#technically that's true for ten as well I suppose

[truegoist]

The real reason I want to be an uni teacher is bc I would fucking suck at teaching kids

[ataraxiaspainting]

There is an Uproar.

Yan Gojo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Satoru thinks you simply haven’t come around yet.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, threats of kidnapping, delusional Gojo, and manipulation.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Six Forty Seven by Instupendo

Money, Money, Money by ABBA

Choke - Acoustic by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

Breezeblocks by alt-J

Feeling Good by Micheal Bublé

Claus by Los Tres

Bleed Magic by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

This Could Be Us by Rae Sremmurd 

Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

“You're like a half-tamed creature, still shy of the bridle. 'Except you enthrall me, never shall be free.' But freedom is an illusion, anyway.” – Nenia Campbell, Fearscape

*~*~*~*

Satoru came to your door with gifts again; mochi, bubble tea, bouquets of roses, keychains, jewelry, books… everything you could ever ask for he either had in his hands or would quickly get for you by whatever means necessary.

It’s a shame really that you refuse to show your true feelings for him, especially after all he has done to make you happy. But he can be patient when he wants to be, and so with a not-yet-broken heart, at least fifteen gift bags wrapped around both his clenched hands, and a chuckle he rings your doorbell twice. He could hear some shuffling from inside and a shout of coming.

The voice was high-pitched and cheery from the sound of it. His eyes lit up then as he smiled widely. But as soon as the door opened, his smile slightly faltered as his gaze met eyes he had never seen before.

The woman in front of him was not you. What was she doing in your apartment?

His first thought was to assume she was an intruder, someone who broke into your home, stole your belongings and money, hid you in a closet or under cement, and is pretending to be you for the time being. Well, he can’t be fooled so easily if that was the case. But he then chose to let the woman speak before coming to conclusions. Though she was wearing your cute Hello Kitty hoodie and utterly adorable My Melody headband and had one of your pore strips on her nose. She obviously knew you in some way, and so he in turn needed to know her.

The woman waved at him and slowly looked down from his face to the many presents in his hands. Her head turned then, a huh accidentally coming from her lips.

“Hello miss,” Satoru tries his best to be polite and not have any bias towards her, but it is indeed hard to do so. It is hard to not have any bias and not entertain the idea of snapping her neck, because he does not know her and she is not you. He does not recognize her from any of your friend groups, and it took everything in him to not sneer and glare at her and demand to know where you were.

“Hey,” She seems to try her best to be polite too, trying to hide her confusion behind a small smile. “Can I help you?”

Satoru nods, trying to put on an eager and friendly front. He then gestures towards the gifts in his hands and chuckles. He fakes almost dropping one for dramatic effect. It seemed like it worked because the woman gasped and then sighed in relief as Satoru caught it in time before it could fall on the floor.

“I am looking for [First], I thought she would be here.” The stranger nods, her smile becoming more prominent. As a result, his own became more prominent too, though his was fake. “I’m her boyfriend. Wanted to surprise her, you know?” 

He is technically not lying. He’s right if anything. Once you stop playing hard to get and fall into his arms, he’ll officially be known as such. He’s right, if only you stopped pretending to be so disinterested.

“Ah, I see!” The woman answers, her eyes inviting and curious. He sighs, faking a small sob and groan. She looked concerned then.

“If only she was here, I always love seeing her smile!” He closes his eyes, trying his best to look sadder than a kicked puppy. “I suppose she’s not here right now…”

With how the girl steps to the side, her hand gesturing towards the apartment hallway, Satoru knows that his plan worked.

*~*~*~*

“I’m Eve, her roommate, nice to meet you!”

“The same to you.”

“So how long have you two been together?”

“A long time, we’ve been together since our high school days!”

“She sure is lucky to have such a devoted boyfriend, huh?”

He laughs at the compliment, his back crouched a bit downward at an angle so he could be more comfortable walking about. Eve chuckles at his casualness.

“You sure got her a lot,” Her tone is sweet, another piece of proof to reassure Satoru that she trusts him fully. Until you eventually show up from wherever you have gone and start spewing lies, she will continue to be that way. You seem to not have good taste in roommates, it seems because Eve is far too naive for your safety. “Like a lot. Do you come here often? I just moved in so…”

Satoru doesn’t pay attention to her questions as he fantasizes about the day when you move into his place and you sleep next to him and wake him up with good morning kisses. A beautiful ring will adorn your finger one day, and you will enthusiastically anticipate his arrival from work while adorning the makeup he favors and styling your hair to his liking.

It was a small, cramped apartment, one definitely not worth how much money you rent it for. “I never get tired of how cute [First] makes this place. With both her presence and how she decorates everything. She has good taste.” He goes into the kitchen area, still having his arms hooked by the strings of the many gift bags, and looks around at the scented candles, dried flowers, and baked cookies on the table. “[First] made these, right?”

“Yeah,” Eve really is stupid, isn’t she? If he were a burglar she would be dead on the spot. How could she possibly protect you from any danger? He would obviously be a better housemate than her. 

Satoru leans towards the kitchen table and snatches a cookie from the cooled baking sheet, biting into it and chewing loudly. 

“Delicious, right?” Eve asks, giggling. She does not seem scared at all and seems to have no boundaries whatsoever.

He agrees, quickly devouring the entire confection and licking his fingers clean. “She’s always been a good baker. There’s a good recipe she knows for pie too. Maybe I’ll ask her to make it for me sometime…” He hums as he sets all the gifts down on the back coffee table. “She sure is a catch, wouldn’t you say? Her baking is one of the reasons I was so attracted to her in the first place.”

Your roommate nods. Satoru considers taking his leave now, but he has never been in your apartment during the day before. 

He may as well stay a while. It will be fun, he tells himself.

So, he walks into the living room and starts reading the titles of books on the shelving next to your writing desk. A lot of horror and romance books from the looks of it. Classic little you.

He then looks over to your computer. 

“So sweet, like a cupcake,” He touches the top of the laptop, his fingertips tracing the many rainbow stickers that cover it. You really are just the best, aren’t you?

Before he could open it though, he could hear keys jingling. You’re here.

“I’m back–” As if you were a sort of lightbulb running out of power, your cheerfulness declines smoothly and steadily, being quickly replaced by a cute sneer.

Satoru lets out a loud laugh. He adjusts his stance, placing a hand on his waist.

“Ah, [First], honey! Welcome back, I brought you some gifts!”

Instead of responding, you turn to Eve, your scowl turning into a simple frown. Advancing swiftly, you approach her, closing the distance with eyebrows ascending in sudden understanding. Eve, on the other hand, responds by tilting her head to the side, resembling a perplexed canine, in clear bewilderment of your abrupt outburst.

Gently, you grasp her hands within your own.

“Eve, I forgot to tell you something important.” You point at Satoru with a shaky finger. He simply chuckles in response, amused with how quick you are to hide your excitement. “Whatever you do, don’t let him in.”

Eve lets out a sound of surprise. “Huh, what, why?”

Your gaze meets Satoru’s and you look like you could hardly breathe.

“He is a stalker; he is always lying to people and saying that we are dating and are head over heels in love, but don’t believe him one bit.”

His eyes dart across the room as he loses eye contact with you and Eve. All the while, as his head darts from side to side, he pouts, puffs up his cheeks childishly, and leans back slightly against the wall, not too oblivious but subtle to his amusement. His face is a mask of innocence and confusion, trying to appear like he is not aware of what is going on–when he is very much aware of it and is silently enjoying it.

He loudly sighs and rolls his eyes, his hands sliding to his face as he brings them up to cover his sunglasses and mouth. He is trying to hide a smile, the act of which is just too much for his face to handle. He keeps shaking his head in dramatic disbelief and he turns to the side to lean against the wall harder as he puts his head down, shaking his head in exaggerated betrayal. 

Satoru tries his best to not laugh again, it would ruin his marvelous performance.

He is the most captivating person in this room, you and Eve must be hung up on his every action and word, you two cannot look past his incredible acting.

Nobody is capable of acting to the degree that he is, his performances are legendary and his acting skills are unparalleled.

He is simply the best there is and ever will be. If there were a competition in this room to win an Oscar for best acting, he is certain that he would be taking that home. There is nothing on God’s green earth that can get in the way of him delivering these lines and excellent movements. He is so talented and so experienced, who could ever deny his skills?

“Gojo,” You say coldly. “Get out.”

He expects you to see the gifts, how heartbroken he is, and finally admit that you are just as much in love with him as he is with you. Instead, he could swear for a moment that he could hear crickets, before realizing that it is the wick of the candle on your kitchen table burning. As he surveys you and Eve he notices that he is getting no reaction.

“Babe.” When you don’t respond to the nickname, he snuffs a huff. “Stop pretending, okay?”

He thought that he was killing that acting.

He can’t believe that no one is buying his performance. He’s got the attitude, he’s got the swagger, he’s got it all, but neither of you are falling for it. This is just insulting. He knows he’s great, he knows he is delivering the performance of his life but for some reason, neither you nor Eve can see it! He is in absolute shock.

So, Satoru walks up to you and grabs your face.

He looks at Eve and she doesn’t look at him, she looks at you. That is fine, as long as he can still talk to her and you everything will be alright in the long run. Everything is going to be okay, he tells himself.

“Eve, can [First] and I have a few minutes alone?” Her eyes race to every corner of the room and slowly but surely make their way to the gold coins in his free hand. Multiple emotions spread across her face; confusion, greed… consideration. “It will only be for a sec, okay?” 

With a measured pace, Eve approaches his outstretched palm, her eyes fixated on the glistening gold. Her gaze mirrors that of a ravenous crow or a parched man deprived of water for days, or sustenance for weeks. Quivering hands accept the money, and in silence, she retreats to her room, closing the door behind her.

“Come on, drop the funny games,” Instead of directing your gaze towards him, your eyes fixate on the entrance of Eve's bedroom. The door is adorned with a vibrant pink poster of a popular musician, adorned with splashes of colorful paint. Inwardly, he reassures himself that this situation is acceptable. After all, the two of you are now in a private and secluded space. 

There is no longer anyone to hinder you from expressing your genuine emotions towards him. Surely you will finally admit them. Then you will eventually move to his place and stay there, happy and loving towards him at long last. All in due time, because Satoru can be patient when he wants to be.

“Get the fuck out. You sick–”

But now he does not want to be patient. He just wants to hear those words leave your pretty lips.

“Ah, ah, ah, watch your language, sweetie.” He interrupts you, placing a finger on your mouth. 

The mere expression on his countenance carries ample weight to silence your profanity-laden tirade.

He only perceives the captivating, extraordinary, flawless woman whom he is obligated to assist. You possess an excessive amount of independence - too unbound, unwilling to embrace his assistance, his presents, his finances - there exists a rationale why partners watch out for one another. Are you not aware of that? 

“That’s better.” He smiles and you start faking a shiver. “You really can listen when I finally put my foot down, huh? You can be stubborn with other people, you know, just not with me.”

He possesses strength - you lack it. You are so small compared to him. 

He possesses a keen understanding of the streets, while you lack that astuteness. The dress you have chosen to wear is excessively revealing. 

“Now, now, don’t cry. Shh, shh, shh. It was the only way I could see you, with how much you love to play hard to get.”

One can only imagine the number of individuals whom you captivated during the brief period you ventured outside today.

He possesses intelligence, while you lack it. You may believe otherwise, and you indeed excel in certain areas, such as your meticulousness in personal hygiene, which he acknowledges with humility, and your skill in baking, as well as your expertise in creating a cozy and plush bed. However, numerous matters elude your knowledge, such as selecting the right candidate in the upcoming election, performing a tire replacement, or operating a debit card. He is strong, while you are not. He is drawn to you for not being - captivated by your feminine allure; the way your body gently curves, your delicate touch, the fragrance that surrounds you, the melodic tone of your voice, and above all, your complete vulnerability when confronted with danger.

“Now, open your gifts. I did carry them all the way here after all.”

When you finally surrender, he will assume control over every decision you make. 

From selecting your attire to choosing items at the grocery store, he will dictate how you interact with other men and even how you smile. He believes you are incapable of handling even the simplest tasks. Additionally, he takes pleasure in instructing you on matters you are expected to be ignorant about. It's quite endearing, isn't it? 

He views you as his possession and will never, under any circumstances, let you slip away.

At his place, he has so many pretty outfits for you to choose from. A lot of aprons and cute dresses. All the while he downs a beer or seven with his friends and jokes about how nice you look cleaning. You'll listen to him rant about anything that comes into his mind, taking it all with a smile. It is not unusual for him to lay awake at night imagining what life would be like with you as his wife. First, he needs to show you your position as his wife and get rid of this misguided sense of independence you seem to be clinging to. What a dumb girl you are. It was meant to be, wasn't it? You are meant to be his girlfriend and eventually his wife, and you will by any means Satoru has to take.

He does not care what he has to do as long as the result is you finally giving in and loving your place in his arms. It is what you were made for. It is what he was made for.

So pretty. So stupid.

“Now, now. Stop crying, you’ll only ruin your makeup.”

*~*~*~*

On that particular evening, Satoru once again paid a visit to your apartment. However, instead of observing from a distance, he ventured further into the room and settled beside you as you lay in bed, rousing you from your slumber. The bed groaned as it shifted under his weight, and he swiftly covered your mouth to prevent any outcry.

Without hesitation, he gently hushed you, his other hand tracing the contours of your cheek and collarbone with his lengthy fingers. As he did so, he rhythmically caressed your neck, humming a tune that only he knew. In response, tears welled up in your eyes, but he promptly brushed them away. His initial hand soon abandoned its position on your mouth, ascending to tenderly stroke your hair.

"Don’t touch me," You rasped, observing how the moonlight cast an ethereal glow on his body and hair while obscuring his face in darkness.

He simply shushed you again and you could hear him breathing deeply through his nose and mouth.

He sat on his knees beside you. You could hear murmurs from him about how pretty you were, and you didn't know whether he was telling you or telling himself. Your hands clench the sheets in fistfuls. You let out a whimper. You close your eyes and grit your teeth, hoping this is just another bad dream.

He keeps murmuring fantasies. You don't open your eyes. You breathe through your mouth because you can smell his cologne with your nose. It is so strong, suffocating.

You eventually open them when the anxiety is too much, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, at the ceiling above his shoulders and head, at your cute vanity and glittering gold and silver jewelry and pastel clothes. Was that why he liked you so much because you were feminine and utterly defenseless in the face of a real threat? You think of an escape plan, of running to the bathroom grabbing your razor, and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“Such a beauty you are,” He whispered in your ear, his voice still so sticky. “So cute. A doll that only belongs to me. All that’s left is for you to finally accept because I know you want to, don’t you?”

You can’t stop him.

As the silence lingers, you find yourself yielding to the role of his girlfriend. Tear stains dot your pillow and mattress, remnants of your emotional turmoil. Satoru's praises now echo within you, as you surrender to his caresses. Your gaze shifts towards the window, where a few distant stars twinkle in the sky, veiled by a cloud that drapes the crescent moon like a bridal veil.

“So good. I just knew I wouldn’t have to take more… drastic measures.”

He snaps a picture on his phone for later.

[rosie-writings]

Collapse Into Me

Request: anon— A honeymoon fic of Colby bringing his wife to Wales like he mentioned on Snapchat during their Europe trip

Summary: Wedding planning polarized you and your family, but it made you realize that Colby’s family is the one you were meant to be in.

Warnings: Colby x Reader smut, Dom/Sub dynamic, Bondage, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex, and all the warm fluffy feelings

Words: 9k

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘Telomeres’ by Sleep Token

My hands were shaking, trembling to the bone, and I couldn’t tell if it was due to the cold in the air or that shrill in her voice.

“And so you think it’s a good idea, now?” My eyebrows pushed together at the sight of hers raising. “Of all times, now?”

”I mean, technically not-not now. In February.”

”February?” I didn’t think her voice reached that pitch, but of course it was me who could draw it out of her. “You’re giving yourself four months to plan a wedding? You’re so stupid.”

”Tell me why I’m stupid about this. You haven’t given me a valid reason; you’ve given me ridiculous reasons for why you think I’m stupid about other things, but not this.”

”Because,” she sighed with a twinge in her voice. My eyes grazed the stringy amber brown streaked blonde directionless curls at the end of her wavy hair. The last three inches of them should have been cut off months ago. “You of all people should know that it’s dumb behavior to have a ring on your finger three months into even entertaining the idea of being-of being stuck to someone.” My eyes fell flat.

I never liked the fact that I was five inches shorter than my cousin, but at this moment, I realized that she swung her height clunkily with those heels that used to be in my bedroom. My mom left them on my bed for me when she accidentally bought two sizes too big for herself. Of course I left them in my cousin’s car accidentally on purpose because why would a clan of near-six-foot-tall women leave a size ten shoe for the one who barely hit five foot four. 

“Okay,” my voice shook. “That kind of hurt actually.”

”Yeah; truth hurts. That’s how you know that this is the truth.” If that was the case, I could hurt her a lot right now. I would start with the fact that her eye color never really matched her beloved blue mascara, but that was neither here nor there.

”Well… I’d rather be stuck to him for the rest of my life than you guys.” I looked away and shoved down the burning in my throat. I continued the blame before she could gasp her pitiful response. “I mean, it’s true for you I suppose.”

”It’s true for anyone!”

”You-You hardly know what I want.” The scoff of her thick lips made mine push in a tight line.

”I’ve seen you under the sun enough to know that you’ve daydreamed about your honeymoon being at the beach.” Or maybe I simply day dreamed about a summer vacation without your squeaky voice cutting through the soothing sound of waves—

“I mean, you’re probably just projecting,” I sighed. “At least your skin keeps a tan. It’s just too much work for me to prioritize staying dark.”

“Yeah I know,” she said and I bit my tongue to conceal the roll of my eyes as if my eyes and tongue were connected. “Maybe I should just convince your mom to talk sense into you.”

”I mean, I’ve told her already and you’re the only one who’s given me this amount of shit about it.” Her eyes widened; they yielded a confrontation I wasn’t ready for. 

“Hm,” she sighed. Her eyes scanned me and it felt nice for her to be speechless if even for a second. “Well I still don’t like it.”

”And not everything’s about you.” This time her eyes rolled.

“Where are you even getting married? He has enough money to take you wherever you want and have it done.”

”Pf,” I scoffed because my stomach turned at the sound of her already expecting something from him. “Perhaps, but you damn well know I have enough money to bring all of us anywhere I want to go.” Her eyebrow rose. Only one of them.

”So you’re telling me he’s making you pay?”

”I don’t remember your opinion mattering when it comes to issues between a husband and wife, but go off I guess.” She audibly gasped.

”I’m telling your mom you said that.”

”Do it,” I challenged without blinking. She rolled her eyes. Her stupid car keys flicked over her hand. No one ever told her that the weight of all the senseless chains between far and few keys on the ring could ruin her ignition. She probably pumped her own gas once.

”I will.” She spun on her heel and walked over the edge of the curb. Her hand settled on the handle of that pristine Audi she bought last autumn. Well, she didn’t buy it; follow the money up the chain and it would come from YouTube into my bank account. “Also, I could never see you getting married in the dead of winter. You’d blend in with the snow and dead trees.”

I rolled my eyes because she didn’t know that it made me cry at night when my skin reddened from the unrelenting summer sun.

It didn’t even snow in Southern California.

”Hey,” he said, and the door of the car hardly opened all the way when the sweet sound hit my ears. Despite the tension in my throat, I stifled a wide smile.

”Hi,” I said as I sat down and closed the door. A flick of a millisecond long expression from him told me that I held my breath for too long when I said my greeting. 

“I’m guessing it went…”

”Yeah no,” I sighed as I released the tension in my throat. My fingers etched into the thick leather of his car. His hand found my thigh. My eyes still peeled out the window. “She’s an idiot. They all are.” He was quiet for a moment. Before a smile broke. God, I couldn’t look away from him even if I only drowned on half of his appearance. His eyes were on the road. 

“Sorry, but I anticipated that.” I shook my head.

It was September, and Colby and I got engaged almost a month ago. I waited to tell any of my family until now so that we could breathe and be excited by taking a break at work and partying with friends more than necessary. I knew that it would put yet another ringer between my women dominated family who each had expectations much higher than I did.

Well, my expectation of the actual person I was going to marry clearly was higher than theirs. Their primary focus was the wedding and who their bridesmaids were going to be and where the bachelorette parties would be and where the honeymoon—

Jesus Christ.

Maybe I was the second out of eleven of us getting married—I had three sisters and four first and three second cousins; all of us girls—because I wanted to get it over with. Maybe it sounded sad, and I kind of was, but this sadness was rooted in the stigma they inadvertently forced in me when I was young. I knew I didn’t meet their expectations when it came to the kind of dresses I liked.

Don’t get me wrong; I was no less materialistic than they were. I just liked making my own money and giving myself clothes and dresses devoid of color when I wanted to, unlike the ones their mothers and fathers threw at them in between whiny complaints. They dressed me up one time when I was sixteen; that was when the oldest was married at 25. I wasn’t a bridesmaid because there were too many of us, especially when combined with her two best friends. 

And I wasn’t the flower girl either because I wasn’t the youngest. But if she had asked me to be the flower girl, I would have dressed in a floor length black dress out of spite towards the embarrassment. 

The first time I would be in a wedding would be my own, and I was thoroughly happy about it.

I liked the way—that when Colby’s fingertips dragged up my leg to find my hand, and once found—his own rings clashed with the one he gave me. I also liked the fact that the first ring I ever accepted from someone was his, and also the fact that the first ring to be placed on his ring finger would be the one I would get him. Despite the dozens of rings that adorned his fingers at every second of the day, I knew he deliberately made vacant his ring finger, even if he never explicitly mentioned it. I noticed.

So now we were on the way back to his house. I suspected Sam was back from his morning responsibility and as were other friends considering the amount of food in the backseat. Colby must have picked it up right as he picked me up from the cafe I met my sisters at that morning.

We talked about the engagement at first, and I was smart enough to tell them in public so they couldn’t make too large of a scene. It was my sister who was the happiest. She was two years older than me; the oldest of us four. Two of the three cousins who decided to spend their time on me had to warm to the idea. It was my second oldest sister and the third cousin who stayed later after everyone else left to chew me out about it. 

I was saved by God herself when my sister said she was going to be late for work and left. My cousin didn’t get the memo and didn’t leave in her car until Colby’s had been sitting on the side of the road, since all the parking spaces were taken, for a solid minute. 

It felt like I could breathe everytime I stepped foot in their house. 

Once everything was settled, anyway.

Colby told me the night we were engaged, after the party and after we had been alone for two hours, that he would have proposed to me in the spring, but it took all those months to convince Sam that it was a good idea.

”I never expected you to be the one to convince Sam that marriage could be good; I thought it would be the other way around,” I told Colby when my thumb still twisted the engagement ring on my finger. He laughed.

”I don’t think it would have mattered who was getting married between us; the other one was bound to take months to come to terms with it.”

And I knew it had nothing to do with me. I love their friendship wholeheartedly; I had no complaints about it at all. 

“I really don’t hold any of that-that mess against you, you know?” I shook my head in faux annoyance.

”You don’t have to tell me that everytime I had a standoff with them about you,” I snapped. “I know you don’t. If you did, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“That’s a little much—“

”I mean, even though I fucking hate them sometimes—most of the time—I still couldn’t marry someone who seriously hates them. That’s for me and me only.”

”You take the brunt of them too much.”

”Yeah well,” I sighed as we got to the house, and thanked God for it. “Someone has to and at least I have the patience to not tear their family apart unlike our mothers.” He smiled, and I knew it had nothing to do with what I meant.

Their family, as in, I was already founded by another.

Wedding planning was nice when I was secluded with my friends and when I was with Colby; the anxiety of being without the rest of my family was forgotten. I knew I was different from them, but I didn’t realize how much I was until my own wedding planning turned into a mirror. I also couldn’t stop thinking about my oldest cousin’s wedding; maybe it was a blessing more than a curse that I didn’t have to wear one of those coral bridesmaid dresses that looked stuck in a 2015 Instagram feed.

I really didn’t look good in coral. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t chosen. Or maybe it was the fact that if I chose a dress that would cover my tattoos, it wouldn’t match her aesthetic.

It didn’t matter to me. None of them would be in my wedding.

I take that back; one would, and that was the one who cried when I FaceTimed her two weeks ago. Colby, even, invited her to a party of recent to which she declined but was thankful still for including her. She was a month younger than me. I threatened her to not tell the rest of our family. The fact that I told her was enough; I knew she wouldn’t. 

Maybe there was a certain decibel of venom on my tongue when I talked about my family to the boys, but I was too lethargic to say it to their faces. My family would expect yelling, arguing, and receipts, and at this point, I simply didn’t care enough.

I decided to save the energy for the week the world learned about who was in my ring of bridesmaids. 

“Good thing you only have a few months left of it,” Colby said a bit too happily. I smiled as we grabbed the food and walked into their full house. 

And a few months it was.

I dizzied at the sight of the makeup on my face. To be completely transparent, I tried this look on myself before and I thought I looked decent until a professional artist, obviously, made my version of the look more similar to a newborn digging through its mother’s makeup bag. Two days. Just two more days and it would be over. It guilted me that that was how I felt about wedding planning, but I just wanted to be alone. 

Alone with Colby; how was that different than being alone at this point?

Somehow, the weather caved as if it knew and obeyed the spite in my heart. Thick winterous clouds rolled in last night, and I couldn’t help but smile at them. No longer did I imagine a piercing blue sky over us in our wedding photos. I didn’t fully understand why it made me ecstatic to know that the weather would traditionally be not ideal for a wedding.

Maybe it was the fact that the earth gave me what I wanted.

My mother, three cousins, and one sister complained about how gross it was outside and how they wished the sky would clear up. I silently prayed it wouldn’t. I could have sworn the clouds turned grayer. I knew I wouldn’t get snow in Los Angeles, but my family was right about the fact that I wouldn’t have been able to handle the chill.

And I thought that fluke cool front in September was cold.

“What do you think?” I asked as my best friend walked in the room upon the makeup artist’s request.

”Stop,” she gasped and she smiled ear to ear until the burning I ever so hated coiled in my throat. “I fear I’m going to have to be a bitch to you tomorrow so that we won’t get all sentimental and cry it all off.”

”Good,” I snorted. “Because if I cry I’m punching you in the throat.” I held the mirror and looked at myself. It was the first time I wore makeup that mended with my skin tone. It didn’t look like I stole mud from the earth and rubbed in on my cool skin. I looked more alive and healthy than I did when my sister did my make up, and my heart sped at the idea that each of them would scowl at the eyeliner that might have been a millimeter thicker than the average wedding liner. I don’t know what it was; I didn’t do things out of spite all the time.

It simply looked like spite when I did things for myself.

I saved putting my dress on for tomorrow.

But when tomorrow came, my best friend tied it up for me. Or zipped it. Both, actually. 

The photographer snapped our intimate moments in the women’s getting ready room. My two other friends, my sister, and Colby’s sister including our moms who stopped by for no more than ten minutes accompanied. The silence was a blessing even though we were the furthest from actually staying quiet. I didn’t think I liked other human voices until I met my closest friends.

It ended before I convinced myself it started.

My stomach was in knots until I saw Colby that day, and then I remembered the rest. I blacked out when I was with him, always, and could only remember the things we kept between us. The rest of it didn’t matter. The morning mattered, but the nerves gnawed at them, and when we were together, who cared about the cousin gossiping rows away?

I heard his footsteps before his voice. He took his time, and I didn’t move.

I stood in the room that my bridesmaids and I readied ourselves in nearly an hour ago. 

My lips still buzzed from the feeling of his. We kissed far too many times to count, but it felt like this one counted more than the rest. 

He took more steps towards me.

I noticed my breath as my eyes still peeled out the window. The heavy winter clouds still hung low, and the trees around the venue were almost colorless aside from the nearly black bark that hung on through the stress of winter. The decorations took the place of snow, and I appreciated my best friend’s idea of having black and white be the colors for our wedding, because I couldn’t look away. The red roses displaced here and there warmed the ornate black iron chairs facing the altar, and I imagined what the semi outdoor and indoor reception space appeared like now that people and music filled it. 

He didn’t say anything by the time he stood behind me. His hands found my waist. I still didn’t move.

I knew he came to find me, primarily, but also prepared me for entering the reception hand in hand. I assumed all that was forgotten when he found me here, alone. I didn’t intend on being alone. After photos, my bridesmaids and I came up here to freshen up and they then went off to arrange our entrance. Colby did the same with his groomsmen.

“Fuck off; go find your wife we have business to attend to,” I read Sam’s lips. Colby laughed and didn’t question when a handful of them raced by with cans and markers in their hands. I watched them down below on the porch; butterflies filled me when Colby walked in the front door.

A breath dragged quickly between my teeth when Colby left a trail of slow kisses from my neck to my shoulder. The white lace of my sleeves hardly clung on my shoulder giving him much room. He didn’t take advantage of it for the sake of photos, but I knew he wanted to. I leaned back into his touch, but didn’t take my eyes off the window. 

The ceremony space was fully empty now; the last few guests made it to the reception space.

“As much as I’m contemplating taking you here and fucking you on every surface of this room, I’m not sure you would appreciate me messing up your makeup before we go to the reception.”

My face burned, oh it burned, I didn’t look at him or else his pestering smile would make it worse.

”Bring me downstairs then,” I laughed and turned to him finally. I hardly looked at him before his lips were on mine. My arms wrapped around his neck, ever pulling him tighter. I breathed him in as he tasted me.

Maybe my wine red lipstick was transfer proofed on purpose, but a tiny part of me wished it wasn’t because his new ring wouldn’t be the only symbol of claim on him.

”Come on,” he said, and his hand slipped in mine. 

I tasted him through the reception.

Through pictures, dances, cake, and conversations; I didn’t think a mouth could be so memorable.

”What?” I gasped when I butted in the boys’ conversation at the end. Sam looked at me with wide drunken eyes that buzzed from the thrill of the night.

”Uh—We were reminding Colby to just chill out and take a breath before seeing his car and probably have it washed before you do anything else or else he’d have to get a new paint job tomorrow.”

”Jesus Christ,” Colby laughed. 

And after we left the venue, we did just that. I didn’t know that shaving cream could eat away at car paint but there we were.

My ears rang after the car doors were shut, and my breathing caught in my chest.

We were alone. 

We had been alone and spent many nights sleepless and breathless, but none of them amounted to that night, that moment. I couldn’t pinpoint why, I just knew.

He didn’t say anything in the minutes it took to reach the freeway. My palm burned against his. His fingertips raced up my palm and invaded the lace that started at my wrist. Chills electrified up my arm from where his fingertips touched, and I didn’t move away from them. 

My head spun with every step, and before I knew it, we walked into the hotel suite booked if only for a handful of hours. Until our flight. I walked in, my breathing definitely not under control, and he haphazardly set our bags down. I felt his eyes on me, and before I could turn around, I heard his quick steps. I broke into a smile when his hands reached me, and he spun me around harshly for himself.

His hand held my face, and no longer was his touch filled with care for my appearance. No, it was filled with a vengeance to touch, to please, to get near. He licked into my mouth and I gave and gave, his hands didn’t leave any part of my body untouched, even as we stood there.

And then he fell to his knees.

My breath left me as he looked up darkly from where he descended. As I drew a breath to ask what he was doing, hands slowly snaked up my legs. 

“Colby,” I hummed his name. There wasn’t much of a skirt to my dress; it was more a-line than anything, but the thin layers of fabric were soft, durable. My skin crawled at the sound of it brushing against the sleeve of his thick jacket. He still hadn’t changed a thing about his appearance since the ceremony. Maybe his jacket came off at some point while dancing, but we could see our breaths in the air outside.

”Oh—“ I couldn’t contain my hums, moans, and noises as his fingertips trailed up my skin, and when he dove under my dress and used his mouth on me instead, I saw stars.

I couldn’t remember another word other than his name. I felt it too; the hum of his own moans against my thighs. What on earth took him so long? I was torn in two. A part of me needed to feel every part of him now, but the other wanted to stay here forever and let him touch and kiss every cell of my body.

The muscles in my stomach tensed the moment his fingers grabbed the top of one of the garters around my thigh and he snapped it back. My hand reflexively pushed his head and he laughed. I thought he would take it off, but no. His retaliation was shoving me by the hips to sit on the edge of the bed behind me. 

Instead, his lips and tongue dove right where I ached for him.

With a gasp, I tried to handle what I felt, but I couldn’t. He didn’t even move to take off the lace that was probably ruined with my arousal and had been for hours now. Then a few fingertips dipped behind the side of it and I preened at the feeling of his cool fingerprints in my unbearable heat.

“Colby—“ I gasped yet again, but he didn’t wait up. Two fingers dove into me. He knew how ready I was; he probably knew from the look in my eyes alone. Then he whispered something against me that I couldn’t make out. He shoved the lingerie out of his way, and I gasped at the tough stretch of the lace in my inner hip. His tongue was on me, his mouth worked me and sucked me sweetly as his fingers slowly moved in and out.

My head hit the bed as I gave up any power I had. 

Then he gasped and breathed heavily as he pushed my skirt up higher. It pooled across my hips, and I rose to my elbows so I could finally see his pretty face. It was flushed, and his eyes were dark and hazy.

Those hands grabbed my thighs, and the pressure fueled my lust must have left bruises in their wake. I yelled his name as he dove back down into me, and I finally was able to string my fingers through his messy hair. 

I chanted his name like a prayer and I felt moans and words in between my legs again. No part of me could find the mess he made of his mouth, my heat, repulsive in any way even though I know I would scrub us clean in a handful of time.

”Oh my god, I’ll come already,” I gasped. Of course this fueled his movements. My voice broke into higher whines, and he didn’t complain if I yanked on the roots of his hair too tightly.

He licked me through my orgasm even as I shook through violent aftershocks. 

He shot to his feet.

”Please—“ I gasped. His eyes didn’t come off mine as he unbuckled his belt. I did, though, I took my eyes off his eyes, and I launched forward. Even though it may have taken more time than if he did it, he allowed my excitement to fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. I felt his gaze on top of me, and his hand stroked in alignment with the currents of my hair. It was pinned behind me loosely where rivers of strands wound elegantly.

