#the nails were insufferable so they all shared a table

[quotes-from-cybertron]

SCENE - FIRST POST-WAR SCIENCE CONFERENCE

-

PERCEPTOR: (drunk) Decepticon scientists all think they're hot slag for their "Cybertronian experimentation" or whatever BUT look at those fucking sample sizes! n=6? Frag you. Get like two hundred petrorats and achieve statistical significance, you cowards.

SHOCKWAVE: Illogical, I did the power calculations, I can get significance with ten subjects.

TARANTULAS: Oh nice. I just kidnapped a whole town and used everyone there.

SHOCKWAVE: Wasteful. A whole town? For one experiment?

BRAINSTORM & NAUTICA: ...

SKYFIRE: What the fuck?

SCORPONOK: (cooing at the abomination in his chest)

BOMBSHELL: What the hell are statistics?

[whimsimille]

VACANT ROOM

Lee Dong Wook x fem! reader

"My dear, could you perhaps verify it one more time?" You asked, mustering the most charming smile you could manage in the face of the disinterested and nonchalant receptionist, who seemed more interested in her nails than her job. "I find it incredibly hard to believe that a reputable company like Starship would commit such a glaring oversight."

At half past midnight, the hotel was teeming with actors, singers and idols. Positioned in the center of the lobby, the luxurious building housing the assistant's desk was where you were standing. The interior exuded an atmosphere of old-world elegance, with polished marble floors, ornate chandeliers, and plush velvet drapes adorning the walls. Soft candlelight cast a warm glow over the dining room, illuminating tables adorned with crisp white linens and sparkling silverware.

Guests, dressed in their finest designer attire, mingled and conversed in hushed tones in the grand ballroom. Their quiet laughter pierced the air, merging in perfectly with the sweet notes of a Mozart sonata that drifted from the grand piano in the corner, played by a virtuoso whose fingers moved like dancers across the keys.

"I regret to inform you, ma'am," she retorted, her eyes barely leaving the glossy pages of an article about the latest trends in Seoul's fashion week. "But your company specifically requested a grand suite with a panoramic view spanning across the sea, located on the 16th floor. One king-sized bed, presumably for you and Mr. Lee Dong Wook."

"But that can't be right! There must be some kind of mix-up." Instant panic set in, your pulse going haywire as images swarmed in your mind—you sharing close quarters with him—definitely not on your wish list.

With an exaggerated sigh, she ditched her magazine and leveled her gaze at you for the first time since this little chit-chat commenced. “I assure you, there is no mistake. Everything has been arranged as per the request we received. The company was very explicit about the arrangements."

"Explicit about throwing me into a room with my ex-husband? That doesn't seem like a professional request."

"That's not for me to comment on, ma'am," she replied curtly, picking up her magazine again. "My job is to ensure our guests have the best experience. If you have a problem with your arrangements, I suggest you take it up with your company."

"But that's... it's... preposterous!" you stammered, feeling the blood drain from your face. "There must be some way to rectify...”

"I'm afraid all other rooms are fully booked. Perhaps you could address your grievances with your company, ma'am.”

"Aish…"

You turned your head to the side, spotting Dong Wook standing in the doorway of the lobby, dressed in a new, crisp navy blue suit with trousers tailored to his frame, complete with a matching tie and polished leather shoes. God, he had become insufferable since he discovered fabrics imported from Milan. This was where all the money had been going before the divorce.

Crushing the last of his half-smoked cigarette under the heel of his polished Italian leather shoes, he looked down and saw the flickering neon sign from the hotel entrance reflected in the trail of smoke.

"What the fuck is going on?”

“You ought to watch the language you use, old man,” you retorted, your thumb and index finger nervously smoothing out creases from the Chanel dress handpicked for the company's decadent birthday celebration held at this isolated high-end dwelling. “Prayers should dominate your vocabulary rather than swear words at this stage in life.”

His sharp gaze turned to you, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath his usually calm exterior.

Unmoved or maybe portraying so, you played along, “Just stating the obvious.”

A dismissive snort escaped him as he ran his hand irritatedly through otherwise meticulously groomed locks. “And if I don’t?”

You rolled your eyes, masking the unease creeping into your voice. "Then you'll just be an old man with a foul mouth, won't you? A grumpy, divorced, aging actor with nothing but a string of B-list movies to his name?"

"Better than being a frustrated little girl who got pissed by losing an award to me,” he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm and a bitter bite. "A little girl who can't accept that she's not the best and that someone else could actually outshine her brilliant talent."

A sharp retort tipped the tip of your tongue as you hesitated, but you swallowed it down, heart palpitating. If only the hotel was closer to your home, you'd escape this uncomfortable situation. You'd rather risk wandering down a dark, unfamiliar alley at midnight than share a room with your ex. But you were stuck here, trapped in this ostentatious lobby, miles away from any familiar comfort, forced to face whatever the night would bring.

"Can't you sleep in the same bedroom as your best friend? You two are usually tied by the hip, practically inseparable at every social event," You taunted, eyes glinting under the harsh lobby lights.

“Gong Yoo has a wife and you know it. And I'm not about to impose on their space. What about you? Don't you have other friends that came other than scripts and books? Or did they all get scared off by your charming personality?”

“Oh, you better bet that I'm charming. Maybe that's why our daughter decided to stay with me.”

Before he could respond, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, the woman at the desk cleared her throat, extending a key towards the two of you with a look of forced patience. "I believe this is what you two are fighting over, correct? Perhaps you could decide who gets the bed and who gets the sofa without causing a scene in the lobby?"

You took the key from the receptionist's hand with an exaggerated sigh, turning it over in your fingers. The weight of it felt heavy in your palm, like a lead boulder pulling you down into the pit of despair.

“Yes, of course. Thank you so much; your help was really indispensable.”

Turning back to face Lee Dong Wook, you could barely contain your humiliation as he stood stoically by your side, staring out at the dark ocean beyond the hotel's glass walls. Along with the sound of the ice cubes in his drink and the scent of his expensive cologne, the lobby was filled with the sound of the waves crashing against the coast. You couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the cloying smell that reminded you too much of your past.

"I suppose we have no choice but to make do," you said finally, motioning for him to follow you towards the elevators.

As he settled into step beside you, the click-clack of your high heels on the marble floor created an odd harmony with his steady gait.

It was almost impossible not to gag at the stale, rich smell of warm metal and coffee that pervaded the elevator. Pressing the button for the sixteenth floor, you peered up at the metal ceiling.

A few seconds later, the doors opened with a soft hiss and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, feeling Lee Dong Wook's hot breath on your neck. He seemed to be waiting for you to take the lead, as if this were some kind of game, a cat-and-mouse chase that you just couldn't seem to win.

Swallowing hard, you walked ahead to the suite number indicated by the keycard.

When you finally turned the handle and pushed open the door, you found yourself face-to-face with an opulent display of luxury: plush red and gold carpets underfoot; crisp white linen tablecloths adorning an ornate dining table; fluffy duvets piled high on a king-sized bed; and a decadent bathroom beyond.

It was too much like the honeymoon suite he'd gotten you when you were still married, and your heart skipped a beat as it registered.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you set your luggage down on one of the side tables.

You turned around to face Lee Dong Wook, who was standing in the doorway, watching your every move intently, reminding you of the way Yeosin would look at you when she was planning a prank. 

Well, she was his mini version after all.

You held your breath as he stepped inside, taking in his tall frame and perfect nose. 

He took a deep breath before reaching up to his necktie and loosening it ever so slightly. "It's going to be a long night," he muttered under his breath as he moved closer towards the window, pulling back one of the heavy curtains to let the cool sea air and the sound of waves splashing against the shore gently lap at his face.

"I'll take the couch. It's not like I haven't endured worse accommodations while filming on location.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, an all-too-familiar gesture. “You have had back pains all the time since giving birth to Yeosin.”

“I don’t," you snapped back immediately, an automatic response honed by years of bickering.

“Yes, you do," he insisted, his tone softening. "I may not have been around recently, but I do remember. You’d wince every time you thought I wasn’t looking. But if you want to play the stubborn card here, if it makes you feel stronger, be my guest. In the meantime, you can freshen up. I'll make a makeshift bed for you, kid.”

There you stood, in the silence that followed, absorbing the sight of him.

It wasn't fair, an inner voice protested, as you took in the jawline you had kissed and nibbled countless times, the tantalizing constellations formed by the moles adorning his neck, each one a landmark you could identify even with your eyes closed, like a child eager to please and win a candy.

In the end, it wasn't fair that he could still find his way into your heart, the way a worshiper finds their way into a long-abandoned cathedral, kneeling in reverence among the dust and the decay, and still find it holy, still find it beautiful that there’s a vacant room waiting for him to lay his head.

He was the prodigal son returning to the home he once renounced, and you? You were the father left to wonder if welcoming him back was a show of futility or a sign of welcomeness.

"You always were stubborn," you retaliated, folding your arms across your chest. "Always thinking you knew best. Well, I'm not that same naive 23 year old girl you married. I can take care of myself.”

“Stop it. I have a headache right now.”

"You were always quick to jump in and play the hero, weren't you? But this isn't a drama, Dong Wook. There's no director yelling cut, no script to guide us. This is real life. And in real life, I don't need you to save me."

"I never asked to be your hero," he retorted, the quietness of his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And I never wanted to be one. I just wanted to be there for you. But you always made it so damn hard." 

Frustration bubbled inside you, "You think I made it hard? You were the one who walked away. You were the one who gave up on us." 

“She’s only six,” he countered weakly. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening.” 

“You’d be surprised, Lee. Kids are smart. They pick up on more than we give them credit for. She knows something’s wrong. She misses her father. She misses us being a family.”

As the words left your mouth, you could see a flicker of pain cross his eyes. But you didn't care. You were too angry, too hurt to care about his feelings. 

With a huff, you turned on your heel, leaving him alone in the bedroom. As you slammed the door shut, the metal clanged loudly against the wall, echoing through the otherwise silent room. You hear the latch click into place, sealing you inside the small, enclosed space.

The bathroom was spacious and modern, with a luxurious glass-enclosed shower stall and his-and-hers sinks. 

Before you was the daunting task of turning on the water to run a hot bath. The faucet gave a small shudder, like a beast waking from slumber, as it sputtered to life, filling the room with the biting smell of chlorine and the comforting warmth of hot steam. A bottle of expensive shampoo, perhaps a gift from one of his many sponsors, sat on the vanity counter. You uncapped it, and its scent—a tantalizing blend of jasmine and sandalwood—tickled your nose as you sniffed it slightly.

The room began to mist up as your fingers fumbled at the buttons on your dress as if they had a mind of their own, desperate to get out of this suffocating fabric that reminded you too much of happier times when he'd slide them down your spine slowly and carefully, making you gasp under the cover of darkness.

Heat flooded your cheeks, remembering how those fingers had once traced your entire body—the pulse point at your wrist, where his wedding ring used to be, now replaced by a thin silver band around your third finger.

Stepping into the tub, the water was scalding hot—almost too hot to touch—but you reveled in it nonetheless.

As you slipped into the tub until it was almost full, feeling it lap at your neck and shoulders, you let out a long sigh of relief.

Closing your eyes, you breathed heavily as you began to scrub the last few days off yourself. 

Memories flooded back—years' worth of memories that had led up to this moment: the late-night movie marathons where you both would cuddle on the couch, the way he would laugh at your comical impersonations of movie characters, the way he would always keep the last slice of pizza for you, the way he would read bedtime stories to your daughter, his voice imitating various characters, making her giggle. You remembered his bright smile when your daughter took her first step, his eyes filled with tears of joy, the proud look on his face when she called him 'Daddy' for the first time.

But alongside the sweet memories, the bitter ones also found their way: the arguments that lasted till dawn, the slamming of doors, the sound of shattering glass, and the cold silence that followed. You remembered the canceled family trips due to his sudden shooting schedules, the forgotten birthdays and anniversaries, the vacant spot beside you in bed getting colder each day, late-night calls from agents about last-minute script changes, and sleepless nights spent worrying about Yeosin while he was off filming some romantic comedy filled with clichés and air kisses towards irrelevant starlets.

You scrubbed until your skin began to redden and sting from the heat, until all that was left was residual anger and resentment. Then you climbed out carefully, reaching for the plush white towel hanging on a stainless steel rack.

After drying off, you slipped into your silk pajamas and brushed your teeth with Totoro’s brush, the one Yeosin insisted on bringing so that you could remember her while she stayed with her Nana.

Stepping back into the suite, you expected to see Dong Wook, but he was nowhere in sight. The room was empty, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of voices from the television.

You walked towards the window, peering out into the darkness. The moon was a thin crescent in the night sky, casting a faint glow over the sea. Lee was probably out there, taking one of his late-night walks along the beach, letting the cool sea breeze clear his mind.

Turning around, you noticed the makeshift bed he had prepared on the couch. The cushions were arranged neatly, with a soft blanket folded at one end and a pillow with a fresh case. Beside it, there was a small side table with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers—for your bruised ankles and sore legs, no doubt. Despite everything, Dong Wook was still considerate.

You walked over to the couch, running your fingers over the soft fabric. It wasn't a king-sized bed, but it would do. 

Lowering yourself onto the couch, you winced slightly, feeling the day's exertion catch up with you.

You slowly stretched out your legs, trying to find a comfortable position. As you did so, you could feel the soreness in your muscles easing slightly. 

Curling up on the couch, you wrapped the blanket around yourself, pulling it up to your chin.

Lying there, you found yourself mimicking Yeosin's favorite position—curled up like a small ball, waiting for her father to come home and pick her up. It was a bittersweet feeling, a reminder of the simpler times, when the lines between work and personal life hadn't blurred, when the word 'divorce' hadn't been a part of your vocabulary.

As you closed your eyes, the events of the day replayed in your mind: the party where he'd been eyed by other women, the looks he gave you when you seemed more interested in your Champaign than his speech, the receptionist's words, the look on his face, the tense silence in the elevator. But despite the turmoil, you felt a strange sense of calmness. Maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it was the realization that you could handle whatever life threw at you.

With that thought, you slowly drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of the sea lulling you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

-------------------------------------------------

As the first rays of dawn creeped in through the slats of the blinds, you stirred from your sleep.

Slowly blinking your eyes open, you adjusted to the soft morning light, feeling something different.

Under you was not the stiff fabric of the couch, but something softer, more yielding. You didn't know when or why, but here you are, in the king sized bed that was supposed to be Dong Wook’s.

Confusion clouded your sleep-laden mind as you tried to piece together the puzzle and heat hushed to your cheeks as you felt something nuzzling your neck, the soft sensation making you bite back a groan.

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence between your legs, a muscular thigh that was solid yet comforting. It took a moment for you to register the protective arm draped securely around your waist, pulling you closer against a firm, muscled chest.

"Wha--?" you started, your voice cracking as surprise jolted you fully awake.

Before you could react, a chill coursed through you as your shirt was ridden up, an audacious hand slipping underneath to splay across your bare skin.

"Shh, it's just me, baby," a deep voice whispered in your exposed left breast before sucking it into his mouth softly, tugging at the pink flesh with his teeth while rolling the other hardened nub between his fingers.

As he slid down even further, his tongue softly licking the valley between before finding its way into your cleavage, your mind reeled from the situation. You gasped at the feeling of his cool tongue tracing circles around the right nipple, tickling it lightly as it hardened even more under his touch.

Your hand instinctively reached up, fingers tangling in the soft strands of hair. It was familiar—too familiar. The scent of sandalwood and sea salt filled your senses—a scent you had known for years, a scent that brought back a flood of memories, reminding you of all the times he had made love to you on a beach house's balcony after one of his late-night strolls along the shore.

"Dong Wook…” you breathed out, the sound more like a plea than anything else. The name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, tasting bitter and sweet at the same time.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, his voice a soothing hum in the quiet room. "I missed you."

"I--I don't know what to say," you stammered, your mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.

"Just relax. All you have to do is open up those pretty legs and let me fuck this pussy once again.”

His tongue found its way into your mouth; you tasted the remnants of the Merlot from last night. You sucked on it eagerly, feeling him groan softly as he pushed deeper into your throat.

Hungry. You were hungry for him, starved for this intimacy that had been denied to you for too long. 

You couldn't believe it—this was Lee Dong Wook, the man who had once claimed not to know how to please a woman properly, who had once slept with dozens of nameless starlets and models just to forget your name.

Letting go of your lips, his head found its way into your neck and his hand slid further up, pressing against the mound hidden by your silk pajamas.

You didn't trust yourself enough to speak, fearing your voice would betray the growing need twisting inside you. Instead, you responded by parting your legs slightly, granting him access to your cunt.

Expertly unbuttoning your pajamas with his other hand, Dong Wook spread the fabric apart, revealing all of you to his hungry gaze. 

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, a testament to the tangible evidence of your arousal. He swept away your slit with one broad thumb, gathering slick and marveling at how wet and ready you were for him.

"That's my good girl.”

Unable to resist any longer, he dipped two fingers into your slick folds while his thumb continued its sensual assault on your swollen nub. Pleasure started to unfold in waves of white heat, and the combination made you utter moans.

With a devilish smirk, he withdrew his hand and brought it up to his mouth, sucking on one finger. 

"Fuck, you're so wet and sweet for me, honey. Tell me, didn't any of your flings with those little boys in the set make you cum like I used to? Or were they so young that the only things they observed were these lovely curves and a treat for their hands?

His words stung, but the ache between your legs pulsed with need, completely drowning out any traces of regret.

In the haze of his touch, you were lost. It was obvious that you ought to halt him, shoo him away, and remind him of what he had done to you—severing all ties, abandoning you while he toured the globe filming and failed to remember you existed.

But the truth was that you missed him, missed the sensations his mouth could create in your mouth, and missed the way his hands could change from being rough to being gentle in an instant.

“Shut up, Lee.”

There it was, the opening salvo of a fight, but he ignored it, knowing that once you got past this hurdle, you would be his again.

He rewarded your honesty with a devilish grin before sliding his hand back between your legs, slipping his fingers deeper inside you. "Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl," he murmured against your skin before pressing his index and middle fingers deeper, crooking them to find your g-spot with practiced ease. “I guess I'm the only one who teaches nice manners to our daughter, huh?”

You moaned long and low, bucking against him. Your whole body felt like it was shivering underneath the touch, like a fever dream that turned into reality.

"Drop this shit before I decide to leave you with a purple dick."

"Calm down, darling… I'm just playing with you, hum?"

He pushed you down into the mattress then, holding your hips in place as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you in a rhythm that had your body trembling with need. 

You could feel the bed squeaking beneath you as you arched into him, craving more contact as he thrust faster and harder into your pussy, sliding off on to his fingers as if they were a big, thick dick. 

It was perfect; it hurt and felt amazing at the same time.

“Jesus…”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it, betraying how much you needed him inside of you again.

"Yeah, that's it. Just take it," he encouraged, watching with dark eyes as you moaned his name while his fingers plunged deeper into your slick folds, finding that spot that always made you come apart.

"You need this; you need me."

He was right. You did need him in this moment, in this bed, even if it was wrong and twisted. You needed him to make you forget everything else—the cameras flashing, the public scrutiny, the anger. He'd always been good at distracting you from all that.

"Oh, fuck," you moan into the pillow, feeling the pleasure coiling inside you like a snake ready to strike. Your wetness pours down his hand and fingertips before it drips onto the comforter beneath you. 

You open your eyes to look at him, seeing how he bites his lip in concentration as he works you open with his fingers, tongue and teeth. His dick twitches against your leg, eager and ready. There's no one else who can make you feel this way; there's no one else who could make love to your body with such precision even after all these years apart.

"Squirt for me, baby. I know you can, hum? Like old times.”

“I… I can't…” you whimper, but he doesn't let up.

“Shhhh, baby… Come on, you can let it out. Soak me. Soak the sheets. Show me how much you want me.” He urges, his words acting like a spell, pushing you further towards the edge.

His fingers worked faster, his thumb pressing down on your clit in relentless circles while his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave a mark. His other hand slides up to your throat, fingers closing around it lightly, the threat of pressure making your pulse race even faster. 

Overwhelmed, you felt yourself let go, your walls clenching around his fingers as a rush of warmth gushed out of you. Your body arched as you squirted, your release soaking both his hand and the sheets beneath you. 

“Dong Wook!" you scream, the words echoing in the room as you come apart under his touch.

The sensation was too much; your body was sensitive and overstimulated. You whimpered, but his fingers didn't relent, continuing to stroke your swollen nub even as your body twitched and shuddered.

As you came down from your high, your mind felt foggy, and your body was limp. The surroundings softened into a comforting mist as you sank deeper into subspace. But he wasn't done yet.

Even as your body begged for a reprieve, he moved over you, his body pressing down on yours as he positioned himself at your slit.

“W-What are you doing?” You ask, your voice weak and shaky.

“What do you think, wifey? I'm going to pound into you until you're begging for mercy. Going to fill you up so good, you'll be begging me for another baby. Want to give Yeosin a baby brother. Want to make a little version of me for her to play with. Can you imagine our son running around the house, causing trouble just like his father? But first...” he trails off, the hand on your throat, applying such pressure that dark spots form behind your eyelashes.

“First, I'm going to fuck you senseless."

Suddenly, your phone rings, the sound piercing the silence like a gunshot. You glance at the caller ID and see Gong Yoo's wife, Ji-Eun, name flashing on the screen.

Well, he'd have to wait then.

"Dong Wook, it's Ji-Eun," you try to protest, but he ignores you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Let it ring. She can wait," he growls, and before you can protest further, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt inside your wet heat.

But the ringing never stops.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four calls.

With a sigh, Dong Wook grabs your phone from the bedside table, places it on the pillow next to you and answers.

Before the line could finally connect, he changes positions, seating himself against the headboard with you straddled in his lap. Your breasts bounce with every single movement, and soft moans spill from your mouth as he continues to thrust into you.

"Hello?" He breathes into the phone, his voice steady as if he isn't buried deep inside you. His free hand grips your hip, guiding you up and down his length at a relentless pace while he talks to Gong Yoo's wife, Ji-Eun.

"Dong Wook, what the hell were you thinking?" She scolds from the other end of the line. "You can't just arrange for you and your ex-wife to share a room, no matter how many strings you pull!"

Dong Wook chuckles lowly. “Well, it seems our plan worked perfectly then," he murmurs in your ear, his warm breath fanning over your skin. His words surprise you, making you pause.

He planned this?

Ignoring your shocked expression, he continues his conversation. "Listen, I appreciate your concern, Ji-Eun, but there's no need to go yelling at the manager or looking for another room. We're adults; we can handle this." He punctuates his words with a particularly harsh lift of his hips, ripping a breathy moan from your throat.

Meanwhile, Ji-Eun continues her rambling, her words becoming background noise as you frown, scratching his shoulders and trying not to lose your shit. It would be humilliating coming all over his dick only from seeing it poking your belly.

Suddenly, Dong Wook pulls the phone away from his ear, offering it to you. "I think she wants to talk to you," he murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he kisses your nose.

You glare at him, about to protest, but his hand encircles your bruised neck again, making you relent.

With a huff, you take the phone, pressing it to your ear as you try to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

Dong Wook smirks, his hand dropping to join the other on your hips, guiding you up and down his length like a well-used doll again.

This man is the devil.

"Oh, thank God, you're there, honey." The older woman exclaimed, relief evident in her voice. "I was worried about you! I'm on my way to your room now. We need to sort this out."

Panic set in; the last thing you wanted was for her to see you in this compromising position. You had to dissuade her.

"No, wait! You don't need to do that. We're handling it. We're...we're talking things out," you lied, hoping she'd buy it. 

"Are you sure? I can be there in five." Her voice was filled with concern, but you could detect a hint of suspicion.

"Yes, we're fine. Really," you insisted, biting back a moan as Dong Wook hit a particularly sensitive spot. "We'll...we'll talk tomorrow, okay? Goodnight."

