#without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark

[haitanology]

all is said and done before doomsday comes ; s62 x fem!reader

—it’s no secret that tenjiku brings misfortune to all those whose red fabric bleeds onto their skin. before the dooming tragedy crashes upon all of your closest friends, you indulge yourselves in a night where all limits break, tasting what once was forbidden to them.

warning — smut (mdni) ! gangbang, sub!reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), orgasm denial, double penetration, anal, dacryphilia, squirting, lots of cum/spit/tears, creampie, praising, body worship, overstimulation, size kink, reader’s eyes are covered at one point, 69, mating press (?), some of them are filthy little freaks and others nasty little shits, kakucho not invited bc he was 14 at the time, got a master’s in dickology i guess bc never have i ever described so many with such detail, there’s probably more i missed idk

wc ~ 9.6k

note, this. this is what i bring to the function. the inability to write porn without plot, always shoving in feelings everywhere.

part i. my heart for thought.

the day before the fight between tenjiku and toman, all men close to you meet up for dinner at your apartment. a tradition dear to you ever since they were boys, with so much anger on their cupped hands spilled in the violence that filled their every desire. yet, not a single drop ever splashed onto you, their touch soft albeit drenched in murderous blood.

paths crossed after stumbling upon their formation, running away from a crowd of high school boys —at the time way older and bigger— you were the reason for their first conquest as tenjiku. a bond forged with the vivid red of your hearts’, the black of the darkness that surrounds them and the white of the ray of hope you offer.

ever since then you’ve been friends, the closest ones could ever be. your heartbeats merged; a yearning for your warmth naive. presence leaving traces of heat on their cheeks, some dark red much like their uniforms.

however, time passes, and before you now stand men. knuckles bruised and innocence gone, viciousness part of their hearts along with the thirst for a bigger power. and even then, a big chunk of their hearts and souls has never left your hands, having them crave more strongly —never understanding what they even wanted.

also having grown with them, with each year your fear has only grounded itself further. roots wrapping around your feet and having you stay put as the world they have constructed opened itself to you. screams laced in agony and tears reflecting sadness, you were aware one day those sadistic grins would perish. the thought eats you alive night and day, in your nightmares and dreams.

it wasn’t the loneliness that scared you, but the idea of losing the blood that pumps your heart. romantically, there’s nothing (or so you say); despite that, the strings that connected you to them are thicker —tough to break and more tense than they have ever been.

so tense they could come undone and tie themselves back up to a bond that’s even mightier. but nothing can make them crumble, you are sure of it.

“i don’t want you guys to fight tomorrow.” you leave your words to hang in the air, washed in the scent of loitering takeout boxes, steam circling around them.

outside, the vast darkness is splattered by dots of light. not following a pattern, entangled in their dance, two stars farther than the rest. in the wide crystals that separate your group from the cold winter night, calmness is reflected.

you barely whisper, but their attention is always on you, so to them it was as loud as a scream. a plead for tranquility to finally settle, heart stripped to vulnerability.

“why the hell not?” shion retorts, although his tone isn’t mad nor pissed off. eyes on you, like they’ve always been, feasting on your pouting lips.

he keeps the head shake to himself, chopsticks navigating through his food to keep his mind occupied. nevertheless, the plopping sounds coming from the boxed noodles have him swallowing down an invisible lump in his throat.

“have a bad feeling, dunno.” shrugging, you mumble, dulcet to combat shion’s unconscious roughness. a gesture he silently thanks, chest constricted inside of him.

not having touched the food tonight, your hands rest in heavy fists on top of your thighs. your stomach mocks you, feasting on the concern that drops upon it, twisting in giddiness that makes itself painful to you. the living room’s icy kisses bring you shivers, its presence heavy.

when the younger haitani scoffs, forcing you out of the mortal trap that are your thoughts, you notice the piercing ache in your head from your harsh wrinkles in between furrowed brows. you don’t want them to misinterpret your worrying for anger —not that they would— the curve they form now more upset.

“nothing will happen.” rindou waves your fear off with a lazy hand from his place in one of the couches. the smile he gifts you gives a tender hug, so joyful and relaxed. “as long as you’re alive, none of us could ever think of leaving you.”

they don’t need to say it out loud; they all agree.

on the other hand, you offer rindou a smile of your own. it’s nervous, trembling while it holds itself up, but ravishing in his eyes. swimming in a vivid purple, his pupils grow bigger, lights reflecting a desire for your wellbeing —a desire for you.

his words can do wonders, and while it may be just for a short time, you can proclaim there’s been an instant tonight where you’ve felt everything would be alright. the world sure wasn’t ending tomorrow, not when that same world declares it won’t. no matter what, all because of you.

yet it’s all in your eyes, wide and averting. the terror has taken over you like a parasite, taking more than sweet words to get rid of.

“yeah, we’re plenty strong!” mochi exclaims, his grin triumphant. arm lifted, he flexes it with pride to which shion rolls his eyes, but the short snort you utter makes it worth it. “what, you don’t trust us?”

your eyes broaden even more when you hear his dejected question, his smirk fallen into a disappointed frown. you shake your head, rapidly so. trusting their strength; with your heart in their hands, you don’t want it to suffer.

throughout the years, the bond that connects you to them has proven to be ever growing. your mind, body and soul as much of a part of them as your own. same for them, who have given all of those to you when all you knew were their names. if it were to be severed, something within you would die, and if it happened to morph into a more passionate craving —one none of you answer to nor understand— you’d fear for the unknown future, and the growth within your heart.

“it’s not that, i’m ju— just—“ you don’t mean to stumble upon your words, the same way you don’t want them to think you can’t leave fate on their calloused hands. taking a deep breath, you gulp. “just—“

but your words are deep in your chest, unable to get out. your gaze glistens, honing onto your fidgeting hands, blinking any trace of the soon to come tears. the bad omen only makes its presence more evident to you, poking its ugly tongue, invisible to anyone else in the living room. it’s real, vivid, and it makes you—

“scared?” it’s mucho who completes your train of thought in your stead, always listening to your heart, inviting him to the confines of your mind.

he’s never needed many words, his gaze hungry for the knowledge of you. and when you nod, answering his query, his expression relaxes. although only when your terror has truly subsided, will he rest peacefully.

“i’m terrified.” you confess, the moon at its highest peak in the darkest sea. voice thin, breakable with a simple touch.

they loathe it, your distress. a stab to their hearts even when someone else’s fright pumps it back to life. to them, that was love, caging your fragile heart in their arms so that their backs take all the damage.

a hushed promise is shared between all of them, one to save you from that dismay, no matter what it takes or how it’s done. it’s sealed, and so is the night’s fate.

there’s shuffling, muted steps silent against the floor below. in front of you stand a pair of black socks, looking up to come across the diminished violet hues of izana. a deep color honed in violence, shining with anger that once glimmered with joy. ruined by the big heart of who he thought was his brother, so eager to bring up mikey to the life they shared —their secrets, their bond, broken by the youngest’s toothy grin.

alas, you haven’t been tainted by his ill-fated hands yet, secured by his own presence. his hand, small but grounding, delicate despite how many punches it has thrown at the world around him. all blood is cleaned, resting on your thigh, caressing your skin.

an electrifying touch, much like the others’, having you sweat. heat on your face, heart hungry, but you’ve never given it much thought. you’ve always loved them, willing for the emptiness of your body to fill itself with yearning so as to not sacrifice what was carefully built.

izana speaks in gentle promises and strong declarations. he doesn’t sugarcoat what’s intense, allowing it to crush whoever hears him, wanting his love to be known. you know they do love you, but the blind eye you all turn to when it comes to the dissatisfaction of your desires will always yell louder.

“we love you, so much.” more than you could know, the silence completes, unheard.

you find the hidden words with ease, nothing will happen to us, he says, and what izana says, goes. but they are blind to the scythe in the middle of the room, itching to spin around and take its next victim. and you know, between you and those whose red jackets bleed, the result will always be one of them.

“enough to drop the fight?” you counter, your decisive frown challenging them. deepening once izana gives a slow shake of his head.

“enough to refuse to die.”

his response isn’t as reassuring as you would have liked, no matter how deep his words puncture. he gives your flesh a firm squeeze, eyes widening at the tight grip on your thigh.

clearing his throat, he turns back to his place on the couch. a small smirk, concealed as triumph when all it really shows is satisfaction. actions given out to make you forget the disappointment due to his answer.

you sit there, missing the warmth of his presence; the contact on your skin. cravings come back up, like bile stuck to your throat. you need to keep it away, as you have always done.

gulping, you focus on the clock’s ticking. small conversations are carried out between them: shion’s obnoxious laughter and rindou’s childish chuckles, the serenity of mucho’s presence, mochi’s boyish pride, the veiled kindness izana attempts to hide or ran’s attentive listening that you know makes him caring —even though he sometimes uses all he knows to poke fun at them.

you love tenjiku, even kakucho, who couldn’t be there tonight. his spot is empty, unoccupied, chopsticks untouched on top of the table. you don’t care, keeping him close to your heart as well.

“i’ll protect them, always.” mumbling, ran’s lips curve up into a smile full of fondness. adoration sparkling the hyacinth tint of his pupils, capturing the memories of the people he treasures for himself.

your own smile engraved on his mind forever, one he makes sure will always stay that way. along the light in your eyes, never dimming despite their company. you make them forget what they are, and what friends would they be if they don’t return the favor?

dinner ends when the moon is at the brightest peak of her journey. between indistinctive chatter you all clean up, the suffocating smell of food consumed by the strong winds from the ajar window.

goodbyes happen as they have done ever since the beginning. strong hugs that last longer than usual this time, pressing you closer to them, some hiding the goosebumps caused by your nose against the side of their necks. others decant for kisses on your cheek, lips so different but exuding the same elation —the exact same passion that burns you from the inside out.

the door opens; you wish for this night to keep going. a reckless dream that should have been more precise.

“i love you guys.” through wobbly words, you manage to say in a flimsy voice. stare avoiding theirs, and lips pressed together tightly. “thank you, for being in my life.”

you blink, trying to dry off your watery eyes. back of your hand wiping them, getting rid of any trace of tears. your heartbeat quickens its pace, moving its way up to your throat, unable to add anything else.

but you turn to them, fear aside, wanting to take one more look before the inevitable happens. and when you do, you come across their gaping mouths and reddish blushes, their hearts going so crazy they are just as speechless. something was different, less friendly; more intricate.

it’s shion who breaks the silence, knowing that if any of them were to touch you now, what would happen could break what was so carefully tied together. they hated to fight against what they wanted, but they could never win if it meant for everything to crumble to pieces.

the world was so unfair, depriving all of you of the purest of loves, and the night to seal it off.

“you’re gonna make me blush, cutie.” shion smirks, more a grimace than anything else, turning around to walk towards the elevator. with an aching heart and disappointment, the others follow his lead too.

“yeah, he’s gonna have to go home quickly to beat his meat in peace.” mochi snorts, their backs to you, leaving you to listen to their forced chuckles.

“oh shut the fuck up! you don’t want me to start talking.” threat dangerous enough to have mochi’s mouth shut, you dread for the moment the elevator arrives. maybe it’s for the best, as all fun has now turned sour, frustrations hard to hide in each and every expression.

you loathe this departure, the bad feeling hugging you so close you choke on your misfortune and the emptiness in your body and soul. no choice but to sit back on your couch, loveless and alone, dreading for horrible news you are sure will end up coming true.

the elevator dings, doors opening wide. before they close, all of them spare you one last look, blended in sadness and failure, for your fear persists in your shaking figure and your pleading eyes. maybe they should have kissed you so hard, you have nothing on your mind but that. filling your thoughts with each of them, helping you sleep, doing whatever it takes. but they can’t do any of that.

after all, you’re just their bestest friend. a step they’re satisfied standing in, or they convince themselves they are, at least. but has there ever been someone to stay in the middle of some stairs, waiting forever for something to happen, not making their way up themselves?

the elevator closes; so does your door. the spare key still in its place inside the potted plant by the entrance.

part ii. my body for dinner.

your bedroom welcomes you with a cold hearted hug, having you wrap your arms around yourself. the huge windows make way for the night painted in streaks of melancholy, the city below so lively; you so dejected.

giving your bed a single glance, you can already tell sleep won’t be coming tonight nor tomorrow. your love is laughable to you, shy and unwilling to make itself braver, sticking to comfort.

what’s so comforting about the loneliness you are doomed to drown in? where no helping hands remain alive to pick you up, having no choice but to join the men you love in death?

tonight will be full of these thoughts, you know that, yet they still hurt. each a stab to your body, a mockery at your soul. every ounce of positivity you try to get out of your system mere carnage to them. it had to be today, you should have crossed that line that unconsciously formed.

allowed them to come closer to you. much like shion’s calloused hands and their cold touch creeping up from behind you, covering your eyes and whispering close to your ear.

“boo!” you shriek, shoulders tense as you jump up in place. however shion’s hold is tough to get rid of, pulling you closer to him without coming across his chest. he wouldn’t have bitten back the moan that was sure to happen.

he laughs, everybody joining right after. you take a deep breath, huffing through their laughter with a hand to your chest. though you don’t want to admit, your heart’s elated at their appearance —at the fact they have come back for you.

“shion, what the hell’s your problem?” it comes out louder than intended, shrill and angry. to them, it’s obvious you don’t mean it. your brows furrow, scowling at the group of men you can’t see. “and why did you guys come back?”

when shion’s lips lean closer to your ear, hot breath fanning the side of your face, your voice falters. the question dies out, tongue starting to dry. you have to suppress the filthy little sound you almost let out when he nibbles on your earlobe.

“you knew it was me?” you gulp when his voice turns deeper, lowered to a darkened pitch that you are ashamed to admit has gone down to your core. room growing hotter. the icy loneliness dissipated the moment they all walked back in, and even so your nipples are erect against your top.

you want to blame it on the cold, but you aren’t fooling any of them with that excuse. instead, you try to turn the situation around, gaining control and drawing another line.

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“you didn’t answer his.” bold as ever, izana takes the control off your hands unapologetically so. previous fondness gone, reserved in his heart for his full desires to let loose. at least, it’s what they all promised to do before clicking your floor’s button again.

deciding against remarking that you did ask first, you take one last deep breath. it’s filling and calming, not easing your erratic beating but doing wonders to clear your head. you don’t know what to do, having them all on your side, a stupid line long forgotten. is giving in to them your best choice?

or rather— is what you have always wanted the best choice?

with your next answer, soft spoken and sincere, you have erased any chance of such a line existing again. the fate of the night has been set, written in the stars watching behind your windows. destiny promised to the moon, gifting all of you the pleasure you’ve been seeking for.

“of course i know it’s him. i know each and every one of you.” because you love them, and because they love you so much too, they’ll help you without a doubt. in the nastiest way they can, but they’ll keep that to themselves.

for a brief second, shion’s hands leave your face to have you see them all. with barely any time to register the image of their eager eyes and hungry mouths, you are grabbed by the aforementioned and pushed to the bed, where you are now sitting on his lap. hands back to your eyes, nerves corrupting your mind.

biting back a whimper when your ass inevitably bumps into his clothed crotch, you notice shion’s breath staggers as well. it’s not too evident yet, but you know his cock will turn much harder, the wet kiss he gives your nape leaving a trail of goosebumps down your back.

you press your thighs —already close together— much harsher. the friction isn’t helping, but you don’t want shion to feel your throbbing cunt at the thought of what could happen. of what is sure to happen.

“we know you’d be awake tonight, still scared of us dying.” izana’s voice, under the sturdy curtain of playfulness, carries heed. their eagerness however, mixes in to give the atmosphere a knot of tension that must be undone. forming for years, but so fragile. “we want to help you forget, for you to relax.”

he doesn’t specify how they’ll do that; you don’t want to ask either. their response comes in heavy footsteps, a presence stopping right ahead of you, breaths heavy and fervent. then, your own breathing halts, leaning towards the anticipating uncertainty.

a hand is tamely placed on your cheek. huge, with big long fingers, and cosy, making you lean your head towards his hold. touch mild despite the brutality you know it unleashes, but you bathe in the traces lit up with craving fire as it slides down your face. moving down towards your chest, where a single finger circles around your covered boobs, crossing to your nipples to play with their hardness. his thumb joins to pinch one, your muted moan silenced by shion’s groaning at your ass’ moving.

“do you know who’s touching you now?” the latter wonders, tone low and full of need. through quick breaths he regains his composure, but his straining cock calls for your pulsating cunt so desperately.

unknown hand making its way below, it stops right above your clothed pussy. with its lone force he parts your legs apart, giving light slaps to the thin fabric of your pijama. you hum, leaning your head back to shion’s shoulder, legs making more way for the hand to go deeper.

it does, taking the hem of your pants and sliding them down to your ankles, where you make quick work to get rid of them. your panties are on full display, the darkened spot from your arousal a feast for their eyes. his lone finger once again slides against your underwear, the damp circle having the boy licking his dry lips. meddling with your entrance, but never quite entering, you want to beg him too, so badly. thought scrapped when his finger presses through to the wet mess that is your sex.

“yasuhiro…” you whisper, a primal want dressing it as a throaty moan leaving you to shudder in place. the mention of his first name, uttered so airily, sends blood rushing straight to his cock, giving an angry twitch silenced by his pants.

whining when mucho’s finger leaves your arousal, moving up to the hem of your panties, it singlehandedly pulls them down. legs moving to aid him in taking them off, letting the cool air be the first to taste your naked folds, covered in shining slick as it begins to clench around nothing.

“you want us that much, it’s good to know.” mucho declares, underwear pending on his index finger as he shows it to the rest, too distracted on your bare wetness. he discards it somewhere across the room, the sound of his voice so sensual to your growing impatience. “we want you so much, too.”

easy to tell by your dampened shoulder, where shion has let out a glob of his drool at the sight of you. fully hard cock pressed against your bare ass, rubbing your plump skin as he swallows all spit from his hunger. you don’t care, clenching your jaw at the absence of attention at yourself, your hands still as you know it wouldn’t be enough.

“such a beautiful pussy, so wet and needy.” is all mucho says before leaving your side, having you want to cling onto him and pull him closer with your wrapped legs. nevertheless, a new pair of hands rest on your thighs, just as big but way softer. tender skin well taken care of, rubbing your flesh near your core.

he’s graceful with his ministrations, long fingers ghosting over your clit. it’s easy to tell who carries himself with such elegance, dainty hands so curious yet sure of what to do. confirmed when his tongue licks its way up your cunt, lapping at your slick folds and sucking the plump flesh.

his tongue penetrates you, curling around to reach every spot it can get. you convulse around him, his insatiable mouth never getting enough of your slit, taking all the juices he can get. you wrap your legs around him, imprisoning him to your pussy. being barely able to register shion’s questioning, so eager to get an answer out of you.

“do you know who’s eating you out? can you tell?” you don’t say a word, poking your tongue out as you can only let out strangled noises. muttered cries for more, drool falling out of the corners of your lips.

your lack of a response isn’t welcomed. the confirmation of who’s hungrily devouring you coming when his pointy nose flickers your clit. choking your sobs at the tightness on your lower stomach, so willing to come undone as you buck your hips into his face —a feeble try to ride his big nose.

“oh—fuck!” you cry out, hearing the braided man slurping on your slick. cunt pulsing, begging for something more to fill it with. hands to the top of his head, ruining his perfectly combed hair with your grip. “ran, it’s ran!”

and for a job well done, he leaves your pussy unattended to give your clit a thankful kiss, resounding in the silent room. you hate it when his strength is much more than your own, pulling away from your hold. all the buildup inside you for naught.

shion’s tongue moves fast to wipe out your saliva, cleaning your lips and replacing the shine with his own. offering a chaste kiss to your cheek, at the same time that ran licks his lips with a content sigh.

“tastes so good, could eat her for hours.” he tells the rest. savoring the flavor of you inside his mouth, he gathers what is left around his lips and nose.

without much time to prepare for what’s next, as everyone in the room has grown eager to have you, your body writhes from the disturbance of a thick, prodding finger inside your cunt. walls squeezing the single digit, unmoving, a victorious grin on the man’s face at the spectacle you offer by thrusting your hips into his finger —fucking yourself with it.

shion’s breezy moans in the background don’t help his case in having the voice of the group. recomposing himself from the implacable grinding his dick receives. this time, he stutters, his hold on you turning frail. he doesn’t sound so cocky now, restraint crumbling without having any hands to pick it up with.

“a—and do you know whose finger is in— si—inside you right now?” he finishes with one long inhale, teeth biting his bottom lip.

on the other hand, you fight off the brimming tears in your eyes with your grinding. lengthy finger shoved in fully so that his knuckles are pressed against you, bruised and battered. less kept together but so welcomed by your walls anyway.

“mo—mochi.” you answer almost immediately, hopeful that he would do something to reward you for it. for his finger to pound you relentlessly until you finally cum. the thought alone sends you to clench around him, asking for more.

but mochi turns out to be sadistic, taking out his finger coated in your essence. you don’t see how he brings it up to his mouth, taking it fully to lap at your slick with an echoing pop. your breath hitches, shion’s pants now wearing darker stains.