My heart raced at the feeling of his rough, and respectfully gentle hand warmly brushing and leading me without messing up my hair. I wanted him to, though. God, I wanted him to ruin my hair.

Ruin my makeup. 

I pulled him from his pants, and a river of uneven breaths flowed from him. He hummed my name when I took him in my mouth.

”Just-Just want inside you,” he whispered. I ignored him and laced my gaze with his as I went down on him over and over. His eyes rolled back and my body surged deeper around him when pleasure overcame him. I might have gone faster, might have gotten ahead of myself— “Alright, alright,” he gasped. He grabbed himself and pulled me by the hair. I gasped when I came off of him.

He shoved me down to the bed. 

I looked up at him, and he didn’t move us. He didn’t take another article of clothing off us.

I couldn’t speak, and from the look in his eyes, he clearly couldn’t either. His heart raced; I could tell by the way his breath escaped him in and out unevenly. He shoved my lingerie to the side again.

Like every time his body mended with mine, he filled me to the brim. 

“Love you—“ He gasped so lowly I hardly heard him. “Mine, you’re all mine.”

”And you’re mine,” I whined when he thrusted harshly. We didn’t leave room for teasing. He didn’t want to waste another second—not that any of the many seconds of the day were wasted—but what else was each glance we sent each other on this day other than teasing, foreplay.

God, I undressed him with my eyes dozens of times today alone.

His hands raced down my legs, pushed them back and spread them further apart. Eyes tore me to shreds. His face strained with pleasure, and I had to hold onto the duvet tightly since I couldn’t read what I wished to.

”God—fucking—in the way—“ He cut himself off with a tear.

He didn’t want to take off any of my clothes, no, he wanted to savor the sight of this day on my skin, so he tore the side lace of the lingerie slightly so that he didn’t catch on the tightness of it. I gasped some tension released, and he was able to find better leverage.

”I love you, I love you—holy shit—you’re mine.” This time he leaned forward with one of my legs hooked over his arm.

”I’m yours,” I repeated.

”I’m going to cum in you and you’re going to stay filled with it until the morning,” he said. I thought his hand wrapped around my throat, but that was just my visceral reaction. 

“Colby,” I gasped his name breathlessly. “Need you in me forever.”

It was quick, and I didn’t realize until later how calculated it was.

After he filled me, he recovered me with the tight white lingerie—albeit slightly ripped now—and his release couldn’t slip out. My body trembled under his touch, his gaze, and he kissed me like he meant it at the altar. He always did.

”Sit up,” he gasped. I obeyed and looked up at him for the next direction. Instead of making a command, he walked over and sat behind me on the bed. His hands were hot and sweaty, his breath still quick. 

Then, his hands started working on the laces and zipper of my dress. It took him a second, but he learned and released me from the dress slowly. A part of me wanted to rush him, but this was it. The first and the last time he would take this dress off of me. When it was undone, his fingers uncovered my shoulders; fingers grazing my inked skin behind the falling lace.

Colby stood in front of me as I too raised to my feet and he pushed down my dress. I stepped out of it. When he went to worship the rest of my body that he neglected, I cut him off. I grabbed his face and kissed him. I savored his moans against my tongue before I licked into his mouth. His hands were on me. They fell down my bare sides, ran over the roughness of the lace lingerie over my hips, and raced back up over my shoulders, my chest.

I pulled away. 

Without looking away from the eyes I swam in every day, I loosened his tie and pulled it off. Then his jacket. 

My fingers worked and unclasped the buttons of his button up. With each one I unbuttoned, I kissed down his skin. I felt the way he shuddered under my breath, my lips, and I was reminded all over again the real effect I had on him. His heart beat erratically, his breath wavered.

I kissed all the way down his body until I was on my knees. The shirt slipped from his shoulders. He pulled from his shoes and pushed them away. Then I pulled his pants off fully; obviously they were already unbuckled.

He moaned my name, and somehow this was more intimate than him putting his cum in me.

”Come here,” he said before I could take his underwear off. I stood. He kissed me again, but he pulled me. His lips pulled me, his hands.

I followed him into the bathroom.

Looking back on it, every decision he made was calculated. He always allowed me my fun, but he never skipped a step or a plan. 

Colby flicked the light in the bathroom on and he pulled the stool at the wide granite sink away for me. I sat and looked at myself in the mirror. 

A flush matched my messy makeup and painted my skin. For as dressed as my hair and face were, my body sat completely bare. Naturally I considered cowering away, but he would never allow that. I froze as he stood behind me and ever so gently, began pulling the hair pins from my hair and setting them on the sink.

Pretty sure I melted then and there as if nothing that had just happened, happened.

I watched his face as he focused. With every pin, a strand of hair cascaded down my skin. Goosebumps spread over the touches. He kept the hair down my back and didn’t allow it in front of me. I knew that was on purpose; I would have covered my nipples with the strands.

When my hair was completely free, he left the bathroom.

”Colb—“ He immediately returned with my bag. He opened it. He grabbed the smaller bag inside of it knowing my brush and makeup remover were in it.

I could have been shaking from the chill in the bathroom, but I think it was from the warmth that pooled in between my legs in my underwear. I knew my eyes were darkened with thoughts. I looked up at him in the mirror as he brushed my hair. 

The fact that his cum pooled in my underwear while he did the sweetest, gentlest thing he had ever done for me turned this into the filthiest memory I had.

He must have known that this memory would get me on his knees for him every day for the rest of our lives.

“Stop that,” he finally broke the very long silence. I don’t think we ever sat in such a long silence without one of us sleeping.

”Stop what?” My voice caught. We ignored it.

”Staring at me like you’re going to eat me or something.” I laughed.

”Obviously,” I mumbled as I rolled my eyes away. He laughed at the heated blush on my face.

”God, you’re so beautiful. Insane in my hands.” He left the brush on the counter. “Take off your makeup and we’ll go lay down, okay?”

”Okay,” I nodded.

I knew he wanted to shower, but he wanted me to sleep with his cum in me more.

After I was finished cleaning my face, he shoved me back down on the stool. I gasped when he got on his knees in between my thighs. Darkly, his eyes glanced up at me for a moment and then he looked at my skin where he touched me.

As his fingers drenched the skin of my legs, he tugged the garter on my thigh off with his teeth. His breath left hot chills trailed behind.

When the early sun woke me up, I realized he purposely didn’t draw the curtains so we could wake up without an alarm but still on time. We woke up very much so on time; we didn’t need to leave for the airport for another three hours. It was six am. I opened my eyes and rolled to him. His body was on fire, and my skin writhed at the feeling of his hard he was against me already. Before he choked out his first word, I straddled him. 

“Baby,” he moaned, hands rested on my hips. I still wore my underwear like he wanted. His eyes fell down my body and landed on my underwear. “Off. Need these off now,” he demanded as he played with the frayed edges of the tear he caused. I raised my hips and pulled them down. His refreshed eyes didn’t miss a second of my body that was revealed from under the white fabric.

”Holy shit—“ he gasped, and that was how I realized we mixed—our fluids mixed—in between my legs and still connected my underwear to me. He didn’t spend another word. He threw the lingerie aimlessly and grabbed my hips with a force, a dominance, he didn’t use last night. I squealed as he yanked me back down on his lap. 

My eyes rolled back when we both thrusted my hips across him; up and down.

And when he filled me, when he shoved me down on him, I rode him until we both neared tears and more of his cum stuffed inside of me. The sun had barely awakened the city.

He washed my hair and my body in the shower that morning, and I was glad I woke us up so early so that our third round in seven hours was under that hot shower rain. It was less the rain that washed clean our mess between my legs and more his tongue. More within this night had he fallen to his knees for me than I could remember. So, naturally, I fell on my knees for him after.

We stood at the wide mirror and talked as we got ready.

Our flight to Wales was in an hour and a half.

And my stomach was in knots.

It was difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that this was the true start of the rest of our lives together, and not only that, we were on our way to an entirely different country alone to stay alone for a week without distractions. We’ve traveled together before, but I knew that nothing was about to compare to this.

Only through TSA did he pull his hand away from mine.

I didn’t even think about it.

Not even a millisecond of time was spent worrying about anyone else. Not our families, our friends, or our work took up a second of space in my head. I was torn apart for choosing the honeymoon location. While discussing it with Colby, we realized that we both already wanted to come here. He had been here with Sam before once while on their Europe trip. This country was simply romanticized in my head by the books I enjoyed.

The grass was infinitely greener than I anticipated considering the chilling weather. When I touched the grasses and blades of bristles that show from the soft earth, they weren’t soft or warm, and I snapped my hand back with a smile. 

The room was blue, I think; more windows spanned the walls of the bedroom than an actual expanse of drywall. The spindles of the bed were high and came together only a hair from the ceiling with white satin draped past the plush duvet. My fingers grazed the stitches in the duvet cover. He was behind me. 

I figured we would get accustomed to this house in a few hours. 

We would get accustomed to each others’ bodies again in the meantime.

First, his hands raised to my waist like they did so often.

Then he spun me around violently; that same gentleness must have run thin from our hours of travel. The sun set behind the horizon already and orange bands through the winter clouds were the only light in the dim room.

He kissed me again and without being able to see, my sense of touch was heightened to the max.

My back hit the bed and my pants slid down; I wasn’t sure which came first. The next thing I knew, he was over me, and his hand supported himself next to my head. I only made out his silhouette as my hands touched every part of it. 

“Oh fuck—“ he gasped when my hands harshly invaded the top of his pants before he could remove them himself. I couldn’t not say his name; at this point it was a habitual moan for me.

He kissed my neck and shoved my arms to the bed on either side of me. I didn’t even try to stop the embarrassing sounds that poured from me when he harshly fucked his hips into me at the same time that his teeth hooked on my skin. Now he could leave his mark. I knew he suffered the past month not being able to leave his love marks all over my body for people to see for the sake of photos. I yanked his shirt off forcefully before he dove back into tasting my skin.

He needed to make it up to me. There was a month of aggression, possession and need to touch, to claim. 

“Fuck me,” I demanded. His breath hitched in his throat and the pressure from his hips doubled. “Fuck me so hard, Colby. I swear to God—“

I screamed when he suddenly pushed into me and didn’t give me a second to process.

”No need to beg, baby,” he hummed; his voice darkly quiet in my hair. I didn’t remember when he pulled himself from his underwear or when he moved mine. It was all too fast. He fucked the moans out of me. I thought my vision went blurry.

He raised to his feet and I realized that this was the second time we hardly made it to the bed since being married. 

“Feel so good,” I whispered with moans broken by his thrusts.  

“Get up,” he demanded. I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t. It was all too much. “Get up,” Colby spat and his hand linked around my neck and he yanked me up. I gasped and open mouthed kisses shared between our panting breaths. I rolled my hips into him and his eyes shut tightly.

”Turn over.”

Shaking gasps poured from me from the fire lit butterflies that those simply words shoved down my throat. I turned over. My knees almost fell to the floor, but he hoisted me up and shoved back into me.

”Oh my god, Colby!” And a loud lengthen moan streamed from him. I balled the blankets in my fists when he raised one of my knees onto the edge of the bed for a better angle. 

I didn’t just see blurry, stars and colors swirled behind my eyes as well.

”Holy shit, my pretty wife, taking me so well.” I could have passed out from his words alone. Then his fingers grabbed me by the roots of my hair.

He yanked. My back bent backwards and I felt him push kisses and moans against my head, my neck. God, it was so rough too. It had only been a month since the last time he fucked me with that desperation of wanting to leave a piece of him inside, but it felt like the first. His other hand left bruises and purple crescent moons in my hips, my ass.

”Fucking hell—Get up, lay on the bed,” he finally broke and pulled out of me. So of course I scrambled to lay my head on the pillows naturally if it meant he wouldn’t be inside of me again until I obeyed. I watched as he grabbed things from his bag. “Will you give me your wrists?”

”Fuck,” I gasped and my hands shot above my head. “Yes, yes, yes.” And he laughed at my enthusiasm. He tugged my shirt off. 

A gasp sucked through his teeth fast enough that I knew they burned from the chill.

Even in the dark, his eyes devoured the way my fair skin contrasted with the dark lingerie that laced over my chest. He yanked my pants off the rest of the way and his eyes fell lower.

”You wore this all day?” He gasped.

”I put it on when I went to the bathroom in the airport.” A deep breath slowly left him. Then he leaned over and clicked on the lamp that sat on the table next to the bed.

The orange glow drenched my body, and I writhed under his intense gaze. I knew he ripped the thick lace apart in his mind. I waited and waited for him to actually do it.

Instead, he grabbed something he laid on the bed a second ago. The world stopped spinning when he lifted his wine red tie and wrapped it around my hands and a portion of the frame of the bed below the headboard. My heart was in my throat; the same tie he wore when he sealed our marriage with a kiss in front of our closest friends and family was now the fabric that tied me down to his bed. Our bed. It didn’t matter what physical bed we were in; it was ours.

”Pull, baby,” he sighed. The way his voice was smooth like he talked me to sleep as if he wasn’t tying me down thinking of all the ways he could rip my clothes off. I tested the makeshift cuffs but we knew it didn’t matter; he was entirely proficient in tying me down.

Fingers started at my throat and they painfully slowly dragged down my skin. Chills waved down my cold skin in their wake, and he rounded my heat and followed the band of lace that dipped an inch lower down my rib cage. The strap of matching lace around my waist that hooked onto my matching underwear were what his eyes drowned on next. He tugged on one of the stretchy bands that connected them and snapped it back. I winced.

”You’re going to kill me,” he simply said. I nodded like that’s what I intended. 

I held my breath when he picked up my vibrator from the bed.

”Colby—“

”Sh,” he said with finality. The vibrator hummed to life. “You’re not about to tell me what to do, right?” I shook my head furiously.

He shoved it against me over the lace.

I gasped and my back arched. His hand held my side; thumb stroked across the lace.

”So fucking hot, holy shit,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

”Why-Why are you holding back?” I moaned.

”You don’t want me to? I won’t be nice.”

”Tear me apart, Colby.” His eyes darkened, unblinking. “Do you not want to use me? Claim your wife?” His nails jutted into my skin and I gasped a moan.

He turned the vibrator onto the highest setting.

I screamed. My eyes rolled to black as the pleasure washed over me—more so drowned me under tons of ocean weight—and he firmly held my hips down and pressed it tighter against me.

”You want me to use you?” My skin crawled. His voice still hardly trespassed a whisper. “How could I expect anything else from my slutty wife, hm? Tied to my bed, dressed like a whore, and begging for me and teasing me with that filthy mouth?” 

“Colby—“ I gasped with a shaking seriousness.

”What? Realizing you bit off more than you could chew?”

”Colby—“ I warned him, loudly this time.

”Cum,” he demanded. “You wanna act like my slut? Then cum for me.” 

That’s what I warned him about; I was too glad that he demanded from me what I couldn’t control.

My climax blinded me and the pleasure only lasted for a breath before overstimulation stung me. He didn’t budge though. Not as I writhed, kicked, and tried to twist away from him.

”You fucking kick me again and I’m tying your legs down too.” I couldn’t even respond to that jeer. His voice picked up now and a sick part of me couldn’t get enough of it.

“Please,” I begged. “Can’t breathe—“

”You know our safe word,” he teased. My mouth closed. He scoffed. “What I fucking thought. Just a dumb slut who wants me to ruin her.”

“I’ll be so-be so good for you, please! Your fingers—Give me your fingers, please!”

”God you sound so pretty crying for me to fill you,” he sighed as his head lulled to the side. Completely enthralled; his eyes only blinked as much as necessary.

Moving my underwear to the side just enough for his fingers, Colby’s lips parted as he teased my slick entrance.

”Plea—“ He pushed three inside of me. “Oh shit,” I gasped. “Oh shit, yes, yes please.”

”You love it, hm? Love it when I fill you? Fuck you senseless?”

”Yes! I love it, I love it so much.” I tightened around him when the waves of pleasure built again. He shook his head quickly before the words even started.

”Don’t cum.”

”What?” I gasped. “Col—“

“No, I said don’t cum. You told me you wanted me to fill you and fuck you, so how about you take it first? Then maybe I’ll be nice if you cry hard enough.”

He wasn’t wrong. Tears already flooded my eyes.

Colby leaned over me. His lips hovered just out of reach. They parted as if he breathed too heavily to contain himself, and a parted smile shined down at me when I couldn’t gather myself. I whined when I couldn’t kiss him or touch him or reach him. I could only feel him the way he wanted me to.

”Please,” I gasped quietly.

”Please what?” His soft voice whispered. My eyes shut tightly, a tear fell. I wouldn’t be able to see that cute smile and listen to that gentle tone without imagining his fingers fucking me harshly and his other hand pinning a violent vibrator against me.

”Let me cum.”

”You’re not demanding me to let you cum, are you?” He asked as his eyebrows furrowed with question.

”N-No, please, Colby, please let me cum on your fingers, please.”

“Aw you sound so sweet, baby, trying to sound like my good girl?” The teasing made it unbearable. Yes, the vibrator made me lose my sense of self, but that venomous teasing gave it to Colby. Everything that I am was in his hands, his control.

“Yes! Been so good for you let me-let me cum already I can’t-I can’t control it—“

”Good thing you’re not supposed to,” he said. “I’m the one who tells you when to cum, okay?”

”Yes-Yes Sir, you-you—Please! I’m so good for you, wait-wait for you—“ I lost control of my voice.

The pain from the overstimulation dissipated.

My hands didn’t pull on the restraint anymore.

Colby kissed me sweetly. His lips and tongue left soft kisses down my neck.

”Yeah, that’s right, good girl,” he whispered calmly. He moaned and looked down in between us before he rose to his knees again. “You’re so good for me, so beautiful, so perfect. Fucking cum—oh my god—cum for me, baby,” he finally told me. And I let go.

I moaned his name and I fully relaxed into it, into the pain and the pleasure, and everything he gave me. I knew I drenched him. I added to our mess. I couldn’t tell if he lost control of himself or if I blacked out, but the next thing I knew, he finally filled me again.

”Holy shit—Colby—“ I cried. Finally his moans met my ears, and I almost crashed into that pool of pleasure all over again.

He fucked me as harshly as his fingers just had, and I watched his sweaty face twist in pleasure through blurry tears. 

His free hand moved to my throat; his forearm rested on my chest for support. I whispered his name. Another warning.

”You going to cum one more time for me, my love?” He gasped breathlessly. “I’m so close, will you cum with me?” I nodded quickly even though I didn’t want this to end. I lost track of time when his body made itself home in mine. ”Oh shit!” He finally broke and raised himself to his knees. 

I watched as he raced a hand through his hair; fingers tugging at the roots as his eyes watched where he entered me.

”Cumming—“ I cried and his eyes flicked to mine for a moment.

The height of my orgasm hit me then he pulled out. I rode it out on the vibrator as his moans became music in my ears. He finished himself off; painted me with his release.

It took work for me to hold my eyes open. Between the pleasure and the way he looked painting me with his cum, I couldn’t really believe there was a heaven better than this one.

And he turned the vibrator off.

He sat on his knees in between my useless legs and panted. 

I didn’t object when he grabbed his phone from his pants pocket and took a flashed photo high enough to capture his chest down to my ruined body and my hands tied up to the bed. I opened my eyes when the flash was over and he fell over me; hand supported him next to my head. He showed me the photo with bated breath.

My throat coiled in on itself at the disgusting filth he captured. He was still enticingly hard, flushed pink, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from the sight of his cum ruining my lingerie. My mouth watered at the pearly streaks of white that contrasted on the black lace and black ink on my fair skin under the lingerie. The red of his tie only enhanced the flush over my skin. Thin faintly black tears raced down my face.

I was a mess.

A disgusting mess that somehow made my knees weak all over again.

”You’re such a good artist, husband.” The phone fell to the blanket under us as he burst out laughing.

His thumb linked under my chin when he kissed the life out of me.

”Needed to at least put my signature on my work, yeah?” I laughed back at him and he planted more kisses on me. Then he untied my hands. 

They fell to the bed and my eyes widened. I still hadn’t gained much control over my body.

”It’s okay,” he whispered and brushed my hair, my sides.

”I know,” I sighed as I rose from my subspace. 

“I’m right here, love. Always right here.” He kissed my skin as I came to.

”Is it gross that I don’t really want to shower?” Colby laughed again.

”I’m not sure,” he teased and sat back to his knees to look at my body again. “I mean, if you take a shower with me I’ll wash you for you.”

”Yeah, with your tongue like you did this morning?” A fond smile.

”I’ll wash you, I’ll touch you, and I’ll make you feel good however you want, my wife.” I smiled. We both couldn’t get used to—get over—the titles.

”Fine, then carry me to the bathroom, my husband.” 

✧˖*°࿐

Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

[darling-im-wonderstruck]

sweet dreams.

synopsis : it was yet another sleepless night for you— peter, of course, wasn't going to allow that.

pairing : bf!peter parker x reader

wc : 502

warnings : nothing worth warning <3 unless you’re against tooth rotting fluff !!!!! it’s all FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFF !! a comfort fic for my night owls out there who refuse to sleep (mutuals… go to bed)

‎‎ ୨ masterlist | request | navigation ୧

a/n : hi ! sooo this is a rewrite of an old one, i feel like this is an improvement so i’m pretty proud of that !!! <3 hope you guys enjoy this lil fic, it’ll bring you sm joy, i promise !!!! comments, asks, reblogs, are greatly all appreciated :)

brring! brring! brring!

a smile forms on your face as you look at your phone to see the caller id: ‘lovebug’ alongside a plethora of heart emojis. you always loved hearing from him, no matter the context, and of course you would never complain. only question was, why exactly was he calling you at 3 a.m. in the morning? 

“pete?” you answer, turning on your camera. your hair is an absolute mess, but you hardly care at this point. besides, it was peter you were talking to, he thought you were beautiful no matter how you looked.

“hi gorgeous.” just as expected. he’s predictable like that.

“my hair’s a mess, pete.” you chuckle, trying to fix it as much as you possibly could.

“i think it makes you look cute.” he’s grinning sweetly, only to see you roll your eyes in response.

“whaaaat? it’s true!”

“yeah, right.” you respond, the sarcasm clear in your voice.

“i’m serious.” his tone deepens, though it’s paired with an odd look— one that you assume was supposed to be an intimidating scowl, but it just made him look utterly adorable.

“you’re the cute one.” his grin only widens at your compliment.

“thanks, but i already know that.” he flips his (imaginary) hair, making you giggle. he can’t help but do the same once he hears you.

“anyways, why’d you call?” you ask.

“well, i swung past your window on the way home from patrol and i noticed that you weren’t asleep yet,” he pouts. oh. “i wanted to tell you to go to bed, you know you need it.”

“technically, i’m already in bed,” you quip, lying down to prove a point. he could only roll his eyes in response.

“i meant sleep, missy.” his voice was slightly stern, mimicking a mother’s voice.

“no, thank you.” you grin cheekily, though you talk in the same tone as he did, he sighs in disappointment.

“please!” he’s pleading now, using your known weakness, his ‘puppy eyes’. clearly, that wasn’t fair.

“i’m busy though!” no you weren’t, you were simply watching tv all night, or at least you were planning to.

“lovie, you’ve gotta get your beauty sleep.” he’s serious this time. you just looked at him and pouted, you did not want to sleep, despite the fact that your eyelids were beginning to feel heavier by the second.

“hm, okay, i’ll make you a deal.” that piqued your interest.

“okay, tell me.” you lean closer to your phone, peter notices that he’s got your full attention.

“maybe i could swing over for a sleepover?” he suggests, the smile on his face never leaving, “we could cuddle? i know you love those.” that was a well known fact between the two of you, it was also peter’s way to get you to fall asleep, a method that never fails.

“hm,” you mulled over the offer, but peter knew what you’d say, “okay, deal.” you say dryly in an attempt to mask your excitement.

“alright, beautiful, be there in ten.”

a/n : hope you loved it <3 thank you for reading !!! please leave feedback, comments, and reblogs 🥰

taglist : (okay so, i’m tagging my old taglist in hopes to see if you’re still interested ! i was previously @/darling-im-moonstruck so yeah !) @cagethemunson, @tfatwsparker, @jaydannyyy, @hallecarey1, @live-laugh-lovejoy, @parkerpeter24, @saturnpeter, @poemsforparker, @hllandvibbes, @herpeanutzombie

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: 8:45 PM 🔞

Tags/Warnings: Adult, smut-heavy, making out, Idol!Jungkook, Fluff, Established Relationship, implied foreigner!Reader, not home AU though, Jungkook struggling hard, misunderstanding, angst with happy end, emotional smut, oral (fem. Receiving), protected sex bc this is me writing this and I teach you kids the true life lessons

Lenght: long.

AU-Masterlist

Languages are marked as English / Korean.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

He still can't believe your first time got interrupted by something as ridiculous as his manager calling him.

It's like a reminder that his career will always somehow wiggle itself between him and whatever happiness he tries to find outside of it- nothing ever truly personal for him, everything always meant to be well thought through so it fits into his public persona.

But he refuses to give you up, even knowing all of that.

Apologizing for it just feels.. odd now, like bringing up something awkward you did ten years ago that everyone forgot about anyway before you decided to rekindle the memory in their heads. But the problem here, right now, with you, is that he knows he should bring it up. Somehow. Because he's struggling hard to keep himself in check, even having had to embarrassingly rub one out in the shower this morning after you'd made yourself tea in his kitchen wearing nothing but a shirt and panties.

It's a problem.

He's hesitating to initiate anything now mainly because what if it happens again? He can't just put his phone on silent and ignore what could potentially always be very important calls from people who only want what's best for him in the long run- real life doesn't work like those movies where the protagonist throws it all away for his girl. He wants to, he truly does- but at the end of the day, he's also scared, because if he falls, he'll potentially take you down with him, and God knows how deep he'll fall with where he stands right now.

A drop from a height this high would shatter you inevitably, and he's sure he'd crack like delicate porcelain just as much by having to watch you suffer the consequences of his actions. You don't deserve that.

"..-ungkookie?" You try again, and he snaps out of his thought, looking at you.

"Hm?" He responds, looking at you next to him.

"I asked if you want me to cook for us tonight. Is that alright?" You wonder, and he nods, eagerly so, because of course he'd love to have you do something so domestic with him. He's always dreamed of being able to experience these things after all, despite his curse of being a public figure who's not supposed to appear unavailable. "Alright-!" You hum. "Gonna have to put pants on now though, gotta go get some groceries.." you whine under your breath as you stretch on the couch naked feet pushing against his thighs and oh, how your back arches-

No, bad brain. Not right now.

"I'll give you my card, hold on." He tries to save himself, getting up to fetch his wallet as you begin to laugh.

"Jungkook baby, I can cover some groceries, don't bother!" You argue softly, getting up as well before walking over to him. "You'll just have to survive some minutes without me, that's all." You tell him, hugging his middle as you put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Also, people would think I'm a gold digger for using a black card looking like.. well, me." You joke, as he can't help but reach out to affectionately brush some hair out your face, hands holding your cheeks.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, and you part a bit from him, serious at his tone of voice used.

"Hm? For what?" You wonder, and he sighs. Why did he bring it up now? This is going to be so awkward, he already dreads it. But now that he's put the noose around his neck, he might as well stand on the chair too.

"Yesterday. Or.. day before? Technically it was, wasn't it.." he rants, before sighing. "I hate that we.. had moment, you know, and then.. nothing. Ruined." He complains softly, and you can't help but look at him affectionately. He's such a soft soul sometimes, worries about so much that doesn't even need to be worried about.

"Jungkook, it's fine." You answer.

"Not fine-" he shakes his head. "Not fine, I- ugh, I want you, you know? Want to, but now, it's awkward and I don't know how to initiate it because every time I plan to I keep thinking of that moment he called and-" he groans in frustration, head thrown back before he looks down at you. "I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, and you laugh.

"I forgot to pack socks for this trip, that's why I'm always barefoot in your apartment here." You say, and he blinks once, twice, before he looks at you, confused but amused the same.

"What?" He questions, tilting his head for a split second and you shrug.

"Now I've made an awkward moment for myself too. We're even." You explain, and he laughs.

"Thats not how that works-" he wants to argue but he inevitably leans down to kiss you- a peck quickly deepened by you, because God knows you want him just as much. But the struggle of initiating isn't solely his alone, because you don't know how to either. All is still new with your relationship, you don't even live together at this point in time, only a week more and you'll be back home trying to figure out how to move most of your stuff to his country so you can be closer. This was all a test, after all- to see if it's worth it. If you'll be okay.

And you know now, you'll be just fine with him at your side.

"Hm I need to get going now though-" you say, trying to escape him now- but he won't let you, hands firm on the small of your back as he keeps you against him, lips chasing yours making you giggle as you lean back as far as you can. "Jungkook!" You laugh, but he just playfully bites at your neck.

"No, I'm hungry." He mumbles against your skin, and you look at him, pushing against his chest.

"Yeah that's why I have to go? Get everything to cook?" You remind him, but he shakes his head, gaze making it clear that he doesn't care for that.

"Not.. that." He tells you. "Hungry for you." He says, raising his brows and you laugh at how ridiculous he's being. How can he be both so cute but also attractive at the same time? It's truly unfair.

"You're so cute." You tease, catching him off guard to escape his grasp and run into the bedroom to get some proper pants at least. But he's faster, palm slapping flat against the wood of his door before the momentum of his move slams it into the wall with a loud noise, making both of you jump for a second before he stalks towards you.

And once the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed, you know you lost.

It's like his patience had finally snapped, his hands eagerly helping you out of his shirt, happily running his palms over your skin, warm and soft as you move around a bit to get comfortable. He sighs when his phone vibrates somewhere close- probably having fallen out of his pocket on the couch earlier, and you laugh, visibly uncaring of his misery. "Go get it." You tell him when it sounds again, and he groans out loudly as if he's in pain, angrily stomping back into the living room, where you can hear him answer the call with an annoyed tone to his voice. It surprises you when he walks back into the bedroom however, pointing to the shirt you're attempting to put back on, before he motions for you to put it back on the floor where he'd thrown it down earlier.

Just what is he thinking right now?

"Yeah, that's fine." He talks into the phone, his free hand untying the strings of your sweatpants, before he pulls on the hem, tapping your hips as if to silently ask you to lift them so he can get you out of those pants. "Not right now, but tomorrow is fine." He continues to talk to whomever is speaking to him over the phone, while simultaneously running his hand from the side of your knee, up to the hem of your underwear, the last item of clothing covering you at the moment. It's oddly exciting to see him so serious, yet clearly more focused on you than anything else.

You've never felt so adored before.

His fingers slip underneath the side of your panties, teasing you, so close yet way too far from where you'd like his hands to be most right now. And he's clearly aware of it too; if the hooded eyes and the small smirk on his lips was anything to go by. "No, right now.. I'm pretty busy. Sorry." He speaks again into the phone, thumb running over the dip between your inner thigh and your by now more than aching heat. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip for a second, before the whole thing visibly seems to edge him just as much- then tent in his pants evident.

"Alright, yeah, just- text the schedule to me and I'll talk to you tomorrow about it, okay?" He offers into the phone, moving to stand up and search for something in the drawer of his bedside table- colorful foil package pretty obviously hinting at what he means when he's said he's currently busy. "Alright, hmhm, yup- bye." He rushes out, ending the call before he throws his phone somewhere onto the shirt you'd been wearing, his eyes rolling in an annoyed manner before he takes off his own shirt, joining you on the bed.

"Did you really hang up on him like that?" You wonder, giggling when he has to sit back to slip out of his loose grey sweats as well, jumping on one foot for a bit as his other gets stuck in the fabric for a second.

"I'm not sorry." He shakes his head, crawling closer to you on the mattress to get a hold of both sides of your panties. "I've got my hot girlfriend all pretty and ready, no one can ever blame me for being needy." He shrugs, shaking his hair out of his face before he tries to pull your underwear off. "Hey come on now!" He whines almost, a stark contrast to the tattooed, muscled appearance of him currently already flushed and fully erect, straining against the cotton of his own underwear.

"Needy." You tease, and suddenly, as if you'd pushed a button, as he suddenly pulls on the fabric with more determination, successfully getting rid of the item of clothing with a gaze that screams fake innocence. Jungkook isn't new to sex, and neither are you- but it's the first time doing it with each other, which naturally places a bit of pressure onto you.

Or maybe it usually should be like that- because somehow, it all comes naturally.

When his hand finds your heat, you're already melting underneath his gaze, no words spoken as he leans further over you, catching your lips again. Only that this time, he truly seems hungry; no longer offering you fleeting pecks but desperate kisses that try and convey just how much he wants you right now. He knows that he could never truly make it clear to you though- because he himself doesn't even know if that's possible.

He's never wanted anyone so bad.

And while usually not too fond of it, his need to prove himself as the perfect lover- emotionally and physically- makes him detach himself from you for a second, before he adjusts his position, leaning down to have you lay your legs over his shoulders, hands holding your thighs apart as he lays his mouth onto your heat.

It's an entirely new experience for you, and he knows.

But luckily, if your Impatient whining was anything to go by, you're definitely enjoying yourself as he flattens his tongue over your sensitive nerves, eyes focused on you while he has to use a little strength to keep your legs apart, especially when you grow close to your first orgasm. He's eager to see it, moving away to gain a better view before one of his hands finishes the job, gaze on you as you arch your back and come undone from his actions.

And its now that he really can't take it any longer.

"Fuck I need you." He curses under his breath, finally getting rid of the last item of clothing he still had on until now, no need to give his length any form of help to get ready for you. He can't help but groan a little under his breath at how sensitive he feels, rushing the act of wrapping the condom over as to not rile himself up too much.

After all, he wants to be inside you for his own orgasm, no matter what.

"Hm I'll go slow, ok?" He asks, and you nod, hands reaching out for him, making him chuckle. "You're cute." He comments, earning a roll of your eyes in return. He lets it go for now- giving you a pass this time, but only because be truly feels needy now.

He'd love to tease you a little, make you all whiny and desperate for him, but right now, he just wants you as close as he physically can get.