Abruptly, you ended the call, tossing your phone onto the nearby bedside table, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Turning your wrath on him, you struck his chest with all the strength you could muster. "I swear I'm going to kill you, you absolute jerk!”

"Oh really?" He groaned in response, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "But darling, before you commit homicide, don't you think you should let me leave a lasting heir on this divine body of yours?"

Before you could lash out again, his other hand darted out, capturing your wrist mid-air. His grip was firm effectively stopping your hand from making contact with his broad chest again.

“I want you.”

“You’re crazy, Lee! Delusional, old, out of your damn mind!”

“I’m yours too and I still love you.”

His eyes eyed you hungrily, his gaze dark with desire and something else. Something that made your heart pound out of your chest, something that made you weak in the knees. He loved you once, and he loves you still.

Or maybe it wasn't love anymore—maybe it was possession, maybe it was lust—but it felt real in that moment. You couldn't resist him, no matter how hard you tried.

“L-love me?” you husk, staring at him in disbelief as you feel his cock pulsating inside you. He pushes deeper, but you don't resist. You feel an odd mix of anger and desire, pain and pleasure, all mingling together into an intoxicating brew.

His tongue flicks out, licking your lips as he leans down, his face close enough that your noses touch. "Yes, I do," he murmurs against your lips. "And I always will." His voice is low and rough with want as he kisses you gently before plunging his hips once more.

In the end, you realized that it wasn't about fairness. It was about acceptance. Acceptance of the past, acceptance of the present, and acceptance of the potential of the future. It was about opening up that vacant room in your heart once more, dusting off the cobwebs and letting the light in.

Maybe it was welcomeness. Maybe it was time to let go of the pain of the past and embrace the possibility of a new beginning. Maybe it was time to let Dong Wook find his way back not as a prodigal son but as a cherished guest. Maybe it was time to let love bloom once more.

And just like that, the vacant room wasn't so vacant anymore.

[bigtreefest]

hi :D

Um…hello Daddy Detective Diskant. You’re looking fine, as always. Did your neck get thicker? Did your gorgeous hairstyle get even softer with those faded sides? Lemme run my hands over it so I can check. Oh how I love you (but mostly for looks. Even tho you were a good guy, you were kind of an insufferable little twerp, but tbh, I probably would’ve been, too, if I were a white male cop in the early 2000s😬I was gonna write a Drabble about messing around in the squad car, but this mans a rule follower in all the most annoying ways… so um….Diskant slice of life drabble below the cut? Warning: it’s a lil angsty

——

You sat at the kitchen table biting your nails, an small bottle of wine and entirely-too-large bowl of ice cream long abandoned. They simply acted as a failed attempt of a bandage on the long-running wounds of the worry that persisted on nights like these.

Paul had told you it was another late night tied to the new case he was working. The one he could never divulge details about. The one that kept him out past two, making you worry he’d never return. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it, only two months into your engagement and it was tearing you apart.

You looked at the small diamond sitting on your hand, sparkling under the lights that you wished you could’ve turned off hours ago, but you were just too worried to go to bed.

You were washing out your glass and bowl in the sink when you heard the front door unlocking and opening. The soft pounding of rubber shoe soles moved across the hardwood floors after you heard the keys get hung up on the hook. As the footsteps continued closer, you felt arms snake around your waist, accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. You moved to dry off your hands, gripping the rim of the sink and sighing with relief, yet a little bit of continued frustration.

“You’re late.”

The hands squeezed you tighter, and the chin on your shoulder nestled in. You gave into it, placing your hands over his, interlocking your fingers and turning your head to the side to finally look into your fiancé’s eyes. You gave him a small peck on the lips, your exasperation with the whole situation keeping you from going farther.

He looked at you with sad, ernest eyes, just like the ones he gave you every night like this.

“I know, baby. And I’m sorry. But I’m almost done, I promise.”

You sighed again, shaking your head. “No, Paul. I don’t think you are. Even if this ends soon, you’re going to find something else to chase. Something else that puts your life on the line. You’re too dedicated and too stubborn to not. You and I both know it. Part of that’s why I love you, but the other part is what drives me up a wall.”

He nodded, his mouth forming a tight, straight line. He hated when you’d tell him his job was too dangerous. If he didn’t do it, who else would? LA was just too corrupt. You could see the way the gears were turning in his mind.

“I’m not saying you can’t be a cop, I’m just too scared for you to be a cop here. You and I haven’t even started our lives together yet, and I’m afraid of losing you every night. What about us planning years ahead together? Kids, settling down…. I can’t do that on my own.”

Paul sighed, pressing his nose and a kiss into your neck, then looking straight forward and the backsplash of your small apartment kitchen.

“Okay. I’ll put in for a transfer tomorrow. You and I can start looking for houses. What do you think about Pasadena?”

You hummed, happy he was finally listening to your own wishes. It’s not like you were being controlling, you just wanted him safe. He was getting way too close to things that gave you a bad feeling in your gut. Paul’s concession to your request took a huge weight off your shoulders, adding the levity back that you felt seeping out of you with weeks gone by.

“You mean the place, or are you suggesting future baby names?”

You looked over your shoulder at him again, the two of you sharing a smirk as you noticed just how beat up and sweaty he looked from the long day.

“Well I’ve gotta take a shower. Why don’t you join me and we can figure that out.”

[imagines-ahs]

Chapter Nine - Yellow.

Summary: Wilhemina Venable felt it was finally time to leave Kineros Robotics and get a job with people who weren’t such morons like Jeff and Mutt. What she didn’t expect, however, was for her new boss to be so damn insufferable. She didn’t expect to fall in love with her, either.

Tag List: @devriesgoode @mistysswampmud @paulsonsratched @msvenablx @notmeellaannyy (message me to be added if interested!)

Venable nodded. “I do. But I still think you should take care of yourself.” Billie Dean was about to answer when her phone began ringing. She reached for it in her pocket, seeing Jenny’s name on the screen. Glancing apologetically at Wilhemina, she picked it up. While Billie was on the phone, Venable got up to check Purpura’s food; she refilled her water bowl and made sure the litter box was clean. The call Billie Dean had received was probably about work, given they should be at the office. I need to eat. They’d probably have to leave soon, so she could have lunch at work. A yawn cut through Venable’s lips, reminding her of how tired she was. Wilhemina didn’t think it was fair to sleep while Billie Dean did; she was in her working hours, after all. It’s going to be a long day. She was thankful there was nothing she had to do after work today besides coming home and spoiling her cat. 

When Billie Dean hang up, she took one last bite of the bagel and grabbed the plate and glass to take it to the kitchen. Timidly, she entered it. “Excuse me.”

Wilhemina looked at her from where she was leaning against the counter. “You can leave it on the sink.”

“I can wash it.” Billie Dean absolutely hated to do the dishes, but she had manners. 

“Don’t worry about it. I can pop it into the dishwasher later.”

If Wilhemina insisted… I just got my nails done. “Thank you.” Billie put the dishes into the sink. “Jenny is needing me back at the office.”

“We should go.” Venable was almost done with the policy work she had been doing, and she planned on finishing it today. 

“Yeah. I’ll call my driver.”

“Nonsense,” Wilhemina said before Billie Dean could reach for her phone. “I can drive. I need to drive back home later, anyways.”

Billie Dean nodded. Most people always took advantage of the perks she had. It was so weird to just be. “Okay.” She smiled a little. 

“Should we get going?” 

“Sure.”

Wilhemina led them to the garage, stopping to grab her purse on the way. Purpura meowed at them, and Venable blew her a kiss before closing the door. The ride back seemed to be quicker than both of them remembered, and soon they were stepping back at the office. Billie Dean flashed Venable a smile and followed to find Jenny. Wilhemina, on the other hand, walked straight to her table. She turned her computer on and leaned back on her chair. I’m starving. 

“Long time no see,” Emma said sweetly as she approached her table. Venable’s brown eyes lifted up to look at her, and she was instantly reminded of the fact that Emma not only was interested in her, but had told their boss about it. Her insides stammered in shame. 

“Hi.” Wilhemina allowed the corners of her lips to lift up. 

“Did anything happen?” Emma’s hip leaned against Venable’s table. The position caught Wilhemina’s attention, for her eyes involuntarily scanned Emma; she had never realized how well she dressed, too. Today, in specific, Emma was wearing a brown skirt and a white sweater, topped with high-knee boots. Her legs are so muscular. 

“Not really.” Venable definitely wouldn’t share the whole… whatever it was situation. Emma nodded at her, and she could see the way she sucked her lip in, as if she were debating on something. 

“Have you had lunch already?” 

There it is. “No, I haven’t.”

“Would you… like to join me?” Emma was hesitant, delicate. So delicate Venable still felt a hint of guilt from how things had gone down the day before. It was all so weird. 

Wilhemina nodded. “I would. That bakery again?”

“Did you like it?” Emma’s eyebrows lifted up, and her lips held back an ashamed chuckle. 

“I did, actually.”

“I don’t mind if we eat here.”

Wilhemina could see why Emma would think she hadn’t enjoyed going out of the office, and although she appreciated how she was willing to make her feel comfortable, Venable felt, deep inside her, that she owned Emma a nice lunch. “I’d like to go to the bakery again, if that’s alright with you.”

Emma’s green eyes turned into a slightly almond-like shape as she smiled with them. She nodded. “I’d love it. Are you ready to go?” Wilhemina nodded and got up again, reaching for her coat and purse. “That’s the first time you’re ready pronto,” Emma teased. 

Fair enough. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Venable actually wanted to go this time, but she wouldn’t tell Emma that. There was no reason, so far, to push Emma away. It was risky, letting someone in, so Wilhemina proceeded with caution. “Hunger calls.”

“I get that.” Emma let out a chuckle.

The walk to the bakery was short, but they walked slowly and without so much of a rush. The streets in that area were suitable for Wilhemina’s cane, so she didn’t struggle with broken tiles and uneven patterns. When they got to the bakery, Venable chose the same table they had sat the day before. The view was nice, and near the window she could always take a breath when she felt overwhelmed. The menus were soon placed on their table and quickly they ordered. A jar of lemonade was shared once again, and it was the first thing to arrive. 

“Thank you.” Venable reached for her glass as Emma poured her some juice. 

“Of course.” Setting the jar aside, Emma took a first sip. She hummed. “It tastes even better than yesterday.”

Venable reached to do the same. Indeed, the juice was richer. “Divine,” she nodded. Emma offered her a smile. Wilhemina eyed her, and under the bright light of the window, Emma looked almost like a porcelain doll; dark long hair, green big eyes, pale skin, small lips… everyone was so beautiful at Billie Dean Howard & Co. I might not belong in there in terms of appearance.

“So… about yesterday. I know you’ve said everything was alright, but I want to apologize again. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Emma’s cheeks had gotten a little bit crimson. Her eyes fell down, not fixating on Venable anymore. 

The topic wasn’t the easiest for Wilhemina, and she wished they’d just forget yesterday ever happened. But Emma seemed awfully worried about it, and even though it annoyed Venable for the discomfort she felt, it also softened something inside of her. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” It wasn’t a lie. She herself had made the situation escalate. 

“I just… I don’t want to push you away.” Emma looked back up at Venable. “I meant it when I said I want to get to know you better.” Please, stop. Venable gulped dry, nodding slightly. She didn’t know what to answer to that. Do I want to get to know her better? It was too soon to tell. “I think you’re beautiful, Wilhemina.” The words were so out of the blue Venable thanked the Gods she hadn’t taken another sip of juice, for she would have probably choked. Her skin warmed up. She blindly reached to play with the napkin on top of their table. “If you ever want me to leave you alone regarding that, just tell me. It’s just that I can’t miss my shot… not with you.” By the time Emma stopped talking, Wilhemina’s vision threatened to go spotty. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it behind her ears. Her mind wanted to start screaming that it was a joke, that it was a bet, that it was all a lie, but this time Venable had been prepared for that, and so she ignored the thoughts. It must be a joke, though.

“Are you serious?” The words didn’t come in Wilhemina’s usual harsh tone; they were a genuine question. 

Emma frowned. “About what? Being interested in you?” Venable nodded. Emma smiled softly. “I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” For many reasons Wilhemina wouldn’t dare explaining. So she shrugged. “I think you must be aware of the way everyone looks at you… you stop the room.” The concept of having all the eyes on her was utterly overwhelming. Venable couldn’t fathom that the eyes would be on her for a positive reason. Of course they look at me, I have a fucking cane. She set her jaw straight and sat up a little better.

“I… I don’t—“ Thankfully, Wilhemina was saved by the bell when the waiter approached them. This time, Venable quickly scanned the menu and ordered a ham and cheese croissant; Emma chose the Panini again. Politely, the waiter left. And Wilhemina quickly came up with a new subject so they could leave the whole uncomfortable conversation behind. It was already bad enough as it was. “How’s Dots?”

“Oh, he’s great.” Emma took another sip of the lemonade. “Yesterday we went for a walk after work and he carried a rock home.”

“No way,” Wilhemina chuckled. She was relieved her idea seemed to be working. “Purpura brings me her toys as gifts, sometimes. It’s sweet.” Her hand still absently played with the napkin.

“I can imagine.” Emma tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and it reflected beautifully under the light of the window. Wilhemina was positive she had never seen hair so healthy. “I’m thinking about adopting another cat.” It worked.

“Oh?”

“There’s this shelter near my place, it’s where I got Dots from, and they have a new kitty that is the most adorable thing. She’s just a few months old, so tiny and so absolutely thin.” Emma reached for her phone and showed Wilhemina a picture. The cat was white in color and indeed, pretty malnourished. 

“Poor thing,” Venable said softly. Slowly, she relaxed again.

“Right?” Emma leaned back against the booth. “I know they’re taking care of her, but I think I fell in love. I went to visit last week, donate some food, and they allowed me to pet her. She’s really affectionate, I think Dots would love her.” 

“You should go for it.” The way Emma smiled while talking about the cat was, undeniably, adorable. Wilhemina couldn’t help but notice it. She’s sweet. 

“You think?” Emma bit her lower lip. “I think I will. I hope Dots won’t get too jealous.”

“He’s that kind?” Wilhemina arched her eyebrows in a playful manner. She assumed so was Purpura, but she couldn’t really know—Purpura had never met another cat. And not many people frequented her house.

“Yes! Is Purpura?”

“I think so.” Venable chuckled. “I mean—she’s very demanding. She loves to cuddle and asks for pets all the time. Granted, I spoil her.”

“That’s so sweet.” Emma giggled. “I spoil Dots, too. He gets a lot of treats, and I’m sure if he didn’t enjoy walks so much, he’d be a little chubby.”

Wilhemina nodded with a hum. She took another sip of the lemonade. “I take care of Purpura’s weight for her health, but I confess I find chubby cats adorable.” I’m talking too much. It was dumb. She should have stayed quiet. But Emma gasped and laughed loudly, leaning closer to the table. 

“Me too!” Emma whisper-yelled. “Dogs, too.”

Wilhemina bit her lower lip as she smiled. Emma was easy to talk to. “I find dogs adorable, but I don’t think I could ever own one.”

Emma reached for her glass. “Why so?” She took a sip. 

“They’ve got too much energy.” I can’t really play to or walk a dog in the way it would need me to. Wilhemina decided not to say that last part out loud. She figured Emma would soon realize it.

“That’s true.” Emma set her glass aside once again. “Have you thought about a geriatric dog? There are loads of them in shelters, people always leave them behind.”

Emma seemed to know—or at least be interested—in shelters and animals. Wilhemina found it tender. “I had never considered that,” she said softly. A geriatric dog was a good idea, but she was a little scared of how Purpura would react to having to share the attention. Purpura was a strong cat, she could easily hurt an older, smaller dog. “I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know what you decide. I’d love to meet her or him if you do so.”

“I will.” Venable looked outside the window. People were hurrying once again. Everyone has their own life. Their own world. Their own problems. It made her feel less alone, somehow. She looked back to Emma after a minute, and her green eyes were still on her. Venable didn’t know what to say. 

“Do you mind if I ask if your hair is natural?” She always has something to say. Wilhemina received that question a lot. “It’s such a beautiful color. Matches you perfectly.”

“Thank you. It is.” All her life, people assumed Wilhemina dyed it. She didn’t really have all the more classic redhead characteristics, but her hair for sure was reddish.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma repeated. “Is it from your mother or father’s side?” 

Venable bit her lower lip. She didn’t know. She had never met her parents, nor got to know anything about them. Brown eyes fell down before forcefully looking back up. “My father’s,” she lied. Emma didn’t have to know everything so soon. Wilhemina wasn’t ready for that. “He was a typical redhead. My mother had brown hair.” That was how Venable had always imagined it, so was it really a lie?

“I can see that.” Can you, really? “I’m the only one in my close family with green eyes. It comes from my great-grandparents.”

“They’re beautiful,” Wilhemina commented. 

“You think? Thank you.” Playfully, Emma blinked quickly a few times. She chuckled, and so did Venable. “I’m hoping my future kids will get it.”

Kids. Wilhemina had never wanted kids. She had seen firsthand how many there were, and producing more was definitely unnecessary. Plus, to be a mother you should have no doubts about it, and Venable found herself with many. No child’s life deserved to be doubted when it came to their wanting. “Have you always wanted kids?”

“I suppose. Have you?”

“Absolutely not.” Perhaps that was a strong way of responding, but it was an honest one. Emma arched her eyebrows. “I’ve never wanted kids.”

“Any specific reasons?”

Many. Wilhemina would have to answer that one. She hummed as she took a sip of the lemonade, formulating an answer. “I think it all comes down to the fact that if you’re not sure about it, you shouldn’t do it. Having kids is not reversible. No child should suffer because of an indecisive adult.” God knows how much she did. The subject was close to home. 

“That’s a very valid point. I agree with you.”

Before Wilhemina could formulate another thought, their food arrived. The waiter carefully set everything down before, once again, politely walking away. The smell and steam that raised from the food was delicious just like the day before, causing her stomach to grumble. Venable was hoping she’d enjoy the croissant as much as she enjoyed the Panini. Reaching for the silverware, she took a first bite. Of course, it was amazing; the outside was crunchy and the inside was soft, the cheese was melted at the perfect temperature, and the ham tasted rich. She hummed. “Very good.”

“Everything here is delicious.” Emma took a first bite as well. “Did you try the Banoffee, after all?”

Oh, shit. Wilhemina had forgotten it inside her fridge. With everything that happened after work, dessert was the last thing in her mind. “Not yet.”

“I think you’ll like it.” Emma took another bite. Wilhemina nodded in agreement as she ate a little more, and crumbs fell down her chin and sweater. Her cheeks tinted. 

“Oh—“ Quickly, Venable reached to clean herself with a napkin. Emma looked at her with a smile so big it reached her eyes. Is she making fun of me? “What?” She asked once she was done. “Are there any crumbs still?”

“No,” Emma shook her head, smile still on her lips. “You’re cute, that’s all.” Oh? What a weird concept. What a weird feeling. Should Venable thank her? I’m a grown woman, I shouldn’t be cute. But Emma’s words carried no malice in them. They were almost… nice. With cheeks still red, Wilhemina chuckled and got back to eating. Purpura was cute. A dog was cute. Not her. “What are you doing on Saturday?” The question was unexpected. Wilhemina hadn’t given her weekend much thought, mostly because she was probably just going to stay home with Purpura. 

“Nothing. Why?”

“Would you like to go to the movies with me?” 

Venable almost asked Emma to repeat her question, for the words were so foreign she feared she hadn’t heard her correctly. But Emma kept on staring at her with excited, slightly nervous green eyes. Wilhemina blinked once. Twice. And then she wetted her lips, for they had gone dry. She gulped. “On Saturday?”

“Saturday night,” Emma clarified as she ate. Was Wilhemina willing to spend ser Saturday night like that? I never do anything. It could be fun. Besides, she was used to going to the movies alone—not that she did that a lot. Venable nodded before she could change her mind. Emma’s eyes lit up. “Really?” Wilhemina nodded again. “It’s settled, then. I can pick you up at… say, seven?”

“That works for me.” Emma’s excitement was contagious. Discretely, Venable smiled to herself, reaching to take another bite. 

“That’s exciting.” Emma nearly squealed. 

With cheeks tinting, Venable chuckled. It was exciting, indeed. The last time she had done something like that she was nearly half her age. “I love the movies,” she said softly. The movies were dark, people minded their own business, no one cared for her cane. It was one of the only places she wasn’t judged. 

“So it was a good suggestion, huh?”

“Yes.” Wilhemina took a final bite of her food. 

“Good to know.” Emma reached to finish the drink on her glass, and Wilhemina thought it was best not to ask what she meant right now. Setting her plate aside, Venable reached for a napkin and gently wiped her lips clean. I need to retouch my lipstick. “What do you say we take a walk before going back to the office? There’s an ice cream shop near here.”

Wilhemina thought it was a little dumb to leave the bakery when they had ice cream in their menu as well, but she figured Emma had a preference for the other one. People at Billie Dean Howard & Co. seemed to know where the good food was at, and so she decided to just go along. Some fresh air would be great, too, and her back wasn’t on its worst days. “That’s fine by me.”

“Perfect.” Emma reached for her wallet, and Wilhemina remembered she hadn’t paid her back from lunch yesterday. Quickly, she reached for her own. 

“Let me pay,” she said. 

Emma shook her head and waved it off. “It’s my treat.”

“I owe you from yesterday,” Venable insisted. 

“It’s alright, really.” Emma gestured for the waiter to bring them the check. 

“Emma, truly.” 

Emma shook her head and shot her a playful smirk. “It’s my treat,” she repeated. And that smirk caused Wilhemina to lose all the walls she was starting to build. She chuckled. 

“I’m paying for the ice cream, then. And for the movies.” Wilhemina put her card back into her wallet. The waiter arrived, and Emma handed him her card before turning back to Venable. 

“My date never pays.” Playfully, once again, Emma winked at her. But this time, the words weren’t so playful to Venable. A date. Wilhemina had understood what Emma meant when she invited her to the movies, but hearing it out loud was absolutely weird. A date. Have I ever been on a date before? Wilhemina had had a relationship some years ago, but she didn’t think she had ever been on a proper date. People are ashamed to be seen with me. At least in that way, they had always been. Is this why she’s taking me to the movies? Where no one can see? It was stupid to think about it. So why was she thinking about it? Brown eyes fell down, and Venable bit her inner cheek. The silence seemed to be too long, for Emma frowned and opened her mouth to speak only to be cut by the waiter. She thanked him, and when she turned back to Wilhemina, she was already getting up. Venable reached for her coat, and she decided that, this one time, she wouldn’t let her mind take things to the irrational place they always went to. Emma had just invited her for ice cream, in a public space, just like lunch had been. I’m being delusional. “Are you alright?” Emma’s soft words and a hand on her back cut Wilhemina’s spiraling thoughts. 

Wilhemina turned back to look at Emma. “Yes. I’m sorry.” 

Emma opened a smile. “It’s alright.”

It’s alright. Venable smiled a little. It was alright. “Should we get going?”

“Sure.” With her hand still on the small of Wilhemina’s back, Emma guided them outside. Venable’s body had gone rigid; having people touching her back for long periods of time was something that made her feel absolutely uncomfortable, even if it was the small of it. A welcoming touch from some people was alright, but not like Emma was doing. Besides, no one was allowed to come even near to the upper part of it, and Emma could easily slip her hand up at any moment. When the breeze hit their face outside, Venable took a step to the side and away from Emma’s grip; she seemed to get the hint, for she dropped her hand. A relieved sigh left Wilhemina’s lips. She took a deep breath. It was a little bit warmer today. “The ice cream is near the park,” Emma commented. “It’s quieter there, too.”