“no first name for me?” he mocks you, teasing grin growing wider. silence greets him, and he does well to beat it by causing the first scream of the long night ahead. shoving three of his fingers inside your cunt, unannounced.

they curl, setting a merciless pace of back and forth to reach as deep as he can. the squelching sounds accompanied by your uncontrollable moans, high pitched and cursing out. the pressure builds once again in your stomach, back arching so his tough fingers can keep touching you in every spot possible.

“ah! kanji— sorry, so sorry kanji!” you beg for him to forgive you, spewing out apology after apology between the growing tears and trailing drool.

“it’s ok sweetheart, i love you.” he reassures you. so nice to you, your walls thank him by closing in on him. so good for him, leaving him to grunt from how obedient you are being.

“love you t—“ you want to tell him and the rest of them, in all its glory now that all limits have been broken and left behind.

however, rindou seems to have other plans, shoving mochi away not caring about his shouted protests nor your mewling at the emptiness of your pussy once again. orgasm denied for the second time, rindou’s weight bringing you to lie down on top of shion, lips chasing after your own.

they join together in a feverish kiss, viciousness bringing you two to a world of just both. lips tasting one another; tongues playing with each other, in such an aggressive way spit makes it way down your mouths and to your bumping chins. noses hitting as rindou tries to get even closer to you.

shion’s hands are forced out of your eyes, having you witness in the dead of the night, swimming in darkness, the pile of clothes by the bed. the men are all in front, almost naked if it weren’t for their underwear. doing little to cover their blazing erections.

“want you s’bad.” he breaks the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you. mumbled so close to your lips, he takes yours in his without hesitation, teeth clashing and tongues entangled.

you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers ghosting over the streaks of black ink swirling through his back. muscles tense, he groans in your mouth and lowers his hips to your core. clothed cock rubbing against your folds, looking for more friction as he moves faster.

beside you, shion undresses, glancing over to rindou picking you up to kneel ahead of him, arms wrapped around your waist. empty thumps are heard from his grinding, and he decides to crawl his way behind you to help him in getting rid of your top.

effortlessly, they succeed in having you be the first to be completely naked. both men ogling your body up and down. your curves, every inch and crevice of your skin a feast for all of them. some palming their cocks through the fabric, others like rindou and shion, marking you with their mouths.

“so divine.” rindou mumbles, his arms and shion’s controlling your squirming from pleasure. hot breath trailing down to your naked boobs, hands drawing shapes on your flesh. “gorgeous body, all for us.”

you want to nod, instead drooling at their two hard cocks caging you between them. shion grabbing your ass cheek, playing with the molding skin by stiffening his grip. you moan their names, the covered contact insufficient.

“want your cocks, want you inside please.” begging for them, your hands make their way down to grab at their clothed dicks. both men pant, fingers wrapped around their lengths, feeling their hardened girths. “please fuck me.”

and with that said, both of them take off their underwear to have it join the rest of sprawled out clothes. in the dim lighting, with only the moon and the stars as witnesses, only the sparkling light in your pupils guides you to your instincts. so famished, tongue watering at rindou’s erected cock, intimidating as it stands —starving for your pussylips.

he’s big and very thick, a single protruding vein running down his length. red, angry tip, leaking precum and leaving it to slide down to pool around the base of his shaft. balls full and large, saliva drowning your mouth.

shion doesn’t stay far behind, not as big and way thinner, curving slightly to the right. his veins aren’t as marked but there are many, cockhead thick and itching to bury itself inside you. fat drop of precum waiting to fall into the mattress.

with a hand he guides his member to your folds, gathering all the wetness he can get. having you moan against rindou’s mouth, drowning any sound, you pull away to taste shion’s lips as well. spit mixing in with your eager tongues, hearing him swallow.

“can’t wait anymore.” you hear rindou complain, tip prodding at your entrance as he begins to penetrate you. a content sigh leaving your lips, whole length making its way past your tightened walls, cock molding the shape of your cunt to adjust to his size.

bottoming out, cockhead brushing your cervix, you and rindou moan in unison at eachother’s warmth. walls squeezing him so hard, his own cock buried in your wet pussy —the pressure so tempting to have you thrust against him.

and you do, bucking your hips onto his twitching cock, balls slapping your skin to create the filthiest of sounds. wet plops from rindou’s pace sending you into a frenzy, meeting his rhythm so that the coiling tension thickens and explodes into your orgasm.

“taking me in so well— fuck—“ although you can’t register rindou’s praises too well, shion’s rutting against your ass beginning to change into the intrusion of his dick inside your hole. pushing his way in with a single thrust —your very own slick acting out as lube.

you yell out his name when he hisses yours, spreading your ass open as his cock splits you apart. both holes completely filled, hints of pain slapped off by rindou’s fastening pumps. gripping shion so well, clenching around his girth and feeling every vein slide past your heated flesh.

“too much! s’good…” you cry out, the first set of tears coming out from your shut eyes. joining the threads of saliva you can’t keep in your mouth, mixing in on their way down your face.

the single vein running down rindou’s shaft ravages your walls so roughly. their tempo matching so that you never feel utterly empty, balls shaking with each snap of their hips. ecstasy choking you when rindou’s tip kisses your g-spot, relentlessly going at it so that more tears stain your vision —hazy and blurry.

you can distinguish izana’s nearing body, hand on his cock while he gives it a few pumps. he leans closer to your face, same fingers coated in his cum wiping your closed eyes. painting your face, you hum, growing hot as you convulse around both of the men’s cocks. answering you by pulsing through your clenching walls.

“these are the tears i love to see.” giving his finger a kitten lick, saltiness of your pleasure melting in his tongue, izana takes your limp hand and brings it up to his dick. “want to shower your face with my cum. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod, hand taking his cock and stroking it with deep movements. barely keeping it together with the sloppy pace both cocks inside you are falling into, forcing you to sometimes squeeze his length, drawing out throaty moans from the dark skinned man.

your cool fingers gliding past his searing meat make of him a fervent mess, hips bucking to fuck himself with your hand. head on rindou’s shoulder, you stare at his own tilted back, adam’s apple bobbing as your name is the only thing his lips can say.

“cutie your ass is so tight.” shion drags his cock out with difficulty, hole so adamant in keeping him in. only his tip rests inside, forcing your ass to remember his shape. “gonna fill it up, alright?”

he doesn’t leave room for answers, burying himself deep inside until your vision turns blind. rindou’s cock mimicking his actions, growing at the thought of your cunt taking all of his cum.

“gonna cum—“ you spit out, rindou’s shoulder welcoming your saliva and tears, joining his thin layer of sweat. “cumming, i’m cumming!”

“me too.” it escapes past his kissing teeth, the tremors of your body having him give one last powerful thrust before stilling inside of you. rolling his eyes, his risen shoulders relax once his orgasm crashes upon him. “keep it inside for me, will you?”

you do, for both of them emptying themselves inside of you. hot strings of sticky cum crawling into your holes, painting your walls white and having them spasm and contract as you let your own orgasm wash rindou’s length. he doesn’t let it run out, fucking the union of your juices back into you, not a single drop wasted. feeling so full, heaving out praises to both blushing boys.

“our good girl.” shion pats your head, soft kiss on your back and hands fondling your tits. you regain your breath still by rindou’s shoulder, knowing it’s not over yet with the way izana’s cockhead nears your face.

the two boys’ cocks leave your holes the moment izana’s twitches. releasing his load on your face, reaching your lashes, forehead and cheeks. streaks of cum painting your skin in a dense white, giving the last touch to your fucked out expression.

“god i love you so much.” admiring his work, and the way your cunt and asshole fight desperately to keep shion and rindou’s seeds. his smile broadens at the thought that this is just getting started.

indeed, mochi’s next in taking you into his arms, so small compared to his size. you don’t have time to regain your breath, composure crushed by the brutality of the s-62, quivering at mochi’s frosting hands.

“so sensitive already, sweetheart.” and so easy to handle, too. moving you as he pleases, lying down on the bed and having you on his chest, right above his underwear and bulging cock.

the big stain of precum is evident on the light grey fabric. an enormous bump waiting to be freed of its confined space. dark, trimmed hairs leading the way to his aching dick. your hands on his abs, stroking his built chest and floating up to his pecs.

his hands cup your ass, thumbs kneading the plush skin and hovering over your widened hole. you feel his dick jump up, taming him with a rock of your body pushed by your legs. he groans, guttural desire drying out his throat, starving for your glistening folds.

“can take it.” you promise him, small whisper loud in the quietude of your room. where the men touch themselves to the landscape of the shade of your figure plastered on the bright nightlife ahead of your windows.

he chuckles, vibrating chest so good for your throbbing pussy, waking up his cock even more. a hand trails up to your face, big thumb pinning your bottom lip. his tongue wetting his lips.

“course you will.” he says it like it’s obvious, dragging down the swollen lip until your bottom teeth can be seen. fingers full of your saliva, drying patches from the previous crying making you look so filthy. exactly how he likes it. “want these lips around my big cock, gonna give you a full meal.”

grabbing onto your hips, he turns you around with one swift twirl. pulling your ass closer to him, legs on each side of his face lifting your lower body, back arching as you are laid down in front of his underwear. clenching around nothing at the compromising position, mochi’s first to dig in to your cunt —tongue flickering your clit so erratically, you purr.

alas, you now have to fully undress him, taking the rim of his clothes and sliding them to the middle of his crushing thighs. he wriggles his legs, aiding you in taking them off completely, widely grinning against your pussy when you gasp at the full size of his erection.

standing furiously near his chest, where your chin hovers above his pubes. the size is enormous, so thick and dressed in many veins that draw intricate curves on his meat, making him even wider. mushroom tip prominent, broad slit already seeping out so much precum. fat plumps of a dirtied white gliding down his whole length, pooling around his base where even bigger, heavy balls rest. your mouth waters at just how much cum he will give you, hurrying up when the tip of his nose lightly teases your entrance.

your hand takes his shaft, whimpering when you see the struggle your fingers have wrapping around it. you pump it once— twice, mochi’s groaning so good for your cunt, going down on his nose so that the tip enters you. when your lips near his head to give it open mouth kisses, wet plops taking bits of his salty cum, your hand holds his balls, playing with them as they barely fit inside.

you take his tip in your mouth, warmth enveloping his cock as you try to move down on him. only taking almost half of his length, breathing through your nose and hollowing out your cheeks, easing your throat as his hips buckle onto your face. his moaning going straight to your pussy, where he begins to grow desperate slurping on your juices. noises nasty, making you moan and tighten your throat on his cock. tongue darting to lick every crevice, drooling so much it accumulates at the base.

both continue the rhythm of your grinding bodies, building your climaxes and chasing after them. hunger making you frantic, savoring every bit of essence as if it were your last meals.

“looks so pretty.” you listen to mucho’s voice on your back, his hand on one of your cheeks. “but i think you can take more.”

he declares it so impassively, keeping his cool as always, that you don’t see his hand raised and profoundly slapping your ass. it jiggles, closing in on mochi’s pointed tongue licking slow stripes. you scream, muted against the wet heat in your mouth. another hand joins mucho, this time being ran’s long finger entering your ass, so sensitive from shion’s stretching not long ago.

both of their fingers buried knuckles deep, a third hand slaps you once again as they begin to stimulate your hole. their ministrations along with mochi’s starved devouring pushing you to take more of the latter’s dick, gagging through parted lips as you take him fully —choking on his tip at the very back of your throat.

nose pressed against his bouncing balls, fucking your face as you do the same to his nose and tongue. your chin scratched by the bush near his shaft, you cry out feeble attempts of his name as more spit leaves your lips, fat tears joining.

“there we go pretty!” seems the third hand belongs to izana, cheering you through the orgasm that pours down onto mochi’s face. giving one more hard slap that sends your skin tingling, trapping mucho and ran’s fingers on your ass, finally letting loose.

you come undone, flooding mochi’s face with your cum and crushing his face with your thighs. he doesn’t seem to care, lapping at your cum without shame, drinking it until nothing is left out, before joining you and snapping his hips to release his load.

it’s dense, so much cum leaving his cock you can barely swallow it all. hot spurts abusing your throat, leaving thick trails out the corners of your lips that you’ll take care of later. it keeps fluttering, but never once you leave it unattended, making sure all of his semen is sucked dry. breathing in when you let it go, tip of your tongue gathering what little is around your lips.

you swallow it down loudly, the echoing plop from your mouth leaving his cock free so gratifying for his ears. he gives your cunt a mellow kiss, tenderness fighting off his roughness.

“good girl.” he coos, readjusting you as he pleases so that you now lie in his direction, ass against his still hard cock. he holds your chin and turns your head around to his, deeply kissing you, passing down the rest of your orgasm so you can taste the sweetness he did. “we love you so much, you are perfect for us.”

and you smile, fond and big it has their hearts pounding in their chests. you kiss the tip of his nose, giddy from their worship.

however, mochi moves up so that his head rests on your pillow. hands tracing patterns on your skin, watching your stomach rise from the harsh breaths you are taking.

“got one more in me.” he mutters close to your ear, feet parting your legs open, showing the rest your abused holes. “will you be a sweetheart and take it?”

how can you deny him when he asks so politely? previous fingering helping you for what will happen now, cock rubbing through your ass cheeks, willing to take his big dick to split you apart. pushing in, slowly making his way through unlike shion’s desperate entrance.

you wriggle in his hold, mochi shushing you by whispering sweet nothings into your ear. wailing at the size you have to adjust to, a little easier thanks to shion. your cum stained face is full of fresh tears and brand new globs of spit. tongue lolling out of your parted lips when he bottoms out.

buried deep inside your ass, filling you to the brim with each thick vein hitting you just right. your squinted eyes widen tremendously at mochi’s calling, gripping him so tightly at the idea of being torn apart by the two biggest.

“mucho, wanna join in? she wants it.” and he doesn’t hesitate to crawl up to where you are, underwear long gone. his cock isn’t much different from mochi’s, less thicker but way longer, looking so delicious against his chiseled chest.

he takes your legs, having them bend down near your shoulders, leaving so much room to hit even deeper. entranced by your wet cunt, glossy and begging for his cock to break it. and who is he to say no to his woman?

in one swift plunge, he finds himself buried to the hilt. balls swinging as the sound of smacking flesh from his ruthless penetration elicits the most pornographic moan he has ever heard from you. massaging his cock just the way he likes it, sponging walls enclosing the space and making him feel impossibly closer.

“so fucking tight— god, fuck!” he growls, pushing you to mochi’s chest, boobs pressed against mucho’s big —worked out— pecs. sandwiched between both men, ruining your insides just by staying still, you sob for them to ruin you —to move faster.

“s’big… ‘s too big—” your incoherent mumbles become higher in tone, allowing them to rock your body as they please. trying to meet their hips as they pound you dumb, reckless rocking making you cry out in ecstasy. “lov— love you s’much. luv your cocks s’much.”

your babbling pushes them to thrust harder. having you whine when mucho stops and his hand lightly slaps your cum covered cheek, calling for your attention. you look up at him, teary eyes sending heat straight to his cock, throbbing against your cunt.

“you see that?” he points down at your belly, a small bulge making it stick out. you take your hand to trace its shape, a silent chuckle gifting hints of happiness to your fucked out face. “that’s my cock, babygirl.”

and you love it, he knows you do. picking up his pace to meet mochi’s, so engrossed in your ass. he doesn’t want this moment to end.

you don’t notice how both of your hands are taken by shion and rindou, hard once again. but they know you don’t care when each hand takes their cocks, already familiar to you, beginning to masturbate them. their moaning helping your orgasm build up, this time stronger, with mucho ruthlessly pounding against your g-spot.

your head turns to the side, coming face to face with ran’s dick. he slaps you with it, playing with your hanging tongue by wetting it with your saliva. you stare up at his innocent grin, him looking down with dilated pupils.

“there’s still a hole unoccupied.” he simply mentions, cock twitching when your hand pulls the foreskin back to expose his angry head. so pale and long you don’t know what you’ll do to make it fit. curving up, he applies his precum to your lips like gloss, pushing in with his hips until he’s balls deep into your mouth.

body used by all of them, including izana whose hands are on your swollen clit, it doesn’t take long for your legs to begin their uncontrollable tremble. this time’s different, your moans turning into shrill shouting as a stream of tears run down your eyes, closed in bliss as you begin to see stars.

your third orgasm hits you harder than any other, right after mochi cums for the second time filling you up to the brim with his huge loads. you begin squirting all over mucho’s cock, squelching sounds getting wetter as more and more cum leaves out of you in hot spurts. he takes it out, watching as you make a mess of mochi’s legs, the mattress and his abs.

“shit!” you moan out, cum gliding down mucho’s cock that has entered you again. though your words are muffled by ran’s dick around your lips, you continue squirting out all your juices, milking out mucho’s cock in the process.

he has so much cum too, cunt stuffed full of his own after your mind blowing orgasm. balls drenched as well, but his smile tells you enough, and you don’t feel ashamed of it —even better, only proud.

pulling away, despite mochi’s cock still buried into your ass, he leaves your chest free for shion and rindou, who don’t take too long in covering your tits and stomach with their loads. satisfied groans out of their lips as they admire their work, thick globs of white on your sweaty skin.

ran’s the last to empty out his cum, doing it inside your mouth much like mochi. you take it all without hesitation, opening wide for him to see you gulping down his seed. uttering a sigh when you’ve eaten it fully, kissing the tip of his cock for a job well done.

“nasty little whore.” you have no idea who says it, the loss of mochi’s dick as he comes out of you taking over your mind. oozing cum follows, filthy trickles running down into your cunt, where you do a good job in retaining what they have given you. “our perfect slut, should’ve done this sooner.”

you agree, spent after three rough orgasms. alas, you see two men staying on the bed —two men that haven’t been inside of you yet. but you are so sore you don’t know if you can take them. such big cocks just like the rest of them.

“we want to taste you, too.” it’s ran’s voice, the one he uses when he wants something. turning innocent, words so tender they heal your tiredness with dulcet touches. you hate when he does that, falling for it every time. “you’ll let us, right? we’ll be gentle, i promise.”

your moans are so loud with each touch, both izana and ran standing you up on your knees, between both of their bodies. you teeter, head tumbling towards the man you have in front, which turns out to be the older haitani. shoulder so comfortable, you nuzzle closer to the side of his neck, kissing it.

your pussy takes him right up, so tight despite being so used throughout the night. he’s washed in the remains of your orgasm, easy for him to move, but he doesn’t. you wonder why, whining against his neck and jumping on his cock, legs quivering so hard you know it won’t take you much to cum again.

instead, a second cock makes its way up your cunt, having you scream out for your fourth orgasm at the close fit of both dicks inside your pussy. they rub one another, not appearing to care too much as both of their eyes are closed, jaws clenched. you squeeze them, adjusting to their size and ignoring the pain for the cum sliding down past them.

you’re crying, tears licked by izana’s tongue as he rejoices in them. no longer are you sobbing from fear, but so destroyed by each and every one of them you have nothing left of you but scorching pleasure.

“already?” he purrs, dragging his cock out just to thrust once more. skin gliding past ran’s veiny shaft, making him move as well, desperate for his release. “but you’ll let us cum, won’t you? after we’ve been so good to you…”

he trails off, falling into rhythm with ran, abusing your cunt for a little while longer. convulsing against them, forcing them closer, tightening your walls so that you can get out another orgasm for them. to show how grateful you are.

“we’ve been so helpful, haven’t we?” he slaps your clit, ran’s lips latching onto your nipples, sucking them clean. chest pressed on his own, sticky cum joining your bodies.

“yes! want you to cum in me.” you cry out, hips meeting their thrusts, bouncing on both of their cocks, balls slapping your pussy. “want you to stuff me!”

tongue poking out, ran moves up to take it between his lips, playing with it in his mouth. pulling his lips to yours in a messy kiss, so full of exchanged spit and trailing drool to your chins. you love it, you love them, and you show them by squeezing them so tightly they have no choice but to fill you up with their cum.

“well, pretty girl, take it.” izana grunts, and with one big roll of his hips, he empties himself inside of you. ran follows suit, whimpers and moans drowned out by eachother’s mouths.

you join them with your last orgasm of the night, leaving you barely conscious on the bed, drenching their cocks with one last wave of cum. you stay there, sprawled out on the bed for all to see, face full of dried out tears, so many different salivas around your swollen lips and remnants of izana’s cum. your body follows suit, drenched in sweat and thick lines of cum following down to the small little bulge on your stomach.

it’s mucho’s hand that presses that tiny bump, all watching as all the cum you’ve tried so desperately to keep inside oozes out of your beaten cunt, huge loads wetting the bed below you. your ass much of the same. you groan, whimpering at his touch, hips bucking unconsciously.

and with two fingers, mucho again shoves some of their seeds back inside, to leave you full. you close your legs, stretching your sore muscles from all the rough handling tonight. the moon’s still up, and its glow is casted above you, giving your enamored smile and angelic touch.

they all lie around you, circling you. shion and mochi on your thighs, rindou and mucho by your chest, and ran and izana near your head. soothing your muscles, kissing every spot they can.

“thank you.” it’s honest, despite the pain it brought, you enjoyed it more than anyone you are sure. in the darkest corner of your heart, it’s what you’ve always wanted, and you got it.

izana doesn’t want to ask if there’s any other thought inside your head that isn’t what just happened. after all, they’ve fucked you dumb. you have a hard time opening your eyes, breaths still long and shallow with huffing here and there.

he’s relieved, your suffering fully gone, consumed by their yearning. leaning down, his lips peck yours, back of his fingers brushing the side of your face.