Though in his haste to get onto his own road towards pleasure, he never forgets you- pride swelling as he watches you hold onto him, wanting him just as much as he wants you. He's a little sweaty already, and the sheetsbare tangled badly at this point from all your squirming, arousal already staining some parts of them but right now he really can't bring himself to care.

He uses one of his hands to aid him in finding your entrance, positioning himself to carefully push himself inside, and at this point, he just feels as if he truly became one with you. It's the last key experience in a way he's had to have with you, and now that he's in exactly that moment, things start to feel real.

"I love you." He almost whispers into your neck while he starts to move. "I'm.. so grateful you're here." He tells you, hips moving at a steady pace. "I want you to.. stay forever." He almost asks, in a way, and while you can't give him an answer to that right now, you probably will later.

After you're back with the normal thinking human beings, because right now, with his pace and strength gaining as he chases his high, your head is definitely unable to form thoughts.

In a way, he loves the sight of you like this. It's awfully sinful, a sight only he wants to ever be able to see, no one else.

He can't control his own noises at this point, uncaring of his groans of pleasure as he chases after his peak, noticing you growing antsy as well, visibly eager to cum as well. And he will make sure you'll get your attention as well- he'd never let you down, ever.

And with his hand reaching in between you both to find where he needs to be, you're gone and out; head thrown back into the pillows while he pushes himself in deep, condom filling with his seed while he slows down into almost no movement at all.

Catching his breath, he leans down to you to kiss you once more, ticking of his clock on the bedside table coming back into the background noise, as well as the cars outside from the opened window, and your breathing underneath him. His senses return one by one as he pulls himself out, moving to get rid of the condom and start the shower.

"Come on." He asks, tapping your thigh, but you just whine all grumpy at him. "Noo get up, get up- the bed's all messy and we're too.!" He laughs, all energized from his own afterglow, while you seem to be the exact opposite, having to be physically pulled into a sitting position by your wrists. Jungkook himself can't help but simply laugh, before he takes matters into his own hands, lifting you up over his shoulder-

And of course, landing a loud smack onto your butt for good measure.

[miasmaghoul]

Kinktober Day 2 - Quintosis Control

Pull Me Under

Thank you to @kroas-adtam for curating these prompts!

Rating: E

Pairing: Aeon/Dew (but also technically Aether/Dew)

Word Count: 2.3k

Contains: quintosis (obviously), oral, fingering, anal, prone bone, phone sex, Dew getting fucked in literally every possible way

-----

Aeon stares at the ghoul knelt between his legs with a raised eyebrow. Dew tilts his head, palming Aeon through his jeans with a placid smile on his face. His expression remains guarded though, and Aeon supposes that makes sense.

After all, this isn’t the most…common of requests. 

“So,” Dew murmurs, fiddling with Aeon’s zipper, “think you can do it?”

Aeon hums while the smaller ghoul drags the closure down, reaching out to twirl a loose lock of ashy blonde hair hanging from Dew’s bun. It’s softer, somehow, when they’re stuck in glamour like this. Only their unearthly eyes give away their true nature, and Dew’s copper ones burn up at him like miniature suns. Warm fingers wriggle into his jeans, pet at his slowly growing chubby, and Aeon spreads his knees just a little wider.

-----

Read the rest below, or on AO3!

Aeon stares at the ghoul knelt between his legs with a raised eyebrow. Dew tilts his head, palming Aeon through his jeans with a placid smile on his face. His expression remains guarded though, and Aeon supposes that makes sense.

After all, this isn’t the most…common of requests. 

“So,” Dew murmurs, fiddling with Aeon’s zipper, “think you can do it?”

Aeon hums while the smaller ghoul drags the closure down, reaching out to fiddle with a loose lock of ashy blonde hair hanging from Dew’s bun. It’s softer, somehow, when they’re stuck in glamour like this. Only their unearthly eyes give away their true nature, and Dew’s copper ones burn up at him like miniature suns. Warm fingers wriggle into his jeans, pet at his slowly growing chubby, and Aeon spreads his knees just a little wider.

“Don’t see why not,” he replies, cheeks dimpling under a playful smile. “If it’s something you really want.” Aeon groans when Dew pulls him from the confines of his pants, sighs when Dew wraps bony fingers around him. 

“It is,” the other ghoul assures him, leaning in to swipe his tongue over Aeon’s tip just enough to make him grunt. “Wanted to ask for a while, actually.”

Dew’s giving him slow strokes now, languid drags of a loose fist. Aeon knows he’s going to be dripping in no time. He pulls the tie in Dew’s hair, tosses it away in favor of threading his hand into those impossibly soft strands. Dew’s eyes droop just right whenever he does this, and Aeon watches a little bit of the apprehension on his handsome face melt away. His other hand fists itself in the comforter of the hotel bed he’d fallen onto for all of ten seconds before Dew had wrestled him to the end of it. 

Not that Aeon’s complaining, mind. Having any part of Dew on his cock is always an occasion worth celebrating.

“Why haven’t you, then?”

Dew shrugs, that one little crease forming between his eyebrows. The one he wears when he’s focused on a solo, or when Cirrus asks him to do mental math. Aeon thumbs over the spot where one of his horns should be, and Dew’s shoulders slump a hair.

“Thought it might be weird.” Well, he’s not wrong about that. “Thought it might, y’know,” the little ghoul makes a vague gesture, focused only on the way his hand glides over Aeon’s cock. “Thought it might be too much.”

If Aeon’s fangs were out, he’d be smiling with every single one.

“Good thing I’m a fan of ‘too much’, ” he croons, giving Dew’s hair a tug. Hard enough to make his hand stutter and his eyes pinch shut. “And I know you are too -”

Aeon leans down, slow and with purpose. Invades the space Dew has made for himself and earns a surprised blink for it. Aeon sighs while he nuzzles their cheeks together, hearing Dew’s breath catch, basking in the warmth of his skin. He presses a kiss to the other ghoul’s ear, and it carries the smallest of sparks.

“- firefly.”

The word drips in magick, and Aeon can tell by the shocked sound Dew makes that he doesn’t hear it entirely in his voice. He can feel his power sink into Dew’s skin, feels the rush of static that flows beneath his scalp and through the callused fingers curled around him. A pulse of something unnaturally cool that has Dew shuddering. Aeon pulls back to find Dew looking suddenly much looser. Shoulders rounded, eyes wrinkled at the corners and glassy, his smile something more than skin-deep. The very specific visage of someone in the beginnings of quintessence-fueled bliss. 

“That feel good? Looks like it does,” Aeon lilts, the hand buried in the blanket coming up to cup the little ghoul’s cheek. “But you’ll need more than that for what you’re asking, y’know.”

Dew makes an affirmative sound, not quite a word but close enough. His hand starts moving again and Aeon feels the muscles in his stomach jump - Dew’s hands always have that effect on him. He takes a deep breath through his nose, scratching at Dew’s scalp while the first wave of his magick settles into the folds of his mind. Aeon groans with the casual way the other ghoul takes his tip between his lips, hot tongue sliding over sensitive flesh. Aeon gives his hair the suggestion of a stern pull, and delights in the way Dew just…takes it. Takes more of him into that silken mouth, enough so the blunt head of Aeon’s cock pokes his hollowed cheek. Makes a lovely bump that Aeon can’t help but run his thumb over.

“Ready for more?” 

He probably shouldn’t be so breathless already, but Dew’s mouth does have that effect on…well, everybody. The little ghoul pulls off with a wet pop, smears the tip over his own lips to leave them wet and shiny. A decidedly slutty move that makes Aeon’s balls ache.

“Yeah, I think you are,” he huffs, cheeks warm. Aeon runs a hand through his own hair with a chuckle. “Wanna call now? Or after I get my fingers in you?”

Dew makes a strangled sound, scrambles for his phone, and as his dick is left to bob freely in the air Aeon has his answer. 

He chuckles softly, stretches his arms over his head while Dew fumbles through his contacts. Rolls his eyes when the other ghoul drops the phone in his eagerness. Aeon stands, busies himself with gathering lube and arranging pillows, but keeps an eye on Dew through it all. He raises the phone to his ear just as Aeon’s shrugging out of his t-shirt. He hears it ring while he shucks his belt, and Aeon pauses with his jeans around his thighs when his sharp ears pick up a click. A deep, familiar voice follows it, Dew presses a flat palm to his crotch, and a thrill runs up Aeon’s spine when the little ghoul says,

“Hey, Aeth. Got a proposition for you.”

Things move quickly after that. Aether had been immediately, enthusiastically on board with Dew’s idea, faster than Aeon had expected. Something that told him the other two had definitely discussed this before. In no time Aeon had Dew over his lap, sitting up against the headboard with the little ghoul drooling into the sheets with each press of Aeon’s fingers. 

Fingers that, at least for Dew, feel like someone else’s entirely.

“Aether,” he slurs, sounding more fucked up that Aeon think he’s ever heard him, “Aeth, please -”

The word blurs into a moan when Aeon crooks his fingers just so, knuckles rubbing against Dew’s prostate. Aeon feels a blurt of pre leak out onto his thigh and heaves a happy sigh when Dew clamps down around him. He keeps quiet as he can, though. He isn’t the one Dewdrop needs to hear right now.

“That feel good, baby?” Aether’s smooth voice rings tinny through the phone’s speaker, but only to Aeon. For Dew, he’s sure the words flow directly into his veins. “You love my fingers, don’t you?”

Aeon twists his digits the exact way he knows Aether would - one benefit of his unparalleled sense memory - and fills the little ghoul’s mind with the burn of a much more intense stretch. One that has Dew crying out, fingers curling into rumpled sheets and his little hole clenching hard. Aeon only has two fingers inside, but with the way Dew’s writhing you’d think he was taking all five.

Ah, the power of suggestion.

“So good,” Dew mumbles, strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He’s flushed crimson straight down his throat; Aeon can’t believe how fucked out he looks already, but he imagines the magick isn’t exactly helping in that regard. “‘S so much, Aeth, so big -”

“I know, firefly,” Aether trills, gentle, “but you take them so well for me. In fact, I think you deserve another one.”

Aeon takes the hint, pulling back to the first knuckle and running a third fingertip over Dew’s taut rim. The little ghoul makes the most wonderful gagging sound, one that’s only amplified when Aeon slides back inside with three elegant fingers. Dew howls once they’re fully in, fists white-knuckled in the bedsheets. Aeon’s other hand rubs soothing circles into his lower back, just like Aether would, and Aeon makes sure that hand feels heavier too.

It’s a delicate process, manipulating Dew’s mind and body at once. Sending tendrils of quintessence into the recesses of his mind and pulling on wispy threads of memory. The specific timbre of Aether’s voice, the weight of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the scent of his sweat. Immersing the little ghoul into a haze that erases Aeon’s presence entirely. It may be his touch Dew’s feeling, but right now his whole world is Aether and if Dew keeps making these noises then Aeon certainly won’t complain. His own pleasure will be playing second fiddle tonight anyway.

Aeon taps at his prostate and Dew’s leg spasms.

“Aeth - Aether please ,” Dew whimpers, gasping between the words. “'S been so long. Need… need you, please -”

Aeon doesn’t think he’s ever heard Dewdrop sound so desperate. It’s beautiful .

“You’ve got me, sweet boy,” Aether assures. “Can’t you feel me?”

Aeon swirls his fingers, slides his palm up the length of Dew’s spine, and the little ghoul goes boneless in his lap with a noise that speaks to how far gone he is. Aeon’s drunk on the feel of him, the sound, the sight of his lovely face scrunched up in agonizing pleasure. His own erection has long since flagged, but the pressure low in his belly hasn’t dissipated in the slightest. 

“Need…more,” Dew pants, pawing at the bed and mindlessly grinding his hot little stiffy into Aeon’s thigh. “Need…Aeth, fuck me. ”

Dew pleads it like his life is ending and Aeon’s head thuds against the headboard with the effort of remaining silent. Aether must hear the thunk , judging by the amusement coloring his next words.

“Of course, droplet,” he hums, and if he listens close Aeon can just make out the slippery sound of Aether tugging at himself. “Whatever you want.”

Aeon moves the slight body in his lap with mild difficulty - he’s not all that much bigger than Dew when they’re glamoured like this, and the little ghoul is entirely too gangly for his own good. Aether orchestrates his movements, tells Dew he’s going to take him on his belly, the way they do when he really needs to feel Aether. Gets Dew face down with a pillow snuggled under his narrow hips, legs spread just enough for Aeon to admire his pretty pink hole while he gets a hand on himself. He’s hard as diamond again in seconds, impossible not to be with Dew like this.

“Are you ready for me, firefly?” 

The little ghoul gurgles out an uh huh at Aether’s words, and Aeon takes that as his cue to get in position. His heart hammers away while he does, fingers jittery as he straddles Dew’s thighs. Plants his hands on either side of his chest. Leans down to kiss the place between Dew’s shoulder blades. Aeon reaches back to line himself up, prods at Dew’s puffy entrance with his own wet tip, and the way it slips over that wrinkled skin makes Aeon’s eyes roll back.

“I’m gonna put it in now, alright?”

“Yes,” Dew sobs on an exhale, sweat prickling up along the length of his spine. “Fuck, yes .”

Aeon holds his breath, every inch of him thrumming, and then he’s sinking in with a slowness he’s never employed. But it’s necessary with the way he floods Dew’s magick-addled mind with the glorious stretch Aether’s fat cock instead. He can hear Aether talking somewhere distant, but the only thing Aeon can focus on are the stunning cries pouring from Dew’s lips. Aeon has to work to keep his own shut, nails biting into his palms with every rock of his hips.

“Deep breaths, love,” Aether rumbles through the din of pleasure, his tone making even Aeon’s stomach twist. “I know you can take it.” 

Dew wails, and Aeon can’t hold in the groan that bubbles up when he finally bottoms out. Dew’s walls are like searing hot velvet around him, so slick that Aeon can feel it leaking out around his cock. The little ghoul flutters ceaselessly around him, and it’s nothing short of maddening.

“There we go, well done.” Aether coos down the line, soothing. Calming. Aeon brings a shaky hand to Dew’s head, strokes his hair. Plays out the intent so plainly coloring Aether’s words. “Are you ready for the rest of me, baby?”

Dew nods frantically against the sheets, and Aeon focuses. Lowers his own wiry frame down onto the little ghoul’s sweaty back while Aether reminds him again to breathe. Dew needs it - every bit of himself that Aeon settles against Dew’s body seems to knock the air from him in punched-out huffs. Aeon shouldn’t be so surprised, not when he knows that Dew’s feeling a much, much heavier weight.

“Oh, Dew,” Aether sighs, the sound of his strokes much more obvious now, “ you feel fucking amazing.” 

Aeon’s inclined to agree, relaxing his full weight onto the little ghoul below and giving the sublest roll of his hips. Just enough to make Dew yelp. He buries his nose in silky hair and breathes deep, warm spice and tobacco, hands traveling up his sides. Grazing Dew’s straining ribs, caressing his shoulders, mapping soft skin. The hair on Dew’s arms tickles his palms, the veins on the back of his hands so pronounced beneath his fingertips.

“Aeth,” Dew whimpers, patting at the bed, blindly searching. “Aeth, where -”

Aeon laces his fingers with Dew’s then, and the little ghoul wastes no time in holding his hand right back.   

“I’ve got you, baby boy,” Aether promises, husky with lust Aeon swears he can feel through the phone. “Daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

His cock throbs, Dew moans so loud it rattles his chest, and Aeon makes a mental note to ask Aether about that little exchange later.

Much later.

[doberbutts]

Does a bite HAVE to break the skin to pass rabies? Also if the animal is alive after ten days, it is rabies free is that true?

You don't even technically need a bite. Rabies is spread through blood, saliva, and brain matter. If that breaks skin (via bite or scratch), sure, that's one method of infection.

But you can also get rabies from entering a cave filled with rabid bats due to saliva particles in the air- you would have to be in the cave for a very long time and the infected colony would have to be quite large, but it has happened (rarely) in the past and studies were able to replicate it with mice. It is less likely to happen (I think 3 out of 10 exposed mice developed rabies symptoms and were found positive), but that means it is technically possible.

Spray from shooting a rabid animal, especially in the head, also can cause rabies transmission from inhalation, which is why you are very not supposed to shoot rabid animals or aim for their heads while killing them. It also sprays the virus all over whatever surface the contagious material lands on, making cleanup more difficult. Brain matter is particularly infectious and other animals can get rabies from eating or licking it.

Contact via mucous membranes also is a problem- drops of saliva flinging onto your face where it count be absorbed by your eyes, mouth, or nose while the animal is attacking you is just as dangerous as a bite. And obviously, any saliva entering an open wound not caused by the attacking animal has the same danger as a bite itself. Scratches also are dangerous due to the likelihood of dried but still viral saliva on the claws.

But, the majority of rabies cases are from bites, because the majority of rabid animals bite the fuck out of everything that moves near them.

Unfortunately, rabies can incubate for up to a year. If the animal is not vaccinated, rabies quarantine can range anywhere from 3-6 months. If the animal is vaccinated, usually the wait is over after 10-14 days, though I have seen rabies quarantine last up to 45 days for vaccinated pets. Any neurological or aggression signs during that quarantine are a one-way trip to the necropsy and decapitation table, as well as if the animal dies of any other cause while in quarantine.

[runningfrom2am]

big reputation - (r.c)

summary: Rafe drives you and your hardly conscious friend home from a party.

This can be read as a stand-alone but it's technically a part two to getaway car

pairing: rafe x reader

wc: 3k

tags/warnings: mean!kook!reader, bullying i guess?, highschool!au, swearing, drinking, emetophobia warning, smut (its implied nothing actually graphic happens)

requests

nav/masterlists

Loud music shakes the floor of the beach house you're in, filling your ears with Taylor Swift's 'End Game'. One of your favorites. You smile leaning over the railing of the loft, the world spinning as you talk to a giggly Bella, forgetting every sentence the second it leaves your lips.

"Bells, I just love you so much. Have I ever told you that before?" You say, cutting off your friend as she talks.

"Aww, I love you too. So, so much." She replies, throwing her arms around you as you both stumble and fall against the railing.

"Woah! Careful ladies." You hear a male voice close to you and a hand on your back.

"Hi! Quinton, oh my god." Bella giggles before you can identify him, pulling him into what is now a group hug.

"Had too much to drink tonight, huh?" The boy asks and you both furiously shake your heads.

"No! We would never." You say, stopping the head shake as it makes you dizzy.

"Just the good kind of drunk then? I'm glad to hear it." He laughs, dropping his arm from Bella's shoulder and leaning onto you still. You reach up and place your hand on his arm as it falls over your body.

"Yeah! It's so good. It's been too long since we've had a good party, you know?" Bella says, smiling between the two of you.

"Literally! I missed being drunk." You giggle.

"Me too, you're so funny when you're drunk," Quinton says, patting your shoulder.

"I like to think I'm funny all the time." You say, raising an eyebrow as you turn to look up at him.

"Well, duh, just a different kind of funny. More carefree." He explains. "Less... uptight, you know?"

"Oh please." You roll your eyes. "You pretty much have to be uptight to even get into Kook Academy. Bells is an outlier." You laugh.

"So true, actually." Quinton agrees.

Before you can reply, Bella speaks up and proves her right. "I'm gonna go get another drink, I think. Do you want one? Or a water? Actually, yeah I'll get you a water, Y/N/N. It'll be good for you. Yeah." Bella rambles on, quickly tapping you on the shoulder and pointing at you before heading unsteadily toward the stairs. "I'll be right back!" She shouts over the music as she gets farther away.

"Thank you, Bells!" You call after her.

"Come with me," Quinton says, leaning down to speak in your ear, then placing a kiss on your neck.

Shivers run down your back even in your drunken state, looking down the stairs and seeing Bella stopped at the bottom talking to some girls. "I should probably wait here for Bells." You reply, in contrast to you leaning your head to the side to give him more access to your skin.

"She'll be at least ten minutes. Come on." He whispers, dropping his arm from your shoulder and grabbing your wrist, leading you away from the railing and back to a somehow unoccupied bedroom. You suppose she'll be fine, she's got those girls with her and you'll find her in just a few minutes.

Downstairs, Bella stumbles into the kitchen, looking around for an empty cup, and checking all the plastic red cups littered across the countertops. "Bella!" She hears her name and turns.

"Hey! Topper! How are you?" She slurs, immediately walking up to him and giving him a hug.

"Wow, you've had a few, haven't you?" He laughs, patting her back and then pulling away.

"How could you tell?" She giggles.

"Just a guess." He shrugs. "Hey! We're about to start up a game of Chandelier- you want to tap in? We're gonna team up on Kelce, at the very least it'll be a funny watch." Topper says, laughing through the end of his statement.

"Yeah, for sure!" Bella nods, then looks down at the cups in her hands. "Oh, well, I need to get Y/N some water first. Do you think I have time?"

"She'll be fine for a few minutes, you know her." He insists. "If you don't want to drink anymore, someone else will drink for you I'm sure."

Bella thinks about it for a second and nods. She knows you're as independent as they come, but she still does worry about you. She dismisses the thought, remembering you're with Quinton and would probably like some time alone with him anyways. "Okay, sure. Sounds like fun." She agrees, following Topper out to the patio where the game table is placed.

"Hey Bella, you gonna play?" Rafe asks her as she takes her place at the table, squeezing in between Kelce and Topper.

"Yeah! I've never played this before so I'll have to learn as I go but you guys might need some patience for me." She giggles out, not really standing steady on her feet as it is.

Rafe raises his eyebrows and nods, looking at her a little surprised. "Right, yeah." He gives Topper a look, suggesting it may not be the best idea for her to play. "Hey, Bella, where's Y/N?" He asks, leaning over the table a little as the boys work on filling up all the cups with various drinks they had on hand.

"Oh! Uh, she's upstairs." Bella answers, smiling and leaning in a little bit. "With Quin. I figured I'd give them some alone time." She giggles, winking at him.

"Oh, gotcha. Cool." Rafe finds himself looking up towards the windows on the second floor, not sure what he was expecting or even wanting to see.

"Yeah, I'm excited for her! I think she's really into him. Well, that's what she says. She never seems interested when I want to talk about it, though. She does have some issues so I think it could be about that. Sorry, no. I shouldn't say that- I mean, I just worry about her because of some stuff that's happened to her and I definitely shouldn't be telling any of you this so I'm gonna stop talking right now." Bella rambles on, slowly trailing off toward the end of her sentence.

"No you're fine- we won't tell anyone," Topper says, shaking his head. "Who hasn't had a sprinkle of trauma in their lives, you know?"

"Let's just play," Rafe says, quickly polishing off what's left in his can before tossing it over his shoulder. "Me and you start, Top. That way Bells can see how it's done."

It's been about half an hour since Bella left to go get your drinks, and part of you feels guilty for disappearing on her. Realistically, though, you know she doesn't mind finding someone else to talk to for a bit while you're sitting on the ensuite bathroom counter with Quinton's head between your thighs. She's got tons of friends- and god knows she'll love to hear about it later.

Your head is leaning back against the mirror, eyes closed and all you can hear is your own heavy breathing and the music shaking the walls from downstairs. That's until you think you hear someone calling your name, then a hand on the bedroom door handle which is in full view of the open bathroom door. Why did you not lock it? You shove Quinton's head away as quickly as you can, just in time to push your skirt down before the door swings open.

"Y/N-" It's Rafe, and he freezes for just a moment, clearly processing what he almost walked in on as Quinton stands up, wiping his mouth on his shirt which he just picked up off the floor.

"Hey, Rafe- what's up?" He asks casually, pulling the fabric back over his head. As you stare at the boy, stunned and red in the face. 

"Uh- I need Y/N. Something happened." He explains vaguely, grabbing your arm and pulling you from the room.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe! What the fuck?" You say once you're out of earshot, letting him pull you down the stairs.

"It's Bella, she keeps asking for you. She's like, super fucked up." Rafe huffs, pulling you out onto the patio.

"Okay yeah, aren't we all?" You scoff and he shakes his head. You take one look at your friend, laid out on the grass on the back lawn and quickly run over to her, kneeling by her side.

"Hey, Bells? You alright, babe?" You say, a sympathetic smile on your face. She absolutely does not look good.

"No..." She groans, opening her eyes to look up at you. "Can we go home?" She asks, and you quickly nod. 

"Of course. Uh... yes. Do you think you're gonna be sick? Will you be fine if I call an Uber?" You ask.

Rafe is quickly kneeling next to you. "I got some water, here, Bella, let's get you up." He says, and you both help her slowly sit up, then he hands her the cup.

He leans in close to your ear to talk to you so she doesn't hear. "She puked all over the table- she's probably done for now but she's gotta get home." 

You wince and look back up on the patio where Kelce and Topper are throwing cups into a garbage bag and dousing the surface with any cleaner they could find under the sink and covering it in paper towels. "Yikes." You chuckle, turning to look back at him.

"Yeah, it was not pretty." He laughs a little, shaking his head. "Do you guys have a DD?" He asks.

"No, we were going to Uber- but I don't know if they'll let us in." You sigh, sitting back on your heels.

"No, no. 'm fine, guys. I take it back. I wanna stay." Bella insists, handing you the almost empty cup.

"Well, I think I'm ready to go home, babe. That okay?" You smile at her and she nods.

"Of course! Yeah, let's go home." You giggle at how quickly she changed her mind.

"I think I can drive," Rafe says, looking between the two of you. You hesitate, thinking it over. "I haven't had much. I was going to drive myself anyways. Do you trust me?"

You find yourself nodding. He seems sober enough for you. "Yeah, okay. Rafe is going to take us home." You turn to your friend, patting her leg.

"Oh! Thank you, Rafe. You're so sweet." She slurs, reaching forward and placing her hand on his cheek.

He laughs, shaking his head. "That's a new one for sure. Come on. Let's get you home."

You both help her up, letting her drape her arms over both of your shoulders and holding her waist as you walk out to the street, towards where Rafe says he parked. Luckily he didn't take the bike, he was thinking he'd probably have to drive Topper and Kelce too.

He watches you as you talk to Bella quietly, giggling to yourselves. "Oh god, wait! Y/N I'm so sorry- you were with Quinton!" Bella says suddenly, now loud enough for Rafe to hear. "I hope I didn't ruin anything- oh god..."

"No, no. Bells, it's fine." You insist, shaking your head. "It wasn't good anyways." You shrug, making Rafe choke on his laughter.

"What? Why?" Bella gasps, looking over at you. "Was he-"

"Uh-" You laugh nervously cutting her off as you briefly make eye contact with Rafe over her head. "I'll tell you about it later, okay?"

"No, please- share with the group," Rafe says, raising an eyebrow at you.

You roll your eyes. "I'm not gonna 'share with the group', let's just say, I'm over him now and I'd like to thank you both for getting me out of there."

The two of them laugh at that, and Bella tries to lean in to whisper to you. "You'll still tell me the details later though, right?" She says, trying to be quiet but it was still loud enough for Rafe to hear.

"Yeah, yeah of course." You giggle, making eye contact with him again.

"Uh, this is us," Rafe says, digging in his pocket for his keys to unlock the vehicle. He opens the back door, and you both help Bella in. "Okay, not to be that asshole, but Bella; if you have to puke, now is the time because I really don't want it to stink in here." He says as you buckle her in. She nods and gives a thumbs-up.

"I'm good. I promise."

"Okay, Bells, if you think that you're going to puke while we're moving, say something, okay? We can pull over or roll down your window or something." You tell her and she nods again. 

You hop in the passenger seat and Rafe jogs around to the driver's side, climbing in and starting it up. You drive in the direction of Bella's house, putting on any Taylor Swift he had on his phone at her every request- not that you minded. It was mostly Reputation, which was fine by you since that was your favorite as well.

Luckily, you make it to Bella's without a hitch, jumping out to go enter the gate code to be let onto the property. You quickly jump back in and Rafe pulls up the long driveway to her house. 

"Rafe! Here, hold on- how much do you want?" Bella asks, digging through the bag on her lap. 

"Don't pay me." Rafe laughs, shaking his head. 

"Okay, well, I guess I'm just going to accidentally leave this fifty back here where you can't reach it. Oopsies." She laughs, tucking it in the back seat and wrapping her arm around you again as she pretty much falls out of the car.

"Yeah, whatever Bella." Rafe chuckles, shaking his head. "Hey, Y/N, are you staying here? Or do you need a ride home?" Rafe asks as you're about to shut the door.

"Uh, I think I'll go home if you're okay to wait a couple minutes while I get her to bed?" You ask and he nods.

"I'll be here." He assures you and you thank him before shutting the door, helping Bella up to her house, and entering the code to get in.

"Wait, wait, tell me about Quinton!" Bella whispers once you're inside as you help her upstairs to her room.

"I'll tell you tomorrow- we'll debrief at brunch, yeah?" You laugh, shutting the door to her room behind you.

"Okay, okay." Bella sighs, flopping down on her bed as you grab her a makeup wipe and some pajamas from her drawer. "You know what I've been thinking?"

"Hm?" You hum in response, placing the pajamas on the bed and sitting down next to her, holding her chin as she sits up so you can gently wipe off her makeup for her.

"I think you and Rafe are like, the same person. You have a lot in common! You're both the oldest of three, you both are a little bit mean, but like in a fun way, and you have virtually the exact same sense of humor." She says and you laugh, shaking your head. "If you're over Quinton now, like you said, maybe- I don't know, just a pitch, maybe you should consider all your options. That's all I'm saying." 

"Bella, come on. Rafe is... Rafe." You laugh, carefully wiping her lashes. 

"Yeah, and you are you. And I'm me. And you're kind of friends, so like- what's the harm? Also, I can see it in the way he looks at you." She says, eyes still closed. "Besides, I've heard it's big." 

"Bella!" You laugh, your cheeks burning as you sigh. "I've heard that too." You admit.

"Okay! You can get us evidence and give me all the tea. Neither of you are the relationship type either so there's no pressure." She explains. "But also, like, I really don't think a relationship would be bad for you. Or him. If you are as similar as I think you are. Also, you kind of went on a date the other week! Like, come on. You get on so well."

You smile to yourself and shake your head, getting up to throw out the dirty wipe. "I've got to go, Rafe is waiting." You giggle and she nods, laying back down. "Hey, put your pajamas on before you pass out. Okay? I'll see you in the morning." You head back to the door.

"Go get your man, Y/N/N. I love you." Bella yawns, already half asleep.

"Love you too. I'll call you in the morning." You whisper, stepping out and closing the door softly behind you, careful not to wake her parents.

You sneak outside, running over to the car where Rafe is still waiting, looking at his phone when you jump in.

"She good?" He asks as you close the door.

"Yeah, passed out instantly." You chuckle, avoiding eye contact with him. 

"Sweet. Yeah." He agrees, sensing a shift in tension. He starts the car and you start back down the driveway, getting back out onto the road after closing the gate behind you.

"So, did you tell her about Quinton?" Rafe laughs.

"No, that's a breakfast conversation for sure." You chuckle.

"A breakfast conversation? Really? Why do you have to put other people through that?"

You shrug in response. "Because I don't give a shit if anyone knows." 

"That guy is a dick, you know that right?" Rafe says suddenly, and you look over at him as he stares at the road.

"Well, yeah, but we're kind of friends so..." You reply defensively.

"He's not worth your time. I know him pretty well, and just like, don't bother." Rafe says, glancing over at you for a second.

"Maybe I'm not worth his time." You reply.

"Nah. You can do so much better. And it wouldn't be hard." Rafe insists.

"Thanks." You say hesitantly. You've never been the best at accepting compliments, but Bella has told you to work on it, so when in doubt, just say thanks.

Luckily you don't live far from Bella, so you pull up to your house in just a few minutes. You open the door, grab your bag off the floor by your feet, and going to shut the door. You've been sitting on what Bella said, really just marinating in the thought of you and Rafe together. No harm in trying, right?

"Aren't you coming in?" It comes out more passive-aggressively than you intended when what you meant to ask was if he would like to come in, but that's just not how your mind works sometimes. His head snaps up at this, and he's already undoing his seatbelt.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." He agrees quickly, turning off the car.

part one

taglist: @slut4drudy , @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @sadfury , @totallynotkaibiased (i also tagged some mutuals who like my other stuff so if you want to be added or removed lmk!!)

[nc-vb]

𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, pt. i

In advance, I apologize to those who have already seen this post. I’ve had to transfer it to a new blog thanks to a seemingly permanent ban on my former main blog, @/niicevibe. So this is just copy & paste from there. Sorry!

Happy New Years, everyone!! This was supposed to be out at the end of December... hahaha. If you haven’t noticed (from the post I made earlier this month in promotion for this), some of the tags/warnings have changed and some have been added. Ackkkkk, I’m so embarrassed by this being my first smut fic on here LMAO and that’s why it took me so long to get out.  I really hope some of those more technical words used here aren’t a turn off for y’all? And side note… how tf does he get that belt thing off??? I totally wrote this piecemeal, so if there are any discrepancies or whatevs, I was all over the map writing this.

masterlist | taglist pt. i | pt. ii | pt.iii

pairing -> albedo x fem!reader

warnings -> 18+ (minors & blank blogs dni), virgin!reader, virgin!albedo, pwp, vaginal fingering, handjob, oral (m. receiving), brief deepthroating (🙏🏼), safe experimentation (& unsafe piv sex lmao), creampie (multiple, implied), impregnation (?), cock warming, aftercare; brief convo of menstrual cycles & periods; mention of blood; uhhh it’s a bit comedic at times, lawls, but this is pretty vanillz, y’know?

character mentions -> klee, kaeya, traveler, paimon, lisa, sucrose, iris, timaeus

wc -> 14.5k

Most folks would argue that taking the advice of an explosives-loving ten-year-old over that of a time and experience-hardened adventure is idiotic; that accessing Dragonspine and braving its subzero temperatures from the route at Wyrmrest Valley rather than through the adventurer’s camp by the Snow-Covered Path was reckless— not just for you, but for those who would have to come up in the mountains and search for your body (to which you easily scoffed at; adventurers do have their penchant for dramatics, after all). Whatever she thought your goal had been when you initially asked Iris for directions with your map had been of no consequence, disregarding her noisy efforts of convincing you to go her mapped route.

“Look, I’m not some adventurer— I’ve got one destination and it’s right here, now tell me the fastest way of getting there, not the adventurer’s way.”

