#instead of sprawling and repetitive

[henrikvanderhussy]

Okay, we've gotta talk about The Silent Spy. I didn't remember much about it before replaying, and you never really see anyone calling it their favorite game, so I knew it wasn't going to be great, but I was still disappointed.

Similar to The Shattered Medallion, which I talked about here, I do think there's a GOOD game in there somewhere, but it's bogged down in some really messy structural problems.

Those problems are also very similar to MED's problems, which makes sense since MED was the next release after SPY. Just like in MED, the character interactions were all over the fucking place. I felt like I had the same conversation with each character about 12 times. Asking Moria "What was the Colony operation?" I dunno Nancy, maybe you could have figured it out from the newspaper article, the archives database, the info from every other character, or the papers at the cabin. And it feels like this is something that would have been relevant way earlier in the game.

But then at the same time, there are these bizarre jumps where it seems like you've missed conversations. We're asking Ewan if we should trust Alec when we've never even talked to Ewan about Alec before and there's no reason they should know each other.

Speaking of feeling like I missed stuff, the poem was the worst. "I need the full color copy of my mom's Jabberwocky poem" Girl, what Jabberwocky poem?? Apparently it was in Nancy's luggage, but the luggage gets stolen immediately when you start the game and we have no idea what's inside of it. She briefly says something to Alec about a poem, but that was after Nancy already noted she needed it to solve a puzzle.

Also similar to MED, there was such a weird manufactured sense of urgency. I was soooo very frustrated by the tests set by Revenant. I got the first call and thought "hmm, not sure what choice I want to make. I'll poke around at some other things first and then decide if I want to follow their instructions or not." Then all of a sudden I get a call saying that I've failed their test.

How was I supposed to know there was a time limit? What was the time limit based on anyway? Was it a literal amount of real-world time? Did I trigger another plot point in the game that ended the window? Hell if I know

The result is that you're left feeling like things could end or change at any moment and you have to do them quickly, but also simultaneously feeling as if it doesn't matter since obviously the game will continue anyway if you miss anything time-sensitive.

A weird combo of both stressed and 'eh fuck it'. Thanks I hate it.

This post is getting longer than I planned, but here's the thing, I actually think these problems could have been addressed with a really simple fix: Let Nancy sleep.

If the call from Revenant says "you have until midnight to give us what we want," then the player knows that if they want to follow the instructions, they need to do it before sending Nancy to bed.

If all of that weirdness in character conversations was because I was talking to characters and doing things out of the intended order, then structure the game so that certain things need to happen before you can go to bed ("I can't sleep yet, I have to xyz!"). Then make it so other actions can't happen until the next day. VOILA, problem solved.

You still want the structure to be somewhat loose to allow the player to explore, and so not everything should be confined to specific days, but it would allow linearity in the things that do need to be linear.

Nancy has a hotel room! There's already a bed and everything! It would have been simple to put in a sleep mechanic, just like in so many of the other games.

Look, I'm not a game designer, so I'm definitely speaking more confidently than I have any right to, but I just feel like the problems in The Silent Spy are fixable! And I really wish they had been fixed!

[uhohdad]

(18+) König x Reader - Catching Him Getting Off

It takes you far too long to process both your mistake and the sight before you.

Even though you’re stumbling and your vision is blurry, you knew something was up. This was not the room you had left when you went to the bathroom to relieve a bladder so full it threatened to burst. The room you had just left was packed with your teammates, pungent with the smell of alcohol, and flooded with songs you don’t recognize.

This room was almost silent, smelled of musk, and held only one occupant.

Your colonel.

Shirtless.

His impressive, intimidating form sprawled out on a bed he makes look comically small, muscles tight and glistening with sweat. His massive arm bulging to pump what is no doubt the largest cock you have ever seen, at full attention and freed from his sweatpants.

König’s eyes flit to you, so obviously not where you’re supposed to be. While his brow quirks and the pace of his pumps slow, he doesn’t rush to cover himself up or even stop what he’s doing.

When your brain finally catches up, you scramble, shouting desperate apologies and tripping over yourself to leave and slam his door shut behind you.

You do not return to your team. You dart straight to your room, seal yourself away, and pace for the better part of an hour.

You manage to get away with your avoidance for a few days. Hardly lifting your head from the floor and darting away anytime he neared. The burn of his stare is hard to ignore, though. Searing and white hot. But there’s no way you’ll be able to make eye contact with him ever again. Not when you know what his thick cock looks like when glistened with precum and being pleasured by his fist. Not when you’ve already gotten off to the thought of helping him out with his needs by letting him rut into you instead of his hand.

Always blunt and never bashful, he waits until your guard is down before he corners you. He plants his giant hand just in front of your lunch and leans down until you have no choice but to acknowledge him. It’s hard to look at his arm and not picture the muscles you know reside underneath his uniform.

“You don’t have to be so shy around me.”

“Colonel, I am so sorry. I thought I was- Please, can we just forget that even happened? I won’t tell anyone, I- I haven’t-”

“Es ist okay,” He says, soft and reassuring.

It’s so jarring from his usual assertive and even vitriolic way of speaking. You don’t have the sense to hide the furrow of your brow.

His eyes crinkle, and he gives a low hum with a tilt of his head. It’s hard to resist squirming with those intense, piercing eyes boring into you.

“Did you like what you saw?”

“What?” You ask through a nervous laugh.

You heard him, oh you heard him, but you have to hear it again to be sure.

“Did you like what you saw?”

His repetition doesn’t waver. The words roll off his tongue far too casually for such a forward question.

You don’t have an answer for him. You’re paralyzed under his stare, by his brazen words, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke you don’t understand. Your mouth parts in anticipation to answer his question but fail to form the words. He doesn’t wait for you to scrounge up a response before he throws another impossible question at you.

“Do you want to see it again?”

You suck in a sharp breath and finally look away. After a beat, you give a shameful but eager nod.

Suddenly you’re back in his quarters, on your knees before his monstrous, impossible form. Stripped of your clothes while he stands covered head to toe except for the cock freed from his waistband. He studies you carefully, your head craned back and pitiful eyes trained on him. Your mouth is open, tongue stuck out, obediently waiting for the finish he’s working toward. His hands are just a blur, pumping himself to the sight of the tiny little thing kneeling between his boots.

“Sehr gut,” He breathes, “So patient for me.”

He slows to run the head of his cock along your slick tongue.

“You want to get off too, süßes kleines ding?”

While your cheeks are burning and you feel more than degraded, the growing stain of arousal in your panties tells a different story.

“So hübsch.”

König reaches down to cup your jaw and guides you to look at him while his foot nudges its way between your thighs.

“Grind on my boot.”

You whine, keeping your mouth open and ready like the obedient little soldier you are, and lower yourself onto his boot. Cheeks flushed with heat as you wrap your arms around his leg and grind your soaked panties along the leather. Relieving the needy ache between your legs and chasing that warm jolt of pleasure with each brush over your clit.

“Ich werde dieses hübsche Gesicht ruinieren.”

Your eyes instinctively pinch shut when you feel the warm droplets of his finish splatter on your cheek. He lets out a choppy moan as he paints your face and outstretched tongue in his sticky mess, making sure to milk every last drop on his waiting canvas.

“Look at me,” He grits.

He takes a moment to admire his work, tilting your head side to side with a gentle but firm hand on your jaw. He hums content before letting go, tucking himself back into his boxers and buttoning up his pants.

“Swallow,” He orders.

You finally close your mouth as you take down what he managed to get on your tongue, intrusive and salty.

He gives a gentle wiggle of his boot and squints at you, surely wearing a smug grin beneath that hood.

“You can clean your face after you finish yourself off, liebling.”

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[gothicgaycowboy]

❤︎ Jacaerys Targaryen NSFW alphabet ❤︎

My modern Jace’s parents are Rhaenyra and Alicent hence why I’m using the last name Targaryen instead of Velaryon <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

King of aftercare. Nobody else does it like this man when it comes to aftercare and he doesn’t even do it consciously. It’s just his instinct to take care of you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s not very into idolizing his own body but he likes his shoulders the most. He learned to appreciate them more when you started complimenting them.

Jace is a thigh man. He loves grabbing at them while he fucks you or feeling them squeeze around his head when he’s eating you out. Natures pillows as he calls them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

His favourite place to cum is on your face. It’s probably the most shocking thing about Jace considering he’s the biggest gentleman out of all his brothers, but he just can’t help it. The image of your pretty face coved in his load will never not drive him insane.

D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t really have any crazy secrets, but he really wants to record the two of you fucking. He thinks about it more than it’s probably reasonable for a person to think about it. Setting up his phone to take in the sights and sounds of you getting fucked by him.

Jace knows it’s incredibly stupid and risky with the profile of his family’s name — neither of you have even sent nudes to each other for that reason. It’s just the idea of the two of you having a sextape for your eyes only is very hot to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He went through a phase of sleeping around in high school like his brother (Aegon of course) until he realized it wasn’t for him. He didn’t feel right using girls like that, he’s a romantic to the core.

The only good thing that came out of his little experimentation was building up quite the resume of experience. You’re grateful for his little hoe phase as you called it.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying, may include a visual)

Jace is a firm believer in the superiority of missionary. He gets to control the pace and look directly at you the whole time. If he’s feeling wild he’ll hike your knees over his shoulders.

He also loves being able to whisper dirty things in your ear while fucks you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous?)

He is generally a lighthearted guy at all times so the bedroom wouldn’t be that different. He would never take himself too seriously but he’d also never ruin a perfectly romantic moment by acting like an absolute loon.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes?)

When it comes to shaving he prefers comfort over aesthetic. He’ll trim when necessary but you are never getting that man shaven bare. He’d want you to do the same in terms of shaving for your enjoyment, not his.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Jace is a good old fashioned lover boy. He believes in romance out and inside of the bedroom. Some people have called him corny but he takes it as a compliment.

But just because it’s romantic doesn’t mean it’s boring and repetitive. This man puts all he has into his lovemaking. Honestly he thinks it’s what he was put here to do with his life.

J = Jack Off (how often do they do it? how do they feel about it?)

Probably about once or twice a week. He would never use porn though, for one he knew all that shit was fake, and it just felt wrong especially when he had you. He likes to use his imagination when he does it, picturing you sprawled out underneath him, bouncing with every thrust he gives you, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

In his mind that’s better than any porn ever made, because it’s just for him. Although he does still want to have a real video of you at some point in the future.

K = Kink (what are they into?)

He’s pretty basic when it comes to kinks. Dirty talk will always get him going — the sound of your voice in general actually. He’s convinced he could cum from the sound of you reading him a grocery list. He also really likes watching you masturbate. Seeing the way your body moves in response to your own hands and toys is priceless to him.

L = Location (favourite places to have sex)

He’s a bed guy all day and all night. Nothing beats the comfort of his sheets, but he’s open to trying out wherever you want to.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going?)

Kissing will always led to something more with Jace. Innocent peck on the cheek? It’s moving to the mouth. On the lips? You’re gonna feel some tongue sneaking its way through.

If you kiss him on the neck you are asking for it. His neck might honestly be more sensitive than his cock.

N = Nope (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Absolutely nothing that hurts you. The only way he can stay turned on is to know he’s causing you pleasure, not pain.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

If he had to choose between never eating pussy or never getting his cock sucked he will happily choose never getting head again.

Jace was built to eat pussy. It’s his idea of heaven. He will spend hours doing it without even breaking a sweat. There have been many times where you had force his moth off you because he ‘wasn’t done yet’. Your pussy is literally a drug to him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

Jace is all about taking his time with you so it’s slow and sensual all the way.

Sex with him always starts with you getting eaten out (and we all know he’s enjoying every minute of that) so after he’s had his fill of you that’s when he gives you what you’ve been waiting for. Hips rocking smoothly into you as he tells you how gorgeous and perfect you are.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often?)

He would prefer not to, but if you or him are feeling desperate then he’s not too prideful to get down on his knees for you real quick.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks?)

He’s pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting but he will do almost anything to make you happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

A two to three rounds type of guy for actual penetration, but if we’re talking eating pussy? Days on end with no breaks.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He was open to trying them when you asked him but the idea has never crossed his mind on his own. He never thought of them as a necessity. The first time he watched you use a vibrator on yourself changed his mind instantly. Anything that gives you pleasure gives him twice as much.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease?)

Only so he can make your high last longer. He will rub your clit for hours before he lets you cum just so he can watch you squirm.

V = Volume (how loud are they, what sounds do they make?)

He’s more of a whines and moans type of guy than a grunter. He also loves praising you.

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon)

He’s never tried eating ass but he secretly wants to. When he’s down there, nose rubbing circles against your clit, while his tongue licks its way into your wet hole, he’s been tempted to travel a little lower. To spread your cheeks and run his tongue against your ass while his fingers spread your cunt open is his fantasy.

The only thing stopping him is he’s afraid you’ll think he’s gross.

X = X-Ray (what’s goin’ on under those clothes?)

Hung like a true horse. Other than just being a people pleaser to his core, the whole reason he got so into eating pussy was because he knew in order to take some of that initial pain away he needed to prep you first.

He never wants to hurt you but it’s just inevitable sometimes with the absolute size of him. BDE comes with a price.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive? how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He wants to live between your legs. Jace has ‘joked’ many times that the ideal day off for him would be having you sit on his face until he suffocates. He’d be more than thrilled to go out that way.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You run him ragged. Even if you fuck during the day it is required both of you have a power nap immediately after.

I wrote way too many of these alphabets back to back so sorry if the wording in a them is a little repetitive, hope you enjoyed ♡

[genderless-naper]

candle shopping pt.2

trafalgar law x strawhat!reader

warnings: wax play, slight voyeurism

nsfw smut, wc: 3k, lowercase intended!

law tried his best to stay away from you after what happened, but what was he to do when you walked in on him moaning your name

you can find pt1 here!

your last encounter with law was certainly the least of your expectations. you two avoided each other like the plague since then. maybe law avoided you because of the sheer embarrassment of what had happened. he would never forget what happened while hiding under the blanket with you, and he knew you wouldn’t forget either. still he likes to light his candle up during his times in which he isolates himself from the crew. the smell teleporting him to his memories with you.

sometimes the scent is strong enough to smell just by passing by in the hallway. the earthy forest scent with hints of fresh water would have you stopping in your tracks. blood rushing to your face just from thinking about it. from thinking about him.

law knew there was no point in giving anymore thought to what happened. the past is the past, right? if anything he figured he ruined any ounce of friendliness he established with you.

so then why did he find himself rock hard sitting on his chair whenever he lit the candle up? the sounds of your moans echoing in his ear. he can hardly resist ghosting his hand along his hard member.

he sits back with legs wide open while letting the smell of the candle intoxicate him. he massages the bulge on his pants while imaging the lewd faces you would make because of him. he wanted to feel you under him. under his control.

he kept his eyes shut to continue to fantasize about you as he unzipped his jeans. he snaked them down to reveal his member without restraints. oh how perfect you looked in his mind. it was no wonder he was as hard as the day he was stuck in bed with you.

he continued his usual routine. imaging you in his mind as he pleased himself absolutely desperate to re-experience what he did that day. hoping the candle smell could help him achieve time travel. it was the usual routine. he did everything like he always did. everything was how it was supposed to be except for one factor.

law didn’t factor in how he left the door unlocked. he always did, and never once was interrupted. he never gave it a second thought. he never would expect for you to walk in on him.

you didn’t plan on looking for law at that moment. you tried to avoid him as much as possible. every time you locked eyes you could see what had happened dance on his eyes. avoiding was the best to keep the blood rising to your face and the wetness out your panties. the last thing you wanted was to be near him. instead you helped crew mates in your free time. the only reason you were sentenced to the library, where law camped at, was because chopper needed a specific book of herbal medicine.

you stopped right before the door. the smell of the candle lingered out into the hallway. you felt slightly better knowing law still used it, and the candle didn’t end up being a waste. placing your hand in the knob you open it quietly without knocking. you expected law to be hunched over with books and coffee cups all around him. so you would avoid him like the plague.

what you didn’t expect to see was him violently stroking his hard-on while sprawled back on his chair. sweat covered his tattoo figure as he tries to reach the high he once experienced with you, but ultimately failing every time. his arm covered his eyes while he let quiet moans escape his lips. completely unaware of your presence he fastened his pace. he moaned out your name repetitively, “just like that y/n-ah… keeping going just like that.. fuck you feel so good..”

you watched the man in front of you unravel with thoughts of you assisting him reach his high. you closed the door behind you, and this time it was loud enough to draw the attention of the tattooed man sitting in front of you. he immediately stopped and snapped his head to your direction. seeing you standing by the door made him lose all thought as he slowed down his pace on his member. slowly coming to a stop as he held it up. still painfully hard and swollen at the tip.

he looked at your nervously afraid of what you would think of him now. it was already bad that you avoided him, but seeing him in such a state? he used you to fulfill his own desperate desires, and this time he got caught in the act. he would understand if you slapped him then and there.

he cleared his throat and quickly pull his pants back over his budge while desperately trying to pull the zipper up. he wasn’t sure how much of him you just saw. he glanced at you only to realized you were walking. walking right towards him.

he prepared himself for a blow to the face. he cursed himself mentally for being so negligent of the goddamn door. he didn’t dare look up at you when you stood right in front of him. he simply prepared himself for the worst.

you stood in front of the man sitting with his head low. you couldn’t help but notice his legs still spread with his hard-on pressing against his pants. you bit your lip as the heat between your legs starts to rise.

you cup law’s cheek to bring his face up to look at you. he stared at you taking in every one of your features. he wanted you then and there. he wanted to lock you away so he would be the only one to see that perfect face of yours. these thoughts only made his current sexual state more painful. he winces as you ran your thumb along his cheek. skin-to-skin contact making his bulge more painful.

you lean down to his level and whispered in the most gentle voice to be heard by his ears, “does it hurt law..? i bet it’s really painful baby.” he stared in disbelief not knowing what exactly to say as a response. his stomach did back flips when you eyes him between his legs. you slowly got on your knees to be face to face with whats causing the tattooed man his pain.

you look up at him as you ran a finger up and down his clothed shaft, “is this causing you pain..? were you thinking about me to help you feel better? hm?”

you knew your words were having an effect on him. he bit his lip and tried to compose himself not wanting to look weak in front of you. how could he admit he was all worked up and on the brink of an orgasm yet having to hold himself back because of you?

you lick your lips and stared the man between the legs. the smell of the candle fills your mind with lewd thoughts of your first encounter. you ran your hand and massaged the inside of his thigh. dangerously close to the energy point. you wanted him to feel good, but not yet.

your touches made the man throw his head back as he gripped the sides of the chair. he wanted you to do miracles on his cock. he didn’t notice you voluntarily pulling down his pants to expose his hard-on once again. he looked at you shocked only to see your hungry eyes which eyed him at his bulge. you licked your lips and mumbled quietly, “i want to help you feel good law..” you smirked up to him. you rubbed your thighs together barely able to suppress your moans, “i wanna make you feel good like before, please let me help you” you took his member in your hand and stroked it slowly. law bites his lip as he leans back more in his chair to expose himself to you, “fuck y/n, you always make me feel good even when you aren’t trying..”

you giggled when he admits the power you had over him. you filled his mind every passing minute of the day whether he liked it or not.

you pulled yourself away from the man under your control. his expression a mix of confusion and pain. you lay back to your elbows on the floor in front of him as you slowly run a hand in between your thighs. you bite your lip while holding eye contact with the man above you. you wanted to put on a show for him; something he’d never forget like before. you press your fingers onto your clothed core and let a slight gasp escape your lips. you stare up at his eyes which took every inch of you into detail. you went to unbutton your pants before stopping yourself. you looked up to him and asked him, “can i take these off?”