“we’ve loved you like this for such a long time.” ran confesses, so vulnerable post-sex you love it. always having it hard to open his heart to what he’s feeling, trying to shove it in with insecure cockiness. you are glad it’s him who declares it.

your finger boops his nose, the two of you sharing childish laughter.

“me too.” you whisper, wanting to pat the other’s heads. to show them that you consider them, always. “but it’s all good, now i’m yours.”

and it felt so good to hear, meaning twisted to turn more romantic. more heartfelt, something they aren’t used to, but you’ll give it to them every time they need it.

“and all of us belong to you, but that’s nothing new.” you chuckle at shion’s words, legs numb and body resting. the bed becomes more plush to your body, hugging you and lulling for you to sleep. you try so hard to fight it, never wanting the moon to leave. for this to become a memory.

“i wish for this night to never end. to stay like this forever.” you dream, a foolish one. the moon will always leave and the sun will replace it, and this would only have belonged to the night before doomsday comes.

“c’mon, let’s give you a warm bath.” mochi says before you doze off into a deep slumber. missing their soft cleaning and the close attention to your body. praising it, worshipping all it has done for their enjoyment. they thank you in warm kisses and dark hickeys, thinking to themselves that after tonight, the result of tomorrow cannot escape their grasps.

they must win, for the woman so full of love for them. so that they can live their lives as one, together forever. and perhaps, all of you should have dreamed harder, because the memory of tonight would be the last between you all.

izana and mucho taken away by death’s greedy hands. you, having fallen so deep into a sea of darkness, you had to escape before it all consumed you. the only ones to hold this night close to their hearts, having their friends engraved in hanafuda and your love in their chests, where your initials rest.

everyone of you looking up at the moon every night, begging for her to take you back to that night —the night before doomsday comes.

— end —

good or bad i’m throwing it out there that english isn’t my first language. thank you for reading <3 our troops are so brave, getting through this whole thing and ending up with brain trauma (probably) anyway, reblogs are appreciated :) it’s like a pat on my back (yipee)

( @tenjikusstuff4 @luminouslaybyrinth @idekwhatimdoingsblog )

[quin-ns]

Always Forever (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 8.2K

Summary: coriolanus finally lets himself acknowledge that he can’t stand to see you with anyone but him

Tags: (18+), cw: dubcon, cw: noncon, pseudo!incest (not related, reader raised with the snows), dark!coriolanus, pre-mentor era, jealousy/obsession/possessiveness, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, fear of getting caught, lots of drama for my lovely readers

A/N: second coryo fic and it’s somehow longer than the last one lol. only one part. pls read the tags and proceed with caution 🫶

hunger games masterlist

“Look at you, you look so pretty!” Tigris beamed, adjusting the straps of your dress. “Doesn’t she, Coryo?”

In his peripheral, Coriolanus could see his cousin had turned to look at him expectantly, but his eyes were already on you. They always had been, and always would be.

“Yes, she does,” he replied without thought.

You faced him with a smile, and Coriolanus couldn’t help the pride that swarmed him just looking at you.

It was because of him that you were in his life, and until the day he died Coriolanus knew it would remain the best decision he ever made.

As children during the war, when he and Tigris would scavenge the streets, Coriolanus stumbled across you. Not much younger than him, huddled behind a pillar, all alone. You had a half a loaf of bread. It wasn’t fresh, but he still didn’t understand where you got it. You tore it in half and shared it with him.

He returned to Tigris with you in tow, his small hand clutching your even smaller one, and his cousin took pity.

She also took the brunt of the consequence for bringing home another mouth to feed, but sacrifices had to be made, didn’t they?

It was worth it. You were worth it to him—to both of them, really.

As you got older, Grandma’am eventually took a liking to you, although Coriolanus wondered if it was because she could see how much he cared for you.

It didn’t matter. Not really. You were part of the family now, even if you did not share the Snow name.

“Thank you, Tigris,” you said sweetly, pulling the older girl into a hug.

It was a big day for both you and Coriolanus. The academy was hosting an event for students to mingle with administration and alumni of the university.

Coriolanus had put on his best outfit—he already knew it was the same one he was going to wear when the Plinth Prize winner was announced in only a few weeks. He was sure it was going to be him.

Tigris had fashioned your dress by hand. Coriolanus was past questioning how she paid for her fine fabrics, but he had an inclination it was the same way they could suddenly afford food some days.

The long dress reminded Coriolanus of freshly fallen snow, the white holding a sense of purity and wealth that his family once had. It had a sense of elegance that you only furthered with donning it, but it lacked an extravagance that would force you to stand out.

It was perfect.

You parted from Tigris to approach Coriolanus. You had a light smile on your face as your hands ran down his black vest, adjusting it.

“We almost match,” you commented, referring to the white shirt beneath said vest. “If only I had something black.”

“Well, I’d let you borrow this, but then we’d be in the same position, only switched,” he teased lightly, drawing a small chuckle from you.

Coriolanus liked when you looked up at him, same as he liked hearing your laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll survive without.” Your hands fell to your sides. “Besides, it definitely looks more handsome on you.”

Hearing those words from you meant more than you’d ever know, and more than he’d let himself acknowledge.

You were so good to him, he couldn’t imagine spending the evening with anyone else.

When he walked into the ballroom of the academy with you on his arm, Coriolanus got a rush of power. Especially when heads turned. Looking at him, looking at you, just looking.

He wondered what the minds behind all those gazing eyes were thinking.

He hoped it was a balanced amount of envy and respect.

“We should find Sejanus, let him know we’re here,” you said, not thinking much of the sentence as you looked around the room, taking in the people and the decor.

Coriolanus thought everything of it, a sourness settling over him. Sejanus was his friend, but Coriolanus wished they hadn’t gotten as close as they did. It was because of his friendship with Sejanus that you met him, and began to develop… feelings for him.

God, Coriolanus hated to even think about it.

When you told him you had begun dating Sejanus, Coriolanus nearly had a heart attack. Then he felt violent. Not towards you. Never towards you.

It wasn’t just because he felt protective of you, or because Sejanus was district, or because Coriolanus knew you were far, far too good for his friend… it was everything. All of that and everything in between.

Before you could find him, Sejanus found you.

He was in a fine black suit, finer than anything Coriolanus owned, and a bright smile appeared on his face at the sight of you.

That was one thing they still had in common. Reverence for you.

“Had to come find my girl before everyone thinks she ditched me,” Sejanus joked, pulling a laugh from you. “Where have you guys been?”

“Making sure we look our best,” you replied, shooting Coriolanus a wink.

If Sejanus wasn’t reaching for you, Coriolanus might’ve smiled.

“Well, you did a wonderful job.”

Coriolanus let you slip away from his side, reluctantly giving you away to Sejanus.

The unfortunate thing was Sejanus was truly a decent person. Not perfect, but decent. Better than most, even if he was beneath you all. You cared nothing for status, and seemed to really like him. He treated you right from what Coriolanus had seen, making disapproval not exactly warranted.

Although, Coriolanus was always going to be incredibly protective of you. He doubted there was a world where he would be pleased with any relationship you found. Your interest in other people was becoming tiresome, truthfully. Did you really even need friends? Or lovers? You had Coriolanus, and he was sure that was enough.

His jaw clenched when you pressed a light kiss to Sejanus’s cheek. It would be much simpler if he was a terrible person. Coriolanus would have an excuse outside of his own selfishness to separate you—which he did not have now.

“Can I ask for this dance?” Sejanus wondered, shooting you a smile. At least he had the awareness to still look anxious.

But you… you grinned. You were too good.

“Well you just asked, so I guess you can,” you started sarcastically, but let him off the hook quickly. “And of course I’ll say yes.”

Sejanus looked relieved, taking your hand in his. You turned to look at Coriolanus, a small bit of guilt in your expression. You clearly hadn’t been planning on leaving his side so soon. You masked it with the same teasing tone you’d used before.

“I won’t be long, don’t get too bored without me, Coryo.”

Coriolanus only smiled for your sake. It fell the moment Senjanus led you away to a small group of other students dancing together.

From the sidelines, Coriolanus watched as Sejanus led you in a slow dance. He tried to avoid his eyes landing on his friend. He didn’t want to view the two of you in the same light as the other couples embracing one another.

Coriolanus tried to remember the first moment he realized how beautiful you were. It was so long ago, it wasn’t something he was even aware he thought so often.

The sun rose in the morning, roses had thorns, and you were beautiful.

It was simple as that.

After a dance and a half, Coriolanus couldn’t take it anymore.

His feet carried him to the dance floor, mind absent as he tried to justify his jealousy as protectiveness. Yes, that’s all he was. Protective. Like an older brother… like what he was supposed to be. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

You and Sejanus were swaying and talking, but as he snuck up on the two of you, Coriolanus couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling in surprise at his presence.

“Coryo!”

“Can I cut in?” Coriolanus requested. His hand itched to rest on your shoulder, but he withheld. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and he briefly wondered if Sejanus sensed that or not.

“All yours,” Sejanus agreed, spinning you by the hand. You turned in a circle, then a half, facing Coriolanus. “I’m going to go find my father, he’s here tonight,” he informed.

“I’ll come find the two of you in a few minutes,” you told Sejanus, who nodded then headed off. Before he did, he looked to Coriolanus and said, “Take good care of her.”

“I always do,” Coriolanus responded easily, because it was the truth. He didn’t need Sejanus telling him that. He’d been there for you long before either of you even knew his friend existed. He looked down to you, taking your hand in his while the other fell to your waist. You looked amused. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, Coryo,” you replied with a smile. “Better than anyone.”

The slow waltz felt so natural, your movements in tune with his without thought. You two were always like that, always in sync.

“What were you and Sejanus talking about?” Coriolanus wondered, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Nothing important,” you dismissed with a shrug. “Sweet nothings.”

Coriolanus didn’t miss the shy smile appearing on your face. He couldn’t control the frown trying to take over his.

A more thoughtful look crossed your face, your smile faltering.

“Are you happy for me, Coryo?”

Coriolanus blinked.

“I… want to be,” he confessed, eyes scanning your face. It was the truth for the most part. He did want you to be happy, just not with Sejanus.

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Coriolanus wished he could open your head and investigate every corner of your brain. He wanted to know every thought you had.

“Sejanus is your friend, I would’ve thought…” you swallowed and looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Coriolanus pressed, tilting his head, trying to make you meet his gaze.

When you did, he saw the disappointment in your eyes.

You stepped back from him, parting completely.

“I need to find Sejanus. I’ll put in a good word for you about the Plinth Prize with his father.”

Then, you departed, not leaving room for Coriolanus to argue for you to stay.

He would’ve, and you knew that.

The moment you disappeared from his view, Coriolanus went looking. You had moved quickly. He found you across the room, sitting down at a table with Sejanus and Mr. Plinth.

He didn’t approach, he couldn’t make himself look bad in front of Mr. Plinth.

So he watched you talk, and drink, and laugh, and drink some more…

“I can’t believe she’s doing this,” Arachne whispered, suddenly appearing at his side. Coriolanus looked down at her. She was clearly talking about you. He could see the way she flicked her heavily decorated eyes in your direction. “Associating with him was one thing, but… well”—Arachne let out a vicious laugh—“do you think their children will call her “Ma” too?”

Coriolanus felt ill at the thought. Leave it to Arachne to provoke him, to conjure up nightmares he hadn’t even thought of yet himself.

“She’ll come to her senses,” Coriolanus muttered, gritting his teeth.

Arachne rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope so,” she mused, continuing on her way, blood red dress dragging behind her with each step.

Coriolanus looked back to you. He was overwhelmed with nausea as Sejanus grabbed your hand atop the table. Damn Arachne for placing that thought in his head.

He watched as you lifted another glass to your lips, smiling along as Sejanus talked to his father. What was that, your third? Sejanus had yet to say anything to you. He was fine with allowing you to get intoxicated?

Drinking alcohol wasn’t exactly a crime, but Sejanus didn’t know you well enough to know you were inexperienced. The last thing Coriolanus wanted was you making a fool of yourself.

Darker thoughts crept in. Maybe Sejanus was allowing you to inebriate yourself on purpose. The thought of him climbing on top to you made Coriolanus’s blood boil. His fingers twitched to form a fist, and his jaw clenched even tighter.

In that moment, Coriolanus decided he wouldn’t let Arachne’s mockery come true.

He had to help you. You needed his protection, even when you didn’t know it. You needed him. You always would. Coriolanus could remind you, then perhaps you'd see you didn’t even need Sejanus at all.

When you left the table—Coriolanus wasn’t sure why—he saw his opportunity. He approached you quickly, finding no problem in catching your arm and leading you away from the party. Away from all the people, where it could just be the two of you.

Out a door, down a long, empty corridor until the two of you ended up outside in the school’s garden. It was isolated from the party, you’d be safer here.

“Coryo? What—“

“Are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, cutting you off. He released you to stand across from you, leaving you to lean back against the stone wall behind you. “I saw how much you were drinking.”

You looked up at him, confused, but not frightened. If anyone else had handled you the way he did, you surely would’ve been. But you trusted him. You always had.

“Did I drink a lot?” you asked, a slight pout on your lips. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh.” So, you were okay. That was good, wasn’t it? “I thought maybe you needed rescuing,” he admitted, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or not.

You chuckled a little and the sound washed over Coriolanus, bringing him a sense of relief from all his previous tension.

“My hero,” you said lightly, smiling up at him. You were always smiling at him, but Coriolanus no longer wondered if he was worthy of it all. “You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Coriolanus stepped closer. His hand rose, his fingertips trailing the outline of your face. Someone so pretty, so sweet, had to be careful in a cruel world like this.

“What would you do without me?” he proposed, not expecting an answer.

You didn’t need one, because you never would have to find out.

He’d follow you to the end of the Earth, just as he knew you’d follow him. You needed each other. You didn’t need Tigris or Grandma’am and especially not Sejanus, but without Coriolanus, who would you even be? Coriolanus couldn’t imagine his world without you in it. Not even if he tried.

Staring at you now, Coriolanus heard the voice in the back of his mind begin to whisper. The one that urged his protectiveness, knowing it was fueled by possession. The one he would use all his power to silence.

Something new had overcome him, watching you galavant around with Sejanus. Well, not new, but clear. Coriolanus finally had clarity. That’s what it was. That was how he finally acknowledged what had so long been lingering in his peripheral, just on the edge of his mind, waiting for the right moment.

Was this the right moment?

He made no effort to banish his most repressed thoughts. For once, he let them win.

Coriolanus leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. Gentle, testing the waters. You did not react right away. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily a good sign, but that didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse to deepen the kiss.

His other hand found your face, holding you against him as he nipped at your lip, begging you to invite him in.

Your reaction was delayed, and Coriolanus thought maybe, just maybe, you had been thinking the same thing he had all along. That the faint taste of alcohol on your lips meant you were feeling more open to exploring this with him, and that all you needed was a nudge in the right direction.

But no, you were turning your head, making his lips part from yours.

Coriolanus faltered, but you still did not speak. Your breaths were clipped—flustered and confused. He could understand that. His own heart was racing, although adrenaline and need were to blame for that.

“Coryo…” you whispered so softly he nearly didn’t hear it. “What are you doing?”

Leave it to you to not get angry with him. Or even upset. At this point he questioned if you were even capable of feeling anger at him.

Coriolanus stepped closer, making you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think I can share you,” he confessed under his breath, but with conviction. “I know I can’t and you… you don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

You swallowed, eyes looking down. “Sejanus—“

“Doesn’t know you like I do,” Coriolanus finished, one hand still holding your cheek, tilting your head, making you meet his eye again. “Seeing you with him… he’s not good enough for you.”

“I thought you were above judging him for being district.” You sounded so disappointed in him.

“I don’t care that he’s district, he’s not good enough because no one will ever be,” Coriolanus corrected, imploring you to understand.

With a light sigh, his eyes fell shut. Gently, he leaned to press his forehead to yours. He blindly reached for your hands, and found them in each of his with no problem.

“I would not be happy seeing you with anyone else,” Coriolanus confessed, voice low. “Not anyone but me.”

You inhaled slightly. Was it that big of a shock?

He gave you no chance to voice it because Coriolanus was capturing your lips again, passion erupting in his veins.

His mind was clouded with thoughts that fought for center attention, his built up desires controlling him as his hands and lips cascaded down your body. Your neck, your chest, your stomach—

“Coryo, what are you doing?” you questioned when he began to move lower.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he cooed, dismissing your concern.

Coriolanus finally fell to his knees in front of you. He’d never take such a humiliating position for anyone else. But with you, it didn’t feel humiliating. It was exhilarating, knowing he was on his knees worshiping you, but he still held all the power. It was nearly perfect.

You gasped a little when he gripped your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder. More of your weight rested back against the wall, unable to stand straight on just one leg.

He looked upward, watching your face the entire time as he pushed your dress up around your hips, revealing your underwear to him.

Coriolanus was so close and you had yet to move.

Words couldn’t find their way to his lips. It was all too overwhelming in the best way. His heart slamming against his rib cage was a welcome feeling, and so was the pressure on his knees.

You bucked away before his mouth could reach your core. Coriolanus didn’t think much of it. He had a lot of other images rushing through his brain. Ones he wanted to become reality.

He scooted forward and tried again, this time making contact with the layer of fabric separating him from your most intimate spot.

Coriolanus heard a choked noise from you as he ran his tongue across the front of your underwear.

Right away, he wanted more.

His hands found the material acting as a barrier and he gripped it then pulled, tearing it from you one leg at a time, exposing you to him.

Before it could fall to the ground, he caught the shredded material and stuffed it into his pocket.

He felt a bit guilty, knowing how little you all had when it came to clothing, but he wanted to do this the right way. Coriolanus wanted nothing blocking him from showing you how good he could make you feel.

As much as his eyes were tempted to linger, impatience got the best of him.

He made contact again, licking a stripe across your bare cunt. Once he got a taste, Coriolanus couldn’t hold back.

His mouth latched onto you, tongue sliding between your folds, drawing a stifled moan from you. You reached for his head, trying to knock him away, but Coriolanus persisted. His will easily overtook yours. You weren’t going to take this away from him, not when he could make you want it just as bad.

He held onto the leg over his shoulder, gripping your flesh, surely leaving bruises in his wake. He held the skirt of your dress up with the other hand. With his mouth, he devoured you. Lapping at your core like a man starved, even more so when wetness began to form.

This wasn’t something Coriolanus had done, but he knew you better than anyone. He was sure he could figure out your body. He’d dreamt about it long enough, making you fall apart for him in such an intimate way.

He soon found that to be the truth when in only a matter of minutes your body was tensing. He continued to drag his tongue across you, giving every bit of you his full attention. He liked the way your thighs quivered when his tongue brushed your clit, it gave him an excuse to hold you tighter.

Your whole body flinched suddenly, but he shoved your hips back, pinning you to the wall as he brought you to the edge

His own pants felt constricted as his senses were overwhelmed by you. Your taste, your scent, the sound of your choked down moans, your hands smacking the wall (unsure what else to do), the feel of you against his tongue and how your leg strained over his shoulder, and the sight of you when he looked up through his lashes… god, you were magnificent.

You whimpered from above, teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he finally made you come undone.

Coriolanus held you still, relishing in the way you finally jolted into his touch instead of away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were the stuff of dreams in the most literal sense.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your ragged breaths causing your chest to rise and fall in an unsteady pattern. Your leg, still draped over his shoulder, was tense, even as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

A wide grin spread across Coriolanus’s face when you shivered. He couldn’t help himself. He nearly chuckled at your state, but then your hand moved to rake through his wavy locks. The sound caught in his throat as you tugged him away, finally looking down at him. The all consuming pleasure had faded into something more composed.

Coriolanus could tell how much of an effort you were making, and as your eyes struggled to focus, he briefly wondered how strong your drinks were.

“I’d like to go home now,” you said slowly, conscious not to let your voice falter.

You allowed him to help get both to your feet on the ground, but you did not touch him for the rest of the night, even when he tried to reach for you.

He was still hard behind the confines of his pants, imagining the slickness between your thighs that was the result of his actions. As you walked back through the ballroom, it took everything he had to not push you back against a nearby wall. People be damned, he wanted you more than anything.

He would press his chest to your back—no, he’d make you face him. Coriolanus wanted access to your lips so he could kiss you as much as he liked, even swallow down your moans when he lifted your dress around your stomach and—

A shiver of excitement coursed through Coriolanus’s body. What would your darling Sejanus think if he knew what just transpired? If he knew it was only for your dignity that Coriolanus wasn’t fucking you against the wall hard enough that you forgot where you even were?

You silently bid the party a farewell, forgetting to say goodbye to Sejanus (Coriolanus made no attempts to remind you). You continued to ignore him, hardly speaking and not even looking his way. Not as you walked from the school to the apartment. Stumbling up the stairs, you only spoke to claim you were fine as you gripped the handrail for dear life. Then you went back to silence as you traveled from the front door to your bedroom and locked the door.

Coriolanus only found out about the door because he’d tried to follow you in, but the door knob did not budge. You never used your lock.