“Good.” Venable’s head didn’t deal very well with the loud sounds of the streets, and they were right on hush hour. People walked by and past them in quick and rushed steps, cars honked and people screamed at each other. I hope no one bumps on my cane. She had been used to walking on busy places, but the fear was always there. People were inconsiderate to others. They liked to either stare or pay no attention. Both were bad. Wilhemina’s palm began to sweat against the cane. 

“It’s beautiful here when it’s not so busy.” Emma guided them through the crowd. 

“I can imagine.” Wilhemina liked the city landscape. She had never been one with the nature. “It’s a beautiful place, just too crowded.”

“Exactly.” Emma guided them to a more secluded street, and the noise began to die down. Wilhemina could hear their heels clacking on the pavement now, along with her cane and the sound of her own breathing. Emma knew her way around here. “The park is to the left.” Venable nodded. “We can sit by the Sun, warm up a little.”

“Ice cream under the Sun. Sounds like Summer,” Venable commented mindlessly. 

“It does,” Emma chuckled. “Do you like the Summer?”

“Not really… too hot, too uncomfortable.” Besides, Wilhemina was forced to show more of her body, and that was always unpleasant. 

“You have a point.” 

They turned to the left, and the park was right there in its not-so-bright notes of green. It was mostly empty, which was, needless to be said, amazing. “I had never been here.”

“It’s not a very known spot.” Even though Emma was correct, that wasn’t the reason of why Wilhemina hadn’t met it before. She simply didn’t see the fun of going to a park alone. Wilhemina hummed in agreement just because, and Emma guided them to one of the benches under the sunlight. Carefully, Venable sat down. Emma did the same, taking a deep breath as her eyes squinted due to the brightness. “This is good,” she hummed. Wilhemina nodded. She wanted to close her eyes and feel the Sun, but she didn’t feel comfortable to just let loose in a public space. The warmth slid through her body and warmed her insides, cold hands growing hot. It felt so good to just sit under the sunlight, but still Venable barely ever did it. Carefully letting her cane go, Wilhemina turned her palms up to the Sun and rested her hands on her lap, legs crossed. The sound of the wind fumbling the trees nearly caused the city noises to go away, leaving them in the distance. Brown eyes looked over to the small pond, watching as the ducks swam and bathed in the sunlight as well. It was funny, how mostly every creature adored the Sun. Purpura is probably laying on my bed, now. Because of the window, Wilhemina’s bed was at the correct spot to be warmed up. Venable’s mind wandered to Purpura and to how she was probably enjoying the warmth, with her legs and paws well sprawled. Adorable. Her thoughts, however, were cut when a—considerably warmer—hand rested on one of hers. The fingers tangled themselves with Wilhemina’s, and she looked down to see Emma holding her hand. She gulped. Chocolate turned caramel eyes slowly lifted up to Emma’s, and Emma offered her a sweet smile. “Is that okay?” Is that? Venable’s hand was still stiff in place, fingers not tangling back but also not pushing Emma’s away. I had never realized her nails were painted red. Wilhemina’s mind was suddenly all over the place. And although weird, the act wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. After a second, she nodded at the question. Emma’s thumb now caressed her hand slowly, and she had leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes. Venable’s heart pounded in her chest. With uncertain movements, she wrapped her fingers back with Emma’s and looked down at their hands again. Weird. But she had to admit it was nice. It felt nice. And so Wilhemina’s cheeks turned crimson from either the Sun or her feelings—she couldn’t really tell. And she didn’t really want to know. I’m holding hands in the park. A woman in her forties was having an experience that was so banal, but still so foreign. Biting her lower lip, Venable’s lips curled up into a small smile. The silence between them was pleasant, and it lasted for a few more minutes before Emma sat up a little better, hand still tangled in Wilhemina’s, and looked at her. “Ice cream?”

“Yes.” Wilhemina let Emma’s hand go so she could safely get up, and as soon as she did so, Emma already grabbed it back. It was unexpected to Venable, and it caused her chest to flutter slightly. She really does want me around. What a foreign feeling. Hand in hand, they walked to the ice cream kiosk Emma had talked about and, once they had gotten their food and Wilhemina had successfully paid, they got back to the bench. Carefully, Venable took a first spoonful of the creme scoop she had ordered. It contrasted nicely with the warmth of her body. “Really good…”

Emma nodded and took a spoonful as well. “Do you want to try mine? It’s chocolate.” Even though Venable was curious about the flavor, she just didn’t feel comfortable sharing food with Emma like that. She shook her head. 

“Thank you.” Wilhemina took another spoonful, eyes on the pond again. From the corner of her eye, Emma watched her. 

“Do you like ducks?”

“Huh?” Venable turned back at her. 

“Do you like ducks?” Emma repeated. 

She has weird questions, sometimes. Even though Venable knew it was probably to make up for her own quiet ways, some of the questions were still odd. “They can be cute.”

“We can feed them sometime, if you want to.” Emma took another spoonful.

“Okay,” Venable nodded. After another second of silence, Emma let out a chuckle. Wilhemina looked at her again. “What?”

“I wonder what goes inside your mind,” Emma said softly. “You get quiet, seem to be constantly thinking.”

And constantly thinking Wilhemina was. She absolutely despised it. If only she knew. It was too soon. “I’m just a quiet person, that’s all.”

“Have you always been like that?” Emma’s tone was soft and genuine, but Wilhemina wasn’t sure she appreciated the question. She doesn’t mean bad. Her walls were starting to show up again. 

“Yes.” 

Emma hummed as she ate a little more. “I was such a talkative child. Classic social butterfly.” Venable could definitely see Emma like that. In a way, she envied how absolutely well-adjusted the woman was. When Wilhemina was a child, she couldn’t be like that. It’s not her fault my parents left me to die. Venable’s head was getting into a place she didn’t enjoy, but often went to. She gulped and sat up a little better, chin high and posture perfect. 

“Where did you study?” Not that Wilhemina really wanted to know, but that was a way of getting the conversation away from herself. 

“Canyon Elementary and Westlake High in my teenage years.” Emma smiled brightly. “Gosh, those were the best years. I was a cheerleader.” The information nearly caused Venable to twist her face in pain. Cheerleaders were definitely not a good memory. It suits her body though, even if it’s been years. Granted, Emma seemed younger than Wilhemina. “Oh, I miss it so much. I have so many memories and stories from high school.” Venable hummed and quietly ate her ice cream. People who enjoyed high school actually existed? Two sides of the same coin. Wilhemina did nothing but work, study, and get bullied. “I still talk to my friends from there.”

“That’s nice.” Or at least, the concept was. 

Emma nodded enthusiastically. She finished her ice cream and checked the hour on her phone. “Shit, we should get going. You’ll have to tell me about your school years on Saturday.” Playfully, she winked. Wilhemina would have chuckled hadn’t she been in such a dark path in memory land. 

“Maybe.” Venable finished her ice cream as well. We would have never even talked if we went to the same school. She got up and reached for Emma’s empty container. “I’ll put those in the trash and be right back.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Emma sat back on the bench with a smile. 

Venable allowed the corners of her lips to turn up before she walked to the trashcan. The wind was nice against her hair, and it helped her heart to calm down. It wasn’t Emma’s fault she was well adjusted, and she hadn’t demonstrated an ounce of rudeness to Wilhemina so far—it was quite the opposite. It’s not fair I blame my life on her. It wasn’t only not fair, as it was also absolutely stupid. Her therapist had said she used that as a coping mechanism to push whatever nice things came her way away. She had to learn to stop doing that. Once she put the containers in the trash, Venable took a deep breath and walked back to Emma. “Ready?” Her tone was considerably softer now. 

“Yes.” Emma got up and instantly reached for her hand again. Wilhemina wasn’t expecting it, but she forced herself to allow it. And so, they made their way back to the office. Hand in hand, in public, in a situation Venable had never been before.

[astridkai]

I Can't Get Her Back this Time

So I worte a little short story for some OCs I have, it apparently put some of my friends into emotional distress so I figured I would share :)

Context: The narrator is Micah who has been fighting through a settlement made by a cult who kidnapped their little sister, Rory.

this is my first time writing something like this-

CW: Death, blood, stab wound, sacrifice, literal cult, a child dies

~*~

“I’ll pity you soon” the monster I was looking down at spoke. His voice was hoarse, I couldn’t expect much else given the fate I had just sentenced him too. 

“Pity me?” A small chuckle escaped the back of my throat. It’s funny to think this bastard could pity me in any way. I made it this far. I’ve destroyed the entire following that he’d gained, destroyed his hope of a future for this place, destroyed him. His blood still painted my skin and stained my tattered clothes. He’s the one that lay lifeless, how could I possibly be the one deserving pity.

“That girl,” he choked on a bit of blood, “what was her name?” 

My eyes filled with horror, toying with a thought I begged my mind to ignore “Rory?” 

All he did was smile. A kind smile. I just killed him and he shows me kindness. “I am so sorry” his words were accompanied by a small laugh, a pitiful one. 

“What did you do?” he gave me no answer, and his eyes began to seal shut, “What the fuck did you do?!” my voice was louder this time, but it still resulted in nothing. His body was lifeless now. I rushed over to the door I had entered through just a moment ago. I frantically searched the court yard, the bushes made it hard to see what exactly could be lurking in front of me. But I managed to see a small glow.

It was the flicker from a candle, a candle like I’ve seen at every other bloodstained table that littered the buildings of this settlement. I tried to make it to the bushes ahead without getting caught. This didn’t go as planned, I felt arms snake around mine and nails dig into my flesh. My immediate reaction was to thrash around, but I was too stunned by the sudden capture to fight properly. 

I was dragged across the ground and the cultist bastards that had grabbed me made me face a table. It, like all the others, was stained with the blood of the poor souls that met their end in this court yard. I could feel my stomach shift and my heart felt like it had finally had it’s last beat. I was sure that this would be the last thing I’d see before I die. A miserable end for an insufferable person, this was what I deserved. And if it all ends like this, as long as Rory gets home…I’ll be okay with it. There’s nothing back home for me, not anymore. 

But I was never pulled closer to the table. She was. 

The small girl that I was so used to seeing beam, be so happy you couldn’t help but smile, looked lifeless. She was drained, scared, her eyes were red and her face looked soaked. Whatever they did to her I will surely kill them for. I tried to pull myself from the grip that the cultist had on me, I crashed to the ground as they kicked my knees in. 

“Stop! Stop don’t hurt her!” I cried, desperately trying to get the attention of the group surrounding my sister. Maybe if I make enough of a fuss they’ll kill me instead. The sting in my arms worsened as the hold one of the cultists had on me tightened. “Don’t touch her! Don’t fucking touch her!” there was a hard thud that came from something connecting with my skull. It hurt, but I was still too focused on screaming at the bastards. Until another hit finally shrowded the court yard in darkness.

~*~

It was empty now. It was empty and the sun was barely starting to show itself. “Micah...” I heard Rory attempt to gasp out my name.

“I’m here, I’m right here Rory, it’s okay” I scrambled to get up, my head was throbbing but that was the least of my worries. I looked at the table she was on, it was more a bench now that I’m next to it. It was carved of stone and low enough to the ground I could lean down and still loom over it. 

I was horrified at what was in front of me. Rory looked like she was sobbing just moments ago, her eyes were puffy, her face was damp. But she’d stopped. There was blood soaking her shirt, so much of it. You couldn’t even tell what the color was anymore. The source was a knife. An intricately carved knife that was so white it seemed to glow in the early rays of sun that began to peak overhead. It had been dug into her lungs. 

Rory gasped again, trying to speak. “No, no” I whimpered, speaking more to myself than her. “Don’t talk sweetie, you…you’ll hurt yourself” I tried hard to keep my voice steady, but my throat started to sting. 

“It’s…okay” she meakly got the words out. A trickle of blood rolled out of her mouth and down her cheek, she must’ve been coughing it up. 

“Yeah,” I desperatly clung onto what she said. I should be the one comforting her, not the other way around, “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay and- and I’ll get you out of here, and you can see…see Mada again and- and then we’ll go do whatever you want! We’ll go to that place with the ice cream you like I’ll- I’ll get you a-” 

“It’s okay” maybe she was saying the words to herself now. 

“Yes, yes it’s okay. You’ll be okay, I promise you I will make sure you’re oka-” 

“I’ll see you again some day” her words sent me into shock. It felt like the world stopped, the world had stopped spinning, no birds made noise, everything was still. 

“What do mean Rory?” I couldn’t choke back tears anymore, my voice wavered and my eyes couldn’t keep back the river that threatened to pour from them. 

“When this..is over” she started coughing, a little bit of blood leaving her mouth again. 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll keep you safe and when this is over we can go home-” 

“You can go home” she looked at me in a way that no child should look. She was sad, but she wasn’t scared anymore. She knew what was happening, and she was fine with it.

“Rory, please-” 

“I’ll see you when it’s over,” she gasped for air again “and you can go home and get better” did she know? Was I that bad at hiding my problems that a 6 year old was able to see how sick I was? 

“I’ll get better, I promise” there’s no point arguing with her now. She knows what will happen, and truly so do I. I put my arm around her shoulders, careful not to bump the knife still lodged through her ribs. 

“I’ll be okay now…” her eyes looked heavy, like she couldn’t keep them open anymore. 

“You can go now, it��s okay. I’ll…I’ll be okay” Tears were rolling down my face and my voice was hoarse. Rory smiled very weakly, and her eyes shut. And the gasping stopped. And her arms slumped against the stone. And all I could do was scream. A gutteral scream, my own voice rung through my ears and I could feel my throat try to bleed. 

It was over now. She’s gone…and I can’t get her back this time.

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

[blackenedwhite97]

Coming Out [Poly! Erasermic x {Fem}Reader]

Hello! this was a requested fic from like before Christmas. I'M A MESS I KNOW I'M SORRY! I’ll be catching up at some point, I'm in my final sem at uni and have MAJOR senioritis. Me no do unless me have to. Instead, now I just spend my time staring at the existential abyss the threatens to swallow my ceiling and think about everything I'm procrastinating. But I digress...

Content Warning: This story is of a negative experience coming out as poly to your family, this deals with rejection from the reader's mother, father, and a grandparent. This story demonstrates Homophobia, xenophobia, traditionalist and conservative values and attitudes and may be triggering to some folks.

This story includes a Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Word Count: 3.7 K (A baby story)

Y/N --- 4:06pm

Hey can my roomates come to dinner?

DAD --- 4:06

You mean the gays?

Y/M --- 4:08

Please don’t call them that. Neither of them are gay anyways, there’s more than just gay or straight.

DAD --- 4:10

Yeah whatever. Let your mom decide.

MOM --- 5:12

Sure, they can come.

Mom --- 5:23

Gma might be coming dinner tho. Maybe talk to them?

That conversation should have been enough of a warning for how the evening was going to transpire. At news of your grandmother attending dinner, you panicked and tried to back out of your plans. You had been growing steadily farther apart from your parents anyways, barely seeing them more that once a year if that. It’s not like they didn’t have their suspicions anyways, to them you were a single woman living in the big city sharing an apartment with two gay men. Not that they’d ever been to the apartment. If they had they might have notice that one of the two “bedrooms” was being used as an office. Earlier on in the relationship you were so deeply uncomfortable being around your parents alone, that you had Shouta come with you every visit because you were so paranoid you were just going to come out on the spot.

At first your parents were sure that you and Shouta were together. He had subconsciously cleaned up quite nice the first few times he met your parents anyways, wanting to make a good impression on them if you finally did tell them about your polyamorous relationship. Then as time went on you got busier and started to see them less. Shouta’s parents lived in the suburbs and you saw them on holidays, plus Shouta had come out to them as being bisexual a long time ago and hadn’t felt much pressure to hide the polyamorous nature of your relationship to begin with. Hizashi’s mom was still a city dweller in her 60’s and on top of doing the cute mom things like baking fantastic cookies and handing down family jewelry to the daughter in law, she’d also taken Hizashi and Shouta to their first pride in Tokyo and had an in-home recording studio where she recorded for local punk bands. She was, quite literally, a cool mom.

You gnawed vigorously at your thumbnail, not quiet biting the whole way through, instead riddling it with dents and cracks. Chewing your nails wasn’t a habit you’d always had, it became a sort of silent worry thing you started to do when you got to your agency and had to remain still and quiet during briefings, no matter how terrible the news was. Your ruined nail beds were an atrocity to Hizashi, who had paid several times for you to get a manicure to get your nails short and evenly trimmed so you could manage them on your own. You still somehow found a way to gnaw on the short squared off nubs of your nails though, and it drove him nuts. Shouta cared less, his hands were in ridiculous shape, he was callused and bruised, cracked and flaking all over the place and Hizashi would regularly force moisturizer on them. Shouta cared more about figure out the root stress, it’s not that Hizashi didn’t, he just didn’t know how to, so he settled for pampering you.

“It’s dead.” Hizashi huffed from the bedroom door. “Obliterated, actually.”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, you hadn’t been reading any of the messages in the chat for a good few minutes and just let your eyes unfocus instead. You yanked your thumb from your mouth and hid it below the table like a child caught with a sweet they’d snuck from the kitchen before dinner, you knew he saw.

“Your nail.” Hizashi gently patted the end of his hair with his special fluffy towel that he’d convinced you and Shouta he needed to control his frizz (which he didn’t have) and padded towards the kitchen table where you sat. He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he strode around you.

“What’s up, love?” he murmured softly, leaning against the table next you. One of his legs propped up on the chair to your right and leaned down to look at your phone screen.

“This is going to go horribly.” You breathed, panicked as you set your phone down on the table.

“You don’t know that.” Hizashi looked back up at you and smiled sweetly.

“Not everyone’s mom is a cool rocker lady in her 60’s who lives in the heart of downtown still and is fully supportive of her child’s bisexual polyamorous relationship with their childhood best friend and an ex-small-town girl with an ultra-conservative family.” You huffed out in one long breath.

“That was oddly specific.” He chuckled softly. “What about Sho’s parents, they’re conservative?”

“Yeah, but his parents are at least polite and send us both Christmas gifts every year and keep any and all of their shittier opinions to themselves because they want their son to be happy.” You groaned dramatically, dropping your head onto his thigh, using the extra meat to muffle the noise.

“Y-your-” Hizashi’s leg twitched from the vibrations of your groan. “Your parents want you to be happy too, Y/n.”

You groaned into his thigh, trying to explain the difference between your parent’s and Shouta’s. Hizashi laughed and gently grabbed the side of your face, lifting it so you were no longer muffled by his leg.

“Try again.” He instructed.

“They only want me to be happy if it fits into their rigid frame of what acceptable happiness looks like.” You explained again.

“Hey,” Hizashi ran his thumb back and forth across your cheek, “have faith, baby. They’re your family, they love you.”

If only he’d been right.

Shouta was the know it all, the one that way always right. Hizashi on the other hand was quiet used to being the one that was not always right, he had no hubris about his intelligence what-so-ever. So much so that sometimes you and Shouta had to remind him that he was intelligent and offered a lot of knowledge and wisdom in many many ways: public speaking, social relationships, radio scripting, he spoke two languages fluently as well. However, this one-time Hizashi wished dearly that he had been right, that he was an insufferable know it all who never got it wrong. It was a different twisted feeling in his gut, sitting the back seat watching you try to keep it together in the front seat, than the usual mild embarrassment that faded after a couple of minutes when he was wrong about something. That was damn near luxurious compared to the painful knot tearing into his stomach.

The silence in the car was so dense and absolute that it almost physically gagged Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them were too afraid to say anything and break it. It felt as though the heavy silence was keeping you from breaking, as if it were applying enough pressure at all sides to keep the thin veneer of composure you were managing together. You felt it too, along with the heavy weight that was nearly crushing your chest, the thick doughy lump clogging your throat and the tremble in your lips. You took a deep breath, it getting caught halfway and freezing in to an unrealized sob that you pushed down.

Shouta huffed and pulled off to the side of the dark country road, slowing into the gravelly shoulder. He turned in his seat to face you, undoing his seat belt so he could fully turn his body. You kept your eyes out the window, trying with all your might not to let the tears that clouded your eyes to fall. You knew you’d need to cry about this, about your parents and their conditional love. You knew that this was something you would need to deal with, but you didn’t want to at this moment. You wanted to go home, take some sleeping medication and go to sleep, you wanted to wait until the open wound in your chest had stopped bleeding to begin treating it.

Your father was being facetious about your living arrangement as usual, whenever he was faced with Shouta and Hizashi his first reaction was to constantly point out that fact that you were a woman living with two men and that if they weren’t gay that one of them should have married you by now. Shouta and Hizashi had taken these comments like water rolling off of a duck’s back, Hizashi even grinned and mumbled something about your father tempting him. You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have kept your cool but Shouta’s hand was brushing against your thigh and you felt it tense into an annoyed fist. Something about Shouta’s minimal reaction lit a fire in you, more like an explosion. It was a surge of very sudden and very ferocious courage that lasted a split second and no longer. You’d practically shouted it, the ringing in your ears drowning whatever words you’d used out.

You were met with complete and utter silence, shock and fear thick in the air. You’d almost believed for a moment that you hadn’t done it, that you’d just shouted randomly and just scared everyone. But then your dad stood up, his shocked open mouth flattening out into a hard straight line, this jaw swelling as he clenched it.

“W-what?” he growled, stepping back from the table as if you were a threat.

You were ready to backtrack, you were so ready to just laugh and pretend you were fucking with him. But you spared a glance to Shouta and Hizashi, their faces pale and guilty. They, regardless of what you could say in an attempt to cover up what you’d just said, were basically admitting to it already. You instinctively shrunk back into your chair like you’d do when you were younger at the dinner table whenever something uncomfortable would come up. You could tell everyone was at a loss for words, the difference was that you were scared and at a loss for words, Shouta and Hizashi were shocked and at a loss for words and your father was steaming angry and at a loss for words.

Your mother, who had always been the least confrontational of the two turned away from you and almost in a show of disgust immediately went to comfort your grandmother. It was as if you were an afront to goodness, an act of moral atrocity being committed in front of them. Your father began to barrage you with passive aggressive questions and accusations towards Shouta and Hizashi. He was trying to understand while at the same time refusing to give you a chance to explain. You stopped listening after the first few sentences that came out of his mouth, falling back into an internal monologue filled with regret. He must have said something exceptionally terrible because in an instant Shouta was standing, his arm reaching out to separate you from him and he was shouting. Shouta never shouted, he barely voiced any form of annoyance or frustration in general when it wasn’t a learning moment for his students, but here he was on his feet volleying harsh word with your father.

Hizashi, you realized was attempting damage control, his hands raised and his voice lower than either of the other two men’s. You blinked back into the present, as noise filled your ears, you mother was crying, your father and Shouta were shouting and Hizashi was rambling panicked. You took a couple of deep breaths and stood up on shaky legs, gripping Shouta’s protective arm for support, and looked your father in the eyes. He faltered at the direct eye contact and you saw an opening where there was less shouting to contend with.

“Stop,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “this is why I never wanted to tell you! Why I was perfectly okay with living away from you guys for the rest- This is why I haven’t been home.”

Your mother gasped a ragged, tear-filled breath. She’d expressed before that she’d wished she could see you more often, that she’s noticed you’d been coming home less and less. You’d been good at covering it up, saying you were busy with work and simply couldn’t get the time off. You knew that what you’d just said hurt her, not in the way it should have. It hurt her because you’d just told them it was their fault that you felt unwelcomed here and not because you were afraid of your own parents.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Three years.” You sniffed, hand tightening around Shouta’s wrist.

“THREE?! THR-” your father bellowed in disbelief. “For three years they’ve been brainwashing and forcing themselves on you?!”

Suddenly you understood why Shouta had leapt up, you had just now caught up with the conversation. Red hot anger flared up in your chest, the mere insinuation that you were being forced in anyway to be with your partners filled you with utter rage.

“No!” You growled, for the first time in your life matching your father’s volume. “For three years they’ve been by my side, showing up at the hospital when I got hurt at work, celebrating my promotions at the agency, helping me make a home that I feel safe in and actually fucking caring about me!”