Before the ensuing argument could take another turn for the worst, a familiar face had appeared between you. Well, below you.

“Miss ______, Miss ______!” You’d flinched then, not expecting to see a child at your side so suddenly, but upon recognizing who it’d been, your heart settled.

“Ah, Klee!” You’d dropped onto a knee, grinning as you sweep her into your arms. “Just the sweet, helpful face I’d been hoping to run into!” She’d giggled at this, taking a second to cling to you just a little tighter before finally letting you go. “Say, do you think you could help me with a teensy little problem?”

“Of course!” she’d cheered. “Spark Knight Klee of the Knights of Favonius, at your service, Miss ______! How can Klee help!?”

Reaching behind you and snatching your map out of Iris’s hands, not forgetting to shoot the woman an obvious look of disdain, you’d turned back to Klee, your smile having returned instantly.

“Well, I’m trying to find your brother’s lab,” you’d explained, “but this is the first time I’ve ever been to Dragonspine. He once marked it for me on this map, but I’m having trouble figuring out the fastest route there. You must have the best route, right, Klee?”

“I do! It’s true!!” She’d immediately stuck her nose into the parchment, with you pointing at the small, inked on “X” sitting near one of the Waypoint markers. “Ooh, yes! If you go along this snowy beach, and up a biiiiiiig hill where this bright red light is! You’ll find big brother Albedo in his lab! Klee was just there!”

“Oh, I see! He wasn’t busy, was he?”

“Nuh-uh! He and I just ate lunch together! But now I have to go back to Mondstadt to see Grand Master Jean…” At this, she’d sighed.

You made a silly face at her, lip jutted into faux suspicion. “Did you blow something up again?”

“No!!” she’d been quick to argue, though just as quick to relent. “… yes... I went fish blasting again...”

You’d chuckled. “Atta girl, Klee. If you ask me, they deserve it. Those fish never bite.”

And so thanks to Klee’s quick guidance and no thanks to that useless, no fun Iris - Klee had agreed with this statement - you were on your way through Wyrmrest Valley, passing by a strange cave filled with the bright red light the young girl had mentioned (thanks to Albedo, you knew it to contain the heart of Durin from the old stories of Mondstadt) and trekking up a snowy hill with the hood of your coat pulled tight over your head. You don’t take much of a break until you reach one of the Waypoint markers, a ten minute standing siesta against it to catch your breath and absorb its warmth before heading due east toward the black “X” on your map.

The closer you get to the mouth of the cave, the thinner the layer of soft snow covering the ground beneath you gets, until eventually, your snowshoes sound against planks of wood bolted deep into the hard, bare earth. You heave a sigh of relief, your calves having been burning almost too fiercely for you to continue. Having received such a stroke of luck for having found where you were headed… you remind yourself to not to take it for granted.

Knocking the snow off your boots off as best you can before entering, you soon spot the person you'd climbed all this way for, standing with his back to the opening and before an easel. You decide to leave your arrival unannounced, suddenly rising onto the toes of your boots to lighten your steps on your way over to him, but even despite your best effort, he still greets you.

"Hello, ______. It's nice to see you today."

"Hi, Albedo," you reply, trying hard not to sound too disappointed. "Um... how did you know it was me? You didn't even turn around..."

"Not many people brave travelling up Dragonspine just to come and visit me," he explains. "Klee, Kaeya, the Traveler and Paimon whenever they return to Mondstadt, they all greet me normally-- but when you come and visit me in Mondstadt, it's usually without notice, and, you always try to sneak up on me."

You move around from behind him to see his face. His eyes flicker onto you, while his mouth quirks into a small smile in welcoming you before returning to the canvas.

"... do I really do that every time," you ask, your embarrassment showing through your awkward grin. He nods, another brush stroke leading up the canvas. "Oh... sorry about that."

"There's no need to apologize, ______. I look forward to your visits."

Despite the cold still managing to sting your cheeks, they're quickly warmed by his words.

"Are you able to stay for a while today? I'd like to show you the conclusion of that last experiment you saw me working on, but I'd also like to finish this painting and show you it, as well."

"I saved the entire day for our visit, so don't rush anything on my account, okay?"

"I don't want to keep you here too late," he says, dipping a new, smaller-tipped brush into his paint palette. "Dragonspine is less friendly at night."

Less friendly? you wonder, thinking back on how you had to run from a Frostarm Lawachurl only twenty minutes ago. I suppose from the perspective of someone with a Vision, this makes more sense.

"Worst case scenario, I could always sleep here," you reason. Off your shoulders, you slide off your pack of supplies, and attached to the bottom of it by a pair of two thick leather straps, "since I brought my sleeping pouch with me, just in case."

"I see. Well, that does bring me more comfort than having you hiking along this mountain in the dark. Which way did you come from, anyhow?"

"The path near the heart of Durin." He immediately sighs.

"Klee. Ever since she decided to wander around the base of the mountain, it's been through that route that she's come, rather than staying on the one the Adventurer's Guild paved out."

"But the map shows it to take twice as long to get up here?"

"That's because the other paths are twice as dangerous."

"In all seriousness, Klee bombs fish for fun, so I don't think her taking a Frostarm Lawachurl down with her Pyro Vision is much of a problem, nor is it one of her biggest concerns."

"Even though that isn't the point, and not exactly a fair comparison... I have to agree. After all, I've seen it done." Your eyes widen in awe of the girl. "______, please. If you come up here again, use the safe route. I don't want to hear of anything happening to you on account of you coming to see me."

"We've been friends for a long time now, Albedo, and I appreciate you always worrying about me, I do, but really," and you place your hand on his shoulder, "you don't have to. You deal with enough stressful things. I would never dream of burdening you with such an awful feeling."

"It's because we have been friends for so long that I worry, ______. It would bring me a peace of mind for you to stay safe, no matter where you go."

All the choice words you had to say die on your tongue, deciding against starting a meaningless argument. Besides, it goes the same for you, too. Even though he has a Vision and he's a skilled fighter, you always worry when he's alone up here. Especially after that incident with his imposter.

You sigh at him, taking your hand back and moving to collapse on the edge of his cot. You yank your thick, woollen coat off of you and lay it next to your pack on the floor. "Fine. I'll take the long way here next time. But if I freeze to death, that is on you."

"It's a deal, then," he says, and you instantly roll your eyes.

"Oh, before I forget," and you reach for your pack, "I brought you something."

You have to stifle a laugh when his head whips toward you. "By any chance, is it more sweets?"

"Don't sound too excited, Albedo," you say; "you might not like this one this time."

"Was it you who made them?" he inquires.

"Naturally."

"Then I will like these ones, too."

You decide to relish in the heat created by his flattering words for an extra second before pulling out the tin. Filled with soft, white gelatin balls rolled in coconut, and at the center, a sweet jam filling, "Supposedly, the idea of them came from Fontaine, but this one is an old recipe I found from cleaning out my relative's attic the other day. They are called "coconut macaroons”.”

Standing, you open the tin and present them to him, watching his eyebrows raise as he studies them.

"Would you mind holding it for me to eat?" he suddenly asks, and in raising his hands to where you can see them covered in paint, you nod, no other words needed from him.

"Of course," you say.

Tucking the lid beneath the tin, you use your other hand to pluck one of the balls out, and hold it closer to his mouth. He gives it a light sniff per his usual routine with the food you bring him, before parting his lips to bite into it. It seems to surprise him, just how soft and sweet the treat is. Up until now, or at least in the past six months, most of what you've made for him had been either a pastry of varying textures or different kinds of cakes or biscuits, though based on your description of the new dessert, he hadn’t been expecting such a moist sweetness to it.

“So? What do you think?” He spares you a glance before leaning forward. You bring it a little closer, having drawn back to give him room, and he takes the rest of it into his mouth, his lips grazing over the tip of your index finger. “O-Oh…”

You don’t miss this. As slight as the contact had been, it still managed to freeze you in place as it registered. It was just an overextension, you fool, you tell yourself, internally shaking your head. If it wasn’t for what happened earlier, you wouldn’t have even thought it to be anything but innocent. After all… it’s not just bringing him some sweets as to why you’re here… Get your head out of the proverbial gutter, ______!

“It’s delicious,” he tells you earnestly, his turquoise eyes seeming to be shining just a little brighter. “By comparison, I think this might be one of your best creations. Did you make the jam middle yourself, too?”

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he’d decided to ask about it so as to settle your heart down. “A seventy-thirty ratio of valberries to regular berries, and refined sugar from fresh sweet flowers. Not too sweet, but not too tart either, right?”

“The perfect balance,” he agrees with a small nod. Your gaze zeroes in on the skin next to his mouth. “Thank you for bringing these, ______. I’ll definitely be enjoying them.”

“… you’re welcome,” you murmur, your brain a little slow in responding properly.

If you hadn’t bothered to visit Timaeus by Mondstadt’s alchemy station in an attempt at hunting Albedo down for the purpose of giving him these sweets, you wouldn’t have overheard the conversation at all. But it would only appear that the gods are seeing fit to serve you reminders until you bother to ask him about it. Now, it simply seems like you’re only buttering him up with the treat in order to get an answer out of him.

Which isn’t true! you’re quick to remind yourself. B-But… maybe it’ll help?

“Um… you have a bit of coconut on your cheek,” you mumble, internally sighing at the fact that your tone still remained near that of a whisper.

“Oh, thank y—” he halts in raising his free hand to remove it, nearly having forgotten about his painted hands. “______, would you actually mind, again, removing it for me?”

You set the tin down in the empty space of a small wooden table. “S-Sure.” Truly, it doesn’t need much focus to simply reach out and brush the shaving away, but you can’t hold a steady enough hand that you might’ve risked dropping the tray of sweets.

What's with me all of a sudden?! you’d wondered.

For as long as you’ve known him, both you and Albedo held a mutually platonic relationship. Before, it barely teetered on the line of coworkers and friends, you being a simple records clerk for the Knights of Favonius, and him, being their chief alchemist, until you mustered up enough courage to send him a personal gift during one of Mondstadt’s winter holidays; touched by the gesture, he sent you a beautiful landscape painting of his of Dragonspine.

Normally, with how busy you’d always been with the Knights’ affairs, you wouldn’t have bothered to approach him in the first place, but after a short conversation about him with Kaeya, you learned that not being too hasty so as not to startle him - in this case, first sending him a gift as a greeting of sorts - was the smarter move.

It had been almost three years since then. And in those three years, you’d never felt so strangely behaved around him until now.

Damn those chatty women, you mentally curse. It’s all I can think about now! How stupid.

“______?”

You jump, not realizing you had zoned out. “Y-Yes.”

“You were shaking,” Albedo says, the slight drop of his brows almost barely noticeable. “Are you feeling alright? Are you cold?”

“Oh, n-no—” quickly and carefully, you brush away the coconut with a swipe of your thumb. “I’m not cold.”

Albedo goes silent, his eyes suddenly wandering across your face. As naturally as possible, you avert your own, and retake your seat at the edge of the mattress, knowing full well of his curiosity.

How would you even phrase it? It’s personal, isn’t it? Inappropriate? Er, invasive? Not only in regards to the relationship you had as both coworkers and as friends, but just in general— you just don’t really ask people this.

You groan, relenting to his wordless wondering. “… this might be a bit of an… awkward, personal question.”

Albedo has to hide his relief when you finally decide to speak again. He didn’t want to pry, despite that curiosity. You’d looked uncomfortable, after all. Or, “embarrassed” might be a more choice word to use.

“Inquiry is never awkward, ______. It’s an opportunity to learn more. What is it?”

You hold back a bated breath. No, really— it’s an awkward question. Maybe not for you it won’t be, but for me, yes.

“Right… well…” You clear your throat. “Earlier today, when I was speaking to Timaeus to find out where your laboratory was, the people who were behind me started a conversation that… involved your name.”

“I suppose that’s not uncommon, considering where you were.”

“W-While that is true, I assure you that it hadn’t nothing to do with the practices of alchemy.”

Albedo pauses, sparing a glance at you before finally setting the brush down into a somehow non-frozen glass of water. There were many things within the master alchemist’s laboratory that defied reason, this being of the few that genuinely shocks you the most considering how frigid his Dragonspine lab tends to be, even with multiple lanterns and a large fire always going. He turns to the basin of water and dips his hands in, the water quickly turning an off blue shade from the paint, and abandoning the canvas.

“Oh. Then, do tell. I’m rather curious to learn why I came up in their conversation, if not for that alchemy.”

“Ye— oh, boy.” An exhale leaves you sharply, an embarrassing heat suddenly spreading across the back of your neck. “O-Okay. So, you know how you were created as an artificial human, right? Wait, don’t answer that,” you interrupt yourself as he’d gone to speak; “of course, you know. Archons, that was stupid of me— well, i-it’s not common knowledge, naturally, but people have been making up their own theories since, obviously, you don’t age, and so I overheard some of the theories today, like you’re a secret god or a cursed human or a very well-designed, micro-versioned Ruin enemy with sentience, but then the talk about these theories got them to asking more personal, inappropriate-for-public-conversation questions, like—”

“________.” You gasp a little, out of breath from your tangent. “That was a very long sentence. Please, ask me your question before you go unconscious from poor oxygenation.”

You nod, cheeks hot.

“… a-are you able to reproduce?”

Albedo blinks at you. If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it— in fact, the only change he does show is one of inquisition. Curiosity. As if the thought of siring children had never once been a thought in his five hundred years of existence. Perhaps he could easily assume the answer is “no”, considering his “genetic make up”, for a lack of a more appropriate term— he hadn’t been nicknamed “the chalk prince” for simply his last name, after all.

But then, on the other hand, he retains identical biological functions to humans such as yourself— tear, saliva, and mucus production; urination and defecation; having the ability to bleed— so perhaps it stands to reason that his body contains the same chemical makeup in his ejaculate as any common male, too, no? Maybe, it might even be of a more concentrated design; a textbook definition of “virility”. And while he knows he’s quite capable of this type of fluid production, he’d only allowed himself to venture on that end of science (read: pleasure) once, and through a private venture. It hadn’t exactly been an experiment to perform in front of others, being frank.

Albedo has lost himself to thought, this much is easy for you to tell. His brilliant gemstone-like eyes have lost their shine and had gone out of focus, a hand has raised to hold his chin and ground him. You don’t bother to speak, waiting for him to exit his mind on his own. Eventually, his thoughts begin to spill out and off his tongue, his murmuring quick to join the crackling fire in filling his cliffside laboratory.

“… perhaps I should proceed with a plan to test this theory, though… a long term experiment of nine-plus months is slightly untenable in consideration to my main objective… There are numerous considerations… although… a willing, fertile participant would surely be necessary…” To your surprise, his concentration breaks, his gaze flitting toward and onto you.

You shiver, knowing full well it isn’t from the cold.

“A-And just what is that look for?” you ask, your voice having cracked with concern.

“… nothing in particular,” Albedo says. He has yet to blink, eyes seemingly stuck on you.

“In case you didn’t know, you were speaking out loud again, Albedo— I heard that last bit.”

“Oh. Perhaps I should explain, then,” he says. You instantly pale at his words. “Regarding your question, I can only partially answer it right now. I don’t know whether I am capable of reproduction. When Gold entrusted me with find the “truth and meaning of this world”, for many years, this had become my sole purpose and drive. After that, perhaps I might fully be free to investigate and experiment the rest that life has to offer. I see, however, that this has piqued your interest. In all honesty, I am curious about it, as well.”

“S-So then… what do you plan to do?” you ask, immediately wishing you hadn’t.

“Seeing as I don’t have any other experiments to tend to, I’m currently weighing the pros and cons on my decision to begin this one. The parameters and necessary criteria are relatively straightforward. Quite obviously, it wouldn’t take many, if not zero, tools or supplies. Really, there’s only one other factor necessary for investigation.”

“And that’s that “willing, fertile participant” you mentioned before,” you say, expression and tone both deadpan.

“Exactly.”

“You know, sometimes, you’re a little too honest, Albedo.”

“My apologies,” he says.

“I… didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” you mumble, looking away from him and at the opening to his lab, outside raging a sudden squall that could easily rival the old record in Dragonspine’s storm history. I guess I’ll be staying overnight here, after all. “I’m perfectly used to your honesty by now, considering how long we’ve known each other for.” What great timing. Comedic, even. Ha, ha, ha.

“I suppose so.” A pregnant silence has you shifting in your seat, suddenly favouring you putting your weight onto your hands while the waiting continues. You huff at him. “Based on the simple fact that you and I have been in close relations for as long as we have, _______, I have a proposition.”

You swallow, offering a small nod for him to continue, but before he does, he travels through his laboratory in search of something— a clipboard full of parchment that he brings along on his way back toward you.

“Firstly, am I correct in assuming that your menstrual cycle is regular, and you’re in decent health?”

“Albedo,” you start, tone unintentionally harsh. “Now it’s your turn to get to the point and ask your question.”

“… right, then.. Would you engage in coitus with me— for the sake of this experiment?”

“Archons alive,” you mutter with a shake of your head, “isn’t there some other way for you to figure it out?”

“Nothing so conducive. I’ve already had to eliminate the possibility of collecting a semen sample and examining it beneath the microscope as there’s a probability that the results would end up showing no evidence of impact; the samples may look textbook but may be inert. Even more, I sincerely doubt that the focal strength of the lens would be enough to see the sample’s cellular makeup on such a microscopic level.”

You instantly hate that he has such excusable, sound logic so readily available.

“I suppose I understand why you’re having doubts about committing to something like this. While I’m not privy to your stance on having children, nor can I fully understand the complexities that may stem from making the decision to go through with pregnancy, I can at least empathize from the standpoint of being one of Klee’s guardians— being a parent isn’t easy.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree. “Albedo, i-if we go through with this, and you do end up being able to reproduce, this is exactly what would happen. I would get pregnant. I would become a parent. I really don’t know if I’m ready to take this risk…”

To your surprise, when you sit up on the edge of his bed, you catch his sour expression in your peripheral vision— it’s not one that you see often.

“Are you under the impression that I would toss you aside when the experiment was done?”

You open your mouth to speak, but only single syllable, unintelligible sounds come out. “I—”

“At the very least, I understand what the end result would mean should it be a positive one. You and I would have created a life together.” Your skin prickles, eyes wide and trained on your lap. “It is not a short term commitment. I wouldn’t allow myself to be held any less responsible for that life than you, ______. In this case, I suppose the parameters need to be corrected— not “nine-plus months”… I should allot for two decades, give or take a few more years…”

“T-Two decades,” your fried brain finally allows you to say. He hums, the dejected look on his face slowly morphing into one of fondness.

“It’s strange, but… I find myself eager to get started.”

“I-I… haven’t even said “yes” yet,” you murmur, eyes daring to rise to meet his. Instead, your lips immediately part.

Being the kind of “person” he is, Albedo had been created with multiple human intricacies left behind. Most times, his expression is calm, complacent, untelling— that of a gambler’s dream. There have been few occasions that have drawn out those different, pocketed looks, but you have experienced of him things like anger when his friends and comrades were injured; joy when Klee or the other Mondstadt children are with him, or when he receives your gift of the week; frustration over a failed experiment or an unexpected result; and most recently, disappointment, when you assumed he would abandon you and the child you both might make. And you thought that one would be the most shocking.

But this… What he wears now… is purely desire; a resultant lust having overcome him by the multiple prospects dangling before him like a carrot on a string. Should the experiment be successful, he would learn that he, an artificial being, is capable of procreating with a pure human. Zygote squares dance before his eyes, hypotheticals of traits and genotypes spread across sheets and sheets of parchment— would they be born male or female? Would they look like him or like you? A thought he believes strange crosses his mind— he only hopes that the child would have your eyes.

You know him well enough to figure that he’s going over every possible outcome and theory, always so entranced by them that he would jot them all down later. Now, it seems there’s only one thing stopping him from being able to get to that stage in the experiment. You.

And so, you nod. Albedo’s lips part, relieved.

“I need verbal consent from you to begin this experiment, ______.”

“Yes, then,” you say, your voice trembling. “I give my consent. Let’s… try and make a baby.”

Your attempt at making the situation less stiff and formal somehow seems to work, the skin near Albedo’s eyes suddenly crinkling into a soft, appreciative smile.

“Thank you, ______. If it’s alright, I do have a few more questions for you before we begin.”

“Mm… hm.”

“Are there any physical restrictions I should know about? Present or past injuries that may affect you during intercourse?”

“Um, no, none that I can recall,” you say after a moment of consideration. He jots something onto the clipboard.

“And your last menstrual cycle,” he goes on, “when did it end?”

“I-I—” you blink rapidly, not expecting him to consider such a thing as necessary input, spluttering as you wrack your brain for an answer, “m-maybe… ah… It was… nine days ago, I-I think.”

Albedo nods, writing another set of words down. “Then that’ll put you in the fertile cusp…”

“… f-fertile cusp,” you repeat, watching him intently.

“Yes— from what I remember when I studied cellular anatomy, the first twelve days after the cycle ends is when fertility is at its peak.”

“No, I-I know that, it’s just…” And you can’t stop the small laugh that escapes you. “It’s all so formal and proper. I know it’s for the sake of collecting data for the experiment,” you quickly add, “but having intercourse… having sex… isn’t such a stiff affair.” But then you laugh again, apologizing under your wheezing breaths when you notice the unintentional pun you’d made, somehow made funnier as you know Albedo wouldn’t have caught it, himself.

He ponders your words, though it doesn’t take him long to acknowledge the truth in them. For as unknowledgeable as he is on these human intricacies, the colloquial term of “making love” surely didn’t involve note-taking or detailed inquiries— he’d figured this much. In exchange for you having become a willing participant in this fool’s experiment, you at least deserve a memorable experience.

“Ah, my apologies. You’re right. While I know of the act, engaging in coitus and its technicalities is something I’m unfamiliar with. “Making love”…” Your skin prickles at the sudden change in intonation. “It’s a romantic endeavour, isn’t it. Done between… loving partners.”

Even though it had been the first question to have asked you, he found himself pushing it further down the list, preferring to subject you the other eight questions ahead of it— have you had any other sexual partners recently? Why is it he couldn’t simply say the words?

“It can be, yes,” you say. “Some people have sex rather suddenly, too, and it’s not always between lovers. It’s not always romantic, either, but it deserves passion.”

It’s because you don’t want to know if she’s been involved with anyone else, he realizes, somehow brought to the conclusion without a second thought. Anyone else besides you.

Albedo sets the clipboard down next to the bed. How is it possible to have found yourself at such a conclusion, he wonders. But then he regards his memories, his past thoughts, managing to find your image dancing before his eyes and recall your words ringing in the space between his ears. He remembers the joy stemming from each of the many times you’d come to see him— out of the handful of people he’d bother to get involved with, get to know closely, you were the one whose company he enjoyed the most.

Never forcing himself into uncomfortable social settings, or into the public limelight whenever he achieved a new feat that might’ve deserved to be celebrated; always respecting his desire to keep his number of relationships to a bare minimum, aware of just how exhaustive maintaining them gets for the man— you made knowing you so much easier for him. Those same human emotions he’d have certain trouble in understanding were explained and shown to him just as naturally as it had been to breathe, yet the one bit of you he hadn’t yet seen a side of is love. Adoration. The same kind of fondness he feels deep down in his heart when he looks at you.

Be it for the sake of or borne through the results of this experiment… I’d like to experience it from you, if only once.

Now, standing before you, arms straight down at his sides, the tips of his fingers skim across the ends of his pant legs as if… suddenly shy.

Your eyes quickly dart over to the paper, and despite it being upside down, you can still make out some of the words of the unanswered first question. Realizing that he must’ve intentionally skipped it, you decidedly take one of his cold hands into your yours and force your fingers between his. Gaze lidded, he stares down at them, his thumb rising to rub into the fleshy part of it.

“I haven’t been with anyone else, Albedo,” you whisper, flexing your hand in a gentle squeeze. “You would be my first.” He swallows thickly. “And… I think this is why I’d been nervous to agree to this, but… this is your first time, too, right?”

“Yes,” he says, just as quiet. “It is.”

“Then…” You tug lightly on his hand, and with little resistance, he moves toward you, only a single, clumsy step necessary to find himself between your legs. Startled by the closeness, he raises his other hand to your shoulder to brace himself against you. “I’m glad. If it were anybody else, I don’t think I would have agreed.”

Albedo’s eyes wander, and the hand pressed against your collarbone travels in tandem, sliding to hold you by the underside of your jaw— something he’d seen while in the city of Mondstadt. He thought about it often. “And why is that?” Does it feel nice? He wishes he could read your mind, but it becomes telling in your warm gaze, in your sweet smile, in the way that under his cool touch, he witnesses your flesh turn feverish, made worse only by the thumb that caresses your cheek. You like it. You like him— he thanks the God who heard his wish.

You lean your weight into his palm, eyelashes fluttering. “Kiss me, Albedo. Let me show you why.”

He nods, a stiff gesture. Your warm hands drag him from his frigidity, placed on either side of the smooth porcelain of his face, and into you, your lips parting only far enough from each other that his may fit between them. It is almost a too perfect fit, he notes, even when you’re moving them.

You encourage him to move along with you, chin nudging his lightly enough that he gets the message, and his thin fingers shift to wind almost desperately through your hair, pulling himself closer into you that your chests nearly touch. For a moment, he sways, put off balance by his lilted stance between your thighs, but then you shuffle backwards on his mattress, leaving enough of a space opens that he’s able to kneel on it. You smile against his lips, taking in a soft breath through your nose.

Albedo, as someone who had only ever witnessed a proper kiss once during a walk through Mondstadt, and who had only ever read about them in the few romance novels he’d dared to borrow from Lisa out of pure curiosity, could only follow your lead. Sure, Klee had often given him a few pecks on his cheek here and there as she grew up, but in his almost five hundred years of existence, this had been his first kiss. So gentle, so warm, so plush— oh, your lips are so nice to feel, he thinks, his own cheeks slowly heating up.

A hand leaves him, lamely skirting down the curves in his shoulder and trailing over the heavily adorned end of his sleeve, only to jump to claim his waist by the material of his indigo shirt. Your fingers curl into the fabric, dragging him further onto the bed with you; he relents by swinging his other leg over yours, effectively straddling you.

Albedo feels light-headed. Oh, is the sound he makes when he finally realizes why. I need to breathe. A giggle finally has him pulling back, you, watching as he struggles to catch his breath with a slight smirk on your face.

“If you take smaller breaths through your nose, or, when we stop, you won’t lose your breath as fast,” you quietly explain.

“… I know that,” he murmurs, nudging into your lips with his. “But I don’t want to stop.” Your eyes widen in shock at his bold - for him - admission. “______… teach me how to make love to you.”

Truly, you wouldn’t have expected those words to come from him, not in a million years. It leaves you startled, hot, like one of the dying embers in the cave’s fire brought to life by the fierce wind. You take a moment, pulling your hands away from him to let out a deep, shuddering, embarrassed breath into your palms.

“… w-what makes you think I know much more than you,” you say, quieted and muffled by your own hands.

“I’m simply aware of how vast your capacity to show tenderness and appreciation to others is. That is a form of love, isn’t it?”

“A more innocent kind of love, maybe,” you answer, dropping your hands to rest on his knee. “That part is easy, since it can just come naturally… but this—? I haven’t… I only know a little of what to do…”

“Then, shall we keep learning, together? I’ve read that intercourse can be painful, and I don’t wish for you to experience that discomfort. Will you show me what you know?”

“O-Of course, j-just… don’t expect me to be good at it, okay? I… I’ve only read about these things.”

Gently, his lips press to the corners of yours, making you squirm restlessly beneath him. Naturally, the books you had read had been from Lisa’s personal collection, and were not of the safe-for-work variety. Hardly educational and deeply inappropriate, it certainly left an imprint on your mind’s eye— even more so considering you were about to do some of those things with him.

In steeling yourself, Albedo notes how the look in your eyes have changed. As if you’d remembered something important, “Albedo, switch places with me.”

He nods once, his hands shifting to settle at your waist. With surprising ease and a knee pressed into the mattress once more, he turns, spinning you atop him. You’re easily startled by the motion, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself until he settles.

“I think I quite like this,” Albedo admits, once he’d gotten comfortable. “You, sitting on my lap.” You kiss him chastely.

“… it’s one of the best seats I’ve ever sat in, that’s for sure,” you murmur, hands smoothing across the exposed skin on his arms. You pause, suddenly flushed with an embarrassed warmth. “Th-that came out too easily, I—”

“No,” he interrupts you, and the hands holding your sides offer you a gentle squeeze. “I liked that, too.”

A dry chuckle leaves you, but not at his expense— you’re nervous to start what you’d sought to do, your heart beating anxiously beneath your ribcage as you slide a hand back up to his shoulder. Keeping yourself balanced against him, you slip your free hand between the two of you to finally, finally address the obvious, growing bulge settled between his thighs.

Albedo chokes, elbows buckling from where they hold him upright when your palm, curved like a cup, rests against the dense tent of his black shorts.

“_-______, what—”

“If, maybe, you thought I never noticed…” you lean into him, and in pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, “of course, I noticed.” Pride swells in your chest when you feel him suddenly tremble underneath you, his eyes wide.

Your smiling lips find his one last time before you’re sliding off of his lap and onto the floor between his knees. Confused and slightly dazed, Albedo goes to grab your arm and stop you. “______, what are you doing now?”

“… do you trust me?” you ask, rather than providing him with an explanation.

“Of course I do, but—””Then,” you carefully pry his fingers away from your arm and set it back in his lap, “let me try something. Work with me, okay?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he finally relents in the form of a nod, and it takes but one more steeling breath for you to commit.

Once more, your hands slide up his torso, creeping along his chest until reaching the golden belt slung over his shoulder. After a minute of trying to figure out how to unlatch it, you sigh defeatedly. “Albedo…”

“You should’ve just asked in the first place,” he tuts, staring down at you through lidded eyes.

“I didn’t think a belt could be so complicated— what is it even for?” you rhetorically add in a murmur.

“It pins my coat shut,” he still replies. You refrain from making eye contact when he finally undoes the pin from the backside of the belt, and with a click, the two pieces around the flap of white fabric from his coat separate, slipping over Albedo’s shoulders and landing on the ruffled blanket behind him. “There.”

“Good. Now, take your coat off.” He complies, shrugging it off of his shoulders and letting it slip down his arms. Your hands lift from your lap and skirt across his, trailing up his clothed thighs and up his waist, and tucking beneath the hem of his indigo shirt to take the zipper of his shorts between two trembling fingers. “…a-and lift your hips up,” you mumble, upon pulling it down and unclasping its neighbouring button.

“Okay.” You’re quick to drag them away from his hips when his ass rises off of the bed, the clinking of his metal accessories jingling when they hit the floor before you. Your jaw falls open— with your eyes trained lower than where his knees sat parallel to the mattress, you hadn’t at all notice that you’d pulled down more than just his shorts. “______…”

“I-I didn’t mean to move that fast,” you swear, eyes wide and struggling to stay on his. He looks at you, waiting for your next move with his teeth pinching the inside of his cheek. “But, um…” You dare to glance down, and sigh. “… there really isn’t a point to me being nervous anymore. It’s… You… are right in front of me now.”

“That’s right,” Albedo says. You have to hide your surprise when he leans forward to touch your cheek with his cold, gloved fingertips; a supporting gesture, one with his own brand and level of comfort that he could muster. “You have me right here in front of you.”

Somehow, you find yourself being grateful in the silliest of ways, unable to help the way your mind takes you to the time of Albedo’s creation. Proportionate in every beautifully normal way, from the length of his torso to the expanse of each of his creamy white thighs; from the average length of his cock and its surprisingly wide girth, to how its head seemed to glow with rouge and how his balls hung before you in near perfect spheres— you almost ask him to undress the rest of himself, but as your gaze traveled even further downward to where his knee-high black boots both end and begin, squeezing the flesh of those same thighs you’d begun to adore, you stop yourself.

No, these should definitely stay on.

“You asked me to show you what I know, right?” Albedo blinks down at you, where your eyes rest on his twitching shaft almost too intently. You wet your lips, and finally wrap your warm fingers around his base; he flinches. “Then… what I know is that… supposedly… men really like this part,” you murmur against him, lips then pursing atop his blooming head.

Albedo involuntarily hisses, a hand rising to rest on the crown of his head in disbelief while the other fruitlessly clutches at the sheets beneath him. Having hoped to catch him off guard, you’d poked your tongue out and aimed it at the small slit in the centre, succeeding when his hips leap upward under your soft strokes.

“I-I’m beginning to understand… w-why — ahh…”

It tastes a little salty, you note. Gently, you curl your tongue beneath the head of his cock, and run it along its soft ridge, eliciting the softest of moans from the man sitting above you. In the corner of your eye, you watch his eyes flutter as the pleasure registers and his hands search for a new place to anchor themselves.

“You can touch me, too, Albedo,” you tell him, dropping your head a little lower to flatten your tongue against the base of his shaft. You drag up, sure to collect the small vein pulsing at his underside as you make your way to the top again, “I don’t bite, after all,” before collecting him into your mouth as far as it would let you, your mouth immediately hollowing around him following your words.

You smooth out your tongue beneath him as your cheeks puff out before contracting, a torturous set of suctioning squeezes that has Albedo squirming in place. You shift your hands to rest atop his thighs, only pressing down whenever he bucks just a little too much for you keep up with.

You draw back only slightly, the underside of his cockhead having quickly become the new target of your ministrations. Albedo’s hips roll, an automatic reaction he decided he didn’t care that he had no control over— your lips, your tongue, the heat of your mouth, the hot breaths you let out over his aching erection, oh— he wanted more of it.

Few things exist in this world that he desired as achingly so, if only the positive results of an experiment that led him closer to Gold’s expectations of him and the well-being of his friends. In the now, he simply desired you.

Albedo gasps, and as if on instinct, he lurches forward to hunch over you, almost throwing himself off of the edge of the mattress, and wind his fingers through your hair from behind. “-_____!!” For a moment, you panic, your hands flying up to brace yourself between his thighs, not having expected such a knee-jerk reaction from the alchemist that had him hitting the back of your throat. “Hngh!!”