laws eyes widen slightly. the thought of you asking him if you could please yourself drove him over the edge. he nods slightly as he uses his foot to push one of your legs wide apart. he stared at you like you previously stared at him, “i wanna see you with your fingers in yourself y/n”

feeling your heat increase you wasted no time following his orders. you threw your pants off until you were left with your panties. they already had a wet imprint which hugged against your folds and carved them out persicely. you look back up for permission which you’re then met with a nod from the man. you pulled your wet panties off; shivering from the cold air hitting your drenched folds. law reached his hand out for the panties. you handed them to him obediently imagining all the things he would do with them when he would be alone.

you licked your finger and gently circle it around your clit. you were slow and careful just wanting to take in the feeling. you hear the man above you growl slightly, “i said i wanna see you fuck yourself, not play games with your goddamn self” law had already had his hand holding his shaft. he wanted to hear you moaning out for him. he knew you wanted to be his entertainment.

you inserted a digit into yourself. gasping as you adjusted to your own finger. the man in front of you start to stroke his member with every movement you made with your finger. his hand was slow since he was more focus on what you were yet to show him. he stared hungrily as you inserted another finger. you felt the knot in your stomach form as you moved your fingers in and out your wet walls. you moaned out starting to forget of the man in front of you, “it feels s-so good! i need to go faster…” law watched as you threw your head back while letting filthy moans leave your perfect lips. you uncreased your rhythm and curled your fingers so you could chase your high. you weren’t that experience with pleasing yourself, and it was obvious to him when you started to whine and get frustrated while chasing your high.

law wanted you to feel as good as you looked, so he ordered you to stop. you looked up at him confused. did you mess something up? law stood up and leaned down and pick you up. he gently placed you on the table in front of him while wrapping your legs around his waist.

he looked at the lit candle placed at the corner of the table. he reaches for it as he pushed your shirt off you. you lay in front of him with nothing but your bra on. he looked down proudly once again having you laid beautifully naked in front of him.

you eyed the candle confused at what the tattooed man was doing with it. he notices your attention on it and smirks, “we should use it y/n.”

you raised your brown, “u-use it? but it’s a candle?

law smirks as he plays with the hem of your bra, “its a lit candle. it would be perfect for this..”

law holds the candle right above your clothed chest and tilts it ever so slightly. he watches as one drop of hot wax hits your soft skin. you wince at the sudden hot liquid on your bare skin, and feel it solidify slowly.

you see his hungrily stare at you as he continues to drip small amounts of the melted wax on your skin. every drop stung you, but it made your stomach do flips. soon your closed chest and stomach were filled with drips of the wax. law stares hungrily at your bra eyeing for you to take it off. you obeyed his hungry gaze and exposed your hidden breasts. the cold air made your nipples harden. he groped one breast and ran his thumb around and over the sensitive bud. you arched your back to him instinctively. law moved his finger away and dripped the hot wax around your bud. he watched as the liquid hardens and take the shape of your hardened nipple. he smirked as you wince under him. every whimper that escaped you would make the man to roll his hips against yours. seeing you subject to his control using the item you gave him made him feel superior. he wasted no time coating your other precious bud in the hot liquid. you moaned out loud due to the heightened sensitivity of the location. once satisfied with coating your figure with the melted substance he places it back to its original location.

law leans back down as he kisses your ear before speaking into it, “ill take care of it from here y/n-ah. it’s you return to sit back and relax.” law ran his manhood along your saturated folds. he rubbed your juices down his shaft so he could easily slip into you. you stared up at him as towered over you while adjusting himself for your entrance. he returned your gaze with compassionate eyes, “do you want me to keep going y/n?”

he was still unsure exactly how you felt.

you nodded and have him the green light. you braced yourself as he slowly pushed himself into you. you engulfed him with no problem just like before. the memories from your first time flooding both your minds. you felt insane to have waited so long to feel like this again when the man was on the same ship as you the whole time. you wince and grab his arm once he pushes the last bit of his manhood in.

law takes a second before he moves. he waits for you to adjust and give him the signal to go. you bite your lip and talk quietly, “it hurts more than last time law..”

a flash of sympathy passes over his eyes. law holds your hand and leans back to your ear, “ill be sure to take it at a good place. i don’t wanna end up hurting my y/n.”

you blush at his assertiveness. he lets you hug his neck as he slowly pulls back to push back in. he makes sure to listen to every noise that escapes you. enjoying every second to its smallest details. the way you hug his neck longing for him. you missed his touch, his scent, and the way he fit perfectly in you. law holds one of your legs up as he picks up the pace wanting to reach into you deeper. the access that came from moving one leg helped law push himself deeper into you. your tight warm walls stretched just for his hard member. the wetness creating lewd sounds that filled the roam in combination with both your moans and pants.

he grunts in your ear as he speaks with a but more stern tone, “can i go faster y/n?”

you whimper under him as you take his member and his pace. you nod desperately as you shut your eyes to feel every inch of his manhood filling you and leaving you empty. you moan out to him and his movements fasten. you feel your core tightening alongside your walls unable to escape his thrusts into you. you moan non-cohesive sentences. law knew you were climbing your high fast. he saw it once before, so he knew what to expect. he pace moved faster as he imagined the last orgasm he shared with you. he thought about the endless amount of times he tried to satisfy himself after that and how none of his attempts came close to feeling like that again. he was going to experience that feeling again. it was going to be with none other than you.

the desk starts to shake as he picks up an aggressive pace. you hold onto him tightly for support afraid you might slip away from him if you let go. although you held onto him you needed more support. law could sense that when you looked at him with those glossed eyes. he connected his lips with yours and kissed you gently while maintaining his pace. he wanted you to know he was there, and he saw you. you moan desperately into the kiss and hug his body closer to you. both your highs approaching dangerously fast. you pull away from the kiss once you feel your knot release and orgasm hit you live a tidal wave. you felt the man above you accidentally empty himself into you as he moans into your ear. law the. sighs tiredly, “shit, i didn’t pull out y/n..”

you keep him close to you as you respond in a muffled voice, “i don’t care about that right now law. it feels so good anyways”

law chuckles at your response as he eases into you clearly exhausted from his own orgasm. this was the second time you both experienced each other in such close proximity.

something told him it wouldn’t be the last time as long as he had his candle lit.

[mothhball]

For your drabbles: Crane teaches the reader how to ride him properly.

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary don't worry, he'll teach you how he likes it

warnings SMUT!! just straight up porn. p in v sex, use of pet names (pet, good girl), light choking, edging, clothed male/naked female, dom/sub undertones, female anatomy, Jon being a "stern educator" lmao

notes Thanks for the idea! I'm still working on those other requests on the side, I promise <3 I missed writing more explicit smut tbh

! MINORS DNI !

main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 926

Shallow breaths, aching muscles. Up, down, up, down, up –

“That’s it… just like that.”

Jonathan’s voice sounds strained from underneath you, and you look down at him with hazy eyes to catch a glimpse of his expression. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed as his gaze is fixed on his glistening cock disappearing into your tight cunt over and over again.

Up down, up, down.

"That's it, good girl. Fuck yourself on me. Just like that, now we're getting somewhere."

The leather armchair creaks and protests under your combined weight, but Crane’s grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants you. Obediently riding his cock. You let out a soft groan, feeling how the repetitive rise and fall of your hips causes your thighs to tremble.

“Mhm… My legs hurt…”

His response to your complaints is a hand around your throat and a harsh pinch to one of your nipples. The man beneath you clicks his tongue, lips pulling down into a displeased frown. Compared to your panting, sweating state, Jonathan seems remarkably composed. Still dressed and meeting your eyes with a combination of amusement and mock disappointment.

“Now, now. We just started. Surely you can last a little longer, pet.”

A breathy moan slips past your lips, and his hand around your throat tightens its grip as you pick up the rhythm again. Up and down. His study feels like it’s boiling, and you almost mistake Crane’s heated tongue lapping at your tits for actual fire. But the only burning is in your thighs and your pussy as his cock stretches out your slick heat every time you sink down on him. It’s such a delicious cocktail of pain and pleasure, knocking the air from your lungs every time your ass meets Jonathan’s lap.

A bead of sweat rolls down your sternum, eagerly kissed away by Crane before he leans back in the armchair. He releases your throat and allows his hands to descend along the curves of your body where they knead your soft flesh until they settle on the meat of your hips, fingers sprawled out. Possessive. If he could print out what his eyes are currently seeing, he’d make a thousand copies of you, bouncing on top of him. You’re a vision to him. Lips parted and face softly scrunched up from the mix of discomfort and bliss. His perfect girl that he invested so much time into defiling properly.

You release the iron grip you have on Jonathan’s shoulder to bring a hand down to your pulsing clit, desperate for that sweet additional pleasure. But before your fingertips can aid you in your quest, your hand is smacked away, and Crane grabs your wrist to return it to his shoulder. A warning.

“No. Absolutely not,” he chides, digging his short nails into your hips and causing you to wince and clench around his cock. “Hands off.”

Letting out a strangled noise, you clench your eyes shut, trying to focus on your movements instead of the dull ache in your legs. The prolonged strain on your thighs causes your pace to falter again, and this time, Jonathan assists you in your plight, giving you a soft pat on your rear.

“Tilt your hips towards me. You want to feel good? Grind that clit on me, pet.”

Well-trained as ever, you follow his instructions, leaning forward a little and shifting your hips. Instantly, you falter, sinking against him to press your face into the crook of Crane’s neck. At this new angle, his cock hits even deeper, sitting snug against that sweet spot just below your cervix that has you whining and squirming. A shiver runs down your spine as the man below you moves your hips with his hands, urging you to grind back and forth on him. Your aching thighs are grateful for this new method, and your clit even more as it finally gets the attention you’ve been waiting for.

You huff out a moan into Jonathan’s neck, wishing he wasn’t still wearing his shirt. But of course, the psychiatrist prefers to stay clothed while he has you riding him. It makes the difference in power even more obvious. And while you have to resist the urge to tear off his button-up, he has the privilege of seeing all of you; the privilege of licking and biting every inch of your delicate skin.

His teeth scrape over your collarbone and further up, sucking marks into your flesh and littering your throat with a beautiful array of bruises. A self-made collar, painted by his lips onto the canvas that’s your body. You’re his favorite art project by far.

The grinding doesn’t do much for him, but it’s worth it, if only because he gets to see you come undone right above him. The knot in your core tightens with every roll of your hips against his pelvis, and you’re already holding your breath to prepare for your imminent climax. But that’s when Jonathan’s hands stop you by gently pushing you back into an upright position, removing that delightful friction from your poor clit. You whine, and he shushes you, not in the mood to entertain your pathetic wailing.

“No, pet. You need to learn properly. Don’t worry… After the third repetition, it’ll become second nature.”

He pushes his thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue to prevent you from speaking as he works together with you to get you back into a proper bounce on his cock.

“Good girl. Let’s take it from the top, then.”

@ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24

@detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411

@ashdrinksoatmilk @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

@hanawrites404 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @nocturnest @biblicallyaccuratebee @red-riding-wood

@luvlloyd @ribbonystar @smxkyqvxrtz @bloodandglitter207 @seaamonster

@rosiemarieyn @sagepixie @strangeobsessed @ryecosse @vegasisthinking

@paradiseprincesss

[ddejavvu]

Animagus reader and Sirius playing in their animal forms and Sirius accidentally being a little too rough since his form is obviously a lot bigger? He’s super apologetic and while the damage isn’t a big deal at all, reader is like “… I guess this means you owe me a lot of sweater cuddles and to carry me in your bag..” to milk it LOL

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8

--

Sirius curses the fact that he'd chosen to bound over the grounds with you instead of staying hidden in the shadows of the forest. It means that when his massive form crashes down on top of you after you nip at his front paw, that neither of you can immediately transform to assess the damage. You're in full view of the castle and the accompanying grounds, and he has to fight every urge in his body not to give himself away and shift back at your pained yelp.

He panics, cycles through fight and flight and decides neither will do, then ever-so-gently takes the scruff of your neck between his teeth. He's painstakingly careful, whining apologetically in his throat as he secures you in his maw and bolts for the forest. You haven't made any further outcries, not even when his grip on you had shifted your position, and Sirius takes it to mean that he hasn't maimed you too badly. He still doesn't feel good about it, though, and his paws beat roughly over the earthen forest as he searches for a place to hide.

When he's carried you well within the sprawling confines of the forest he lowers his head to the ground, setting you gently on the mossy dirt.

When you don't immediately transform back, your eyes scanning the trees for potential onlookers, he nudges you with his wet snout, snuffling softly against your fur. It's safe.

You let your transformation seize you, limbs cracking though there's no accompanying pain, and fur retracting and morphing into soft, smooth skin. You wind up splayed over the forest floor and quickly right yourself so that your back is against the tree, and Sirius completes his own transformation only seconds later.

His eyes are round and shining with worry, and you marvel at how he's able to pull such perfect puppy dog eyes even after shedding his canine form. He scans you for visible injuries, lips trembling slightly as he asks, "Darling, are you okay?"

"My wrist hurts," You observe, voice pinched in pain as you raise it. There's a slight ache there, nothing that a day of use won't shake away, but Sirius takes it between his fingers like it's shattered glass that he's afraid might cut him.

"I'm sorry!" He gushes, inspecting the skin there like it might just give up and split in two, "Darling, I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you- is it okay? Do we need to go to the hospital wing?"

You flex it in his grip, once, twice, and already the slight pain eases. You shake your head, but he perceives it as an answer for the wrong question, and his eyes light further with a flaming worry.

"No, I'm- it's okay, Sirius." You assure him, brows still furrowed together at the middle, "I don't need the hospital."

"Are you sure?" He verifies, a nervous glimmer still sullying his handsome features. You nod, twisting your wrist in his grip to take hold of one of his hands, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Yeah, I'm sure," You nod, shifting your legs to plant your heels against the ground, "Help me up?"

He scrambles to fulfil your request, hauling you to your feet and right into his arms. He holds you against his chest, touch excruciatingly gentle against your skin.

"You're sure you're okay?" He asks, and for a third time, you nod.

"Yes, Sirius," You laugh, planting your face into the seam of his button-up, "Yes, I'm okay. It only hurt for a second. I just twisted it or something. It's fine, I'm fine, we're fine."

"Okay." He smooths a hand up your back, nodding along to your repetitive reassurances, "Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," You hum, wishing you were back in your feline form as you press your face into his chest. It's more soothing then, and you can hear the beat of his heart much clearer when you're a cat.

"You gotta make it up to me, though." You muse expectantly, and his arms stiffen around you, "Three whole days of carrying me in your bag without complaining."

"Three?" He asks incredulously, "One! Two, if you're lucky. Three is for hospital wing patients."

"Ah, my wrist," You feign injury, slumping against his chest as he fills the forest with the sound of his deep laughter, "Sirius, hospital wing, stat!"

[babyboywilson]

wilson found house in the nurses break room, the tv running an old episode of ‘prescription passion’ quietly in the background. but house wasn’t watching the tv. he was lying down on the couch on his back, a notebook on his chest. his left sleeve was rolled up and there appeared to be notes written across his forearm.

something about the scene sent a crashing wave of understanding through wilson. slowly, he eased himself down into an armchair positioned across from the couch.

he didn’t speak. wasn’t the one to break the silence between them. he waited, knowing something monumental was catapulting around in house’s brain.

a minute passed, then two, before house finally spoke.

“kid picked up my ball and started bouncing it off the wall exactly like i do,” house said.

wilson waited a beat, and then gestured at house with his hand in the universal sign for ‘go-on.’

“smart, too. super witty. followed along with my differentials. read my team like he was reading a book.”

wilson gathered house was talking about his current patient. a nineteen-year-old boy whose case had been transferred to house the day before yesterday.

wilson motioned towards the notebook, seeking house’s approval.

sitting up, house tossed the notebook over towards wilson. wilson caught it and skimmed over the points that house had been scribbling down.

patient:

-dislikes changes

-lacks connections to others

-difficulty communicating

-repetitive motions

-routines

-highly intelligent with specific areas of focus

-lacks impulse control

at the bottom of the page, a sentence was underlined three times.

behavior patterns repeatable in gregory house

wilson cast his eyes up to house and found house was already looking at him.

“kids autistic,” house said, tapping at the writing on his forearm where more symptoms were scrawled out. “he even pointed out when i was out in the hallway twirling my cane as i was thinking.”

taking a slow breath, wilson said softly, “stimming. repeated movements to focus or to express emotions.”

house nodded once, then dropped his head back against the couch arm.

“i’m on the spectrum,” house muttered, as if it was a revelation. something he hadn’t thought about before but had suddenly become aware of after seeing it reflected back at him.

wilson considered standing up and sitting down next to house. debated opening up the conversation to go into further details about autism and what symptoms house now saw in himself. but that wasn’t what house needed.

instead, wilson locked eyes with house, nodded once, and replied, “hungry? we can get dinner.”

an acknowledgement, an understanding, but not pushing house to talk more until he wanted to. wilson had found him after all. and when house was ready, he’d come find wilson in his office and he’d sprawl out over wilson’s couch and speak his mind. but house wasn’t ready for that yet.

house pushed his sleeve down and nodded. “starving.”

wilson snagged the cane, stood up, and held it out for house to take. when house reached out to take it, their fingers brushed. neither of them pulled away. house’s eyes met wilson’s.

they were good.

house gave wilson one of his rare half-smiles.

wilson held the break room door open for house.

everything in house’s head was tilted on its axis, backlit in a new light as he reevaluated his mind.

but nothing had changed between them.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 26 - Somnophilia]

Pairing: sub!Jimin x Mommy Dom!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU

Kinks: consensual somnophilia, cunnilingus, nipple play, nipple sucking, he cums in his jeans

Wordcount: 2k

a/n: you gave me these three kinks and then said he should wake her up with it. i know it’s not the longest story, but i feel like one can only write that much with these three kinks before it gets too repetitive so i tried my best and i must say, i like the story that came out of it hehe

The movie is still running. Judging from the sounds of it, it’s one of your favourites. Jimin has listened to it a dozen times before and could recognise it everywhere. He feels excited, knowing that he can see you soon. With a slight skip on his happy steps, he makes his way to you. 

“Hey honey, I’m-” He halts and smiles. “-home, but you don’t know that. Do you?” 

You fell asleep on the couch. Your body is exposed because you lost your fight with sleep before getting a blanket. You are wearing nothing more than your rope, face covered in a mask. 

Jimin takes it off for you, throwing it away before returning to you. He kneels down in front of you, massaging in the excess serum gently. You chase his touch in your sleep, purring happily. 

It makes his heart flutter. You are so beautiful and he loves you so much. 

Jimin spreads the serum on your neck as well, following his touch with his eyes. You have the most beautiful neck. His fingers brush against a necklace.

“Hm?” He takes it out of the rope. His stomach tightens instantly, his pulse increases.

The silent symbol. 

You and Jimin had a long and thorough talk about kink where the aspect of somnophilia and free use came up as well. You and he found out the lovely fact that you both were interested in these kinks and so you agreed on a secret symbol between you and him when the kink is consented to. You and he ordered a matching set of necklaces, which you will only wear when you are theoretically down for some fun.

