” he coughs.

Bucky gives him the middle finger.

With the false alarm and the morning shenanigans out of the way, Benny composes himself and gives the crew a proper morning greeting as Alex and Rosie put on their coms. “Alright, rise and shine boys, big day today!”

“We’re in space. Every day is a big day,” Rosie points out, unimpressed, before starting to fold up and stow the crew’s sleeping bags. He isn’t wrong. Every day in this space-traveling RV is something new. Every day is a little closer to something historic. Every day is something else that could kill them. But today is the day that Bucky and Curt say goodbye to their crewmates and descend to the lunar surface for a week-long all-inclusive stay. So yes, it is a big day.

“How about a news update,” Benny offers.

“The news is too fucking depressing,” Alex complains.

Benny agrees. “How about a JSC news update, then? Let’s see…” The crew can hear him as he muffles his com and calls out to the other flight controllers in Mission Control, “Who has news?”

Then he speaks to the crew again. “Croz’s kid turned one year old yesterday. A very happy birthday to the little guy. I’m sure you’ll see pictures when you’re home, he smashed a huge piece of cake right into his face.” Bucky smiles and relays his birthday wishes. “Perhaps more importantly,” Benny continues. “Meatball turns five next week.”

“I know for a fact you don’t know Meatball’s birthday,” Bucky interjects.

“Well, the vets think he’s about five, and I just gave him a random birthday.”

“Naturally.” Bucky double checks their trajectory on the console, taking note of how long they have until Starship has to undock.

“Hey, don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same,” Benny says defensively.

“I know my dog’s birthday.”

“Not all of us are perfect pet parents, John. Some of us win our dogs gambling.”

Bucky snorts. “A great slogan for a pet food brand.”

Benny moves on. “We’re having good weather in Houston this week. Looks like we saw the last of hurricane season on launch day. Blue skies – well, not now. It’s midnight-”

Curt situates himself back in his seat and tries to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “Benny why do I give a shit what the weather is in Houston? Ain’t gonna be there for another 20 fuckin’ days.”

“Fine,” Benny says. “The weather at the lunar south pole looks… unremarkable. 24/7 sun except in the shadows. Hot as hell in the light and cold as hell in the dark. Landing conditions look as acceptable as can be expected.”

“Wait, is Hell hot or cold?” Curt asks. “You’re sendin’ me mixed messages here.”

“That’s it. No more news.”

Bucky chuckles and pushes up and away from his console, floating across the cabin to the food ration storage. “Thanks for the update, Benny.”

As usual, Benny tells them all to get some food in their systems before they reconvene to go over the day’s mission plan. Bucky pulls some silver rehydratable food packages out of storage and squints at the labels. Pickings are slim, but not all together awful. “Alright crew,” he says, holding one of the packages up. “We’ve got oatmeal, wheat chex, or scrambled eggs. Take your pick and eat up.”

—

Nassau Bay, TX

Gale wakes around 4:30am, not alone as would be expected, but instead with two cold, wet noses nudging at his face, attacking from all sides. He and Benny have once again gotten into a habit of co-parenting Pepper and Meatball so they’re not alone for too long during the chaos of Artemis 3. The dogs get to hang out together 24/7, moving from Gale’s house to Benny’s and back each day depending on who's on shift at Mission Control. With Benny on the early shift, Gale has them from about 8pm until he leaves in the morning. Benny will drop by to pick them up once he gets Gale updated on mission activities and leaves JSC.

Nothing about human spaceflight is normal, not even for those on the ground. They work weird hours, sleep weird hours, and no one ever knows what’s about to happen at any given moment. Gale works the Red shift, from 8am CST until 4pm. This corresponds to 1pm to 9pm GMT, the time zone that the crew and Mission Control operate on. Helen then takes over and works the White shift from 4pm to 12am CST. Benny is on Blue shift from 12am to 8am. Even this is misleading, though. There’s up to an hour of overlap between each shift for one shift to get the next up to speed, resulting in a ten hour work day seven days a week.

Today, that’s all fucked up anyway. Gale has to go in two hours earlier than usual so that no shift change has to occur between Starship undocking and landing, giving the crew a constant Mission Control team through the entire process.

So he yawns as he looks out at the dark, pre-sunrise morning, and he shoves the huskies off the bed so he can get to his feet. After stretching out the sore muscles in his back, he rubs one hand, covered by his sweatshirt sleeve, over his face and pauses to inhale the scent still barely clinging to the fabric. He can imagine John going on and on, wondering how Gale doesn’t get hot at night all bundled up like that. But right now, Gale doesn’t have his space heater of a husband to keep him warm, so he needs to make up for it somehow. He’s been sleeping in the Yankees sweatshirt nearly every night since launch, and he’s dreading the day he can’t pick out John’s scent anymore. For the moment, he smiles softly to himself, assured that it’s still there, and he gets on with his morning.

Opting not to take a jog before it’s even 5am, Gale takes himself through a quick bodyweight workout in the bedroom. Squats, push-ups, sit-ups, planks, all while fending off two massive dogs insistent on shoving into his space. Then he takes what can only be described as a military shower, in and out, before scrambling to find a clean button-down shirt and tie. After starting the coffee maker, he turns the TV onto the news story he’d recorded last night.

“Tomorrow, The Starship Human Landing System will undock from Orion to carry John Egan and Curtis Biddick to the lunar surface.” Marge, as Artemis PAO, is sitting across from an NBC reporter, explaining the details of the Artemis 3 mission plan.

“And how long will it take the lander to reach the lunar surface?” the reporter asks.

“About half a day,” Marge replies. Then she goes on to outline the landing process.

“Our two astronauts will perform a controlled burn that will decelerate the lander enough to fall into the moon’s gravity well. This means that they will depart from the current Orion orbit and instead descend into low lunar orbit. From low lunar orbit, they will perform another burn that will slow them down enough to fall towards the lunar surface, where they will land near Shackleton crater.”

“And the remaining crew members in Orion will stay in their current orbit?”

“Yes, Orion will remain in NRHO, a near-rectilinear halo orbit. This means that their orbit is balanced between the moon’s gravity and the Earth’s gravity. It’s an elliptical orbit, taking about six and a half days to complete, where they fly very close to the moon at one end, and very far from it at the other. This period of time will correspond to the surface mission.” A window pops up on one side of the screen showing a simulation of Orion in NRHO, complete with Starship undocking and heading for LLO.

“So when Orion next completes its orbit, Starship will dock with it again?”

Marge nods. “Yes. They’ll meet up again in about a week.”

“And Shackleton crater. That’s at the moon’s south pole?”