As deeply as possible, you inhale around him, though very little air passes into your lungs. You shift higher onto your knees, your hands tapping against Albedo’s thighs in alarm the longer your throat remains constricted by his cock. But his head is thrown back, lips parted in pure awe and relishing at how tightly you’re able to wind around him, and how fast the strange burning sensation he’d only felt that one time before in his long life creeps up on him—!

Before he can warn you, and before he can even register what was about to happen, Albedo comes, his hot seed spurting heavily down the back of your throat. His groans are deep, filled with a vibrato that would almost tickle if not for the immense pressure. Lost in his pleasure, it takes him a moment to register that the strange flapping on his legs had been you, pleading for him to release your hair.

His hands fly up from you instantly, his groan sharp when you pull off of and away from him, swallowing thickly. “-_____—” your attempt at a proper first breath has you coughing a little, massaging your throat from the outside as if it would soothe what had just been done to the inside. “A… Are you alright? I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to…. do that.”

But you’re shaking your head, hand raised to wave him down.

“It’s… not your fault,” you tell him, your voice testing. “Honestly,” and you spare a chuckle, “that just meant I was doing something right.” Albedo frowns in his own confusion.

“Your pain was… a good thing?” he asks. “That’s slightly illogical.”

“I meant before that part. Your reaction… It felt good in my mouth, didn’t it? It must have… considering how quickly you came.” Hesitant, his concern for you still ever present in his expression, he nods. “I promise I’m okay, Albedo. But… we should keep going, hm?”

Albedo watches you, still knelt between him, his thoughts racing and unpinnable, most of them plaguing him with the guilt that he’s hurt you— but you only smile, your eyes squinted, and the tears collected along them threatening to spill. He enjoys it when you smile.

“Before,” he starts, his tone hopeful in his brand of emotion, “you said I can touch you.” You nod, your chest heaving with your breaths. “Does that permission still stand?”

“Wh— Y-Yes, of course, it does,” you answer, eyebrow raised in confusion. Albedo smooths his hand across your cheek, his thumb running along the soft skin beneath your one eye to clear away the bit of tears that finally fell.

“Then, I’d like to try touching you to get a similar reaction out of you,” he explains. “I’d like to make you feel as good as I just was.”

Lips parted, you consider his request. While a part of you desired nothing more than for him to reciprocate what you had just done to him, it’s difficult for you to attempt to escape the embarrassment it would bring you. Whether he would’ve been knelt before you, pushing your thighs apart whenever they might go to squeeze his head between them, or if he’d pull you to sit above his face, hold you in place, and—

No, no, no-no-no— either of those things are just too much to get him to do for his first time! you think, trying desperately to cast the details of Lisa’s personal collection out of your head to no avail. If your desire wasn’t showing before, it certainly should be now. So… i-if he wants to do this, if he’s really serious about it…

“… please, then, ‘bedo,” you murmur, leaning just a little deeper into his gloved palm. “Please touch me.”

Over and over, Albedo has managed to surprise you, though more than anything, it had been his astute eagerness that has thrown you for a loop. Despite his usual claims of lacking most human emotions, he seems to have no trouble displaying lust before you. Whether it’s expressed in regards to the promise of achieving positive results, or, as the potentially deluded area of your brain suggests, in regards to him harbouring a positive emotion, one aimed toward you, you weren’t privy.

This time, the surprise comes from him when he gently pulls you up onto your feet, him now standing with you, and spinning you on the spot to take his former place on the bed. You blink, slightly dizzied by the motion, and make to press your palms down flat to steady yourself, when Albedo leans into you, one of his own hands coming to rest next to yours. The other, however—

“Lift your hips up, ______,” he says, his thumb pressing forward to shove the button above the zipper to your trousers out through the hole, “and take off your jacket.”

You nod, swallow the lump in your sore throat, and shift your weight onto your hands that allows him to slide your thick, woollen tights down to your ankles, all in a single moment. Unlike you, however, he’s left your undergarment sitting askew around your hips— somehow, you manage to dub this even more embarrassing than if you were left half nude.

“I’m still right here in front of you,” he reminds you, once more leaning forward into your space, chin tilted toward his chest. You straighten your back, enough so that you’re able to meet his lips, and he gratefully obliges you, his own eyes shuttering closed upon contact. You part from him, grinning softly.

Albedo’s lips part to allow the tip of his glove’s middlemost finger to become pinched between his teeth— he pulls away, the dual-coloured leather falling against his chin before he discards it to the cave behind him, and reaches down between you. You catch his hesitation and decidedly remain silent until he finally moves, a curious hand coming to rest just above your pubic bone. Your breath barely hitches when his fingers curl to dig beneath the elastic banding on your underwear, only to pause with a single pad resting only an inch away from—

“I believe I asked you to remove your jacket,” he murmurs, eyes trained to where his hand waits.

“I— oh, I, o-okay, right…” Careful not to bump him, you begin shimmying out of your moisture-wicking sweater, tugging your arms and head from the holes, and tossing it behind Albedo, leaving you sitting in a half-as-thin turtleneck.

“Good. I’m going to begin now.”

You barely get a nod out when he’s already pressed down atop the flesh above your clit, your body jerking forward at the sudden burn of pleasure. In favour of helping Albedo chase his own release, you woefully chose to neglect the potential of your own, but this didn’t mean it hadn’t been sitting idle up until now, waiting for him to do something about it.

In all your time of knowing the man, you never would have thought you would see him make such an erotic expression, and having been blessed to, you still haven’t recovered from it. Brows knitted and eyes squeezed shut, teeth pinching his bottom lip through his failed self-restraint; you’d never seen a rosier red before than on those smooth porcelain cheeks of his— it sent waves of warmth to pool in your gut, a blindsiding strike against you as you became forced to wait your turn.

“From what I recall from my anatomy studies, the clitoris has over ten thousand nerve endings, so in a state of arousal…” He swirls his finger against it again and you jolt, your own hand rising from the bed to clutch at his wrist. “… the effect becomes heightened when it is physically stimulated.” His eyes flit up to watch your reaction when he moves lower, the tip of his soft digit catching under its hood; your trembling lips have parted, and your eyes are barely open to see him. You only feel when two of his fingers have dipped into you— your wide eyes snap up to him, cheeks flushed at the sudden squelch. “I see you didn’t even need physical stimulation for this— you’re quite wet, ______.”

Your grip on his wrist is shaky when it tightens; another indication of your arousal, Albedo notes. He doesn’t move his fingers as you had expected him to — they solicit themselves before your entrance, swimming in the slick that has gathered there, his reach managing to stretch far enough that it nudges your throbbing clit — and your mind immediately equates the emptiness within you to torture when you begin clenching around nothing.

“I-I don’t know if you’re teasing me on purpose, Albedo,” you start, your nails suddenly biting into the flesh of his hand, “but I’m begging you to stop.”

Your ears ring a little when the softest of chuckles fill them; you shoot a glare up at the alchemist. “No adverse effects to your cognition. If tempered, a high percentage persists, even under that same duress—” You whack his arm, at least hard enough that even he would feel it. “Ouch.”

“This isn’t a live anatomy study,” you joke at him, though the same bite you threw at him along with your knuckles are present in your tone. Albedo blinks, before his lips spread into a thin, almost apologetic, line.

“A habit,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’ll try to be more conscious of it.”

“J-Just… be less embarrassing about it,” you plead, turning your head away.

“Hm? Why is it embarrassing?” Albedo straightens, his back holding him upright instead of his other hand— he pinches your chin between two fingers, and turns you back toward him. “Sexual intercourse is an embodiment of what it means to be human, no? Without procreation, life would end.”

“Y-Yes, that’s all true, but… it’s not why I’m embarrassed. I-It’s not even you getting all technical while your fingers are—” as if cued, they slip into you once more, a gasp fleeing your wide open mouth in shock. “A-Albedo!?”

“So, is it me that you’re embarrassed over?” You wince, his fingers curling upwards as if searching. “Is it what I’m doing to you that’s made your body so warm?” His wrist turns, his other knuckles catching on your clit again and making you lurch into him. “Is it that my hand is so deep in your heat that’s making you look at me with such delirium?”

Your body spasms; you huff at him when he draws back.

“W… what are you even saying,” you pant, your hold on him faltering.

“I am only curious as to why you’ve been staring at me with such blatant adoration. I don’t believe I’ve done anything out of the ordinary to deserve it, and yet…” His own eyes move to meet yours. “I find myself enjoying having your attention on me.”

You could’ve quite literally melted on the spot, if not for the bitter chill filling the cave.

Albedo shifts before you, and seats himself to your right, his sole gloved hand curling around the underneath of your one knee to be thrown over his lap, the other remaining behind to slide up toward your hip. His fingers tug at the elastic of your underwear, collecting them around a knuckle and drawing them down your raised hips to your ankles, the wrinkled fabric pooling around the toes of your left foot.

“Keep your eyes on me, ______,” he says, barely audible. “Watch closely.”

You manage to amaze yourself at just how wet you’d truly become by his hand, the cloth surrounding your cunt and the blistering winds of the squall offering enough muffling that you hadn’t heard the squelching, and only felt it. You didn’t think it could get more embarrassing, but now, the sounds were out in the open, the progressively more intense smacks from his palm hitting resounding before you and belting between the stone walls. But you keep your eyes on him still, just as he’d asked you to, and let the heat continue to bloom.

His attention on you is somehow daunting— bottom lip caught between pearl-white teeth and brows furrowed; usually bright eyes darkened in his focus, occasionally flitting up to see the kind of expression you wear with each new ministration.

You shudder beneath him when the smooth skin of his thumb presses against your clit again, his fingers still curling and stirring your warm insides. An eyebrow raises, pleased by your reaction— Albedo rolls the pad of his finger against you in the hopes that you keep squirming beneath him, that your soft and barely controlled moans keep escaping you, all for him, all from him. Somehow it’s everything and not enough for you, though it shows when you roll your hips toward him and against his wetted wrist.

“I-It’s… how… can you can be… so… calm through this…!?” You pant, your fingers tightening at the breast of his shirt. Shivering beneath his languid touch, Albedo lets you keen against his smooth hand in a slow grind, his three middle fingers carefully pumping in and out of you, each draw pulling back more and more of your slick.

Eyes blown wide, Albedo takes his free hand and guides your lips back to his, tongue unhesitant in pushing past your gritted teeth to find your tongue. A moan escapes you when they curl together, your thighs instinctively trying to press together to curb the heat that starts pulsing between them. Albedo pushes them back open, eyes lazily shifting to the side in time to watch you begin to shake.

“Calm?” he repeats, having pulled away, and with a single stroke, you seize, both hands jumping to grasp at his wrist in an attempt to steady yourself through your first orgasm. “With you?” He presses his lips to the side of your head, a soft groan escaping him the tighter you manage to clench around his digits. “I’m not calm at all with you. Especially as you are now.”

“A-Al… bedo,” you whine, clutching at his shirt like a vice, nails barely digging through the fabric to reach him, but where you touch burns, only spurring him on to keep you sobbing until you reach the end of your high.

“Your voice is very pleasant when you orgasm, ______.” You seethe a harsh breath through your teeth when he retracts his fingers, and as if through a fogged lens, Albedo stares at his pale fingers coated in your release, watching it glisten under the glow of the fire as he turns them. “Hm.”

“… Albedo?” you call, voice hoarse but questioning.

“The viscosity is almost slime-like,” he notes— of course, he would, you think, biting back a chuckle. But then he does the unimaginable, though in his case, you’re surprised at yourself for not have expecting it— he tastes it, tastes you, his tongue poking out to lick up from his knuckle to the tip of his index.

“A-Albedo—””The hydrogen potential is rather acidic,” he goes on, completely disregarding your huff of impatience at being cut off, “but it’s more mild than I expected. It seems there isn’t enough here to collect as a proper sample, however. Before we continue, I’d like to—”

“A-Another time!” you half-heartedly promise, knowing exactly what he’d been about to ask you. Genuinely hoping he won’t actually hold you to your word, “P-Please, Albedo— I’m already exhausted from the trip here, and after all of this, I-I don’t know if I’ll last until the end if you were to do all of that again…”

“Oh. Was it that enjoyable?” he asks, and to your disbelief, he licks the rest of his fingers off before curving his head to better meet your gaze. Instantly, you’re scowling at his knowing glance. “Very well, then; I don’t mind postponing that until “another time”.”

You wheeze tiredly.

With a hand resting against your lower back, he places his other against your sternum and gently pushes you backwards and down into his mattress. Slipping his leg out from under you, he then straddles your one thigh and carefully lifts your other out in front of him. You instinctively flinch, your gaze quick to travel down to where Albedo’s erection sits atop your skin. As if testing, he shifts his hips forward, and drags his dick along your leg.

You barely catch the soft, wounded breath that passes through his parted lips, eyes squeezed shut once more as he ruts himself along you. Your own breathing is weak, both heart and mind stupefied by the scene before you— you can’t help yourself from reaching for him, for it, and cup your hand over its pretty curve.

Albedo gasps, instinctively reaching to steady himself against the bed when your thumb starts rubbing along his blushing cockhead.

“Albedo,” you call to him, voice thick with a sudden want the alchemist hadn’t been prepared to hear. “Albedo, please… I’m ready for you. I want you.”

In turn, you hadn’t been prepared for his eagerness— the way he helps you scooch further back on the mattress, and how easily he’d seemed to fit himself in between your warmed thighs; how sweetly he stares down at you, his pale pink lips curving into the slightest of smiles when you start uncontrollably grinning at him, and how soothing and gentle his touch is when he runs his cool hands along the burning flesh beneath your turtleneck. You shudder in your anticipation, a strong pulse beating from the center of your abdomen just wildly enough for him to feel it when his palm rests atop it. He maneuvers his knees beneath you, and in pressing his hips to meet your pelvis, his own arousal finally nudges into yours, the both of you flinching with a desperate keen.

A single hand comes down to rest on the bare skin of your midriff, hidden beneath your shirt, the other curled around the base of his erection to poise himself before you. “T-Then… I’ll deny you no longer.”

A strangled hiss passes through clenched teeth as Albedo rocks his hips forward, the head of his cock gently fitting just past your folds. You can’t help the shocked gasp that flees your parted lips; you take up the bedding in an iron grip to brace yourself as his own tightens around your hip, him pushing past each ring of muscle with a heavy breath and the smallest of grunts— he’s hot, and incredibly hard, and it sends a rippling ache through your core the longer he takes in fully sheathing himself within you, through no fault of his own. Your nerves have made you tense and tighten up, made you tremble around his throbbing girth so intensely that he’s forced to take pause with a choked breath—

“S-Sorry!” you gasp out, blinking rapidly between him and the ceiling. “S-Sorry, Albedo, I-I just—!”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice slightly haggard. “T-Take a moment. Breathe, ______.” You nod, likely too many times than necessary. “Does it hurt?”

“… y-yes, but…” You sniffle. “There’s pleasure with it, too. For my first time, i-it’s to be expected…” The alchemist stares down at you, unsure of his next move, but then you raise your shaky arms from your side to reach for him, hands taking the cool skin of his cheeks into your palms. “I-I need a distraction,” you murmur. “Kiss me, Albedo, a-at the same time.”

“… alright.”

Albedo lets you pull him down toward you, slowly so as not to hurt him, as well, allowing him to shift around you and reposition himself. At the last second, he leans forward out of your hands to claim your expectant lips on his own, immediately parting them with his tongue. The gesture had sent a rush of heat through you, miraculously allowing Albedo to thrust his hips into yours just a little more. Your moan is sharp into his open mouth, a whine more than anything else, and your shuddering has your legs threatening to either give out beneath him or curl around his slim waist— he notices this, and instead denies you from choosing on your own when he lets himself tip forward until fully sheathed, swallowing both your tongue and your voice when you cry out past his lips.

I-It hurts, you can only exclaim in your thoughts, your entire body lit up like an Inazuman firework when your legs kick out behind him— it hurts.

Willing yourself to focus on anything but where the pain pulses most, you search around the cave once more, chest heaving from a lack of air, mindlessly identifying the many small objects scattered about the laboratory— flasks and beakers, pencils of various lengths, jars of full and half-empty oil paints of all shades, piles upon piles of paper weighed down by miscellaneous paper weights— “______?”

You tear your gaze away from the inactive air gas burner sitting on the furthest table, and force it to meet that of the man’s lying above you. “H-Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Albedo asks. In the corner of your eye, you spot his one arm beginning to tremble. “You went quiet.” Shakily, you lift your arm to support it by his elbow; he spares it a glance before looking to you again. “______?”

“I-I’m… I’m okay,” you say before sighing, knowing you sound unconvincing. “Are you?” He hesitates in answering.

“… a human’s internal temperature is normally around thirty-seven degrees, but s-somehow—” Albedo exhales, and through squinted eyes of your own, you see one of his twitch in his struggle to adjust “— it feels much hotter i-inside you…” Despite your best effort not to, you laugh, your free hand rising quickly to try and cover it up, but it flies loose; somehow, Albedo finds himself displeased with your reaction. “______…”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I just wasn’t expecting that kind of answer, though maybe I should have…” You reach up to hold his face in your hand. “But you’re okay? You aren’t hurt at all, right? I know it’s a little… t-tight.”

“All the more reason why if either of us should be more in pain, it’s you,” he tries to reason, but you shake your head.

“I just… needed a moment to get used to you,” you tell him in earnest, “and I think laughing helped. You’re bigger than your fingers, after all.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he immediately says.

“It’s only n-natural that it would hurt a little— d-don’t worry, okay?” He nods, albeit reservedly. “C… Can you try moving now?”

“If you’re sure?” And you nod back, your hand still wrapped around his arm providing a squeeze of encouragement.

“Please.” With a nod, he gently forces his hips from yours before thrusting back into you. Your grip on his forearm falters, dropping in favour of holding his wrists, instead.

While he knows a human’s autonomic functions obviously accounted for it, Albedo still found it amazing how easily you’d seemed to swallow him back up. Maybe it had been your laughter— you just needed a moment to loosen up, and not just physically. Despite everything that had already happened, you’d still been in disbelief that it did happen in the first place, and with Mondstadt’s chief alchemist; your dear friend.

Your own hips shift, your joints twisting to give rise for your thighs to press against Albedo’s sides. Albedo groans softly, soft hands moving to curl his arms around them and pulling you even tighter against his pelvis. You jolt, a strange sensation suddenly blossoming where his cockhead presses upwards— you just knew that curve of his would mean some kind of trouble for you.

“… oh?” Looking away from his strained expression, you find him focused on your lower abdomen, where he decidedly places his hands over. He presses down around it, your soft flesh pooling beneath his thin fingers.

The smallest of gasps escapes him when he readjusts his stance to the edge of his mattress to push back into you, only for the imprint of his cock to, once again, reappear beneath your skin. He pauses to look to you, and though you look unharmed, you’ve bitten down so intently on your knuckles, your nose scrunched and eyebrows bunched toward each other, in an attempt to suppress the sounds threatening to leak from you.

“______,” Albedo calls. When your only reply is a weary glance and an overwhelmed huff, he leans over you, his hands taking yours from over your mouth to pin them at either side of your head against the mattress. But the movement hilts him deeper inside you, tearing a whine from your throat and sending a shiver through your body. “… are you alright?”

“I-I—” Albedo rolls his hips ever so slightly. “’m f-fine… It… jus’ feels… hngh… g-good.”

“I’m glad,” he pants, shoving his fingers between yours and pressing them further into the duvet. “I was worried you were in pain.” Drawing his hips back, he slowly drives back in, lips parted and jaw hung when the immense sensation of your engulfing warmth overtakes him.

“N-no pain,” you promise, giving his hands a light squeeze each and him, a curdling smile. “Y-You can… m-move faster, Albedo...”

“If you’re sure, then,” he murmurs.

He drops onto his elbows, hands still claiming yours and his lips only inches away from each other— it doesn’t take him long to decide to claim them, either, pressing into you and prying your willing mouth open with his tongue. You don’t try to contain the moan he bullies out of you when he begins sucking at your tongue, in the same moment he draws back once more and thrusts into you as if sheathing his sword. Your body tenses, eyes flying open when you feel the head of his cock reach the deepest part of you—oh, this part hurts, you think, squeezing his hands just a little harder, and once more, he stops, turquoise eyes joining yours in a panic.

“That hurt this time, didn’t it,” he says, eyebrows turned down in concern.

You nod a little, and take a deep breath in an attempt to slow down your pounding heart. “Y-Yes,” you say. “You just went a l-little too deep…”

“I’m sorry,” he immediately says. He lowers his head to rest his cheek against yours, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear when he kisses the side of your head, “I won’t make that mistake again.”

You whimper in response, and nod probably more times than you’d meant to. It takes a moment for the initial shock and discomfort to fade, but then you’re nodding again, this time, in encouragement. Albedo takes your words into account, supposing that he just might’ve underestimated his own length in contrast with your depth… He’s hesitant to move again, though he knows it comes down to the amount of self-restraint he can muster, wanting nothing more than to continue with you.

Albedo startles when you take matters into your own hands and roll your hips up, slowly sliding yourself up and down his length with your features still verily pinched, though certainly, they’re steadily masked by that same pleasure you’d mentioned feeling earlier; no longer a stranger to the sensation himself, he dares to thrust his hips once more, a little more controlled, yet with his expected inexperience; jerkish.

It doesn’t hurt you anymore, you realize when one of his strokes manages to pull a shaky moan out of you. No longer are your breaths coated with your discomfort; Albedo finally found a rhythm that kept him steady and you, painless— one that only draws out more and more of your whines and whimpers and his heavy breaths to be pressed into each other’s skin; one that has your arms wrapped around each other like vices while he continues rutting into you, your fingers digging into the flesh over his shoulder blades to ground yourself atop the creaking bed—

“Can… can we move?” Albedo suddenly asks in separate, laboured breaths, his arms uncurling from around you.

“M… ove?” you repeat, your head too occupied by him to register what he means— “We’re… already moving,” you jokingly manage to conjure. But you relent. “… ’kay.”

Huffing, Albedo slides his arms beneath your shoulders and sits you upright over his thighs. The non-exhausted part of you is startled when he rises onto his knees to crawl closer to the wall the length of the bed touches, finally sitting back down with his back now leaning against it. Still having been connected with you when he unfolds his legs to shove them beneath your ass in the other direction, the jostling finally tears a long groan out from you when he manages to nudge something especially sensitive within you. Albedo sighs deeply, his hands coming to rest at your hips to ground himself when you clench around him.

“Hold onto me, ______,” he instructs, giving you a gentle squeeze. Your limp arms give rise to wrap around Albedo’s shoulders, holding him tighter to you and burying your face into the crook of his neck. You press your lips against his porcelain skin, leaving slight nips behind until you feel him shiver, and his hands drop under you to lift you off the mattress.

A strangled cry spews up from your throat when he sheathes himself into you again, burrowing itself beneath Albedo’s ear and strangely sending a shiver down his spine— he’s already said it before, but he tells you once more just how beautiful you sound when you peak; tells you how good it feels when you squeeze and keep him trapped inside of you.

Golden strands slip through each of your trembling fingers when you run them through his loose hair, having untied the band around it, and Albedo groans almost appreciatively from the sensation of them skimming across his scalp. Your balance in your knees is barely there, and your thighs are just strong enough to remain lifted off Albedo’s lap while he bucks up into you, but you’re gasping, the world suddenly turned on its axis when he spins you back onto the mattress, empty.

Dizzied, you look to him, meet his half-lidded, glossed over turquoise gaze, and swallow thickly when he hovers over you, his tip carelessly twitching against your pelvis. Is he… trying to hold himself back? you wonder, watching his lower lip become bullied by his upper teeth biting into them. With hot, trembling fingers, you guide him back inside you before reaching up between his arms and cradling his face in your hands, pulling him down to meet your lips. You swallow his heavy breaths until they turn into moans, hips driving into you, unrelenting, and only then do you part from him.

“P… please,” you beg, thumbs sweeping across his warm cheeks. “Please don’t hold back from me.”

“… b-but you… you’ve gotten so… so t-tight—” he chokes on his words. “… s-something… something is — hahh… I-I don’t wan… want to finish so… fast…!”

A sudden tension twists through your gut like a fire had been ignited there; you stretch your arm out across the messy sheets, small gasps escaping you with each of his thrusts, reaching for any semblance of stability along the thick duvet of his bed. His movement is fast, a hand suddenly darting out to pin your hand down before you.

“I-It’s okay,” you call out, your voice turning an octave higher than normal when he anchors himself deeper into you with a single, sharp thrust. “… I-I’m there, t-too!” You pant through gritted teeth, sucking in little air as you try to orient yourself— “I wanna hear you, ‘bedo,” you gasp out at him, “you sound so… beautiful…! I wanna hear you when you… c-come…! haah…!!”

He gasps again when you’ve suddenly tightened around him, his erratic pistoning into your wet cunt slowed by your own incoming high.

“Really?” he bites out, brows furrowed in concentration. Your nods are frantic, your hips rising to meet his with each of his thrusts, hips battering into yours almost painfully. “T-Together, then?” he groans, and allows you to further wind yourself around him, arms curling around his back, legs hooking around his waist, cunt fluttering and pulsating almost cruelly until the tears of pleasure formed along your eyelids finally spill over and roll down your cheeks when you finally peak.

“I’m… c-coming… hngh!!”

“C-Coming!” Albedo cries out through his teeth and into your shoulder, fingers forcing yours deeper into the blanket, hips stuttering sharply into yours for a last time as euphoria claims him. “______!” He finally goes still, relishing in the relief the snapping coil in his gut brings him when he spills inside you. You wince through your own gracious release, the head of his pulsating dick rutting lightly against your cervix with each of his tremors and jerks— Archons, it’s so h-hot! you mentally whine, eyes squeezed shut and arms wrapped tight around his back, holding him ever closer to you.

He had never experienced such a strong release of emotion as intense as he just did. It’s startling to him, maddening, that he’d never bothered to seek out such a feeling after that first time all those years ago— but now that he’s gone ahead and done such a thing with you? It stopped being an experiment to him long ago.

“______, I…” Albedo pants against your fast-rising chest, your heart beating too quickly for your own breathing to keep up, and presses his lips to it. “That felt wonderful…” Your arms, weighty from your exhaustion, slip from behind him until your elbows hit the mattress beneath you, only the tips of your trembling fingers deigning to remain behind to drag across his ribcage.

Delirious and still swimming in what pleasure remained from your shared release, you give a jerky nod of agreement, and turn your head ever so slightly to him to press your own lips against his hairline. The softest of laughs hits his ears, a sound that might’ve gone unheard under the howling winds outside the laboratory, but the existence of the five senses and your presence meant his hypersensitivity exists only for you right now— it’s loud and clear enough and he relishes in the fact that he’d been the first to hear it in such a circumstance.

A small part of him can’t help but wonder what Gold would say if she saw him neglecting her final task; if she saw him laying here with you. “Show me the truth and the meaning of this world”— he’d yet to even create a footing deep enough in preparation for the assignment. Simple hypotheses existed tucked between leather bindings and were only disturbed on relevant occasions. Should another note be added inside those bindings after today? His chin tilts your way as he ponders this, cheek smushed against your bicep while you struggle to catch your breath.

“… ‘bedo…” Pulling himself onto his forearms, he watches your throat bob when you swallow in your contemplation. “… in keeping this experiment honest, I… I think I need to tell you that… it’s going to be hard for me to call this… just that. An “experiment”.”

He hums, a wordless urging for you to keep speaking. For a moment, your eyes keep on searching the ceiling above you, half-lidded but bright, trying to pick your next words out carefully.

“I… I think I’ve tried not to acknowledge it all this time… and those women today got me to thinking about much more than whether or not you’re… fertile. Our relationship as coworkers, as friends— have they been the only kinds, all this time? I’m well aware that me cooking and baking for you and my doting on you whenever you’re in the city has far extended past my duties as the Knights of Favonius’s Records Keeper. And, at least in my eyes, it tiptoed the line keeping me from seeing you as just my friend. I just didn’t wish to acknowledge it.”

“… may I ask why?” he murmurs.

“Either… it was because I knew I’d be embarrassed if my feelings and emotions for you weren’t able to be reciprocated. That it would likely change our dynamic. I wasn’t prepared… to experience that distance from you if that was the result.”

Albedo agrees wordlessly, when his gaze falls from yours.

How should he even begin to articulate what his thoughts and logic are telling him to say to you? Through all his years awake and existing in Teyvat, he’s never had to bother with or confront his emotions— other than pure investigative curiosity or wholesome fascination, before coming to Mondstadt, he never experienced the warmth that those who would grow close to him would feel. The love and appreciation from Klee for taking care of her as her “big brother”; the camaraderie shared by Kaeya and the other Knights he’s associated with; even the admittedly strange kinship he once shared with Gold before abandoning him to his own devices— and then, despite swearing himself to his reclusiveness to Dragonspine, his visits to his Mondstadt laboratory would have him encounter you.

In being as work oriented as you are, you still often found yourself frequenting his laboratory to deliver field reports from those same Knights, and in knowing his more reserved nature, you respected it, discreetly leaving small gifts of thanks on behalf of yourself and the others; treats, should he “fancy a snack break?”; offering to run errands for him and his assistants in your downtime— if not for you making the decision to appear before him, he likely wouldn’t have bothered to ever make conversation with you. Most of his other relationships within the Knights of Favonius had always been strictly work ones, which he had been satisfied with.

The two of you hadn’t bothered to separate, in all definitions of the word, keeping his seed plugged inside of you with his flaccid cock. Holding onto you, he rolls, pulling the bedding up from under him to pull over you— he’d seen you had begun to shiver. Seeing the appreciative smile you’d put on for such a simple gesture that needed no thanks, Albedo finds he’s thanking himself for not deciding to keep his distance, after all.

“Maybe in the beginning, this would’ve been the case,” he admits. You nod, as if you were expecting this response. “In the months you first imposed yourself in my life, I had been content on holding the same distance I did as with the others, with you. You made it… complicated, I’ll say, to want to hold that distance any longer when you made it quite easy to be around you.”

“I-I knew it sometimes made you uncomfortable to have to be around a lot of people at once,” you murmur, turning onto your right to see him. “I offered to Grand Master Jean to liaison for you and your team while you were all within headquarters and if I wasn’t busy… though, it was really so I could see you more… even if it’d been from a distance…”

The corner of Albedo’s mouth twitches. “I still have that first gift of yours.”

A bashful grin slowly replaces your attempt at a poker face. “I’d hung that painting you gave to me in return above my bed, you know. It… sounds very silly to say out loud, but… when I found myself missing you, I put it there in the hopes that I’d see you in my dreams during the times you were away.”

“It’s illogical, but no. It’s a… sweet gesture. Not silly at all.”

Your cheeks instantly grow warm. “I’m… relieved to hear you say that.”

It takes a while for you to warm yourself up again — as if sensing your sensitive state, Dragonspine saw to it to up the ante on the blizzard — before the two of you can clean yourselves up.

To say the process isn’t as embarrassing as everything else that had transpired would be a lie; feeling and seeing Albedo’s cum drip out of you — and onto a damned sample dish, by his request — had been mortifying. What you hadn’t expected, however, was that after he’d collected his sample, he’d sat you down on the edge of the mattress once more, rags and a newly warmed basin of water at his side to tend to you. And while he did, to distract yourself, you’d found your eyes stuck over on his incomplete painting and the supplies littered on the small table next to its easel.

Now, as the two of you lie facing the ceiling of the cliffside laboratory, you suddenly giggle, prompting Albedo to turn toward you.

“What is it?” he asks, breathlessness evident at the tail end of his words.

“It’s just… the water in your painting glass,” you say. “It still isn’t frozen, and here I am, carefully turning into a block of ice.”

A small chuckle escapes him, too. “Slime Condensate and Mist Flower Corolla extract. The condensate is viscous enough that the extract won’t freeze it completely. Because it tiptoes the line of a solid and a liquid, it won’t cross the threshold, even if I were to take it out into the harsh weather of this mountain.”

You hum in thought. “Is it… edible?”

“If the recipe was tweaked, I’m sure it could be. Why?”

“It could be patented and made for the adventurers that try to come up here. Their drinking water freezes, and they can’t eat the snow or it’ll change their internal temperature— if it could stay a singular temperature while they’re up here, it might make them last a little longer.”

Albedo’s gaze goes toward the glass. One of the two brushes sitting inside shifts from the stiff breeze that blows into the cave, clattering against the rim. He lets out a hum of his own, before looking back to you, eyes seemingly glittering.

“Want to run another experiment?”

masterlist | taglist pt. i | pt. ii | pt.iii

© nc-vb/niicevibe 2022-2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

okay so a couple of days ago i saw this ask on @fellshish's blog about a need for a full 1941 discorporated aziraphale angst fic, realized i had an entire outline already in the hull, and... this happened:

a "what if crowley didn't miss in 1941" fic, including but not exclusive to the moment itself, the hours leading up to it, and the aftermath; a fanfiction (chapter 3/4)

summary:

It's Fell the Marvelous' awaited debut performance on the West End. He has his marksman, his turnips, and things appear to be going as planned—that is, until said marksman does the one thing he was supposed to avoid. Not missing. (or: the bullet catch goes wrong, and due to a tiny technicality, crowley's afraid aziraphale is gone for good. and crowley himself—for the first time in quite a while—is well and truly alone.)

warnings: full of blood, sweat, kissing while crying, blown up heads, prayers, nostalgic churches, polaroids, alcohol, and aziraphale being a discorporated bastard and bitching his way back to earth while a plot we should probably be focusing occurs as we ignore it entirely. and written extremely slowly. oxymoron but i couldnt get this out of my head fast enough and now you must endure it (should you choose to accept). i think i'm gonna be pretty proud of this though. excited!

(also thank @tforthetea for the inspiration because a conversation with them helped spark this the first time. all hail)

ao3 link for those who didn't check the title, and fic under the cut! :)

chapter 1: number thirteen

One of the things Crowley liked gloating about on occasion was that he was older than Death Itself.

He wasn’t technically wrong, per se. The humans think him mad, and the demons think him stupid, but he was still right. Human concepts, despite their hold on the population and overall importance, were non-existent before or even during the Beginning. The Four Horsemen and other ideas evolved right alongside the humans, so technically, Crowley was older than all of them. He rather liked having something to lord over War (in his head), during the few unfortunate meetings he would have with her. Famine was a non-issue, and Death could not touch him regardless of how much he didn’t like him. There were failsafes.