There was silence again, this one was thin but not light in anyway, like it was a delicate thread barely holding a great weight from falling and crushing you.

“We care for you.” You mother said darkly.

“No,” you swallowed hard, “you haven’t for a long time.”

“Get out.” You father growled.

Hizashi was already moving, grabbing your coats from the back of the chairs and pulling Shouta by the arm away from the table. It took you a good long second to move, even then it was because Shouta latched onto your shoulders and Hizashi tugged him along.

“I’m sorry.” Shouta whispered, his hand finding yours in your lap. You kept your eyes focused out the window at the pitch-black fields with barely visible for off golden dots of light. You couldn’t talk.

You heard Hizashi shuffling around in the back seat, scooting closer to you and his hand joined Shouta’s, pulling up onto the storage compartment between the seats. It was cracking, that veneer.

“It’s not your fault.” Hizashi murmured.

You sniffed hard, biting int you bottom lip. Of course, it wasn’t your fault that your parents didn’t accept you, that you weren’t good enough or right for them, that you weren’t on par with the apparent morality of the rest of the family. It wasn’t your fault that they were backwards people with terrible ideas of how a person should be. It still didn’t hurt any less that you couldn’t meet those backwards ideals, that you couldn’t be the right kind of person for them.

“Y/n,” Shouta whispered, gently grabbing your chin and turning your face towards them.

They were looking at you the way a mother looks at her crying baby in the first few months, the desperate need to connect and nurture glowing in their eyes. They were filled with worry, with pity, with understanding but also, with fear. No doubt, what had just happened had been traumatic for them too. Looking into their emotion filled eyes you felt that veneer shatter, falling away and unleashing that mournful sobbing that had been trapped inside.

Shouta pulled you towards him, holding you firmly to his chest placing his head atop yours. You vaguely felt Hizashi disappear from you for a moment, but you were too preoccupied with the trembling muscles seizing violently in your chest. Then you felt him sliding in behind you, only now realizing he’d stepped out of the car and slide in through your door as he shut it behind him. He draped himself over you rubbing circles into your back.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured into your hair over and over again.

At first you didn’t really focus on it, thinking it idle words of comfort but the more he said the more it sunk in. The more your realized that you were holding onto the hope that there was something about this, about you, that you could fix. With every repetition of those four words that false hope chipped away and that heavy weight in your chest began to fall away. It was still painful, it still felt like you had a pen festering wound that you’d never fully heal from, but it also felt lighter. It felt as though a burden you’d believed was yours to bear was suddenly the responsibility of the many.

“You don’t have to change,” Shouta whispered softly as your sobs ebbed into weak beaths, “they do.”

That reignited some tears, to hear what you needed to said so plainly. Shouta was good at that, putting those intangible thoughts and feelings into plain words. You cried until the tears and the worry and the late hour caught up with you, until your head felt heavy and waterlogged and you slumped backwards into Hizashi sniffing. You cried until your wavering breaths evened out and your tired mind fell to silence. Hizashi pulled you into his lap and cradled you against him like a parent holding and oversized child, running his hand slowly through your hair.

When you awoke you were swaddled thoroughly with the fuzzy blanket from the couch Shouta hated because it shed and sandwiched between the two men who snored away. As you blinked in the early morning light that just barely peaked through the blinds you noticed the red rims around Hizashi’s eyes and deep-set circles under Shouta’s as if they both been awake all night. Shouta was still in his dress shirt and Hizashi had stripped down to his boxers and pulled his hair back into a sloppy bun. Neither were properly snoring which told they hadn’t been asleep for very long.

You tried to ignore what had happened last night, what had led to the heavy feeling in your head and crusty dry eyes and tight cheeks. You tried to pretend that they had stayed up for work, that they you had swaddled yourself up in the blanket nor because you were sad but because you just wanted to be cozy. Then you heard a phone vibrate on the nightstand and any and all work towards denial washed away as you dreaded checking it. It could just be a work thing, it could be Hizashi’s phone even though he’d never had it on silent even once since you’ve known him. It could have been Shouta’s vibrating against the wooden table even though you could see his slightly peeking out of his back pocket.

You sighed and sat up, daring the smallest of glances at the nightstand. It was your phone screen that was lit up, several notifications on the screen. You groaned and laid back down, scrunching your eyes shut begging for sleep to suddenly and miraculously take you. It buzzed again and you huffed. Fine. You’ll check it. I guess someone could be dying. I do stop that from happening for a living.

You very cautiously crawled over Hizashi and reached to get your phone, electing not to look at it until you settled back between your boys. You scrolled though your notifications, weather, news, a work email, a second email from a contact that made your blood run cold and three missed calls and two answering machine messages from the same contact. Grandma. Your hands trembled at you unlocked your phone and typed int your voicemail password. You held the phone up to you ear and listen to the first message which was more or less just some frustrated grandma noises and mumbles about the inconvenience of technology, followed briefly by a set of hellos. If you hadn’t been ready to shit yourself, you’d have laughed. Then the second played and you had to take a deep breath to hold yourself together enough to keep listening.

“Hello? Hello? Y/n? Oh shi- well this is just ridiculous. Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me, or maybe this is your answering machine, I don’t know I can’t hear too well but-” her soft worn voice said into the phone, “I want you to know that I love you. Your parents love you too, even if they did not act like it tonight.”

She paused and your eyes welled up with tears, a lump forming in your throat. It was this strange feeling of pure sadness but also happiness and relief.

“Those boys,” she continued, “probably would have killed your father last night if they had the chance. I’m not saying I get it, but they sure do love you, sweetheart. I quite like the blond one he is very-”

The message cut off and the automated voice asked you what you wanted to do with the message. All you could do was laugh, laugh and cry. You were still sad, still in pain, but it was already starting to feel less life-ending.

“Hey,” Shouta mumbled blearily, “S’okay. I’m here.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, trying to pull himself from sleep. You hugged him back and massaged the back of his scalp gently.

“Listen to this.” You sniffed.

He nodded and you pressed repeat, listening to the whole second message through again. You watched as a smile spread across his sleepy lips and he laughed softly. He pouted suddenly when it ended, his eyebrows pulling together as much as his drowsy state would let them.

“What?” you asked, worried he’d heard something you‘d missed.

“Why does she like Zash more?” he grumbled, barely awake now.

You smiled and curled into him, electing not to answer knowing that he wouldn’t like being told that Hizashi is more sociable than him. Besides, you smiled to yourself, he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds.

You were still hurt; you still had that big open wound in your chest. But with Shouta and Hizashi at your side you knew you’d heal; you knew they’d give you anything you needed. You knew that your grandmother was right, that these two boys loved you very much.

[sly-merlin]

You look hot in maroon

Characters : ceo! yuta + head designer fiancé reader

Words:1.6k

Genre: fluff, romance, smut

Smut warnings: office sex, teasing(lots of), dom!yuta, dom!reader(tongue kiss dominancy), unprotected sex(no need to be so pro irl).

Music :alone with you- ashlee (it’s h o t like in H O T)

A/n : happy birthday Amira darling. Here’s spicy yuta for you. (how does it feel to be of the same age as jaehyun and having more brain cells the fraty would ever have!) @aiyu-ssn

Beta read by @ncteaxhoe agr tum na hote toh kyaa hota humara inni!!

If living with yuta was an arduous task then working with him was undoubtedly insufferable. The man knew no manners and just loved crossing all the boundaries of an employee-employer relationship.

Just like right now. Moving away from the presentation, you modelled towards the center table where all the board directors sat. When yuta had promised you that he’d help you in your first presentation, you had assumed he was going to make sure nobody went hard on you or maybe politely correct your mistakes saving you from embarrassment but never once in his talk had you heard the mention of a foot.

The naked foot that he was brushing against your ankle whenever you travelled back to the table for adding a new edit another director suggested. If their interruptions were not annoying enough, yuta had joined them too, he just forgot he wasn’t at home.

You were concentrating on your backlit keyboard when you felt it again.your breath hitched and you inhaled sharply as yuta’s naked feet fondled with the straps of your heels, the mischievous act covered by the large table. Your eyes floated over the management team to examine their judging stares but it looked like the air around them didn't let them smell past their envy for your new promotion. Glancing away from them, you tried to step away from yuta but before you could do so, the digits of his foot teasingly journeyed up your loose pants, gently caressing against the side of your calf. Furiously clicking your finger on the laptop, you somehow managed to free yourself from him but just when you turned, something tugged on your pants making you freeze on the spot.

“Let’s hurry up ms.l/n. We need to start on the second presentation as well.”

Your shoulders tensed up immediately as you caught yuta’s professional gaze through your peripheral vision.

“Yes ms. Y/n. We have to decide the new interior as well.” he said plainly but you grasped the smirk humming in those words. Rolling your eyes, you dropped the monitor controller onto the floor, the resounding noise securing you looks of disapproval but you couldn’t care any less about them.

Muttering an apology, you crouched down and instead of picking up the controller, you pleadingly joined your hands, knowing yuta was the only one in your view, hoping for some mercy from him. a cough was heard and he retracted his feet and rolled his chair under the table..

“let's finish this. I’m feeling hungry”

Shaking your head, you composed yourself before explaining the remaining presentation.

“What the fuck were you doing there yuta?” slamming the office door shut, you whisper screamed.

With an intoxicate smile, he met you halfway and wrapping his arms around your waist, he dipped you, stealing a kiss.

“you look so hot in maroon, baby. You did great today.”

Pushing him away, crossing your arms, you sternly asked him,

“bitch you almost sabotaged my first presentation. Everyone must be questioning your decision of promoting me! They already thought you were favouring me because I’m yo-

“because you are the love of my life? Let them be. Had they worked any harder, they would have been standing in your position but alas!”

picking on your lower lip, you averted your eyes, hiding the effect his words always had on you.

“what was the need to annoy me though? why do you have to be so reckless all the time?”

“You were so tense baby! I was just trying to ease your nerves.” gasping, he continued, “and look at your ungrateful ass! Why do you always treat me like I mean nothing to you.”

“tsk tsk. So sad yuta! I’m ungrateful? Fine bitch.” Winking and blowing him a kiss, you backed him, dismissing his hand reaching out for you. “take your words back if you want to enter the bedroom tonight or you can say goodbye to your dinner!"

"Fine." He said, matching your backwards steps with his further ones. "But can i have my lunch at least?"

You were familiar with that particular sparkle in his eyes. Roguish one.

One stride back and he had you detained against the door. His fingers played with your jaw, his other hand fumbled with the door locks and his lust filled eyes wandered over your whole face, locking your stare. Just when his both hands found the curves of your waist and he leaped in, your palm met his lips in a soft smack.

“ouch! Is your lunch yummy boss?” you giggled. In an instant, he pinned your arm against your waist, hovering right above his zipper.

“stop playing baby. We don’t have too much time to spare.”

Finally diving in, he bit your upper lip earning a satisfactory whine from you. his grip on your hand loosened when he lost himself in your wine coloured lips, leaving you with the hard decision of finding a new home to position them. as much as you wanted to palm his hardening dick, your fingers mechanically gripped the back of his hair in a tightening hold.

Lips dancing harmoniously, you both forgot about the world that resided just outside the door. Your tongue praised the edge of his moisturised lip just the way he loved it and the sinful smile that you felt reassured you of your ministrations. He let you slide your tongue in and his body squirmed with yours when he tried to trap you impossibly closer in his arms. The fact that he was a sucker for your domineering kisses needed no evidence. The deep groans that met your ear were inebriating as he readily reduced himself to a plaything for your lips. a mean chuckle boomed and you pushed your tongue into his mouth leaving no space for breathing.

Your chest shamelessly heaved up and down as you slowly pulled your tongue out while ravishing all of him, finally stopping at his lips and giving his fuller lips an open mouth kiss, apologising for ignoring them earlier. Plucking away, you both inhaled each other for a few more seconds before he susurrated,

“fuck y/n. nobody can kiss like you”

His complement flattened you. Attaching your lips to his, you pushed him slightly and taking the hint without much telling, he let you shove him back towards his desk. And that's when you knew you had to stop.

He removed your blazer and worked on your shirt, you unzipped his crisp white pants. Soon, your nails were drawing meaningful circles on his naked torso as he stared at your lingerie with a hungry gaze. Hurriedly placing his laptop aside, the only device resting on his table, he had lain you on the wide desk. He placed your one heeled foot on the wheeling chair and wrapped the other around his clothed waist for your comfort.

"Don't want me to ride the shit out of you pretty boy?" Teasingly, you queried as your hand touched just the waistband of his underwear.

"That's for dinner darling." With that, his plump lips latched themselves into your sensitive neck. Your moans got louder as you felt the wetness of his mouthed kisses around your collarbones. Eager for some release, you jerked yourself forward in hope of finding some touch but the only thing you got was a cruel chortle.

"Just a minute baby."

And the very next second, his dick was aligned to your opened entrance. Perhaps he had realised the demand of the situation you were both in. Or he was just dying to relish. As he thrusted in, the chair rolled a bit to the left stretching your thighs more than you would have liked but yuta's hold kept you in place. He slowly pulled out once only to toss himself in again. His leisurely pace was painful and you cried out for him to go faster. Leaning in, he groaned in your ear before sucking harshly at the ample of your breast. The lacy bra did nothing but drove him crazy for your raw side.

"Touch yourself"

And you did. Your fingers were fondling with your clothed breasts when the view provoked him into finishing faster than he had intended. He fluidly entered, penetrating your hole at a pace you would never get used to and your body shivered under him as sighs of content and help escaped your throat.

"No one's prettier than my baby."

His own groans, mingled with your desperate ones, permeated the room with sounds of love and lust. After a few more deep and violent pushes, he filled you up with his cum but that didn't stop him for the unselfish lover he was, he moved his sensitive dick into you once again making you scream his name in pleasure.

"Fuck yuta!" Your back arched and your thighs shook under the weight of his delicate fingertips and hammering cock, and soon you laid undone under him, spilling your juices onto the edges of his Mahogany desk. Eyes closed, you let your hands finally rest on your stomach, legs waiting to be put down, heart beating like it was your first encounter with your lover. Maybe it was just yuta. You were always attached to each other yet always had so much to share.

"Am i forgiven madam?" He breathed near your ear.

"You are a bitch yuta." You jested.

"Only for you."

"Liar."

"That too only for you baby!"

And you both forgot about the army of directors that stood outside for approvals,left there with unsigned papers and something unwarranted in their pants.

[bruhlsbees]

paradox burning ; 2/5 || ernst schmidt x fem!reader

summary: when it seems you've lost earth, panic finally settles in

pairing: ernst schmidt x fem!reader

word count: 5,548

warnings: biting of skin around the fingers, mentions of mental health issues

a/n: finally settled into my apartment and have wifi! i will admit this one was a little hard to write so i apologize if this was a little hard to read. next chapter for sure will have more meat to it! thanks for all your comments, shares, and support! <3

Another test aboard the Cloverfield Space Station. The 47th test in just over two years is scheduled for 8:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. All eyes are on-

“This is Huntsville...we’ve got eyes and ears.”

Seated beside Acosta, you watched the newscast presented on the screen with Mark Stambler - the conspiracy theorist who was on yet another rave about this so-called ‘Cloverfield Paradox’. Acosta seemed to be just as irritated with what the guy was saying just as much as you were. You could only wonder how many people actually believed what this guy was saying.

“Right this minute, they are testing a particle accelerator up there, so we can learn how to make unlimited energy down here. But those who have accepted the Cloverfield Paradox is real...know how dangerous that is.”

Shaking your head, you brought your fingers to your mouth, chewing on the skin that was around your nails, leaning forward towards the screen. You didn’t know what was more nerve-wracking...what Stambler was going on about, or the team around you preparing for the next test.

As you sank your teeth into your skin, tearing it off before moving on to the next finger, you felt a sensation trickle down your spine, as if someone were watching you. Glancing to your right, you quickly pulled your fingers from your mouth at the sight of Acosta giving you ‘the look’. Blushing, you looked down and squeezed your hands together in your lap.

“Sorry...just a little anxious.” You whispered, your eyes falling back to the screen.

Placing a hand on your knee, Acosta gave your knee a comforting squeeze before pulling away, “It’s going to work this time. I know it will.”

Nodding your head, you smiled weakly at Acosta, finding a sense of ease with his own hope on the day. You did your best to focus on the newscast again, ignoring the stinging sensation from your fingers at the spots that you tore into too deep. The faint taste of iron in your mouth from the blood. You knew you’d have to clean up after the test, not wanting to go around with bloody fingers the rest of the day.

“This experiment could unleash chaos…the likes of which we’ve never seen. Monsters, demons, beasts of the sea-”

“To clarify, you believe their efforts to solve the energy crisis might unleash demons?”

Scoffing, you couldn’t help but laugh as it continued on, “This guy really thinks that we are going to break open some world-ending creation, doesn’t he?” Shaking your head, you leaned back in your chair, your hands gripping at the armrests on either side of you.

It was the Commander who finally had enough of what bullshit was spewing from the guy’s mouth - directing that you and Acosta turn it off. As you did, you heard over the intercom from Volkov that the gyro was calibrating, meaning that it was only minutes before the test finally began - but not before egging Schmidt’s temper on how his station was doing.

You smiled weakly at Schmidt who rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath as he continued on before your attention went to Mundy who approached you and Acosta, asking for him to grant them with his ‘holy stick’. When Acosta stood to lead into prayer, you sank to your knees on the ground, crossing yourself before clasping your hands together, you closed your eyes and bowed your head, waiting for Acosa to begin.

“Oh come on. Not now when we’re-”

Opening one eye, you looked to see Schmidt slightly amused, in shock that you were about to go into prayer before the test. You all had your own faiths, or lack thereof, and something you and Schmidt never seemed to see eye-to-eye with was that. He could treat it as a joke all he wanted, but this was possibly the only thing that gave you even an ounce of peace of mind.

“Schmidt.”

When the Commander scolded Schmidt, he fell silent, sitting in silence while Mundy, the Commander, Acosta, and yourself all gathered around for Acosta to lead you into prayer.

“The farther we travel from home, the clearer it becomes that there is power infinitely greater than us. Please show Your mercy and allow the Shepard to work this time. To provide the energy we need. To prevent our countries from going to war. Please, God, be on our side. Amen.”

Standing up, you smiled at Acosta before laughing as Mundy went in to fist-bump Acosta.

“That was righteous.”

It was finally time for the test to begin. As the accelerator began to power up, the team gathered around to their stations, you stood beside Acosta, watching as Schmidt made his way from his station towards the two of you.

“Back to work. Sunday school over with?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Schmidt’s comment, shaking your head as he smirked, winking your way before turning towards the middle of the room, to the main starter for the accelerator.

“He’s insufferable.” You mumbled, earning a laugh from Acosta before he nudged you, heading over towards Schmidt and Mundy. You followed in suit, standing beside Acosta as you watched Schmidt prepare to launch the accelerator.

As you steadied yourself for the test, you found yourself toying with your cross necklace, squeezing the pendant between your fingers as you listened to Schmidt count down before turning the key, igniting the accelerator. The ship around you began to shake as the accelerator kicked in, preparing to send out another test of electricity.

You didn’t have it in you to watch, closing your eyes, you began to mumble a prayer to yourself, hoping that this was it - that this would be the test that worked and that you’d all get to go home. Back to your families, back to a normal life, back to reality.

“Please…” You found yourself whispering, “Please let this work.”

The whirring sound of the machine almost drowned out Tam’s voice, but when she repeated herself, your eyes shot open. Did you hear her right? Was this test successful?

“What’s our output?” Commander Kiel asked.

“We have positive energy flow,” Schmidt began, “For the first time. Look at this! Look at this!”

Of course this was a time to celebrate. For the first time you managed to finally run a successful test. Turning towards Acosta, your smile grew from ear to ear before rushing into his arms, hugging him tightly as the two of you laughed, happy to hear that your prayers were finally answered and that they finally managed to figure out how to get a successful test.

“We are focused at 47 teravolts.”

“Oh man!”

The cheers and celebrations that went around were only expected - perhaps a little unprofessional with some of the language that came from Mundy, but nobody could be upset - after two years, finally you had something go right.

“Hamilton, get us in viewing mode.”

Watching as the screen changed from your current view of Earth to the accelerator lighting up. Your grin never faltered at the sight of the beautiful purple hue buzzing, indicating that everything was going smooth. All things were finally going to plan…

Until they weren’t.

You weren’t sure what happened, but the purple light soon became too much, practically blinding you until the power shut off completely, the accelerator overloading the system. Catching yourself as the ship violently rocked, the power shortly coming back, your eyebrows furrowed as the alarm began to ring, screaming at Schmidt as the warning for ‘system overload’ presented itself on the screen.

“Schmidt! Tell me something!”

“It says it hit 602-”

Before Schmidt could finish his sentence, the glass in the room shattered, sending everyone ducking to the ground. You groaned at the bits of glass digging into you and how abruptly you were thrown to the ground. Pulling yourself to your knees, you lifted your hands up, flipping them over to see that your palms were covered with glass, small trickles of blood freckling your skin.

Looking over towards the main window, you squinted at the sight of the harsh light beaming in, the electricity buzzing picking up again. You covered your hands over your ears, the sound becoming almost too much for you. What the hell was happening now?

Before you could even ask, you felt your body suddenly lift off the ground and into the air, hitting the ceiling along with everyone else - pinned in place before being dropped to the ground again. This time you rolled to your back, letting out a cough as you tried to collect your thoughts.

The test failed. You along with many others would probably have some sort of injury that you and Acosta would have to look over later. The test failed and you only had two more tests now before...well....

When you sat up, you let out a sigh before grabbing the table in front of you, pulling yourself up before sitting in the chair. Your hands at this point were burning from the glass and your head was so heavy it felt like it was going to topple off your shoulders and roll to the ground. But there was no time to recover just yet, because this was just the beginning.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

After attempting to kill the fire and figure out what exactly was failing with the ship, everyone came back together in the main control room. Glass was still everywhere and the awful smell of smoke still stung your nose. You currently sat in front of Mundy, looking over his hands and picking out the glass with tweezers, your own hands wrapped now from you and Acosta treating one another before the others returned.

The hiss that came from Mundy made you jump, although you continued to work on his hands, pulling out the final pieces of glass from his left hand before wrapping it up to match his right. You looked up and smiled at him, letting his hands go as he stood up to gather around with the others.

You knew that panicking wasn’t going to help anything, but the feeling in your stomach wasn’t going away and it was hard to not lash out when Volkov and Schmidt were at it again.

“For once, Volkov! Could you please just shut up?” You snapped, your back facing away from him as you rubbed at your temples.

“Enough! All of you!” You tensed at the sound of the Commander’s voice booming over the arguing that was going on. He didn’t have to say it for you to know, but you all sounded like a bunch of toddlers throwing tantrums.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you chewed on your bottom lip as you calmed down, or at least attempted to. You were doing fine until Hamilton spoke up.

“It isn’t here.” Hamilton explained, a worried expression washed over her face. The color was drained from her face, as if she saw a ghost.

Spinning in your seat, you watched as the Commander headed towards Hamilton, standing beside her as he looked down at the screen. What wasn’t there? Was it the frequency for Mission Control like Schmidt suggested. No, it was much worse.

“The Earth...it isn’t there,” Hamilton rushed, “I...can’t find anything.”

“We must have got turned around, moved during firing.” The Commander suggested.

“Well it’s big, blue, full of angry people. Keep looking, you’ll find it.” Mundy pressed, now hovering like many others over the station that Hamilton was at.

Standing now, your own worry began to sink in. How in all names holy did you just lose Earth? Making your way now beside Mundy, you watched Hamilton as she continued to look over the monitors for Earth, still unable to find anything.

“I’ve double checked the radio target, but the target’s gone.”

“Guys, the system is scrambled!” Mundy reminded, trying his best to remain calm.