The display window on the screen switches to a map of the Shackleton landing site. “Artemis operations are focused on the lunar south pole, where there’s near constant daylight for mission activities and power generation, as well as craters and valleys that are in constant or near constant shadow. So there’s parts of the surface there that have never been exposed to sunlight. Our astronauts will be performing a lot of experiments on the surface, such as studying lunar geology and searching for water ice.”

Gale pulls out his phone and texts Marge. “Look at you on TV.”

A reply shoots back immediately. “Please bring caffeine.”

Gale rolls his eyes, and then heads back into the kitchen to make up two cups of coffee, one black and one with an unhealthy amount of sugar. When he arrives at JSC, Marge greets him at his car, as is their typical routine. She greedily grabs the coffee cup he proffers and takes a desperate sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gale deadpans.

Marge glares at him. “Thank you.”

“What’s up with you?”

Marge blinks rapidly and pinches the bridge of her nose. Makeup conceals the dark circles that are starting to appear under her eyes, and Gale knows he has them, too. “This mission will be the death of me,” she declares.

Gale doesn’t press, because yes. Yes, this mission will be the death of them all. He wonders if the stress level they feel, the inconsistent sleep and the constant demand to always be at their best, is reminiscent of the Apollo days, when nothing about a single mission was standard. In many ways, Artemis is just as novel, if not more so, to the current NASA team than the later Apollo missions were. Every single person involved has trained hard; every component of this mission has been tested. And yet there’s a vague sense nestled in the back of everyone’s mind that they’re kind of out here winging it.

For what it’s worth, Mission Control is calm this morning. Flight controllers diligently monitor their designated systems, updating or reworking things as needed, an idle chatter popping up in this or that corner of the room. The new shift is filing in, getting themselves up to speed. Gale pats Marge on the shoulder as they enter, and they part ways.

“Morning,” Gale mumbles as he stops beside Benny at the CAPCOM console. “Are they ready?”

—

Low Lunar Orbit

John Egan and Curtis Biddick have landed a lot of jets in their lifetimes. They’ve landed a lot of jets in very precarious circumstances, in all manner of environments. They’ve flown them high and low, fast and slow, day and night, with and without landing gears, and sometimes on fire. They’re good pilots. Some of the best NASA has to offer, many might say.

The Starship Human Landing System is about as opposite of a jet as you can get.

Starship is nothing like the Apollo lunar module that today’s astronauts grew up dreaming about, though in their own ways they may be equally unwieldy. Instead of being small and low to the surface, the Artemis HLS is a tall and narrow vehicle, more akin to what science fiction would describe as a spaceship, with the crew seated near the top. When it was first proposed, there was concern over landing such a tall vehicle, especially with no atmosphere and little gravity to help balance it. But the engineers, the testing, and even the sims claim that it gets the job done.

Commander and pilot spent months in the simulators, learning how to handle this awkward thing of a rocket-turned-space-habitat, and neither of them have enjoyed a single moment of it. “It’s like ridin’ one of those giant unicycles,” Curt said once. He’s never been on one himself, and there’s a damn good reason for that. “It’s too fuckin’ tall.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pilot, Curt,” Benny had admonished him. “Figure it out.”

So here he is, figuring it out. “I’m an Air Force test pilot and this is what I get for it, tryin’ to land in a fuckin’ pringles can.”

“Yeah, sure that’s one way to think about landing on the moon,” Rosie rebukes from Orion, which is still in NRHO now somewhere far away from Curt and Bucky.

Bucky sighs longingly. “I could go for some pringles,”

Curt scoffs. “We got wheat chex.”

Gale: “Curt, think of it this way, only the best pilot could land a pringles can in one-sixth G.”

Curt: “Tryin’ to butter me up, Gale?”

Gale: “Whatever gets you on the ground safely.”

Bucky: “No. No buttering.”

Curt: “5,000 feet.”

Bucky: “Trajectory good.”

Curt: “It better fuckin’ be.”

Curt takes a deep breath, eyes locked on the console in front of him. He hates this. Not being able to clearly see where he’s landing, even if it’s half computer automated, which he also hates. He didn’t become a pilot or an astronaut to be a passenger princess, and he sure as hell isn’t trusting his life to a computerized landing module.

From the windows at the top of their silver tower, Bucky watches the lunar surface grow bigger and bigger beneath them, its curvature disappearing entirely as they approach their landing site at the south pole. He sings quietly to himself. “For here, am I floating in a tin can, far above the moon.”

Gale: “Starship, be advised, you seem to be on VOX.”

VOX meaning Bucky’s coms are currently voice activated, as opposed to Push to Talk, or PTT. Every time he says something loudly enough, his coms pick it up and transmit it to Houston. It’s been a minor (major) issue for the entirety of the mission so far, but if nothing else, amusing to the flight controllers.

Bucky: “Your point?”

Gale: “Our flight controllers here in Houston would like me to tell you you have a lovely singing voice.”

Bucky can hear the sarcasm, and seriously? From his own husband? The man who is supposed to love and support him unconditionally? Bucky can almost always make Gale laugh, no matter how moody he’s being, by singing a little off-key and pulling him into a reluctant dance.

Bucky: “They should be so honored.”

Gale: “Houston would also like me to remind you, once again, that everything you say is being transcribed.” He relays these words, but he sounds defeated and unconvinced. He’s right to be. If Houston hasn’t convinced the crew to stop being little shits by now, it won’t happen for the rest of the mission.

Curt: “Fuck Houston.”

Gale: “Still on VOX.”

Curt: “If I were on PPT I’d still say that over coms.”

Gale: “I know, and I’m starting to think we’ll need someone to go through and redact these transcripts cause of your language. Top brass isn’t pleased.”

Curt: “I live to displease.”

Curt squints at the console in front of him, running the numbers in his head before he points out the discrepancy he’s seeing to Bucky. Bucky glances out the window.

Bucky: “Houston, we seem to be entering a roll.”

Gale: “... Come again? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Bucky switches his coms to PPT to make the transmission clearer. “A roll. We aren’t supposed to be entering a roll, are we?” He waits as Gale discusses with Bubbles, GNC, and Croz, FIDO.

Gale: “That’s a negative. We’re working on sorting out why the control software authorized that. Can you course correct?”

Curt: “I’ll try.” He fires the thrusters and manages to stop the roll. “Fuckin’ computer.”

Bucky stifles a laugh as he reads out their coordinates. 1,500 feet to go, and he can see Shackleton Crater ahead. The part of Bucky that isn’t a highly qualified professional is buzzing with ‘are we there yet’ energy, trying to keep his heart rate from spiking in anticipation.

Curt: “What are the odds of this thing tipping over on us, Gale?”

There’s a mildly concerning pause.