Now, however, actually being in the room that Aziraphale could potentially walk into and never come out of, Crowley would gladly take all of it back and pretend he never even thought about it at all.

The damned magician. Crowley never caught his name, but if he had, he would wrought him with the most annoyingly small curses that no one would ever believe to be true after today. Tonight wasn’t just about impressing the audience or even repaying that wine-filled debt, it was about them. Tonight, Crowley was to play the trusted stooge, and…shoot the angel. Point blank. In the face. And make it look real. And not discorporate him. And not get them fired. And—

There were a lot of things to consider, alright? To contrary belief, Crowley did, in fact, not think Death was silly or stupid. He’d also been there when It was born, you know. Crowley liked Abel. Watching It happen was, plainly, fucking terrifying. It brought up something new, and change was just as scary as Death. Ask anyone, and they’d tell you.

Crowley has been running that unfortunate meeting involuntarily through his head for the first ten or so minutes of waiting for the actual show to begin, while also listing out the terrible things he would do to the magician man had he ever held the opportunity again. He’d been sort of gunning (no pun intended) to stay backstage and avoid the riffraff, but been ushered out the dressing room the second he’d given his (admittingly harsh) two cents on the situation. Aziraphale said he wanted privacy before the big show, but Crowley knew he was just ticked. Aziraphale was an angel who thrived with a supportive devil over his shoulder.

So, Crowley is just milling around in the crowd as the Allied soldiers and their companions filter in. They come and go—a Lady even comes to check on him at point, mentioning odd vacant gazes and looking over shoulders paranoid-like, but he waves them off before they can pry. He really shouldn’t be so worried—even if Aziraphale…‘didn’t make it through the night’, he’d eventually be fine. As long as he discorporated a certain way, nothing too lethal—some deaths were harder to come back from others.

They’ve been discorporated before, of course. That was how Crowley knew this. Six millennia offered many opportunities for the event. But never, and it was never, at each other's hand. On paper, yeah, they killed each other on occasion, but truly…

Crowley shifts nervously, sending a glare at anyone who got a bit too close, but the brief discomforts aren’t enough to lift his spirits. There was one entity faffing about who refused to bugger off even with direct acknowledgements, though that might be because Crowley was imagining It. Or It really was here, and interested in the affairs of potential angel discorporation. Or a bomb was going to fall here and It was just beating the rush. The theories were far from endless.

Death appeared back there as soon as Crowley had been kicked out. He’s simply been dealing with it since then, and It probably wasn’t helping to lift his spirits. He shouldn’t be so antsy—both logic and mechanics deemed it so.

They’d be fine, Crowley repeats to himself near constantly, finding a proper seat in direct line of sight where Aziraphale will be standing. He readjusts his tie as the humans sit around him, creating a perfectly isolated bubble of red velvet seats. What did it matter that twelve humans died doing this before? They weren’t human. Death had no claim on them. It couldn’t take them even if It so desired.

Crowley scowls at the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the theater, cold scythe gleaming under the warm bulbs of the West End. Its just…standing there. Making no move to come closer, either. Odd.

Crowley sinks lower into his plush seat, as if trying to avoid Death’s gaze. But being one of two immovable objects on this Earth, It’s always on him. If Death had a goal, there would be no point in warding It away.

Seeing Death is a famous bad omen, and would send a chill down his spine had it been anywhere else. At this moment, however, Crowley is simply irritated. If It was looking for another soul in this theater, that was fine by him, let It take them, but It would not be ruining whatever this was. Humans were ever plentiful—there was only one angel deserving of Earth.

Before Crowley can decide whether or not he should be stupid and confront the omen in the room, the lights go dim. The crowd’s murmurs die down, and Crowley has no choice but to stay seated and watch the show. Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming on until the Ladies of Camelot had their first number, but Crowley could easily endure it. The gaze aimed straight at his head could be ignored.

World be damned if It took the angel’s enthusiasm. They’d be fine. Crowley just has to remember that.

-----

Things are, indeed, not going fine.

Crowley is meant to go up on stage any second now. Aziraphale has no inkwell in his gloved hand. No amount of snapping is removing said turnip from line of sight. He reads the pamphlet—then again, then again, then again, but there is no second option for apparently miracleless individuals.

Fucking. Hell.

Whatever false bravado Aziraphale is spewing is null and void compared to the should-be-non-existent nerves running through frantic hands and finding absolutely nothing useful. Crowley flips through the same two pages—give the stooge the bullet, poise, and shoot. The miracle would’ve ensure that the bullet would never leave the barrel. But now—now, well, he really regrets not considering a Plan B. Did they ever consider a Plan B? Apparently not.

Getting there is a blur. Aziraphale is essentially shoving the rifle into Crowley’s care, which is honestly becoming a worse idea by the second. He’s switching between the demon and the audience so quickly that Crowley can’t tell who he’s addressing. They’re deathly quiet, and Crowley would feel embarrassed if his heart that shouldn’t be there wasn’t pounding with too much blood in too little time. His mind is a soup. Muddled, feverish, and incredibly foul tasting. You wouldn’t want to drink it even if you were starving.

“I would ask you,” Aziraphale says loudly, cutting through the fog of utter mental mush, “to take this bullet, and load it into the rifle. Very carefully.”

Crowley nods belatedly, squeezing and turning parts of the gun to get the non-existent warmth running back through his fingers. He takes the bullet, and turns it round a few times while Aziraphale stares at him with excruciating anxiety. Is he stalling? Honestly, even Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“It's perfectly simple,” Aziraphale mutters softly, pushing the gun a bit closer. “Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear.”

Crowley can’t find himself to agree here. He’s staring at him, and that would usually get him to listen regardless of shades, but Death is boring into them like the harshest of theater critics. His skin is slick, almost clammy, threatening to let the gun slip and fire a stray bullet anywhere but its intended target. His back is sore, oddly enough. Irritating.

Crowley has questions, like he always does, but the time has long passed. What he wants to ask is ‘do I just squeeze that little bit there?’ pointing at (what looks like) to be the trigger—but then that would just make Crowley look incompetent, so he swallows it back and nodly lightly. He’s never fired a gun like Aziraphale seems to believe whole-heartedly, but he’s certainly watched it happen. He’s picked up enough of the motions to figure it out on his own.

That thought still doesn’t help when he’s being told to insert the bullet, though. Crowley fumbles through it, opening a mislaid hatch or two, but manages before Aziraphale could raise any alarms. He’s already stood back in position (when did that happen?) when Crowley raises the loaded rifle for all to see, proclaiming as such. He bites back the tremor threatening to appear—he wasn’t nervous. Excited, more like it. Excited to finally get an excuse to make a throw at the angel non-suspicious like.

That was all it was. Really.

Crowley turns the rifle one last time as Aziraphale spins more useless pageantry for the audience to woo at. They’re both grinning, but tightly and annoyingly false. It wasn’t the eyes that were the problem—what, do you think that demons ever got stage fright? Absurd!

It was just...well, there weren’t just humans in this audience. Crowley couldn’t forget the shadow looming at the end of the theater no matter how tight he grips the side of the weapon. But, just like Someone had laid out all that Time ago—Death could only perceive them.

It could not touch them.

It would not touch them.

It would not touch him, if he could help it.

The drums begin their incessant titter as Aziraphale finally turns to Crowley properly, blue cloak glimmering under the warm light of the stage before them. “A-are you ready, sir?”

Crowley would scoff at this if he could. Sir. Only humans ever addressed him that way; angels look down on him, demons sneer at him. Though he supposes this angel would be different—always throwing the curveballs, him.

“When you hear my signal,” the angel says, voice growing quieter, “shoot.”

Aziraphale removes his tophat, revealing preciously white curls. This pings something, the remaining traces of damned sense he’s got buried inside. Crowley isn’t sure what has possessed him—but he shakes his head. It’s all he can do. Don’t make me do it, he nearly warns out loud. Not if you know what’s good for you.

Aziraphale stills, but not before mouthing words that would be akin to an ashamed mumble if he were close enough. Trust me.

Trust me.

Satan, he got him there. That’s why Crowley was here, after all. Stooge. 100% Reliable Marksman.

Right.

Aziraphale isn’t nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his anxious gaze. “Ready?”

Oh, Heavens no. He never would be, but no better time than the present. Or something like that. He can’t recall where it came from.

“Aim…”

Crowley can’t ignore it anymore—he’s shaking. Extremely so, at that. It’s knocking around the air in his lungs very unkindly. It’s quite difficult to aim. His head is bobbing around in the scope.

Just about…

There it is.

Crowley waits—just like he’s done for the last…however long. A long time. His arms are starting to hurt, frankly. He rests his finger over the trigger to ease the trembling a tad.

And the magician remains silent.

Crowley ignores the sweat crawling down his neck. (Wasn’t it supposed to be freezing?) He waits some more—it’s not like one can forget where you are. Benefit of the doubt and such.

Nothing still. Nary a nod.

He’s been staring at him for a minute. The crowd hasn’t uttered a peep. Is Crowley just supposed to…do it? Did they talk about this? They must have. They talked about this. They talked about it, right? Yeah. Yeah, they must have—

"Fire!"

He startled him.

The reason why he listens is easy to explain. Aziraphale made Crowley flinch. A bit of a spook, really, not that bad of a fright. A sudden jolt—a tap on the shoulder, one that said ‘oh, look, you’ve got perfect aim already! Shoot!’

And he did.

What’s the first rule of approaching someone with a weapon again?

Right. Don’t fucking scare them.

The handle is warm. Slick, heavy, shaky. The scope aims with guilty target missing at the helm. A puff of smoke is spewing from the barrel. A thump, a sickening thump, deafening in the cricket silence of a post-trick world.

And Aziraphale…is on the floor.

(Where else would he be, really?)

There, obviously. On the floor. With a blown-up head. Bleeding like blessed Heaven. Bleeding like bloody Heaven, while Crowley has to take in the sight and smell the blessed thing.

It fits. They fit. Like a perfect crown on a decapitated head.

God, his head’s just gone, isn’t it?

A noise cuts through the thick silence like a stubbornly determined knife. Far away, above it all, there it rings. It’s muffled, soft, and almost awkward in the way it cuts through the air. A camera click. A reluctant, malicious camera click.

And that was just the perfect way to say it, no? He blew his brains out. Crowley blew his angel’s fucking brains out with a fucking gun that he’s never fucking held before.

Trust me.

Well. That, no doubt, was Aziraphale’s fault—it’d be a funny old world if angels and demons went around trusting one another.

-----

hgh. hope that was decent. chapter two coming as soon as it can because im invested now :))

[defectivevillain]

this broken design ch9

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

notes: this is embarrassing, but i forgot to post chapter 9 on Tumblr... so i had chapters eight and ten up, but not nine... sigh. pls forgive me, everyone 😭

Since you’re dreading the meeting with Alana, it comes up impossibly fast. You fall asleep quickly the night before—for the first time in a long time—and wake to dread’s company. Your anxiety only builds as you get closer to the institute. By the time you reach the parking lot, you can’t calm your racing heart. Thankfully, you spot Hannibal’s car moments later and the two of you walk into the building together. Hannibal must sense that you’re not in the mood for conversation, because he remains a quiet yet steady presence at your side. 

Alana spots you the moment you cross the threshold of her office. She holds the door open for you with a kind smile. “Hello, Alana,” you say, trying to sound as normal as possible. You can only hope your apprehension doesn’t show through in your voice. 

“Hello,” Alana responds with an easy smile. Her hand falls back to her side, but Hannibal reaches out and deftly catches the door before it can slip closed.  The look on Alana’s face twists ever so slightly as she sees that you aren’t alone. She regards your company with fleeting interest. “Hannibal.”

“Hello, Alana,” he murmurs, a polite half-smile on his face. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” The slight smile on his face looks strained. Maybe it really isn't wonderful to see her again. You shake your head to clear your thoughts; you need to stop reading into these types of things. 

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you,” Alana remarks good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, slight change of plans…” You remark with a grimace, not desiring to disclose the true reasons behind Hannibal’s presence. You can tell that Alana is curious, but you decide not to provide an explanation. Somehow, you feel a bit cowardly at the thought of needing Hannibal to be here with you. Speak of the devil, you think to yourself as you realize Hannibal is staring at you with a chastising expression on his face. It’s as if he can sense your pessimistic thoughts. You quickly avert your eyes, only to find that Alana is looking between the two of you with a suspicious expression. This is going to be a nightmare, you think wryly. 

“Jack informed us that you were Abel Gideon’s psychiatrist,” Hannibal starts, breaking through the tense silence. Each momentary lull in the conversation feels like a knife to the back. There’s a faint buzzing sound emanating from the fax machine in the corner of the office and the small analog clock on Alana’s desk carves a constant rhythm into the air.

“For a time, yes,” Alana responds vaguely. You swallow any comments about the ambiguity of her answer and instead focus on the next line of questioning. 

“What information do you have on him?” You press on adamantly. Unfortunately, if you halted your questioning every time you noticed tension rising in the air, this conversation would never end. You take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose, before bringing a hand to rest on Alana’s desk. “I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him yet.”

“Well,” Alana breaks off, inexplicably glancing at Dr. Lecter for a moment as if questioning his presence. You resist the urge to huff in amusement at the rather petty behavior she’s currently exhibiting. Although, you suppose her reaction is somewhat justified—Hannibal isn’t technically a federal agent, after all. However, Jack has pretty much ushered him onto the BAU—a feat not easily accomplished by any means. “Gideon is a sociopath and narcissist with psychotic episodes and homicidal tendencies.”

“But…?” You ask, noticing the way Alana seemed to momentarily falter after recounting the man’s diagnoses. The question seems to throw the psychiatrist off guard, because her eyes momentarily widen and you get a glimpse of her surprise. 

“Nothing slips by you,” Alana remarks with a smile. You’re somewhat uncomfortable with the fond tone of her voice. “For a person with the same diagnoses as him, identity is a rigid and unchanging mechanism. However, Gideon’s recent confusion and waverance about the Chesapeake Ripper speaks to severe borderline personality disorder.” Your eyebrows furrow. While you’re certainly not friends with Alana, you’ve known her for long enough to know that she doesn’t typically use such formal diction. What changed? Perhaps she feels pressured to speak in such a manner since Hannibal is in the room. You suppose that would make sense—he was Alana’s unofficial mentor. 

“That’s an interesting distinction to make, Alana,” Hannibal voices, bringing your attention back to the conversation. You feel the sudden need to avert your eyes from the two psychiatrists; instead of looking at either of them, you let your gaze wander about Alana’s office. You’ve been in here a few times, yet you’ve never taken the time to truly look around. Now that you’re looking, you can catch hints of Alana’s personality bleeding through the nondescript beige walls. She has framed pictures of various people—evidently, her friends— scattered across the four walls and her desk is almost impeccably clean. 

Your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth. You don’t want to speak anymore. The unspoken competition hanging in the air between Hannibal and Alana seems to distract them from your silence, as they continue to speak about Gideon. You allow Hannibal to ask the questions and, thankfully, you seem to share many of the same concerns. Alana continues to speak to Hannibal, but you can see her sneaking glances at you between her words. 

Suddenly, you hear your name and you’re thrown back into the uncomfortable present. Both psychiatrists are staring at you expectantly. You blink at them, waiting for someone to exclaim. Alana smiles at you. “I’d be happy to accompany you on your visit to the hospital.” She offers. 

You don’t know what to say or how to say it. How can you possibly begin to describe the tumultuous storm of negative emotions that rages through you whenever you catch even a glimpse of Alana’s face? How can you even begin to explain the days you’ve spent going through your memories of her, trying to pinpoint a moment where her feelings for you changed? Truthfully, you don’t think you’ll be even the slightest bit comfortable in her presence by yourself—especially not in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane of all places. You have to put active effort into fighting the urge to glance at Hannibal for assistance. You certainly don’t expect him to have an infallible solution to your problems (or even a solution at all); rather, you just need the reminder that you aren’t alone. 

Eventually, you’re forced to break the silence. “Thank you for the offer, Alana,” you start, trying not to take note of the way her smile starts to falter. You scramble to find a way to decline her offer diplomatically. “I spoke with Jack and he seemed to desire Hannibal’s opinion on things.” That may not be a word-for-word explanation of the conversation you had with him earlier, but it will do. Furthermore, Jack is a perfect excuse—since his word is practically law in the BAU. Alana won’t want to disobey his orders, so she should back off after the mention of your boss. Indeed, the psychiatrist frowns slightly but gives in. 

“Alright,” Alana surrenders, but not before giving you a strange look. You shrug helplessly, not wanting to admit that you would much prefer Hannibal’s company to Alana’s. She can take whatever meaning she desires from that gesture. Alana seems to do so, as she sends you a sympathetic look. You eventually work up the nerve to dismiss yourself and within a minute, you’re out in the hall and free from the overbearing psychiatrist and her far too small office. 

“Thank you for accompanying me,” you say to Hannibal as the two of you walk down the hall. You shove your hands in your pockets and continue to quickly pace down the hall, idly hoping that Hannibal will keep up. 

“Any time,” Hannibal responds from your side. There’s nothing but sincerity written in the lines of his face and the rather unexpected honesty of his remark catches you off guard. Hannibal makes it sound as if he would truly accompany you any time. Surely, that isn’t the case. Surely, you’re hearing things. You take a shuddering breath and lead Hannibal to your office to grab the paperwork you need. 

After grabbing the paperwork, the two of you head back through the institute and out to the parking lot. You offer to drive, since Hannibal has driven you several times and you feel the need to repay the gestures somehow. Admittedly, it’s a change of pace for you to be the driver; you feel a little self conscious, for some reason. You can’t shake the feeling that Hannibal is staring at you from the passenger seat. Whenever you glance to the side, however, the psychiatrist is staring out the window or straight ahead. You eventually forget the rather eerie feeling and focus on driving. The drive passes without event and, now, the two of you are walking along the path to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Your heart is racing in your chest as you come to terms with the fact that you’ll have to survive another conversation with Frederick Chilton. You aren’t so oblivious to the hungry look in his eyes or the subtle probing in each statement that leaves his lips. Speaking with the man is far from the first thing you want to do; however, you need to navigate a conversation with him if you want to speak with Abel Gideon. 

“Ah, back again, are we?” Chilton smirks as you enter his office. His gleaming eyes are practically dissecting you. The smugness radiating off of the man is suffocating. He anticipated that you would return. However, Chilton evidently performed some mental gymnastics to get to that particular conclusion—there’s no way in hell you’ll join him for a consultation. “Here to take me up on my offer?” You resist a laugh. 

“I’m afraid that isn’t the case,” Hannibal interjects for you, before Chilton can leer at you any longer. You’re once again grateful that you had the foresight to allow Hannibal to accompany you. He’ll serve as a buffer. Without him, you’re nearly certain that Chilton would make a meeting with Gideon rather difficult. “Dr. Lecter; a pleasure to finally meet you, Frederick.” You raise an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic greeting. Hannibal always introduces himself using his first name. Yet, he doesn’t give Frederick permission to refer to him in such a manner. 

“And you, Dr. Lecter,” Frederick responds, extending a hand. The resulting handshake looks to be uncomfortably tight, yet neither of the men comment on it. Then, Hannibal takes the proffered business card and places it in his pocket. You immediately realize that Chilton is going to be an addition to Hannibal’s rolodex of rude people. The thought brings you a little solace. 

“I’ve brought the necessary paperwork,” you remark, breaking up the impromptu staring contest that Hannibal and Chilton silently initiated. You place the aforementioned paperwork on the desk and Frederick stares down at it, before flipping through it with a scrutinizing gaze. You hold your breath and watch as he rifles through it. 

“I see,” Frederick then says regretfully, folding his hands on his desk. It seems he couldn’t find fault with your paperwork. You’re happy about that—there’s no telling what Jack would have done if you came back empty-handed again. “Such a shame. Would’ve loved to get into that mind of yours.” The man sighs with a click of the tongue. 

“I’m sure,” you mutter darkly, a remark that goes unnoticed by Chilton. Hannibal certainly does notice the statement, however, and his lips quirk in amusement. You take a deep breath and manifest more patience. You can’t be too callous with Chilton, because he could easily withdraw your access to Gideon. However, you are tired of this conversation. “Dr. Chilton, can you show us to Gideon?”

“I suppose,” Frederick acquiesces with a burdened sigh, as if your refusal to be manipulated is an incredible inconvenience. You’re sure that, to him, it is actually an inconvenience; the man makes a living off of manipulating people. You’ve heard the rumors swirling about the man—how Chilton profits off of the suffering and pain of others. Safe to say, you don’t like him one bit. “Please, follow me.” Frederick proceeds to lead you through the halls. You take a few turns before stopping in a rather large and open space, with tiny windows near the ceiling serving as the only sources of light. There are impossibly small cages lined up in neat rows. Your stomach turns as you see the dried flakes of blood stuck to the metal bars. Chilton hums to himself as he walks a few paces and comes to a stop in front of a cage. The look on the man’s face morphs from immature amusement to dark glee. You swallow past the premonitions in your chest and allow your gaze to fall on the man sitting in the cage—indeed, it cannot be called anything more than a cage. There is barely enough room for the man to stretch his arms and he remains hunched over with his head down. Chilton crosses his arms over his chest. “Abel, you have visitors.”

Abel Gideon’s head remains titled down. It’s clear that he doesn’t desire to speak with the administrator. Frederick makes an annoyed groaning sound before slamming his hand on one of the bars a few times, evidently trying to get his attention. The killer doesn’t give any indication that he has even heard the other man. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Chilton says resignedly, sending you a look that is clearly supposed to be intimidating. Fortunately for you, you’re far too used to being stared down by far worse people—criminals, serial killers, murderers, and psychopaths… Frederick Chilton has nothing on any of them.

As Chilton retreats, Gideon begins to stir. By the time Frederick is gone, Abel Gideon’s head has risen and his searching gaze finds you, before settling on Hannibal at your side. There’s a slight slip in his expression—a small twitch of the eye—before it is smoothed over. You wonder if this was a bad idea. Perhaps you should’ve come here alone. Unfortunately, there’s no use in regretting the decisions that led you here. You’ll just have to do the best you can. That will have to be enough.  

“I was wondering when you’d show up, Dr. Lecter,” Gideon says, his voice raspy from evident disuse. His hands grip the bars that keep him caged. You have to wonder if the design of this interrogation space was intentional—if the prisoners were meant to feel like caged birds—wings bound and stripped of all freedom. You’ve always hated the carceral state. You don’t realize that your thoughts have gone on a tangent until your companion speaks. 

“Indeed,” Hannibal responds blandly, as if Abel Gideon is nothing more than a pebble beneath his shoe. You suppose that Gideon probably is that insignificant to Hannibal. Besides, Gideon was thought to be the Ripper for several months—maybe Dr. Lecter didn’t take too kindly to the idea of someone else taking credit for his work. Indeed, Hannibal cuts the conversation off before it can even begin. “I’ll just be over here, if you don’t mind.” You raise an eyebrow at him, but the gesture goes unnoticed since his back is turned. You turn your attention back to Abel Gideon, only to find that he is already staring at you. Unnerved, you briefly pause before eventually regaining your composure. 

“Hello, Abel,” you remark cautiously. 

“Hello,” he responds warily. You don’t blame him for being cautious—from what you know, medical professions have consistently manipulated him. Fortunately for him, you’re certainly not a medical professional. 

“I want this to be a private conversation,” Gideon emphasizes, glaring at Hannibal lurking in the corner before looking back at you. “Just the two of us.” Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“I’d rather remain here,” Hannibal interjects, to your surprise. You look over to him, only to find yourself met with a fiery gaze. There’s something unspoken in the tight pull to his shoulders; there’s something unspoken in the tightly-coiled ferocity of his posture. You’re swimming with sharks, here—and your blood’s in the water. 

“I insist,” Gideon says, turning to look at you expectantly. There’s a scrutinizing sense to his gaze, as if he’s dissecting your every move. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, before turning to Hannibal. You know he’ll be easier to persuade than Gideon. If you want to get any information from the killer, you’ll have to pretend to play his game. 

“Will you leave us?” You ask. Hannibal’s gaze is set on Gideon with frightening focus; the two lock eyes and you can’t help but feel as if you’re missing something. Eventually, Hannibal looks towards you. You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Of course,” Hannibal acquiesces politely, turning around and leaving the room. You can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off of Gideon for even a moment. 

“You have him on a leash, don’t you?” The man remarks with a laugh, resting his hands on the bars of his interrogation cell. You have to look away from his grip, as you’re assaulted with thoughts of how easy it would be for those strong hands to wrap around someone’s neck and squeeze. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you respond stiffly, despite your heart absolutely racing out of your chest. Each piece of this conversation feels far more significant than you can currently comprehend. Each statement Gideon makes seems to be hiding an underlying message. You’re immediately thankful for your somewhat dubious morality—the recording device in your pocket will prove to be extremely useful for future reference. After all, the morals and ethics you prioritize aren’t the agency’s or society’s, but your own. You are self-governed. Plus, you know that the FBI’s strict interrogation policies would prevent you from getting any truly useful information. “Anyway, I’m here to speak to you about the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Hm,” Gideon says, suddenly looking entirely uninterested. It’s clear that the topic is well-exhausted already. You may have to approach this from a slightly different angle. You want to speak about the Ripper, but you will have to hide your questioning behind clever wording. You then realize that conveying trust may be most effective. Abel Gideon has spent years rotting away in this hospital, his words slipping into Chilton’s left ear and falling out his right. Perhaps the best angle for you to pursue… is trust. 

“I know you’re not the Chesapeake Ripper,” You assert. 

“No one else seems to think so,” the man says, in a tone that is more amused than spiteful. You can almost see the tension fade from Gideon’s body. Now, he looks less wary and more intrigued. His shoulders aren’t drawn as tight and his gaze looks slightly less murderous. Small steps, you suppose. 

“I believe you.” You assure him. Gideon doesn’t know your true reasons for believing him, of course. You don’t believe him out of some misguided sentimentalism or pity for his past experiences. Rather, you’ve stared down the real Chesapeake Ripper. Abel Gideon is a cold and calculated killer, but he will never measure up to the unimaginably dangerous, mirrored psyche that the Ripper weaponizes. The Chesapeake Ripper and Abel Gideon are two entirely different beasts. 

“Who are you then?” You tell him your name but he shakes his head. “What do you do?” He asks insistently. You decide to indulge him and explain that you’re a criminal profiler. You don’t give the man too much detail—as that could compromise your safety—but you manage to give him enough to be satiated. 

From there, you interrogate Gideon about several different things. Regretfully, Gideon isn’t as helpful as you initially expected him to be. Ultimately, he’s been in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for years now. You can certainly use him as a basis for establishing and better understanding the mind of a killer; however, you fear that Abel Gideon gives you very little new information on the Ripper. 

“I can tell you wanted more, but I’m afraid I’m not up to date on what happens outside these walls,” Gideon remarks with a sympathetic grimace. It’s hard to believe that he’s able to scrounge up any genuine pity; you suspect the display is more for your benefit. Still, you somewhat appreciate the gesture. 

“That’s alright,” you sigh resignedly. “Thank you for the conversation.” 

You’re barely able to take another step before you hear him call your name. Despite the dread stewing in your chest, you turn around to face the killer once more. Gideon’s eyes are gleaming and his mouth is twisted in a wicked grin. You can’t quite control your instinctive reaction of taking a half-step backwards. Gideon notices and his grin sharpens impossibly. The man sitting across from you suddenly looks positively sinister. The shadows around his form seem to morph and grow around him. Your hand inches towards the pistol at your side. 

“A word of advice…” Abel murmurs casually, his eyes trained on yours despite the fact that you’re now gripping the gun on your belt. “Stay away from Lecter. I was the same, you know—enamored with my wife. It doesn’t last long, trust me.” You swallow hard as you remember that Gideon is here because he murdered his wife and her family. 

“Goodbye, Abel,” you manage to choke out, turning your back on him and walking away. Abel Gideon lets out a loud cackle as you move to leave. Even when you exit the interrogation space and close the door behind you, you can hear Gideon’s twisted laugh reverberating through your ears. 

You find Hannibal lingering in a nearby corridor. You can’t find the words to say, so instead you just motion for him to follow after you. Hannibal joins you and the two of you walk out of the hospital. There’s a suffocating tension that settles in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to break through it. Gideon’s words are running through your mind and you can’t seem to get rid of them. Stay away from Lecter. You walk with Hannibal to your car, but not before opening his door for him with a cheeky smile plastered on your face. It doesn’t last long. You pull out of the parking lot and drive back to the main road. Trust me. You find yourself stopping at a red light and your gaze is almost unwittingly pulled to your psychiatrist. 

“What did he say to you?” Hannibal asks, clearly sensing your gaze. 

“Nothing important,” you say with a shake of your head, fixing your eyes on the road in front of you. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you remember the killer’s whispers. Few know the mindset of a killer better than another killer. Perhaps you really aren’t safe in Hannibal’s presence. That realization should not feel new to you. In fact, it is more of a reminder. Indeed, how long have you spent in Hannibal’s company, pushing down the knowledge that he’s a practiced killer? How many appointments have you had since that night you sleepwalked onto the road? You’re stuck in a horrible cycle of realization and suppression, yet… you haven’t once tried to escape it. You’ve allowed yourself to remain pliant in a killer’s tight grasp. 

“Are you certain?” Hannibal asks persistently. You raise an eyebrow. He isn’t typically one to push things in such a manner. Is he really so concerned? You push the thought aside. You suspect Hannibal simply doesn’t like the notion of lacking information. He likes to be in the loop. The thought of your private conservation likely disquiets him. 

I’m not certain at all, you laugh internally. “Yes.” You respond through gritted teeth. Hannibal must sense that any further interrogation would be pointless, because he falls silent—albeit while continuing to stare at you. It’s hard to focus on driving when there’s a murderer sitting in your passenger seat. Although, does it truly matter if you drive safely? Hannibal could end your life in a moment’s notice. Perhaps you should just veer the car to the side and-

“Stop.” The command is so sudden that you nearly step on the brakes, only to realize that Hannibal isn’t talking about your driving. Indeed, the open road stretching in front of you doesn’t have another car in sight. A choked breath leaves your lips as your heart races from the unexpected remark. 

“What?” You ask panickedly, feeling as if you were just drenched with cold water. Ambiguity does not mix well with driving—especially in the case of loud exclamations or commands without subsequent explanation. 

“Focus your attention elsewhere,” Hannibal demands. Surprised by the uncharacteristic commanding tone in his voice, you try to do as requested. You pull your attention back to the road in front of you. It takes you a few seconds to realize that Hannibal must’ve sensed your sudden spiral into suicidal thoughts. 

“How-” You try to ask. Hannibal looks pointedly at the steering wheel and you follow his gaze, only to find that your hands are gripping the wheel with an almost unnatural amount of force. When you loosen your grip, you feel bolts of pain slide up and down your fingers. You wince and try to regain some feeling in your hands. 

Safe to say, the drive after that is incredibly awkward. At least, you think it’s incredibly awkward. You have no idea if Hannibal feels the same, because he continues to stare out the window with a pensive expression on his face as if nothing occurred. Then again, he is your psychiatrist—you suppose he wouldn’t be surprised by dark thoughts. 

It isn’t until you’re pulling into Hannibal’s driveway that the tense silence between the two of you is broken. “Please, come in,” Hannibal remarks, not even reaching for your car door. His gaze is fixated on you with rapt attention. 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay for long,” you admit, already recognizing that you’ll have to step into his residence—even for only a few moments. You’ve learned the hard way that Hannibal is often needlessly stubborn when it comes to spending time with you outside of his office. You step out of your car and lock it behind you, before walking up the path with him to his front door. You’re incredibly thankful that you have your car today. It’s easy to feel stranded at Hannibal’s residence when you don’t have a car—or a means of escape, your traitorous brain supplies for you. 

You linger in the foyer awkwardly before Hannibal invites you into the kitchen. You’ve been in the kitchen many times now and you’re unsurprised to find that it looks completely spotless. Hannibal seems uncharacteristically focused on something, as he walks over to the corner of the counter and pulls the business card from his pocket. You huff in amusement as you realize your earlier prediction was correct: Hannibal is putting Frederick Chilton’s business card in his rolodex. 

“Building a collection?” You can’t help but ask, after the quiet begins to grow painful. The compulsion to voice the thought was itching at your skin. Hannibal finishes setting the card in place, before turning back to level you with a complex look. You try your best to manifest an expression of innocent curiosity. 

“Something of the sort,” Hannibal agrees, after an uncomfortably long halt in conversation. His attention falls away from the rolodex. You clasp your hands together and wait patiently, unable to shake the feeling that he has something to say. Indeed, Hannibal washes his hands before continuing to speak. “Frederick did seem rather interested in you.”

“As I said,” you say with a slight grimace. You feel remarkably out of place in Hannibal’s kitchen, as he busies himself with evidently planning for his dinner. Ordinarily, you’d be compelled to offer your assistance. However, you know damn well that you’re nowhere near as good of a cook as Hannibal is. You would only cause him further trouble, you tell yourself. “Chilton wants to get inside my head… see what makes me tick.”Incomprehensibly, that last remark pulls Hannibal’s gaze from the cutting board he’s handling. You lock eyes for a long moment. 

“I suspect he wants more than that,” Hannibal murmurs. You frown. It takes you a minute or two to process that statement, namely because you're shocked by the near mutter of his voice. Hannibal isn’t the type of person to speak his thoughts so quietly—he is a man of conviction. The thought nearly distracts you from the allusion he just made; when you mull over his words again, you begin to recognize the gravity of them. 

“Excuse me?” You ask incredulously. Hannibal’s attention is lasered in on the ingredients spread across his counter. It’s as if you imagined the remark—and you’re sorely tempted to believe that you did. The statement seemed rather out of character for Hannibal; although, the cryptic nature of it was very characteristic of the man. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s hard for you to proceed with normal conversation after that revelation. Your traitorous mind keeps trying to find significance in the earlier remark—in the unaffected mask Hannibal donned as he uttered those words. You need to get out of here—otherwise, your mind will continue to entertain foolish thoughts. “I should leave you to your dinner, Dr. Lecter,” you say, not giving him even a moment to argue. “Have a good night.” You nod at him before turning to walk away. Even as you drive into the dark night and away from his residence, Hannibal dominates your thoughts.