Jimin knows that finding this necklace on you isn’t an accident. You put it on deliberately. Did you know that you would fall asleep? Or did fate perfectly set you up for him to find you so beautifully sprawled out? Whatever the case might be, Jimin feels hot and bothered. His once innocent desire to take care of you is gone, replaced by needy hunger for you. He knows your comfort levels and limits, and also knows that he can do whatever lies in these borders. His day was stressful and you are so beautiful and….fuck it, he is doing it. 

“Holy fuck, Mommy”, he whispers shakily, dancing his hands down your arms, “you’re so beautiful, Mommy. So beautiful.” 

He moans softly, lowering his lips to your neck to kiss it. You smell and taste like the face mask you used. Jimin licks it off of you greedily in hopes of finding your very own taste at the end of it. You sigh in your sleep, body moving closer to him instinctively.

Jimin worships your neck with utmost care. He would never dare to soil your beautiful skin with marks of his greed. You are supposed to stay flawless. It isn’t you who he owns but you who owns him. You and he never made this rule, but Jimin made it for himself. He is yours, entirely yours, and he wouldn’t dare to mark your perfect skin. 

His hands travel along your torso as he kisses your neck, searching for the knot so he can open your rope. His head is dizzy at the aspect, conjuring up images of what might wait for him behind the fabric. 

Finally, his hands find the knot. He lifts his head, watching his fingers work. 

A gasp leaves him the moment he opens the rope. Just as he had hoped, you are naked underneath. 

“Shit, this is so…” he trails off, letting his body do the talking instead. He connects his pillowy lips with your collarbones, but they don’t stay on this spot for long. He kisses needy paths to your breasts, moaning to himself because nothing will ever feel as good as your breasts do.

He cradles them in his hands and squeezes them together gently, burying his face in them like this. A gasp leaves you. Jimin looks up. You are still sleeping.

“Sorry Mommy, you’re so soft. I can’t help myself”, he whispers and buries his face back in your chest with more tenderness. He would never forgive himself if he woke you just because he was too greedy. 

He guides his eager lips to your right nipple. It is closer him because of the position and brushes against his lips. He lifts his head, gazing at it while his thumb circles it. You must feel it in your sleep because his touch makes you writhe and purr softly. Goosebumps cover your skin, your nipple swells and hardens within seconds. 

Jimin swears that he salivates at the sight of it, having to gulp heavily. 

“You’re so beautiful”, he whispers and lowers himself with an open mouth. Your nipple sits so perfectly between his lips, forcing him to close his eyes because there is no better feeling than this.

Okay, that might be a lie. There are so many feelings which are precious to him. Your hugs, your kisses, holding your hand in a crowded room, clasping your waist on a busy street, kissing your neck first thing in the morning, feeling your shaky breath swirling his face when he first enters you; they are so precious to him. Quite frankly, being with you and having the privilege to exchange touches with you fulfills Jimin. Sucking on your nipples comes very close to that however, don’t be mistaken. 

Jimin loves sucking on your nipples, soon leaking into his jeans and drooling on your skin. It is different when you sleep. There are no fingers playing with his hair, no happy purrs of encouragement. Instead, you lie completely still.

Jimin begins missing you. He misses you so greatly. He slips his lips from your left nipple after having changed sides already, looking at your face. Your lips are parted, but otherwise nothing changed. You are still very clearly asleep. 

“Fuck, wake up please”, he begs and kisses a path down your stomach. He knows exactly what will wake you. 

He did it with you a dozen times before and you always loved it. He climbs the couch, making himself comfortable between your legs. The way you positioned them gives him perfect access to your pussy. 

Jimin eyes her greedily as he kisses a path up your inner thigh. He inhales the sweet scent of your moisturizer as much as he can, feeling delirious for you. He is so obsessed with you.

His hands cradle your waist, holding it while his mouth finally connects with your sweetness. Your body shudders in your sleep, Jimin trembles on the couch. He is finally home and it tastes sweeter than heaven.

He mewls into you, dancing his long tongue through your velvety folds while his eyes are locked on your face. You scrunch your brows each time his tongue graces your clit. Jimin has to work his very hardest not to get too greedy too soon. Even in your sleep, you should be worked up slowly. You deserve to be worshipped and to be tasted inch by inch.

He lingers on your lower parts for now, loving your warm entrance and your soft petals surrounding it. They move around his tongue as he flicks it in languid movements, giving him a sense of belonging.

You aren’t the wettest right now because obviously you are sleeping and weren’t turned on before that, but Jimin sees no difference. He loves the way you taste, swallowing each of your rare droplets hungrily. If this is how his stressful day ends, he wants to have a million more of them.

Further up your heat, just underneath your clit. You are so warm there, so soft. Jimin has to kiss the spot over and over again, giving you gentle sucks each time he pulls back for a new kiss. Something about it seems to work because your chest begins heaving up and down quicker. Jimin moans softly, dancing his hands up your torso until he can cradle your breasts.

“Jimin”, you sigh, chasing his touch. Sleep so very clearly still has a hold on you.

He feels dizzy, humping the cushions needily. He is helping you have a wet dream. He is making you feel good in your dream. Jimin has to curl his toes from the intense pleasure he feels because of it. The movements of his hips are without a rhythm, solely there to help him chase the friction his swollen cock so dearly needs.

Up, up, up his tongue dances, finally licking your clit. It is swollen already, forcing more leakage to soak his briefs and jeans. What he is doing is working and it is making you moan. So blissed out it sounds as it leaves your sleeping form. Your legs are restless as well, writhing slowly in an attempt to roll your hips up.

Jimin helps you by using his entire tongue for his feast. He dances the flat of his tongue up your clit and uses the tip of his tongue when going down again. It is a constant change between warm pressure and precise stimulation, bringing sighs of your bliss to the surface.

He takes your nipples between his fingers, massaging them sensually in hopes that it will please you even more. It seems to work, forcing your back to arch.

“Jimin”, his name leaves you again. Your voice sounds clearer than before, as if you were just one step away from waking up. As if the walls between your dream and your reality are finally beginning to crumble.

Jimin doesn’t know whether to keep the rhythm going or speed up. His greed tells him to do the latter, his devotion to you tells him to do the first. Perhaps he could do both. He increases the pressure on your clit, but keeps the tempo going. He purrs, pinching your nipples with each second touch.

Your moans become louder and louder, clearer as well. The writhes of your body are getting stronger and stronger. Jimin trembles because of it, barely finding the strength to breathe. Any moment now and he will wake you. He flicks his tongue and breaks you.

“Jimin, ah!”

Your fingers grasp his hair, your legs close around his head, your pussy begins throbbing under his tongue.

“Holy fuck, ah!”

Jimin mewls and moans, licking you eagerly to help you through your orgasm. You are writhing and whining, clearly surprised to find him between your legs.

“Holy fuck, this feels so good”, you choke out, rolling your hips up, “Jimin, ah, Jimin.”

Jimin can’t take it anymore. He climaxes in his jeans, feeling his eyes roll back because of it. It is one thing to wake you with his mouth, but another to have you moan his name with such bliss. Jimin can’t take much, but not this.

He thinks that he takes longer to come down. It was intense to climax like this, leaving him dizzy and out of breath. You pull him to you just as weakly, kissing his soiled lips while little sounds of contentment leave you. Jimin kisses you back, melting into a state of utter safety.

It takes you and him a little while to find the strength to break away and talk. Once you do, Jimin’s cheeks are rosy and your heart isn’t pounding out of control anymore. You smile goofily, cradling his cheeks. You and he are so close that his face is a little blurry in your vision. He is lying on top of you, giving you warmth and a nice pressure on your torso.

“Welcome home”, you whisper, having to snicker.

“I saw the necklace.”

“I know, I’m not complaining.”

Jimin smiles, having to rest his forehead against yours.

“I think I’m gone more than you are. I feel dizzy.”

You snicker, “that doesn’t surprise me. You’re very needy, always have been.”

He laughs and agrees with a kiss to your cheek, “I can’t help it. You own my soul, Mommy.”

“Mhhhm I do and it’s fucking safe with me”, you say, scooping him up in your limbs to cuddle him, “now come here you, I need to snuggle you.”

Jimin melts into you with a happy giggle, kicking his feet cutely.

[greenxgloss]

I love you and your blog, but I also want drama! What do you think of fuckboy!yoongi and some very ordinary, modest OC. Maybe he bet on it, or any other situation from basic teen movies.

Thank you.... (*´∀｀*)ﾉ

A/n: so so sorry this took so long wow life's been unexpectedly busy for the last few months. i hope you loved this! sorry about any inconsistencies or repetitions I tried my best. i liked this concept a lot so if anyone wants a part two lmk!

Color-Coded Chaos (MYG)

Summary: You never believed in people like Min Yoongi—beautiful, dangerous, and born to break hearts—until he swaggered into your life pretending to need tutoring, only to crack your carefully ordered world wide open. What started as a dare slowly unraveled into something real, and after betrayal, heartbreak, and a quiet apology in a lecture hall, you both found your way back to each other—hand in hand, maybe even starting over.

Word Count: 3.1k Themes: Angst, fluff, slight Emotional manipulation / betrayal, slight Toxic masculinity / objectification, Smoking references, Opposites attract, Power of emotional intimacy over physical

You didn’t believe in people like Min Yoongi.

The kind who strutted through life like it was a runway and everyone else just got in the way. The kind who smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions, who laughed like they’d never been hurt and looked at you like they could ruin you for fun.

And maybe they could.

Everyone on campus knew Yoongi. Not for his grades or attendance, but for the trail of broken hearts he left in his wake. He was charming—too charming—and never stuck around long enough for anyone to call it love. You’d overheard girls whispering about him in the library, their voices equal parts giddy and bitter. Rumor had it, if Yoongi smiled at you in the hallway, you’d fall. And if he kissed you, you’d disappear from his life like you’d never mattered in the first place.

You, on the other hand, folded laundry on Sunday nights and used the same grocery list every week. You didn’t chase chaos—you color-coded it, shelved it, and prayed it didn’t follow you home.

So naturally, Min Yoongi showed up at your door on a Thursday.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning against your doorframe like it owed him something. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing just enough inked skin and collarbone to make your mouth dry. “You tutor, right? English?”

You blinked.

“…Yes?”

He smiled. Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.

“Perfect. I’m failing, and apparently, you’re my last hope.”

And just like that, your quiet little world cracked open—one smug smirk at a time.

For the next few weeks, Yoongi started showing up at your place every Friday for tutoring. Which would’ve made more sense if you hadn’t distinctly remembered him being at the top of the class when you last checked the leaderboard. A near-perfect score on the last midterm, too. You weren’t stupid—you knew he didn’t need your help. But he kept showing up, and you kept letting him.

Maybe it was the way he’d sit across from you, half-sprawled in the chair like it personally offended him, eyes heavy-lidded and bored—until you’d ask a question and suddenly he was all attention, staring at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His glances stretched a little too long. His fingers brushed yours a little too often when you passed him notes. And last session, he barely touched the textbook, instead asking you out of nowhere what your favorite color was, then laughed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You didn’t know what his game was, but you didn’t hate it.

Which is why, now—4:00 p.m. on the dot—you were checking the clock again and tapping your pen against your notebook with increasing impatience.

He was late.

Not fashionably late, not “I’ll be there in five” late. Just… nothing. No text, no call. It was unlike him. For all his flirtatious nonsense and fake academic helplessness, Yoongi was weirdly punctual. Always five minutes early, actually. Always with that smug little smirk and some sarcastic comment about your doorbell. But today? Silence.

Your stomach twisted with something you didn’t want to name. Not worry, exactly. Not disappointment, either. But it lingered in your chest anyway, tightening every time you refreshed your messages and saw nothing new.

And maybe the worst part was that you actually missed him. Missed his stupid smirks. Missed the way he tapped his pen against his bottom lip while pretending to struggle with a problem you both knew he could solve in his sleep. Missed the way his energy changed last session—more distant, weirdly quiet, eyes darting around like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. It stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

So when the knock finally came—4:22, not that you were counting—you jumped.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him for making you wait…

Or ask what the hell was going on with him.

“You’re late,” you said, the second you opened the door. No greeting, no smile. Just those two clipped words, sharp as the little sting in your chest.

Yoongi breezed past you like he owned the place—like he hadn’t just kept you waiting for almost half an hour with no explanation and no message. He smelled like cigarettes and something faintly minty, like he’d just popped a gum in, maybe to cover the former.

“Something came up, sorry,” he muttered, barely looking at you as he settled into the usual spot across from your desk, dropping his bag down with a heavy thud. He cleared his throat and leaned back like nothing was wrong.

“You could’ve texted me.” The words came out more anxious than angry, and you immediately regretted how fragile they sounded. You hated that it exposed how much you cared. You hated it even more when Yoongi finally looked at you and smirked.

His tongue flicked across his cupid’s bow as his eyes roamed up and down, slow and unreadable. “I’m sorry, doll,” he said, voice low, almost teasing. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I promise I’ll let you know next time.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming under his messy fringe. “Did you miss me?”

You tried not to physically recoil from the impact of those three words, but your throat tightened like it didn’t want you to answer. You crossed your arms instead, feigning composure, even as your pulse betrayed you. “What’s up with you lately?” you asked, and it came out breathier than you’d intended. “You’ve been… weird.”

Yoongi grinned, cocky and unbothered. “Weird?” he repeated. “Or charming in a way that’s finally working?”

You scoffed, but he was already pulling the textbook toward him with one hand while opening his laptop with the other, eyes never really leaving you. “Playing coy this far in?” he asked. “Cute.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming down your spine when he said it. The way he looked at you right now, like he saw straight through your defenses, like he was daring you to keep pretending you didn’t like the attention—it was dangerous.

He pushed the laptop aside without even logging in, fingers drumming against the table as he leaned forward again, closing the space between you by a few inches. His knee brushed against yours, and neither of you moved away.

“I think we both know why I’m really here,” he murmured, voice all syrup and suggestion. “And it’s not for help with English.”

You swallowed hard. “I already know you’re at the top of your class. You’re not exactly subtle, Yoongi. ”

“Don’t need to be. Not with you.”

It hung in the air between you like a held breath, thick and slow and inevitable. His eyes dropped to your lips just as yours did the same, and the tension coiled so tightly in your chest you could barely hold it together.

You were leaning forward before you even realized. So was he.

Then buzz.

Your eyes dropped to his phone, lighting up just beside the edge of the textbook.

A name flashed across the screen you didn’t recognize.

“Have you fucked her yet? Time’s ticking on that bet, Yoongi.”

Your heart dropped—fast and brutal—like a trapdoor opening beneath your chest.

Yoongi noticed the shift in your expression right away. The way your shoulders pulled back, the blood draining from your face, the stiff way you leaned back like you were suddenly too close to something dirty.

His smirk faltered. “Shit,” he muttered, snatching the phone off the table and flipping it screen-down, like that could erase the message you very clearly read. Like you didn’t just catch him red-handed.

But it was too late.

You sat back slowly, pulse roaring in your ears, your stomach knotted so tight it ached.

“Guess English is the least complicated thing about you,” you said flatly, the words sharper than you expected. But you couldn’t stop the way they cut through the air. Couldn’t stop the crack forming in your chest from widening.

Yoongi blinked, stunned quiet. And for once, he didn’t have a comeback ready on his tongue. No cocky remark. No lazy grin.

He swallowed thickly, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Wait—wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

You laughed bitterly, eyes narrowing. “Really? Because it looks exactly like some asshole making a bet with his friends about a girl stupid enough to let him into her space.”

“No,” he said quickly, voice firmer now, desperate. “That’s not what it was about. That was—fuck—it was a joke that got out of hand. It wasn’t like that, not really.”

You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms so tight you nearly folded in on yourself. “You’re seriously going to try to explain that message away?”

Yoongi leaned forward, his tone more raw than you’d ever heard it. “It was a dare. Weeks ago. It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

“Oh, great,” you scoffed. “So you meant to use me casually, but accidentally started showing up too much and now what—guilt?”

“No,” he said again, louder this time, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to feel like—like anything. But then I actually started enjoying coming here. I liked talking to you. I do.”

Your silence weighed heavy between you.

You didn’t trust your voice, not when your throat was tight and your heartbeat was pressing against your ribs like it wanted out. The words hit harder than you expected, like they were scraping past the parts of you that had hoped he cared—even after everything. Even after the message. After the humiliation.

And still… you wanted to believe him.

You looked at him—really looked. There was no smirk on his face, no playful deflection. Just a slight flush in his cheeks and the tiniest tremble in his fingers as they curled around the edge of the desk.

He meant it.

And that was the worst part. Because it would’ve been easier if he didn’t.

You pressed your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself. You hated how warm your chest felt, how much your body wanted to move toward him even though your brain screamed don’t be stupid.

Still, your voice came out quieter than you'd intended. “You hurt me.”

Yoongi’s shoulders dropped, and for the first time since you met him, he looked small.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep showing you that I didn’t want to.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t forgive him—not yet—but something in you softened. The part that had spent weeks laughing with him, catching his glances when he thought you weren’t looking. The part that felt like falling every time he said your name like it meant something.

So you said nothing. Just breathed slowly, still trying to figure out if your heart was breaking again or trying to start over.

Either way, you didn’t move away when he leaned just slightly closer. And he didn’t push. The silence between you stayed, but it wasn’t heavy anymore.

It was waiting.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, his confidence completely gone now—replaced with something messy, anxious. Real.

“I know I’m not the guy you’re into,” he continued quietly. “I know I’m... not the type who deserves the kind of attention you give when you’re reading. Like the world could fall apart and you wouldn’t notice.” He looked up at you then, his eyes darker now, softer. “But I noticed you. Way before the dare. I was just too much of a coward to talk to you without something stupid pushing me. We both know you’d never go for a guy like me on a regular day. And im sure your reservations are completely valid.”

You looked at him, jaw tight, throat tight, everything tight. And despite the words—despite the pleading in his voice—you still didn’t know what was worse. That you had let your guard down for someone like him… or that part of you still wanted to believe him.

“Then prove it,” you said finally, voice quiet but sharp. “Tell your friends whatever game you were playing is over. And don’t come back unless you mean it.”

Yoongi stared at you for a long second. Then nodded once—slowly. “I will,” he said. “I swear. Just… don’t write me off yet.” He stood, stuffing his phone in his pocket without looking at it again. You didn’t watch him walk to the door. You just listened to it shut behind him, and finally let yourself exhale.

But the ache in your chest didn’t go anywhere.

Not yet.

-

The lecture hall was colder than usual, or maybe it was just you.

You sat in your usual seat near the middle, notebook open but untouched, pen resting between your fingers while Professor Han droned on about the symbolism of decay in The Picture of Dorian Gray. It should’ve been interesting—Oscar Wilde always was—but your mind was elsewhere.

On the boy who hadn’t texted.

On the boy who almost kissed you.

On the boy who made you feel like a fool, and then like maybe—maybe—you weren’t.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you didn’t need to.

A quiet shuffle. A familiar cologne. A light exhale before the weight of someone sat beside you. Yoongi.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat close—closer than usual—and let the silence stretch until it nearly broke.

Then softly, “Hey.”

You didn’t respond, eyes still on your notebook. But you didn’t move away either.

“I told them,” he said next, voice barely above a whisper. “Group chat’s gone. I told them it was over. That it was a shitty thing to do. That I wasn’t going through with it. I should’ve done it way earlier.”

You finally glanced at him.

His eyes were already on you. No smirk. No lazy confidence. Just Yoongi, with his heart in his throat and something real in his gaze.

“And?” you said, barely audible, but he heard you.

“And I meant what I said yesterday. I liked coming over. I liked being around you. It wasn’t just for a joke.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I think I just used it as an excuse to get close. And that was a coward move.”