Even if you weren’t ready to finish what had been started, it was still incredibly cold. Were you really upset enough to deprive him of your presence until the morning?

“What’s going on with you?” Coriolanus asked through the layer of wood. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue as it traced his bottom lip, waiting for your response. “Can we talk? Can you open the door?”

He gripped the knob tighter and tried again. It wasn’t going to suddenly unlock, but something urged him to prove it.

There was a faint thud as his forehead fell to the door, much as it had to yours not too long ago.

“Can I at least say goodnight to you?”

Again, no response.

He swallowed. Cleared his throat.

Again.

“Please?”

If they could afford to fix it, Coriolanus would break the door down.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside your door before begrudgingly going to his own room.

He laid in his bed and fished the underwear from his pocket. Your scent still lingered on them, and it was enough to fuel his imagination as he unbuttoned his pants and pretended his own hand on his cock was yours.

Even after finishing, Coriolanus had a nearly sleepless night. His mind was plagued with memories of his lips on yours, your dress bunched around your hips, him on his knees with his mouth on your cunt. He’d never forget the sounds you made.

When the sun rose, he returned to your door, only to find it still locked. He didn’t even knock, just simply grabbed the door knob and twisted.

You always woke up early for school, putting yourself together in a way that could reflect wealth that you did not truly have. Coriolanus was sure you did it for his sake, knowing how much appearances mattered to him.

You were good to him like that.

If only you’d let him in now.

The laugh that escaped him lacked humor. It was a bitter, frustrated sound.

His hands rested on his hips, his own fingertips pressing in. It was that or gripping the door knob and if he touched that thing again and found it locked…

“This isn’t funny anymore, Y/N,” Coriolanus called through the door. “If there’s a problem we can talk about it. Just stop acting like a child.”

“What, did she steal your blazer again?” Tigris wondered, appearing out of nowhere. Despite her voice being soft with sleep, Coriolanus was still startled.

“No, just a minor disagreement,” Coriolanus replied, quick on his feet as always. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure we’ll talk it out.”

He emphasized the word ‘talk’, hoping you’d hear him through the door. If you did, he wouldn’t know. Tigris, on the other hand, just nodded and headed for the kitchen.

The smile he gave his cousin on her way was forced. She couldn’t tell that his teeth were clenched together, which was for the best.

A thought dawned on him. You could just be testing him.

Coriolanus knocked on the door and waited, like he’d just solved your puzzle.

What was that thing about insanity—trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

“You’re going to have to come out of your room at some point,” he reminded, trying his best to make it not sound like a warning.

Coriolanus wasn’t used to being frustrated with you. You were usually his relief from people who made him feel this way. He didn’t understand why everything changed all of the sudden.

You’d enjoyed yourself while he got what he wanted. Why was that so bad?

You had always been an enigma, but Coriolanus felt as if he’d come to understand you—that he was the only one who did or would.

Sejanus would never know you the way he did, that was for certain.

From in your room, Coriolanus heard movement. Your dresser opening, maybe. It didn’t matter. You were awake. And ignoring him.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake.” The neediness in his voice was embarrassing. No one else could make him resort to this. “I can hear you. Are you coming out?”

“What is going on?” Grandma’am questioned, standing at the end of the hall. “You aren’t dressed for school. We can’t have you being late.”

Coriolanus looked down at himself. He’d gone to sleep in the outfit he’d worn the night before, and still wore it now.

Arguments died in his throat. You and Coriolanus walked to the academy together. You’d have to come out and talk to him. Grandma’am would drive you crazy if you missed a day of classes.

In record time, Coriolanus was in his uniform.

He might’ve been quick, but apparently you were quicker. As he opened the door to his room, he heard the front door shut.

“Whatever you did, Coryo, apologize,” Tigris advised when he chased the sound of your exit.

Coriolanus just looked at her. Why on Earth would he do that? He’d done nothing wrong.

Down the stairs and out of the building, Coriolanus finally—finally—got a glimpse of you. A flash of red as you turned the corner, setting off down the sidewalk.

It took nothing for him to catch up to you.

“How are you feeling?” he wondered first, recalling your drunken state. “I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” you challenged, eyes forward.

It was good to hear your voice, but Coriolanus furrowed his brows at your tone. You had no reason to be this rude.

“Of course I was, Y/N. How can you even ask me that?” His hand dropped to your shoulder, only for you to shrug it away. “What is wrong with you?”

You looked at him, finally, but the emotion in your gaze… there was something wrong with it. Something distant, lacking the affection those beautiful eyes of yours usually held for him.

Coriolanus swallowed.

“Are you really going to be like this? Is it because of Sejanus? You don’t have to be with him anymore.”

You turned your head forward.

“Leave me alone, I’d like to walk in silence.”

Since when had you become so spiteful? Coriolanus didn’t like it. It evoked something similar in him. He leaned down, getting near your ear.

“You liked it, I know you did,” he hissed out. Coriolanus hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, but you were being completely unfair to him right now. “You can’t lie to me.”

Despite the way you shuddered, your jaw remained clenched. You not talking to him was more infuriating than if you had screamed in his face. At least that way he could tell what you were thinking. But no, you wouldn’t allow him to be privy to your inner thoughts, no matter how much effort he put into prying them from you.

It wasn’t a conversation for the public, even Coriolanus knew that, so when you got to the academy a few steps ahead of him, he bit his tongue.

“What did you do to piss off your sister?” Clemensia asked him in a whisper in class. “You’re usually attached at the hip walking in.”

The way she called you his sister felt wrong in a way that it hadn’t before. Even if he never thought it fit when people would say that or assume it, something had shifted.

And was it that obvious? Coriolanus hadn’t even brought it up. He’d simply been a few steps behind you into the classroom. You’d gone to your desk without a word. Was that strange to everyone else too? It was validating, in a way, to know your behavior was, in fact, targeted and odd, but it also made him wonder what the two of you appeared to be from an outside perspective.

“It’s nothing,” Coriolanus lied to her under his breath, keeping his eyes on his paper.

“So you didn’t get into a fight?”

Coriolanus’s brows curved down. He glanced her way.

“A fight?”

“Arachne and Festus saw you pull her away from Sejanus and disappear somewhere last night.”

It was mostly the truth, but she said it so nonchalantly. She couldn’t know what happened after you disappeared. Coriolanus hadn’t seen a single person lay their eyes on either of you in that private moment.

“I get it,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with someone from the districts either. She’s not thinking about how she’ll be perceived, or you. Don’t let her drag you down.”

Coriolanus just listened, the night flashing through his mind. No one could’ve known, there was no way.

He quickly corrected the hypocrisy in his own mind. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just private. No one else deserved to see you in that state—no one but him.

“We’re fine,” Coriolanus told her. “And her and Sejanus aren’t together anymore.”

Clemensia smirked to herself. “Good.”

Word spread quickly, and with the way you avoided Sejanus—a byproduct of you avoiding Coriolanus—everyone believed it. The final nail was the way you failed to appear at lunch. It got under Sejanus’s skin, causing him to question the state of your relationship without you to answer any said questions.

Truthfully, Coriolanus hadn’t seen anything as amusing in a long while, but your absence weighed on him, too.

The walk home alone was dreadful without you. Even in the morning when you had ignored him, it was better than you being completely gone.

When he got home, your door was shut. How quickly had you left your classes, how fast had you walked, all to avoid him?

This was growing old very, very quickly.

Grandma’am was on the roof with her roses, and Tigris seemed to be missing from the apartment. It was only because of that that Coriolanus devised a way to get into your room.

Why he didn’t think of picking the lock before, Coriolanus supposed it was because he thought you’d give in quicker and let him get the better of you. You were usually weak to him, allowing him to get his way without a problem. You had before.

“Last chance,” Coriolanus called through the locked door. He almost thought that would be enough. He wanted you to open it of your own will. “You can’t avoid me forever, just let me in.”

No such luck.

You looked surprised when he forced the door open, as if you really believed he would just take the loss. You were supposed to know him better than that.

You’d been sitting on your bed in pajamas, evidently already done with the day. Your legs were criss-crossed with a textbook in your lap. You looked up at him, a questioning expression taking over your features.

“What are you doing, Coryo?” you asked, voice low, eyes not quite meeting his directly.

“You weren’t opening the door.” Coriolanus squared his shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You shook your head, something between a sigh and a laugh escaping you in a puff of air. Coriolanus did not like the accusatory undertone.

“Did you think maybe I left it locked on purpose?” Were you mocking him? “That I wasn’t lying this morning and I really don’t want to speak to you?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Coriolanus insisted, closing your door behind him. He moved towards your bed, watching your body language the entire time as he finally sat on the edge beside you. “You thought I would just let you ignore me?”

You swallowed, closing the book in your lap. “I guess not,” you admitted, setting the textbook aside. “I am well aware of your ego.”

A frown crested Coriolanus’s lip. “Is that what this is—you want to hurt me?”

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, much like he’d made you do the night before. It was the first time in nearly a day since you’d looked him dead in the eye.

“What do you want, Coryo?”

“I want you”

“You want me to what? Not be with Sejanus? Is that it? Is that why you did what you did?”

“You say that like it was something awful. I was there too.” Coriolanus felt a familiar heat rush through him at the memory. “I know what I saw.”

“You humiliated me.”

“In front of who? No one saw us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? Because you know Sejanus is weak?” Coriolanus searched your eyes and leaned in closer. He was feeling antagonistic. “I mean, how could he touch you, knowing I got there first?”

Coriolanus caught your hand as you raised it, presumably to strike him.

“Is that what we’ve resorted to?”

He squeezed your wrist, enough to cause pain. You winced and tried to move away, but Coriolanus wasn’t going to let you get away.

“I could ask you the same,” you sneered, sounding like an entirely different person.

“What has happened to you?” Coriolanus questioned. He took a breath. “Do you want me to be sorry for what I’ve said? Fine, then, I apologize. But I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. You should not be with him.”

“I’m supposed to believe someone driven by jealousy?” you inquired back, blinking back tears. Why were you being so dramatic? “How can I trust anything you have to say to me now?”

Coriolanus was taken aback by the question. Did you really not trust him anymore? Even with the tight hold on your wrist, he could feel you slipping from his grasp. If you were to leave him, he’d never forgive the universe for its twisted irony. Coriolanus put so much time and care into you because he wanted you. His family didn’t, at least not at first, but even so, you’d have nothing if it wasn’t for him. Is that what you wanted to leave him with now? Nothing? Nothing but the memory of when you were his?

No, that wouldn’t do.

It just wouldn’t.

“You can trust me, I promise,” Coriolanus insisted, pleading, even. “I love you, I always have—you can’t have expected me to sit back and do nothing while you…”

You looked more betrayed, if that was even possible. He was trying to make it better but explaining was only making it worse. Coriolanus had never met a person where the more he talked, the more he tried to persuade them, they believed him less. In that way again you were an anomaly.

If Coriolanus couldn’t tell you, he could show you. He had to make you understand—he could salvage this and get what he wanted in the end. If he was anything, it was persistent. It had worked before, excluding the aftermath.

Coriolanus moved, keeping his hold on your wrist as he shoved you down, pulling himself up and then on top of you in a fluid motion.

You squirmed, questioning, “What are you doing?”

Coriolanus caught your other hand and brought it to join your other wrist he already had a hold of in one hand. He straddled your waist, keeping your body pinned.

“You won’t listen to me,” he pointed out. Something inside him urged him to lean down. “But I can still prove it to you, that it’s me you should be with. No one else.”

Then he crashed his lips onto yours. It was more forceful than it had been the previous night, ensuring you couldn’t turn away again. His tongue was already in your mouth before you thought to turn your head.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t kiss him back, Coriolanus was in bliss. Your lips were soft, molding perfectly to his. You moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was a protest, but it made his body heat up all the same. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of you. Last night left him wanting more, not less.

More than that, he was determined. When he finally detached his lips from yours, the both of you panting, Coriolanus set forth on a track that wouldn’t allow him to turn around.

Even if he tried to take it back, everything would already be changed.

So he didn’t even bother hesitating. Coriolanus was determined, even, at yanking your clothes from your body.

Your words were jumbled by the time they reached his ears. His own heart racing with excitement drowned out any requests you had for him.

The word “stop” left his vocabulary until you yelled it too loud for his liking.

Your whole body shook when he clapped his hand over your mouth. Your top was completely gone, your chest heaving as you breathed through your nose. While Coriolanus could’ve easily been distracted by your state, he trained his eyes on your wide ones.

The word helpless crossed his mind, and he had to take a moment to control himself.

“Grandma’am is upstairs,” Coriolanus finally warned, voice low. “Don’t disturb her.”

You blinked. Coriolanus was almost surprised by the way you settled down, but it told him you understood the implications of alerting her.

Your position beneath Coriolanus had to be better than starving and cold on the street, didn’t it?

You didn’t have Sejanus anymore. If you thought you did, Coriolanus would make sure to remedy that with his friend before you got to him first.

As Coriolanus lifted his hand from your mouth, he silently implored he was the only one who could save you from being branded a liar.

Just as Coriolanus had always admired, you were a quick learner. As heartbroken as you looked, you didn’t raise your voice again.

“This isn’t how you make me want to be with you,” you pleaded. Coriolanus wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take it as a challenge.

“We’ll see,” he mused in response.

He got you bare, and then himself.

You averted your eyes from his body, which offended him more than he thought it would.

“You can look,” Coriolanus said, voice heavy.

Something about his voice must’ve gotten to you, because your eyes flicked between his legs. You swallowed and looked back away.

A prideful smirk overtook Coriolanus’s face.

He moved then, still keeping hold on your wrists in one hand, dragging them down over your belly, and placed himself between your legs.

With one hand still holding your wrists, Coriolanus shoved his other hand in between your legs, two prodding fingers finding your entrance before making their way in. Eagerness won out over his patience. He could take things slow later.

You tensed around him, fighting the intrusion, but he wasn’t going to let you win. Even if you weren’t squirming against him, you were resistant. Coriolanus slowly worked at breaking your resolve, massaging his fingers inside your walls, thumb on your clit.

He could see shame wash over your features when a wetness began to form, coating his fingers and allowing him to work you open for him.

“See, you can lie to me, but your body can’t,” Coriolanus asserted, voice thick with arousal.

That triggered something in you, and perhaps Coriolanus reacted too harshly.

It felt like it all happened in a flash. One moment you were on your back, beneath him, clenching around his fingers, and the next he had to manhandle you onto your chest and knees to fend off your attack and keep you still. He regained his hold on your hands quickly, pinning them behind your back while you panted from the short lived exertion.

Coriolanus leaned down to press his lips to your ear.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to fight me,” he growled.

Your shoulders shifted as you found further discomfort in your new position, but you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your voice—just like before.

Coriolanus wanted to watch your face as you submitted to him and his love for you, but if this was the only way he could have you for now, so be it.

He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the twitch of your body as he pressed the tip in.

Despite all the effort to get you where you were now, Coriolanus slid his cock into you with ease. Your body welcomed him, even if you didn’t.

He couldn’t help himself, his hips bucked forward, shoving himself into you deep. You whimpered into the pillow and Coriolanus’s mind went blank for a moment, basking in the feel of your warm cunt around him. It was better than he imagined.

His cock twitched inside of you, eager to fill you, but he had to make this last. Just like before, Coriolanus wanted to make you feel good. So good you had no choice but to want him.

Coriolanus drew his hips back after a few moments of just resting inside you. When only the tip remained, he thrust forward. Your body rocked against the mattress.

He did it again, this time slower. Forcing you to feel the drag of his thick cock inside of you. Coriolanus liked the way your body quivered as you succumbed to the pleasure he could give you.

You felt like heaven, all wet and warm and squeezing around him in a way that made him want to never leave you.

To show he trusted you, Coriolanus let your hands go. They immediately fell to grip the pillow beneath your head. You didn’t go to fight him and that counted for something. He had an ulterior motive, though, because now he could hold your hips with both hands.

He leaned down, pressing kisses to your back. He ran his hands along your skin, drinking the entirety of you in as he moved inside of you.

His movements were a bit slow, calculated, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. Coriolanus imagined you rocking your hips back, your moans filling the room, eager for more. That would have to be saved for another time when you were more willing.

You body tensed and shivered, and Coriolanus knew you were getting close. You still had yet to speak.

It was petty, the sudden sharp thrust of his hips to shove his cock deep and hard into you.

A gasp—he drew a gasp from you.

He allowed his weight to fully fall on top of you, finally. Your skin was so warm on his chest, it was as if your body was trying to burn him off of you. Maybe it was all in his head. But it didn’t really matter. It was far too late for that.

“It’s okay to want it,” Coriolanus muttered into your ear.

He felt your body reacting and you were moments away from what he’d been pushing you towards. His thrusts grew shallow, not letting too much of himself leave you as you finally came undone.

You buried your face into the pillow, muffling your cry as you finally came around his cock. It was then that he got what he wanted, even if it was only brief. Your body spasmed and pushed back, trying to feel every inch of him stretching you out, clenching down to hold him there.

Coriolanus followed you soon after, cock throbbing in your walls, spilling inside of you and painting them white. He held your hips so tight he was sure he’d leave bruises as he held himself still, letting the both of you experience the sensation in full.

After however long—Coriolanus didn’t count the minutes—he withdrew from your body. He was a gentleman, so he helped you to lay down before your body collapsed on its own.

He laid down beside you, pulling your blanket over the top of both of your bodies with the intention to bring you comfort.

You were wordless, rolling onto your side, facing away from him.

Coriolanus turned with you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pulling you back to him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head before resting his lips near your ear.

“Do you really think not talking to me is the best idea?” he whispered, less frustrated than before.

You shook in his arms, but your voice was steady as you asked, “What do you expect me to say to you?”

Coriolanus didn’t have to think all that long.

“That you love me.”

You were silent for a moment, Coriolanus thought he was going to have to repeat himself.

“I did love you,” you uttered, voice threatening to break. “But it wasn’t enough for you.”

Coriolanus could’ve been angry, but he knew he’d win you back. He had all the time in the world, knowing you wouldn’t dare continue your relationship with Sejanus. How could you? You were already spoken for.

You were Coriolanus’s, you always had been. He realized it before you, but he knew you’d come to learn the truth. You’d accept it eventually, and everything would fall into place exactly as he wanted.

[fordaryl]

REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."

[draconic-desire]

Gosh i just loved your Sunday fic.. 😫

Im wondering what about a naive type darling? With so much isolation, it has made darling insecure. Darling thinks Sunday deserves a better woman and just ups and leaves Sunday when he isnt home. But ofc is soon found not long after 😋

ohhhh so personally i imagine this happening after sunday uses the harmony one too many times on poor reader…you never saw it coming, never would have thought sunday would hurt you despite being isolated for so long. any thoughts you had about escaping, even going outside to see friends, are obliterated. sunday becomes your whole world.

Yan!Sunday x Naive!Gn!Reader

You’ve been standing in front of Sunday’s door, fist raised and poised to knock, for twenty minutes now.

For what feels like the millionth time, you lower your hand, worrying your lip.

He’s been in there all day. Sunday is a busy man, his schedule constantly filled with meetings and Family affairs, but never too occupied that he would ignore you for an entire day.

Your mind fears the worst; even those initial days of being drowned in the Harmony, before you realized Sunday was trying to help you adjust to your life with him, is preferable to this. Did you do something wrong? Who is he in there with? Is he ignoring you?

Has he…grown tired of you?

The mere thought chills your heart and fills your veins with ice as you take a step back, inhaling sharply.

The wooden door before you is polished to a fault, bright enough that you can see your faint outline. It bitterly reminds you of how inferior you are compared to him, a mere speck of dust, a fleeting shadow on the wall.

You start to spiral. Surely Sunday, the most handsome and sought after man in Penacony, could have his pick of anyone—so why would he settle on you? Why did he bring you here, trap you in this mansion, keep you by his side, if only to throw you away in the end?

Did he never love you?

Why does that thought hurt you so much?

Heart pounding and tears blurring your vision, you quickly turn and flee, your knock forgotten.

~*~

It has long grown dark on the streets of the Golden Hour.

The normally bustling city is slumbering, the only light provided by the plethora of flashing billboards that never sleep. The few individuals you have passed are either drunks stumbling home or the stray Intellitron. You’ve been walking aimlessly for hours, wiping away tears and fruitlessly searching for a way to escape to reality.

After all your time mulling in your sadness and insecurities, you have come to the conclusion that you should relieve Sunday of his care of you. He’s much better off without you, or rather with a better individual than you. He should be dating royalty, a celebrity, an angel. The type of person who would have knocked on that door, would have strutted confidently into his office and sat directly into his lap to—

Another pair of footsteps echo behind you.

You almost don’t hear them at first, but you most definitely see the haloed shadow on the wall in front of you.

“And where do you think you’re going, (Y/n)?”

You immediately freeze, your breathing becoming erratic and shallow. His voice sends little butterflies pounding against your chest, begging to fly to him.

“Do you really think this pathetic attempt to escape would succeed?” A hand wraps around your waist, spinning you around to meet golden eyes rimmed in violet. You expect them to be filled with anger, perhaps even loathing, but you’re shocked to discover they are brimming with nothing but thinly veiled panic.

His grip tightens when you don’t respond immediately. “Answer me, (Y/n).” His voice cracks as he says your name again. “Where have you been?”