“Hamilton is right,” Looking over towards Schmidt, your heart sank to your stomach. You didn’t want to believe that Hamilton was right, but it seemed as though she was. “It’s-it’s not here. We’re not picking up any signals!”

“The entire Earth is not gone!” You finally cried, tears filling your eyes. “We didn’t just lose Earth!”

As everyone around you began to frantically look through the monitors, your brain went to your family. To Mama, Papa, to Mila and Joseph. Did you lose them? No, no you couldn’t have.

You didn’t wait around to hear Volkov point blame at Schmidt, when you didn’t see the Earth on the external cameras, you pushed by Mundy and made your way out of the room, rushing down the hall to begin looking out the windows for yourself.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

As you looked out the window that was outside of your own quarters, you felt the whimper escape your throat, your body rocking slightly before your attention turned towards your room, rushing in suddenly and towards your computer, typing in Joseph’s name to start a video call. You knew it was a long shot, but you could only hope Joseph would answer.

Staring at the screen through your tears, feeling some finally begin to spill over, you watched as the call searched for a signal - feeling like forever until finally-

/COMMUNICATIONS ➤ NO SIGNAL FOUND

“No...no...no!” Wiping away your tears from your face, you frantically retried the call. Waiting until the same error message popped up. Sinking into your chair, you stared at the picture of your family, the red error message burning into your eyes.

So this was it. The weight of possible damnation staring in front of you. How could something go so right, yet so wrong in the matter of just seconds?

You tried one more time to call Joseph, watching as the connection buffered before the same message popped up again. Letting out a shaky sigh, you dropped your head and cried until no more tears could fall from your eyes. The overwhelming sense of fear filling your body.

After taking a moment to recollect yourself, you stood up and wiped your face, heading to the mirror to look over yourself. No matter how hard you wiped away your tears, it was still so evident that you had been crying. You didn’t want anyone to see you like that - knowing that you were cracking under pressure.

“Get ahold of yourself,” You whispered, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You shook your head once before fixing your hair, wiping away the tears and letting out a sigh, shaking your arms and legs as if to get all the nerves out, “You’re going to see them again. Crying isn’t going to solve anything.”

You took one final look at yourself in the mirror before nodding, taking a final look at the screen once more, looking at the picture of your family.

“I’ll find a way home. I’m not going to stop until I’m back with you.”

Despite knowing that it was just a picture, you waited a moment, as if waiting for them to respond before exiting your quarters and moving down the hall, back to meet with the others.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When you walked into the common room, everything felt heavy. Despite the room filled with everyone now, besides the Commander, nobody spoke a word. Sniffling, you quickly wiped your face to make sure no new tears were falling before making your way to the table, taking a seat at the end in between Acosta and Tam.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you hugged your legs to you, staring ahead of you at the table. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat, choking on the whimper that dared to escape. Clearing your throat, you tried to pretend that you weren’t on the verge of crying, coughing once before hearing the corridor doors open.

“Alright, here’s what we’re up against.” The Commander spoke as he sat down at the other end of the table. Your attention turned to the end of the table where he was seated, listening to what he had to say.

“The station’s got problems we don’t have tools to fix. At this point, looking for home is a luxury for us. First, we need to survive.”

“We need to consider, evidence or not...that we might have ended the lives of billions of people,” Acosta interjected. You sank in your seat, your eyes watering. You hadn’t thought of it like that. Did you destroy the Earth? Did you wipe out your home planet instead of just get shot to some other part of the galaxy?

“We didn’t destroy the Earth,” Schmidt explained, surprisingly calm, “We just...lost it.”

It was Mundy who let out a laugh, and you couldn’t blame him, it was almost a joke as to how Schmidt had put it.

“Totally routine day. Copy that.”

Shaking his head, Commander Kiel motioned towards Mundy and then Schmidt, “Mundy, take Schmidt and deal with the O2.”

Looking up, surprised to hear that the Commander wanted Schmidt with Mundy, you smiled to yourself - it seemed like any sense of normality was off the table now.

“I’m a physicist.” Schmidt reminded.

“And now you work for Mundy,” Adjusting your position in your seat, you leaned forward against the table, listening as the Commander continued on with orders, “Tam, you and Monk will search and repair all power leaks. Maybe we can get this temperature under control. Hamilton, Volkov, test all circuits, then we can start looking for home.”

“When the Shepard overloaded, something went wrong with the station’s orientation system.” Volkov explained.

“We’ll replace the circuits-”

“No shit, if that’s the problem!” Volkov cut Mundy off, annoyed at the obvious solution, “But um, it might be the gyro.” You watched as Volkov messed with the side of his face, rubbing under his right eye as if something were bothering him.

You tried to ignore Volkov, your attention pulled to the Commander when you realized that he hadn’t assigned you to do anything. Watching as everyone headed out, you stood up and made your way towards the other end of the table.

“Commander? What can I do? You didn’t assign me anything.” You pointed out, toying with the bandages around your fingers from where you were biting at earlier.

When you caught that the Commander was looking at the bandages, you quickly dropped your hands, as if trying to hide them. You watched as he smiled weakly, standing up before placing a hand to your shoulder.

“Yeah, listen...I want you to go check on all medical supplies. Actually, supplies in general. See how much we have and figure out how long it’ll last us.” He nodded and went to turn, going to meet with the others before you stopped him.

“Wait, that’s all? Commander, I’m sure I can be of help elsewhere.” You explained, taking a step forward towards him. The Commander’s steps slowed to a stop, his shoulders sinking as he let out a sigh before turning around.

“When you were going through your interviews and evaluations, what was your weakest eval?” He questioned, perplexing you until it came to you.

“M-My psychological evaluation, Commander,”

“Yes, exactly,” He took a step towards you and placed both hands on your shoulders, “Like Hamilton, you have family you’re close with, which oftentimes brings more stress to you both than the rest of us.”

“I don’t understa-”

“Your fingers. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re under a lot of stress right now, anxious about not being able to contact your family. Right now you going and trying to mess with wirings or the systems is not safe. Not for you, or the rest of us on here.”

You felt insulted. So what if you were experiencing a slight breakdown - who wouldn’t be in your shoes? You passed your evaluation, barely, but you did. You felt like a child, not being able to play with the big kids because you were too small.

“This isn’t fair, Commander. I’m just as much a part of this crew as everyone else. There must be something I can do to help!”

Pulling away, the Commander sighed and shook his head, “I want you to go to the medbay and go through medical supplies, that’s what you can do. Please, don’t take this as punishment. You are helping,” He paused and straightened up, clearing his throat, “Now I don’t want to hear anymore of it.”

And with that, the Commander left you in the common room, alone with your thoughts. Feeling your hands balled into fists, you looked around the room, tears welling in your eyes before you let out a laugh, shaking your head.

“Incompetent...is that what I am now?” You squeezed your nails into your palms before feeling the tension inside of you soon pop, leaving you back to your empty state of mind. Wiping your cheeks, you mumbled a string of curse words as you headed out of the common room and down to the medbay where you were tasked to look into the medical supplies.

When you arrived at the medical bay, you shut the door behind you, pulling on a pair of gloves before grabbing the clipboard that contained all the medicines on file and quantities. Opening the first cabinet, you went through the list, verifying that everything was in order and that you had the correct amount of vials that were listed on the paper.

You grew tired of the task quickly, rubbing your eyes and blinking as you stared at the paper. Looking up from the clipboard, you tossed it down on the examination table before sitting at the stool, closing your eyes to take a break, soon drifting off into an unexpected slumber.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“There are a few that I’m worried about joining you on the ship, Commander,” You overheard someone - a woman - state. You could hear her flipping through files, searching for the right paperwork.

You were the last of the crew to receive your final evaluations before departing onto the Cloverfield Station. You knew something was off when you finished your psychological evaluation and the doctor left in a hurry, not stating much other than you were free to go. Now you were seated outside of the examination room, waiting to receive your results from the Commander, toying with the hem of your shirt as you listened to the doctor and Commander speak.

“She hardly passed her psychological evaluation. Her temperamental issues, not as severe as Volkov or Schmidt, are still high - dangerous when unstable. I fear that she may become a threat on board if the wrong situation should arise.”

Frowning, you held your stomach as it began to flip, making you sick. You had always known of your own mental health issues, of course, but to the extent the doctor was putting it made you sound incompetent of joining the crew - and you knew that you had a right to be on board just as much as the rest of them.

“So what are you saying, Doc? If Volkov and Schmidt are good to be on board with their own temperamental issues, what is the concern with her?”

“It’s not that she has anger issues, but something more depressing. Being in space, without the sun, away from family, it can send someone into a state of panic. I fear that her being around those medical supplies, especially when she is having an episode, will not only harm her, but the others too.”

The silence that fell over the Commander and doctor made your heart sink. So this was it? All this time, all this money, all this preparation just to be told no right before boarding? Shaking your head, you stood up and went to leave, not bothering to stay to be told what you already knew.

But before you could make it to the middle of the room, the Commander’s voice startled you to a stop.

“She is no threat to this crew and belongs on board the Cloverfield just as much as the rest of them do. Until I see her pose a threat, I don’t give a damn what cruel ideas you have set in mind for her.”

As you turned your attention back towards the doorway of the room the doctor and Commander were in, you felt your cheeks become red when you saw the Commander, in a huff now standing in front of you.

“Commander, I-”

“You’re all cleared for boarding. Go change into your uniform and prepare to meet with the others. We leave at sunrise tomorrow.” The Commander quickly said, not letting you get the chance to even attempt to apologize for eavesdropping.

Your mouth turned into a small smile, nodding before turning and making your way out of the room and down to the room you were staying in on base, the closer you got to your room, the bigger your smile became.

Waking with a start, you tried to catch your breath as the sound of screaming came from outside. Jolting up, you made your way towards the door before stopping halfway as the entire crew came in, carrying, well, that you didn’t know.

“Clear the table! Quick we need to get these pipes out of her!” You heard Acosta yell, motioning for you to clear off the examination table.

Nodding, you frantically made your way to the table, pushing off the clipboard and other things you had piled on before stepping back as the crew surrounded the table, setting the mysterious woman down before holding her as she thrashed about.

“Who is this?” You asked, squeezing your way beside Acosta, holding up a light as he began to cut away her pant leg, revealing the wiring that was going through her. Gasping, you held your hand to your mouth, trying not to gag at the grotesque sight.

Nobody seemed to be responsive, in their own world as they tried to calm the woman down, pinning her until Acosta was able to inject her with something in the leg to numb her pain and put her to sleep while he operated on her. When the woman was finally asleep, the room filled with just the panting of everyone on the crew, you looked up at everyone.

“I’ll ask again, who the hell is that-”

“We don’t know! Okay? We found her in the wall, wrapped in the wirings and screaming.” Schmidt exclaimed, his face red.

Glaring towards him, you shook your head and pointed your flashlight at him, letting the light hit his eye, “Don’t sit there and talk to me like that. I wasn’t there. You expect me to just sit back and watch as some random person comes into the medical bay?”

Schmidt held his hand up to block the light from hitting his eye, “Would you get that light out of my face?”

You dropped the light, watching as he dropped his hand before you shot the light back up to his face, blinding him once again, a smirk toying on your mouth before jumping at the sound of the Commander.

“Enough! Acosta, finish looking after her and give us an update when you have one.” You watched as Acosta nodded, continuing to look over her. As you started to get your own set of medical supplies to help, you were stopped by the Commander, placing a hand over the drawer before you could get anything out.

“No, not you. Go to your room and cool off for a minute and then you can come back and help. Right now, you’re on the brink of-”

“Of what?” You snapped, turning your attention to the Commander. You ignored the rest of the crew in the room who tried to not so obviously watch and listen, but you kind of made it hard when you were pulling a scene. “I’m sorry that I’m reacting like a normal human being, Commander. But to be quite frank, we’re fucked. I’m not going to pretend that we aren’t, especially when you have a strange woman who you claim to have come from the wall lying on the examination table!”

Your face, now red, stared up at the Commander who seemed to be blank faced. When he didn’t say anything, you fell back on your heels, scoffing.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go. I’ll go to my room and suck my thumb because evidently that’s all I’m good for!” Moving around the Commander, you pushed past Schmidt, knocking him to the side before storming out of the medical bay and down to your quarters. It was times like now that you wished the doors were manual, so you could slam your door shut and let the irritation seep out of you.

When you arrived at your quarters, you pulled off your medical gloves, tossing them in the trash before unzipping your suit, decided to change into your sweatpants and t-shirt as you didn’t expect to be doing much else today.

“Stupid...incompetent...might as well just say it to my face instead of dance around it,” You mumbled, pulling up your sweatpants as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You pulled your hair from your ponytail and shook your hair loose, letting it fall down your shoulders.

Hearing the door open and shut, you looked through the mirror to see Schmidt, his hands behind his back as he made his way towards you.

“What do you want?” You asked flatly, crossing your arms over your chest. Even in that moment, you were too annoyed to even want to see him, and usually you always wanted to see Schmidt. When he didn’t answer you, you uncrossed your arms and pointed to the door, ready to kick him out before being suddenly blinded by the light.

Flinching, you jumped at the light and closed your eyes, groaning as you held your hand up to block the light, “Okay, I get it, I’m sorry - but you really pissed me off, you know that?” As you blinked your eyes back open, adjusting to the light, you tried to not smile as Schmidt made his way to you, setting the flashlight on your desk before wrapping his arms around you.

“When don’t I piss you off?” He asked, smiling down at you as he moved his hands under your shirt, rubbing your waist. Moving your hands up, you placed your hands flat on his chest before pushing him away, your own smile now creeping onto your face as you went and sat on your bed.

“When you’re asleep,” You teased before cocking your head to the side, “Actually, no, even in your sleep you piss me off. Did you know you snore? God, it’s awful. Makes me want to suffocate you with my pillow.”

Smiling, you watched as he laughed, making his way to sit beside you on your bed, pulling you close to him as he kissed your cheek, moving down to your jaw before up towards your ear, “I know something else you could suffocate me with.”

You giggled at the feeling of him biting on your earlobe before sitting back against your pillows, your legs now on his lap.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Something important to do? Or were you put on babysitting duty?” You shook your head and looked at your fingers, examining the bandages to make sure none had to be changed.

Shaking his own head, Schmidt looked down at your feet that were rested in his lap before rubbing your ankles, “Tam is meeting me at the X-Deck in ten minutes, but I wanted to stop and see you first after what happened in the medba-”

“What happened in the medbay was nothing, Ernst. I’m fine.” You knew that lying to him was pointless, but right now you didn’t want to explain to him what you were feeling, why you were feeling it, and so on. To you, it felt useless given everything else that was going around.

When you didn’t hear him respond, you looked up and frowned, seeing his own disappointed expression on his face. “Look, I’ll tell you later, okay? I’ll leave my door unlocked for you.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, holding his face in your hands.

At the feeling of his own hands on your face, holding you steady as he deepened the kiss, you sighed against him, wishing that the moment could continue. Pulling back, you stared up at him, “You should go,” You explained gently, leaning forward to kiss him one more time.

Schmidt nodded, mimicking your actions and kissing you as well one last time before moving your legs, standing up off your bed before looking back down at you.

“I’ll be here at the usual time. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Nodding, you smiled and watched as he turned, heading out of your room and going to the X-Deck to meet with Tam, leaving you to your thoughts again.

When the doors shut behind him, you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, laying back on your bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Perhaps the Commander was right, maybe the mission finally cracked you.

[dashedwithromance]

what am i supposed to do (when there’s no you?)

kotc comes out next week!! i can’t believe it’s nearly here, and we get to see wrath and emilia again!! i haven’t written anything other than star wars for a while, but i hope this is okay. love you all xx

---

Her reflection stared back at her, haunting eyes locked on with a frightened gaze. The mirror, her enemy. Strangely enough, not even the demon princes that stalked the wicked kingdom she found herself ruler of scared her quite as much as the mirror in her bathing chamber. Or the hand-held in the drawer of her bedside table. Or the impressive, gold-gilded monstrosity on her vanity.

She couldn’t bear to look at any of them.

Queen of Hell, and terrified of reflecting glass.

Her reflection haunted her more than any ghost, the flash of dark curls paired with a laugh she heard every day and would never hear again. The quirk of a smile that ached desperately, painted on her face like a mockery of the joy it once embodied.

Appearances were everything in the kingdom of the Wicked, but she couldn’t stand to see her own. It was a weakness she kept close to her heart, trapped inside with the abhorrent overflow of memories she treasured and banished with equal fervour.

Emilia stifled a groan and clenched her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms with a biting fury. She’d locked herself inside the first room she’d found, having sprinted from the main hall before she could realise how stupid her plan was. ‘Plan’ was a generous name, considering it consisted of one part panicked feeling, one part grief, and one very violent part of her that was growing scarily close to ‘accidentally’ committing mariticide.

It was the cherries that had set her off. They weren’t even real – fresh fruit was not a luxury one could indulge in Hell, nor would she have wanted to. She remembered stories of fallen maidens taking one bite of fruit from the hand of a prince and being confined to the underworld forever. Despite being queen, it was not a chance she was willing to take.

The cherries in question were metallic, made of gold and silver entwined around a candelabra. They seemed to glow in the low light, taunting her, reminding her of summers spent laughing with her twin, cherry-stained hands and salt-crusted hair. She’d taken one look at them, remembered what day it was, and burst from the room like a frightened bird. Not her best look, if she were truthful.

Memories weighed down on her chest like the pressing stones of witch trials past. More weight, she wanted to say. Take it off, let me breathe, she wanted to cry. Nothing helped.

Grief ebbed and flowed, but today it swelled like a rising tide. Suffocating her, pushing her under, dragging her down by the neck and laughing as she gasped and spluttered.

They’d never spent a birthday apart. It was unthinkable – it was always their birthday, their celebration, their matching celebration dresses. They’d grown out of matching outfits when they’d reached twelve, but the shared celebration never died.

Until Vittoria did.

Emilia closed her eyes, and the memories took firm hold.

Cherry stains dripped down their chins and fingers, sticky and sweet and full of the taste of home. Every summer they would eat themselves silly with the deep red stone fruit, egging each other on until the nearest adult intervened. For their seventh birthday, Emilia had dropped a bleeding cherry on Vittoria’s pretty dress, and her twin had mushed a handful against the fabric of her matching skirt. Emilia had shrieked, and Vittoria had laughed until her sister followed suit with a smile she couldn’t contain.  

A shriek of laughter pierced the late summer calm, its twin following half a second later. Two girls ran towards the sea, one leading the other by the hand. The bolder twin threw herself into the water with a wild grin and gestured for her sister to follow. Another half-second wait and the dark-haired girl flung herself into the sea with a peal of laughter.

That was the way things always were with her and Vittoria. Never apart for too long, until the cruel hand of death swooped in and plucked her sister from her grasp.

Something twinged in her chest. As if a part of her was missing, had been since the day she’d found her sister’s ruined body. Her first reaction, to everything really, had been anger – wrath, she thought with a stain of painful irony – but when the anger ebbed away, she was left with ocean darkened with the taint of things that would never be. She would never see her sister again, never spend hours together in the kitchen, laughing and teasing each other over the boys in the village. No one would ever understand her the way Vittoria did, no matter if she lived forever.

The curse of her grief was that she could never forget her sister’s face. She would know exactly how her sister would age, would know exactly when grey would frame her face, when laugh lines would appear. Mirrors were a cruel taunt; a living eulogy.

Looking up from the floor, staring past the haze of panic, she locked eyes with her twin. Her own wretched gaze stared back at her, tears welling in Vittoria’s eyes.

She looked away. She could bear it no longer.

The room she found herself in was ornately decorated; black silk with gilded gold, a serpent motif around the bed frame. The room felt familiar, and she desperately hoped she was wrong.

Snatching the luxuriously soft blanket from a nearby chair, she covered the mirror that sat on the vanity. The room, somehow, felt colder. Emptier.

Then, like a curse on her name, footsteps echoed from the hallway outside and stopped right before the door.

Drawing herself up, forcing all mention of weakness to leave her frame, she glared at the figure who strode right in.

Prince Wrath stood in the doorway, the gold detailing of his suit winking in the dim light. Emilia eyed up the ornamental vase on the table beside her and strongly considered throwing it at his head. For a moment, the world was consumed by silence.

Then, the smug bastard opened his mouth and broke it.

“Running away from your own party?”

She was going to throw the fucking vase right over his stupid face. He could tell every violent thought that raced through her mind – she just knew he could, the way his perfect lips quirked up ever so infuriatingly to one side – until he stopped. Looked at her. Looked to the mirror on his vanity, covered up by a stolen blanket. Looked back.

The smug look disappeared.

The room became ice. She felt naked standing there, his gaze seeing into the very marrow of her bones. Just when the tension became unbearable, she spun around, unable to look at him any longer. She couldn’t look at him any more than she could look at her own wretched reflection. Hellfire licked at her eyelids, stinging and hot.

What did he see when he looked at her, in that moment? She hoped it was queen-like, the picture of savage grace and hellish composure. It wasn’t.

“Emilia...” For the first time in, well, ever, Wrath struggled for words.

“Emilia, I’m sorry.”

The shock of his apology had her whirling around. His golden eyes held more sympathy than any demon should ever have known. Of all the demons in Hell to realise what today meant, of course, it would be Wrath. Insufferable, infuriating, ineffable Wrath, possibly the only person in the underground kingdom who understood her. Not like Vittoria did – no one would ever come close – but like a river understood the rushing tide.

He was a mystery, but also the only thing she knew. Wrapped up in a cloud of perfumed falsities, but the only one who told her the truth.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Could he hear it?

“I have never lost a brother, not like that. Nor am I as close to mine as you were to your sister.” The words were stilted, heavy and awkward. Wrath was not a man of words, but his tone was gentle. But, she noted with no small portion of surprise, the speech was genuine. She thought perhaps she was going mad.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a twin,” He paused, considering, “I’m sorry, for your loss.”

Another pause.

“And I’m sorry for the role my family – the role I – have played in your grief.”

Somewhere in his speech, she’d closed her eyes. She didn’t want him to see the tears, but he knew that. The heaviness of her chest was still present, but it was bearable, somehow.

She nodded, swallowing the cry that threatened to burst forward.

“Thank you,” She whispered, so quiet she wondered if he’d even heard.

The air between them was taut, stretched and thin. The strength she’d hid behind all day had fled long ago, and she felt so exhausted she might collapse. She didn’t think to consider the implications by sitting down on his stupidly large bed, only that her chest hurt and for just a moment, she wanted a friend.

Hesitantly – if a demon prince could hesitate – Wrath sat next to her on the bed. The sight is so comical she nearly laughed – Wrath, the brother of her husband, prince of the most dangerous sin, her friend, her enemy – perched on the side of his bed with an air of respectability she didn’t think he even possessed. Stranger things had happened, she supposed.

It was like a fable; demon and witch, sat side by side in silence. For hours, they barely spoke. The words didn’t matter – Wrath was terrible with them, and the ones she wanted got stuck in her throat. Neither of them noticed when midnight passed, and the worst day of the year was over.

Perhaps one day, she’d tell him stories of Vittoria. Tell him stories of cherries and salt air and limitless laughter, so he would know her as the bright, brilliant girl she was, and not the martyred corpse she’d become.

The next day, all the mirrors in her chambers were covered. There was no note, but there was a familiar vase full of orange blossom flowers on her bedside table.

---

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[kiivg]

.I decided to just go with my three heroes instead of like all my dragon age romances because I’ve got someone for Blackwall, Gaspard, and I’ve got a mind for someone with Dorian too. Then I’ve got a whole load of OC x OC as well, and trying to draw all of them would be time consuming. However! During drawing this, I realised that, technically, Andrastopher, Anders, Marcus, and Zevran, have all slept with one another. Whether that’s between two people or more just depends on when in the timeline haha…. ,’:)c.