Gale: “We don’t have exact numbers on that. Is ‘low’ a good enough answer?”

Curt: “I’ll take it.”

Bucky: “Coming up on Shackleton. I can see the site.”

Curt: “500 feet.”

Bucky: “Jesus, that’s something, isn’t it?” The vehicle flies right over the massive crater like it’s nothing more than a pothole in the road. A pothole that’s 13 miles across. Below the rim, it’s completely consumed by darkness.

Gale finds himself holding his breath in Mission Control, something he’s been doing a lot this mission. He hasn’t yet sorted out if he’d be doing that no matter what, or if it’s because Bucky is on that lander. He twists the wedding ring around his finger as he listens to Croz calmly relay Starship’s altitude. The thrusters lining the top of the lander fire, controlling its descent at the top of a ridge near Shackleton.

Curt: “Easy, easy babe.”

Starship sets down on the surface, barely any harder than a bird landing on a tree branch. Everyone, in Mission Control, on the lander, and on Orion, can breathe easy again. Bucky leans his head back in his helmet and pumps a fist.

Curt: “Houston, we have touchdown at Shackleton crater.”

—

Houston, TX

Later that night, Gale leans back against the bartop at the Hundred Proof, glass of soda in hand. On the TV behind the bar, there’s another news story playing about the upcoming moonwalk. By the end of Gale’s shift today, Bucky and Curt were settled on the lunar surface, preparing for the week ahead. They would take the night to eat, rest, and do some basic housekeeping. Tomorrow they will take their first steps on the moon.

Gale looks around the Hundred Proof, taking a sip of his drink. Much of Red Shift, as well as some of Benny’s Blue Shift, made the pilgrimage to the bar to decompress tonight. Croz, Bubbles, and Jack are playing pool in the back. Gale’s seen a few of his other team members milling about with drinks in hand, playing darts or watching sports on the other TVs. Even Clark has taken the time to join his team in letting a load off, laughing as Croz fails miserably to make an eight ball shot.

For just a few hours, no one would even know that these men and women have the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“It’s fuckin’ crazy, what we’re doing.” Benny joins Gale at the bar, leaning back against the counter as he sips a beer.

“The two of us are just on the ground,” Gale replies.

“Takes a village.” Benny crosses his arms over his chest, his beer resting against his bicep. He’s dressed in a dark lightweight sweater and jeans. Gale, on the other hand, is still wearing his button down and slacks, his tie loosened and his top button undone the way that always makes Bucky grin and grab onto the tie, dragging him in for a kiss. Bucky’s on the moon, though. And Gale’s just tired.

“It’ll be you next, anyways,” Benny adds, tilting his head to glance at Gale. “You know how jealous I am?”

Gale can’t help the way the corner of his mouth turns up in a little half smile, but he shrugs. “You were just on the station. Too soon to send you back. If you’re lucky, we’ll survive past Artemis 4 and you’ll get yourself on 5.”

Benny takes another swig of beer, and Gale mimics him, sipping his own drink. He rubs his thumb over the condensation gathered around the sides of his glass. “We’ll survive,” Benny asserts.

Gale really hopes so. Seeing Artemis end so soon would break his heart. But you never know what tomorrow will bring, and he wonders if Apollo-era astronauts felt the same way. He thinks they did. “What makes you so sure?”

“Sure is the only thing you can be around here, isn’t it?” Benny shrugs. “And if we’re not sure, we have to act like we are.”

Gale knows he’s right. If they don’t believe in a future here, then no one else will. He glances around the bar, at his coworkers and friends joking and drinking and having a good time. Every single one of them believes wholeheartedly in what they’re doing here, and every single one will fight to keep it going. Come what may.

The Hundred Proof has this transcendent, timeless quality. Classic rock plays through the speakers, and a vintage charm seeps from the walls, lined with NASA memorabilia like a time capsule over half a century old. It’s hardly changed a bit since its early days, with the exception of new televisions and perhaps new drinkware, although no one is really sure about that one. Just about every astronaut who has ever suited up for the United States space program since Apollo has walked on these floors and sat at this bar. Tonight, as it offers its comforts to weary flight controllers ahead of another history-making shift, it feels as if time has stood still. It could just as easily be 1969 or 1972 or 1995. It could just as easily be another era, another mission, and another unknown.

Gale wonders if flight controllers like him and his friends sought out this place in decades past, preparing themselves for the next shift, the next landing, the next moonwalk. If they had the same fears and the same hopes. He wonders if this place looked the exact same as it does right now, harkening back to a past that was too long ago, a hope for the future that NASA has dragged itself back to tooth and nail.

It’s possible that no space mission in this lifetime will ever compare to the way Apollo 11 captured the attention of an entire nation. Of the entire developed world. When Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the moon – “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” – nearly every household and every TV-owning establishment in the United States was tuned in. Everyone dropped what they were doing to stare at the fuzzy black and white video feed and watch a man walk on an extraterrestrial surface for the very first time. Everyone who remembers that day can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing the moment those first footprints were pressed into the fine lunar soil.

After that, though, moon landings were seen as routine. By the time Apollo 17 came around, the glimmer of futuristic hope and novelty was fading. Anyone who knew anything about it would tell you that there’s not a single thing that’s routine about landing on the moon. But it didn’t matter; for the public that would never be in that Mission Control room or on that space capsule, it lost its grandeur.

The funding stopped.

No one in power wanted to prioritize a lunar program anymore. America had made their point. They’d proved they could do it, proved their superiority in the space race. And dreams of landing on the moon were left to children with stars in their eyes and adventure in their hearts.

Children like John Egan and Curtis Biddick.

John Egan has wanted to be an astronaut for as long as he can remember. A little boy with unruly hair and an even more unruly spirit, climbing trees so he could be as close to the sky as the Earth would allow. He went to sleep with his ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars and built model rockets with his dad on the weekends. Almost every decision he’s ever made has been with this end goal in mind.

He told Gale the first time they ever met that he intended to be an astronaut. He went to school for engineering even though he and mathematics didn’t get along, forcing him to forge through calculus and physics with a blind determination to get himself to where he needed to be. He joined the Air Force ROTC. He became a pilot. He took to the sky and never looked back, always more at home in the clouds than on the ground. Other than Gale Cleven, sitting in a cockpit was the only thing that could settle Bucky’s wayward energy. When the time was right, he applied to NASA, just like he always said he would. It took two tries, but they accepted him. He became an astronaut candidate. He flew on the international space station. He even did it all with Gale at his side. He did everything he’d always dreamed of doing, except one thing:

Step foot on the moon.

But after tomorrow, he’ll have done that, too.