Words clog in your throat. “I—I thought—you were—you didn’t want—”

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you. You weren’t thinking. I believed we had moved beyond your futile attempts to leave, that you understood that you are mine—”

“But what if I don’t deserve to be yours!”

The two of you freeze in the wake of your outburst. His breath hitches as you lower your head and whisper softly, “I thought you stopped loving me the same as I love you.”

For once, you’ve caught Sunday off guard. His beautiful gaze widens in shock as he truly takes in your form—shivering, tears rolling down your cheeks, nails digging into your palms—and realizes his mistake.

You left because you thought he didn’t want you.

The mere idea baffles him. Standing before him is the most beautiful individual he has ever seen. Every fiber of his being screams for him to lock you in a birdcage and throw away the key—you are a precious treasure, meant to sing only for him. He has created you to be the perfect devotee in his very image.

And all of his efforts have succeeded, because you said you loved him.

His anger and fear immediately melt into softness as he holds your face between both hands, his forehead lowered to press against yours. “Oh, darling, no. You cannot fathom the adoration I harbor for you, the multitude of praises I wish to preach each day in your name.”

His voice takes on a nearly holy reverence, but his eyes shine with an untamed desire. “There is nowhere you belong except for by my side. Finding you missing this evening nearly tore my heart out. You must never venture out again, do you understand, my precious dove?”

You sniff and lean into his touch, a smile parting the river of your tears. Yes, that’s right. That’s what the Harmony said before, too: your purpose is to please Sunday, to serve Sunday, to live for Sunday.

Why would you ever doubt his love?

Why would you ever want to leave him? What a silly idea.

You think you feel a tiny pull at the back of your mind, a hook that wants to tether you to reality. But a quick slash of a knife severs the line, leaving you floating in a sea of multicolored bliss.

“I’ll never doubt you again, Sunday. I love you.”

Sunday’s lips curl into a smirk as he lifts your chin and examines the rainbows dancing in your eyes. “I love you, too, (Y/n).”

[beardedjoel]

smother - part i: deliverance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: starving. lost. desperate. you find a cabin in the woods, and to your dismay, it's occupied. a plan to have a quick bite of food with an intense, intriguing stranger turns into more than you'd bargained for when he makes you realize everything you've been missing out on. 8.6k words chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55) manipulation/lying/gaslighting, slow burn and tension building chapter, joel is kind of a creepy menace ngl a/n: i'm so so very excited to share the first chapter of my new series! (if this flops after how much i got hyped for it i will be logging off forever) the themes in this story are dark so if the tags aren’t for you it’s understandable & just keep scrollin on by! this will end up being nasty and smutty, but only after a wee bit of buildup so don't fear. comments and reblogs are always beyond appreciated!

Save me. Please, anyone…

Another wave of desolate, crying desperation tears through you as you trudge along, tripping yet again - maybe over your own two feet, a root, the very ground you walk on, something. You’re much too hazy and burnt out to even care what you stumbled on as you just press on, press on, press on.

A wave of pain rolls through your stomach again as it burns cavernously empty. You move as a ghost, a shell of yourself now, using passing trees as support. Your hands touch the cold wood reluctantly, a painful little hiss through your teeth as your fingers practically cramp up from the cold. You’d lost your gloves somewhere along the way, days ago now, what feels like a lifetime. You need to stop and rest desperately now, your body close to giving out. Your heart hammers in fear, wondering if you’d even be able to get up again.

A cabin comes into view in the distance, tucked nicely in a clearing of trees. You think your eyes are deceiving you, that you’ve finally succumbed to the madness that comes with such hunger and loneliness, your brain conjuring up images to comfort you. You see smoke coming out of a chimney on the roof, and your heart equally swells and drops at the discovery - it’s not a shelter for you alone, no. Not a lucky discovery, somewhere to lay your head tonight that’s dry and warm without disturbance. Someone already lives here, has a home here, and they might not take too kindly to strangers. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the last few weeks of your own personal hell, it’s to tread carefully. Always.

You keep your footsteps light and quiet, trying to approach with some semblance of caution. Your empty stomach is pushing you along, begging for any scrap of food that might be inside, hopefully offered up to you by the kindness of a stranger. Berries and the occasional rabbit or lucky can of food found were not enough to live off of anymore - you could feel the way your body faded away by the day, losing any bit of strength you’d had in the first place.

You pause, hitching your breath and then barely daring to breathe at all when you get close enough to hear a sound - a low, throaty grunting followed by the crack of wood. Your eyes scan the area as you sneak closer and then land upon him. He’s broad and muscled, you can see that much from back here. Messy, dark hair that curls all around his head and down his neck. When his body turns enough that you see his face a little bit more, you notice he looks older and has dark, piercing eyes. They send a shudder through you, even from afar, only making you feel colder out in this frosty afternoon.

You wrap your coat a little tighter and decide to get closer, assess the situation, see if he seems friendly enough to give you something to eat and send you on your merry way. He swings an ax high up in the air and brings it down swiftly onto a large piece of wood, splitting it before tossing the logs into a pile already full of more firewood. You press your lips together, noticing how strong he is, betting there are well built up muscles underneath that flannel shirt of his. That makes him a threat, a big one, you quickly assess. 

You’re too distracted, not watching your step, when a large branch cracks underneath your boot. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, holding perfectly still, your breath coming out in quick, staccato exhales.

“H-hey!” you hear a gruff voice, sounding out of breath. You peek your eyes open slowly to see the man looking in your direction and silently curse yourself. “C’mon out!” he yells, and you see him reach to his waist, hands grazing a shining revolver holstered there.

Your stomach pulls into tight knots and you stand frozen for a few moments. Your brain quickly assesses everything, weighing the options. Running away, with no possibility of eating a single thing is one option, but the likelihood this stranger will shoot you seems high no matter what, so you decide to take your chances.

You put your hands in front of you, palms out, and slowly emerge from behind the trees. You walk gingerly along the crisp, frosty grass, crunching under your feet every step of the way. Your anxious breaths come out in little puffs in front of you as the cold air enters and exits your lungs.

The man falters, his fist closing and then opening again, pulling away from the revolver on his hip a bit. He blinks hard, staring at you in this silent showdown. “W-well shit, you’re just a girl…” he finally says quietly to himself, his posture relaxing a little. You stand perfectly still, choked up now that you’re confronted with the idea of speaking to him, such a large, imposing wall of a man, and those eyes, god, those eyes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you if you don’t give me a reason to, now, girl.” His voice is the tiniest bit softer, and you pick up on his Southern drawl, an accent you’ve heard a few times before. “Do ya need help?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, a gleam of sweat having built up from chopping wood and his large chest still heaving. He takes a step closer to you, and you don’t step back, but feel every muscle coil up tightly as your mind screams at you that this was a mistake, a huge fucking mistake. Your feet tingle, toes flexing and getting ready to run, but you can’t make yourself do it, to take that first step.

Instead, you nod. “I- y-yes…” you say quietly. You’ll never understand why you say it, other than the fact that you’re drawn in by him, by his chestnut hair flecked with gray, his patchy beard that he’s currently scratching. By his build that looks so… safe yet dangerous, but you get the feeling that no, he’d never hurt you. You envision those arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly, shielding you from the world and everything you’ve been through. You never thought much about relationships or boys before - just a few simple and innocent crushes, but it hadn’t been on your radar as such a shy kid and teenager. But this… this was what people talked about - attraction. It nearly stole your breath the closer you got to him, threatening to suck you into what felt like an endless void. 

“Alright,” the man replies, trying to match your quieter demeanor. He glances around, eyes narrowed and scanning the woods beyond you. “You with anyone? Or all alone out here?”

You know why he’s asking, you’ve seen what people can do - sending someone innocent and unimposing out to lay a trap, but you don’t lie when you shake your head. “A-alone. I’m alone, swear, sir.”

His jaw seems to tick, noticeable even from the distance you’re at before he answers you. “Okay, then. C’mon a little closer, I won’t bite, okay?” he says, and he’s so convincing that you do believe him, despite your instincts telling you otherwise. The world is cruel and unrelenting, taking away most of the trust you’ve ever had in humanity the second you place it into anything or anyone. 

You move a little closer, small, gentle steps, and he nods encouragingly. 

“Now there ya go. Look at ya…” he marvels with a click of his tongue, shaking his head once you’re just a few feet away from him. 

He takes in your messy hair, slightly matted from wearing a winter hat on and off the last few weeks and sleeping on the ground. Your clothes have seen better days too, your skin smudged with dirt no matter how many water sources you found to try and rinse off a little bit. Even despite all of that, he gazes at you with a curiosity, with that look of interest that you felt like you’d given him without trying to. It’s quiet for another moment, the both of you sizing each other up, until Joel’s look turns a little more pitiful when you shiver as a sudden gust of wind whips past you, your threadbare coat doing little to protect you from the chill in the air here. You can’t be sure if your shuddering has less to do with the wind and more with the way that this man’s eyes are digging into what feels like your very soul.

“We gotta get you inside, okay? You’re shakin’, and you look like you ain’t had a proper meal in… too long…” He continues to eye you up and down, taking in your weak frame. 

You stay silent for another moment, swallowing hard and then shuddering again. “I - I don’t know…” you breathe out. You might have some sudden, fantastical dream that this man is your savior, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cautious - the mind is a tricky, deceiving thing.

“I ain’t gonna ask again, ain’t gonna beg ya, girl. C’mon,” he says a little more roughly, a hand shooting out quickly and grabbing you by the wrist and tugging. “Just want to get a good meal in you, alright?”

You wince at the grasp on your wrist, the roughness and hardness he’s starting to show you, but you let him pull, starting to move your feet and trail after him. 

“T-thank you…sir,” you murmur quietly, and he swings his head to look back at you, his eyes softening. 

“You’re welcome. Now get inside and get warm. I’ve got a fire goin’.” He lets go of your wrist, trusting you to follow him as his heavy boots clunk up the few steps leading to the front door of his cabin. It’s modest, beautifully constructed, all dark wood around the outside and a small porch. You start to wonder if this man built it himself, or just found it as it is. Your initial impression of him leads you to believe that he does seem like the type to build a whole god damn cabin. He half looks like a lumberjack already in the plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. 

“Found this place ‘bout five years ago,” he says as if he could read your mind while he swings the door open. “Real nice and private, so don’t worry.”

Your eyes narrow slightly at his last comment, but you try to brush it off as you enter inside with him. The warm air hits your body, an immediate balm to your frayed nerves and chilled skin, a slightly smoky smell from the fire hits your nostrils and you immediately hear the crackle and pop of the logs in the little fireplace. The cabin is mainly one big room, a kitchen tucked into the corner right to the left of the door, and the living room beyond that with cozy couches and chairs, even a TV that you doubt is working but find yourself hopeful for some reason. It’s been a long time since you were able to watch a movie, flashing back to childhood memories when you’d lived in a more stable, thriving community that had power. 

Stairs beyond that lead to what you assume are bedrooms or a bathroom, and your eyes curiously take in all the little details and decor - the man’s jackets hanging along the wall near the entrance, his rifle propped next to the door and several different pairs of worn boots. 

You realize you’re just standing right near the doorway, silently looking around in a daze while your new acquaintance has been trying to get your attention. 

“Hey, girl, I’m talkin’ t’ya…” his voice says, the noise fading back into your consciousness.

You shake your head. “S-sorry,” you say quietly, a shy little squeak. “I was just -“

“S’alright. I got some stew goin’, that okay? I mean y’don’t have much of a choice, but I’ll ask anyhow,” he says with a wry chuckle. You simply nod in response. 

“Now go on, put your things down and sit ‘n get comfortable,” he waves towards the general direction of the kitchen table and the couch before turning back to the stove to stir the pot simmering there. You stand, feeling frozen still, panic threatening to climb up through your insides and completely take over. You still don’t feel safe, despite this man offering to warm you and feed you. How could you, you think, when you’ve been running for several weeks, trying to get away from the carnage that became your life. 

He eyes you, unmoving and frightened looking and sighs heavily. “I said,” he says, tension thickening in the air around you, “Sit.”

You clear your throat, desert dry and scratchy, and set your backpack by the door, slowly creeping over to the couch, not wanting to make this mystery man any angrier. You settle yourself down and the cushions feel like heaven, your legs and body achy from the lack of comfort you’ve had for weeks. You try not to show just how good it feels to settle into the soft, plush fabric, letting the cushions mold to your body.

“Good,” Joel coos as he glances at you from the stove. “Now that we’ve got you settled in, you got a name?”

You weakly tell him your name and he shows you the first little smile you’ve seen from him, nodding. “Gotcha. I’m Joel, okay?”

“O-okay.” You push the words out while you watch him stir the pot on the stove. You sit in silence for a few moments, thankful for the time to just catch your breath and think. Just one bowl of stew, and you’ll be out of here. You’ll ask if there’s a community nearby, somewhere that could take you in, then grab that information and run, not bother this man any more than you need to.

Joel walks over, handing you a cup of water that you shamelessly start to gulp down before he goes back and ladles some of the delicious smelling stew into a bowl. The second the scent hits you, your stomach rumbles loudly. Joel cracks a smile as he hears it and continues ladling, a brow quirked. 

“Hungry, huh?” he asks, walking the steaming bowl over to you with a spoon. You gingerly take it from his hands, being careful not to brush your still chilled fingers against his. You swear his eyes flash at you when he notices how avoidant you’re being, but he turns and walks back to the stove, getting himself a bowl as well. Joel settles down into a chair across from the couch where you sit with a weathered groan, just watching you for a few quiet moments. It does everything but put you at ease, your stomach twisting a little. You blow on a spoonful of stew before taking a bite, your mouth an explosion as it waters and takes in the delicious, rich, food. 

“Mmm,” you whine out, unable to help it. Your body wants to lunge forward, lap the stew up until every single drop is in your starved body and you can finally feel a sense of fullness again. You quickly take another spoonful, much too hot, and wince a little as it hits your tongue. 

“Slow on down, girl,” Joel says. “Let’s talk a little and it’ll slow down your eating.”

You just stare, noticing your body is trembling a little bit, and has been since you met Joel outside. You try to take a deep breath to settle your nerves, your legs so tensely pressed together that it's starting to hurt.

“You feelin’ afraid of me, that it?” he asks you, looking a little too self satisfied at the observation as he crosses his arms and leans towards you. His biceps bulge and stretch with the motion and you can’t help but find your eyes drawn to them, the way they pull at the soft flannel of his shirt. You feel your face heat up all the way to your ears and you blink hard, averting your eyes. 

“I- I mean… I don’t know you…” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

“I know,” he says, sounding more sympathetic. “Done some bad things in my time, so hell, maybe you should be scared of me. I ain’t a nice guy. But I won’t hurt someone like you, promise ya that.” His words are enough of a reason for you to hightail it out of here the first second you can, but why do you believe them? Why do you believe him?

“How d-do you know I’m not bad too? That I don’t deserve it?” His eyes narrow and his lip twitches into a smirk before he lets out a mocking little chuckle in your direction.

“Oh sweetheart, a man jus’ knows these things. You never hurt even a fly, now have you?” That smirk stays plastered on Joel’s face as he asks and it frustrates you how little of a threat he sees in you, how little fight you have left to give. Yet you can’t find yourself blaming him, you think. If you were facing yourself in his position you’re sure you’d look like as much of a feeble joke as you feel.

You frown, still unable to look him in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, and shake your head. “No… just for hunting…” you admit.

“Alright then. Y’don’t need to act tough in front of me, girl, got it?” Joel concludes, going back to eating his stew.

“Got it,” you respond quietly, letting yourself sink further into the couch as you feel your muscles slowly relaxing.

“Now tell me... what’s this all about? What’s a little young thing like you doin’ out here by herself?”

You bite your lip and sip slowly on another spoonful of stew. “I’m… uh…” you stutter nervously. 

“Spit it out now, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of here, hm?” Joel tries reassuring you, but his words keep coming out so gruffly, doing little to make you feel much better. 

You inhale a deep breath. “Okay…” You swallow. “I was in a… community. I lived there a long time. T-they’re all gone now, I think. We got completely overrun and so I ran.” You sniffle as your nose starts to run from the warmth of the house opposing the cold you’d gotten accustomed to. 

Joel leans forward a bit in his chair, taking a hearty bite of stew, mulling your words over. “Overrun how?” he asks simply, glancing at you, studying your movements, your body language, everything. 

“U-uh, hunters, raiders, whatever they are. Bad.. b-bad people…” You look down at your bowl, not wanting to meet the intensity of his gaze, afraid to fall into his strange, hard warmth. 

“Hm… awful fuckers, ain’t they,” he says, scratching a hand down his beard. “You got away, then?”

You nod and bite inside of your lip, taking another spoonful of stew to keep yourself occupied. “Y-yeah. I ran and ran… just kept… going. They took everything, took over all of our homes…”

Joel sighs, his eyes finally going a little softer. “‘M sorry to hear that, darlin’. You know if anyone is still alive?”

You shrug. “No…”

“Your family? They with ya at this community?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No. They… all, uh, passed a long time ago.” Why the hell are you being so open with this stranger? You don’t owe him your story, your secrets, any of it. But you sense the urge to share it, anyhow. Maybe you’re just that desperate for human connection right now. 

“Mm, sorry to hear it again. We all know that feelin’ in a world like this,” he replies thoughtfully. Your eyes widen a bit at the softness he’s showing you right now and you give him a tight lipped smile to show your own sympathy for his losses. 

“You feel up for tellin’ me a little more about the attack? S’okay if it’s too much,” Joel adds on, still studying you with an odd gaze, almost like he’s drinking you in, quenching some thirst he had. His hand twitches, almost as if to reach out to you, but he’s much too far from where he sits right now. 

“I’m not sure if t-there’s much to tell…” you start, but then you find yourself spilling out more details, feeling the freeing sensation of unloading your burdens onto someone else. You tell Joel your community was small but well taken care of, plenty of supplies and food, in an abundant time in its history the last few months. One evening everything changed, when an armed group of mostly men came in, a few women and children in tow, looking absolutely miserable, and they aimed their guns in the air and shot off a few rounds to get everyone’s attention. People came flooding out of their homes, trying to run, only to be tackled or shot down, forced to give up our food and belongings. You tried to hide for as long as you could before slipping out of the home you shared with an older couple who had been taking care of you since you were a teenager, Harry and Josephine. They’d urged you to run, run, run, so you did. Then came your lost days, where you had no clue where you were, when you’d find your next semblance of humanity. Just trying to head west, further and further from the bitter memories you’d now have to leave behind. Barren towns and wilderness passed you over the days, hardly seeing another soul as you hid from infected, spending your nights crying yourself to sleep when you had the energy. 

And now… here you were, sitting on Joel’s couch and eating stew. Unsure of what the hell you’d do next or where you had to go. You had been an orphan for a long time, but this felt deeper, like you were an orphan to the entire world, almost, like you had nothing to even call your own now. 

Joel sits patiently, watching you stumble on words as you tell your story to him, trying not to get too choked up as all the emotions resurface. How empty things had been, how desolate the landscapes to match your faintly beating heart.

He’s leaned fully forward now in his seat, stew somewhat forgotten in his lap as you finish your recounting of the last few weeks. He breathes in and out, a large, heavy sigh that fills the room. It’s still now, fully quiet for a moment. 

“You’re a strong girl for goin’ through all of that, you know that?” he says finally, eyes softer than you’ve seen them yet. 

You just look down, returning to your stew, taking a few bites now that it’s at the perfect temperature. You’ve stopped shaking now, your body warmed up and starting to recognize that you’re getting full. You can’t eat much, your stomach unable to handle more just yet, so you push the stew away, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Yeah…” you say, not really believing it as you glance out the window to watch the late afternoon sun, glaring off the ground outside, light filtering through the trees. 

“You got somewhere to go? After you’re fed and looked over, of course,” Joel asks, his eyebrow shooting up.

You consider lying, just to avoid what you’re afraid he’ll ask you. What you’re afraid you’ll say yes to. You still end up shaking your head silently, clearing your throat. You feel a sting of tears behind your eyes, your whole body going hot with the need to cry, but a deep desire to not show that weakness to him holds you back. You sniffle and blink, studying the knots in the old wood floors.

“Hey,” Joel says, trying to get your attention, to make you show him your vulnerability. “Look at me, c’mon now.” You hear him shift in his seat, a small movement born of irritation as you refuse to do as he says.

You sniffle again and clear your throat, a shake of your head making your hair fall forward, covering and hiding you further. 

“I said look at me.” That stern tone of his is back, sending a shudder through you and fear rippling deep inside your chest. You flick your red rimmed, shining eyes up to his, meeting the dark brown stare, lines permanently etched in between his eyes from all his years of worry.

“Atta girl,” he coos, completely pleasant now. “I got you, okay? You can stay, if ya need. I got food, a home, a warm bed for ya. If you have nowhere else.”

One more blink sends the tears falling down your cheeks, fat and overdue as they slide down your dirty skin, leaving tracks. You sniffle and nod, suddenly feeling a rush of gratitude towards Joel. He may be a stranger, but he fed you, got you warm, and is offering just about the kindest thing he can right now - an invasion on his space, his personal sanctuary, all for a girl he hardly even knows. 