.Anyway there’s some things about my Heroes and their love interests below :), thank you for asking! I’m always excited to talk about my OCs.

...

.Andrastopher and Zevran’s relationship starts out as quite a basic thing. Something that’s not talked about in camp or on any of their journeys, but everyone knows it’s happening. On Andrastopher’s side, it’s something to make him forget for a little while, something to take his mind of everything that’s happening to him. Zevran, after all, offers this to him as more of an incentive to keep him alive knowing that Andrastopher most likely will end up killing him. Something that Andrastopher wasn’t exactly quiet about, he did actually plan on presenting Zevran’s head to Arl Howe at some point.

.Of course, everything changes with the course of time. Fighting beside one another in such dangerous situations, it was bound to leave them closer than before. They save each other’s lives, they tend one another’s wounds, and one night, Andrastopher doesn’t slink back to his own tent with a satisfied hum in his belly and stays curled around the other man. There’s a tenderness that blooms between them both, and what was not talked about before, is shown more and more openly.

.Zevran, I think, falls in love with Andrastopher before Andrastopher falls in love with him. He’s too broken to glue himself back together long enough to even think about such a thing. It probably doesn’t help that Zevran had started off by complimenting him on his looks above anything else, and Andrastopher knows he’s a weird looking man; more of a curiosity than a crush to anyone who looks at him. Anything Zevran had said after that was taken with the knowledge that the man would be lying.

.By the end of the blight, something that Andrastopher had hoped to die in, he’d found a reason to live again. Completing Morrigan’s ritual was a risk to take, but one he did so willingly so he could waken next to Zevran another day. However odd their beginnings were, neither man was willing to see the other one gone.

.After the blight, Andrastopher struggles with everything he knows. There’s no place for him in the world, and he cannot hide in Zevran’s arms as if there is nothing wrong. He takes a year to himself, sacrificing himself to the Qun, accepting that he needed a restriction in being who he was meant to be. It was a hard time apart, but the reunion was a sweet one. Though time and work takes them apart for perhaps months at a time, they remain loyal to one another. They marry at some point, a small thing which really only included the pair themselves, a chantry Mother, and Oghren who was both amused and embarrassed about it all.

.To this day they remain together, and regrets have been spoken about how they had initially started out. Andrastopher knows he should have treated Zevran better, something the man has forgiven him for over and over throughout their years. 

...

.Marcus and Anders’ relationship was in-game the rivalmance because it’s so much more delicious than the basic romance. But, in my mind, it’s different.

.They start off butting heads in Kirkwall, Marcus needs Anders’ help, and Anders’ needs Marcus’ help. The idea of anything between them isn’t really on the table at the time since Marcus has been spending his time between Meeran’s legs more often than not. They both find each other insufferable for a variety of reasons; Marcus is egotistic, narcissistic,  overtly cocky, and spends most of his time either fighting or fucking or playing that ridiculous lute he won in the Hanged Man. Whilst Marcus thinks Anders’ fight has been blown to unrealistic proportions, and he’s championing something that can be overcome easily enough, the man has a hero complex that grates on his nerves. Marcus is a Fereldan apostate who lives freely, and he can’t understand why people don’t just escape from the circle; his father did easily enough.

.After the Deep Roads expedition, coming home after eating nothing but mushrooms and drinking rock water for weeks, just to return to Carver’s newfound templar job really makes him rethink his attitude in Kirkwall. Marcus becomes openly supportive of the Templars, he has no choice; Carver’s relation to a mage has him under valiant watch, and though money helps, Marcus has to be on his best behaviour. Being seen with Anders can only damage his reputation, but they had kissed in that foggy desperation in the Deep Roads, not that they’d spoken of it, but it remains a memory that tasted sweet despite their breath.

.Marcus spends most of his time in the Blooming Rose in the next few years, wealth and desire letting him flaunt his time in rented beds. Anders yet plays on his mind, pulling him back time after time whenever he hears the man needs his help. They fight and disagree, snapping with magic curling in their fingertips. Anders feels like Marcus is betraying the very core of himself; denying that he’s a mage in every positive song he sings of the Templars. He hates the man with an intensity that boils over in the need to return to that time in the Deep Roads; when mages and templars didn’t matter, and the once fat Fereldan apostate gave away his shares of tasteless fungi to the mage who knew how to heal wounds. They fight and kiss, biting at each other with teeth and nails, and it is Marcus who storms away; burning with confusion and singed footsteps, and awaiting a visitor at the end of the night.

.When things get particularly bad, Marcus gives in to Anders’ way of thinking, apologising for what they had been through over the years. He gives him a key to the Hawke estate. It’s a safe place to hide, a safe place to smuggle mages in and out. He warns him on Carver’s inclusion, Marcus can’t be seen helping; it would only come back upon his brother and he’s not willing to risk such a thing.

.Anders stops by the estate more and more, and the animosity between them settles into something of a comfort. The man is there when Leandra is killed, he is there to stop him from killing Merrill just a few nights after, he is there to drag him home from the Blooming Rose when he drinks too much to remember where he lives. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve any of it, and he is selfish when he kisses Anders for the first time in years, selfish when he tries to drag him into bed, selfish when he asks him to stay the night. Marcus’ rise to Viscount is the only thing that keeps Anders safe, and is the only reason that Anders is able to be smuggled from Kirkwall after the explosion.

.It’s a year and a half before they see each other again. Justice has been calmed over the months, and Marcus’ attempts at keeping Kirkwall sane had slowly been overthrown by a group of zealots. A mage couldn’t hold position for any longer, and he had no choice but to flee. He’d spent six months building a home for himself in the ruins of Lothering, and he welcomes Anders with laughter and disbelief when he sees the man again. Years had passed since they had first met in Darktown, but seeing Marcus with a small herd and a weight settling in his gut, it’s the most real he’s ever been.

.They settle together, never intending for it to be permanent. But there is a loneliness that could only be combatted together, and when mages begin to find them it’s hard not to fall in love with one another when they work to rebuild what was once lost. A small village sprouts around them, mages seeking safety and succour found under the guidance of a heavy stranger named Conchobhar, and that taller fellow named Jarl.

...

.Goddard and Yetta’s relationship isn’t actually an in-game thing, since he’s seventy-one at the beginning of Inquisition, and like what options do I ever have apart from making him a sugar daddy (I missed a thing there for sure AH), so I gave him a wife called Yetta.

.Essentially, it’s an arranged marriage for them. Which begins terribly, because neither want to marry the other; Goddard is still holding out hope that he will find his first love again, and Yetta was betrothed to him since she was a child so she’s never had a choice. Their wedding is awkward, Goddard tries to convince his little brother, Milward, to take his place, and Yetta is caught trying to escape from the actual event. Goddard also turns up in Orlesian finery in an attempt to insult Yetta’s family and to remind them that he spent a good few years in bed with a chevalier. It works, but, the wedding still goes ahead, and they’re both miserably married by the end of the day.

.Despite his tactics, Goddard promises Yetta that he’d stay truthful to her regardless of whether or not they end up in bed together. And, in the beginning, neither of them wanted to. Goddard spends his nights sleeping on the floor, and there’s a more than obvious rumour floating around that they haven’t yet slept together. Despite all the pushes and shoves they receive; Goddard being pushed into Yetta’s room as she dresses for the day, Yetta being forced into the bathing chambers whilst Goddard is alone in there, conversations of sex being brought up at their meal times, and even being locked in their bedchamber for so long that Goddard ends up bum rushing the guards who bring them food at meal time.

.It’s not the best beginning, but there is a camaraderie that begins between them in their joint frustrations. Their attraction to one another begins in the written letters they send over the years. With Goddard working in Ferelden, and Yetta remaining in Ostwick, it’s the only way of communicating they have. And though it takes years, it’s hard to deny the way that their feelings grow each time Goddard gets some weeks away from the military.

.Together they have three children over the years, agreeing to stop trying after that due to Wakefield’s complicated birth. They remain happy together until this day, accepting a few blips over the years, and the rather gargantuan blunder of Goddard having an affair whilst incapacitated and presumed dead in Ferelden. Everything that is thrown at them is tackled head on and together, and it is obvious in almost everything that the do together, that their love grows ever stronger every minute they spent beside one another.

.TL:DR: all my heroes are happy and loved and alive :)c.

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity - Update

In honor of Clexmas20, Day 5: The Naughty List. We all know who’s on it.

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (13/?) / (AO3) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. 

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

Though hope could be dangerous, Clarke had felt it bloom when Lexa had turned around to look up at her. She still couldn't chase it away while she waited for Lexa to reach the top of the stairs, and even less when Lexa finally appeared, breathing fast, with cheeks already slightly red from the chill of the night. Clarke wanted nothing more than to run to her, but something had her rooted in place.

Now barefoot and without her coat, she should have felt the cold floor and the chill in the corridor. Instead, all she could feel was her heart racing. Lexa seemed stunned to be back here, but in awe rather than shock. Her mouth opened and closed twice, like she was thinking too fast and reconsidering each one of her words.

Finally, Clarke couldn't take the silence any longer: "If you come any closer-"

"I know," Lexa replied immediately. "Believe me, I know."

Lexa said the last part with such yearning that Clarke had to clutch the side of her door, as if it digging her nails into it might somehow smother the fire inside her. Conscious of how desire could override good sense, at least in their shared history, she knew honesty was the only way forward:

"I don't want just tonight," she said, voice cracking at the end.

This couldn't be an impulse. It couldn't be an itch to scratch. Clarke had always known she wanted more. That if regret entered their thoughts in the morning, her heart would break. It was what her vision had told her all along: that avoiding vulnerability had kept her from a more meaningful connection. That she'd quieted a part of herself out of fear it would crush her. And she hoped Lexa was thinking the same; that she'd turn away if deep down she knew it wasn't right just yet. After all, it may have felt like an eternity since they'd decided to take their time, but the reality was quite a bit shorter.

As if answering those fears, Lexa shook her head. "When I was down there I remembered what I told you earlier: that I'm certain about us. And… I am. I am, Clarke. I want every minute you'd give me." She started walking then, her hand brushing against the wall to steady herself. "I want mornings in your kitchen; afternoons in your café." She stopped and swallowed. "And I want nights in your arms."

There was a beat - an agreement between them - that felt so similar to the one before their first kiss that Clarke knew nothing else could follow it but just that. She shot off, and Lexa did too, until they met each other in the middle of the corridor. Clarke pulled Lexa into her, and Lexa's hands went to her waist, both of them moaning in relief when they finally kissed, warm lips meeting cold ones with such force that Lexa stumbled and her back thudded against the wall.

"Sorry!" Clarke said.

Lexa smiled just then, deliriously happy, before kissing her again. She had Clarke pressed against the opposite wall in a second.

"Don't be," she said. "I like it."

Their next kiss held nothing back - not after Clarke heard such an admission - and ended only when Lexa pressed her lips against her jawline.

"I've played this out in my head so many times," Lexa breathed out shakily. "At the café I'd look at you and I'd remember how it felt to kiss you - to finally kiss you."

Clarke moaned as Lexa continued claiming her neck.

"I'd wish I could press you up against the display again and never make the mistake of pulling away. Take you right there." Her hands tightened on Clarke's waist and then inched up with a hunger written on her face. "You feel so right, Clarke. You always have. I can't even think straight when you're in the room. It's all you, all the time."

Clarke felt dizzy, unable to think coherently herself let alone form words with her mouth. She reached for Lexa's hand and brought it to her breast over her sweater, breathing hotly in the small space that separated their lips. "Then take me now," she managed to plead.

Lexa groaned before reclaiming her lips, cupping her breast at the same time their kiss deepened. Her tongue was silky soft, but her hands had a roughness to them that made Clarke throb with want. There was nothing rough or careless about Lexa herself, but weeks of thinking instead of acting had both of them on edge.

In the back of her mind, Clarke vaguely remembered they had yet to cross into her apartment, but at the forefront was Lexa's body pressed tightly against hers, Lexa's tongue in her mouth, and Lexa's hands on her breasts. She moaned loudly, and maybe it was that that spurred Lexa on. She guided Clarke toward the door, both of them clumsily trying to kiss at the same time, lips stretching into smiles when they bumped into each other.

Clarke finally opened Lexa's coat, and Lexa finally had her bra unsnapped, the move so swift that Clarke was only aware of it when Lexa slipped a hand beneath her sweater and cupped her bare breast. Her knees went weak and she stifled a cry against Lexa's neck. She was pressed against the wall again, the ache between her legs growing stronger.

"Lexa, baby, wait- inside."

Lexa nodded but made no move in that direction, instead crouching down to kiss her cleavage. She licked and nipped the exposed skin while she palmed her breast, until she couldn't help herself and ran a thumb over the stiff peak. Clarke gasped and threaded her fingers through Lexa's thick hair, so close to forgetting all about common courtesy. She had neighbors she liked. Neighbors who were also customers. Neighbors she'd want to introduce to Lexa, one day.

She searched for the door next to her and pushed it wide open, then pulled Lexa inside by the lapels of her coat. Though miffed at the interruption, Lexa recovered spectacularly well when Clarke shut the door behind them and resumed their kissing. She had Lexa pinned next to the coat rack, which rattled against the wall. Lexa's hands found her ass and squeezed.

"Fuck," Clarke breathed out. "I never thought it could be like this."

Lexa licked her bottom lip. "Like what?"

"Like…" Clarke's eyes darkened and she promptly pulled down Lexa's coat. "Wanting you so much it's painful."

In full agreement, Lexa pushed off the wall to kiss her. They moved further inside, blindly finding their way. Lexa mapped every inch of Clarke's skin she could reach, craving more. It was almost overwhelming, and perhaps the best indicator of how long it had been since she'd let passion overtake her.

"I want- I want-"

"Tell me," Clarke coaxed, desperate to get it out of her. Lexa had such a way with the written word, but Clarke needed her voice tonight.

"I feel like I'm going to starve if I don't have you now," she finally admitted as Clarke bumped into the kitchen table.

Clarke sat on it and felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through her when Lexa immediately stepped between her thighs. It was familiar and yet different from the cramped room of the café, where the thrill had been in the stolen moment. Clarke had known nothing further than kissing would happen then.

This time, Lexa cupped her cheek; and it was tender, because tenderness underlined everything Lexa did, even something as mundane as typing on her keyboard, but it was possessive too. Not possessive in a way Clarke had ever known, or at least not the kind that stemmed from dominance and jealousy. It was from something else that Clarke had felt too; this deep-seated hope that only she could satisfy Lexa. It was arrogant, she couldn't deny it, but it was true of Lexa too. No one else had ever had such a hold on her body, and no one else could satisfy her tonight - it seemed like Lexa was perhaps proudly aware of it.

"Tell me how you want me," Clarke rasped.

Lexa pressed her forehead against hers, her breathing fast and warm. Her hand slid down from her cheek to her neck, as if wanting to touch her everywhere and unsure where to finally settle.

"I want what you said before I left: my body against yours; my mouth on your thighs… my tongue inside you." Clarke shivered as Lexa looked down at her heaving chest. "Do you have any idea how many times I tormented myself with glimpses of you touching yourself? Knowing you'd seen me; us?" 

Lexa tugged at the bottom of Clarke's sweater and pulled it up, letting Clarke lift her arms before she took it off completely, her bra coming with it. Clarke's hair fell back messily and Lexa seemed to enjoy the sight, exhaling sharply before she had to crush their lips together again. The coarse fabric of Lexa's sweater rubbed against her nipples in the most pleasurable way.

"And I can't stand not knowing anymore," Lexa groaned.

While Clarke lost herself to the glorious feeling of Lexa's mouth against hers, with no end in sight for the first time, she faintly felt hands work on the buttons of her pants. Lexa grew more frenzied after they came off, hooking her fingers in her underwear to pull them down her legs.

Before she even realized it, Clarke was naked on the table while Lexa stood fully clothed, almost insufferably smug when she pinned Clarke’s wrists down. There was something about being completely at Lexa’s mercy in this moment, so utterly vulnerable and safe at the same time, that made Clarke dizzy with need.

While Lexa drank her in with a darkened stare, Clarke tried and failed to steady her breathing. Past her awkward teenage years she'd been comfortable with her body; with her full breasts and her curves, but Lexa’s noticeable desire has her feeling like a work of art. It was emboldening.

“Are you just going to stare...?” She husked.

Pulled out of her lustful reverie, Lexa let go of her hands to trail up her thighs. She felt cool against her skin, but was quickly warming up now. She kissed her throat sensually and licked over her pulse as she had after their date on the mountain.

“Now I’ve seen all of you too,” she whispered, sending a shiver down Clarke's spine.

Clarke cupped the back of her neck and kissed her desperately, squirming on the table for relief. But Lexa clearly intended to provide it, her hand inching so close to Clarke's entrance that she could feel its heat.

"I want to be inside you," she said, only pressing closer after Clarke had nodded.

Lexa's fingers were coated with her arousal as soon as they parted her folds. Clarke had wanted this for so long, and so strongly, that it was no surprise how wet she was. She'd felt her own desire for Lexa multiple times before, and it was fierce.

"I think you want that too," Lexa noted as her thumb reached up to brush over her clit.

"Don't tease me," Clarke whined, arching into Lexa's touch. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore. I can't."

Lexa hummed against her neck, two of her fingers barely dipping inside. "You can…"

The words had Clarke on the verge of tears. "No, baby, please-"

"But not tonight," Lexa said before penetrating her. 

"Oh, fuck!" Clarke moaned loudly, throwing her arm around Lexa's neck as she lied her down on the table.

"I've got you," Lexa said.

She pumped inside her, her eyes mesmerized by Clarke's face and the pleasure written on it. Clarke's mouth remained agape as she took her in, finally full. Lexa felt so good; unlike any dream or vision she could’ve conjured for herself again.

"More, Lexa- fuck-" she panted, acutely aware how close she already was.

Lexa barely waited a beat before she picked up the pace, taking her deep and hard. There would be a time for slow and sensuous, where she would caress and worship every inch of the gorgeous woman beneath her, but neither of them had the patience for it now. In this moment Clarke needed release and Lexa needed the thrill of giving it to her.

The feet of the table thumped against the floor and something fell, but the windows could have shattered and Clarke would have still pulled Lexa closer. She'd never imagined their sex like this, but god did it feel good. It was dirty and frenzied, but it was them. It wasn't something she could have done with anyone else; that she'd ever needed with anyone else.

She gasped against Lexa's neck, tasting salt when her tongue peeked out. Lexa still had her clothes on, but she was breathing so hard that Clarke knew she was starting to sweat too. The apartment felt so much hotter already; the air already smelling like them.

Lexa took a nipple in her mouth, licking and sucking while Clarke rocked her hips against her hand, chasing her release. This is what she'd missed out on, she vaguely thought. The urge to share all of herself, to give and be taken so fucking thoroughly she could barely even remember her own name. She only had Lexa on her mind; Lexa lavishing attention on her chest and curling her fingers inside her.

"Oh god, don't stop!" She cried out, her nails scratching down Lexa's back beneath her top, not hard enough to pierce skin but hard enough to hurt good.

Lexa's hips jerked forward and Clarke realized she was moving them against the table, following the in and out rhythm of her fingers to give herself some relief. It must've been only a few minutes since Clarke had finally felt Lexa inside her, but the thought of her so wound up paired with her small moans pushed Clarke over the edge. She tensed and came with a sharp cry, her orgasm crashing throughout her body in waves. Her ankles locked around Lexa's waist and she realized her fingers were still in that thick hair of hers, now wild and messy.

Lexa hummed in between kisses to her breasts and throat, anywhere she could reach as Clarke slowly unwound beneath her. She pulled out of her and drew lazy circles against her clit, not ready to pull away entirely. The smell of their mixed arousal was heady, and all she could think about was finally tasting Clarke. It was a surprise when she heard a small laugh and then saw Clarke cover her face with her hands.

"I knew I'd be fast, but…"

Lexa pressed her nose against the back of her hand. "Hm, I guess I have time to go home." 

Clarke immediately reached for her collar. "No jokes. Besides, that was a warm-up." She kissed her and then licked her bottom lip. "Just to clear my head."

"Yes, of course," Lexa played along. "A practice round?"

"Exactly."

They laughed before kissing again, laughter soon changing to moans. Clarke got off the table to pull Lexa toward the bedroom, eager for a softer surface. There'd been some truth to what she said: the orgasm did make her a little less useless, though she was rapidly feeling hot all over again.

They kissed between the quick shedding of Lexa's clothes, hands working fast to pull up her sweater and undo her shirt. The more skin was exposed, the tighter they held each other, desperate to feel skin on skin.

Clarke felt so hungry for Lexa that when their tongues met again she stuttered in her movements. Lexa's hands on her waist steadied her, but the brief halt slowed nothing down. 

By the time the back of Clarke's knees hit her bed, she was pulling an equally naked Lexa atop her. The weight of her felt like finding what she had been missing for months, for years, and when Lexa pulled back and looked at her, making sure her renewed ardor was welcome, Clarke felt like nothing could compare to being looked at like this, with so much desire she couldn't even comprehend it.

Their next kiss made Clarke's toes curl. Lexa's tongue wasn't timid against hers. Lexa's hands weren’t hesitant when they kneaded her breasts, her thumbs sweeping over her nipples to tease the hard peaks. She took one in her mouth and Clarke gasped helplessly, not sure she would ever get used to the heat of Lexa's mouth. As wound up as she was, Lexa still seemed more interested in exploring Clarke's body. She fondled and licked, checking for signs of what made Clarke tick the most - a teasing suck, a gentle bite, or a rough squeeze.

Their bodies moved together toward one common goal, yet in no rush to reach the finish line once more. Clarke's moans surprised her. She wasn't usually quiet but she wasn't extraordinarily loud either. But Lexa had awakened something inside her. She craved her so much it was almost frightening.

"Come here," Clarke pleaded as she tried tugging Lexa back up. Her thoughts filled with Lexa coming apart beneath her, but Lexa had other plans.

"I need to taste you," she breathed out while she left gentle pecks down Clarke's stomach.

When Lexa parted her thighs and finally kissed her clit, Clarke looked down and gasped. Suddenly, she thought of her vision. She saw it so clearly now that she wondered how she could've ever thought it wasn't Lexa. And yet she felt indescribable happiness when she realized it wasn't quite what she had seen either. The air was different, the smell, even the way they moved together. Her vision wasn't a one-off - she knew that clearly now. One day perhaps they would be back in her bed, and Lexa would be breathing her in, and Clarke would know she was living what she had once seen. But tonight was still wonderfully unknown. It was theirs to discover together.

Needing to feel Lexa above all, Clarke reached for her head and moaned out her name. Lexa looked up and smiled, not once looking away while she lowered her mouth and slid her tongue through her.

"Lexa - oh god - make me come…" she pleaded, the fire inside her all-consuming.

Lexa's nose pressed against her as she drew closer, finally licking inside her. Clarke's eyes squeezed shut and she writhed beneath her, hips rocking against her mouth.

Oh she was good at this, but what struck Clarke the most was how intense she was, almost to the point of greed, like Clarke was hers to please. Like she took her pleasure from giving it, spurred on the messier it was and so eager to lap it all up. And it was messy - almost to an embarrassing point, Clarke briefly thought, to be this wet and this eager to be devoured.

Lexa worked her hard and long, maddening, never once tiring. She knew where she wanted to go but she took direction too, with Clarke's hands in her hair, sometimes guiding closer, sometimes slightly to the side and oh-

"Lexa!" Clarke gasped when she felt two fingers inside her again. A third finger quickly joined and started the delicious torture of building her up.

The air around them was almost stifling, but Clarke never wanted to leave this room. She'd lost all inhibition in Lexa's arms, in this bed, and it was the most freeing feeling in the world. She'd known they had a connection - that they brought out something exhilarating and new in each other - but she hadn't dreamed of something like this. Of understanding each other so utterly fast.