You swallowed, turning back to the front of the room for a second.

Professor Han was still talking. Pages were turning. The world kept spinning.

But when Yoongi’s pinky brushed yours on the shared desk, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” you murmured.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re still annoying.”

“Totally fair.” He leaned in, a little too smug now. “But you missed me.”

You rolled your eyes—but your smile gave you away.

When the lecture ended, neither of you moved at first. Just sat there while the room emptied around you. Then Yoongi stood and held out his hand.

You looked at it. Hesitated for just a beat.

Then slid your hand into his.

Warm. Steady. No games.

And the second your fingers laced together, something in your chest settled.

As you walked out of the lecture hall hand in hand, Yoongi glanced sideways at you.

“So… tutoring tonight? Just tutoring,” he added quickly, though his grin said maybe not just.

You snorted, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “We’ll see. You don’t even need a tutor.”

A small smirk tugged at his mouth. He tilted his head, eyes shining with amusement. “Which means?” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. Or maybe I just really like being around you.”

Your steps slowed.

He glanced away, then back at you through thick lashes, still grinning—but there was something softer underneath it now, something almost nervous. “And if I said that, like... this whole tutoring thing was just an excuse to get close to you?”

You blinked. “Oh… OH—oh my god.”

He laughed at your expression, tugging gently at your hand to keep you walking. “Took you long enough to catch on.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning, but you didn’t pull away from him. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb was brushing softly over the back of your hand, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he wanted to memorize the feel of you.

And you both kept walking, sunlight catching on your joined hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it had always been meant to happen this way.

“Wait,” you said after a beat, stopping at the edge of the path beneath a tree just before the student lot.

Yoongi turned, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

You looked at him—really looked at him. Not just at the way his hair curled slightly at the ends from the humidity, or the smudge of sleep still lingering in the corners of his eyes. You looked at the boy who had bulldozed his way into your carefully constructed, quiet little life. The one who had barged in with crooked smirks and infuriating charm, who sent late-night texts that made your heart stutter and your stomach flip even when you told yourself they didn’t mean anything.

You remembered how it all started—how something as stupid as a bet turned into study sessions, pretending and silences that said more than words ever could. An accidental bet, he’d called it. A joke. But here you were, standing still in the gravity of him, and nothing about this felt like a joke anymore.

Your chest tightened.

And before you could think twice, before logic or fear or self-preservation could kick in, you leaned in and kissed him.

He froze, just for a second. Just long enough for doubt to flicker across your thoughts like a match ready to burn. But then—then his lips curved softly against yours, like he’d been waiting for this, hoping for it, maybe even needing it as much as you did.

His hand came up, cupping your jaw with a gentleness that made your breath catch, and he kissed you back—slow and warm and sure. The kind of kiss that felt like it unraveled something inside you. Like he was pulling you closer without tugging, like the universe had shifted half an inch and you were finally where you were supposed to be.

And when he deepened the kiss, just a little, just enough to make your head spin, your knees went loose beneath you. Not from surprise. Not from nerves. But from the undeniable truth that this—whatever this was—had already started to mean something a long time ago.

You just hadn’t let yourself see it. Until now.

When you pulled away, you were breathless. So was he.

“…So, tutoring?” you whispered, voice unsteady.

Yoongi grinned, lips still brushing yours. “Definitely not just.”

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[lvmimis]

cw: power dynamic. noncon (reader is doing it). empress!reader x knight!zoro.

The knight arrives at your bedchambers every nightfall at the exact same strike of the clock with nary a second to spare.

You’d think that he’d become eager over time to meet you, to look forward to this regularly scheduled tryst after weeks of this arrangement (read - irrefutable demand), but you can tell he’s only prompt because he is both a man of his word and more importantly, not a coward in the least. Despite your delusions of grandeur that manage to surpass your very real power, it would be hard pressed for you to even flirt with the idea that this particular foe may have fallen in love with you, even if you are just as beautiful as you are fearsome. 

It does not matter regardless. What his desires are, aside from the will to protect his foolish allies, are of no consequence to you, as long as you get what you want.

An heir to your kingdom. 

The rebel knight Zoro does not face you at all as the guards undress him from head to toe, stripping heavy armor and lighter garments - even those atrocious gold earrings - from his form, and amassing the spoils to take to another room. At first, he would fight off this process, radiating an aura of confrontation, without even moving a muscle or uttering a word, that would have even your best combatants shivering and cautious to approach, but now he offers an air of calm passivity, as if this entire process is routine and inconsequential to him. 

He may be right to treat it this way as the procedure remains unchanged - first, his clothes will be removed, and he will remain standing with shackles binding his wrists behind his back; he will turn 180 degrees to face you once he is instructed by the attendants behind the veil of privacy. Your chambermaid will pull the blindfold from his eyes when you order her to, revealing yourself to him. He will follow your directions to the letter until you are satisfied, and if you scream, everyone he holds dear will be executed at once.

The fact that your physical reveal does not visibly stir something in him night after night has threatened to frustrate you emotionally, but you are the empress of a sprawling nation and do not care what this lowly beast thinks of you.

(You tell yourself this, but your faith seems to waver day by day.)

The chambermaid has left and now kneels behind the curtain both in wait, yet also standing guard in some fashion, a witness to this wretched repetitive union. 

Zoro does not say a word, despite the fact that you no longer bother to gag him (you have many uses for his mouth after all, and he complies with reluctant reliability), but you, however, delight yourself in speaking to him.

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” you demand.

In another world, he would have asked you if you had ever considered a hello. Instead, he offers a clear, concise, “You’re beautiful.”

It’s the fact that he doesn’t spit it out with distaste, and his voice neither lowers nor falters, his gaze directed at you not disinterestedly but not with any form of deep investment that has you somewhere between perplexed and intrigued.

What does this peon think of you, you wonder?

Naked, lithe, entrancing, and lethal, like a snake, slithering closer in his direction. 

“Sit.”

He sits on your finest armchair and you maneuver yourself around him, your new, less refined throne. His thighs are thick and strong, a firm seat, and his cock pressed between both your bodies is hot and hard. Smiling - he is not - you spit in your own soft, underworked palm, and reach between you two to cup his testicles, your eyes not leaving his all the while. 

He looks through you somehow and at you at the same time. Powerless but unflinching, even when you give his balls a squeeze.

“You know, I won’t fault you if you allow yourself to feel pleasure. I appreciate the respect, but it makes this all the more fun for both of us if you allow me to know exactly how I make you feel.”

You say this, all the while stroking his cock, thumbing the slit of the head carefully until the few drops of precum that betray him leak out. These taste salty on your tongue and if he were willing to let himself cry, you suspect his tears would be similar.

It’s not as fun when you can’t toy with his emotions, you think.

Your hands shift and press onto his broad chest, dragging themselves along the surface. Roughened patches, coarse hair, scars… really a fighter’s body. You pinch nipples a bit - he’s sensitive there, and he can’t hide the way he bites his lower lip as you twist.

Like the viper you are, you strike - first your teeth sink into that same lower lip, biting down hard as you twist a nipple, then your hips begin to rock as you start to kiss. He doesn’t kiss back but he doesn’t fight either, and then soon he does in defeat, lips moving obediently and diligently. 

You sigh against his open mouth. 

“You always give in a little but not enough.”

He doesn’t respond, but you know he knows what you mean.

The kissing stops abruptly, but with heat rushing up the side of your neck, you’ve decided that you want him inside you.

And you get what you want, slipping and stretching over him with his lips falling open as he gazes at you, but his hands are behind his back, and there is nowhere to run. You pant, and his breath deepens, a straggled groan as you settle down to the hilt of him. This is the time where you’d hope he’d spread out strong hands to support your weight, but he can’t, and you won’t risk it. Not yet.

Your hands grip onto his shoulders tightly as you move yourself, up and down. He’s simply a toy for your amusement, barely audible aside from the quiver of his lower lips that you can tell hold something in that is so much more hungry.

You wonder why he is willing to suffer this humiliation. You know he has a cause he believes in, he fights for something, and even now he is fighting mentally somehow.

You moan, throwing your head back with every slide up and down his shaft, the sounds louder the longer you go - some of it is exaggerated at first, but soon it is very real, and you both cannot pretend you don’t feel the buck of his hips slowly in pace with yours.

Good.

The longer you go, the more you meet in sync, your forehead pressing against his, your arms wrapping around his head as you hold on, the more he takes the reins.

Indulgence shouldn’t be part of his resistance, but every time he comes here, he falters a little bit more. Perhaps in this way you’ve truly broken him, or perhaps - 

Tension built in your belly snaps and you shudder, feeling him writhing inside you. He groans, unable to hold you close as his body trembles through the force of his orgasm but every splash of his seed inside your receptive, greedy core is felt and desired.

Your thighs quiver, but you raise up your hand, holding his chin in your palm.

“If you’re good, I could…” you pause. The look in his eyes unsettles you, the intersection of desire and regret.

Face warming, you look away, dismounting quickly despite your shaking legs.

“Take him away,” you call to your chambermaids, and your back turns as you consolidate your emotions and steel your heart anew.

…

Even when the knight leaves you, he doesn’t leave the recesses of your mind. Less than 24 hours remain until you’ll see him again, and your hips are raised on many pillows as you wait.

For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you never needed to take him, or anything by force. 

What it would be like to be loved freely.

To be looked at as something to love and protect.

[unknownarmageddon]

Hope you’re not too mad

- finallyyy finished this kross one shot ive been working on for so so long yayy. i’m not really familiar enough with fanfic terms to know what to call this but there’s some kinda hurt happening

- this is inspired by and based around the song favorite liar by the wrecks - also!!!! this au, rental suits, belongs to me and @psycho-chair

It was maybe, ten pm? And it was raining. Raining hard. It clattered against metal, pooled at Killer’s feet on the fire escape below him, drenched his clothes.

          His hood covered his skull. He was crouched at a window. Water soaked his jacket and the hood’s fur drooped with its weight to cover most of his face. The scarce furnishing of the living room inside was barely visible past his own reflection, which was made more visible in the dark and obscured by rain. The glow of a single standing lamp cut through it from one of the room’s corners, otherwise it was dark.

             He lifted a wrist to knock rhythmically on the glass. Then he waited. He knocked again. He didn’t bother to try and force it open himself. The rain wasn’t that bad. And he actually wanted to see him this time, instead of just sneaking in. 

       It took maybe more than five minutes, but eventually a figure shuffled into the room. A light was flicked on and the rest of the room became visible.

      Suddenly the curtains were jerked the rest of the way open, and Cross was there, in front of him. Killer grinned widely and waved at the him. There he was. The guy that he was sitting out here for. Now he couldn’t help but love the rain.

     He saw Cross’s face soften. Which, wasn’t saying a lot, but Killer noticed. The magnet of his soul whirred faster with anticipation. He was so close. 

    There was a click as the window unlatched and Cross quickly pushed it open. 

“Hurry, rain’s gonna get in.” He said hurriedly. 

“It’s fuckin’ comin’ down out here.” Killer exclaimed, yet his voice carried a kind of thrill with it. 

      He put two hands to the windowsill and slid himself inside in one quick motion. The window was promptly closed and locked behind him. Killer’s soaked sneakers sunk into carpet, and the fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed. Killer shook out his sleeves. Cross’s apartment was warm, and the rain now became only a muffled sound in the back of his mind. 

“Evenin’ sunshine.” He greeted the other. The response he got was a harmless, yet tired, scowl. He grinned.

     Cross didn’t complain about how late it was. He used to, but he stopped after Killer’s visits became repetitive enough. 

     Though, he gave Killer a look he liked to interpret as him drilling him, wondering what he wanted, what he came here for. He always wanted something.

Killer grinned and replied “I jus’ wanted to see you.” 

     He also wanted somewhere dry to be and a couch to prop up his feet. And maybe something to eat, if he could manage that, too. But he didn’t say that. 

     Killer eagerly slid into Cross’s space, hungrily, intent on something, but Cross put a palm to his chest and pushed him away. 

“Dude, you’re soaking wet.” He said, mild amusement now making its way into his voice. 

Killer scowled and stuck his tongue out at him. 

     Killer unzipped his jacket and stripped it off, draping it messily over the back of Cross’s couch. He put one hand on the arm rest and half turned half jumped to flop down onto the furniture. He sprawled out on it like a cat, and when Cross joined him, he leaned his back up against him and propped his feet on the arm rest across from him. 

       Killer fished a lighter from his pocket and fiddled with it before lighting a cigarette. Cross turned on the TV across from them; it was a handful of years older than the newest model. A late night reality show neither of them actually really liked started playing. Killer flicked the lighter on and off absently as he watched, only to listen to the clicking and occupy his hand. The room started to smell like smoke. Though it’s not like it didn’t always already. 

They talked quietly about nothing in particular for two episodes of Cross’s show.

       “Surprised you didn’t just break in.“, “Y’know me, no promises.”, “How’s work?”, “C’mon, I missed you, baby.” 

Then,

“We should go to the coast.” Killer blurted suddenly. 

“Tonight.”

     He started, sitting straighter and pivoting to stare at Cross. The last bit of cigarette smoke trailed off limply from his mouth. 

       It had been an off, half-serious comment, but the more he dwelled on it the more he liked the idea. The more it became a desperate fantasy. The more excited he got. He hadn’t been anywhere outside the city in who knows how long. And he knew Cross had a truck. The drive probably wouldn’t be that long.

   And the thought of seeing the coast again, getting in that truck and getting out of this city for however long,

With Cross.

    He wanted to wake up in some dingy hotel somewhere with him.

     Cross paused. His face screwed up in skeptical consideration. “The coast? That’s like, a four hour drive.” 

“It’s, what, saturday? You could miss some work. We’d just go down and fuck around for a couple days and come back.” Killer persisted. He was not planning to let this go. 

Cross laughed dryly and Killer immediately knew he thought it was damn absurd. “It’s fucking ten at night.”

“It’d be worth it.” Killer pressed. “I swear.” 

“Would it?”

“With you? Anything’d be worth it.” Killer tried, grinning.

“I can’t miss work, I.. I don’t have that kind of money to just,” 

“I’ve got money.” Killer said immediately. Which, wasn’t the most true. And he knew Cross knew that. But he couldn’t know that. And whatever would help convince him. 

“We needa vacation. I needa vacation.” 

       Cross considered it, actually considered it, eyes on the TV across from them. He sighed in a rough almost-growl. Killer wondered if he felt the way he did, about escaping off to the coast. He hoped he did. God, he hoped he did. Or maybe he just thought it was stupid. That it was too late to drive that far.

    It was always like this. Killer persisting, trying to convince Cross, dragging him by the wrist. But hardly anywhere as far as the coast.

Killer’s lighter flicked open, then closed again.

     Cross’s eyelights darted up and directly met Killer’s dark sockets. His gaze was intense now. Burned hotter than it had.

The lighter clicked open.

“Okay,” Cross decided. “Fine.” 

     Killer’s soul churned.

The lighter clicked closed.

“Yeah? You in?” Killer asked almost desperately.

    Cross nodded. Just once, but that’s all it took. Killer’s grin bloomed wider, wildly. He had not on his life expected Cross to actually agree. He expected him to brush it off, shake his head. Say they couldn’t possibly. Say he was going to bed, that Killer should too. 

        Killer quickly leaned back over to grind his cigarette into the ash tray on the table beside the couch. Cross didn’t smoke, not hardly enough to need one, but Cross had shoved it into Killer’s hands one day and so there it stayed. 

“But don’t try anything stupid, alright? If we’re going this far we..” 

You 

“We can’t fuck it up.” Cross said. 

“Yeah, yeah, nothin’ stupid, you got it.” Killer agreed quickly as he bounced up off the couch. 

       Cross went uncharacteristically fast from the living room, through the conjoined kitchen, to his bedroom. Killer leaned on the doorway, watched Cross kneel on the carpet to shove pants and shirts into a backpack. He retrieved a wad of cash from a box that had been tucked under his bed and added it to the pile.  

       Killer retracted a moment in favor of the kitchen, where he took two canned drinks and a container holding some kind of unknown leftovers from Cross’s fridge. When he returned to the doorway Cross was slinging the backpack over one shoulder. He caught the drink tossed to him.

       Cross grabbed his jacket from its pile on the bed, hastily pulled it on, zipped, and jerked on the hood. They filed out of the apartment and Killer collected his own jacket on the way. Cross fiddled with keys in the vacant stairwell to lock his door, and as he was, Killer did his best to tie his soaked jacket around his waist. Then they were descending flights of stairs to the ground floor.

Pavement. Rain engulfed them as darkness closed in like an ocean. 

      Cross’s truck was parked where it always was. Doors were unlocked, opened, then closed as they piled inside. Cross slung his bag into the space between them. 

      For a moment they just sat in silence, there in the truck. Everything hung in the air. Cross gripped the steering wheel and scowled at the windshield. His chest rose and fell. Rain tapped on the roof, the windows, begging to be let in. The cab was barely flooded with light from a lone lamppost on the sidewalk. Killer pulled off the lid of his container, glancing down at his spoils. Leftover noodles. 

Killer looked back up and watched Cross. Waited.

He inhaled and keys met ignition.

         All Killer saw was the now-blurred stream of lights outside his window, but he was only focused on the promise of the coast ahead of them. He tipped the container up, dumping cold noodles into his mouth, then chewing, until the container was empty. 

         He leaned back, cheek propped on his hand against the window. He jostled with each bump of the cab. Droplets streamed across the glass.

“This is going to be a horrible idea.” Cross half muttered to himself. 

      When Killer glanced at him he saw his eyes were pinned to the road. Hands flexed on the grip of the steering wheel. 

“Relax, baby, trust me.” Killer cooed.

“Mm,” Cross hummed uncertainly. 

“Hey, if you wanna bail out and turn around we haven’t left town yet.” Killer said, making sure he made it sound almost like a threat, like they were back to square one and back in the gas station and Killer was planning to walk out with a pack of drinks. Like if Cross did it’d be his worst decision yet.

Cross paused a heartbeat, but shook his head and scowled harder at the windshield. “No,”

“And, think about it, all those parties I took you to weren’t that bad, were they?” Killer offered.

Cross’s knuckles clenched firmly on the steering wheel. 

“This isn’t just a party.” He murmured.

        As they drove, Cross was insistent on a budget. Killer obliged, and listened to Cross’s every condition. He went over how much he had brought, and decided they could get a room somewhere, food for two days, and gas. Maybe some things on the side if they weren’t expensive. Just what they needed, nothing needless. Killer nodded along as he repeated it, eyes just trained on the streetlights and the rain. 

       Cross drove all night. They only just reached the small coastal town that was their destination at around 2 am. When the rest of the world was long asleep. 

        It was a poor town with a small population. Out in the middle of nowhere, pressed up against the sea. Far from extravagant. Only filled with old battered houses and trailers, and the occasional board walk or dock or small shop selling who knows what. It was unkempt and overgrown, but not hostile, and Killer’s found it captivating for as long as he could remember. Even though he could barely ever get a ride out to it. 

      He had forgotten how much smaller it was than the city. Everything there was just tall buildings and concrete. But here, here you could actually see stars in the sky. 

       Killer awoke to an empty soda can hitting his shoulder.

“Get up, we’re here.” Cross murmured.

     Killer glanced around, rubbed at his face with his palms, and sat up straighter to peer out the window. 

“We’ll…” He searched, then gestured. “We’ll get a room at that place.”