Mission Control will be packed tomorrow morning; almost every flight controller on every shift will be there to watch the Artemis 3 crew leave the first footprints at the lunar south pole. Gale will be there, as a flight controller, as a NASA astronaut, and as a husband. He will watch his husband emerge from the Starship hatch and step down onto that lunar surface. He’ll be sitting in a front row seat to see the culmination of nearly two decades of watching John Egan work his ass off to accomplish his dreams. He’ll be right there, his voice guiding John through every step as his legacy is broadcast live to the entire world.

He couldn’t be more proud. Even if he has no fucking clue what will come out of John’s mouth when his boots hit the ground. He can only hope it’s nothing catastrophically embarrassing.

–

It was only weeks ago that Gale walked into their living room, Pepper trotting at his heels, to find Bucky laying on his back on the floor in front of the couch with his hands covering his eyes. A notebook and pen were haphazardly on the floor beside him.

“What are you doing?” Gale had asked, as Pepper took over her role of protector and started licking Bucky’s face, trying to bring him back to the living.

Bucky had just groaned loudly, pulling his hands away from his face to stare up at Gale forlornly. So Gale bent down and picked up the notebook, which he wasn’t aware Bucky even owned. Flipping through pages of chicken scratch writing, he sat on the couch and tried not to laugh as he read through the brain-dump words. “Are these things to say when you land on the moon?”

Bucky sat up and crossed his legs, which Pepper took as an invitation to lay half in his lap. “Yep.”

There has been absolutely no shortage of people reminding Bucky that he will be the first person to set foot on the moon since 1972. It’s a big deal, and it will be broadcast live to the entire world. He’s been wracking his brain for things to say at such a significant moment in human history, knowing he has massive shoes to fill but not wanting to sound too cheesy, too outdated or philosophical, too… anything. How do you measure up to Neil Armstrong without sounding like you’re trying to be Neil Armstrong? Sometimes Bucky feels like nothing more than a little kid playing astronauts in the yard, pretending to be his childhood hero.

No one ever expected him to get this far, and now the world is watching. Most of them adore him. Others hate him. If we’re lucky the fag will die up there. Planet Earth is a tumultuous place, but Bucky’s grit and determination have never faltered. He just never expected to be anyone else’s hero.

What words are there to bring a world together when every day it feels like it’s crumbling? Does it even matter what he says? Is it enough that he’s there? Do people actually care about what comes out of his mouth? Will his first words be stuck to him for the rest of his life – a legacy or a shackle? Will they print them in the history books, resound them for future generations? Or will they fade into obscurity like the words of every Apollo astronaut that came after Armstrong? Just a few more words said by another guy whose name most people won’t remember a few decades from now.

“‘With a single step, we return to the unknown for all mankind,’” Gale read from the notebook. “That’s… not bad?”

Bucky shrugged. “A little on the nose.”

“‘As we step onto the lunar surface once again, we bring with us all that we know, and all that we love, to move forward into a brighter future.’”

Bucky made a face as Pepper nudged at his hand with her wet nose. He stroked the top of her head gently, thinking that she had him trained and not the other way around. “Feels sappy.”

Gale glanced down at him. “You are sappy.”

“You’re the only one who knows that.”

Gale rolled his eyes and flipped a few more pages. Bucky closed his eyes as he waited for what was coming, knowing he’d been slowly devolving into madness. Gale choked on a laugh. “‘Hello world, I’m on the fucking moon.’ ‘To all the professors who tried to fail me, who’s laughing now.’ ‘I have the high ground.’ – God, you’re a nerd.” Bucky stuck his tongue out at him before he could continue. “‘Welcome to the shit show.’ ‘Hold on, let me take a selfie.’ ‘We’re here and we’re queer, fight me.’” Gale squinted at the page, running his thumb along some concoction of supposed letters. “I can’t read this one.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the couch so Gale could hold the notebook in front of his face, pointing to a barely legible scrawl across the top of the page. “We’re back, bitches.”

Gale nodded thoughtfully. “Alternatively, the bitch is back.”

“And then I’ll lower my visor like sunglasses,” Bucky nodded. “Stare off into the lunar sunrise. Make a moment of it.”

“Probably not the moment NASA wants,” Gale acquiesced, throwing the notebook to the couch cushion beside him. “You could sing Into the Unknown from Frozen.”

“Oh sure.” Bucky chuckled, scratching at Pepper’s ears. “I can see the headlines. ‘NASA Sends Crazy Queer to Space.’”

“We’re all mad here.”

“This ain’t Alice in Wonderland.”

“It’s true though.” Gale reached his hand down, making a grabbing motion until Bucky noticed and twined their fingers together, letting Gale tug him up onto the couch to Pepper’s dismay. Bucky settled against Gale’s side, mindlessly fiddling with Gale’s fingers like he often does. Gale smiled and leaned his head against Bucky’s, pressing his lips into soft, dark hair. “I’m a fan of welcome to the shit show.”

“Something tells me NASA won’t be.”

A few moments passed, and for those few moments, they weren’t anyone special. They were just a married couple curled up together on the couch.

Then Gale said, “Maybe something about why it’s so important? Why we’re going back at all.”

Bucky thought for a moment, staring out the window at the night sky beyond. An entire universe that they’ve barely cracked the surface of, worlds and worlds that they may never get to explore. Both Bucky and Gale have always been endlessly fascinated by the infinite unknown.

“We return to the moon not as a final frontier, but as a stepping stone on humanity’s expedition to explore the wider universe.”

“Mmm.” Gale tilted his head, considering. “That might be too optimistic. Don’t want to be making promises on NASA’s behalf.”

“In case we can’t get our shit together?” Bucky scoffed. Gale nodded, and Bucky had to agree. “Okay, how about, ‘this is the best fucking day of my life.’”

Gale frowned, pulling away to look at Bucky more directly. “I thought marrying me was the best day of your life.”

Bucky’s hair brushed against Gale’s cheek as he turned to look at him, too, letting himself drown in perfect blue eyes as he lifted his hand to cup the side of Gale’s face. “It was,” he breathed out. He kissed Gale then, with a gentle passion that carried with it a silent promise of you are my everything, you are my home. I will come back to you. When Bucky pulled away, he stroked his thumb over Gale’s jaw and let himself marvel at this life he’d made for himself. He’s doing everything he’s ever dreamed of, and he can’t ask for much more. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so damn lucky even on top of all of that. This man in front of Bucky, holding him in his arms with such love and warmth, has always been, and always will be, the best thing to ever happen to him. “Gale?” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Gale’s voice came out in a puff of breath against Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you.”