“Y-you’d really do that?” you ask, a little incredulously, like this is a dream you’re about to wake up from any time now. 

He nods, a half smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Satisfaction plastered there now that he’s swayed you in his direction. “I would. Now I don’t wanna hear another word about it. You need to rest, you’ve been through a lot.”

“T-thank you. B-but-”

“Not. Another. Word,” he practically hisses, flashing his eyes angrily before it fizzles out quickly. You can see him practically having to reign in his impulsiveness in the moment. “There ain’t anywhere else to go that’ll keep you as safe as here, I’m tellin’ you that now. You’d be fuckin’ lost out there.” He sits back with his arms crossed now, and you’re worried that you’ve truly upset him now, that unsettling look in his eye glinting again. He wants you to stay… nearly seems to need it. It scares you, yet you feel a tug, a pull, some form of intrigue wanting you to explore that need, understand just what he could see in you.

“I’m s-sorry… I just - you’ve already done a lot for me, and I’d hate to, well, impose, or something,” you say, trying to appease him. It’s mostly true, anyhow, that you do hate to take Joel’s food and time away from him. 

He stands up and silently walks the few steps over to the couch, sitting down next to you, turning himself towards you. It feels like every muscle in your body tenses at his proximity - it makes him seem even bigger the way he takes up his cushion on the couch, body sinking in deeply, his wide shoulders practically a shield to you right now to everything behind him. Something about seeing him up this close is sending you reeling, able to study the lines in his face, his strong, wiry beard streaked with a few gray spots. You flick your eyes over his face, hoping to not be too obvious, but needing to drink him in, learn his features.

“I’m gonna have you listen to me right now, okay? Make sure you’re listenin’ real good, sweetheart.” He pauses for a moment to catch your eye, reaching a hand towards you but resting it right next to your thigh on the couch. “I’m offerin’ somethin’ mighty nice to you, ain’t I? You were ‘bout to die out there, if I’m honest. Much longer and you’d be a goner, I think. Don’t you?”

He’s waiting for a real answer from you, you realize, so you nod, eyes practically unblinking as you hang on his words, a hot coil burning in your stomach as you feel uneasiness eat at you.

“Right.” He sighs quietly. “I’m not tryin’ to be mean, sweetheart. In fact, I care a lot, that’s why I’m tellin’ the truth to ya like this. You ain’t built to be on your own, can see that clear as day. So I’ll have ya stay here and get fed and get your bearings. And I don’t want to hear anymore about it.” 

Of all the things Joel has just said to you, the thing that is stuck in your mind as you turn it over, is the way he’d said he cares. He cares about you. Would that be such a bad thing to be cared for, even if just for a little bit?

You give him a small dip of your head, a shaky smile coming to your lips. “Thank you. I’m uh, grateful.” You’re not sure what else to say, feeling like you’re signing yourself away to something you don’t feel sure about. 

“Ah look at that - a smile,” he says, clearly feeling much more light hearted now that you’ve agreed to accept his help. 

You sit back a little, your muscles finally losing some of their tension and start to eye Joel a little more curiously. “S-so you just live here all by yourself?” you ask, wishing you weren’t still such a stuttering mess. The fact was, this man made you nervous, in a way that you weren’t used to. He scared you, but in a way that it drew you in, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite explain yet. Something in him commanded respect, reverence, almost, without trying. It was mesmerizing to witness, completely scrambling your mind if you started to think on it too hard. 

“Mhm,” Joel nods languidly, finishing off his stew and then sitting back with a satisfied sigh. He eyes your bowl that’s only half empty and then flicks them back to your face. “Ain’t gonna finish?” he asks, sounding a little irritated before his face softens. “Probably can’t fit much in your little belly right now, huh? Shrunk right up when you didn’t eat much these last few weeks.”

You nod. “I-it was good, I just… I couldn’t finish. It started to hurt…”

His eyes flash with concern. “We’ll take it slow, then,” he says, a little smile creeping onto his face.

You had noticed his avoidance to say much more about himself, so you decide to try your luck and press him again. You clear your throat, trying to turn towards him a little more as well. “You live alone. Don’t you… do you ever talk to other people?”

Joel chuckles, almost condescendingly. “‘Course I do. Town not too far from here - Jackson. I go once and a while to stock up, trade ‘em for some stuff and they’re mighty hospitable to me.”

You nod, trying not to let his snide laugh and tone get to you too much, blinking away the sensitive little tears that threaten to fall again. Joel cocks his head suddenly, seeming to notice. “T-that sounds pretty nice,” you choke out quickly.

“Sorry if I upset ya. Guess you’re right, don’t get enough practice talkin’ to people,” he says a little lighter now, smiling softly again. Joel’s version of a smile seems to only be a soft upturn of his lips, not friendly by nature. It puts you at ease and unease at the same time, that smile of his, but you’d rather see that than the scowl he was sporting at you earlier today. He pats your thigh a few times, showing his apology, and you watch his large hands move on you, noticing they’re scratched and rough. A man’s hands.

“W-wait… Jackson… this town. It’s close by?” you ask, glancing back up at him, the wheels in your head starting to turn. 

Joel’s face falls in an almost dramatic fashion, the lines between his eyes and around his cheeks getting deeper. “Why d’ya ask?” he says, his tone short and frayed sounding, leaning forward again, practically glaring at you from under his eyebrows.

Your own face falls, jaw slack for a moment before it tightens back up. “I just… I want to get out of your hair as quickly as possible, I-I don’t want to be a bother. Could find a new community there, or something…” You feel quiet as a mouse, unsure of how to assert yourself in front of Joel - it feels like there isn’t space for it when you share a room with him.

Joel’s expression becomes more stern. “Didn’t I already tell you, girl, that I’d take care of everythin’?” he spits out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You’re visibility tense now, your hands pressing into the cushions of the couch, ready to get up at any moment and bolt. “Y’don’t want to go to a place like that, so big, you’d be lost there, darlin’. Nobody to take care of you…”

He sits back a little, hands falling into his lap and an eyebrow cocked at you. “‘Sides,” he says, glancing out the window for a moment before studying you again. “Too far to go on your own. Can’t have you gettin’ lost in these woods again… look what happened last time, yeah?”

Maybe he’s right. You barely survived these last few weeks without completely losing your mind, and then your life, as he’s been so apt to tell you several times now. Joel… he saved you, and is offering you a place to stay, so the least you could do is be grateful for now. You could always convince him tomorrow, after you’ve had time to think and reset, to take you there, show you the way, and you can see for yourself if it’s a good fit for you or not.

“Y-yeah…” you stutter out, nodding. The look he shoots you has you choking out the next word before you can even think about it. “Yes,” you say more definitively.

“It’s settled then,” he says matter-of-factly, breathing in deeply, his burly chest rising, and then letting it out in a long, slow breath. “You probably wanna get some rest, yeah? I can set up the bed for ya.” Joel says, standing up and grabbing your bowl, taking it to the kitchen along with his empty one. 

“Do y-��� you start, standing up off the couch. 

“Yeah, I got two bedrooms, don’t worry.” His smile grows, liking that he found you predictable enough to know what you were about to ask. Your shoulders sag a little in relief and you give Joel more of a proper smile now, nodding your thanks.

“That would be great, then, yeah. And if it’s not too much…” you voice trails off and you stare at the ground, focusing your eyes on the pattern of the well worn rug underneath your feet. “Maybe a shower, bath, whatever you’ve got.”

Joel turns to face you and then walks back into the living area. He has a calm, serene expression, slightly lit up. “I’ll do ya one better. Get you some clean clothes to wear after that shower, too.”

Nothing in the entire world sounds better than what he’s offering right now.

You hiss loudly as the hot, steaming water hits your leg when you step in. Within moments, you’re basking under it, watching the dirt and dried blood from your various scrapes and scratches swirl down the drain for what feels like ages, finally seeing the water run clear as you lather up the threadbare washcloth Joel had left out for you and scrub yourself down. Every nook, every cranny, your scalp, face, everywhere you could get three times over. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so clean, even when you’d lived back with your community. You hum happily for a few moments, letting the water soothe you for just a while longer. You hoped Joel could forgive you for taking a little bit of extra hot water today given the circumstances.

Joel hears the water running from downstairs, his fists balling up and relaxing over and over as he sits on his favorite chair, his gaze facing the stairs leading to the spare bedroom and attached bathroom. He feels tense, rolling his neck, continuing to pump his fists open and closed. A feeling in the back of his neck, traveling down his spine and legs that he couldn’t ignore - an urge. He stands up an instant later, not bothering with his well-ignored conscience, and walks upstairs and through the bedroom door with careful steps as he still has on his boots. He presses a hand onto the brass doorknob, turning it slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the door open just an inch, just… enough.

His eyes fall on the shower curtain, a white cloth that perfectly shows your silhouette through it. The valleys and curves of your body move around, arms scrubbing yourself. Joel can smell the evergreen scented soap drifting through the steamy, thick air, watching your body move fluidly as you start to hum quietly to yourself and rinse off.

He wishes he could lie to himself, deny that he felt the blood rush straight to his cock at this little show he was watching. So content, so sweet, so vulnerable right now. Need consumes his every cell - the need to show you just how good you could have it here, to take every bit of you for himself. He grins, a hungry little twitch of his mouth, moving to shut the door when a floorboard creaks under his heavy boot, and he freezes, shuffling out of the way quickly.

You’re humming quietly when you hear it, just a distant sound, but enough to catch your ear. A creak of a floorboard, something you figure isn’t unusual for an old cabin like this, but you feel a shiver run down your spine and rush to turn the water off. You throw the curtain open, water dripping down into your eyes. You quickly rub your fingers over them and glance around the spacious bathroom to find… nothing. You sigh, shaking your head, nearly laughing at the relief you feel. You’re just being paranoid, you chastise yourself as you grab the towel off the hook, squeezing the extra water out of your hair and wrapping it around yourself, snuggling into the simple comfort of a fluffy towel as you dry yourself off. 

Your fingers freeze, running cold when you reach the door, noticing a few inches of space that has the door cracked open. You swore up and down that you’d shut the door behind you, giving you that extra layer of privacy in a stranger's home. It wasn’t possible that… no, you think quickly, shaking your head again. You have to stop being so damn paranoid - your brain is just in survival mode still, looking for threats that aren’t there. 

You step into the bedroom, surveying the heavy wood furniture - an extremely cozy, country feel to the room with large logs comprising the bed frame and a patchwork quilt draped over the top. You peer around, feeling somewhat squirmy at the realization you don’t have any clothing. Joel seemingly came in and took your dirty clothes while you were in the shower, failing to leave you anything clean. It made you feel that strange swirl deep in your stomach again, the one you kept brushing off.

This is a kind man. A kind man, got it? Positive thinking.

You decide to pull it together and head out and down the stairs to the living room. You feel your cheeks heat up, a hot heat creeping all over your body as you feel so exposed, standing in your tiny towel as you descend the stairs. Joel’s eyes follow you down, watching your glowing skin, so fresh and clean, hair dripping errantly, leaving water droplets on the floor in your wake. You see a flash of something a little cloudy and hungry in his gaze before it disappears just as quickly as he showed it. 

He isn’t saying a word, isn’t offering anything, so you swallow down your discomfort and clear your throat a little. “Er… I noticed there weren’t any… clothes… for me…”

Joel sits up a little straighter, putting down the book he’s been looking at. He offers you a smile devoid of much emotion and stands up, his eyes locking on your hips for a few extra seconds. “Shucks, sorry about that, sweetheart. Let’s get you something right now. Got your old clothes ready to be done next time I do the washin’.”

You nod, fighting the urge to chuckle nervously as he walks over and passes you, his arm brushing your damp, bare one before he heads up the stairs. You’re grateful you get to trail him, afraid of just how skimpy this towel is if he’d have insisted on following behind you. You follow him into the other bedroom, his bedroom, and it’s a little more decorated, some books and little wooden carvings on the surfaces, dirty laundry scattered throughout. He opens up a drawer and tugs out a tee shirt, handing it to you, then a pair of gray sweatpants and warm, thick socks. 

“These should fit alright for ya, honey. We’ll get you some more proper fittin’ stuff soon, just gotta have a look around this place. This’ll be nice and warm for ya f’now.” He seems more chipper now, clearly much more talkative than before, and you suppose you don’t mind the change too much. It’s only proving that your paranoia was completely unfounded, just a symptom of your current circumstances. You typically find yourself a pretty trusting person, enough to have gotten you in trouble before, but the events of the last few weeks have broken that for you, leaving you feeling like a shell of who you once were. 

You snap back to reality and take the clothing in your arms, nodding in gratitude. “Thank you. I’ll go, um, change.”

Before you turn, Joel’s voice booms through the air again. “Need anythin’ else to eat? Anythin’ I can get you?” He almost sounds hopeful, like he wants you to need something from him. His eyes linger on your body, leaving you feeling just as naked as if you didn’t have the towel over you at all. 

You shake your head nervously. “Er, if it’s alright with you, I think I just want to rest… A full night’s sleep in a bed sounds like heaven right now.” 

“Let’s get you on off to heaven, then.” He grins, letting you leave the room before trailing after you, waiting outside your door while you change into your clothes. You discover some women’s underwear in the drawers inside of your bedroom, gratefully putting on a clean pair before throwing on everything Joel gave you. It’s comfortable and dry, so you won’t complain about the fit or the style - you’d still be in your dirty, worn down clothes if it weren’t for him. 

You creak the door open to find Joel and thank him again for hosting you, only to see him waiting right outside in the hall. You nearly jump, your face completely giving away your tense surprise.

“Jus’ wanted to make sure you got to bed alright,” he says gently, explaining himself. 

“Oh…” You bite your lip. “I, uh, I think I’m all set. Thank you again, Joel, really, for everything.”

His smile brightens as much as you’ve seen it and his eyes look much kinder as he nods, a dip of his head. His hand reaches forward and takes yours through the frame of the door and squeezes it. You freeze at the sudden touch, his hand so warm and rough, calloused fingertips grazing over the softer skin of your hands. It sends your entire body into a fuzzy flash of heat for just a moment before it dissipates. He squeezes once more, thumb swiping gently over the back of your hand before he releases it. Your lips sit parted in shock, eyes a little wider and hand starting to tremble a little. 

“Anytime,” Joel replies simply, his face falling before he turns to walk away, leaving you standing breathless for several moments before clicking the bedroom door shut behind you. 

You jolt out of your sleep, a gasp of breath catching in your throat and dying out as you go to yell, finding your mouth tightly clasped by a large, warm palm pressing in.

“Shh, shh,” the voice comes, right near your right ear. You shudder involuntarily from the hot breath fanning on such a sensitive spot  and try to yell again, letting it die out as a whimper against the skin pressing on your mouth.

“Shh, it’s alright. I got you,” Joel coos, his voice coming out hoarse. “No yellin’.”

You squirm helplessly against his hold, realizing another arm is draped across your abdomen, holding you in place. Your body exhausts quickly, still half asleep as you feel your struggle die out. Joel’s hand across your mouth loosens slowly, relieving the pressure.

“You were havin’ a nightmare, darlin’. Shh… c’mon now…” His hand that had been against your lips ghosts up to your head, landing in gentle strokes against your hair. You blink a few times, heavy breaths through your nostrils now as you try to steady your mind and body. Your chest struggles against his heavy arm as it heaves, your body fully taut and mind trying to play catch up.

“W-what…” you murmur groggily, laying stiffly as Joel holds your waist, fingers brushing against your curves, pressing you close as his other hand still works tender strokes along your hair.

“Oh, sweetheart, glad I heard you, hm?” he practically whispers, his face nuzzling close to the skin right under your ear. You feel the tickle of his breath and facial fair, prickly and rough against such delicate skin. You squirm gently, trying to signal that everything is too tight, too much, too… confusing. Joel is lost in his own world, absorbed in the softness of the places he begins to touch, hand grazing from your waist to your bare arms, fingertips exploring hungrily under the guise of being caring. 

All he’d needed, alone and laying awake tonight, his body burning and resolve thin, was a simple touch. A chance to show you all that you needed, all he could provide for you. Only to help you, to take care of someone who couldn’t care for herself. You’d proved that much to him - you needed his guidance, his protection, his experience.

“What’re you…”

“Jus’ comforting you, darlin’. C’mon now,” he whispers, never once pulling back or stopping the exploring he’s doing with his hands. 

He runs through his list of reasons to convince himself why everything he’s doing is perfectly necessary before losing sight of all of it entirely when he strikes that sliver of bare skin where your tee shirt has hiked up a bit off your waist, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. His hand travels a bit higher, pushing the shirt up and grazing famished fingers across your ribcage and stomach. A small groan ripples across his chest, the vibration felt by where your body meets his. He surprises you next by tugging your shirt back down, covering the bare skin before returning his hand to your hip, pulling you closer. He’s a wall of pure mass, muscle underneath his soft belly and chest, a man who’s strong but still showing a bit of his age. You nearly whimper and shake, feeling a sickly heat coursing through your veins now.

“Mmm…” he mumbles in your ear, your own voice caught in a trap of fear lodged right in your throat. Equally afraid of the way you don’t know how this night is about to end and that you’re not sure you mind where it’s going. You’ve never understood men or their intentions, and never had anyone bother to teach you, no worked up teenage boys offer to show you when you were at that age. No, you were left to guess, giggled at by other girls when you couldn’t pick up on their meanings as they discussed their own secret rendezvous. This had to be everything they talked about, didn’t it? The way you could feel heat and energy practically pulsating off of Joel’s body, his noises anything but natural sounding as he hummed little groans in your ear.

“Y’just needed someone, sweetheart. Y’need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” he finally says, fingers still running their way across your hair, nails scratching against your scalp. You whimper quietly at the feel of it, how damn good it all feels. You don’t move, don’t speak as he goes on.

“Need a man like me, darlin’, y’do. I can see it - need me to take care of everything…” He mumbles similar sentiments repeatedly in your ear before bringing his lips right to your neck, just letting them graze, the wet but chapped skin of his lips pressing in gently on your pulse point. You try not to gasp, the feeling as pleasing as it is terrifying, finding yourself gripping the sheet tighter to try not to give yourself away, give him any kind of response. 

“Don’t you, honey? Need me to take care of you?” He sounds a little more desperate now, needy for the answer he’s searching for from you.

He’s broken you down to the point you feel tears stinging at your eyes, the long awaited emotional release you’ve needed sitting right there on the precipice, a small crack waiting to fully rupture. You can’t be sure if you nod, just imperceptibly, you think, but Joel’s body language relaxes against you as he leans his entire chest and torso into you even more, giving you a squeeze. You know then that he got his answer, just what he was looking for. You let the tears slip out, rolling down your cheeks, onto the pillow on one side, likely falling right onto Joel’s face or in his hair on the other. He seems to barely notice, just swiping them quickly off your cheeks before resuming his position wrapping himself tightly around you.

“Good, sweetheart… good girl, I got you…” 

You hear his breathing start to even out shortly after, steady rise and fall of his chest against your body, and you realize he’s dozed off. Like he got what he wanted and decided he could rest now. Your entire body relaxes, a careful breath whooshing out that you hadn’t even been aware you were holding in. His hand is still tangled in your hair, other one possessively on your hip, giving you absolutely no room to move. You’re not sure you want to anymore, anyways, never having had such strength covering you, cloaking you from all of the dark, sinister things that the nighttime holds for you.

If you’re going insane, feeling safe with this man who forced his way around your body tonight, then so be it. Why shouldn’t you let yourself feel safe for once? Let yourself feel less of that burden, turn it over to Joel? Your own turning wheel of thoughts starts to scare you, the little voice in the back of your head telling you what you already know and have been trying to ignore. The one little thing that you immediately put your finger on but were too scared afterwards to lift it back up and observe it closer.

You weren’t having a nightmare, no, not at all. You knew when you woke from one, as sure as the god damned sky was blue and the grass was green. It wasn’t a foreign concept to you by any means after what you’d been through in your life. And tonight… tonight hadn’t been one of those nights. 

dividers by @/saradika!

thank you @jupiter-soups and @huffle-punk for always beta-ing my shit and talking inspo with me. love you to the moon and back &lt;3

[weariedwight]

((tag drop 3

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Touch Me

Repulsed by touch due to years of trauma, Astarion now wears gloves in his every day life. But once he starts to adventure with you, he slowly starts to rebuild his trust in others, when one night, he can't bare to not touch you any longer.

Pairings: Astarion x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, light discussion of trauma, swearing, fluff. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Requested: yes

A/N: Okay so I got carried away with this one lol. Happy to be back writing some good ole BG3 smut teehee. Graphic made by me, I don't give permission for my work (graphic or writing) to be shared without my consent.

You hadn’t really noticed Astarion’s gloves before, for the first few days of adventuring. You figured that they were just for defense, to help keep his body safe in combat along the journey. You were also far too busy trying to figure out the whole tadpole-in-your-brain problem, along with the myriad of enemies seemingly popping out of nowhere, to be concerned with your camp companions’ fashion senses.

But one evening, when you were headed to the nearby creek to quickly wash yourself in a moment of calm, you stumbled upon a rock, covered in familiar looking clothing.

Astarion’s clothing.

His gloves laid on top of the bundle of clothes, the brown leather muted in the soft moonlight. You paused for a moment and turned to look out into the deep creek, and not even five feet away, Astarion stood.