    He had motioned at a motel, and it was just the same as the town it was in. Small, nothing pretty to look at. But it was cheaper than a hotel, Killer knew it well, and it was better than nothing. 

“There? Someone’s got to have been murdered there.” Cross observed monotonously.

“Makes it more exciting.” Killer offered. 

———

      Cross fished out his cash and pressed it firmly on the check-in desk. Killer leaned over it as they counted. The price for rooms had gone up since he had been here last, but they managed to fit Cross’s budget for two nights. Thankfully.

        Two keys were slid to them and they left the lobby.

        Their room was on the second of two floors. They walked up the stairs to it like near corpses, hoods covering their skulls. Killer moved ahead, glancing back at Cross. It was probably 2:40 am now. 

       Cross pushed room number 14’s door open, flicked on the light, threw his bag to the ground, took off his shoes, and promptly collapsed face first onto the only bed in the room. 

         It was a small space, furnished with a single full sized bed that had two tables either side, and an armchair in one corner. Each table had a lamp, and there was an old tv on a stand opposite the bed. The overhead light above them was dim and flickered periodically, like it was on its last legs.

         Killer kicked off his shoes and walked over to the glass sliding door that made up the back wall. It led to a balcony, and beyond it, Killer thought he could see the ocean. It was still raining, harder now. He could hear it. He grasped the handle,

He imagined hiding away in that downpour. 

“Don’t go outside,” Cross murmured. His voice was low, raspy. So Killer didn’t, and instead stared through the glass. 

     The sea was restless and turmoiling with the rain. Night’s darkness turned it into a vast almost-black abyss of nothing.

Cross murmured again. “C’mere,”

        Killer turned back to him. He was lying in a heap on the bed’s left side with his face buried in a pillow that he clutched with both arms. His jacket laid in a pile on the floor. Something in Killer pulled toward him, warmed him just by looking at him.

        Killer untied his jacket from his waist and it joined Cross’s. He slid under the sheets beside him. Cross shifted to his side to look at him. Killer looked back in turn.

“See? We’ve made it,” Killer whispered. 

    Cross hummed and pressed his eyes closed. Killer leaned his skull into his chest. He felt an arm partially go around him as he was eventually swallowed by unconsciousness. 

     Killer’s eyes flashed open. The room was almost entirely dark, save for whatever light could be scrounged from the balcony window. The lightbulb must’ve died. He slowly turned his head to stare at that window, not really actually seeing it. It was silent. His vision was fuzzed with the darkness and the smeared tar on his face. 

       He took a wandering glance and saw the shape of Cross’s body beside him, turned away on his side, shifting with his breathing. He closed his eyes again. 

    When he woke up the second time he was entangled with Cross. Cross had him wrapped loosely in his arms, holding him facing his chest. Killer’s leg lay sprawled over Cross’s, and a hand clutched his shirt. Everything was light now, golden early morning sunlight filtering through the sliding door and blue ocean sky was just barely visible from where Killer was. 

       He squinted against his newfound consciousness. It felt too early.

Cross was asleep. Killer was surprised he still was this late. But then he remembered the drive from last night. 

     Killer quickly shifted and let go of him. He just, laid there on his back a while. He didn’t see much; the tar ever-streaming from his eyes had smeared in the night like it always did. But he felt it. Felt Cross’s arm over his chest. Felt his other hand when he found it for a second among the sheets. It was all so warm.

      And for an instant he still thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Just for a moment. Just for a moment his soul was some semblance of still. 

    And it was so quiet. All he could hear was the waves and the occasional passing car. Nothing like the city. Part of him yearned for that noise again. But here, he was warm, and the sky was visible. And there was someone beside him. 

     He felt Cross shift. Cross’s eye sockets pried open and he squinted against his own newfound light. Killer beamed at him and he smiled faintly, tiredly in turn. Killer pressed back up against him, not as close this time. Cross closed his eyes again. And Killer never wanted to get up. 

     Eventually, Killer grew restless and he slipped out of the sheets.

      When he slid open the balcony door and stepped out onto it a breeze engulfed him. He wiped at his sockets with his wrist to clear his vision before hanging over the railing to look out at the sea. People already milled about on the beach below him.

    It was still warm, even outside and away from the sheets. And humid. Last night’s rain lingered in the puddles that hung on the railing. 

     When he came back into the room Cross stirred, barely awake again.

Killer greeted him. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty.”

Cross hummed. 

“Let’s go to th’ beach.” Killer decided as he stripped off his undershirt and pulled his jacket back on over his ribcage. 

    His lighter and cigarettes were dug out of his pocket and placed on the table at his side of the bed. 

     At first Cross just laid there, half asleep, watching Killer, with this stupidly fond expression on his face.

“You have shit all over your face.” Cross said with mild amusement.

     Killer huffed a laugh as he sat heavily down on the foot of the bed to pull his shoes on without socks. He was tying one when Cross stood up; and stretched out his arms while pondering the still-open balcony door a moment. 

“Really, first thing you wanna do is go to the beach?” He asked lightly, and Killer liked to think he seemed excited about the idea. 

“We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?” Killer replied. 

“Are we?”

      Cross had time to put on his shoes and grab his room key before Killer herded him out the door. Cross’s jacket stayed on the motel’s floor. 

       Killer led Cross, who was fully lucid now, to a small, stone tiled and weed-overgrown path around the back of the motel. Cover in the form of shade from the building hung over them. To their left was the chainlink gate enclosing the motel’s small pool, and in front of them was a wood-paneled fence. Sand spilled out at the bottom through the cracks in its boards. 

   Killer wasted no time; he immediately jumped the fence, kicking at it and pulling himself up to perch atop it.

“What’re you doing?” Cross called up to him. 

“Showing you what yer missin’,” Killer stated and dropped down the other side.

     He waited a minute. 

“Killer,” he heard his companion growl. But, Cross eventually followed, doing the same he did, and Killer took his hand to help him down. 

      During his last visits Killer learned quickly that they made you pay to get in at the actual gate, and every time after he’s made a point to find any other way of entrance that he could. The toll wasn’t absurdly high, but regardless it was high enough that he didn’t want to spend more money than he could help. And Cross would probably say something about it “not being in the budget”, too, and Killer couldn’t stand the idea of not getting to go to the beach while they were here. So might as well cut to the chase himself. 

      The ocean waves were louder now, and sand shifted under their feet. Killer breathed it all in. 

       The ocean was vast, only broken by the few sharp, large grey rocks that jutted out harshly from the sand in dispersed clusters along the coast.

       Killer quickly scrambled to pull his shoes off and now held both up by the heel in one hand. He spread out his arms enthusiastically, looking back at Cross, waiting.

  ��       He was frowning back at the fence they had scaled, brows creased. But when he looked back at him and the ocean, Killer thought he was relaxed enough. More than he usually was, anyway. And his eyes sparkled ever just as he gazed out at the water. So Killer thought he’d take it. 

“C’mon, let’s go down to the water.” Killer said and started through the loose sand.

    Killer ran down to the edge, breached the wet compact layer just before it, and then his feet met sun-warmed water. Just in time for a wave to come in and sweep foam around his legs. 

“Get down here, pretty boy!” He shouted back to Cross, who lingered, up in the dry sand. 

Killer watched him pull off his shoes and pad down to stand at his side. 

    Killer eagerly went farther in, kicking at the incoming waves and disturbing the sand. A sea-misted breeze played with the fur of his hood, and the next wave that came in almost reached his knees. All while shadows of gulls chattering overheard dappled the water.

“So, we’ve just trespassed?” Cross commented when Killer turned to grin at him.

“Eh, fuckin’ who cares. No one monitors this place anyway.” Killer replied with the dismissive flick of his wrist. 

“If we get kicked out, it’s your fault.” Cross replied, though lightly, and Killer gave him a shove in the arm.

“Quit worryin’, nothin’s gonna happen. Trust me.” 

     Killer started wading through the water along the edge of the ocean, and Cross did the same just a few feet behind him.

     It was all a vast field of blue-green waves, warmed by the sun. Killer whirled to grin and kick a spray of water at Cross’s legs. Cross retaliated, but they were splashed by an incoming wave Killer hid face behind his arm from. He attacked his companion again, flinging up water with his hands at him. He thought he heard Cross laugh before he was smacked in the face by ocean water, which just made him laugh harder. Killer drank in the sound. 

        He jumped for Cross and wrestled him until they fell backwards into the waves. Killer’s grip tightened on his shoes so they wouldn’t get lost to the waves. 

     Both of their clothes were entirely soaked through now. But they laughed. Cross laughed, and Killer felt a little bit proud of himself. He’d done this. This was the break he was talking about. Part of that fantasy. And now it was real. 

       He didn’t hear Cross laugh often, not like this. Not enough. He loved it whenever he just, let go. When he got to see all of it. All of him.

          Cross pried away from the other to stand. Killer did shortly after, using Cross’s offered hand to pull himself up, and shouldered off his now-drenched jacket. He tied it around his waist.

          They retracted to trail along the edge of the water again. A glint of pink caught Killer’s eye and he bent down to dig a shell fragment out of the sand. He shoved it and another he came across into his pocket before standing to join Cross again. He tossed a third shell into the edge of a small oncoming wave and watched it land.

“You comin’?” Cross asked, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mouth. 

Killer jogged to catch up, flashing Cross a grin as he took his place beside him.

“I told you this trip’d be worth it.”

     Cross exhaled through his nose in a half-laugh. To think he was here, four hours away from his apartment, at a beach with the guy that flashed a knife at him the first night they met. But he was seeing the ocean for the first time since he could remember. And he admitted he was a bit fond of that guy. 

       They meandered about the beach for maybe another two hours as strangers milled around them. Killer lingered among the waves while his companion only really watched, amused, sometimes sitting by the sand. Killer was always drawn back to splash at him or try to drag him in with him. These efforts were only successful half the time, but that didn’t sway him. And it was worth it when they were. Cross would always tear back up, lighthearted danger in his eyes as he chased him. And so they would run after each other through awkwardly waist high water. Laughing. Laughing like nothing else but this mattered. Like nothing had ever happened, would ever happen. And Killer felt the warmth again, like he had that morning.

      Somehow, at a point they ended up close by the beach’s proper gate, where a stifled stream of visitors entered and exited from. Killer raised a hand above his brow and gazed at the entrance. After about a minute a monster who he gauged as an employee noticed him, then narrowed their eyes back at him, and just for a moment Killer’s soul whirred anxiously. He watched them wave down another employee nearby and say something to them, pointing right at him. Then his soul dropped.

        Both of these strangers started toward him, cueing Killer to swiftly pull back and turn around to rapidly bump Cross on the shoulder with his wrist.

“We gotta go.” He hissed. 

    He knew they recognized him now, like they’d had a bounty over his head from the many similar times before this. Either that or someone had seen them jump the fence and snitched. 

“What?” Cross replied, glancing over his shoulder.

“We gotta go, those guys’ve seen me.” Killer repeated.

“I thought you said they don’t monitor anything,” Cross said firmly.

“I didn’t think they would! I dunno what their deal is, but we ain’t gonna take any chances,” He pressed.

“Killer, you-“

“We gotta go, Cross” 

      Before he could argue more, say something, whatever, Killer tugged at his sleeve and ran for the fence, motioning with the quirk of his head. He already knew the people from the gate had to be following him, but he only glanced back at Cross to make sure he was. He saw Cross hesitate, but he inevitably ran with him. 

        When they were maybe two feet from the fence Killer heard one of their pursuers shout something, and he tore further ahead. Scrambling, he managed to pull himself back up over the barrier, but in his frantic escape his footing became uncertain and he fell the way down. 

“Shit,” He winced as he landed hard on his arm.

      As he sat up and pulled his shoes on, he wanted to glance over his shoulder, make for certain he was in the clear. But he knew all he’d see would be wood fence. And that didn’t make his breathing any less rapid. 

     Beside him, Cross dropped down heavily to join him on the other side of the fence. He quickly pulled his own shoes on and Killer stood up, scowling at nothing. He absently cracked his knuckles. His arm hurt. 

He cursed to himself. There goes the beach. So much for that plan. 

Fuck,

“God dammit.” He heard Cross curse. “If we’d actually gone through the gate,” 

      His voice was startlingly low, dangerous. He was not thrilled about this whole thing anymore. The ocean and the warmth, everything, that came with it was ripped away. He’d finally gotten out and Killer lost it just as soon.

“You wouldn’t catch me dead, that toll they make you pay’s a fuckin’ scam.” Killer snapped.

“Does it matter that much?” Cross asked.

Does it matter that much if we still lose it anyway.

“Yeah, it does. I’m not giving them shit.” 

“You probably woulda said something about your fuckin’ budget, anyway.” He added, in a huff under his breath. 

Killer exhaled before he traded his scowl for a grin he hoped looked confident. “Hey, there’s plenty else to do. Who needs the beach.” 

He said, as a dismissive.

Cross’s brows grew darkly uncertain and he focused on his shoes.

       The walk back was longer than the walk there. Killer was cold now, away from the warmth of the beach and in the shade of the buildings beside them, and he was hyper aware of how soaked his jacket was (he decided he preferred putting it back on to walking half naked through the street). And grass clung uncomfortably to his legs. And his arm hurt. 

       But he wasn’t particularly fazed. They’d go back to the room and dry off and then it’d be fine. This was far from the worst thing to happen to him. He’s had it worse. If anything, now that it was over, he was still riding the excitement of it all, of running, of jumping the fence before he could be caught. 

        He dared to glance at Cross, who was pacing silently by his side. He held his bare arms crossed over his chest, and his shirt was dark with sea water.

“You said nothing would happen.” Cross stated, hostility in his voice.

“I guess I was wrong.” Killer partially growled. But he wasn’t angry at him. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was angry at. 

“But that shit happens all th’ time, they’ll forget about us by next time.” Killer added confidently. 

     This wasn’t the first time he’s been confronted about jumping the fence. 

And, If there was a next time.

Cross just offered a firm “mm.” in response.

———

       Most of the sting that hung in the air faded by the time they made it back to the motel. Not completely, but enough. Thank god. It was starting to kill him. 

      The first thing Cross did when they got back their room was strip off his soaked shirt. Killer couldn’t help his eyes raking over his ribcage, and Cross gave him a knowing look with faintly colored cheeks, which Killer grinned at. Cross’s brows furrowed lightly in response. 

       The second thing Cross did was rummage through his bag and fish out fresh clothes, before he disappeared into the room’s singular bathroom.

Killer realized he hadn’t brought clothes. Or anything, really. 

        He toed off his shoes and padded over to crouch at Cross’s still-open bag. From it he scavenged a black t-shirt with some band’s telltale on it and a pair of basketball shorts. He held up and examined his spoils a moment, then stripped off his own clothes and pulled on Cross’s. The shirt was at least a size too big and he had to tie the shorts’ drawstrings to get them to stay up. He pressed his nose into the shirt’s collar; it smelled like it had been washed recently. And like Cross. Everything was warm again. 

          He located his knife where it had been concealed in his jacket and gripped the handle. Then he realized  he wouldn’t have anywhere to safely hide it in this new outfit, so back it went. A bit of him pricked anxiously like a needle at the notion of not having it. But it’d probably be fine, just for a day. Just for a day. 

      He was drawn to the far side of the room and shouldered open the balcony door to linger there. In a flare of spite he flipped off the beach, which remained unfazed, before the sand clinging to his feet caught his attention and he made an attempt to brush it off. After a minute he grew bored and ended up on his back on the bed.

      He propped himself up on his hands as the bathroom door clicked open and Cross padded out, drying his skull off with one of the motel’s towels. He wore a pair of jeans and a different shirt now.

      Killer sat all the way up before slipping off the bed and slinking over to Cross.

      Killer pushed through the towel, seeking his warmth. Cross turned away from him with very mild indignation at first, but Killer persisted, and he ultimately gave in to him when he kissed him. He held onto his tension, but he didn’t protest, and he tempted Killer with the hesitancy he gave when they pulled away. 

“Is that my shirt?” Cross commented. 

“Mmhm.” Killer kissed him again, now on the jaw by his neck, and Cross’s tension melted slightly.

    He eventually shifted, disrupting Killer’s touch, and looked down at him accusatorially. 

“What now?”

This was your idea, you should know.

Killer could probably come up with something.

      Their shoes and socks went back on, Killer retrieved his cigarettes, and then they were out of the motel again.  

       They found themselves on a board walk. Stores sat crammed side by side in a storied building to their left, and to their right a stirring sound held docked boats. Droves of civilians dressed in bright clothing crowded the area. They surveyed goods and snacked on refreshments sold at booths throughout the board. It was loud; everyone seemed to be talking or laughing or whatever else.

        Killer set his sights on the midst of the crowd, and waded through it with Cross beside him. In stark contrast to the beach, Cross kept close, pensive, hands firmly in his pockets. 

“We should get somethin’ to eat, yeah?” It’s prob’ly almost that time by now.” Killer suggested. Cross offered a stiff nod.

       Killer steered them over to the first decent place he saw. It was some bar, typical burger or sandwich place or whatever, and Killer had always known it to be expensive. But whatever. It’d be fine. Couldn’t be that bad. And expensive meant the food would be good, which they needed on a vacation like this. 

“Here?” Cross murmured skeptically as they approached.

“Yeah, trust me. This is the spot.” Killer offered confidently. He hoped he was right. 

        Killer pushed past the pub’s front door and slid into the first open booth he saw, which was tucked against a wall in the back. It was crowded. 

       When Cross picked up the menu and furrowed his brows Killer guessed his assumption was correct, and it was confirmed when he looked himself. Prime tourist spot, overpriced food. 

“I’ll pay you back.” Killer offered. It didn’t hold much weight, much sincerity. He said it so they could move on. 

“When have you ever paid me back?” Cross responded curtly.

       Killer repeated that it wouldn’t be that bad, that the food would be worth it, that they were on vacation and they should treat themselves, and Cross gave it up. So they ordered, waited, and then they ate. 

       Killer thought they should share an appetizer. Then a desert. The food was good, at least. It was really good, Killer thought. And Cross didn’t complain about it. So Killer became hopeful,  excited, even, that he’d been forgiven. 

      But, Cross still didn’t say really anything about it at all. He just scowled faintly at his plate and ate slow. They talked, and Killer still managed to make him smile faintly with a few comments. So he decided he’d take that. 

       When they left they continued their trip through the boardwalk. They passed booths, which they browsed. The air was warm from the sun again now that it’s light wasn’t obstructed, and a slight breeze played with their clothes. 

        At a point they were stopped. Killer saw Cross eyeing a popsicle stand. Killer glided to him and pressed up against him, grinning. He quickly located a wad of cash in Cross’s pocket and seamlessly slipped it into his fist. He danced back, proud of himself, and went for the stand. 

    He retrieved his spoils, then returned to Cross, and presented him with one of his prizes.

Cross looked at him. “You took money from my pocket.”

“Cross, it’s two popsicles.” Killer stated, and gestured with the one he held out at him. 

    Cross reluctantly took it, and Killer led them to a bench pressed against the water. 

      The collar of Killer’s shirt billowed gently against his neck with the wind as he sat. Cross stared off past him, absently, slowly licking at his popsicle. He had such an odd look of disconnection on his face. Like longing, almost. Maybe. 

“Let’s go back to the beach.” Killer blurted.

“Just to get kicked out again?” Cross replied.

“I know you want to, Cross. Let’s go back.” Killer pressed “Maybe if we go through the gate this time they’ll let us in.” 

“No, no it’s fine.” Cross murmured. “Not worth it.” 

“You’re lookin’ off like you just lost your puppy. Let’s just go.” 