–

So that’s what Gale thinks as he watches the screen at the front of Mission Control, which is showing video feed from the camera Curt is holding as he follows John to the hatch. It’s what he thinks as he watches the hatch open and John – not physically recognizable because of his bulky EVA suit and yet unequivocally John – stops at the top of the steps that are lowering to the surface. I love you. I love you I love you I love you.

He can feel everyone in Mission Control holding their breath again. The whole world is holding their breath, crowded around TV screens and computers and phones, waiting. Waiting to see John Egan and Curtis Biddick step foot on the lunar surface. Waiting to hear what John will say to commemorate this moment.

Gale is pleasantly surprised, and admittedly relieved, to hear the words that Bucky has chosen to speak into the world. As the Artemis commander grips the side of the hatch, he looks out at the lunar surface beyond, at the untread terrain that they have the honor to explore. “It sure took us a long time, but we finally made it back,” he remarks. Then he takes a deep breath and hesitates, and Gale knows that, despite Bucky’s cocksure attitude and impulsive personality, he wants to get this right.

“As we step foot into this beautiful unknown once again,” he says. “We do it not just for ourselves, but for the people of planet earth. We do it for everyone who dares to dream of a brighter future. Everyone who dares to step with us.”

Then he steps delicately onto the surface, and his boot sinks into the fine lunar soil below. One foot, and then the other. One step, and then another.

He’s on the moon.

“How’s it look, John?” Gale asks.

Bucky turns slowly, open-mouthed, thinking that he feels like he’s on another world before his brain catches up and remembers that it is another world. They’re at the top of a massive ridge connecting two even more massive craters. The sun is just above the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the surface where it hits the crater rims. It’s silent. Peaceful. Like he just wants to sit right down on the ground and take it all in for a while.

“John?”

“Hi angel,” Bucky says, too in awe to realize he just called his CAPCOM “angel” on a globally televised broadcast. Neither of them will ever live it down.

But Gale only chuckles. “You okay up there?”

Curt, stepping down off the lander behind Bucky, adjusts the camera so he can record their surroundings. “I think we’re just a little in awe, Buck,” he says, since Bucky seems incapable.

But Bucky manages to find his words again as he steps further away from the lander, Curt recording him from behind as they both test out the gravity on the surface, taking a few bounding strides forward. “It’s incredible,” Bucky breathes, raising his arms out to the sides as if he can somehow absorb this experience into his mind and body.

He motions to Curt, grabbing for the camera so he can get some airtime, too. He records as Curt bounds a few long and ungainly slow-motion steps away, trying to work out the best way to move in this new environment. Bucky follows behind clumsily.

“See that, world?” he says as he pans the camera around, giving visual of their lander stretching up to the dark sky, the beautifully foreboding crater some distance behind it, the rocky terrain on all sides streaked with long shadows, Curt dropping to his knees into the rough and sandy regolith. “You’re looking at the lunar south pole. No one has ever stepped foot on this part of the moon, but you’re seeing it right now. It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“It sure is, Bucky,” Gale tells him, as their only link to the rest of the planet.

“Buck,” Curt interrupts as he lets a handful of the soil, fine and sharp like grains of glass, sift between his gloved fingers. “Can confirm the moon is not made of cheese.”

“Alright, Curt,” Gale replies, all too serious. “Thank you for that observation, we’ll note it down. Just please don’t taste it.”

“No promises.”

After a few more minutes of bounding around in wonder and narrating what they’re seeing, Curt and Bucky sign off from their live broadcast.

“O2 levels look good,” Gale informs them. “How’s the pressure feel?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky replies. “It’s dropped just a bit. A little easier to move. I expect it’ll keep improving as we get going here.”

A suit that decreases pressure in increments was NASA’s solution to their decompression sickness problem. When the body is too quickly exposed to low pressure environments, gases dissolved in bodily fluids, namely nitrogen, bubble out, causing a whole host of health issues called ‘the bends’ or decompression sickness. Designing a space suit that maintains the same pressure as the crew cabin – which is the same as mean sea level pressure on Earth – would result in a stiff suit that is impossible to move in. Typically, astronauts on the ISS spend many hours before an EVA pre-breathing – breathing pure oxygen to allow the body enough time to naturally purge the nitrogen – making it possible for them to safely wear EVA suits with a much lower pressure. To shorten this amount of time, astronauts may do physical activity while breathing pure O2, making the body rid itself of nitrogen even faster.

NASA wanted to reduce pre-breathing time as much as possible on Artemis. So on top of some time spent pre-breathing during exercise, the suits are equipped with oxygen regulators, which gradually decrease the suit pressure over time as the crew is out on the surface. Their suits are at a higher pressure when they first start the EVA, and as their nitrogen levels drop during the EVA, the suit pressure decreases, making it much easier to move around.

NASA didn’t come to the moon to play. They’re here for the future. To learn and to work and to push humanity to new heights. It’s a testing ground of sorts, to see how extended extraterrestrial missions may be feasible. The mission is designed for maximum productivity, and they have a lot to do here in the next week. Every single element has been designed with that in mind.

“Good to hear,” Gale says. “Now let’s get to work.”

…

Part 10

A3’s planned flight path for those interested:

(Image from NASA)

#Curt: “I live to displease”#clegan #clegan astronaut au #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #bucky egan #buck cleven #clegan fic #curt biddick

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beyondthebackup · 1 year

Text

On Curiosity, Killing & Cats

[illustration: @nnenteyn-new // telegram // bootsy]

Rating: E | Words: 4,502 | Pairing: BxL

@dnkinktober Prompt: Humiliation/Degradation (Day 7)

Summary:

A is dead, and Roger insists that allowing B to succeed as L is dangerous. The first generation of Wammy’s project is at an impasse and L is - was - curious.

Read on AO3 or under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Author's Note:

This is technically my first attempt at fanfiction not written specifically for this rp blog. It's also my first time writing L and sharing any smut I've written publicly although I'll be honest, this ended up more plot-heavy than I anticipated and it's relatively tame compared to my private stuff.

All that said I want to thank @ourflagmeansdeathnote @dykelawlight @lightyaoigami @neallo and @brothercrush for being fantastic writers/artists themselves and inspiring me to put myself out there! (And all the other great creators in the dn fandom, I will look desperate and uncool if I tag all of you)

This is an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, even for L.

He observes Backup through the cracks of his sugar-dusted fingers as he busies himself with an assortment of pastries on a serving cart, inspecting and then devouring each with the practiced efficiency of an assembly line.

Honestly, L expected him to say something first.

Backup's file describes him as 'extroverted, energetic and talkative', but he hasn't spoken. He is maintaining eye contact. A little too well, actually. Paired with that flat expression, it's all a bit disconcerting...though L is not entirely unaware that others might think similarly of him.