Hannibal watches you make your hasty retreat. He isn’t quite sure what spurred you to leave in such a hurry—although, he idly suspects that his allusion to Chilton’s… unprofessional interest in you was not welcome. You hadn’t given Chilton the time of day—all of his advances went entirely unnoticed by you. Hannibal must admit: it was rather amusing to watch Frederick stumble over himself to make a good impression, only for you to fail to even notice. 

Prying himself from his thoughts, Hannibal rolls up his sleeves and prepares for dinner. Franklyn Froideveaux’s lung remains motionless on his cutting board, a reminder of Hannibal’s escapade days ago. Truthfully, he intended on letting Franklyn live—if only to continue coercing and manipulating him. However, intention flew out the window the night of the opera. Now, Hannibal idly recognizes that your sudden departure actually works in his favor—he’s certain you would have grown suspicious if you had seen him treating the same organs that Franklyn’s corpse was missing. 

The saccharine melody of Apollo et. Hyacinthus 1 floats throughout the kitchen. The lights dim; when Hannibal turns around, he is standing before an audience. The crowd is listening to his every word with rapt attention. Each movement he makes is calculated with perfect precision. He moves with mechanical mastery. Admittedly, his thoughts are elsewhere today—Frederick Chilton’s business card continues to taunt him from his rolodex. As Hannibal prepares his dinner, he idly imagines sinking a blade into Chilton’s skin and harvesting his organs. Perhaps he’d sew his lips shut or cut off his tongue—the man is far too talkative for his tastes. 

His dinner that night is an enjoyable affair. Hannibal dines in the company of Franklyn Froideveaux, whose organs are settling rather pleasantly on his tongue. The meal is elegant in a way Franklyn never was; the irony of the sentiment is not lost on Hannibal. Inexplicably, your description of Franklyn on the night of the opera comes to Hannibal’s mind. 

“Franklyn is sort of… a shapeshifter, for lack of a better term. He’ll adjust and change himself to fit the situation best. When he’s in love, he’s dangerously obsessed. His unconventional actions are reassuring to him, though, because they give him a modicum of control—a control that he cannot possess over anything else.” 

That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts. 

Hannibal finishes his meal and muses on the events of the day for several moments. After the antique clock on the wall’s chiming of the hour brings him back to reality, he gets to his feet and stills. There’s a slight movement in his peripheral vision. Hannibal looks over at his kitchen, only to see his faithful rolodex with a card missing—slight scraps of paper left on the metal. He paces forward—prowls—until he finds the business card that fell to the floor. He squints down at it. 

Frederick Chilton  Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane  General Administration  chilton@bshci.gov | (410) -XXX-XXXX 

Hannibal’s lips twist upward in anticipation.

next chapter

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown

y'all... this is very embarrassing. I forgot to post chapter 9 on Tumblr 😭 so apologies for the sudden jump in the last two posts—this chapter was meant to be here to serve as a transition.

I've also gone ahead and made a master post, in which I will provide updated links for each chapter as they come out. hopefully, that will prevent me from missing any in the future.

[awkwardtickleetoo]

Invisible Instigators

hello everyone :D we’re back with another edition of the “things that were supposed to be ficlets but aren’t anymore” series wooooooo who cheered i cheered (from this post)

this one was actually a request from the one and only @mushiewrites !!! from this ask :D so i hope you all like this as much as mushie did <33

this is also my first time ever writing HD!!! which is pretty awesome. i’ve written XD a couple times before, but never HD, and he was super fun to play around with!! so i hope everyone likes him and i did him justice

this is also the last of the “ficlets” that are actually planned out in full rn so if anyone has any requests they are still open!! but there will be probably a couple more anyway in the future

lee!georgehd, ler!dreamxd, 2.4k words

enjoy!

--

“H. Stop.” XD spoke quietly, running a hand through their hair before dropping it onto the pillow next to their head. HD felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and he bit his bottom lip, taking a slow breath to calm down the butterflies in his tummy before continuing to relax against the couch. XD relaxed as well, letting out a content sigh as he let his eyes slip closed once again.

The quiet environment lasted all of ten seconds, before the taller God felt another harsh poke to the side of his stomach. His breath caught in his throat, and he let out a strained exhale through his nose, managing to keep his cool once more.

“HD. Stop it,” He warned again, keeping his eyes closed but hearing HD shuffle from the other end of the couch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” HD replied, but his voice shook with poorly concealed laughter.

“Right. Sure you don’t,” XD replied, a small smile sitting on his face, knowing exactly what would happen next.

And, sure enough, only a few moments later, their prediction came true. Another poke, right into their side, above their hip this time.

“HD,” XD said firmly, his voice booming slightly, playing it up to make his point more clear.

“W-what?” HD’s voice was still trembling, but this time it didn’t sound like laughter to XD. They could tell HD was growing more nervous with every passing moment.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about! I’m- I’m not even doing anything!” HD defended, a few stray giggles making their way into his words, telling XD that he did, in fact, know exactly what they were talking about.

XD knew damn well that HD was trying to be sneaky with his words. Both Gods were aware of what HD was aiming for in that instance. He wanted tickles. He had never been good at asking for them, he always went about getting them in other ways, always provoking– tickling XD or 4K first in hopes of retaliation, taking their things, instigating a playful fight, anything he could think of to get the others to tickle him without having to actually ask the others to tickle him.

Technically, HD was telling the truth- he wasn’t doing anything at all. It was his invisible helper hands delivering the pokes, sent out through the power of HD’s own mind alone, making it impossible to predict them or to call HD out on his provoking.

So, he didn’t. He waited, patiently, for the next poke to come so he could truly catch HD off guard.

And sure enough, less than five minutes later, there was an invisible hand attacking their tummy, and XD knew it was the perfect opportunity to flip the switch and give HD exactly what he wanted.

Not without having a little fun himself, though.

The second he felt the hand touch him, the faux-scratching of nails on his skin, spreading in and out in a circle right in the center of his tummy, he struck. He threw himself forward, launching himself into a sitting position and then up onto his knees to loom over HD. HD jumped and screamed at the sudden movement, comprehending what was about to happen approximately three seconds too late, once XD was already grabbing his ankles and pulling him to be flat against the couch with their bottom set of arms.

“NO–” The smaller of the Gods yelled out, fighting back as well as he could, but he knew his squirming and protesting were no match for XD. They were taller than him by a little over a foot, and no matter how strong HD liked to believe he was, there was no way he could overpower them. They also had four arms, which didn’t help, and which HD thought was completely and utterly unfair. This fact was only solidified in his brain when XD clambered on top of him, settling on top of his thighs just above his knees, using their top set of arms to wrangle HD’s wrists and pin them against the couch on either side of his head, rendering him completely helpless. And they still had a completely free pair of arms to do whatever they wanted with. “XD, DON’T! X- XD, plehease, you- you don’t have to do thihis-“

“I haven’t even done anything yet, H,” XD began, a smile spreading across their face from where their mouth showed beneath their mask, revealing their sharp white teeth and subtle dimples. HD dropped his mouth open to speak, but nothing more than a small sound from the back of his throat escaped, making XD smile wider. “You don’t even know what I’m going to do.”

“I doho!” HD replied, much whinier than he expected to sound, his fingers curling up into fists and as he messed with his own fingers to expel his nervous energy.

“You do, do you?”

“Yehehes!”

“How do you know, exactly?” XD asked, and HD clammed up again, long enough for XD to continue. “Maybe because you were instigating it by tickling me first?”

“WH- I was not! I didn’t even do anythihihing!” HD stood by his lie, swallowing around his nervous giggles and squirming his hips as XD tilted his head at him.

“No, you’re right, you weren’t. It was your little helper hands, wasn’t it?” They observed, not giving HD time to respond before continuing. “Your helper hands, which… weirdly enough… are nowhere to be found right now?” They pointed out, and HD’s breath hitched, his squirming increasing tenfold at the words, at being called out, at being read so easily. “Isn’t that strange, HD? I have you pinned, completely at my mercy, and your helper hands aren’t even trying to get you free. What’s that about, huh?”

“Ehehex– XD-eheheheeeee…” HD whined, squeezing his eyes shut, even behind the dark, wide-rimmed goggles he wore that covered them. He tilted his head back and to the side, hiding in the cushions as much as he could manage, the blush on his cheeks bright enough that XD thought he might be developing a fever.

“What’s wrong, tiny?” XD teased, knowing how much the nickname flustered the smaller God, how nervous and excited it made him. “Did something happen?” XD chuckled as the other let out another groan, squirming once again and turning his head to the side, closing his eyes.

“Ugh, X…” HD whined, shifting his back against the couch below him and trying– very unenthusiastically– to twist his wrists out of XD’s hold. He tried this for all of ten seconds, before his arms went limp again, essentially allowing XD to keep them pinned down. He let out a soft whimper, not knowing what XD wanted from him, taking in a breath and sighing it out, nervous giggles making their return. “Just… c’mohon.”

XD decided to be slightly merciful, ending HD’s suffering and finally moving forward, giving him what he actually wanted out of all this. They curled their bottom set of hands around HD’s sides, their fingers pressed into the back of his sides and their thumbs resting just under his ribs, swiping gently over the flowy fabric of his robes. They felt HD tense under their touch, sucking in his stomach and letting out high pitched, nervous giggles, his eyes squeezed shut. XD giggled along with him, already excited for his next move.

“You’re so cute, HD,” They mused, and suddenly dug their fingers into the backs of HD’s sides, making him arch his back with a loud squeal, and using their thumbs to scratch lightly at the front of them at the same time.

“AH– ahahaha, Ehehehex Dehehehe! Nahahaha–!” HD broke out into loud, happy laughter, his squirming kicking up involuntary as his whole body attempted to throw XD off.

“Say you’re sorry,” XD said calmly, though he spoke slightly louder than usual so HD could hear him over his own laughter.

“Ihihi– I’m sohohorryhyhy!” HD obeyed easily, having lived through this exact scenario with XD enough times to know that wasn’t what would make him stop. He would keep tickling until he could tell HD had reached his limit, or until HD specifically asked him to stop, both of which usually happened within a few moments of each other. At this point, HD would usually be pretty well behaved, happy enough that he’d gotten what he wanted, and feeling safe enough with XD to know they wouldn’t push him too far. In all honesty, XD cherished that more than anything, knowing that HD felt comfortable enough with them to let himself completely enjoy the tickling without a care in the world.

Although, the actual ‘wrecking HD until he’s bright red and teary and pleading a little bit’ kept him going just as much as the sappy thoughts did, in true honesty.

“Good,” XD praised, making HD roll his eyes through his laughter and tilt his head back into the pillow again. XD shifted their hands up, now cupped around HD’s narrow, boney ribcage, tugging his robes up ever so slightly with their movements and exposing a tiny sliver of HD’s pale stomach.

“Oh, nohoho, Ehehex Dehehee!” He watched the smaller God suck in his stomach at the touch of cool air that hit his skin, puffing his chest out and biting his lip before falling into more breathy laughter. XD giggled at his reactions, slipping his hands back down to hook his thumbs under HD’s robes entirely, pulling them the rest of the way up when he returned to his previous spot. He gently pressed his thumbs into his ribs, warning HD of his presence, making him whine and squirm as much as he could in his completely trapped position. “Noho, dohohon’t! Dohon’t, plehehease–” HD attempted to plead, but was cut off when all ten of XD’s fingers dug right into his ribs, vibrating between the bones. “NAHAHAHA– EHEHEX!”

“Say you want the tickles,” XD instructed, and HD was already shaking his head the second they finished.

“NOHOHO?” HD denied immediately, curling his hands into fists and attempting to pull at his trapped wrists, although the pulls were very weak, and XD could tell it wasn’t from lack of stamina just yet. XD smiled again, their sharp teeth and dimples making a reappearance, suddenly coming up with a new idea. He switched from drilling harshly against the bones of HD’s ribs to swirling and digging in circles with his thumbs and first two fingers, hoping to keep his laughter up but not deplete his resilience too quickly.

“Admit you want the tickles, or I’m gonna bite your tummy,” XD threatened, scrunching up their nose to flash their teeth even more when HD looked up at them with wide eyes.

“WHAHAT?! N-Nohoho! Noho, no, nononohoho!” HD continued to deny, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut once again. “Ahabsolutelyhyhy nohohohot! Yohou wohohon’t!”

“Alright, suit yourself,” XD said, leaning down to hover his face over HD’s wide open tummy, making the smaller God squirm wildly, attempting once again to throw XD off, with a bit more urgency this time.

“NOHO– noho, nononono– nahaha!” HD pleaded, his laughter kicking up again at the anticipation, even though nothing more was happening yet.

“I’m not hearing what I asked for,” XD moved down the tiniest bit further, enough that HD could feel their breath on his skin, letting out a squeal as he finally broke.

“OKAY, okahahay! Okahay, I wahant them! Ihihi want them, I wahahant thehem, I want thehehehem, plehehease dohohon’t do ihihit!” HD rambled, shaking his head and sucking in his tummy, squirming his hips as much as he could, genuinely trying to pull on his arms now. He knew how badly nibbles affected HD, so much so that even the threat was enough to make him lose his mind, even if the actual nibbling never happened.

He knew HD well enough to tell that the squirming was genuine, and decided he would only push a liiiiittle bit more before letting HD relax again.

“There we go, H. Good job,” They praised once more, dropping down to nibble, just twice, right below the tiny dip in the middle of his tummy, along the bottom edge. HD squealed, flinching harshly, his entire body jolting to the side as he fell into helpless laughter that continued even after XD pulled away.

“AH– nohohoho, Ehehex Dehehehe!” HD whined, and XD broke out into sympathetic laughter at how winded the other God sounded.

“Awww, HD,” XD cooed teasingly, using their bottom set of arms to pull HD’s robes back down and smooth out the fabric, while their top set let go of HD’s wrists and pulled back. They let one hand stay up to run through his hair, left one to rest flat on his tummy, and the others reached out to grab his hands and hold them gently, rubbing their thumbs along the backs of his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” HD hummed with a nod, a sleepy smile still on his face as he closed his eyes and relaxed back into the pillows under him with a sigh.

“You liked that?”

“…mhm,” His reply was hesitant, clearly embarrassed to say so, but agreeing nonetheless.

“Good, H. I'm glad.” The room fell silent for a moment, the atmosphere calm, before HD spoke again, voice slightly raspy and words slow from sleepiness.

“X?”

“Yeah, tiny?”

“Can we take a nap now?” XD’s heart fluttered at the request, and they smiled again.

“Of course we can!”

“And then you’ll let me get you back when we wake up?”

“Yeah, okay, that–“ XD paused, registering what the other was saying, his heart dropping instead now, feeling HD tighten the grip he had on their hands. “What?”

“You will. You’ll let me get you back when we wake up.”

“HD, I don’t–“

“Please?” HD asked sweetly, looking up at the other God, knowing how weak XD was to him when he acted sweet like that. XD sighed, letting himself lay down next to HD and pull him in to cuddle with, making him giggle softly and wrap himself around their torso. All four of their arms came to wrap around HD, holding him close, keeping him safe, before he finally let out his response.

“I suppose maybe I could allow that,” They agreed, and HD giggled happily once again, before they settled into the couch, into each other, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

[credince--writes]

Blood. (Jitters Au)

Hello. In light of recent events I have found myself infatuated with 141, so to churn to pot I'm going to start a one-shot (kinda?) series with an OC named Jitters. The more I make the more it will expand on the AU. So, hope you enjoy, as of right now there is going to be no smut.

Jitters.

You get them when you're scared,

nervous,

excited.

But you never want to have them with a gun in your hand.

Good thing she didn't have one in her hand right now. Actually, she had a mouse. Fierce clicking is heard amongst a silent background save for the patterns of gunfire far off in the distance.

"How's that going Jitters?" She heard the crackle of Soap's voice come in over the radio, reaching her hand over to grasp the machine she lifted it to her face pushing down on the button.

"Lights go out in two minutes." She responded.

"Copy." He responded.

Sitting in a stuffy room with two soldiers left behind to stand guard at the safe house she was in, hearing their boots shift every now and then as they looked around, trying to think of anything other than the probability of an ambush. She had been sent- much to her dismay but under Shepard's persuasion to the mission's site to provide better support than if fully remote. The current job was to 'acquire' an asset intel had placed in a series of barricaded homes and buildings five miles from her current location. The group had not yet established independence from the electricity grid which Jitters was all too happy to of been able to score access to. The plan was to cut all power to the building and send in Ghost & Soap. It was as simple as these could get, and she trusted that the team would make quick work and they could be on their way back to base as soon as possible.

"Cutting power in 3... 2... 1... Power cut." Jitters spoke into the radio.

"Copy. Moving out." She heard Ghosts voice this time, followed by a crackle of the radio and then silence.

Sitting back in her chair, she let out a sigh.

"So you know the L.T?" She heard the guard from behind her ask, she turned around to shoot him a sly grin and respond.

"Yea, kind of." she responded.

"Is it true what they say? You know, that he isn't-"

Jitters cut him off. "Yea man, he disappears at night and just appears out of thin fuckin' air. Scare's the piss out of you too, and he just knows- those eyes burrow into the soul. The man knows what you think before you say it." She laughs a little- one thing she couldn't get bored of was fucking with some of the Privates, even though her ranking was 'lower' than theirs.

Well, she wasn't even part of the military technically. Some kind of loophole between the CIA and contractors. A hundred background checks and a vouch from Scab was how she ended up meeting Price, and it rolled downhill from there. So, by that logic and by a general distrust of the computer girl having a gun they usually opted for her to not have as much of a handgun.

Maybe it was because of the Jitters.

It wasn't like she was ever in combat, so it didn't bug her. This mission however was a little close for her liking. Miles was still too close.

Turning back to face the computer she watched the timer tick down, the team had seven more minutes before she would turn the power back on to extract data from any electronics found on the premises.

"Jitters, time?" Soap spoke.

"Five." She responded.

"Copy."

She began tapping a pen against the table up until the man behind her groaned, mumbling something under his breath. She faltered and put the pen down and the table, slightly sulking and feeling embarrassment burn on her face. She was supposed to be an adult- not behaving like a child. Internally groaning at herself and trying to shove down the feeling of unease rising in her throat she glanced back at the computer to see the time ticking down from thirty seconds.

"ten seconds." Jitters spoke into the radio.

When the time ran out and the power came back on she was expecting Soap, or at least any of the other present soldiers to radio in to begin data extraction.

She frowned and turned around.

"Jitters?" She heard it on the radio.

"Yes?" She responded- it was Soap.

"We have found a data stash, starting connection now."

She spun around to the computer, hands gracing the keyboard, pads of her fingers brushing against the keys.

"Connection established, starting export now." She responded.

One this she could say, was exporting was much faster when she wasn't a country away, that was a plus. The data she was pulling was being sorted and stashed in the correct locations, fresh intel as it seemed common for impromptu command bases to leave masses of intel on electronics normally left by the unknowing taskforces.

"How's it going down there?" Jitters asked.

"Half and half." Soap responded.

"Download almost complete, once this is done, I don't think you'll need to be sniffin' around much more- doubt they had more than one setup." She says.

"We have Tangos on the move, repeat Tangos on move southbound." She heard a soldier say over the radio suddenly.

She could feel her shoulders stiffen, turning to look at the man behind her who was staring at her wide-eyed. They both stayed like that for a moment, before the radio crackled to life with a fury.

"House three full to the brim with these bastards!" She heard someone call through. Gunfire was heard in the background, as well as a yowl of pain.

"Target is no longer here."

"Find him!"

"House one clear"

She sat there and stared at the radio, not knowing how to react. Were they headed toward them? There were only two fucking men here- how many were coming?

Was she going to die?

She… Didn't want to die.

At least not now.

"…Are they coming here?" She asked.

"Hope not." The guard said, pushing forward to walk outside. "Anything?"

"Nothing yet, I don't see any truck."

"We will be fine, it's not like this is a landmark or anything."

Jitters glanced to the side, "Should we leave?"

"No, this is a safe house. Emphasis on the safe part. We aren't leaving."

"Well. What do we do if someone does come?" She questions.

"You aren't doing anything- we are here to protect you." He sasses back. "Now go back to whatever it is you're doing."

The downloading process suddenly came to a crawl, and she was clenching her hands on the table in front of her. This was going smoothly, why did it have to fuck up now? Her foot began to subconsciously tap, the small house she sat in not comforting her in the slightest.

This used to be someone's home.

Maybe they dreamed of even raising a family here.

"We have a truck inbound." She heard the second guard call out.

"Fuck." The first one said.

She turned around, sucking some air into her lungs. "We need to go. We need to leave."

The first guard turned around and snapped. "No, you need to stay here. We aren't abandoning our po-"

Blood splattered the wall.

And the floor.

And the ceiling.

The force of the bullet sends the body to the ground almost immediately.

"Get down!" The second guard yells.

That she does, eyes locked onto the basically decapitated figure next to her. She blinked a few times, trying to compose herself, but found her eyes locked on the corpse.

Her hands began to shake. Gunfire could be heard outside, she could hear the bullets lodging themselves into the building.

She began to jitter.

The computer screen blinked a little box with 'Confirmed' popping up and vanishing over and over. She rushed over, pulled out the laptop and slipped it into a backpack, and tossed it behind her clicking the strap-on for extra support. Destroying all possible useful elements of the computer setup and her surroundings she took and step back and looked around frantically for a way to escape the supposed safe house.

Tucking the radio into a strap on the backpack she pushed her way through the hallway looking to the second guard perched on the balcony shooting down towards the truck.

"We need to go!" She yelled at him.

He shook his head, ducking down below the cement banister. "You need to get back there! We are staying here and holding our ground!"

She cursed, turning and making her way back to the room. Eyeing the pooling blood of the corpse onto the floor, she hesitantly walked up to the corpse and wiggled the rifle from his grip.

Then his ammo, handgun, and a belt.

She let out a huff of the added weight to her- whispering curses to the fact that this wasn't near half of the shit she would watch Soap tote around when he's running about in a God Damn field.

Holding the rifle she situated herself up against the wall in the hallway, glancing back and forth between that and the window. Staring at the second guard still returning fire until she heard that horrible 'click click click' sound of his rifle running out of ammo. She stepped forward and called his name, but when he turned to look at her a man charged up the staircase. The guard stood and tried to fight him off but he was quickly shot down.

"Fuck!" She yelled, frantically looking around the room and at the man. She watched as he lifted the rifle toward her and she darted to the side of the wall, watching as bullet holes appeared where her shadow once was on the wall behind her.

The man walking down the hallway called out in an unfamiliar language. Her arms shook as her finger rubbed against the trigger of the rifle. Suddenly stepping out to make the first move against the attacker- she wouldn't all him to have the advantage. Not like this.

Pulling the trigger the machine responded, sending a jolt against her shoulder.

Blood splattered against the wall. The now corpse slumped against the wall.

She never realized how much blood was in the human body.

She couldn't exactly describe how she felt when she pulled the trigger. It was an action almost isolated- she didn't feel the connection of taking a life. It was just there- and now gone.

She heard more voices from downstairs, making their way through the house and working upwards. She turned quickly, trying to ignore the numb feeling tickling through her fingers. She tried to pry her fingers against the window sil, but they wouldn't budge. Cursing she raised the rifle up and smashed out the window. Lifting herself up through the windowsill and pushing herself out- catching her shoulder against a shard of glass in the process shredding her skin.

Maybe she had underestimated the height of the building-

or her ability to land.

She landed sideways it felt, onto a metal siding roof slanted downwards. And almost in true ragdoll fashion it rolled down and off the roof onto the hard dirt.

Making a gasp for air, she was gagging for any oxygen to reach her lungs- the fall knocking the wind out of her chest. Situating her hands down and in front of herself to push herself up, the dust from the dirt beneath her clinging to her skin and sending up plumes of dust into the dark air. Getting her feet back under her was harder than expected, leaning up against the wall and getting herself up was a fight, but she won it to a degree. Looking right to left she made her way out left, she just needed to get away from the building, get to a new location- radio the team, and she would be safe.

Flanking in from the left was the truck, tires screaming against the dirt with guns pointed toward her. Scurrying backward she lifted the rifle again and pulled the trigger pointing the rifle at the windows of the truck. A bullet whizzed past her and grazed her leg, a searing hot paint from the open wound it left made her let out an involuntary scream. The passenger side of the windshield had been shot out, and she shot again, again and again until the magazine was empty. The truck came to a rolling top, breaking hard when the driver threw the door open, holding a large blade in his hand.

She pulled the trigger of the rifle again, just to hear the clicking sound of an empty magazine. Yelling and frustrated and throwing the empty rifle at the man quickly approaching- seemingly throwing him off she charged back at him. A surge of adrenaline and the primal fight or flight take over.

it was time to fight.

He quickly overpowered her, sending them both to the ground, rolling around in the dirt. Both of her hands gripped his wrist holding the knife, and his free hand kept moving to the ground to try and push himself up further to slit her throat. She rolled out from under him, letting go of his wrist and causing him to fall forward. She tackled him again, wrestling the knife out of his grip after punching him in the face once and twice again. The knife tumbled to the side- and she snatched it. Holding the handle with both hands she slammed her hands down trying to stab the man through his neck- slit his throat- anything.

He fought back- grabbing her arms and rolling them over once again. Punching her in the face until she heard the crack of her nose and blood began to pour into the back of her throat. Him on top trying to twist the knife downward toward her face. He was yelling and succeeding in his actions. His free hand gripped the whole of her face, trying to dig his fingers into anything he could. Letting out a scream of pain as she felt his nails dig into her flesh. She opened her mouth a bit down on the man's ring finger as hard as she could. The taste of blood filled her mouth, the sound of tearing. He screamed obscenities and she pushed forward, turning the knife and jamming it in his throat.

A gurgling noise replaced his scream, and his weight suddenly all bore down onto her. Blood began to gush out of his mouth onto her face, neck, and upper body. Gagging, she tried to roll him off of her, pulling the knife out resulting in a high pressured splat of blood covering her face and body. Pushing the corpse off of her, she crawled on top of it and lifted the knife again, plunging it down onto his chest.

"Fuck You!" Jitters screamed.

There was blood everywhere. On her face, on her body- seeping into her shirt, on her hands.

Standing up, she could feel the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. She needed to get out of here-

She looked back and forth for the radio she had strapped onto her- somewhere scattered into the grass and dirt. But without a flashlight, she couldn't see anything around her, let alone a little black radio.

Everything felt numb. She couldn't feel the cuts from the glass, the blooming bruises on her side and arms, or the warm blood seeping down her leg and dripping onto her boots.

Was it shock?

Could it of been anything else?

She didn't really know.

What she did know, is that she sat down in the field and stared at the headlights of the truck until she could feel someone shaking her shoulder.

Her eyes glanced up to see the skull mask of Ghost. She didn't respond to his presence, just kept her eyes fixated on the light cast from the headlights. Soon enough, Ghost had crouched down right next to her, staring into the same void she had been looking at for some time.

"Can you hear me?" He asks, his voice lighter than his usual interactions.

"Yea." Jitters responded.

"Are you hurt?" He asks. The question was more of a test, she was obviously hurt but gauging the severity of the shock was the goal- was she aware of her own injuries?

It took her a second, almost to think about it. "No." She responded/

After their last contact was made, and the unplanned radio silence from the safehouse, both Ghost and Soap decided to come back- either to confirm suspicions of an ambush or to find some explanation for the loss of contact. What they didn't expect to see, however, was the computer tech sitting in a field next to a corpse, covered in a surprising amount of blood staring off into the void.

When Soap stepped out from the side of the building, Ghost and Jitters fell into his line of sight. Ghost crouched down next to Jitters sitting in the grass.

"I have a hard time believing that." Ghost spoke. "You're in shock."

Soap came up from behind the two, looking down to be met with a blood-splattered fast, crooked nose and dark red blood dripping from her nostrils into her lap. "Fuck." He said quietly, shooting Ghost a side glance. Ghost glanced back up and him and shook his head, turning his glance back to her. "Let's get you out of here alright?"

All she does is a nod in response.

Behind her, she could hear Soap radioing something in- most likely a chopper for an evac. She looked at Ghost, then down at her hands. "My nose hurts." She comments. By that time Ghost had pulled her leg out to press some gauze against the wound.

"Yea, the adrenaline is wearing off." He says.

"Bird is twenty out." Soap walks up and says to the pair.

"Leg's bad Soap." Ghost states, Soap kneeling down to try and asses some of the damage.

"You've got a bloody pane of glass in your arm." Soap bites out, inspecting her shoulder.

"Fell through the window, landed on the roof. It's just a scratch." She responds. The buzzing around her head began to wear off, replacing with a thick string of pain wrapping itself around her body. Her eyelids became heavy, and the familiar buzz began to return if she kept her eyes shut.

"God damn it." Soap comments, "Hey, look at me. Keep your eyes open."

"She's crashing." Ghost comments calmly. "Thigh isn't bad enough to bleed out, and neither is the arm. Pack up and let's meet evac. Medics'll be on the bird."

Soap looked out to the corpse in the grass, knife jutting out of it, throat roughly slit open and blood pouring out around it. Glancing back to Jitters and Ghost picking her up placing her over his shoulder and walking up to him, taking a glance at the corpse.

"Brutal." Ghost comments.

"Coming from you?" Soap quirks a brow.

"It's brutal when you aren't combat trained, have some Empathy Johnny." Ghost muses, turning his back to him and starting out to the evac point.

"Empathy- what? Fuckin' Hell." He starts marching after him. "We both know that I'm the more sensible chap out of the two of us."

"I doubt that."

.

[punsmaster69]

24/OCT/20XX

[There's some stickers attached to this page. Sparkly stars, fall-themed ones, dog ones, and some colorful hearts. In the corner, a blue and purple heart have been stuck next to each other. It looks like an attempt to remove them was made, as the blue heart has a small tear.]

"Here."

to my forearm: stick.

"thanks."

"Here."

to my coat sleeve: stick.

"thanks."

"Here."

to my hand: stick.

"..thanks."

"Here."

to my forehead: stick.

"......"

"gonna just paste 'em all on me?"

"Only the ugly ones."

"ok."

"cool."

frisk peeled off the stickers they didn't like, and stuck them to me instead.

"Here."

"..what is that one?"

"No idea."

to my shoulder: stick.

"awesome."

"I RETURN WITH MORE MARKERS!!"

"...WHY ARE YOU COVERING SANS IN STICKERS?"

"For fun."

"i'm gonna look great."

"Totally."

paps set the marker box on the floor and sat beside them.

"Here."

to papyrus' cheekbone: stick.

"OH! THANK YOU."

"..WHAT WAS IT?"

"Red star."

"looks cool."

he stuck a red heart to frisk's cheek in return.

"Hey, Sans."

" 'sup?"

"Got an empty spot in your journal?"

"haven't written anything but the date yet, so go ahead."

they stuck a purple heart to the top-right corner.

"SANS, LOOK AT ME FOR A SECOND."

the second i turned my face, he stuck a blue star to my cheek.

"NOW WE MATCH!"

"neat."

when i turned back, there was a blue heart stuck as close as possible to the purple already on the corner.

"......"

"They're friends."

".........."

"Don't peel them off! Just let it happen."

"...funny today, huh?"

"Always, actually."

flipped through the sticker sheets until i found the ugliest sticker i could.

to frisk's forehead: stick.

"....YOU TWO ARE BARELY EVEN DRAWING ANYMORE!"

——

"i'm not 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 short."

"Shortest out of all of us."

"FLOWERY IS TECHNICALLY THE SHORTEST, ISN'T HE?"

"𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 shortest out of all of us."

"not too long ago, you were the same height, y'know."

"And now I'm taller!"

"by two inches."

"Three! I grew some more."

"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEWFOUND HEIGHT!"

"...."

"you drew me that short too, bro?"

"SANS, I'M SORRY, BUT YOU ARE..."

"SPACE EFFICIENT."

"Fun-sized."

"CARRYING HEIGHT."

"i-i got it. thanks."

——

"It appears they had quite a bit of fun with stickers."

"paps got a ton stuck to him as well."

"I saw that!"

"..They were not 𝘵𝘰𝘰 much trouble, I hope."

"nah. they're fun to be around."

"the kid's grown a pretty sarcastic sense of humor."

"I could not 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 imagine where they have gotten it from."

"it's really a mystery."

"Truly.."

i twisted open the cap on my water bottle and took a sip.

"...."

"Have you ever thought of becoming a parent?"

i choked on the water.

"I- I suppose that is a bit of a personal question. You do not have to answer, of course. It is just.."

"I think you would make for a good father."

"...."

"i'd be an awful influence."

"You have not been too bad of an influence for Frisk and Flowey."

"N-not to imply that you are their father."

"flowey would completely despise that."

"That's true."

"...even if i did want a kid, i'm a bit too old to start fresh."

"You are not too old."

"too old to 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 to start fresh. babies are needy."

"They take some getting used to, is all."

"now it just sounds like you're trying to convince me to have one."

"Ha!"

"OoooOoooo~ You would like to have a child so badd~"

"...."

"can i ask you a personal question, too?"

"Go ahead."

"are you into short guys?"

"Short guys....?"

"..Yes, I would say I am."

"Someone that is about.. three feet shorter than me would be perfect."

"Are you into tall ladies?"

"hmmm."

"yeah. i think i'd want a lady that towers over me."

"maybe by about.. three feet."

"....."

"Are you done yet? I finished my drawing like ten minutes ago."

tori jumped.

"Frisk! I apologize for making you wait, my child."

papyrus popped his head out the door.

"ARE YOU LEAVING? LET ME GIVE YOU A SHEET TO TAKE HOME!!"

he returned brandishing two fresh sheets of sparkly stickers.

"PLEASE GIVE ONE TO FLOWERY FOR ME."

"USE THEM WISELY!"

"and if you don't, we've still got more where that came from."

"Nice."

"..Thanks for chilling with me today."

"OF COURSE. ME AND SANS ARE DOWN TO 'CHILL' ANYTIME!"