“Killer, just drop it.” Cross sighed, his voice pricking with a sudden sharpness. 

So Killer dropped it.

——————

The rest of their trip felt like it happened in flashes. 

      They walked the boardwalk. Killer used the last of his cigarettes, so Cross bought him another pack. Killer thought they should go out on boat, so Cross rented them one for a few hours, even though neither of them really knew how to drive it. By the time they had gotten going the sun was already hinting at setting, because they had to allot for fiddling with how to work this thing. 

       Cross drove. They went nowhere in particular. The wind was much stronger, crisper, out on the water. It whipped in their ears and billowed their shirts. The sun cast everything in a bright wash. Like Killer was in a daze. He watched the glittering, swaying water. Watched Cross, too. Music played over the wind through a small, cylindrical speaker Cross had bought, too. Which was also Killer’s suggestion. 

       Killer sat on a bench against one of the ship’s sides while Cross stood at the wheel. He basked in it all. In the moment, he thought he’s never felt more alive. 

       Then, by evening, they were on the boardwalk again. It was darker, too, this close to the evening. Killer grew restless from not having his knife, and he compensated. He clashed with a few of the other passers-by because of things that were maybe a bit too small. Nothing severe, but Cross noticed. He felt the way he looked at him. The way he started feeling colder. 

       After another hour they were having dinner, where nothing changed. Like lunch had been, Cross was uncertain, but Killer assured him. The restaurant had a bar, and they drank some, too. Killer did, at least. Cross sat by his side, quietly, eyes on him. And like the food, Cross paid for everything. 

         Cross had grown reserved over the course of their outing, even. Talked less. Stayed tense no matter where they were. Eyes perpetually furrowed, shoulders perpetually tensed. 

“You don’t have to keep buyin’ shit! I’d be fine if you didn’t!” Killer said, almost shouted, after Cross had gone entirely quiet and strayed away as they were leaving the restaurant. 

“Yes, I do. You say that but I do. You didn’t even bring any money.”

“I said I had-“ Killer started immediately. 

“God, Killer, we both know that was a lie. You’ve been lying this whole damn trip.” Cross growled. “I know you’ve been chased out of that beach before, I know you don’t have money.” 

They both went quiet for a long time. No one passed them as they walked back to the motel. It was almost dark now. 

“I just wish you could leave it alone” Cross murmured, his voice vacant and cold.

“Hey, I got us out here, didn’t I? Got us out of that city?” Killer reminded him. As if he needed to be reminded. He could see the motel’s sign in front of them now.

“And I’ve still got pretty boys talking me home.” He added, letting the beer talk for a moment. 

“I drove, fucking, four hours, missed work, paid for all of this, because you said it would be worth it.” Cross countered. 

“Hasn’t it been?” Killer replied.

“Not anymore.” Walking up the motel’s stairs.

“I said we should go back to the beach.”

“I said you should drop it.” 

    Cross unlocked their room’s door. “God, it’s like you’re fucking with me. You told me to trust you, and I did. But you’re making it fucking hard.” 

“We can go back, tonight. The.. the gate’ll be closed by now, no one would bother us, really.” Killer said quickly, searching, stepping toward Cross. He wanted to salvage this. “We can still do something, forget about all that other stuff.” 

Cross’s voice rose “Shut up about the beach!” 

He stepped inside the room, Killer tentatively behind him.

“I have fun with you.” Cross said, standing in the middle of their room, eyes only on Killer. He had dropped the speaker he was carrying at some point, and it taunted Killer from the carpet. 

“I wanted to here, too. I thought maybe we really would get a vacation.”

He exhaled, partially growled, even. “…But I… I don’t know why I thought this would work. We should’ve just stayed home.” 

“I tried, okay!” Killer said firmly, his voice swelling with volume ever so slightly. “I… ‘s not like this is the worst we’ve had.” 

      But somewhere he knew Cross was right. This wasn’t the right time, right place. He’d rushed it, and fumbled to salvage it when it was already strained. 

But, god, he still wanted to make something out of this. He was chasing the warmth from the beach, from their first morning in the motel. Maybe even from those parties, when it was just them.

“We’re going back to the city in the morning.” Cross said sharply.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Killer tried, stepping toward him. 

      He was unsure. Maybe scared wasn’t quite the word, but he was panicking. He grappled for what to say, dove back to use what he always said as a crutch. 

He reached for Cross.

He saw him blur. Pain shot through Killer’s jaw, and his lip started to burn. 

    Cross’s breath caught in an inhale and his fist returned to his side. His eyelights pierced Killer like the sun, burning him. Part of Killer crumbled. 

       His finger went to his lip, where he found blood. Cross had given him a bloody lip.

     It’s just too bad Killer’s entire being was hardwired to lie. To be the way he was. He’s had to lie to survive for as long as he could remember. Old habits die hard, or however it goes. At least he hadn’t been lying about anything with Cross being worth it. 

      And he really didn’t understand why Cross was so pressed. Killer was used to jumping fences and getting chased out of places and lying about money. He should’ve known what he was getting himself into, coming here with him. Still letting him in every night. 

And yet, here Killer stood, tasting blood. Failing to make something of this. 

It’s too bad he was a liar. 

        Suddenly Cross had Killer by the collar of his shirt, his shirt, pressing a kiss aggressively to his mouth. It wasn’t soft, tender, like it usually was. It was forceful. Angry. Almost like he was strangling him, trying to suck the air from his chest. Tasting Killer’s blood, Killer tasting his own. But that just excited Killer more, but he still felt his warmth, all the same. 

‘Kiss me one last time.’

He had flown too close to the sun, chased the warmth too far, and was cast ruthlessly into his fire, burned to ash by it.

   Then, wordlessly, Cross tore away from Killer, picked up his bag, jerked a handful of clothes out of it, and threw it back onto the carpet so hard half of its contents spilled out. He vanished into the bathroom, door closing hard behind him. After a minute Killer thought he heard the shower running.

    The fire had melted Killer’s wings and he was plunged into the cold, infinitely daunting ocean. 

     He stood there stupidly for an eternity, hand lingering on his mouth. Finally he paced over to the bathroom door, raised a fist to knock,

    But he hesitated, and went back over to the balcony. 

     He whirled to stare at a wall, cracking his knuckles again and again even when they stopped popping. He took a step back toward the bathroom but only got halfway. He kicked angrily at the speaker sitting on the floor as he turned back toward the balcony door. 

     He’s never been so unsure of what to do with himself. 

      He considered slipping back behind the motel and jumping the fence, running down to beach and the rocks again, now dark and empty with the night. Wouldn’t have to deal with whatever this was there. And he almost did, fuck he almost did. 

He wanted to hide away. 

     Except it was raining again, and the motel was warm. And something kept him planted here, despite his instincts to run. He glanced back at the balcony door.

‘Don’t go outside’ Cross’s voice echoed. 

He wanted to hide away. 

     He eventually settled for sliding under the sheets, on his side and turned away from where the bathroom came out. He contemplated trying to sleep but instead he ending up just staring at the wall and empty bed in front of him. He was so tired. After a minute he felt like he was going to drown in that ocean and he shifted to his back, now listening to distant sound of running water. His blood buzzed, pounded in his ears, with everything that happened. The sheets and Cross’s shirt grew wet from the tar streaming now-harder from his sockets. He couldn’t tell if he was excited, pissed, or guilty. Or if he even felt anything. He couldn’t process it, register what it meant.

He tasted blood. 

     He’d been too fucking stupid this time. He’s never had Cross do something like that before. And he hadn’t said sorry. Neither of them had. Though, Cross probably didn’t expect anything less. 

      Yet, part of Killer was thrilled by the rush of everything. It was electrifying. Burning. He didn’t know Cross had it in him, and now he wondered just how much there was. How much there could be. The metallic taste of blood was electric in his mouth, fueling him.

And Cross had still kissed him. But not like he usually did. 

Killer turned to his other side. 

        After what had to have been an hour, it felt like a lifetime, there were soft approaching footsteps and the bed shifted as Cross laid down. Killer knew he had his back turned. He’s never felt so far away. Just like the night before, when the overhead light had died.  

     Part of him wondered if this was kinda how Cross felt. All those nights Killer had vanished through the window by morning. 

They pretended to fall asleep. As if either of them could sleep after that. Eventually Killer actually did, if you could even call it sleep. It was restless. In and out for most of the night. Too much in his skull.  

      Morning came not soon enough and Killer woke up tired. Woke up feeling alive. His lip was still bloody. 

     They drove back to the city as early as they could. Cross didn’t say much. Killer guessed he had gotten most of whatever he had out of his system that night. 

       Killer acted like everything was normal. Said the stuff he always says, acted the way he always acts. What else could he do? If this abnormality kept up for any longer he thought it might kill him. 

      And eventually, after a week or however long it was, they made up. Some semblance of it anyway. Moved on to something else. Cross still left his window unlocked sometimes, despite it all. And even later down the line, when it was dark and they were pressed close, just them and the alcohol that hung to their rental suits, they would talk about it again. And Killer would apologize, then. And he would mean it. 

      But, back in the present, Killer thought it hadn’t been that bad. They got to go to the beach. He got to go to the beach. With Cross. Like he always kind of wanted. So at least that was something. 

     Though, sometimes Killer thinks he can still almost taste the bloody lip Cross left him with that night.

[fernandopiastri28]

tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter, all pics from pinterest

warnings: daddy issues, poor father-daughter relationship

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 7: If your biggest worry is who's going to win a petty card game-you're doing something right

They spend the following hours alternating between catching up on missed time through talking and cuddling, and then making out. They attempt a game of uno, which is cut short when Oscar tugs her into his lap and all of their cards go flying to the floor. She tries to pick the cards up so they can restart their game, but it’s made difficult due to Oscar clinging to her like a koala. He denies the comparison over and over, but it’s difficult to dodge the allegation when he has his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. 

She can’t help but laugh to herself, thinking that this is her father’s perfect fantasy in some twisted way–being Oscar’s favourite, being so physically close to him and so very important, but then the thought curdles, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She hates how her mind goes to places like that, ruining what should be a sweet moment between her and her boyfriend with the unwanted presence of her dad. 

Leaning her upper body closer to the ground, her fingers brush against the final card she can see on the ground, who knows how many more are sprawled across the ground just out of sight. Oscar holds her hips still on his lap, fingers tight and steady, making sure she doesn’t faceplant into the marble floor from leaning forward too far. She takes a quick look at the card–Pick up 4–her personal favourite card to play. 

Lucky for her and unlucky for Oscar, she knows how to rig the shuffling cards to make sure she gets that card, so she adds it to the not yet randomised stack. She splits the stack in half, folding them back so each card fans out individually, letting the two separate stacks slot in together, card by card. 

Oscar watches as she shuffles the cards, his lips resting against her bare skin with his nose nudging against her shoulder. Her face twists up in concentration, taking her time tediously sorting the pack. His eyes flickering to stare at the side of her face, one of his eyebrows jumping slightly in concern. “You okay?” He hums, the noise vibrating against her skin. 

She’s still dwelling on the her-dad-thing. She nods, brushing the thought away. It isn’t ther time right now to allow her dad intrude on her happiness–it never really is in all fairness. Right now, she has Oscar right with her, holding her close like he's never going to let go. She shouldn’t think of anything besides that, she should allow her mind to switch off for once.

The art of dealing cards is one she mastered many years ago. It was Jenson Button, actually, who taught her everything she knows about card tricks. It happened near the end of a night of a dinner party hosted at The Rosberg Residence. Her dad was busy talking to Fernando and some other slightly balding man who she couldn’t name for a million dollars, so she was left sitting at the long abandoned dining table, fiddling with a pack of disney princess designed playing cards Mark had tossed into their shopping basket a week back during their weekly grocery shop, telling her she’d need to bring a toy to keep herself entertained when ‘the adults were talking’.

The cards had been a dumb choice, in hindsight, because she didn’t know a single game besides go fish at the time, which gets boring pretty quick when you’re playing it on your own. Instead of that, she would repetitively spread out all the cards across the table, then pushed them back into a messy pile, crushing them in her hands, trying to force them into a neat stack–all sticking up straight and uniform. 

She’d lost counts of how many times she’d repeated the action when all of a sudden, her dad’s friend, ‘Uncle Jenson’ had appeared by her side. He was like a birthday party magician, offering to teach her some card tricks. He shuffled the cards so effortlessly, his hands moving with practiced ease, showing her how to make the deck perfectly straight, how to deal them with a clean flick of the wrist. She’d been mesmerized, hanging on to his every word, every movement, her mouth dangling open in pure amazement.

He’d even played a game of go fish with her–her dad never did that. It became their thing, she’d show him all the new tricks she’d learnt thanks to youtube and kids at school whenever Jenson came over, even when she got older and begun to understand that he wasn’t here for the reason of watching her play with cards.

That hardly mattered though, because he made sure she felt like he was interested, and maybe he was.

“I take my card shuffling very seriously,” She looks down at where Oscar’s face rested on her shoulder, his eyes are half-closed and hazy, a soft and content smile tweaking up the corners of his lips. “So, please shut your eyes while I deal because it’s hardly fair for you to be able to see my cards if I can’t see yours,”

Oscar scrunches his nose up, “A bit dramatic,” He grumbles, but he still obediently, slightly begrudgingly, shuts his eyes, raising a hand to cover them for good measure. She smiles triumphantly, wriggling around slightly in his lap as she gathers the cards that had scattered around them. “Stop.” His voice is halfway between a groan and a laugh as his free hand grips her hip harder, trying to make her sit still. 

She likes that she has that affect on him, it’s fun. "Are you peeking?" She waves her fingers infront of his face, testing if he has any reaction. She goes for the faux-punch next, her fist stopping mere inches from where his hand spans out over his eyes. He doesn’t flinch, once again, so she reckons she’s in the clear.

Oscar grins behind his hand. "I would never." His voice is thick with amusement, his eyebrows wriggling just above where his hand covers himself. “I’m offended you even asked.”

With the cards finally sorted, she taps Oscar lightly on the hand. "Alright, you can look now. But no cheating."

Oscar pulls a face, his lips pulled wide into a thin closed mouth smile. He looks like a frog, he always does when he pulls that face. “Got it, chief.” She pulls herself off his lap, going tumbling onto the couch right next to his seat, settling in with her knees tucked up next to her. Oscar places down the first card, a yellow 2. 

They make it a significant way through the game when she decides to place down her draw four card. Oscar looks up at her with wide eyes, seemingly offended, when he places his own card down onto the stack–his own draw four. “Uno.” He looks pretty content with himself, assured that he’s got this win in the bag.

She pulls her lips tight, trying not to grin too wide. She flicks through her cards, extracting the other draw four she’d been storing and placing it down.

Check mate, Oscar.

He grimaces, his nose slightly scrunched. “Damn,” He huffs, leaning forward, his hand reaching for the card stack to collect his 12 new cards, when he suddenly pauses, and instead places down his final card. 

The fourth and final draw 4 in the pack. 

“Boom.” He makes an explosion gesture with his hands, “I win, and rightfully so.” He grins, watching her jaw drop in shock. He pauses, studying her features. “Oh god, you really do take uno seriously, don’t you?”

She looks at him, her features twisted in anger, “All card games, actually.” She’s so obviously joking, but Oscar still holds up his hands defensively. Despite that, he’s grinning like he’s just stolen the world’s greatest victory. She reckons he won’t even smile this hard if he wins the F2 championship.

Scratch then, when he wins it. “Well, now I’m scared,” he teases, getting up from his chair and joining her on the couch, scowling jokingly when she leans away, maintaining a good amount of space. “Aw, are you gonna hold a grudge over this?”

She narrows her eyes, doing her best to maintain her "serious" face, but the corners of her mouth betray her, twitching upward. “Oh, absolutely. You’ll pay for this later.” She slumps against the couch, shrinking down next to him with her knees to her chest and back curled. 

In a quick flash, Oscar cups her face in his almost too big hands, stealing a kiss. It’s only quick, their lips barely brushing together for more tan a millisecond, but it’s enough to pull her out of her fake anger. She lets out a small sigh, his thumb still vacantly drifting over her cheek. She leans her head back against the couch and stares up at the ceiling, pretending to be deep in thought. “You’re really impossible, you know that?”

Oscar chuckles, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. “So I’ve been told,” She tucks herself into his side, her head resting on her chest. Oscar feels so warm, he’s like a heated teddy, the ones that have beans built into their stomachs to be put in the microwave so they can be used for cramps. He alleviates any pain in her, so he’s actually very similar to one of those bears. 

She settles into the warmth of him, her head resting on his chest now, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand moves from her cheek to her arm, drawing lazy circles over the exposed skin arm. He has a special talent when it comes to cracking her cold exterio–he’s like a fire, melting away the frosty front she puts up, able to get to her soft warmth. He provides her with a sense of shelter and escape, allowing herself to defrost.

“I’m not mad,” she murmurs after a few moments once they’ve gone completely quiet, because she doesn’t want Oscar to think that she really took a card game that deeply. He means more than winning a stupid game of uno–but ideally, she’d have both. “But you’re definitely not getting a rematch.”

“Anytime,” He tucks her hair back behind her ears, which she quickly undoes, insisting she looks like a kid with her hair like that. He looks out the window, his eyes gazing out just above her head. “It’s late.” He murmurs, meeting her eyes again. “I should head home, yeah?”

She turns her body around to look out the window, noticing that the sky is a muted grey, heavy rain clouds thick above them. The hours seem to have flown away, wasting away their day with childish board games, fighting over what toppings to get on their take-away pizza, crafting up the perfect post lunch sundaes, and cuddling in silence–content to just be in each other’s arms.

“Yeah,” She swallows her words down, wanting to ask him to stay a little longer. She shouldn’t though, and she won’t. She knows better to become too attached to Oscar so early on. Asking him to stay over just once will probably lead into her needing him in the bed next to her every night to be able to sleep.

That’s too much to ask or expect of a F2 driver who travels the world nearly constantly. It’ll be worse when he gets into F1–she knows he will, not if. It’s a matter of when at this point. She needs to savour his days being in a junior championship, having more freedom and less invasive eyes watching their every move. 

But despite him broaching the concept relatively early on, Oscar only end up actually heading back to his own place about an hour later, but not without many quick pecks and ‘i’ll see you tomorrow’s, only for his hands to stay lingering on her waist and his feet firmly planted on the ground. She doesn’t want him to go home yet, he doesn’t want to leave, but it’s far too early in their relationship for him to start staying the night. 

She also wants to actually go out as a couple before they start sharing a bed–she has certain standards. 

As Oscar finally pulls away, giving her one last lingering kiss, she grins, standing in the doorway, watching him walk down the steps leading up to their front door, slightly struggling to carry his bags. She leans into the doorframe, smiling all giddy and jittery. She’s a bit breathless, her skin still tingling where his hands had been, which was close to every inch of her body. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” He grins back up at her when he reaches the final step, his body hunched over slightly under his bags. “Today was really nice, girlfriend,” He even cheeses at that, turning just as red as her. 

“See you, Pastry.” She waves him goodbye, blowing a kiss. “Don’t be late tomorrow, or I’ll have words with Mark.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, loading his bags up into the boot of the taxi. “I plan to be on time, spider. Wanna have as much time with you as possible.” He also blows her a kiss in exchange just before he gets into the backseat of his taxi.

Closing the door, she leans her back against it, a smile permanently etched on her face. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

y/n.priv (private account)

liked by l.sarge, f/n.privy, and 2 others

y/n.priv manifesting my dream hand of cards, so fuck you oscar for taking two of the +4s

osc.priv hey much love and everything but was my selfie really necessary at the end?