You realized he was fully nude so you shrieked and turned around. “Sorry! I didn’t realize you were here!” You apologized profusely. You heard Astarion gasp behind you and the motion of water, feet padding over to the rock. Clothes started to shuffle and you heard Astarion murmur under his breath.

“…completely nude, as if my clothes on the rock weren’t a dead giveaway that I would be naked! Trying to bathe and have peace and quiet for one second this entire journey…”

“Look, I said I was sorry-” Without thinking you turned, but luckily Astarion was fully clothed, except for his gloves. He seemed more concerned with fixing his outfit than what you were saying, so you gently reached out to touch his wrist to get his attention. “I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t see anything, anyway-”

The second your fingers touched Astarion’s wrist, he shouted, ripping his arm back as if you had just shocked him.

“Don’t touch me!” He bellowed, his voice dark. It scared you for a moment and you stood absolutely still, silence hanging between you. Astarion didn’t even look at you, just down at his wrist, as if he had been burned.

“What…I’m sorry? Did something happen-”

“Just…don’t touch me,” His cool demeanor was back as he gracefully slid the gloves on, “Alright? Just…don’t.” He had finally looked up at you, his ruby eyes shimmering. His expression was unreadable, but you nodded slowly.

“Alright…I won’t.”

You stared at him for a bit longer, trying to understand what was going on in his head. Was it…fear? Rage? You weren’t quite sure…all you knew was that without meaning to, you had somehow crossed a boundary with Astarion, who was already like a vault.

Without another word, Astarion walked back to camp. You sighed heavily and eventually bathed, but the entire encounter was so odd that you didn’t quite know how to move forward with it.

The next morning, while the sun was still rising, Astarion found you by the campfire as you cooked your breakfast. Uncomfortably clearing his throat behind you, he seemed a bit sheepish. Wringing his wrists (clad in the gloves), he shifted the weight on his feet in his graceful, Astarion way.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” He asked. Nodding, you stood, wiping off your pants. Astarion stared at you for a minute, his eyes darting back and forth between yours. It was increasingly apparent that he didn’t know how to start the conversation, but you waited patiently, afraid you’d somehow set him off again.

“I…want to apologize for last night,” He eventually said, “The whole…situation…with my gloves, I mean. I…” He sighed, searching for words, “I have a hard time with touch. I have for a bit…because of my past with Cazador. When I woke up, thrown from that Nautiloid, I realized gloves made me feel better because I technically don’t have to touch someone when I…well, when I touch them. And since I was no longer under Cazador’s thumb, I snagged the first pair I could find off of…well…some poor dead body on the beach and it’s been better ever since.”

Taking in what he was saying, you nodded, staying quiet. “So…you wear gloves. Because you don’t like touch.”

“Quite frankly, I’m repulsed by touch,” He calmly replied, throwing a hand back, “200 years in a body that I had no control over will do that to you, I suppose.”

“Okay. That makes sense.” You said plainly, forking a piece of pork belly into your mouth.

Astarion tilted his head, confused. “It does?”

“Yes. I mean…I believe you, and everything.”

“You do.” He stated, but it sounded like more of a question, like he didn’t understand.

Shrugging, you nodded, “Cazador forced you to use your body against your will to do his tidings, and now that you have the ability to act for your own for the first time in a very long time, you realize that there are boundaries that make you feel more comfortable. It makes perfect sense.”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it. “Well…look at you. Knowing so much about me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” You smiled and pat his shoulder gently, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I understand…and will be aware of it.” You go to walk away, but turn and look at Astarion, “I know what you’ve been through was unbelievably awful, so you don’t have to…but if you ever feel the need to talk to someone about it, I’m here for you.”

Astarion stood, frozen. He nodded so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it.

“Thank you.” He eventually said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were locked on the ground. In a flash, he was striding towards his tent, his hands behind his back, as if the conversation never happened. Watching him walk to his tent, you shook his head.

You knew Astarion was full of secrets, but you weren’t quite sure how deep those secrets went.

The following weeks had tore through your body harder than any training you had been through. Every night when you went to bed, it seemed like a body part you didn’t even know you had was aching.

Currently, you were a little way away from camp, leaning against a tree, trying to get any semblance of reprieve that you could. Your eyes were closed, but you were nowhere near sleep, as the crickets chirped around you.

“Darling?” Astarion’s voice called out gently. You waved your hand in the air so he could track you down.

“Over here.” You mumbled, your arm feeling like it was 600 pounds. You brought it back down to your side and sighed heavily. Suddenly, you smelled chicken. Opening your eyes slowly, you saw a plate of food in front of you. You followed the arm holding the food and saw that Astarion had knelt beside you, presenting the food.

“Dinner,” He spoke plainly, “Gale just finished cooking. I thought you could use some help since your ass was devilishly kicked by those goblins earlier today, so I brought dinner to you while you were resting.” He smirked as you took the plate of food, barking out a laugh.

“Funny that you just had to bring up the fact that I didn’t perform my best today.” You started to slowly bring the food to your mouth, the taste melting on your tongue. You moaned softly in pleasure – he never shut up, but gods, Gale cooked a good meal.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t perform my best, either.” Astarion sat beside you now, his back resting against the large tree. He sighed as well, leaning his head back.

In the past few weeks, ever since the evening you had accidentally touched his wrist, you two had become closer. You were the only one to know his secret, a vulnerable piece of the Astarion puzzle. He trusted you to keep his secrets safe, and you did – like you had said, that’s what friends were for.

You ate in a comfortable silence as Astarion stared up at the moon, his face gleaming in the soft glow. Though you two were friends, he was undeniably handsome – you found yourself looking at him longer than necessary, butterflies popping up in your stomach when he would come into your tent to just converse, or when he was next to you in battle. You didn’t know when it started to change, but slowly, your feelings had deepened, which scared the shit out of you. Even now, with no words exchanged, your head felt light as he sat beside you, his familiar scent comforting you.

“Beautiful moon out tonight.” Astarion commented softly. You murmured in agreement, placing the plate and fork next to you now that you were done eating.

“Were you able to hunt tonight?” You asked Astarion.

He chuckled, “Always looking out for me,” He spoke gently. He then turned to look at you, his face soft, “Yes. I did…earlier. Thank you for your concern.”

You laughed softly and shrugged, even though it took all of your effort. You closed your eyes again, “You know me. I need to make sure everyone eats, even if your version of eating is slurping up some boar blood somewhere-”

Suddenly, your hand felt like it was enveloped, and chilled to the bone. Your eyes sprung open and you looked down. Astarion was holding your hand in your lap.

Without his glove.

Your mouth parted in surprise as you looked at him in shock. “Astarion-”

“I know.” He interrupted, smiling proudly.

“You’re…holding my hand.”

“I know.”

“Without your glove!”

“I know.”

You smiled back at him. Both of you sat there in silence, smiling at each other like two goons. You didn’t know what to say, so you started to stutter.

“But…how? When? You’re…feeling-”

“Not with everyone,” He said, “But with you…it’s different. I went to bed last night, thinking about how I wanted to…feel you. Touch you. Really feel you…hold your hand. With mine. Skin on skin,” Suddenly, he turned sheepish and looked down, “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Mind?!” You sat on your heels, gripping his hand tighter, “Of course I don’t! I’m…excited for you! Proud of you! Hells, I-”

Suddenly, Astarion’s lips were on yours. Cold, but gentle – he pressed lightly and pulled away almost as fast. As he pulled away, he looked at you, his eyes uncertain.

“I hope…you didn’t mind that, either.”

A deep blush grew on your cheeks as you smiled and shook your head, “Definitely didn’t mind that.” Your voice was low, quiet. You knew this moment, though on the outside seemed so insignificant, was a monumental moment for Astarion.

He smirked and nodded, “Good. Because when I was thinking about how I wanted to hold your hand, I was also thinking about how I wanted to kiss you, as well.”

You leaned into him and kissed him, pressing your lips on his a little firmer than last time. Smiling, you pulled away slightly, “I like when you think like that.”

Astarion chuckled, his bare hand moving up the sleeve of your blouse, “Good to know. I’ll have to keep that mind next time I start thinking.”

The Shadowlands had boasted not only the worst atmosphere you had ever experienced, but also the worst sounds to ever grace your ears. It seemed like every time you heard a bird squawk, or a bush rustle, you jumped 10 feet in the air. You were thankful that you had Astarion by your side at night, otherwise, you weren’t completely sure if you’d get any rest at all.

Your nights with Astarion could only be described as wholesome, for the most part. Though his gloves were now off in the presence of your tent – his comfortability of touching you without them pretty much 100% - he still couldn’t get past his history when it came to sex. The moaning in each other’s mouths as your tongues danced with each other only amplified how desperate you were for each other, but every time, it wasn’t right. And that was okay.

But gods, did you yearn for him in every way.

Astarion was currently holding you, as you read on your side. You could tell he was sneaking peeks at your book because every so often, there was a “humph” or gasp coming from his lips softly. And when you tried to turn the page too fast, Astarion would gently touch the corner of the book, preventing you from moving to the next page.

“I can let you borrow the book when I’m finished, you know.” You said, giggling in his arms. He smirked and kissed your neck, his breath hot in your ear.

“But isn’t this much more fun, darling?”

You dog-eared the page and put the book down, turning in Astarion’s arms so you were facing him. You gently placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him. Every time you touched him with skin-on-skin contact, you made sure he was comfortable. Astarion smiled and nodded, placing a peck on your forehead. Slowly, he kissed down your temple, to your cheek, and to your jawline. You sighed heavily, your arms wrapping around his neck. He hummed as he kissed along your jaw.

"Astarion..." You breathed. Your hands found their way into his hair, and when you started running your fingers through it, he moaned slightly.

Suddenly, gently, Astarion's cold hand had found it's way in between your legs, tentatively pressing against your clit through your underwear. You gasped at the sudden sensation, pulling back. Looking at him confused, he blushed slightly.

"I need you," He murmured quietly, brushing a lock of your hair back, "I need to feel you. All of you. I want to take you...desperately."

You smiled and slowly rolled your hips forward, towards his fingers. The pressure made you moan, and you tried your hardest to not roll your eyes back.

"Are you sure?"

Astarion nodded. His hand quickly pulled back and found it's way by his side, "But...I may...um..." His gaze followed where his gloves lay on the table near your bed. You followed his eyes, and looked at the gloves. You smiled and kissed him.

"Put them on."

"Are you sure? It's just that...well, I don't need them to touch you anymore, obviously, but when I think about making love, it can get overwhelming-"

"Astarion," You cut him off gently, staring into his eyes, "If you need to wear your gloves to feel comfortable making love to me, then you can wear 30,000 pairs at the same time. As long as you feel comfortable doing it," You kissed him quickly, "And can still take off my pants."

Astarion laughed and reached behind you, slipping the gloves on. His bashful look gave way to a smile, his eyes darkening in a way that you hadn't seen before. He enveloped you in a kiss, grabbing hold of your body around your waist.

"I am going to fuck you until you see stars." He grumbled, pressing his erection into you. Capturing your lips in a rough kiss, you moaned into it, the sudden portrayal of Astarion’s arousal sending heat to your belly. He gently guided you on your back as he straddled you, never breaking the kiss. Finally he leaned back, staring into your eyes.

He was truly a captivating sight - his fair, taught body seemed to glow in the light of your oil lamp. His eyes - usually a bright ruby - were now almost so dark they were onyx. He smiled at you, causing you to turn bashful under his gaze. You felt his hands make quick work of your pants, pushing them down to your ankles. You aided him by kicking them off your feet, your heart racing.

Was this finally happening - were you finally going to make love with Astarion? Your head swam as his gloved hands glided down your sides, taking in every inch of you. He shook his head, still smiling.

“You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.” He whispered, his eyes inching towards your (now soaking) center. Gracefully, he slid down the bed, not breaking eye contact with you. Achingly slow, he spread your legs. Settling on his belly, his head dipped to your core, his nose so close it tickled the hair that encased it.

“Astarion…” You murmured, your hand resting on his head. You watched him lick his lips before he lightly pressed his tongue to your clit, sending a wave of pleasure through your whole body. You physically felt like your senses were on overdrive - every muscle was tightened, anxiously awaiting his touch.

“You can’t rush perfection, darling,” He purred, one of his fingers finding their way to your clit. He gently rubbed the finger over your bulge, teasing you, the leather of the gloves an icy contrast to your growing heat. “I’m going to savor this moment. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

He was staring at you; a moment suspended in time. The only sound in the tent was your whimpers, trying to muffle it so the others didn’t hear you. Astarion’s signature smirk never left his mouth - he was the notorious tease, so why would he be any different in bed?

Suddenly, his tongue delved into you, immediately lapping up your juices, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Your hands found his head, desperate to grip anything in their path. Once you felt his hair you couldn’t help but give a tight tug, to which he groaned into your cunt, the vibrations driving you crazy.

“You like that, don’t you?” He teased, pulling back slightly to speak. He still smirked, his tongue softly darting back to your clit. You bit your lip and nodded, the only way you could currently respond without screaming in pleasure. He dove back in, sending waves of sensation through your body - the coil in your belly started to tighten as Astarion took your clit in his mouth, sucking gently.

Shifting your head to the side of the bed, you pressed your mouth into the pillow, yelping in pleasure. Suddenly, you felt the leather of Astarion’s glove grabbing your cheeks, forcing your head forward. When you opened your eyes you saw him hovering over you, body slightly raised from your pussy.

“Don’t,” He commanded, the other hand working circles on your clit, “I want everyone to hear. I want the whole world to hear how good I love you.”

“Astarion…” You whimpered, your voice trailing off as he was back in between your legs, licking you into another dimension. You did as you were told, your head lolling back on to the pillow so you were looking at the ceiling of your tent, your vision going fuzzy. Your orgasm was quickly approaching, your muscles so tight you felt like you had to jump out of your skin. You knew Astarion sensed it - he slipped one arm underneath you to give himself better leverage, and was now lapping at you roughly, hungrily.

“I-I…I’m going to come,” You breathed, your strength failing you to use your full voice. You looked down and saw Astarion smiling into your cunt, the vibrations on your clit causing your legs to shake around his head. He stared at you from his position, which was just the push your body needed to reach ecstasy.

Your orgasm washed over you as your back involuntarily arched, a hand gripping so hard on to Astarion’s head you’re surprised you didn’t hurt him. His voice was screamed from your lips - definitely heard by everyone in camp - and you couldn’t think of anything else as you saw stars. Your chest felt like it was on fire as you heaved, trying to get control of your breathing. Astarion lapped at you for a few moments more as you felt your orgasm, finally pulling back to give you a moment to breathe. He stood on his knees and wiped his mouth, the smirk never leaving his face.

“You taste incredible.” He said, slowly raising himself from the bed. He undid the strings of his pants and pulled them down, his erection popping out. Leaking with wetness already, you couldn’t help but stare - this was the first time you were fully seeing him naked, and you were in awe of his form. Just seeing him fully aroused was enough to get you going again, and once he crawled back on top of you, you immediately spread your legs for him. He kissed you, and the faint taste of yourself made you moan into the kiss - his tongue was sloppily dancing in your mouth, all sense of romantic etiquette out the window. He was needy, whimpering into the kiss.

You felt him align himself with your entrance and you pressed one of your hands to his cheek, causing him to look up. You smiled softly.

“Are you sure?” You asked gently, delicately cradling his trauma in your hands. Your heart was racing in your chest - out of all the lovers in the land, you couldn’t believe that Astarion had felt comfortable with only you.

He smiled and nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, “I’ve never been more sure of anything else in my entire life, darling. All 200 years of it,” You felt him adjust himself on top of you and he smiled, his eyes darkening again, “Now; stop being so nice so I can ravage you so good you can’t walk tomorrow.”

You both chuckled as he pressed himself into you, your laughter giving way to a low hiss as he immediately filled your aching entrance. Your pussy was begging for a break since you had just orgasmed mere moments ago, but the ache felt so good, you couldn’t help but moan. Astarion maintained eye contact with you, his mouth slightly parted, as he slowly began to rock into you, his hips falling into a rhythm.

“Gods, you are so fucking tight,” He spoke through gritted teeth, “Make my cock feel so good.”

Beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead as he rocked quicker into you, his eyes falling heavy. You moved your hips upwards, gaining better leverage so he could go deeper. When he hit your spot, you both moaned in pleasure, and you gripped the sheets next to you.

“Astarion-” You groaned, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You dug your nails into his back and pulled him closer to you, “Fuck! You make me feel so good!” Your breasts bounced with every thrust and you arched your back, “Harder, please!” You whined.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He mumbled in your ear, his words hot on your face, “You’d like me to fuck you ‘till we broke this bed, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You gasped, digging your nails harder into his back, “Please, please - give it to me!”

Astarion started to slam his hips against yours, the wet sounds of skin filling the tent. With every thrust, he groaned, his face becoming slightly red. A gloved hand appeared around your neck, and he stared into your eyes. You smiled slightly and nodded, and only with your consent did he start to squeeze, holding you in place as he fucked you.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Hells, Astarion! You make me feel so good,” You screamed, both of your hands going to his around your neck, “Please, don’t ever stop fucking me.”

Your voice was a whine, desperate for sweet release of your impending orgasm. If your first one was intense, this one was indescribable - Astarion’s cock slammed into you in a rhythm he was slowly losing control of. He took his hand off of your throat and held on to your hips, trying to gain control of his thrusts as he closed in on his own orgasm.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours!” You screamed immediately, your hands wrapping around his neck again, “I’m yours! This pussy is yours - forever! I’m yours forever.”

Astarion smirked as he looked into your eyes, “Good girl.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you. He bit down on your bottom lip hard and as he pulled away, he licked away the tiny bit of blood that had sprouted.

Suddenly, his expression changed as the trusts fell out of time. He became sloppy, his mouth open, his eyes closed. His climax was close, so you wrapped your legs around him, drawing his cock closer into your aching cunt. Slick with both of your juices, Astarion’s cock slid in and out of you, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Darling, I’m close,” He breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, staring into yours, “You’re going to make me come.”

“Come for me,” You said bringing your hands to the sides of his face. Your own orgasm was close - you were sure that if you felt him spill inside of you, you would tip over the edge for the second time that night. You smiled, tears of pleasure threatening to fall from your eyes as your body was being pounded into the bed, “Fill me.”

Astarion rested his forehead on yours. With a loud moan of your name, his entire body tensed, his climax spilling into you. His gloved hands dug into the side of your hips and suddenly your orgasm appeared, washing over you all at once. You pressed your body into his, screaming his name, your bodies close enough to feel as one.

As your bodies spasmed together, you saw Astarion smile. He peppered a gently kiss onto your lips, a soft moan escaping into your mouth.

“My darling,” He whispered, his body still on top of you, “That was…divine.” He was out of breath, his voice ragged. As he slowly moved to your side, still inside of you, you nuzzled into his chest, trying to steady your own breathing.

“Thank you,” You whispered, sighing contently, “For trusting me enough to be able to do that with me.”

Astarion tutted and started to stroke your hair, “Thank you for being the person that you are…so that I can feel safe enough to trust you.” He looked down at you and kissed you.

Sleep crept upon both of you; and neither you nor Astarion made a move to clean up the sticky aftermath between both of your legs. As you drifted off to sleep, still naked in Astarion’s arms, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. You smiled contently - you could get used to this. It seemed the whole world was in your arms as you both held on tightly to one another, an unspoken bond between the two of you grown stronger.

Astarion slid his gloves off before he fell asleep.

---

A/N: I had a blast writing this one...please reblog if you liked it! Comments mean the world to me! :)

[mingtinysworld]

Lock your windows

Pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader

Genre: smut, "dark" romance

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After a discussion with your experimental boyfriend, you two are able to play out one of your long awaited fantasies

Warnings: MDNI, "stalker" wooyoung, role playing?? oral (m/f receiving), fingering, mention of a safe word, it seems noncon but just read til the end please trust me😭

Network: @newworldnet

A/n: idk why but the idea of wooyoung being a stalker is so hot to me. I also know he would be such an experimental partner to have, it's driving me insane. I need him so very badly

You and your friends screech in laughter as someone says something hilarious. You and your friend group have been out for a couple hours now, drinking, eating, shopping, just having the best night out ever. The air is warm and stale, the humidity making your hair puff up in frizziness.

As you stumble along the path in your black high heels and sparkly silver dress you stand out, like a shiny pearl in the ocean. The glitter makes shadows on the dimly lit walls, making the light bounce off. You start laughing at something again when you suddenly stop.

A shiver slithers up your spine and makes the hairs of your nape stand up in alarm. Your friends realize you’re not following them anymore and they stare in confusion. They ask if you’re ok but you’re too busy looking around, trying to find the source of the eerie feeling.

You can’t seem to find anything in the shadows and tentatively take steps forward. Your friends look at each other with raised eyebrows but choose to shrug it off. You keep walking but you don’t say anything until you reach your doorstep. They say goodnight and leave you to your apartment.

You walk in and throw yourself on the cushiony couch, resting your eyes from exhaustion. You tap your foot quietly and hum a random tune that’s been stuck in your head all day when you hear a distant clatter from the direction of your bedroom and your eyes shoot open and foot stops tapping. You stand up curiously and walk towards your room.