L gulps down a mouthful of frosting and pushes the cart toward B, who is seated on the other side of Roger’s desk.

"Would you like some?" he asks, mid-chew.

Backup does not break eye contact, but he does finally speak.

"Why are you here?"

His tone is light and mildly curious, as if L were an acquaintance he bumped into at the grocery store.

L could ask himself that very same question. He did not have to be here, he did not particularly want to be here, yet he had indeed chosen to be here.

"These are extenuating circumstances."

B tilts his head. "You mean now that A's dead?"

Straight to the point.

Still, Backup’s flippant attitude does little to remedy the atmosphere.

A, the first child taken into Wammy’s House, has committed suicide at the tender age of 18.

L is not much older than them, and yet…

"Now that you are next in line to take over as L in the event of my death," he clarified.

"There is some debate about whether or not that should remain the case."

Backup is quick to open his mouth, although he doesn't seem all that surprised - before he can start, L lifts a manila folder pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"I read your file."

B averts his eyes with a pout. "Oh, that…"

"…Well, it makes sense you'd want a well-behaved successor. The whole point of being a detective is to lock up people that break the rules, after all."

L shifts in his seat and wedges his thumb into the corner of his mouth.

It's a ridiculous oversimplification - Backup can't be serious, so is he…mocking him?

"…Is that the point?"

"I dunno, I'm not a detective. You tell me. Is it acceptable for L to break the rules?"

Yes, B is definitely mocking him…but with enough subtext to pique L's interest.

"That depends. Wammy's House is Watari's project, not mine. Breaking the rules here does not necessarily mean anything to me."

"What?" Backup scoffs, more animated all of a sudden. "Shouldn't you take being L a little more seriously? Isn't it your choice who succeeds you in the end?"

"Watari has requested that I make the final decision, yes."

B's eyes narrow.

"No one here can beat me. They would've done it by now."

"That does appear to be the case."

"Then what? Aren't you going to tell me that I can't be L if I don't behave?"

So he was expecting this.

The truth is, L still isn't sure why he's here. He hasn't made a decision, and interacting with B so far has only left him all the more unsure.

What is he going to tell Backup?

Pondering this, L reaches for a small dish of ice cream. He is deep enough in thought that he doesn't notice B finally breaking eye contact to follow the movement of his hands.

He does not notice B's patience fraying, the thinness of his veneer as he watches him nurse the cold off his teaspoon.

"…Do you still expect me to prove myself to you?" he asks quietly.

Now, there is no mistaking it. Resentment hangs from every word.

"Do you want me to grovel?"

L pulls the spoon from his mouth and meets Backup's eyes again, brow furrowed and stern.

"No. This isn't about me."

That's when L sees B smile for the very time.

If you could call it that - his upper lip twitching suddenly with disbelief, parting to reveal the beginning of something toothy and joyless.

"Bullshit,"

"A's dead because of you, you know."

A is dead because of you.

L swatted away that very same thought the day he got the news. He dismissed it because he knew it was illogical, and here Backup is actually saying it to his face. It's absurd, and L allows that to show on his face.

B is undeterred, however. He drags his chair closer to Roger's desk, plants his elbows on the surface and leans in close, eyes widening to take in the moment with full clarity.

"You don't believe me? Do you think people kill themselves for no reason? He's dead because he wasted his entire life trying to become you and failed. Do you think it's fun here, L? Is it even fun being you?"

L likes to think he is not so easily provoked, but if this is Backup's goal, he has succeeded. L did not come here to evaluate the efficacy or ethics of Watari's program, especially not at the behest of someone who is so obviously trying to get a rise out of him.

"What is it that you want from me, Backup?"

"What do I want?"

"You aren't trying to convince me that you should be my successor. If that isn't what you want, should we end the conversation?"

L is curt, but resists the temptation to be overly passive-aggressive. He understands the power dynamic - there is no need to stoop to Backup's level here. This is enough.

Dishes clatter, pastries hit the floor and in seconds Backup has vaulted over the desk and is upon him, seizing his throat with both hands.

Perhaps even more startling than the abruptness of B's attack is its sheer ferocity. L's gasp is cut off as B presses both thumbs into his neck, just above the windpipe. His grip tightens steadily and L feels a rush of genuine fear.

This is not a mere moment of blind rage because a moment has passed, and the look on B’s face is in fact indiscernible to L. Those dark eyes fixate on his and betray nothing but resolve.

He is in danger.

L grabs at his forearms, clawing into them to little effect. He cannot speak, and even if he could-

He asked Roger not to interfere with their meeting.

L is here out of curiosity.

Curiosity and perhaps, deep down, a small (and obviously misguided) sense of responsibility for this place and the orphans raised in it.

Honestly, he prefers not to think about it much.

But A is dead, and Roger insists that allowing B to succeed as L is dangerous.

The first generation of Wammy’s project is at an impasse and L is - was - curious.

It's not that he never considered the possibility of an outburst. That would be understandable, warranted even. L asked Roger not to interfere with this meeting because if B had something to say to him, he wanted to hear it.

But this is different.

L struggles and B draws closer, forcing him to shrink back, sink deeper into Roger's leather armchair. It wounds his ego to be caught so off guard, but L can't even remember the last time he was touched by someone other than Watari.

He spends much of his time isolated from others, and even when he isn't, no one would dare violate his personal space like this.

It isn't just the violence that is alien, the danger, but his touch, and L finds himself paralyzed by it all. Frozen by the fact that B is smiling again, and this time, he seems genuinely happy.

"This is what I want, L," Backup sighs. "That look on your face."

Dread settles into the pit in L's chest and he steels himself to kick at B as hard as he can. It takes more than a few attempts to knock him off balance, but he manages, and with some distance between them, L scrambles out of the armchair.

B is fast, L is flexible, B is strong, L is stubborn.

As B grabs L by the hem of his shirt, L turns to take another swing at him, and in the fray the two of them are sent tumbling to the ground.

So begins the undignified floor wrestling match between two young geniuses.

...Unfortunately, it appears B is the better of the two at wrestling.

L manages to knock the breath out of B more than once, but it makes little difference. He finds himself pinned underneath Backup's oppressive weight while he snickers like a child at play.

"Shhh...relax. Relax! Just stay there! Stay there. I realized something important. I won't hurt you. Calm down. Listen."

"What, Backup?" L snaps as he drops his hands, exasperated.

B grins impishly at him.

"You're a disappointment!"

L stares at Backup in utter disbelief.

"Me?"

"Now that I've met you, I know my entire life has been a waste of time!"

L's stomach drops as he assures himself these are only provocations. Why else would Backup be so gratingly cheerful about it?

"I wasted it trying to become you. A died trying to become you.