-> y/n.priv awhh i thought you looked cute :(

-> y/n.priv okay why am i being sappy THATS ON YOU FOR TAKING MY PHONE AND TAKING THE DAMN PIC

-> l.sarge lmfaoooo why does oscar look like that dawwggg

bsf/n last photo was a jumpscare ://

-> osc.priv have i done something to you or ????

-> bsf/n errr took my bestfriend (btw slide two?? we will have words)

-> y/n.priv there's enough of me to share around ?? im not property ?? but sorry oscar i will be taking bsf/n :-) (btw thats not even the worst of it :))) hehehe)

-> osc.priv i see how it is. (btw whats going on?)

l.sarge oooh sexy man in slide 2 and 3 pls slide the @

-> osc.priv @.oscarpiastri 🫦🫦🫦🫦 swipe up

-> y/n.priv oh.

osc.priv (private account)

liked by y/n.priv, l.sarge, rbrt.schwrtzmn

osc.priv pretty lady

y/n.priv Osc this is actually really cute omg

-> osc.priv Haha thanks

-> y/n.priv ok wtf why are you talking to me like im robert i am legit your gf

-> rbrt.schwrtzmn ???? what i got to do with this

l.sarge Awwww Oscar is in loveeeee

-> osc.priv helll yeahhh :-3

-> l.sarge fuck you mean ':3' ??? you fully grown TWENTY YEAR OLD

last chapter, next chapter

hehehe, uno heavy chapter with some logan at the end :) date chapter will be next, i promisee

taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party, @forza-charles, @sltwins, @sweetwh0re, @lucktales, @ellen3101, @nxlx96, @notantou, @cloud-55, @wisestarfishbouquet, @zupercoolgirl

[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part Three}

MTMTE Megatron x Reader

SFW

Part one Here

Part two Here

Dropping the bullet format from now on. I regained my writing confidence.

--

Two weeks had passed, and you were beginning to think Megatron’s late-night visit had been a one-off oddity. He hadn’t sought you out since, and apart from a faint nod in the hallways—a gesture that left you wondering if you’d imagined it—everything seemed to return to normal.

That is, until the next leadership debriefing.

You arrived early, as usual, settling into your customary corner with your datapad. Rodimus was already there, sprawled in his chair like he owned the room (which, in fairness, he sort of did). Magnus was reviewing the agenda, his expression as rigid as his frame. Megatron entered last, his presence hawkish, though this time he glanced at you briefly as he sat down.

The meeting began uneventfully, dominated by the usual back-and-forth between Rodimus and Ultra Magnus. You dutifully took notes, tuning out the more repetitive points—until Megatron’s voice cut through the noise.

"Ambassador," he said, the word sharp and deliberate.

Your head snapped up. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at you.

"Y-Yes?" you managed, cursing the wobble in your voice.

"What is your input on this?" He gestured toward the holographic display, which was currently projecting several spreadsheets of shift schedules and statistics “Would you consider this approach... practical?”

You blinked, quickly scanning the notes you’d been half-ignoring. It was a logistics issue—something about the allocation of resources to working crewmembers. Hardly your area of expertise—this was a mind game meant to catch you off guard.

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to—”

“You should know this.” Megatron interrupted sharply, his tone making it clear that this wasn’t a suggestion. He came off like a teacher who had just caught a student distracted.

You swallowed, your hands clammy and face hot, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. “Well... if I’m honest, it seems like you’re prioritizing efficiency over flexibility. Which makes sense if operations on the ship continue perfectly, but since unexpected situations are bound to happen around here- these shift schedules should be a bit more lenient. It would help morale aswell...”

The silence stretched. Rodimus raised an eye ridge, clearly entertained, while Magnus’s expression didn’t shift an inch. Megatron, however, nodded slowly, his optics narrowing in what you hoped was approval.

“An insightful observation,” he said finally. “One worth considering.”

Rodimus snorted. “Since when do you listen to organics?”

Megatron shot him a look that could have melted steel. “Since they’ve proven themselves more capable of rational thought than certain co-captains.”

Rodimus opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, muttering something about “walking tanks with superiority complexes.”

The rest of the meeting proceeded without incident, though you couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in the room’s dynamic. Megatron addressed you twice more, each time with the same deliberate tone, and by the end of the debriefing, you felt less like a fly on the wall and more like an active participant.

When the meeting adjourned, the crew began to filter out, but Megatron lingered, standing near the holographic display as though lost in thought. You hesitated, unsure whether to leave or stay.

“Ambassador,” he said without turning around.

You froze. “Yes, Captain?”

He turned, his optics locking onto yours with that same piercing intensity. “Your input today was... appreciated.”

You blinked, startled. “Oh. Um, thank you.”

A flicker of something—satisfaction?—crossed his face before his expression returned to its usual stoicism. “That will be all.”

You nodded quickly, making your way to the door. As you stepped into the corridor, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted again, another piece falling into place in this strange, tentative connection between you and the former warlord.

And this time, it wasn’t just in your head.

--

Your quarters aboard the Lost Light were a modest affair: a desk cluttered with datapads, a chair that wobbled slightly no matter how you adjusted it, and a small viewport that overlooked the endless expanse of stars. You were lucky to even have been placed in a proper suite to yourself. You had originally been assigned to live in a storage locker, but Magnus made an ethics plea to get you in a hab-suite. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, a tiny refuge in the chaos of the ship

Tonight, however, it felt like anything but.

You sat at the desk, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. The report you were supposed to write—your monthly update to Earth—remained stubbornly unwritten, a yawning blankness where there should have been paragraphs detailing Megatron’s behavior, the state of the crew, and any noteworthy developments.

Your fingers hovered over the keys.

"Captain Megatron continues to demonstrate a notable shift from his Decepticon past..."

You frowned, deleting the sentence almost as soon as you typed it.

The truth was, describing Megatron in clinical, detached terms was difficult this night. In the beginning, it had been easy. He’d been distant, cold, and indifferent to your presence. A warlord trying to wear the mask of an Autobot. You could observe him like a scientist studying a volatile specimen.

But now...

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples.

Now, he wasn’t just a subject of observation. He was a puzzle—a maddeningly complex one—and you couldn’t seem to stop turning the pieces over in your mind. His grudging respect for you during meetings, the way he seemed to seek your input without ever outright admitting it...

And then there was the visit to your quarters.

The memory made your stomach flip, and you pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the screen in front of you.

"While tensions remain between Captain Megatron and certain members of the crew, his leadership continues to stabilize..."

You stopped again, staring at the words. That wasn’t the whole truth, was it? Yes, there were tensions, but they weren’t the focus anymore—not for you. What you really wanted to write about, though you’d never admit it aloud, was how those rare glimpses of humanity (or whatever the Cybertronian equivalent was) had started to intrigue you.

No, intrigue wasn’t the right word. It was a blossoming fixation.

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. If you were honest with yourself—which you were trying not to be—you didn’t just want to observe Megatron anymore. You wanted to know him. To understand the contradictions in him, the weight he carried, and why he seemed to value your opinion despite the vast gulf between your worlds.

You wanted to spend more time with him.

The realization hit you with the subtlety of a collapsing bulkhead. You stared at the screen, your cheeks growing warm.

This was bad. Really bad.

How were you supposed to write an objective report when your feelings—because that’s what they were, weren’t they?—were starting to get in the way?

You tapped out another sentence.

"Megatron continues to exhibit behavior that suggests a growing interest in cultural exchange, particularly with regard to human literature..."

It was true, technically. And it was safe enough to include without giving too much away.

You leaned back again, staring at the cursor blinking on the half-finished report.

What would Earth make of this, you wondered? If they knew how much your perspective had shifted—how much you’d come to see Megatron not as an assignment, not even as a captain, but as...

You closed your eyes tightly.

A crush?

A groan escaped your lips as you buried your face in your hands, your cheeks burning. Of course it would come to this. The awkward glances, the fleeting scraps of attention he spared for you, the strange pull of his authority—it all felt like something plucked from an ill-advised daydream. A ridiculous fantasy.

And yet it didn’t feel ridiculous, not when you were alone with your thoughts.

Your hands fell to the desk as your gaze wandered. What did you really know about him, after all? His crimes were well-documented, spread across countless files and testimony. The betrayals, the thirst for power, lives destroyed in his pursuit of revolution—they painted a picture of someone you should despise. Someone you shouldn’t even entertain these feelings about.

But people could change, couldn’t they? He had made the choice to change, after millions of years of warfare and unthinkable consequences. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

You sighed and closed your laptop with a firm snap, pushing it away as if that might also shove aside the thoughts clawing at your mind.

"This is tomorrow’s problem," you muttered to yourself.

But even as you crawled into bed, filthy shame twisted tightly around your chest, refusing to let go. You tossed and turned, willing the gnawing thoughts to stop, willing sleep to take you.

It didn’t come easily. It didn’t come at all.

[sxcret-garden]

ღ Ateez Seonghwa x gn!reader ღ words: ~800 ღ genre: smut (sub!Seonghwa, shibari (I tried askfjöaks), praise, teasing, dacryphilia, blowjob, cum swapping) ღ reader: no description of reader’s anatomy, no pronouns used to refer to reader ღ warnings: none ღ prompt: “Swallow.”

You hum at the way your boyfriend's back arches as you begin slowly trailing kisses down his chest, and you watch his defined muscles dancing under the skin. His arms are placed above his head, pretty red rope wrapped around them, coming together in knots that you had carefully tied prior to lying him down on the bed and crawling on top of him.

"You're even more beautiful like this..." you breathe, lips ghosting above his perked nipple, and you can feel him shiver just from the warm air you exhale onto his skin. You sit up in order to take him in whole, unable to tear your gaze away from Seonghwa as he's all sprawled out for you, a pleading look in his eyes and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. Dragging a single finger from his plush lips down his throat and his sternum, you relish in the desperate mewl he lets out. It seems that no matter what you do to your boyfriend, he's on his knees for you in no time. 

Chuckling at the thought, you lean in to press a kiss onto his pretty lips - teasing touches, not allowing him to deepen the kiss, and he takes it nonetheless, thankful for receiving even just the bare minimum from you.

"Shit, you're so pretty," you mutter as you work your way south, placing kisses onto his skin in the areas in between the red rope that you've skillfully tied all around his body. Only his wrists are tied together and somewhat restrained in their movement, otherwise he'd be free to move around, and yet he doesn't dare do anything you haven't given explicit permission for. Pride makes your heart swell at his obedience, and yet you can't but tease him at the sight of his painfully hard cock, once you're hovering above his core.

"Been waiting so long huh?" you whisper, and when you lean in to place a kiss onto his tip, Seonghwa shivers underneath you. "Didn't think you'd already start getting hard while I was tying you up." And that's somewhat of a lie - because you kept praising him and telling him how beautiful he looks throughout the process, but even you were surprised at just how much it had affected him.

Swirling your tongue around his head draws a breathy moan from his lips, and once you wrap your lips around him, Seonghwa lets you hear the most sinful of moans. 

"Y/N... please..." he groans as you work your way down on him, the speed at which you take him in further painfully slow. His hot pulsating cock against your tongue has you eager to make him cum, and at the same time you tell yourself to practice some restraint at least. And then he bucks his hips up, in a desperate attempt to fill your mouth with his full length, and as he hits the back of your throat you gag a little. You reach for his hips to hold him down, and as you're about to scold him for it, you find the tears welling up in his eyes.

"S-sorry, Y/N..." he whimpers. "F-feels too good... need you so bad..." Something about his plea flicks a switch deep inside you, and so you say,

"Be good, and I'll let you cum. Promise?"

"P-promise!" he stutters, followed by him crying out as you take him back into your mouth, starting to bob your head up and down on top of him. And without doubt he holds still this time, arching his back prettily instead as he whines at your touches and tears fall down his face with the pleasure building up and overwhelming him. 

"G-gonna cum... Y/N... please can I cum, please...?" he babbles on, completely lost in the sensations coursing through his body, and you hum in approval as you let him repeatedly hit the back of your throat, again gagging a little each time, but you bear with it. How could you not bear with it, when he's being so cute and pretty for you? It takes you merely a few more repetitions until you have him releasing in your mouth, letting you hear a beautiful moan as he cums, and when you sit up you can't but marvel at the sight in front of you. Sweat glistening on his bare skin, his chest rising and sinking violently as he's fighting for air. You didn't think he was that easily wrecked, but you know your boyfriend keeps surprising you time and time again. And then, once he's caught his breath, you lean in to kiss him, passing his load on to his mouth as you deepen the kiss. A mixture of his seed and your saliva makes his lips shine, and when you comb your fingers through his hair, you command,

"Swallow." And sure enough he does as told, eyebrows knitted and the tear stains still visible, and as you watch his adam's apple move you too gulp at the sight, licking your lips.

"Shit, Hwa, you're perfect," you mutter, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Makes me wanna do this to you all day."

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Breaking Rules | Cloud Strife x Reader

Part Two

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Summary: Days after your initial meeting, Cloud finds himself drawn back to Wall Market, unable to explain his motives even to himself. Against all odds, he sees you again and, despite the transactional nature of your relationship, invites you over again.

Words: ~5,100

Tags: Cloud Strife is Bad At Feelings, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Reader Insert, Female Reader, Plus/Midsize Reader, No Y/N

Cloud stood by the window of his apartment, staring out at the sprawling mess of Midgar’s undercity, his mind far from the dull hum of the streets below. Normally, when he wasn’t on a mission, his thoughts stayed focused on his next task, keeping him grounded in the predictable rhythm of his life. But lately, his mind had been elsewhere—on you.

It had been a few days since that night. He should’ve forgotten you by now, moved on like he always did. Yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw you—your calm gaze, your teasing smirk, the way your voice wrapped around his name like you’d known him longer than the span of an hour or two.

Cloud’s fingers curled around the windowsill, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it tighter. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d had numerous other encounters before, other nights that blurred together into something forgettable. Why was this different?

His eyes dropped to the faint reflection of himself in the glass, the glow of the city’s neon lights casting sharp shadows over his features. He looked as tired as he felt, the weight of his sleepless nights etched into his face. Nights where your name, your laugh, your smirk haunted the edges of his mind.

The sound of his phone vibrating on the table behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned slowly, dragging his feet as though reluctant to break the stillness of the room. Picking up the device, he glanced at the screen.

A message from Tifa. "You okay? Haven’t heard from you all day."

Cloud hesitated, his thumb hovering over the keys. He wanted to type something simple, something that would put her at ease without inviting more questions. Instead, he set the phone back down, the message unanswered.

Cloud shook his head, grabbing his jacket from the chair. Maybe he just needed some air. Something to clear his mind. But as he stepped out into the street, his feet didn’t carry him to any random part of the city.

They carried him toward Wall Market.

Cloud told himself it was coincidence. He hadn’t meant to end up there—it wasn’t like he was searching for you. That would be ridiculous. Wall Market was sprawling, chaotic, a maze of noise and neon lights. The odds of running into someone twice, especially someone like you, were slim. Practically nonexistent.

And yet, as he pushed through the crowded streets, his eyes darted to every corner, scanning the shadows, searching the face of every figure that leaned against a building as the hum of the market surrounded him—vendors shouting over one another, laughter spilling from nearby bars, the faint buzz of electricity from flickering neon signs, and there in the distance: The Rusty Chocobo.

Cloud shoved his hands into his pockets, his jaw tightening. He hadn’t meant to end up here. He told himself that again, as though repetition might make it true.

His eyes darted to the figures moving in and out of the bar, scanning faces without meaning to. A woman stepped out, laughing loudly with her companions, and for a split second, Cloud’s chest tightened. But it wasn’t you.

Of course it wasn’t you.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders stiffening as he turned his gaze away. What did he expect? Even if you frequented this part of Wall Market, there was no guarantee you’d be here again tonight. And even if you were—what then? What was he planning to say?

But before he could force himself to turn and walk away, the door to the bar swung open again. And as if the universe had decided to intervene—for better or worse, Cloud couldn’t tell—there you were.

Tonight, you looked different—still captivating, but in a way that caught him off guard. Gone was the sleek, alluring outfit from that night, replaced with fitted jeans that hugged your hips and thighs, paired with a simple black tank top that hinted at the softness of your chest. A light, oversized jacket hung loosely off your shoulders, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows.

Your hair was slightly tousled, and your makeup—if any—was subtle, just a faint sheen on your lips catching the dim light. A small crossbody bag rested against your hip, your movements unhurried and relaxed as you stepped into the street.

You glanced in his direction, and for a moment, he thought you hadn’t seen him. But then your eyes locked on his, and the faintest flicker of surprise crossed your face before smoothing into something more familiar. That knowing smirk curved your lips, subtle and teasing, your head tilting slightly as if you’d caught him red handed.

“Well,” you said, your voice carrying just enough to reach him over the hum of the market. “If it isn’t my favorite Storm Cloud. What are you doing here?” you asked, stepping closer.

Cloud managed to hold your gaze, his jaw clenching as he forced his expression into something neutral despite his shock at seeing you again. “Just… needed some air,” he muttered, his voice low, almost gruff.

Your smirk deepened, your eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Sure,” you said, drawing the word out like you didn’t believe him for a second. You stopped a few feet away, your gaze sweeping over him with that same calm, steady confidence that had been etched into his memory. “Wall Market’s a funny place to go for air. Guess you’ve got a thing for overpriced drinks and questionable company.”

Cloud’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile threatening to break through, but he forced it down. “What about you?” he countered, shifting his weight awkwardly.

“I just finished work," you said, your tone tinged with dry amusement.

The way you said it—matter-of-fact, unflinching—made Cloud’s chest tighten. Of course, that was why you were here. What else would it be?

Still, the words settled uncomfortably in his chest. It wasn’t judgment—Cloud wasn’t the kind of man who thought less of someone for what they did to survive. But the reminder of what "work" meant for you stung, a sharp and unwelcome thought gnawing at the edges of his mind. You’d been with other men tonight—men who weren’t him.

It wasn’t his place to feel anything about it, and he knew that. This wasn’t supposed to matter. He wasn’t supposed to care. And yet, the idea of those nameless men, their hands on you, their voices in your ear, left a bitter taste in his mouth. A pang of something—resentment? jealousy?—twisted in his chest.

You watched him, your smirk fading slightly as though you caught the shift in his expression. “Relax,” you teased, trying to break the tension. “It’s not like I’m going to charge you for standing around.”

Cloud’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking away as he struggled to find the right response. "So... you're done for the night?"

He wasn’t sure why he’d asked—it wasn’t like him to pry, let alone care. And yet, the words had tumbled out before he could stop them.

You tilted your head, studying him. “What’s it to you?”

Cloud shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Just asking,” he muttered, his voice rough, almost defensive.

Your smirk deepened, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Why, got plans for me?”

Cloud���s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. "How much?"

For a moment, you didn’t answer, your brow knitting together as though you were carefully weighing your response. Then, after a beat, you shrugged lightly, the motion almost dismissive.

“Same as before,” you said.

Cloud didn’t hesitate. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the gil without a word. His movements were deliberate, mechanical, as he counted out the amount and handed it over. You took it without comment, your fingers brushing his briefly as the exchange was made.

“Come on,” he said, already turning on his heel and heading down the street.

You followed, slipping the money into your bag.

Cloud’s mind was a tangle of contradictions as he walked. He didn’t want to fuck you—not tonight, anyway. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked, why he’d paid. This wasn’t supposed to be part of his day, part of his life. Yet here he was again, leading you back to his apartment like it was some inevitability he couldn’t fight.