"You taste so good," Lexa said before she flicked her tongue over her clit, smiling proudly when Clarke's fingers pressed against her scalp again. 

"I'm so close - so close-" Clarke's back arched and she spread her thighs wider, offering herself fully, crying out when Lexa's fingers stroked a deep spot inside her. "Right there, right there," she moaned, but any other plea was swiftly cut off.

Her orgasm had her clawing at the sheets, gripping until her knuckles went white; her heart pounding. She called out for Lexa followed by a string of expletives, her thoughts completely wiped out. For a few seconds, there was nothing else existing in this world but this very feeling.

"Oh god, fuck," she said as she regained some sense of space. "Come here, baby, please."

Lexa licked her lips before moving up her body, her senses so attuned to Clarke's taste and smell; the very feel of her beneath her fingertips.

Clarke kissed her deeply once her breathing had calmed down. It was wet and filthy, a kiss that specifically aimed to further Lexa's arousal. Once Clarke had recovered, it was no surprise that she pushed Lexa on her back and straddled her.

And while Lexa had successfully kept her mind off of her own needs so far, it was impossible now. Clarke entwined their fingers together and pinned them on each side of Lexa's head, grinning when Lexa's attention immediately went to her hanging breasts, too far for her mouth to reach.

"You want something?" Clarke coyly asked as she started grinding against her, her breasts now swaying gently with her body.

Lexa squeezed her hands in frustration. "Clarke…"

Clarke leaned down and grinned cockily when Lexa tried kissing her.

"I think you like this," she said, her mouth so close she could feel Lexa's warm breath. She could smell herself too, and even in the poor lighting from the hallway, she could see her essence on Lexa's chin.

"I think you've liked it for a long time. How we'd touch but barely; kiss but never long enough. It's how you drove me crazy for weeks. But I know I liked it, deep down." She rubbed herself against Lexa's thighs and watched her reaction closely. "How it pushed me toward the edge. How much more intense it made touching myself every night, wondering how much closer we were to a night like this."

Lexa's eyes squeezed shut for a second. "Fuck," she breathed out, to Clarke's wicked delight.

"Hmm, I know you like picturing that." She kissed her throat and then finally kissed her breasts. "Let me take care of you." She let go of her hands to palm one breast while she teased the other with her tongue, sighing when Lexa moaned lowly.

Lexa slung an arm around her middle, fingers stretched out on her back, just to feel her closer. Just to be selfish for a moment and keep this woman - this bold, extraordinary woman - all to herself. She had wanted to give so much tonight, to push Clarke over the edge and bring her back, over and over again, but beneath Clarke's mouth and hands she was unable to ignore her own desire any longer.

Her breathing stuttered as she watched her leave open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, adoring every freckle.

Maybe Clarke had seen Lexa's body before even truly knowing her, but it couldn't compare to actually feeling her. Feeling the warmth of her skin and how her muscles tensed; watching the dim light bounce on her tattoo when she flexed her arm; how her eyes darkened the more time passed. Her vision had been about her own pleasure, but Clarke found Lexa's pleasure much more exhilarating.

"What do you want?" She asked this time, stroking the inside of Lexa's thigh.

Lexa looked so taken aback for a second that Clarke wondered if she still wasn't used to being asked that. The first time Clarke had ever asked her, at night in the café, Lexa had kissed her. The second, she had implied it didn't matter. But it did, and Clarke would make sure Lexa always knew it.

Lexa gripped her hip, pulling her closer. Then, she cupped the back of her neck to kiss her, maybe as a way of stalling. Clarke couldn't imagine why she would do it, until Lexa nudged her higher up on her body again. Clarke laughed when her breasts were at eye level and Lexa licked her bottom lip.

"Well I know what to give you for Christmas now," she said.

Lexa smiled before lifting her head to nuzzle one breast. "I could stay here forever."

"Hmm, I'll see what I can do about that." Clarke reached between her legs and touched her, her knees almost buckling when she felt how wet Lexa was.

Lexa's breathing quickened and she pressed her face against Clarke's cleavage, her arm still tight around her.

"Clarke, fuck," she exhaled sharply.

It was distracting enough to have Lexa's mouth so close to her breasts again, but when she lifted her thigh ever so slightly, Clarke felt it against her center and briefly wavered. Knowing she'd be a lost cause if she started grinding down on it, she slid two fingers inside Lexa and watched as she tipped her head back.

Clarke had always known Lexa to be hard to pinpoint; reserved at times and yet so passionate at others. Detached some days and sociable on others. The vision had captured just how intense she could be, like a switch she turned on. For a long time Clarke had thought of her as a walking contradiction, but as she looked at her face now, she saw none of that. Lexa had trusted her with so much; and asked for so little in return. And while Clarke had yearned for the intimacy in her vision, she realized then they'd shared that long before shedding their clothes. Touching Lexa - finally touching Lexa - was just the culmination of it.

"You feel amazing," she whispered as she pressed inside her, amazed by Lexa's small moans and how she held her. They couldn't possibly be closer, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other, and yet it still felt like there was too much between them.

Clarke felt Lexa's thigh tense and moaned, not expecting it to feel so good against her clit. When Lexa nudged her hips and encouraged her to grind down, Clarke gave into the urge.

"Don't stop," Lexa panted, tongue flicking against Clarke's breast again.

Clarke would've never dared, the thought of pulling out almost laughable. Every cell in her body was focused on Lexa; on the sound of her fingers thrusting inside her and the quick rise and fall of her chest. She couldn't get enough of her; couldn't wait to watch her come undone.

Lexa writhed beneath her, hips rising to meet the rhythm she had set. Her eyes were closed now and there was a slight crease between her brows. It made Clarke smile, remembering too fondly how wound up Lexa had been when they had first met. It had been apparent then and it was apparent now, differently of course, only Clarke intended to make sure she found her release.

"I've got you," she echoed Lexa's earlier sentiment, remembering how it had made her feel.

While Clarke hadn't been able to quiet her moans, Lexa's impeding orgasm seemed to have the opposite effect. Her lips were parted and her hold on Clarke had tightened, but she seemed to have retreated into herself.

"Baby, look at me," Clarke gently coxed as her thrusts quickened.

Lexa looked up with shining eyes, and for a moment Clarke lost herself in them. She couldn't really explain what happened then, if their arousal was heightening everything, but she felt every bit of Lexa's trust in her, and it made her heart swell. She bent down to kiss her, and even if it was sloppy it felt like she might cry from it.

Now desperate for Lexa to feel the same way she'd made her, Clarke pulled out of her and focused on her clit, rubbing it until Lexa's fingers dug into her back and she gasped.

"Clarke- fuck, oh-" She came with a soft cry, trying to keep her eyes open until she couldn't any longer. She reached for Clarke's hand and interlaced their fingers, her way of showing she was still here, in the moment, and had no intention of leaving.

Clarke drank in every change in her expression, from her brow finally relaxing to the little twitch in her nose she could only describe as so fucking cute. Lexa was breathtaking. It felt like her chest had exploded with happiness. She couldn't put it into words yet, but she would one day - that much she knew.

With that thought, Clarke rested her head on Lexa's shoulder and grinned, just because it felt exactly like the thing to do.

* * *

Clarke woke up on her stomach to the feeling of Lexa's lips on the back of her neck and her knuckles brushing down her spine. She kept her eyes shut, the light of the morning sun already filtering through the thin drapes. Lexa must've gotten up at some point to shut them, because it certainly hadn't been a priority last night. It'd been a while since Clarke had woken up after dawn, but the café was the furthest thing from her mind today, interviews be damned.

"Hmm feels nice," she mumbled into her pillow. She stretched her arms and legs, nearly purring when she realized Lexa's naked body was pressed against her back.

"Good morning," Lexa murmured.

Clarke faced her with a shy grin. Lexa looked so stunning with her tousled hair and the soft light on her face.

"Hi," she said, her voice still scratchy. 

"How do you feel?"

Clarke snorted. "How do you think?"

Lexa smiled and bent down to kiss her, but the initial gentle press of lips soon turned into something deeper when Clarke reached out for her cheek and opened her mouth. Lexa sighed into it, her hand now resting on her ass and squeezing it when Clarke grew bolder.

"Don't start what you can't finish…" Clarke pulled away, the pulse between her legs throbbing familiarly.

"I wouldn't dare," Lexa replied confidently before straddling Clarke's legs and bending down again to kiss her shoulder blades.

"Lexa…" Clarke's breathing picked up as she guessed her intentions. She was wet, maybe wetter than she'd expected just a few minutes after waking up, but Lexa had this effect on her. She felt her shuffle back before cupping her ass with both hands.

"Raise your hips for me, baby," Lexa gently said.

Clarke did as requested, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her when she suddenly felt Lexa's tongue flat against her slit. The pillow muffled her moan. She buried her face in it, picturing Lexa positioned behind her so clearly it made her stomach tighten even more. Not seeing her made it all the more intense; a sign she trusted Lexa wholly, even at her most exposed.

Lexa tongued her clit and then dipped inside her, teasing her slowly, unlike the frantic pace they had set last night. It was purposeful though, building on the pressure Clarke already felt so strongly.

"Oh my god," she gave a low moan, helpless to do anything but hope Lexa would take pity on her fast.

She didn't. Lexa alternated between slow drags of her tongue against her entrance and gentle suction on her clit, as if exploring her anew in the morning light. Clarke groaned, thinking this might be how she would go insane. She needed so much more - Lexa deep inside her, taking her roughly until she was finally rid of the pulsing ache between her legs.

"Lexa, please-" she said, her fingers digging into the mattress.

Lexa shifted and Clarke suddenly shivered in anticipation. Yesterday had been heated and impatient, but this morning was a different kind of yearning. How far could they push and pull each other? How much could they give and take?

Taking her cue, Lexa drew unhurried circles around her clit before repositioning herself. She leaned down, her breasts against Clarke's back, though not so heavily that Clarke would crumple completely beneath her weight. Then, she pushed two fingers inside her.

"Fuck," Clarke moaned, knees pressed into the mattress.

Flashes of herself getting off like this the first time filled her mind. It had been the first time she'd thought of Lexa - at least consciously. The first time she'd needed to get off so badly that only picturing Lexa would satisfy her. And it had been enough then, but it had never been this good. If Lexa kept this going, she couldn't imagine leaving her room today.

"Like this?" Lexa asked as she filled her.

God, Lexa sure picked her moments. Clarke couldn't think straight, let alone speak!

"Faster," she managed to whimper.

Lexa hummed in acknowledgment and then sucked on her neck, moving her hips in such a way that it matched the movement of her fingers. Clarke felt like she was being mounted; taken so hard and good that she'd walk funny for days. She parted her thighs wider, lewdly, just to feel Lexa deeper.

"Harder… More…"

Lexa knew how to tease but she wasn't cruel at it, at least not this morning. She obeyed Clarke's commands smoothly, as if nothing could please her more than pleasing Clarke.

"I thought about you too," Lexa admitted quietly, like it was a dirty secret of hers. "Just like this."

Clarke's foggy mind processed the words slowly, her heart jolting when she realized what Lexa meant. Lexa shifted behind her and Clarke felt her grind against her ass, like she needed to alleviate the ache she was feeling herself before continuing.

"Thought about you spread out for me." Lexa shifted slightly to change the angle. "Hearing you say my name."

"Lexa-"

"Just like that. I thought about taking you with my tongue first - soft and gentle."

"Oh, oh," Clarke panted into the pillow.

Lexa picked up the pace. "With my fingers - hard and fast."

Clarke's mouth opened but no sound came out as her body hurtled toward release, the delicious pressure tightening with each word.

"And when I was about to come I'd think about taking you with my strap - in deep, long strokes." Lexa finally added a third finger and watched as Clarke's back arched in pleasure.

"Oh my- God, Lex- Don't stop, don't stop!" 

"Never," Lexa breathed out.

Their bodies moved together as one again, and soon Lexa found it harder to keep herself from collapsing on Clarke. She chased her own release, grinding against her, spurred on each time Clarke said her name. 

Finally Clarke's whole body tensed before she moaned loudly into the pillow, pleasure bursting within her as she reached her peak. Her toes curled and her mind went blank, wiped out by Lexa's thorough fucking. One, two, three thrusts of her hips against her ass and Lexa was crying out her name in the crook of her neck, her voice a soft rasp until all Clarke heard was their ragged breathing.

Lexa lied on her for a minute, the weight of her so warm and pleasant that Clarke wished she'd just stay there and they could fall asleep like this. Lexa reached for her hand and held it, mumbling something Clarke couldn't quite make out at first.

"You're amazing," Lexa said more clearly as she moved to the side, lying next to Clarke. "So fucking amazing."

Clarke quickly realized something. "Oh Lex…" she started giggling.

"What is it?" Lexa asked with amusement, propping herself up on her elbow and adoring Clarke's contagious laughter. "Was it too much?"

Clarke shook her head and pulled back. "Not at all. I was just thinking… we lasted about a week."

"Oh." Lexa smiled. "Well, God made the world in a week. A whole world. So I'd argue a week is an honorable amount of time to wait."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back so she could rest her head on her chest, wanting to bask in the warmth of their bodies as her heart settled down.

"True, but I'm not sure the Bible would approve of this."

Lexa shrugged. "We just did our part fulfilling a different prophecy. Which reminds me... How did I compare?"

Clarke laughed tiredly. "No, this wasn't it."

"Really?"

"It was different."

Lexa thought about this for a beat. "How so?"

Clarke kissed the side of her breast. "Just… realer. Looking back, the vision was almost like… like I wasn't fully in my body. It's hard to explain. It can't be compared."

"Hm. Interesting."

Clarke looked up. "You're not going to include this in the Gazette, are you?"

"Well of course I am, this was all just a ploy to further my research."

Clarke moved to playfully nip her earlobe. "In that case I'll have to keep you in this room forever."

Lexa grinned while Clarke peppered her neck with kisses. "I'll agree to those terms in the name of research." She capture her lips and sighed into their sweet kiss, her arms right where she had wanted them for so long, around Clarke's waist.

Staying here forever had a nice ring to it.

[allbrainrot]

Oh hi! Can i ask for 💚 for felix with a female reader? Thank u! Those prompts were so cute btw!!

YES!! I’m glad you like them! Honestly this is the most realistic way I could imagine Felix confessing since he’d never outright admit it without a little prodding.. 🍄🖤

Felix:

- Felix would appear to be just as much of an asshole, but the other lions who know him well recognize that he is significantly less of an asshole to you. This is Felix code for ‘damn it I secretly love you’.

- In the academy days I could totally see Felix with unresolved feelings for a childhood crush on you, back from your little friend group in Faerghus. You don’t really remember anything out of the ordinary, but as the oldest kid I know Sylvain remembers everything that mini Felix did. Probably Ingrid too, she’s pretty perceptive, and I’m sure they eventually got Dimitri in on it.

- So flash forward to present day with all of you as members of Blue Lions, Felix has been trying just a little too hard to convince them that he definitely doesn’t have feelings for you. Faerghus squad has decided it’s been drawn out long enough, the truth has gotta come out before you end up married off to some other noble and it’s too late.

- Definitely says dramatic stuff like ‘you’re insufferable’ and ‘I have no idea how I’ve tolerated you for so long’ when he gets flustered to cover up what he really means, ‘damn it you’re adorable’ and ‘pining after you for a decade is getting frustrating’.

- Sylvain’s ability to evoke jealousy and Dimitri’s ability to elicit a protective response from Felix because ‘get the hell away from her boar’ are S rank weapons in the ‘confession war zone’.

- Step One: Get everyone to have an outing in town to “pick up something for Byleth.” Oh boy! Is that a pastry shop? Well Ingrid just has to force you all to go in! Everyone can sit at a booth with her while she eats~ Alright, time for Dimitri to sit right next to you! A success, he earns a mumbled ‘I don’t trust you for a second, boar’ and then Felix is wedging himself between the two of you. Oh man that’s a tight squeeze. Oh goddess you haven’t been this close to Felix since you were little. It is at this point, Felix realizes that he has been duped. And he is now focusing on suppressing his raging heartbeat while touching thighs and arms with the love of his life. Damn those scoundrels..

- Step Two: Lunchtime! Sylvain has engaged you in a ✨casual✨ game of hot or not, prompting you about your opinions on people at the monastery ‘innocently’ while we test just how hard Felix is capable of clenching his fists! Q: So, who’s the hottest house leader? A: Huh, I’ve never thought about that...I mean, Dimitri does have really pretty eyes! Felix is officially >:((((( and oh man when the boar stutters out a thank you Felix almost loses it..but he feigns cool and scoffs at the both of you.

- Q: Hmm ok..then what about everyone in our friend group? A: What? I mean, I think everyone looks pretty good?? Q: Welllll I don’t know man, Felix is hella scary, he has a permanent scowl! Stupid Sylvain!! Felix’s nails are full on digging into his palms now, how dare Sylvain talk shit about him with you?! Then you laugh..Goddess send help please your laugh is too adorable!! A: Quit being a jerk, Sylvain, Felix is totally attractive! OH MAN. Is it even possible for Felix to hide how red his face is? Can everyone hear how fast his heart is pounding? (Y/n) just called him attractive he feels like he’s going to explode!

- Step Three: Get everyone to cycle through sparring together and tell embarrassing stories about Felix. It’s a little evil but it’s a master plan..sparring is when Felix’s emotions show up the most. Everyone pray for my boy Dimitri who agreed to fight Felix while he’s worked up. You’re benched for this match, watching Felix because man he was impressive..when Sylvain and Ingrid engage you in an odd conversation about your childhood to pass the time. Including:

• Remember that time when we were little and Felix scraped his knee up super bad and came crying to you? He was sniffling so hard and he clutched onto you like a baby koala the whole time you patched it up!

• Oh, or the time that we went out by ourselves to go camping and when it got dark Felix was so scared! He kept crying and crying until you eventually let him share a sleeping bag with you!

• What about the time you sprained your ankle and Felix carried you the whole way home and told you he would be your knight in shining armor?

• There was also that time when you and Felix built a pillow fort and he told us that we weren’t allowed inside because it was ‘The Fort of Fraldarius’. And then we asked why you got to play inside the fort and he said that you were ‘Lady Fraldarius of the Fort’

- ALRIGHT THAT’S IT. Rip Dimitri, his sparring partner is in a frenzy of embarrassment masked by rage 💔 Shortly after hitting Dimitri with a sword over and over again Felix goes off to hole up in his room after being called out for his feelings. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flustered, but it was ultimately overpowered by how funny it was to think back to little things like that and then look at present day Felix. You hadn’t thought about him like that in a while, he would always come to you and so you gave him space when he became more closed off.

- But you still mostly retained the ability to pick up on what the underlying meaning of your friend’s words and actions was. It seems he really hadn’t changed so much from the sensitive little boy who sought your attention..his adoration was still there, he just had no idea what to do with it. Truthfully, a part of you has always loved Felix and you had even wondered about the possibility you’d end up married to him, given the ties between your parents.

- The thought of Felix sulking behind you silently yearning for the rest of your academy days and then abruptly having to go into marriage with you was a mess. So, if you were certain Felix liked you despite his words, would it really be so daunting for you to make a move?

- Now you’re knocking on his door and hear a very muffled ‘go away’. The length of the chain bolt keeping the door shut allowed you to wedge it open just about an inch and you quietly peek inside and..Felix is on his bed, well, you can’t really see him because there is a heap of blankets piled over him. As if he’s building a protective barricade against your friends. Wait that’s exactly what he’s doing lol this is just the fuck off fort WAIT HOLY SHIT FORT-

- You whine at him to at least let you chill in his blanket fort because you didn’t do anything with the intention of teasing him. He groans at your childishness and informs you that this ‘fort’ is not yours to invade. Ok this could end up with a million different outbursts but the cards are all on the table-

- ‘But Felixxxxxx!! Even if I’m older I’m still Lady Fraldarius of the Fort 🥺🥺🥺’

- But he’s quick to quip back at you..damn so close!! ‘Well, (Y/n), given that you are 17 years old now I was inclined to believe that you realized that you actually have to marry a Fraldarius for that title. Perhaps I underestimated your idiocy.’ DAMN. He really went there. Ok, if that’s how it is, two can play that game..

- ‘Damn, alright. Well if that’s what it takes to get into the cozy Fort of Fraldarius, where do I sign up to check off the qualifications?’ >:3

- OH BOY UMMM FELIX IS COMING OVER HERE REALLY FAST- Be prepared to be picked up and be thrown into the fort with Felix.. It’s actually quite impressive how many different ways Felix can find to call you an idiot..while still attached to you. Felix, too, has known that there’s a probability you would become eloped by your families, and brings that up now because ‘Whatever. I suppose if I must marry an idiot, it would minimize the negatives if it was an idiot that I’ve already had to tolerate for so long. But if I have to endure such for my family line, I guess I should build up as much of a tolerance for you as possible before then.’

- So basically, the heavily encrypted message you received was ‘Yes, I’ve always thought about marrying you. But, now you have to be my girlfriend and give me as much of your attention and affection as possible’ He gets a little better about covering things up and has at least admitted that he loves you and you’re official, along with that it makes him happy when you hold him like you did when you were kids. He’s gone a wholeass decade now without ever seeking out anyone else, just remembering your childhood affections, so once you’re alone and he’s gotten used to things enough he’ll be pretty touch starved. Now, he just sits and waits, glaring at you until you deliver your routine cuddles that he would never admit to wanting out loud..

WHEW OK I DID IT AGAIN AND WROTE A RIDICULOUSLY LONG HC ON ACCIDENT 🥺🍄 Followers pls let me know if you like the long ones I write or if you’d like me to start making them short! Also lmk if you want me to censor any cussing it’s just a regular part of my vocabulary so I always end up writing some! Tyty for all the support I really really appreciate it 🥰✨ Oh! also! this is a side blog so unfortunately I can’t really reply to comments without it getting confusing, but I read everything and appreciate comments so so so much!

[scxrsgxrd]

please write that crossover between True Blood and Hemlock Grove, queen

GLAAAAADLY. I hope you enjoy it!!

18+ mentions of death, blood and violence.

“Oooo, really? That dress with those shoes?”

Unfortunately for Pam, her extremely vivid dream about her baby brother meeting a grisly and utterly painful true death at her own hands had turned out to be just that, a dream. She openly cursed her subconscious for once again getting her hopes up, and out of the corner of her eye noticed Eric cock an eyebrow from his position on his throne, silently cautioning her to play nicely with his younger progeny. He new exactly what Pam would be capable of when it came to her brother, and didn’t have the time to spend half of his evening cleaning baby vamp remains off his bar.

The little cunt of a baby vamp whose name was even more pretentious than he was had been the by-product of Eric’s schmoozing of a wealthy American senator and his family back in the early 80s. Pam was never usually unsure of Eric’s motives when it came to humans, for there was always one common goal: gain. Whether it be social or economic, Eric always had to be top of the pile, and he had a particular dislike for self-important politicians. It was one of the things Pam admired most about Eric, his ambition, but it was impossible for her to hide her disdain at the fateful decision he had made back on a sweltering, sticky evening during the summer of ‘82 which Pam, unfortunately, remembered very clearly.

“Eric, you fucked his wife. Isn’t that enough?” Pam had spent the best part of an hour protesting his decision and insisting that they leave the drained body of Roman on a roadside to rot.

“Nope.” His reply was short, but full of mischief. It had been a while since Pam had seen Eric like this, he was almost like an excited puppy as he gripped the shovel and aimed the pointed end at the ground, pushing down with his foot on the metallic head as he began to dig a shallow pit for his night’s slumber.

Pam scoffed, eyes flitting down to Eric as her expression perfectly reflected the distaste she had for her maker’s most recent idea.

“Don’t look at me like that, Pam. By this time tomorrow you’ll have a new baby brother.” Eric’s smirk was wide as he looked over at her, starting to loosen his tie and unbutton the crisp, white shirt she had carefully picked out for him for that evening’s dinner.