But you're just a loser! Another worthless human being! You're weak, you're pathetic, and worst of all, you're boring!

World's Greatest Detective. You!? Are you serious!? Look at you!!"

L stiffens and braces himself to shove B off. He doesn't need to listen to this, Backup is obviously the kind of person that takes pleasure in spite, this is fun for him, this is a waste of time-

"A was better than you, you know," he goes on, voice dripping with contempt. "I actually respected him. I bet everyone was hoping you would die so he could replace you. Too bad."

Backup lowers himself down onto his elbows and cups his hands around L’s face, relishing in it when he feels him flinch.

How many people have seen L like this?

His sneer has vanished. L does not move - he is fighting panic, fighting his racing heart and the goosebumps dotting his skin, he is fighting the confusion that follows the intimacy of skin-on-skin poisoned by the malice on B's tongue.

B's heartbeat is equally frantic, but it doesn't show on his face. L is not nearly as skilled as B in this regard and finds himself all too conscious of his own labored breathing.

"You were my entire life," he says. “I spent all this time waiting for you, thinking of you...only for you to be like this. A died because he wasn't good enough. And now you're here to tell me I’m not good enough."

"No."

"Do you think your life is worth more than all of our lives combined?"

"I never said that."

"You said this isn't about you, but that's not true, is it?

My life has always been about you. A's, too. You're the reason why this place exists. Why I exist.

I exist because you're not good enough, either.

No matter how many cases you solve, you're no different from me. You're a tool. An object. You exist to be used.

That's why you're what...20? And Watari already has an entire orphanage of kids ready to take your place when you die! He doesn't believe in you either."

"That's enough," L cannot take it anymore, he cannot listen to another second of this, he cannot spend another moment on this floor pinned under him, being touched by him, his skin is crawling and he cannot breathe and the air is hot and his stomach is tight and he feels his heartbeat in all the wrong places.

L wills himself to snap out of it, he needs to get B off of him before-

Abruptly, B sits up and directly on top of

"-!? Do you have an erection!?"

B exclaims as if he doesn't know the meaning of the word and all the color drains from L's face.

Do not dignify that with a response. It is involuntary and nothing to be ashamed of.

"Is this turning you on?"

"No."

B bursts into a fit of cruel laughter and L only tenses underneath him, awash with humiliation. L does not often care what others think of him, but he has never felt like this before, so utterly degraded by someone who should respect him, and he's laughing at him, at his- why does he have an erection?

"No?" B echoes. "What's this?" Sliding easily down his thighs, L jerks back from his hand when he feels it rest on the crotch of his jeans.

"I knew it! You're a pervert!"

"And what does that make you, exactly?" L hits back.

"This isn't about me," B draws out L's own line. "Why are you so easy, anyway...? Oh! I get it - I bet no one's ever touched you, besides that disgusting old man. Why would they?"

It's amazing how that talkativeness of his rears its ugly head in a situation like this.

"You're a virgin, aren't you? You're probably touch starved...even though you're older than me and rich and everything. Aww, it must be so lonely being L!"

“Get off of me," L hisses.

"You sure that's what you want?"

With a sharp exhale through his nose, L squeezes his eyes shut for a moment...for just a single moment of peace. He needs to think, he needs to move, and he needs to never admit that B is right and he isn't sure if that's what he wants, because he is excited by this.

He doesn't have the time to intellectualize it. He can break his rule and call for Roger. He can shove B off of him. He can stop this, he could've avoided this entirely had he smothered that curiosity, taken the file at its word and never met one of his so-called successors.

L can feel B's gaze burning through him, but at least he's not talking in that perpetually amused voice and at least he can't see that sadistic excuse for a smile. There is something wrong with B and there is something wrong with him for feeling like this is the first time in a long time someone has managed to surprise or challenge him.

He doesn't have the time to intellectualize it and therefore doesn't have time to convince himself that this is wrong.

It is wrong that he feels relief when B does not wait for him to answer and dips his slender fingers past the waistband of his jeans. Again, he only rests his hand against L's growing arousal. He does not provide any friction, does not move.

It takes all of L's willpower to fight an upward twitch of his hips, the weight and warmth of Backup's touch promising pleasure and yet refusing to follow through.

"Oh, L..." B hums. "You are just a man, after all."

The World's Greatest detective pinned underneath him, shirt inched up past his navel in the fray, so clearly out of his depth. And it was easy. So fucking easy.

"Is this the one thing Watari won't do for you?"

B delights in watching the pink flush crawl up the back of L's neck to his cheekbones, that jaw set so tight he just knows he is gritting his teeth. He can't even look at him, turning his head to the side as if B would ever let him off that easy.

"Look at me," B says sweetly.

L does not.

"I said, look at me," B grabs L by the chin and forces him face forward. He suddenly takes L's clothed erection into a light grip, wringing a quiet gasp out of him. The detective's eyes snap open to glare at Backup with equal parts resentment and desperation, filling B with a deep and twisted satisfaction. He knows that look all too well.

"Do you hate me, L?" he asks, eyes softening with something resembling infatuation. It makes L all the more confused and uncomfortable and frustrated that B will not just get this over with.

Over the course of this conversation, L has learned at least one thing about Backup. Responding in the affirmative is likely what he wants.

This whole thing must have been to get a rise out of him, and L is playing right into his hands.

Because he's...enjoying it.

"I have no reason to hate you, Backup. I have no reason to feel any particular way about you at all,"

His assumption is proved correct when B immediately digs his nails into L's jaw.

"Your dick disagrees."

"It's involuntary."

B's grip on L's erection slacks again. "You don't want me to touch you?"

L's glare darkens.

"Say it."

L curls his toes, wondering if it would be enough to clamp his thighs around B's hand or if his aim all this time really was for L to discard his dignity. Resisting B is an uncomfortable, laborious, painful experience...but would sacrificing his dignity, his better judgement for a single moment of carnal satisfaction be worse?

I want you to touch me.

L tries the sentence out in his mind and it makes him wince. He's imagining B's grin splitting wide again, that sharp laugh, and the way his cock will throb when the humiliation sinks in. He imagines Backup following through, apparently capable of giving him the release that he has never been interested in seeking out until now.

This has awakened something in him. The wrongness of it all is what makes L want it, and he isn't sure if anything will ever feel quite this wrong again.

What's that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

L will never see this cat again. Not ever.

Does it really matter if he makes a mistake now?

L sucks in air through his teeth and finally, recklessly relents.

"I want you to touch me," he mumbles with just enough conviction as to not feel entirely pathetic, to allow himself some illusion that he is in fact in control.

"...You fucking pervert," B giggles. "I didn't actually think you'd say it. You're shameless, that's so gross..."