"seeya, kiddo."

"Later!"

they waved and dashed down the stairs, across the lawn, and hopped into tori's car.

"GOODNIGHT, MS. TORIEL!"

"Goodnight, Papyrus."

he disappeared inside.

it was just me and tori left on the porch. frisk was too busy flipping through their stickers in the car to be paying attention.

i motioned for her to lean down.

removing a small candy from my coat pocket, i displayed it towards her on my palm.

"...?"

"it's a kiss."

"..Pfft."

"I will accept this kiss. Thank you."

"..come by again soon, ok?"

"I will be sure to."

——

she texted me a photo later that night.

it of was frisk, helping put a ton of stickers on flowey's pot.

[sundaynightlive]

august of '85 (Steddie, Part 2)

A week.

Steve has had weeks of his life pass by like seconds—hell, the first ten years of his life seem to have left even faster than that.

But now, he itches.

It’s morning, and Eddie’s in a t-shirt and boxers chugging coffee like it’s wine, wandering aimlessly around the living room with a background of natural light and ocean, and all Steve can think is that he wants to pick him up and drag him to bed—his bed. 

Last night, they had slept in separate rooms, but slept is a complete overstatement. Steve tossed and turned and struggled over many things, most of them falling back to Eddie in some way, shape, or form—the condensed version is this—

He’s gay? He’s gay. Well, half-gay. He should ask Eddie about that. Eddie? Yeah. Eddie. He should’ve known—if Robin and Nancy could physically make a baby, it’d be Eddie. Nancy and Robin making a baby—ew, okay, gross. Enough of that. Eddie—he’s really beautiful. And they kissed. Didn’t they meet less than two weeks ago? But Steve also invited him on a month-long vacation, so is kissing him really that far-fetched? Can something that happened even be far-fetched? Now he has to wait a week. Why? Why couldn’t it have just been, like, a day? And what had Eddie meant about ruining his life? What could ruin his life—being gay? Kind of too late to change that, isn’t it? But he is only half-gay. So he technically could just… go on. Normally. That seems like living sort of a lie, though, right?

Steve spent hours mulling over his situation in his brain, and only realized this morning the part he hadn’t really addressed—how the fuck is he supposed to last a week when Eddie will be walking around in his pajamas, breaking bread with him, swimming with him, walking along the beach with him, having tons of vacation firsts—

Fuck, and he’s just supposed to sit around here, genuinely crushing on somebody for the first time in months, and not act on it? When he knows it’s reciprocated? 

He’s screwed.

“Eds—”

“That’s a new one.” 

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat, mug hardly removed from his lips, curls down around his face like an actual lion’s mane. He’s beautiful, literally like some sort of model with that nose and those lips—Steve can picture this exact image of him, backed by those huge windows and all that water, shoved in some home-decoration magazine, and the lady looking through it would jump at his tattoos and his Metallica t-shirt but be so genuinely captivated by those eyes that— 

“Hello? Earth to Steve?” 

Steve snaps out of it, feeling heat rise up into his cheeks. it's embarassing to be caught staring so adamantly, but he hasn’t allowed himself to feel all of this yet. And he wants to.

Desperately.

“I—sorry. Do we really have to—” 

Eddie puts up a hand, a terrible way to try and focus him because all Steve can think about then is that black fingernail polish and those rings and how those might feel on his skin or in his hair or even in his mouth, how they taste, or what it would be like to have them inside him or—

Woah. Woah.

Christ. When he gets it, he gets it bad, huh?

 “The week is non-negotiable,” Eddie says firmly, and Steve is still staring at his hands, so he can’t find it in himself to be totally devastated, “I need you to be 100% sure this is what you want. I’m not ruining my first and only vacation by sleeping with my handler—”

“Woah, pause. Do not call me your handler.” 

Eddie grins, and Steve thinks he can call him whatever he wants for the rest of his life if he keeps smiling just like that.

“Why not?” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, something Steve was not aware a man could actually do, and spins around like a true showman, “I’m an animal, baby. You just try and keep me out of trouble.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. He wants, no, needs to reach out and pull Eddie in by the waist, push their noses together and tease him up close and personal, but--

He settles for sitting down on the couch, falling back into the cushions, supremely careful of the coffee in his cup. He took the plastic off these couches years ago. His parents never noticed. Has he spilled a couple times? Yes. Does it matter?

Not in his house.

“I know exactly how to keep your dumb ass in line.”

“Oh really?” 

A challenge. Steve tries not to look too smug as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Distract and occupy,” he says, “Ask you about D&D and then hand you something shiny and you’re set for hours.” 

If Steve thought that last smile was something, this one is a spiritual experience. Not only does Eddie beam, he tips his head back and laughs, exposing throat and releasing genuine joy and if that’s not everything Steve has ever wanted, he’s not sure what could be.

Is he whipped? He’s whipped. How is he even asking himself that question, of course he’s whipped. God—he’s gotta call Robin. He’s not even sure how he’s holding this conversation his mind is so fuzzy.

“Distract and occupy,” Eddie repeats, eyes shining, “I can think of a few different ways to do that.”

Oh. Oh.

Eddie is so not helping his situation.

They finish their coffees with easy conversation—how they slept, what the plan is for today, when they should go for groceries. They decide to shower and get dressed on their own timelines and when they’re ready they’ll be ready, which is nothing like it used to be with his parents. Minute by minute itineraries—his mom, when she was younger, was eager to do as much as they could in the time they were allotted. You’d think she would’ve been less concerned considering they had a whole month to waste out here, but she somehow always managed to fill every single moment with some tourist attraction or event. It never felt like too much, either. She was a planning master—completely balanced.

As she got older, and after the affair, all she wanted to do was lie around and drink wine on a beach somewhere else. Part of him suspects she just can’t handle being here anymore.

The memories that cradle him haunt her.

Steve uses his shower to get it the fuck together. He does not think about Eddie or smooth pale skin or what his tan lines are gonna be like in a week or wonder if he’s thinking about Steve and if he is, what he’s doing about it. No, Steve doesn’t think about any of those things at all.

He presses his forehead and nose to the shower wall and takes a breath. He lets the water fall over his skin and tries to wash away all this achy want and desperation, tries to look at it from the other angle—not forward, but backwards.

Eddie isn’t going to be a forever thing, that much is clear, so if Steve wants to keep himself from falling into actual pieces, the best thing to do is to stop all this unhinged fantasy. Eddie may be a crush, and a boy, and a beautiful boy at that, but he doesn’t belong to Steve anymore than Nancy ever did, or Robin ever did, or any of those random girls he shared sheets with. 

No, Eddie is an end-of-summer fling. Steve has to make peace with that. He’s not having a Nancy the Second where he obsesses long after his opportunity is over—he’s taking the opportunity and he’s making the most out of it, just like his mom had all those Augusts before.

His shower finishes swiftly after that, and he doesn’t even bother blow drying and styling his hair before he’s throwing on the nearest thing—shorts and a t-shirt—and hauling ass downstairs so he can get to a phone before Eddie’s done getting ready.

Of course, he knows Robin’s number by heart, but he suspects that’s not where she is.

“Hawkin’s Family Video, how can I—“

“Rob it’s me,” Steve says quickly, “I’ve gotta talk to you and I don’t have a lot of time so I need you to just shut up and listen.”

“Steven—“

“I kissed Eddie, er, Eddie kissed me—you know what it doesn’t matter, Eddie and I kissed and I really fucking liked it and I think him and I are going to have the most intense summer fling of my life and I’m kind of freaking out and I also need you to tell me if I can like girls and guys because I definitely like girls but I’m obsessed with Eddie—he’s like, genuinely gorgeous and I don’t even know what I want him to do to me because I’ve never even thought about how any of this works and I think I’m probably losing it but I have to take the opportunity where I can even though he said it could only be an August thing but I, like, genuinely like him too so that’s really confusing and, like, logistically when we get home what if being friends is too weird and—“

“Holy fuck.”

Steve stops short at her whispered profanity. He has never heard her sound like that, and then it gets louder—

“Holy fuck!”

“What?!”

“You’re into Eddie?! Steve—we’ve been trying to get you a date for months and you’re into fucking Eddie Munson who you whined about having to meet for weeks?!” Steve flinches.

“Don’t ever tell him that.”

“Incredible!” She is laughing almost uncontrollably. Steve really hopes there’s nobody in the store because if he were in family video and heard maniacal laughing like that he’d have the culprit committed pronto.

“Rob, seriously, I don’t have time for this—“

“I can’t believe I couldn’t tell you were bi! That’s just—oh my god, of course.”

“Bi? What do you mean of course?” Steve asks, starting to get slightly offended.

“Star Wars? Indiana Jones? Blade Runner?! You’ve got a fat ass celebrity crush on Harrison Ford.”

Steve’s heard the term “shell-shocked” before, but he’d never really understood until this very moment. He might as well have been sucker-punched in the dick.

Of course.

Robin is laughing hysterically over the line, but he just feels like crying. Of course he likes men—is he stupid? Dumb question, yes he’s stupid. And it churns in his guts to think of all those kids who probably struggled through Hawkins High, knowing they were different, never knowing who or how to be, and he was just like them and yet there he was, excusing Tommy’s behavior and laughing along.

What a piece of actual shit.

“I'm an idiot,” he says weakly. Robin’s laughter dies abruptly.

“Hey—no. You’re not an idiot, it’s not always easy to—“

“I'm an idiot and a hypocrite,” Steve says, choking a little bit on the tears that slide down his cheeks, “God—I’m evil, Rob.”

“Steven, we’ve talked about this,” she says softly, “You didn’t—“

“Steve?” 

Steve jumps and slams the phone into the receiver so hard a few wall decorations literally shake. He shouldn’t turn as fast as he does, should attempt to collect himself first, but he’s so surprised by Eddie’s sudden appearance he can’t even think to do that.

“I just—“

“Still need that week?”

Steve flinches. He puts the heel of his palm up against his forehead and takes a deep breath.

“No, but yes,” he says, trying not to sound as pathetic as he feels, “I’ll wait if it’s what you want, but my mind’s made up.”

“Oh… so… what’s all… this about?” 

Steve can’t help himself—he laughs a little. At least he’s got one thing up on Eddie, that being the ability to deal with people’s emotions arguably okay. Eddie certainly does not sound like he knows what to do in this situation. 

“I just sucked,” he manages, but barely. He’s glad to have covered some of his face, because the tears are not stopping, and he feels like an idiot crying over something that’s ultimately his own fault.

He chose to be ignorant. He chose to be cruel. He chose popularity over sincerity.

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate?”

Does he? Does he really?

“In highschool,” he groans, moving his hands to wipe tears away, sniffing hard. “I pushed around people—kids—who were just like me. I treated them like shit when I could have—”

Eddie’s arms close around him, fingers sliding into his wet hair, and Steve lets it happen—it feels like they’ve failed the “give it a week” stipulation already, but the embrace is good, and he needed it badly. 

He doesn’t hug Eddie back, just lets himself be held.

“I’m gonna tell you something now, and if you tell anyone I did, I’ll fucking deny it.” 

Steve takes a shaky breath.

“Okay.”

“Everybody sucks in high school,” Eddie says firmly. His fingers start to stroke across the back of Steve’s head and the feeling would have him absolutely catatonic if he wasn’t bent on hearing Eddie out— “Everyone. Kids like you, kids like me—we all had some chip on our shoulder, and some reason we were secretly better than everyone else. You were just… people just believed it about you.”

That doesn’t really make him feel better, because he knows that it wasn’t even anything about him they decided was better—it was his place on the basketball team (which had been mediocre at best) and his money and his hair and his last name and his friends and his charming manner and his pretty face—

Sports, money, hair—it’s all meaningless and stupid. It doesn’t matter, and this isn’t the first time Steve is realizing it, but it’s the first time he’s come to terms with the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and how he had abused that ridiculousness to its fullest extent. Not only had he abused it, he had enjoyed abusing it. And he routinely hurt people in the process, not to mention denying himself actual happiness and actual friends..

Fuck.

“I’m a bad person,” Steve whispers, and Eddie’s light petting turns into a firm grasp.

“A bad person wouldn’t feel shitty about this stuff,” Eddie argues, and then pulls back from the embrace, fixing Steve with those doe eyes and swallowing gaze, “And, I’ve got pretty high standards, like, Luke Skywalker standards.” 

Steve smiles a little as Eddie reaches to brush away a few of his tears.

“I wouldn’t kiss a bad person, or agree to have a summer fling with them,” Eddie says, “And I wouldn’t bend the rules and let a bad person kiss me one more time to tide them over.”

Steve takes the opportunity for all it’s worth.

It taste like salt and spit because he’s still crying, but Eddie’s mouth is so soft and captivating that the kiss, which had every intention of being chaste, grows insistent and long. Eddie’s face in his hands, Eddie’s thumbs in his belt loops, the smell of shampoo and clean clothes and—

They break. Eddie smiles, letting a thumb pass over Steve’s lips.

“The week starts now.”

And, oh, is it bittersweet.

Friday, August 2nd—they spend what’s left of the day getting groceries, Eddie seemingly mesmerized by the small beach-town and its cobblestone streets and endless array of tourist traps. Every other storefront is a gift shop of useless trinkets, themed cafes, arcades, bars—if it’s going to empty your pockets, it’s there. Amidst all of it, though, there is a record store that’s genuinely cool, and if they hadn’t already purchased a crap-load of things that begged for a refrigerator, Steve would’ve been content to spend hours watching Eddie tear through the stacks, and then surprise him by buying every single thing he marveled at.

An idea for another day.

After that, they hang around the house, chatting, arguing, making pancakes for dinner—they get to bed at reasonable times, and despite how badly Steve wants to walk down the hall and crawl into bed with his… friend, he manages to just sleep instead, pillow trapped securely in his arms.

Saturday, August 3rd—ice cream for breakfast, which has them both giggly and on embarrassing sugar highs, so they decide today is a beach day.

Eddie’s unearthly, as usual, and excited like a child at the vastness of the ocean.

Excited or not, he’s still timid about getting in the water.

“What about the sharks?” he asks.

“Sharks don’t kill near as many people as cars do,” Steve points out.

“Really?”

“Really. Get in the water, Eds.”

“It’s still really weird to hear me call you that.”

“Get in the water, baby.”

Steve continues looking out at the ocean (not his favorite sight, because man, is that all kind of scary) even though he’s certain Eddie’s head whips towards him fast enough to break his own neck. Steve may be whipped, but he isn’t totally shit at flirting. Sure, he’s used to girls, but could it really be all that different?

A beat.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” Steve continues casually, “Let’s go.”

Once Eddie’s in the water he doesn’t want to get out of it, and Steve’s alright with that until he realizes how burnt Eddie is, and then practically has to drag him out and back up to the house so he can absolutely smother him with aloe vera.

“It doesn’t even hurt!”

“It will,” Steve chides, “You idiot—did you even put sunscreen on?”

“I forgot,” Eddie mumbles sheepishly.

“Of course you did.”

Sunday, August 4th—Eddie is too embarrassed of his cherry-tomato appearance to agree to go anywhere, so they stay in and watch old movies. Steve desperately wants Eddie to cuddle up next to him on the couch, but at the moment, the older boy is radiating heat and visibly in pain, so he understands when Eddie leaves a generous amount of space between them.

Monday, August 5th—Eddie’s burn settles into a tan and Steve avoids eye-contact with him for about an hour straight, because he’s glowing, and Steve wants to shove him onto the nearest flat surface and… well, he’s not exactly sure what he wants to do, but he’d do it enthusiastically.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Then look at me.”

Steve tentatively lifts his gaze.

“Was that so hard?”

Yes. It’s miserable. This is the bitter part of the week—not being able to act on all these steadily brewing feelings of want and need. He loves being here with Eddie, but he wants to be here with Eddie, too. He gets it—or at least, thinks he gets it. Eddie doesn’t want him to make a hasty decision, regret it, and ruin this vacation for both of them.

That makes sense. Too much sense, really.

But it doesn’t make waiting any easier.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Steve breathes, and Eddie physically starts.

“I—what?”

“Drop-dead, breathtaking, whatever you want,” Steve admits.

Eddie’s the first boy Steve ever called beautiful out loud, and he can’t help but think this is exactly how things are supposed to be.

Tuesday, August 6th—Steve enacts his plan of taking Eddie to the record store, and it’s everything he could have hoped. Eddie is downright euphoric every second, so distracted he doesn’t notice Steve picking up all the records he puts down (after ogling them for extended amounts of time), and so distraught about Steve buying them he doesn’t even argue—just watches with wide eyes as Steve chats up the cashier who bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair and can’t get a sentence out without stumbling over her words.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s the reason we came.”

“You… are you serious?”

“Consider this a thank-you for agreeing to a month-long vacation with a stranger.”

“I… don’t think I can accept this.”

“Too late.”

Wednesday, August 7th—Steve is cranky. He hates to admit it, but he’s tired of this. He’s not sure he can handle the next two days of no Eddie. Well, not exactly no Eddie, but like… half Eddie. He doesn’t like having half Eddie.

But he pushes it all down, because he’s going to obey Eddie’s one and only request, even though he knows his mind isn’t changing. If this week gives Eddie piece of mind, he'll deal with it.

Begrudgingly.

They go to an arcade and waste what’s probably hundreds of dollars for a sad amount of tickets and dogshit prizes—a collection of plastic shot glasses and a toy gun that doesn’t even shoot anything, but makes some unsettling noises when you pull the trigger.

They take the shot glasses as a sign to get tipsy that night, and end up drunk, daring each other this and daring each other that until the topic of skinny-dipping gets brought up.

“No, no—we can’t. There’s sharks at night!”

“In the pool, then!”

And then they’re stumbling drunk out towards the pool, shoving each other and yelling and laughing maniacally, and if Steve were anyone else he would say they were in love, but Steve’s not anyone else and he knows the time limit on all this, so he swallows that thought and focuses on getting rid of his shirt and pants without falling over. Then his socks, and—

He stills. He realizes, even through the fog of intoxication, this is a very precarious situation.

Despite how annoyed he is with the week, and how much he wishes Eddie would just say “fuck it” and change his mind, he knows it’s important. For Eddie, at least.

But Eddie’s naked in front of him and Steve can’t seem to remember how to function.

It only lasts a matter of moments, because soon Eddie’s in the water and teasing him about being a chicken, but Steve’s still thinking about everything he’s just seen, every inch of Eddie’s skin, how real all of him is in that water—

Steve can’t go a day, here, without being some sort of shaken to his core, can he?

“Get in the water, baby,” Eddie purrs.

“I can’t.” It falls out of Steve involuntarily—he’s drunk.

“Yes, you can.”

“How?”

“Lose the boxers, jump in the pool,” Eddie says, “It’s that easy.”

Steve shakes his head. Then swallows.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“Steve—“

“I’m hard.”

He doesn’t realize it until he’s saying it, and then after it leaves him, understands that yeah. He’s fucking hard, and all that happened was Eddie getting naked in front of him. No contact, no sexual insinuation, just skin. 

Eddie must be magic.

“I can see that.”

Steve is utterly mortified. He doesn’t know what to do except move his shirt (from where it had been clutched against his chest) to hide his growing erection. Now would’ve been a fantastic time to have whiskey dick.

“I… wanna finish the week,” Steve says softly. Eddie’s smirk dies on his face.

“Really?”

“I want you to trust me. I want… I want to do this for you.”

The look on Eddie’s face is foreign, and Steve doesn’t have the brain power available to figure out what it means, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Now that his intentions are clear, Steve drops the shirt and his boxers. A curious glance catches Eddie’s pupils dilating comically, but maybe that’s just from the alcohol.

Eddie backs away from the edge when Steve gets in the water, and they manage to keep their distance.

Barely.

Thursday, August 8th—Steve is itchy, and that’s all he has to report.

They lie around, swim in the pool, and walk on the beach. Nothing eventful, except he’s itchy with anticipation. He’s so close, so fucking close he can practically taste the sweat and salt on Eddie’s skin.

It’s not enough.

Friday, August 9th—midnight tonight and Steve is finally free.

They go for coffee, they hang around—and by hang around, he means Eddie hangs around his periphery as he scours every available source for something they can do tonight, because he has to take his mind off midnight

A bar with an indie band will do.

He tells Eddie about it, who’s got his nose in a book—

“That’s a good one,” Steve tells him.

“Really?”

“I thought it was gonna be, like, a textbook when I picked it up,” Eddie says, flipping a page.

“So did I,” Steve admits, moving around the couch. Eddie scoots for him so they can lie side by side. This is without any real words or indications—Eddie just knows, and he knows when Steve lies down next to him that they’re reading together, now, and asks him quietly if he can turn the page.

The summer home, tucked away in its own little corner of beach-front paradise, has a history far more interesting than the tale at hand, so I will tell it in hopes it makes my story a little fuller, a little brighter—Bill was the heir to the Standard Oil name—

Steve likes this one a lot. He likes Augustine and Betty and James and the drama of it all, and the house on the beach, and all the twisting metaphors, and the way T.S. writes like she’s got a feather in her palm rather than a keyboard at her fingertips. Most of all, he likes that she begins and ends each chapter with a poem, and that his parents had lifted “Holiday House” from this book and plastered it across their own property. He likes that the novel lives here on the shelves of a place named after it. He likes that Eddie’s reading it, now, too. 

They read together through chapters four, five, six, seven, and eight. Eddie seems invested, but the time it’s taken them to get here is enough to have practically starved them both.

“I’ll make us something to eat,” Steve says as Eddie turns to chapter nine, “Keep reading.”

“Without you?”

“I’ve already read it.”

Steve gets up off the couch, missing the warmth Eddie’s body had been exuding, but his hunger supersedes his desire to crawl back onto the couch and fall asleep on Eddie’s chest. 

Tonight.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you have a pen?”

“Should be one in the desk in the sunroom,” Steve replies without a second thought, “What’re you hungry for?”

That night they go to the aformentioned bar, Eddie get’s a little tipsy, and they have a fantastic time (at first). The band is beyond good, the crowd is loud, and by 10 P.M. these two girls have joined them, and Steve and Eddie are having a hell of a time chatting them up.

Ally and Aubree—neither of which are Steve’s type, but are arguably gorgeous. Blond, sunkissed, wreaking of tequila and sunscreen and cheap perfume. He’s finding it very funny to chat with Aubree (he’s pretty sure it’s Aubree) knowing full well he’ll be pedal-to-the-metal gunning it home at midnight. Maybe he and Eddie won’t even make it out of the car. Maybe they’ll go out to the parking lot and it’ll already be too late for them, falling all over each other into the back-seat while Ally and Aubree disappointedly hunt for different prey.

It dawns on Steve, then, he’s sort of being an ass, but so far, nothing in he and Aubree’s conversation has explicitly alluded to going home together. For all he knows, she’s gonna go home and jump Ally’s bones--same deal as him.

The same, however, cannot be said for Eddie, who is clearly too good at flirting for his own good, and has Ally completely hooked. Steve can’t help glancing over now and again, watching them closely, not feeling jealousy, but more… awe? He’s incredibly impressed with Eddie’s performance.

“You think she’s hotter?” 

Steve starts.

“What?!”

“You think Ally’s hotter than me,” Aubree states again, voice loud over the music and the crowd, but not loud enough for it to catch Ally or Eddie’s attention. 

“No—I—”

Eddie and Ally get up from the table. Something inside Steve’s guts sinks, and sinks low. He watches them disappear into the crowd. He swallows. He turns back to Aubree.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” he says, honestly, “I’m just not looking for a hookup tonight.” 

Aubree grins at the compliment. Steve tries to keep his cool, but he’s feeling the exact opposite of cool. He is, in fact, spiraling. He realizes, in this moment, Eddie may not be attracted to that girl, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not going to oblige her.

Steve had thought this was all fun and games, but now he just wants to throw up.

Not that it’s any of his business what Eddie does. Not that Eddie’s obligated to stick to only him this summer. It’s a fling, afterall.

A fling.

“You wanna dance?” Aubree asks.

"What?"

She points, "Dance!"

The indie-folk vibe is not incredibly conducive to dancing, but Steve’s up for anything if it takes his mind off Eddie and that girl. That girl. Eddie had said verbatim he was gay, right? 

He allows himself to be led to the dance floor.

He tries to forget.

He feels sick.

In the car on the drive back, Steve knows he’s being eerily quiet. He knows Eddie is uncomfortable with his silence. He knows he should turn on the radio, or say something, but all he wants to do is ask if Eddie kissed that girl, if maybe he did something worse than that, and if he had, Steve desperately wants to know how and why and what the logistics of hooking up with some random girl in Maine were when Eddie had said he was gay, and if all gay men could just hook up with women, and if all Eddie had to do was think of Mark Hamil or some other nice guy and that was good enough for him, because a hole is a hole and—

“Are you pissed, or something?”

Eddie’s tone is already accusatory, and it just makes Steve feel worse.

“No.”

“Yes, you are.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel.”

Eddie scoffs.

“Then don’t act like a kicked puppy because I made out with some random chick at a bar.”

Made out.

Steve goes so quiet it’s like he’s not even breathing, at this point. He feels the urge to cry burning at the back of his skull and he fights it, hard. He knows it’s not his place to be upset—they never said anything about them being exclusive this summer. Steve was flirting with Aubree somewhat, too, and danced with her, even. 

Not really because he’d wanted to, but still.

Steve swallows.

“Are you pissed at me?”

Steve’s eyes don’t leave the road, but his hands grip the wheel so tightly his knuckles are an unnatural shade of white compared to the rest of his skin. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him—all the more reason not to cry. He’s fighting tooth and nail for it. He doesn’t get why this all feels so bad. He doesn’t get why he’s so upset.

Maybe he had just expected tonight to be their night.

But that’s stupid, isn’t it? “Why the fuck would I be mad at you?”

Steve’s turn to scoff—he has no idea why Eddie would be mad, but it’s hard to believe he isn’t when he sounds so goddamn angry.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know?”

“At least I’m not mad.”

“I’m not mad—” Eddie’s getting madder every second.

They pull into the driveway and Steve stops abruptly, pretty much wrenching the key out of the ignition and kicking the driver door open the way Eddie had done to the passenger.

It’s a little satisfying, he will admit. 

He stalks up the driveway, because now he is mad, and hurt, and feeling like he’s been betrayed even though he hasn’t been. He wants to sleep it off. He has to sleep it off. “Now who’s the mad one?!” Eddie calls after him, and Steve's resolve snaps like a twig. He spins around, tears flowing, anger spilling.

“You don’t even like girls!” he yells. Eddie’s so taken aback he literally takes a step back, even though there’s a whole driveway of space between them. “What the fuck kind of asshole makes a guy wait an entire week to be with him, and then two-hours before the week is up, runs off to make out with some random bitch?!"

He hadn't meant that, the bitch part, but it feels so good to say it now, even though he'll feel guilty about it later.

“Why do you care so much?!” Eddie yells back, so furious now he’s literally red in the face— “You’re gonna do the exact same shit a month from now!”

“Says who?!” Steve shouts, “Who the fuck said September 1st is gonna roll around and I’m suddenly not gonna be fucking obsessed with you, Eddie?! Because I have been fucking dying for this week to be over, and it’s gonna fucking kill me to go home, but I’m gonna do it for you, okay?!” 

His chest is heaving. He can feel the red in his cheeks and the salt on his tongue. He is, for maybe the hundredth time, utterly pathetic. But he can’t stop himself.

“Steve—”

“If we’re doing this,” he says, “We’re doing this. You’re mine for twenty-two fucking days. I. Like. You."

Steve turns on his heel and storms inside, leaving the door to Holiday House hanging wide open. As angry as he is, he doesn’t want to risk slamming it shut and having Eddie turn and go. This way, Steve at least knows he’ll follow him inside to shut and lock the door.

He trudges up the stairs and into his room, leaving that door open, too. He peels out of his shirt and unbuckles his belt, pulling it from the loops and tossing it angrily to the floor. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to put himself back in order, halting the flow of tears and taking deep breaths to soothe his anger.

“I’m sorry,” comes quietly from the doorway, “I just—I didn’t know it was serious for you.”

That seems ridiculous, all things considered.

“It’s not for you?”

There’s a long quiet. Steve doesn’t have it in himself to turn around. He should’ve known what he was feeling wasn’t reciprocated—Steve’s not the kind of guy Eddie wants or needs, and for some reason he hadn’t prepared himself for that, even though he knew it all along. He should be grateful, take what he can get, but all he feels is—

“I was trying to… I thought you would feel better about all this if you thought I didn’t care,” Eddie admits. “I thought if you knew how much I fucking liked you, you wouldn’t let me have you at all.”

Steve spins around, hands on his hips, chest still heaving.

“What time is it?”

Eddie blinks. He looks thoroughly disheveled, still red, and sheepish, like somehow he’s humiliated himself. In a few ways, he has acted like a fucking fool, but Steve is no less attracted to the idiot now than he was before. He did a stupid fucking thing, but Steve has done a hundred stupid fucking things in his life, and he’ll do a hundred fucking more. Eddie's logic is sort-of sound, he just wishes he would've said something to Steve instead of taking it out on some random girl.

“What?”

“What. Time. Is. It?” Steve demands again. Eddie stammers, eyes darting around the room until they land on the alarm clock on Steve’s bedside table.

“Twelve-thirty? Are we—”

Steve doesn’t let him finish.

He surges forward and seizes Eddie by the face, bringing their mouths together insistently, all tongue and teeth and spit and bitter remnants of tears. Eddie get’s hands on his ass and he moans about it, which spurs the older boy forward, and they go tumbling back into Steve’s bed.

I love you, he thinks.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbles against his throat before he's sucking and biting and soothing with his tongue and Steve is reduced to sensation--Eddie's body on top of his, knee between his thighs, bedsheets against his back--

“Prove it,” Steve breathes.

And he does—over and over and over again.

End Part 2

(Previous Part)

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Robin was her first kiss. If you want to get technical about it.

But they were thirteen and they were under the covers of Robin’s bed and they ate so much sugar they were shaky with it. That’s the thing about sleepovers, right? They’re like secrets. They’re little bubbles of time and space that exists completely outside of the rest of world.

So it didn’t really count.

Chrissy had been panicking about high school again, wrapped in Robin’s quilt with a pillow pressed hard against her stomach. And sure, it was still months and months away, but it was coming at them like a freight train. Too fast, with an unstoppable momentum as Chrissy was tied to the tracks.

Robin had long since made a little game out of it.

What if nobody likes me?

Then I will personally start your fan club.

Her solutions were rarely practical and Chrissy’s fears hardly ever made sense. Catastrophe after catastrophe drawn to their most dramatic conclusion. She knew she was being silly. But the game did help. It was good to know that in every single nightmare, no matter how strange, no matter how extraordinarily disastrous, Robin would be there. What if I trip and fall right in the middle of the cafeteria? Then I will trip right along with you. Right at the start of summer, with just three more months until high school, Chrissy was starting to run out of anxieties. But she wasn’t quite done with their game yet. It was too comforting. Playing along had become its own kind of security blanket. Robin tossed a magazine onto the floor of her bedroom and moved a little closer, pressed up against the headboard right alongside Chrissy. Their shoulders bumped, side by side like twin captains of a tiny ship. The magazine landed right side up next to Chrissy’s half of the bed. A pretty girl blew at kiss back at her from the glossy paper cover. Ten Summer Trends You Can’t Miss! Bold pink letters screamed at her. How to Get Perfect Curls at Home! But also… How to Nail Your First Kiss! It gave Chrissy pause. She pursed her lips together as her brain tested out the question. A whole new frontier, an unexplored ocean stretching out in front of them. What if I’m the only person who hasn’t kissed anyone yet? Robin turned to her and frowned, just a couple inches between their noses, with bumping knees and eyes so close Chrissy could see the green flecks in her eyes. What are you talking about? She said, completely ignoring the rules of the game. I haven’t kissed anyone either. Chrissy hadn’t actually been worried before. Her question was just a line in a game they had been playing for weeks, but confronted with Robin’s wide eyes something gnawed at the well in her stomach. That’s not how the game works, Chrissy said. You’re supposed to say… Her voice trailed off in the lamplight of the bedroom. She wasn’t sure what Robin was supposed to say, actually. The antidote wasn’t clear, but then again, to Chrissy is rarely was. What? Robin grinned. I’m not sure I’ve got an answer to this one. You could. So Robin leaned in, meeting in the middle, leaving Chrissy to close the gap. It wasn’t really what she meant, but as Robin looked at her, gentle and reassuring, she completely forgot what she had meant in the first place. So Chrissy kissed her. Just like that. Her lips sweet like buttery popcorn as she locked into place and let her eyes flutter shut. She didn’t really know what she was doing, neither of them did, but certain parts of them just fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Kissing was warmer than she expected. Softer.

Robin smiled against her mouth. Now Chrissy hadn’t actually read the article in the magazine, but she was pretty sure smiling wasn’t mentioned. Kissing was a serious affair, not setup and punchline, joke and a giggle.

But it was nice. Tender and sweet like the only true antidote to all of Chrissy’s fears. (What if no one likes me? Then you’ll still always have me.) They didn’t talk about it then. So it didn’t really count. Chrissy went on to kiss a boy from her math class at the acceptable culmination of their third date. His lips were dry and his hands hovered awkwardly, several inches away from her shoulders. It became the topic of several sleepovers, long past the expiration date of her childlike attempt at a freshman relationship. Robin kissed a boy from band during a game of spin the bottle at their first coed slumber party and made such a disgusted face afterwards that the boy locked himself in the bathroom. They laughed about that for years after the fact, mimicking the way Robin’s lips curled up like the aftertaste of a particularly sour lemon. Their kiss, the one between the two of them, wasn’t mentioned ever again. Not after Robin came out, not when people asked for first kiss anecdotes during games of truth or dare. Not even after that first night in Robin’s bed, months into college, with tangled limbs and pounding hearts. With hands under bed sheets and fingers curled around the hem of her nightgown. With a soft kiss pressed against the back of shoulder. Even then they didn’t talk about it. So it didn’t really count.

I think this works nicely as a little standalone, but it's also a little snippet from the upcomming chapter of Dandelions and Other Weeds (AO3), my childhood best friends to college roommates lesbian disaster fic <3