“Lucky fuckin’ me.”

When Eric turned his attention back to his digging, Pam glanced over at the lifeless body of Roman Godfrey, son of Theodore Godfrey, a prominent Republican politician and personal friend of Reagan, whom Eric had insisted deserved to suffer in the worst way possible. Roman was Theodore’s only son, his pride and joy, and a carbon copy of his obnoxious and spoiled father, both of them sharing the same nauseatingly entitled traits. Pam didn’t disagree, she despised the man even more than Eric did, but thought that there were better ways to fuck with him. Specifically ways that didn’t involve spending an eternity with his bratty and insufferable offspring.

Pam had lost count of the times Roman had shamelessly tried to hit on her at his father’s dinner parties; tactfully placing a hand on her knee under the dinner table or trying to ply her with a seemingly never-ending stream of champagne. But she had bitten her tongue for Eric’s sake, allowing the little shit to boost his ego while she envisioned all of the different ways she’d like to make him to squeal like a pig. And it was for Eric’s sake that she began to pile the soil over him and Roman after he had pulled the body into the shallow grave next to him, watching as Eric gave her a wink before his face disappeared under the dirt.

“You know what I like about you, Pam?” Pam was grateful that was snapped out of that shitty memory until she realised who the whiny voice coming from behind her belonged to.

“What?” Pam turned around to set her glare on Roman and thrust a crate of true blood against his chest, catching him off guard as he had to take a step backwards to regain his balance, the sly smirk never leaving his lips.

“You’re walking evidence that you really can’t polish a turd. But hey, you know what they say, you can roll it in glitter. Lucky for you, I guess.”

Lucky for Pam indeed, as Eric had left the room to recline in his office before the nightly opening of Fangtasia, meaning Pam finally had her chance.

In an instant Roman was pinned against the bar with Pam’s hand coiled around his throat, her newly manicured nails making crescent shapes on his porcelain skin as she pictured herself removing his head entirely and making it into a decorative piece for outside her coffin. For a second she thought she heard a small squeak escape him as he realised that Eric was nowhere to be seen, and that his enraged older sister now had free reign over him.

“Now that daddy isn’t here to save you I’m gonna rip you several new assholes, starting with at least three on your pretty little face.” Pam ran a nail down his cheek, pressing down onto the flesh hard enough to make a small nick, causing a small trail of blood to run down past his plump lips and onto his chin.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty.” That smirk was back as Roman struggled against her grip, but his attempts to escape from Pam’s fury were futile. His expression turned from one of overarched confidence to one of pure horror as he watched Pam’s fangs appear, her upper body angling to the left slightly so she had perfect access to his neck.

“Pamela Swynford De Beaufort, as your maker I command you to release your brother.” Two fists suddenly slammed onto the bar next to Roman’s head as a familiar voice boomed, and Pam knew she had no other option but to obey. A low growl left her as she took a step back, allowing Roman to scramble up and cower behind their maker.

“Oh come on, Eric. He’s a fuckin’ liability, I’d be doin’ us both a service by gettin’ rid of him.” Pam’s own voice was now raised, her fangs gleaming against the bright lights of the bar as she folded her arms.

Pam’s statement brought back unwanted memories for the three of them. When Roman had become Eric’s progeny, all of his human qualities had been amplified. His cunningness, his selfishness, and worst of all: his complete lack of respect for human life.

Roman’s disregard for the consequences of his newly acquired set of capabilities had come to a head when the trio had visited London two months after Roman’s turning and were in a club to scope out the nightlife. Busy nightclubs were almost the perfect feeding ground, the hedonistic atmosphere offering a perfect distraction for the people who were crammed together in the small space, heads tilted backwards as they laughed and yelled along to the lyrics of whatever song the DJ had begun to spin.

Pam had been pressed up against a young woman, her fist in the woman’s hair as they were leant against a wall, slowly driving her tongue up the woman’s salty tasting neck. Pam felt the urge inside her begin to become overwhelming as the woman let out a long moan and rolled her pelvis forward. Pam snaked a hand up the woman’s skirt, resting it on the inside of her knee and was about to start feeding when a strangled shriek ripped her away from her meal.

In the middle of the dancefloor Roman’s hands were clamped on the waist of a woman wearing a short white dress, trickles of blood staining the formerly pristine garment as Roman sunk his teeth into her throat once more, severing her carotid artery as she let out another scream, the music dampening out her cries as her blood began to pool on the floor between her and Roman.

Once he had finished he simply let go of her body, stepping over as she fell to the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, winking at Pam as he made his way over to the bar.

In all of her years with Eric, Pam had never seen him as seething as he was when they had returned to their sleeping quarters, and she was so sure (and hopeful) that would be the night where Roman met his true death. But her hopes were soon dashed when Eric simply returned to his coffin and warned that he was not to be disturbed.

“Oh please, like you’re so perfect. At least I had dignity and respect for myself when I was human.” Roman snarled, peeking out his head from behind Eric’s shoulder to deliver his insult.

“That’s enough.” Eric roared, rubbing his temples as he closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he could no longer deal with the bickering between his progenies.

“Pam, you will not try to decapitate your brother tonight and Roman you will not disrespect your sister again. Am I clear?”

There was silence as all three took it in turns to exchange irate glances with each other.

“I said, am I clear?” Eric’s tone was more assertive this time, resulting in a reluctant nod from both progenies as they made their way to opposite ends of the bar, every so often casting unimpressed, disgusted glances at each other.

As Fangtasia began to fill with regulars, Pam continued to fantasize about what would have happened earlier if Eric hadn’t caught her, a smile appearing on her face as she imagined the tranquillity of eternal life without the presence of her brother. Maybe one day she would get lucky. Maybe one day.

[astralprcjects]

first of all, if you saw me accidentally post this when it was half done, no you didn’t <3 but anyway, i’m following the trend and throwing out some ideas for connections !! i’d love some new plots, so if any of these catch your eye pls don’t hesitate to come yell at me :))) discord is the best place to reach me ( jojo she-ra#5493 ) or tumblr ims work just fine too !! 

i get very confused whether likes are just for support or if you’re interested in any plots so pls pls just dm me or drop a reply and i’ll come to you !! i’m not scary i promise just nervous like a shaky dog <3

a few important points:

mars is a lesbian, so romantic plots can only be taken up by female and non binary characters.

rosalie is bisexual and polyamorous – they have no interest in monogamy. she likes to form connections with people, and so much prefers casual flings and dating with no strings over one night stands.

both of my characters use she and they pronouns interchangeably. please don’t refer to them as women or misgender them in any way ( i’m always happy to answer any questions if you’re confused !! )

── 👻 M A R C E L I N E

extroverted friends – a lot of mars’ friends are introverts and she loves them dearly, but sometimes they just needs to be around people who match their energy !! so friends who will happily get excited with her and share their own passions in return ?? they’re extremely loyal and latch onto people quickly, so would be over the moon for that energy to be matched. ( open – all )

the non-believer – this muse doesn’t believe in ghosts or aliens or anything supernatural. so, naturally, mars has made it her life’s mission to change their mind. they have constant debates and light-hearted fights; they both enjoy trying to prove the other wrong. ( open – all )

horror movie besties – mars loves a good scary movie, but they always appreciates a familiar shoulder to hide behind. she and this character share a passion for horror movies and have regular movie nights. they always accompany each other to see the latest scary flicks in the cinema or re-runs of old classics. ( open – all )

unrequited crush – someone that mars is close friends with, who she is sure she feels more than friendship for. they respect their boundaries and will always be afraid to tell them, but can’t help but quietly pine from a far. ( open – f/enby )

requited crush – same as above, except the other person feels the same and now they’re dancing around each other ( open – f/enby )

friends who grew apart – they used to be close, mars used to tell them everything, but something pulled them apart. perhaps they both had feelings for the same person, or your character became irritated by mars’ constant pestering. mars can also get bored easily, maybe she became bored of this person too ?? or maybe mars had a crush on them and pulled away out of panic. ( open – all (f/enby only for ex-crush) )

amicable exes – they dated for a few months and it was great, but other circumstances caused them to break up. they didn’t see each other for a while, but later reunited and realised that, although they had both moved on, they still really cared for each other and struck up a strong friendship instead. now they are each other’s go-to for relationship/dating advice, since they know each other so well. ( open – f/enby )

co-workers and work connections – mostly fellow journalists, or people who work in the magazine/newspaper industry. marcie works freelance, so she works for various publications across the city and would have contacts in most places who she can call upon for favours. they would also have a string of contacts from previous articles they’ve written; perhaps she has interviewed your character or they are someone with a lot of connections themselves which she can utilise. usually at a price, of course. ( open – all )

no man is an island – mars is desperately trying to become an author, but they can’t do it alone. so anyone who works in the industry is a valuable asset – publishers, editors, fellow authors, you name it and mars probably wants their number. she can go to these people for help and advice when she faces a setback, or just wants to use their placement in the industry to try to launch her career. they are, of course, always well compensated with baked goods and cups of coffee. ( open – all )

rivals – mars can be incredibly irritating and she knows that, but she doesn’t appreciate when people are cruel or rude to her about it. this muse simply can’t stand marcie and so the feeling is mutual and they avoid each other at all costs, even if the universe sometimes has other ideas. ( open – all )

 ── 🌹 R O S A L I E

gossip sources – people always know people who know people and rosalie is insufferably nosey. she always wants to know everything that’s going on and can never keep her opinions to herself. as such, she is an excellent person to go for if you need to rant or want impartial advice, just as long as you remember to tell her not to spread the news beforehand. otherwise the entire borough of queens might know your business by lunchtime. ( open – all )

college friends – rosalie studied at nyu from 2012 to 2016, so could have crossed paths with all kinds of people during this time !! maybe they’ve stayed in touch ever since, maybe they lost track of each other once their lives divulged but now have an opportunity to reconnect ?? ( open – all )

makeover victims – rosalie loves all things beauty (makeup, hair, nails, fashion, the full works) and, even more than that, loves experimenting on other people. these characters are her canvas; whether they have an event they’re attending, or are off on a date, or even just fancy an afternoon of being pampered, rosalie will always be at their doorstep with a fully equipped makeup kit if they just say the word. ( open – all )

practically cousins – rosa’s family is huge and they are well known for inviting anyone and everyone over for dinner, especially if those people don’t have family of their own or are far away from home. rosalie’s friends are considered family and are welcome in their home. ( open – all )

friends of her family – the above courtesy is of course extended to their family member’s friends. perhaps this muse is close to one of rosalie’s siblings, but doesn’t get along with rosa at all. the two try to get along over the dinner table (mostly to avoid her abuela’s wrath), but outside of that they bicker relentlessly and can’t seem to ever see eye to eye. ( open – all )

rivals – rosalie is an insufferable gossip who can’t keep their mouth shut unless they were sworn to secrecy. maybe she spilled a secret of your muse’s by accident and they have never forgiven her for it ?? she’s not spiteful and is very openminded so it would be something she thought was harmless or common knowledge, which also means she doesn’t really accept that she did anything wrong. ( open – all )

heartbroken – their dating life is a mess and they tend to pull away if things get too serious, so she’s likely to have a string of people who have been hurt by her distancing herself from them. maybe there was a miscommunication and rosalie thought they were only hooking up but the other thought they were dating ?? or maybe they were something more serious, but rosalie broke it off when it got too real ?? there are lots of options to play with !! ( open – all )

casual hookups – because she doesn’t want to get attached, rosalie has multiple casual partners. neither party wants anything more serious, but it is fun to hook up with each other and go out on dates without any of the strings that usually comes with that. if we want the d r a m a, perhaps your muse actually does want more, but rosalie is scared to commit. ( open – all )

industry friends – actors, directors, screenplay writers etc. the entertainment industry is a tangled mess of egos, but when you make friends you keep them close. these are people rosalie can run lines with, they tell each other about auditions and support each other through the madness that is the career path they’ve both chosen. rosalie is never afraid to speak her mind, so she is always someone that can be relied upon for constructive, impartial advice. ( open – all )

[jaskiersvalley]

Forever Yours

@alwenarin​ You cannot leave this in the comments and not expect me to be inspired! This will also beautifully fill the ‘whump’ square on my bingo card for a discord server. So thank you!

CW: Witcher Trials

Winter was upon them and Eskel couldn’t leave Cahir behind. Over the last couple of months they’d quite grown on each other. Sure, it wasn’t always easy, the first time Cahir lost his temper at having to once again leave town without pay or rest, it hadn’t been pretty. He’d raged, Eskel had to all but bodily haul him away from the line of pitchforks. Looking back on it, the memory was quite bittersweet because Eskel hadn’t had someone so up in arms on his behalf before. Nobody defended a witcher. Well, Geralt’s bard did but he was a rarity. And now Eskel had his own bottled lightning in the form of Cahir.

“I know I’ve said it before-” Eskel sighed. They were in the last tavern before climbing the mountain to Kaer Morhen. “-but Kaer Morhen is a bit of a mixed bag.”

“I know,” Cahir echoed back and stole a parsnip from Eskel’s plate. “Lambert’s a dick, he may have Aiden with him who is an enabler of the worst kind. Geralt will grunt, Jaskier will sing, Ciri will challenge anyone to a fight and Vesemir is the long suffering father figure. We’re been over this a lot.”

At least Eskel’s jaw snapped shut and he looked down in embarrassment. He knew he was fussing but his family was a lot. More than most people could usually cope with. It took a couple of years before any of his guests ever felt comfortable.

They made the trek over a couple of days and dismounted as they rode into the courtyard.

“Eskel!” A voice greeted them and who was probably Lambert hopped down from a windowsill. “You picked up another one?”

“Shut up Lambert,” Eskel growled but gave his fellow wolf a hug despite his scowl.

“Another what?” Cahir demanded, not quite sure what it could mean.

A voice from behind him almost purred. “Another pet project. I’ve heard about them over the years. I’m Aiden.” Shaking the offered hand, Cahir looked the man over. Witcher, no mistaking that but of a different ilk to the wolves. “Why don’t I show you around while Eskel catches up with his family?”

One solid, warm hand grabbed Cahir by the shoulder and Eskel looked looming next to him.

“He’ll come with me.”

“Oh I bet I will!” Aiden winked and Lambert brayed. The two of them took off, hollering for the whole keep to hear about the fact Eskel wasn’t alone.

Just like the warnings, Cahir found that Lambert was indeed an insufferable arse who was absolutely egged on by Lambert. Geralt had taken one look at him and grunted, Jaskier was chattier than all the witchers combined. However, the biggest surprise was Ciri. She had taken one look at Cahir, gasped and ran to him.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams!”

That wasn’t ominous at all. It also led to a long discussion where Geralt looked more constipated than ever before. They’d thought Ciri’s dreams had been under control but it turned out they changed to less distressing.

“He used to be covered in blood. Now he just has yellow eyes.”

The table erupted in murmurs and arguments then, whether the dreams were literal or if they were symbolic. After all, Cahir’s eyes were most definitely not yellow, not in any light.

A boon of the discussion that lasted for days was that the teasing had stopped. Cahir had been able to gather that he wasn’t the first companion Eskel had brought home. Not by a long shot. He always seemed to pick up strays, broken people scattered along his Path. And every single time he was helpless to resist. All he offered was a helping hand, to be a crutch until his newfound companion was ready to stand on their own feet. Or they died in his arms. No matter what, it always ended with Eskel’s already bruised heart shattering a little more. The others thought him foolish for putting his heart on the line so often. Lambert had found another witcher as a companion. Meanwhile, Geralt had a sorceress and a powerful child surprise who were both quite attached to their bard. There was no doubt that Jaskier would enjoy a lifespan longer than that of an average human. But Eskel? He had Cahir, a regular human and they didn’t have powerful friends. They all knew that this was borrowed happiness they were living with.

While the others were all hung up on Ciri and her dreams, trying to tease them into something meaningful, Cahir sat back and mulled things over. He’d found happiness. After everything that had happened, he found he wasn’t prepared to let it go. Cahir wanted more than a blink of an eye with Eskel. So he started trying to find a way, any way to extend that time. He trained with the witchers each morning, learning from them but also teaching them tricks that he’d picked up in the army. When he wasn’t dripping sweat and getting bruised to the point of looking like a dropped peach, he was in the library, studying. Two heads were better than one, Cahir was determined to be useful on the road with Eskel.

It was in the library that Jaskier found him, looking a little hesitant.

“Nilfgaard is still looking for you. They’ve doubled the price on your head.”

“And how would you know that when we’re all cut off from the world at large?” Not that Cahir had anything against Jaskier but he was dubious about how he could possibly hear about new information when so isolated.

He didn’t expect Jaskier to flop into a seat next to him with a scowl.

“As one intelligence officer to another, I won’t reveal my methods but I’ll share what’s relevant to you.”

A little irked, Cahir sniffed. “Ex-intelligence officer. My loyalties are to Eskel and his family, not Nilfgaard.”

If anything, it seemed to make Jaskier nod. “You’re just like them. A witcher in everything but body. You’re a good fit for Eskel.”

With that, he got up again, deciding he had had enough of sitting still. The damage had been done though and Cahir’s mind was working overtime. Jaskier had hit the nail on the head so to speak and an idea was blossoming in Cahir’s mind. He mulled it over until dinner. When everyone was quietly eating, he didn’t clear his throat, didn’t set his utensils aside with purpose. Instead, as if asking someone to pass the salt, he said, “I want to do the trials.”

Though it was quiet before, an absolute silence engulfed the room. The witchers all stared at him dumbfounded.

“No. Absolutely not.” Eskel looked as close to panic as a witcher could.

“We said we’ll never force the trials on anyone ever again,” Vesemir added, looked at Cahir gravely.

“Then it’s just as well I’m asking. You’re not forcing.”

It was Lambert who whistled and shook his head. “We knew you were batshit but this is a whole new level. You don’t want to do the trials, trust me.”

“Yeah, you really don’t.” It was the most sombre Aiden had even looked. If Cahir had to guess, he looked harrowed and haunted.

Nobody seemed keen on Cahir’s idea. Even as he outlined that he wanted to try, knew the outcomes and possibilities. But if he wanted to have a chance at Eskel’s side for more than a passing moment, he needed this.

It caused several heated arguments between him and Eskel. NIghts where Eskel held him close to his chest and buried his nose in Cahir’s hair. There were no tears but they both knew if Eskel could have, he would have sobbed.

“I can’t lose you. Not like this,” Eskel whispered.

“Would you rather lose me on the path? Watch me bleed out when we weren’t quick enough? Blame yourself for my death?” It was a low blow but Cahir could steep lower. “When Nilfgaard catches up with us, they won’t hesitate to take me. At least as a witcher I’ll have a fighting chance at defending myself.”

“But I can protect you!” Eskel wasn’t giving up on the notion. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, but I want to.”

The battle was won. With Eskel on his side, it was a matter of time before Vesemir acquiesced. All the knowledge was still in the library, the parts that were destroyed, he still remembered. Fencing instructor or not, he was a Master at the keep and so knew the ins and outs as well as anyone else.

“We only ever did this to boys who were more resilient than adults. They didn’t bounce back. There’s no telling what this will do to you.” The warning was meant well but Cahir shrugged it off. He watched as the potions were brewed.

One last night before they administered the concoctions. Eskel didn’t sleep at all, neither did Cahir. They were wrapped around each other, wordlessly clinging. Both of them knew the risks, the likeliest outcome but Cahir was set. This was his choice and if he died, that would be on him. There was no way Eskel could take on the guilt of his death too.

There was no point in eating breakfast, Lambert had cheerily informed him he would only throw it up and choke so Cahir sat with the others while they ate. It was silent in a way it hadn’t been before, more like a wake than breakfast. Once everyone was done, Jaskier stayed behind with Ciri while the others walked down to the old laboratories. There was a bed set up with straps.

Nobody needed to prompt Cahir, he stripped out of his clothes until down to his underwear. He stepped forward and Eskel’s hand on his chest stopped him.

“Are you sure?” There was a silent pleading to in his voice, begging Cahir to reconsider. “It’s okay to change your mind.”

“I want this. I want the chance of a life with you. Your lifetime, not mine.”

It was Geralt who strapped him down, surprisingly gentle. Wrists, forearms, biceps, chest, hips, thigh, shins and ankles. Last but not least, a strap went around Cahir’s forehead.

“One more thing,” Lambert stepped up and he fed a strap under Cahir’s neck. “Open up.”

The thickest part of the leather was placed between Cahir’s teeth and buckled against his cheek. One last squeeze to his hand from Eskel and they all stepped back as Vesemir approached, needle in hand. The prick of it wasn’t pleasant but Cahir had had worse. He’d been tortured by Nilfgaard. This couldn’t be worse. Except he could feel the burn of the potion up his arm and he couldn’t jerk away from it. The straps held him tight as the burn consumed him, flowed through his veins. Everything around Cahir stopped existing except for the pain. It was unrelenting, melting his bones, deafening him. The bite of the straps into his skin paled in comparison. He didn’t know if his throat worked anymore or if he stopped being able to scream.

Unfortunately, the witchers bearing witness to it all knew Cahir could scream. They heard every cry, wretched moan, watched as the straps rubbed his skin raw, dug into the flesh. Eskel couldn’t bear it. He fled up the stairs, trying to block the sounds out. There was no escaping them though, just like as a child, each time the trials were administered, the whole keep echoed with screams.

“It’s okay.” A hand on his shoulder drew him back into the present and Jaskier offered him a wisp of a smile. “He’s a tough bastard.”

Tough or not, it didn’t prevent the screams from taking up residence as the soundtrack to Eskel’s newest nightmares. It was even worse when they bubbled off into pained groans and breathless gasps. The potions helped dance a fine line between life and death, reshaping its victim into something barely human.

It was a peak followed by a lull. If only one potion had been enough but it was multiple dosages of different poisons. One by one, the younger witchers rotated out of the lab, needing a break to deal with the memories it was all bringing back. Even Vesemir needed a break. Eskel couldn’t bring himself to go back down, too terrified to see the results of the potions on Cahir. He couldn’t bring himself to go down and see a broken, lifeless body. Already, Geralt had told him that Cahir had managed to dislocate joints despite the straps, that bruises littered his body along with everything else pain wrung from his body.

“It is done,” Vesemir announced. “The last potion has been administered.”

Which meant another six hours for it to burn through Cahir before they could start to hope that he had pulled through.

“I’ll sit with him,” Jaskier offered. “You all go relax. Let me deal with this.”

It gave the witchers an excuse not to have to deal with a body if Cahir didn’t make it. They didn’t need that kind of guilt on their conscience. Well, they’d know their trials killed Cahir but they wouldn’t have the physical memory of having to carry one more of theirs to a pyre. It was the least Jaskier could do.

He walked down into the lab and tried not the gag at the stench of urine, vomit and who knew what else. Cahir twitched and trembled on the bed, looking worn ragged. At least he was moving, his chest heaving breaths slowly and shuddering on each one. Settling in, Jaskier waited until the worse of it had passed before slowly undoing the straps. Cahir didn’t move once. It was getting a little unnerving and Jaskier had to really pay attention to see each breath, heartbeat slower than a human’s so the pulse he tried to feel in a wrist was thready and sparse.

Jaskier almost missed the way Cahir rolled to his side, panting softly. Dry heaving, he shivered and cried out weakly. Immediately, Jaskier was up.

“You’re okay. The worst is over.” He tried to reassure and pulled a light throw over Cahir. It got kicked off with a disoriented moan. Of course, Jaskier realised, witcher senses were heightened. So probably everything was too much for Cahir in that moment. Walking around to crouch by Cahir’s head, Jaskier swept sweaty, lanky hair from his face. “Was it worth it?”

Behind Jaskier, the air shifted and he knew Eskel stood behind him. It was confirmed when Cahir opened his eyes and fixed his newly yellow gaze on the figure behind Jaskier.

“Yes.