Even so, it seems to do the trick. B massages him slowly through his underwear, free hand finally releasing his jaw to take a fistful of L's hair and yank his head back.

"I'm barely 18, what is wrong with you?"

"That's not-!"

"Shut up," B palms him with more intention. He can feel L twitching around his fingers as he pulls the fabric around his length, pleasures him with the barrier that exists between him and what he actually wants.

"Hhn-" With all pretext shattered, L slowly lets go. This friction is not nearly enough or he wouldn't be squirming like this, chewing down on his tongue wishing Backup would just get on with it already.

"Aren't there cameras in here? What will the old man think of you?"

"Just get on with it..." L sighs with marked frustration.

"I was trying to give you plausible deniability by only going this far. You'll have to say please if you want me to actually touch the hard-on you got from being degraded by me."

"You are ridiculous," L seethes.

Plausible deniability. Right.

"I assure you I'm quite serious. Having your successor get you off is going to be your fault."

"My fault? I'm not the one who started this."

"You're going to blame me? Even when our power dynamic is like this? You're not a good person at all, L. You can't take responsibility for anything."

Another ragged sigh interrupts L's retort as B gropes his cock, offering him delicious pressure and friction but refusing to give up on the tease...until he feels a wet spot growing, at least.

B wets his lip with his tongue. "I don't think I even have to go any farther. Treating you like the garbage you are and just a little bit of attention is all it takes."

"Please," L forces out.

"Please what?"

"More. Please just...touch me more."

"It's not enough?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll do what you say. I'm obsessed with you after all."

True to his word, Backup releases L and pulls his jeans and underwear down past his hips, exposing L's straining, leaking cock for the both of them to see.

"You just said that I was worthless."

"You are. I hate you more than anything, and nothing would make me happier than watching you suffer. That's the kind of person that's going to get you off for the first time, L. And I'm doing it not because I want you back, but because I know you'll never forget it..."

B finally wraps his hand around L's erection and of course he is lying about not wanting it, he wants this desperately, he is coming undone inside in ways that L could never imagine, because he does not know him.

He has nothing to do with him.

Hatred, lust and love are not all that different after all.

L tries to quiet his mind, to avoid internalizing anything B is saying. For whatever reason being spoken to like this and treated like this is the most arousing thing L has ever personally experienced, and he should treat this as something being done in service of him.

That's what it really is. It has to be.

At the end of the day, no matter what B said, he would still be B and L would still be L.

B leans in close, still stroking L all too slowly, too lightly, and yet it is enough to force unsightly little mewls from L's lips. He shudders when he feels Backup's lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

"I want you to remember this feeling, L," he whispers.

L swallows hard and bucks up to meet B's movements.

"I want you to remember how desperate and helpless and low you feel right now, and I want you to remember it was me that made you feel this way."

The friction is maddening. So simple and yet so intense. L feels his inner voice quieting, fading, he feels dangerously human, dangerously like simple flesh, like B said, just a man...not the world's greatest anything.

"No one is ever going to care about you as much as I do. I thought of you constantly for ten years. Yet now that I know you...I despise you."

L is panting as B fists his cock, speaking with such vitriol as to be certain L could not fool himself into thinking it was an act.

"I despise you so much. You make me sick. And you're getting off on that? Off on my misery..."

"N-no-"

"You are. I know because I got off on A's misery, and I'm getting off on yours, too. I know exactly the kind of person you are.

Depraved. Disgusting. Fucked in the head. You hide behind your title and the law so no one ever finds out you're just a pathetic fucking cock-sucking degenerate that would be better off dead!"

L groans deeply and hates himself for it. He doesn't understand himself, he doesn't understand this, why every word is pulsing through L's hips like lightning, why it feels so good to be reduced to this when most of his life, his efforts only earned him universal praise.

"What would Watari think if he saw you right now, L? He'd be so disappointed in you. Why would you do something like this? It's inappropriate, it's dangerous, you were warned, right? Don't you know better?"

"Stop...stop saying his name..."

"Don't you know better, L? Say it."

"I-I know better..."

"So why are you doing this?"

"I...don't know-!" L cries out in frustration, moans rolling out of him in choked out intervals. The pleasure is piercing him, becoming unbearable, mutating into something frightening, something about to burst.

"Tell me why!" B demands, releasing L altogether. At this stage, he can't bear it, and the levy breaks.

"Because I'm a pervert! I'm disgusting and I'm pathetic and I want you to touch me, you're right about me, B! You're right..." L whines. "Please don't stop, I can't take it anymore..."

This wipes the smile off B's face which makes it all the more painful...he is staring at L incredulously and for the first time L becomes aware that B is also panting, his skin is just as hot.

He presses his forehead against L's and stares at him in silence for a few beats. It drives a vicious chill up his spine and he knows, deep deep down,

even if he never saw B again,

he's made a terrible mistake.

"I'll never let you forget about me, L."

And so he reaches back between L's thighs for the final time with no intention of holding back.

L jerks under him, thighs trembling as B swirls his thumb over his sensitive head.

"Keep your eyes open, slut."

Even as his mouth hangs open, moaning freely to keep B from becoming restless enough to return to his teasing, it's not enough.

Backup is so focused on him, so unwilling to look away that L is forced to endure the intimacy of sustained eye contact while he is this vulnerable. He feels stripped bare, like Backup is staring right through him.

No one should see him so unguarded, especially never someone like him, yet he obeys, he obeys and lets B see everything, his drawn-out groans as his orgasm creeps up on him, the drool beading at the corner of his mouth, the hopeless lust in his tired eyes.

He feels humiliated. Degraded. Disgusting. But most of all, he feels alive.

All thoughts cease as L arches his back and white hot satisfaction washes over his entire body. He reaches for B's forearms, gripping onto him as he cums hard all over his hand, an undignified mess left behind on the both of them, proof that it happened.

Undeniable.

B lets out a shaky breath and watches L sink into the floor with wide eyes. The memory and the image burning into his psyche where it would never leave him. Where it strengthened his result to become a murderer

and destroy L.

L would never forget this feeling, but neither would B.

With A dead, his new purpose in life is clear.

He will be the one to make L grovel.

B is still lost in thought when L reluctantly opens his eyes to face the aftermath. Luckily for him, B is not looking back at him but at his own hand.

L is confused until Backup sticks his cum-covered fingers into his mouth and begins to suck them clean-

No. L has to get out of here right now before this gets any worse.

Fine, Backup. You win.

I'll break my rule.

"Roger!!!" L shouts at the top of his lungs.

#dnkinktober #beyondlaw #bxl #lxb #bbll #beyond birthday #fanfic #my writing #smut #ao3 #death note #l lawliet

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