What the hell was he doing?

The thought churned in his chest, a low hum of frustration mingling with something he didn’t want to name.

When they reached his apartment, Cloud paused at the door, glancing back at you. You met his gaze with that same calm confidence, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as if to say, Your move, Storm Cloud.

He unlocked the door without a word, stepping inside and holding it open for you. You walked past him, your steps measured, your gaze sweeping over the dimly lit room before you turned to face him.

Cloud stiffened the moment you slipped off your jacket, the fabric sliding from your shoulders and pooling over your arm. His chest tightened as you reached for the hem of your shirt in one swift, practiced motion, ready to peel it off.

“Wait,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

You froze mid-motion, your fingers still gripping the edge of your shirt, and looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. “Something wrong?” you asked lightly, your tone calm, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

Cloud’s jaw worked as he tried to find the right words, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease. His hands stayed shoved in his pockets, fingers curling into fists as he wrestled with the impulse that had driven him to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, just that the sight of you preparing to undress sent a pang of something through him that wasn’t desire—at least, not entirely.

“I didn’t…” He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “That’s not why I brought you here.”

“But you paid for it,” you said after a long pause, your tone matter-of-fact.

Cloud nodded, the tension in his chest tightening as he struggled to find the right words. “I know.”

“Then what do you want?” you asked, your voice suddenly measured, cautious—like you weren't sure if you wanted the answer. Cloud’s gaze flicked toward the window, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. He didn’t know what he wanted. That was the problem.

He sighed, unfolding his arms and running a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you just… take a seat."

The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have, heavy with something unspoken as you stood frozen in the middle of the room. There was no smirk on your face now, no playful teasing, just a sharp, watchful expression as you moved toward the couch. You sat and crossed your legs, resting your hands lightly on your knee, your gaze flitting briefly around the room before settling resolutely on him.

And that’s when Cloud realized, with a start, that you were nervous.

No, more than nervous. You were…afraid. Of him—not because of anything he’d done, but because of what he could do.

Of course, you were on edge. Why wouldn’t you be? He’d shown up out of nowhere, tracked you down, handed over gil without a shred of explanation, and brought you back to his apartment. And now, after all that, he didn’t want to have sex with you? The very thing you’d thought he hired you to do?

The whole thing must have seemed like a setup.

Cloud didn’t blame you. He wasn’t naïve—he knew how most men looked at women like you—like objects, toys for their amusement, tools to satisfy whatever desire, sex or otherwise, they brought to the table. But the idea that you might think he was one of those men made his stomach churn. But he didn’t know how to fix this—how to erase the guarded look in your eyes or the wary set of your shoulders. Words had never been his strength, and right now, the ones he needed felt impossible to find.

“I know how this looks,” He managed, trying, and likely failing, to sound gentle and reassuring. “But I’m not… I’m not trying to scare you or… or anything.”

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes narrowing as you studied him with a sharp, assessing gaze that made him feel like you were peeling back layers he wasn’t even aware of. Searching for something—cracks, dishonesty, danger.

“I didn’t think this through,” Cloud continued, the words coming out low and halting as he tried to force his scattered thoughts into something coherent. “I’m not here to push you into anything. I just… wanted to see you… I guess.”

The words tasted unfamiliar, even as they left his mouth, yet they rang with a truth he could no longer deny.

He’d told himself he hadn’t gone looking for you, that heading back to the Rusty Chocobo had been nothing more than a coincidence. But now, standing here with you, the words slipping out like they’d been waiting all along, he couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.

He had gone looking for you.

Your posture stayed tense, though the sharpness in your expression flickered briefly, replaced by something he couldn’t quite read. Curiosity, maybe. Or skepticism.

“You came all the way to Wall Market, paid me, and brought me back to your place… just to see me?"

“Yeah.”

You blinked at him, your brows knitting together as though you were trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re serious.”

Cloud nodded, his shoulders stiff as he resisted the urge to look away. “…Yeah.”

Another pause, longer this time, stretched as you studied him, weighing his words. You were still wary, trying to piece him together, to figure out whether the man standing in front of you was safe or dangerous. Cloud couldn’t blame you. The situation was absurd, and the fact that he’d handled it so poorly wasn’t helping.

Finally, you tilted your head slightly, your voice calm but edged with suspicion. “Alright. Let’s start with the basics. What do you do?”

Cloud’s shoulders stiffened slightly. He knew how his answer would sound—knew it wasn’t exactly the kind of response that screamed trustworthy. But he also knew better than to lie. “I’m a mercenary,” he said evenly, his voice low.

Your eyes narrowed, the words clearly not putting you at ease. “A mercenary,” you repeated, your tone carefully neutral. “Guess that explains the big-ass sword. So, what… you get paid to fight people?”

“Sometimes,” Cloud admitted, watching your reaction carefully. “Sometimes it’s other things. Body guarding, retrievals, odd jobs. Whatever needs doing.”

“Doesn’t quite make me feel better,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re not exactly selling yourself as the harmless type, you know.”

Cloud’s lips twitched, a faint flicker of dry humor slipping through. “I’m not harmless,” he said honestly. “But I’m… I wouldn’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you and I won’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “So… nobody sent you for me?”

The question hit him like a bucket of cold water. Cloud’s own curiosity flared at the implication—why would someone be looking for you? What kind of trouble might you be caught up in? But he forced himself to push the questions aside. The last thing you needed was him prying into your life when you didn’t trust him to begin with.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “No one sent me.”

Your gaze stayed locked on his, sharp and unyielding as you searched his face for any sign of dishonesty. Cloud held it without flinching, letting his sincerity show. He needed you to believe him, even if he couldn’t admit to himself why it mattered so much.

“Alright,” you said at last, the word measured and cautious. “I’ll… take your word for it.”

Cloud nodded, relief flooding through him, though he didn’t let it show beyond a subtle loosening of his posture. It was progress, no matter how small. You weren’t running out the door or accusing him of ulterior motives anymore, and that was enough for now.

The silence stretched between you, no longer as heavy but still charged. Finally, you leaned back against the couch, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “So,” you began, “if no one sent you, and you’re not here to… hurt me, then what exactly do you want?”

Cloud hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I told you,” he muttered after a beat. “I wanted to see you.”

Your brow arched at that, skepticism flickering across your face again. “Right,” you said slowly.

Cloud sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know how it sounds,” he admitted, his voice low, almost apologetic. “But it’s the truth.”

You watched him for a moment longer before leaning back a little further. “You’re a weird guy, you know that?”

Cloud huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like amusement. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ve heard that before.”

You hummed absently in response, your gaze flicking around the room as though you were searching for something.

When you spotted the dusty old chess set tucked away on a shelf in the corner, you tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your expression. Pushing yourself up from the couch, you crossed the room, your steps deliberate

"You play?” you asked, reaching out and running a finger along the top of the board, leaving a clean streak in the thin layer of dust.

Cloud blinked, caught off guard by the question. He hadn’t thought about that chessboard in ages. It had been a gift from Tifa years ago—something she’d said would help him “unwind” during his downtime. But it had sat there untouched ever since, a relic of an idea that never came to fruition.

“Used to,” he muttered.

“Used to,” you echoed thoughtfully, your tone neutral. Then, you picked it up and carried it over to the coffee table in the center of the room.

Cloud frowned slightly as you set it down and began wiping the dust off and arranging the pieces.

“Well,” you said, your tone hesitantly teasing, “since you’re not in the mood for… other activities, how about a game?”

Cloud hesitated, his gaze flicking from the board to you. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice skeptical.

You shrugged. “Why not? Unless you’re afraid of losing.”

That made Cloud huff softly, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his lips. “I don’t lose,” he said gruffly as he made his way to the table.

“Guess we’ll see,” you said, folding your legs as you finished setting up the last of the pieces. “Because I don’t go easy on anyone—not even weird, broody mercenaries.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, settling on the floor opposite you, resting his elbows on the table as he studied the board.

The game began in silence, save for the soft scrape of pieces sliding across the wood and the occasional hum of thought from you. Cloud’s focus sharpened as it always did when he had a task in front of him, his eyes scanning the chessboard with the same intensity he brought to battle.

But he couldn’t help noticing the way your demeanor shifted as the game progressed. The guarded edge that had been so sharp continued to dull slightly with every move, the wariness in your eyes, now tempered by something else—curiosity, maybe even amusement.

“Not bad,” you remarked after a particularly clever move on his part, sliding your bishop back to block his knight. “Didn’t peg you for a strategist.”

Cloud huffed softly, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t get far in my line of work without learning how to think ahead.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Right. Mercenary,” you chuckled. “I should have known. From the whole ‘silent and brooding’ vibe you’ve got going on.”

Cloud hummed, watching you consider your next move on the board. “Am I that transparent?

“Kinda,” you admitted, your tone light as you slid a rook into position. “You’ve got the look down—tough, quiet, mysterious. I’m surprised you don’t have a cape.”

Cloud shot you a sidelong glance, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk. “Not practical.”

That made you laugh—a soft, genuine sound that caught him off guard. He looked up just in time to see the tension in your shoulders ease a fraction, warmth returning to your expression.

“Fair enough,” you said. “Your turn.”

The banter came easily now, a back-and-forth that felt almost natural, and Cloud didn’t feel like he wasn't second-guessing everything he said or did anymore. The tension that had gripped him earlier was still there, lingering at the edges, but it was quieter now-manageable. You weren't just testing him anymore. You were engaging, talking to him like a person instead of a client.

“So, you work alone?” you asked after a while, moving a pawn forward to threaten one of his bishops.

“No,” Cloud replied, his voice low and even. He considered the board for a moment before sliding his rook to a safer position. “Usually with a team, but… depends on the job., I guess.”

You hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward to study the board. “Is that so? You don’t strike me as the ‘team player’ type.”

“Depends on the team,” he countered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You grinned back at him, your fingers lingering over your pieces. “Fair enough.”

The small talk continued as the game progressed. You asked him about his favorite places in Midgar (“Nowhere”), whether he ever had downtime (“Rarely”), and what he liked to do when he wasn’t working (“Does sleeping count?”). He answered each question without hesitation, surprising even himself with how easily the words came. In return, he learned a few things about you—your preference for quiet corners in noisy places, a passing interest in old books, and a vague history with someone who’d taught you chess a long time ago.

But even as the conversation lightened, Cloud’s focus on the game remained sharp. His pieces were in good positions, his rooks and knights effectively cornering your queen. He leaned back, his confidence growing as he watched you deliberate your next move.

“You’re in trouble,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with the faintest trace of amusement.

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk. “Guess we’ll see.”

The next few moves were quick. Cloud advanced his pieces aggressively, forcing you to retreat while maintaining control. Victory felt imminent, his position on the board nearly unshakable. But before he could move his queen to deliver what he thought was the final blow, you made your move.

Your bishop slid into place with a deliberate, almost casual motion. “Checkmate,” you said, your voice calm but carrying an unmistakable note of triumph.

Cloud froze, his gaze snapping to the board. His eyes scanned the pieces, disbelief tightening his jaw as he realized what had just happened. Somehow, in the chaos of his offensive, he’d overlooked the trap you’d been building. His king was boxed in—no escape, no counterplay.

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest as he stared at the board in silence. “How?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You grinned, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table. “You got cocky,” you said lightly.

Cloud huffed, the sound a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk despite himself. “Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly.

You laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded, and for a moment, Cloud found himself watching you instead of the board. There was something about the way you sat there that made the sting of defeat feel oddly… tolerable.

As you started putting the board and pieces back in their place on the shelf, his eyes traced the details of your face—the curve of your lips, the slight furrow in your brow as you concentrated on organizing the pieces, the way a loose strand of hair fell against your cheek before you absently tucked it behind your ear. The way the faintest smile lingered on your lips, like you were quietly pleased with yourself for beating him.

It struck him, then, with a force that made his chest ache—how beautiful you were. Not in the way he'd thought when he first saw you, dressed to kill and wearing that confident, teasing smirk. This was different. There was something about the simplicity of this moment, of seeing you like this, that made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t used to.

And then it hit him: he was doing this all backwards.

He’d seen all of you a few days ago, every curve and inch of your body, felt the warmth of your skin, the softness of your form. That should’ve been the most intimate part, the peak of knowing someone. But now… Now he was noticing the smaller things, the way your lips pursed when you were focused, the soft hum in your throat as you worked, the way you seemed to radiate life in a way that felt both effortless and disarming.

This wasn’t how these things were supposed to go. You didn’t meet someone, sleep with them, and then start peeling back the layers. It was backwards, completely illogical.

Cloud’s chest tightened further, realization creeping in like an unwelcome guest. This wasn’t just attraction, wasn’t just a fleeting interest in someone who’d caught his eye. No, this was deeper. He could feel it in the way his gaze lingered too long, in the ache that stirred in his chest when you laughed, and in the inexplicable pull that had led him back to you in the first place.

He was undoubtedly falling for you.

And Cloud Strife wasn’t supposed to fall for people. Attachments were dangerous, messy, a risk he couldn’t afford to take. That was what he told himself. That was how he lived.

You finished putting the chessboard back on the shelf, brushing your hands together as if to rid them of invisible dust. Turning back toward him, you tilted your head, an amused glint in your eyes. “You okay over there?"

Cloud blinked, pulling himself out of his spiraling thoughts. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

You smirked, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall, your posture relaxed in a way that only added to the quiet confidence you carried. “You sure? I don’t want you losing sleep over your loss."

“Not losing sleep,” Cloud replied, but his tone lacked its usual edge. His eyes flicked toward the chessboard briefly before settling back on you. “You’re good. I’ll give you that.”

You grinned, the smile warm and teasing. “I know.”

Cloud shook his head, a faint breath of air escaping him that could almost be considered a laugh.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful curiosity. “Well, Cloud... I suppose that concludes our time together."

The words hit him like a cold gust of wind, snapping him out of the strange sense of ease that had settled between you. His faint smirk faltered, his expression shifting as the reminder of the transaction between you settled heavily in his chest.

You were right, of course. He’d paid you to be here, and now your work was done. This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than an exchange, a business arrangement. And yet, sitting here with you, playing chess and trading small talk, it had started to feel like something else.

Cloud’s gaze flicked away, landing somewhere on the floor as he tried to muster a response. “Right,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “Guess it does.”

You leaned down to pick up your jacket from where it had been discarded earlier, shaking it out before draping it over your arm. Cloud pushed himself to his feet, the motion stiff and deliberate, his gaze flicking to you and then away. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and Cloud just stood there, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, his eyes darting to yours and then back to the floor like he couldn’t decide where to look.

But then, as if the weight of the silence pressed too hard on you, you broke it. “You know,” you said, your voice quieter now, stripped of the teasing lilt you so often used. “I had fun tonight.”

Cloud’s gaze snapped up to meet yours, his eyes narrowing slightly in surprise.

You offered a faint, almost shy smile, and for the first time, you looked... open. Vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen before. “This was… nice,” you continued, hesitating as though choosing your words carefully. “The best job I’ve had, honestly.”

Cloud’s chest tightened as the meaning of your words settled over him. The implication was clear: most of your nights weren’t like this. The life you lived wasn’t one you chose—it was something you endured. And yet, here you were, smiling at him like this had been some kind of reprieve from whatever your evenings usually looked like.

Cloud clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to say something, to ask questions he knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t have the right. All he could do was nod, the motion stiff and awkward.

You stepped toward the door and Cloud moved instinctively, his hand brushing against the edge of the handle, but you stopped him with a light touch on his arm. He froze, his breath catching as he turned to face you.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in a gesture so soft and fleeting it barely registered before you pulled away. “Take care of yourself, Cloud,” you said, your voice gentle.

And then you were gone, slipping out the door and into the night, leaving Cloud standing there, his cheek tingling from where your lips had touched it, his chest aching with a mix of emotions he couldn’t begin to untangle.

The room felt impossibly empty without you.

[minlahzz]

alain with a touchy reader.

requested

I finally took this out of my behind (jk) it's kind of short? I tried making sure it wasn't repetitive to the ideas I've already given out in the past...

LOWER CASE INTENDED.

alain isn’t the type to prefer out physical affection, and honestly, he doesn’t really expect it either. he’s always been more of a lone person, someone who keeps people at arm’s length, not because he doesn’t care, but because that’s just how he is. so when you come along, completely unbothered by his nature and casually treating physical affection like a necessity, it throws him off so bad.

he’s used to standing there all nonchalant, arms crossed, looking like he’s about to fight the entire world… and then here you come, wrapping your arms around him like it’s the most normal thing in the world. at first, he genuinely doesn’t know how to react. he goes stiff, like a deer in headlights, just standing there as if processing. it's clear the gears in his head haven't functioned yet.

it takes a long time for him to adjust. not because he dislikes it, but because he just has no idea what to do with himself. the first few times you hug him, his arms hover awkwardly at his sides, unsure whether he should reciprocate or hide away.

if you grab his hand, he lets you, but he looks at it like you’ve just performed some kind of trick on him. if you lean against him, he doesn’t push you away, but his entire posture shifts into what do i do with this information. but slowly, very slowly, he starts to respond. instead of just standing there like a statue, he starts reciprocating in little ways. a hesitant arm around your back when you hug him. a quick squeeze of your hand if you grab his. he’ll never admit it, but at some point, it stops being weird and just becomes… normal

behind closed doors is where the real change happens. he won’t initiate anything, let’s be real, that’s not happening anytime soon, but he won’t resist it either. if you’re sprawled out on the couch and decide to use his lap as a pillow.

he won’t push you off, nor will he ever think of it. if you hug him from behind while he’s busy with something, he’ll sigh like he’s so disturbed but won’t actually move away. he’s gotten used to it. in fact, at this point, he notices when you don’t do it. if you’re having an off day and suddenly not clinging to him like usual, he starts getting concerned. he won’t say it outright, because that’s too direct for him, but he’ll do things like stand closer than necessary, subtly nudge your arm, or just look at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. if it goes on for too long, he might even be the one to initiate a hug. (GASP a rare sighting, truly.)

pda is a serious subject with him. he’s not against it, but he’s not built for it either. if you do it without warning, you might hear the rarest thing ever ! a flustered alain. his voice comes out all quiet, like, “did you have to do that here?” but the REALLY funny part? if you tease him about it, he refuses to look at you for the next five minutes, acting all serious and composed while his ears are definitely red.

charizard has seen everything. every hug, every affectionate gesture, every moment where alain pretends to be unaffected but is so obviously affected. and charizard is judging. if charizard could talk, he’d be roasting alain nonstop. sometimes, you’ll hug alain and charizard will just turn his head and stare at him, like, 'bro, you good? need backup?' alain will sigh dramatically, pat charizard like “don’t start,” and act like this is just his life now. one time, you caught charizard grinning when alain got flustered over something, and the betrayal on alain’s face was unreal.

but the thing is, alain likes you. a lot. and even if he’s not good at words, even if he’s not the best at showing it traditionally, he notices things about you. he notices when you’re unusually quiet, when you hesitate before reaching for his hand, when your usual energy is missing.

he doesn’t always know how to ask what’s wrong, but he makes up for it in actions. if you’re tired, he’ll nudge you to rest, maybe even let you lean against him. if you’re stressed, he’ll casually take care of whatever’s bothering you, acting like it’s not a big deal even though it totally is. he won’t always say “i love you” outright, but he doesn’t have to, because when he lets you hold onto him without complaint, when he waits just a second longer before pulling away, when he sighs but doesn’t move when you wrap yourself around him… you already know !