As you walk in you can feel a cold breeze and you blink in confusion. You see that your window is wide open, blinds pulled apart. You don’t remember leaving your window open but you must’ve been in a rush and didn’t even realize. You shake your head at your inattentiveness and close it shut. You return to your spot on the couch and shut your eyes once more.

There’s clattering coming from the same direction again and you sit up in alarm this time. You warily go to your room, trying to inspect what the noise is. You see the window is open again, making the curtain billow in the wind.

“What the fuck.” You exclaim. You’re convinced you’re going crazy. You’re sure you closed it, but maybe the day is really getting to your head. You take a step and are thrown down to the ground in an instant. You gasp from the impact, managing to catch yourself on your elbows, but your knees are on fire from the carpet burn.

You try to turn on your back and find that your movements are restricted from a weight on your lower back. It feels like a boot is pressing you down, pushing the air out of your lungs. You breathe in tightly and your whole body tenses. You whimper in pain and the pressure lifts a little and you sigh in relief.

“Hi my love, we finally meet.” The stranger speaks with a low tone.

“W-who are you?” You wheeze out.

“I’m your lover of course, who else would I be?” He says matter of factly. You furrow your eyebrow in confusion.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” You try to talk without your voice betraying your fear. He chuckles at that and completely removes his boot.

“Oh you’ll understand what I mean soon.”

He reaches down to turn you over. As you lay on your back in the dark room, you observe his face as best you can, the only light provided being the single lamppost outside. He has long jet black hair and dark glimmering eyes. His nose has a perfect point and his mouth is turned up at the corners in a sneer.

He also studies you in turn. Your beauty up close does not compare to the months of watching you from afar. The hundreds of photographs hanging in his room pale in comparison. He’s filled with so much pure excitement at seeing you face to face finally.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. For the day I get to caress your face, for the day I get to hear your sinful noises brought out by me. I’ve been very, very patient and this is my reward.” He looks into your eyes deeply, as if he’s mentally willing you to believe his words.

You feel a shiver go up your spine as you realize that the man is completely serious. He truly believes his delusions and it isn’t up for a discussion. He looks down at his silver watch, as if he’s on a mission. With a growing dread and arousal you realize that he is on a mission.

You are the mission.

You continue to stare at him with wide, fearful eyes as he straddles your still form. He leans into your neck and just stays there, nose taking in your scent deeply. He inhales and exhales and groans quietly. With his mouth muffled against your collarbone, he speaks.

“I can just smell the arousal coming off of you. You really love this huh.” You let out a small whimper at that and he raises his head.

“Don’t worry angel, Wooyoung is here to take care of you. I got you.” He speaks with a promising tone.

He leans in once more and he can feel your rapid heartbeat, which only aids in exciting him further. He kisses you with ease, almost intimately, caressing your bare arms and leaving goosebumps in his wake. You try to use your knee to push him off and he growls into your open mouth. The sweet kiss turns into an animalistic one. He gropes your breasts and kisses you breathless. As he rocks back and forth across your abdomen you can feel his growing bulge.

You feel your cunt throb emptily, needing something you’re too ashamed to admit. You submit to his feverish kisses and try to relax your body. He notices the change and grins in response.

“There you are, my love. Let’s get to the bed, shall we? I’d rather take you on a softer material.” He mockingly pouts and furrows his eyebrows. He lifts you up with ease and gently sets you on the bed. His hands settle underneath your shirt, slightly tickling your stomach. You squirm in hopes that he touches you sometime soon, or else you’ll explode.

He trails down your body, reaching your flimsy shorts and teasingly blows air on you. You buck your hips instinctively and he holds you down, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

“Nuh uh baby, I thought you were gonna be good for me?” He cocks his head sideways, questioning you.

“Yes, yes, I will, I promise.” You babble, feeling fucked out already.

He gives you a soft smile and rubs your thighs soothingly before landing a harsh smack. Your body jolts in reaction but you manage to hold in your yelp. Without wasting another second he pulls your shorts aside and dives in.

You muffle your moan into the palm of your hand, feeling like you need to scream. The stimulation is making you feel relief but so much torture at the same time. Wooyoung’s expert tongue is lapping up your slick, almost like a hungry animal and when he looks up at you, his gaze is as sharp as a predator.

His finger finds your clit with ease and twists and pulls as you mewl pathetically. Not once does he come up for air, he practically buries his head in your pussy, prodding his tongue into every crevice.

“You taste so sweet mmhh.” Wooyoung moans into your pussy, sending vibrations up your body. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you even closer. You have to bite on your hand now to keep yourself quiet. He slightly bites down on your clit and you let out a shriek. Your body jolts up and you cum with a shuddering breath.

He finally removes himself from you and stares down at the state of your cunt. It’s a sopping wet mess, covered in spit and slick. His face is also covered in your juices, and he greedily licks up what he can. You close your eyes in an attempt to recover, but it’s interrupted by his fingers.

He rams two fingers deep into you until he’s knuckle deep. He finds your g-spot immediately and you see stars, making you hold on to his wrist in a desperate attempt, but he simply pins your hand to your side. You grind your hips deeper into his fingers, needing to feel more. He reads your mind and adds in a third finger.

You moan at the stretch and clamp around him. He looks at your face intently, watching your screwed up face of pleasure. He wastes no time adding a final fourth finger. You gasp at the sensation and convulse from the intensity. Your whole body shakes as you reach the peak of your climax. You cry out and gush around Wooyoung’s slender fingers and he fucks you through your orgasm.

You groan lightly, feeling the energy escape your body. Wooyoung softly caresses your stomach to bring you down and you close your eyes and breathe out. He crawls to you slowly, and you open one eye from feeling the dip of the mattress.

Wooyoung takes your hand and puts it over his hardened bulge. He grinds into your hand slowly, letting out groans of satisfaction. Due to your exhaustion he chooses to go easy on you. He pulls down his pants and gets closer to your awaiting mouth. He slides in slowly, only going halfway. You let your mouth go slack and have him use you gently. He moves in and out, poking the inside of your cheek occasionally. You land a soft hand on him once more and attempt to help out. He throws his head back and enjoys the sensation of your warm mouth.

With a few more soft thrusts he pulls out of your mouth and cums all over your breasts. Once he comes down from his high he grabs towels to clean you up. He gently dabs at your used cunt and slick thighs, including your now cum stained breasts. You feel sleep calling your name and let out a content sigh. Wooyoung notices and lets out a giggle whilst cuddling up to your side.

"Thank you for trusting me baby." He expresses his gratitude by giving small pecks to your face.

"I told you I wouldn't have to use my safe word. You were perfect." You mumble, only half awake.

"I know love, but it's always good to be prepared. It would kill me if I ever hurt you." He speaks reverently, like you're a goddess to worship.

You give him a grunt of acknowledgement to let him know you're still listening even though your tired body is screaming for sleep. Wooyoung looks at your serene face, remembering how wild and frenzied you had looked only moments prior. Before you're completely out he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"I guess this is what happens when you don't lock your windows baby."

[mistiell]

When you're lost in the Darkness

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Summary: Astarion suspects that you're afraid of the dark. What he doesn't know, is that not only will he soon be proven right, but he severely underestimated just how severe your fear is.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, nyctophobia, brief description of panic attack, possibly ooc Astarion, literally one use of y/n

A/N: Hey hi hello, I am back from the void for now. I would like to make a disclamier: I have not yet played BG3!! So, if anyone is out of character, I apologize!

---

Astarion has a theory.

A small and rather unimportant one, but a theory nonetheless.

It started when he noticed the way you set up your bed roll when the group makes camp for the night. You’re always as close to the fire as you can be without lighting yourself aflame, and when it dims to a certain point, he’s watched you rouse out of a dead sleep to stoke the coals and add more fuel. At first, he thought perhaps you were just prone to chills – he knows some people run cold when they sleep – but after lingering after one of your shared nights together, he came to realise that you’re actually more like a mostly-human furnace.

Then he noticed the way you linger around any sort of light source like a moth to a flame after the sun has set, and the way you fidget and glance over you shoulder every few minutes on the off chance your back is to the darkness.

He finds it strange. Granted, he thinks you’re strange for a variety of other reasons, but this pattern of behaviour is particularly puzzling to him. Which has lead him to his theory;

“You’re afraid of the dark.” He jests after watching you glance into the woods for the umpteenth time, aiming for teasing and realising he’s missed when your face falls into something akin to shame and discomfort.

You try to cover it with a scoff, rolling your eyes in a way he knows is meant to feign indifference, “I have far worse things to fear than the dark.” You spit those last two words, as if they taste bitter on your tongue. Firelight dances in your eyes as you keep your gaze trained firmly on him, even despite how much you look like you want too search for whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself is out there, intent on disproving him.

“True,” He smirks with a practiced ease, suddenly – strangely – desperate to ease the tension he’s just created, “But should you ever find yourself too afraid to sleep alone,” He leans in just a smidgen closer, grinning coquettishly, “My arms are always open.”

You snort, the tension in your shoulders ebbing just so as you chuckle, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“By all means, keep me in your thoughts as long as you wish, darling.” He hums, smile just a little softer than he intends when you genuinely laugh at that, the sound sweet and airy as it bubbles up from your throat.

“And with that, I’m off to bed.” He nearly mistakes incredulousness for fondness, but catches himself as you stand. Turning back for just a moment, you give him a smile so soft, it makes is gut twist with a feeling he’s a little unsure of, “Goodnight, Astarion.”

If he’d fed more recently, he’s sure his cheeks would be flushed. He blinks, clears his throat, “Sleep well, my sweet.”

Only days later, his theory is proven correct when you stumble upon some sort of abandoned cottage – House? Astarion’s not entirely sure – and, upon Gale’s insistence that it could be useful, decide to search it for wares.

“You do know there’s likely nothing of use in here, don’t you?” Shadowheart sighs impassively as she thumbs through a tattered book, slotting it back into place where she found it once she’s deemed it useless.

Gale huffs and rolls his eyes, “Well, we won’t know until we look, will we?”

“We won’t be finding much of anything if you two don’t quit your squabbling.” You quip before turning your attention back to the chest you were searching. You just barely lean into Astarion’s space, grinning impishly. He leans in just a little closer – only to hear you better, of course – as you whisper, “They’re like children, I tell you.”

Something shatters. You both turn just as Shadowheart fixes Gale with a stern look, “Hells, Gale, pay attention to where you’re going!”

“Wh- It’s not my fault!” Astarion raises a brow at their bickering, tutting amusedly, “Children, indeed.”

Huffing a laugh, your attention slides to a door on the far side of the room and move to investigate. After trying the handle and finding it jammed, it takes a good shove to get it open. The only thing that illuminates the small pantry is the light filtering in from the door you’ve just opened.

You seem content to simply skim over the contents of the room from where you’re standing until you spot something of interest, eyes lighting up with a little gasp.

Astarion takes your place in the doorway as you rush into the room after propping the door open with a nearby pail, curious, “What have you found?”

Snatching a little tin box off a shelf, you open it and beam, “Oh, I haven’t had this in ages!”

“What?” He asks again, a little impatient.

You hold it out to him, and when he comes closer to look over the lip of the tin, he finds a fair amount of shredded, aubergine coloured leaves inside.

He looks back to you, confused, “Tea?” “Tea.” You grin, holding it up to your nose and closing your eyes to revel in the fruity scent, “I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s delicious.”

With how delighted you are over finding it, he doesn’t doubt it.

“Well, at least we can tell the others our searching wasn’t in vain.” He turns, “Settle that dispute between Gale and Shadowhear-.” The toe of his boot bumps the pail, sending it rolling as the door swings shut and swathes the room in darkness.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but eventually, the door comes back into view, only now the faded sage green paint is a dull grey.

Just as he moves for the door, he’s startled by the clattering of metal and a loud bump. He whips around to ask what in the hells just happened, but the words die in his throat when he finds you pressed flat against the shelves on the far wall – which really isn’t that far considering there’s only about six feet between the two of you. He can hear your heart racing from where he’s standing, your breaths quick and shallow.

That theory he had just got a lot more important.

He calls your name and you flinch, gaze flitting in his general direction but never settling on him. You look well and truly petrified. “Darling, are you alright?”

It’s a terrible question considering you are very visibly not alright, but he can’t seem to come up with anything else fast enough.

“I can’t–.” Your voice cracks and you swallow, looking dreadfully close to tears as you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your face with your hands, “I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.”

“Hang on,” After trying the handle, he finds the door is jammed no matter how hard he yanks. He considers calling for Karlach or Wyll, but thinks better of it, not wanting to frighten you further. They’ll notice the two of you are missing and come looking eventually.

“Astarion.” His name from your lips pulls him from his thoughts. He usually loves hearing you say his name, even when your cross with him. But when it comes out like a pitiful mix between whisper and whimper, he finds his heart twists uncomfortably in his chest.

He turns back to you and stalls. Unsure, helpless. He wants desperately to comfort you, but he has no idea how. He goes over the many different ways he could try, and the many different ways you could react, before finally, “Tell me what you need.”

After a moment of hesitation, you hold out a trembling hand and he steps forward to take it without a second thought. You tense when his skin first meets yours, palms wet with tears as your breath hitches. You tug him closer to wrap your arms around his middle and cling to him like a lifeline, shaking terribly as you bury your face into his neck. He secures you to him with an arm around your back and a hand cupped over the nape of your neck. He can feel your heartbeat stuttering under his fingertips when they settle over your pulse.

You’re still gasping.

“You need to breathe, lovely.” He says it gently, voice void of his usual coquettish flare. The nickname is softer than what he’s used with you so far, and it feels and sounds more earnest than it should. He tries not to dwell on it as he soothes his palm up and down the length of your spine, “Try to mimic me. I’ll guide you, alright?” You nod, and when starts coaching you through each inhale and exhale, you do your best to follow.

It takes several breaths, but eventually, they grow deeper and stop catching in your chest. Your heart slows. Not by a lot, but enough that Astarion can stop worrying that you’ll work yourself into a panic induced fainting spell.

He guides you through a few more before asking, “Better?”

You nod. With your throat dried out from crying, your voice is rather croak-y when you reply, “A little.”

“You sound like a frog.” It startles a laugh from you, the sound letting Astarion breathe a little easier.

“I do!” You sniffle, still laughing. It makes him laugh too.

“What the hells is so funny in there?” Lae’zel shouts from the other side with all her usual charm.

“Frogs!” Astarion shouts back, and you giggle a little more.

There’s a few loud bangs as one of your friends attempts to open the door. He can feel you flinch with each one until finally, it bursts open, blessed light washing over the two of you despite Karlach towering in the doorway. Your body sags with relief, and a little, involuntary sound escapes you as a new wave of tears threatens to spill, this time for an entirely different reason.

“What happened in here?” Gale asks, looking wildly confused as you slip out of Astarion’s arms and wipe at your cheeks hastily. “Oh, erm,” You clear your throat awkwardly, gaze bouncing between the items the fell when you backed into the shelf before settling on the tea leaves. You look genuinely disappointed as you gesture vaguely towards the small pile on the floor, “I found a tea I really like and got upset when I dropped it.”

“Ah. I see.” Gale nods, still obviously perplexed. If any of them find the explanation odd, they don’t say anything.

Shadowheart leans around Karlach, “We should get a move on. There are only so many hours before sundown.”

“Right. Yes, that’s a good idea.” You nod, clearly thankful for an excuse to get the hell out of there as you squeeze past them and lead them outside.

Much to Astarion’s chagrin, Karlach turns when she notices he’s hung back, “Oi, Astarion. What are you doing?”

He glances between her and the pantry before huffing, “Just... Tell them to wait a moment.”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously but agrees, leaving him to tell you and the others. He makes his way back into the pantry for a moment before jogging outside to join you.

It’s a good few hours until you make camp, and another few before he finally plucks up the courage to approach you near your tent.

You notice him striding over and smile at the sight of him, “Astarion! To what to I owe the pleasure?”

“I come bearing gifts.” He announces dramatically, hoping his puckish grin will be enough to mask how incredibly fucking nervous he truly is.

“For me?” You ask, cocking your head slightly to one side.

He rolls his eyes playfully, “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, would I?”

“Well obviously, I just meant–,” You huff and shake your head, chuckling incredulously, “Never mind. What have you got for me?”

He holds out the tin and watches surprise and confusion flash over your face in quick succession before something unbearably soft settles over your features.

Taking it from him, you’re quick to pop the lid off. You gasp when you lay eyes on the contents, eyes wide when you look back at him with such wonder, it nearly knocks the wind out of him, “How did you–?”

“I salvaged what I could off the top of the pile. I– erm,” He clears his throat, “I thought it would be wasteful to leave perfectly good tea behind when at least one of us could enjoy what’s left of it. Irresponsible, even.”

You huff a laugh. There’s no mistaking the fondness this time.

“You’re absolutely right. That would be irresponsible of us.” Your smile shifts into something heart achingly earnest as you step closer and lean up to peck his cheek, “Thank you.”

“Of course, love.” He’s aiming for coquettish but it comes out too sincere to be convincing. That feeling twists at his chest again and it’s only now that he realises what it is.

He actually, genuinely cares for you.

Rattled, he feigns a yawn and smirks, “Well, as much as I adore your company, I really must be off to bed. Beauty sleep, and all that.”

“Right!” You seem to startle yourself with your own volume and clear your throat, chuckling awkwardly, “Right, of course. Goodnight, Astarion.”

He takes a mere second to mull it over before he throws caution to the wind and cradles the side of your neck in his palm, thumb brushing the curve of your jaw as he presses his lips to the apple of your opposite cheek. Before he takes time to actually think over his new found feelings and potentially freak himself out, he’s going to let himself indulge in you just a little while longer.

Pulling back, he brushes the back of his knuckles over the skin he just kissed, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

He can hear your heart thump, thump, thumping as he walks towards his own tent. The feelings he has for you are a new and rather inconvenient development. But if later he finds that he doesn’t particularly mind?

No one has to know just yet.

[wineauntie]

ALWAYS YOU— luke hughes x reader

summary: you are the sun and Luke Hughes is in desperate need of some light.

note: I literally started writing this when tonight’s game ended (it’s 4am for me!). So please excuse any and all grammar mishaps!

warnings: fluff, luke hughes in love, nicknames like pretty boy, use of y/n.

word count: 1k+

throughly unedited due to it being 4am and the fact I wrote this half-asleep, please ignore mistakes :))

“Oh, Luke…”

Your boyfriend of two years, Luke Hughes stumbled into your arms from his place in the doorway to your apartment, his eyes shallowed with exhaustion as you opened your arms for him to fall into.

His body crashed into yours as you nudged your door closed with your foot, embracing Luke tightly. You weren’t tall at all in comparison to the 6’2 giant, who had to bend to lean into your warmth, so despite standing on the tops of your toes, feeling the ache run through your legs, you pushed through it and continued to hold him.

Tonight had been rough.

Losing 4-3 to the Rangers after the chaos of the first period, (with a record breaking 162 total minutes in penalties), this game was the last straw to fall in Luke’s mind. You see, Luke was good at hockey—great even, but he wasn’t a machine. He had those days where no matter how hard he’d try, the game never exactly went the way he needed it to go.

Tonight was one of those days.

And each thing that went askew built up and up until it was all just too much.

With over 30 minutes of ice time under his belt for the game, two game losses in a row, a team verbal lashing from their coaches along a silent and cold shower, the only thing Luke craved was to crawl home to you.

You and your effervescent comfort and joy that radiated.

To him, you were the sun, bright and well-loved, an asset needed to sustain all life. And perhaps the world couldn’t recognise you to be such, however Luke knew deep in his bones that a life without was you not a life he wished to live. Not even a life he wished to dwell upon.

You squeezed onto Luke as tight as possible, your own eyes shutting as he buried his head into the supple skin between your neck and shoulder. His arms had folded around you, holding you closer to his trembling body. You let him take what he needed, your comfort offered up to him in its simplest form, ready to be moulded into what he needed.

Luke wanted to let your rays envelop all of the darkness he felt beginning to blossom in his mind, he wanted to bask in the light of your unwavering love.

You were the reason he woke every morning with a sheepish smile, the reason his days were brighter and his heart fuller. He may not say it out loud in front of others in fear of being mocked, but you were the reason he kept going.

Not hockey, not the game, not some scores– only you.

Was you, is you and always will be you.

“How about we order food in, pretty boy?” You hummed lightly, your fingers brushing through his wild curls, as your other hand held him tight. “You must be starving.”

Luke nodded stiffly against your skin, unmoving form his position as he held you. You didn’t force him to answer verbally whilst he breathed in your solace, merely humming in acknowledgement as you continued to allow your fingers to card through his hair.

“If you need a shower, I have fresh towels and clothes for you in my room,” you mumbled, keeping your chin propped on his shoulder. “And if you need–”

Luke murmured something against your neck, so muffled that you couldn’t quite catch what he’d said.

“Hm?” You tilted your head so your nose brushed the shell of his ear.

“I had a shower there…I only need you,” Luke hoarsely spoke, his grip shifting and tightening as your heart melted. “Always need you.”

“You have me,” you promised quietly, your face pressing into his shoulder. You felt his body shudder as you kissed the pale skin that peeked out from his hoodie. “You’ll always have me.”

“Can we just watch a movie and sleep?” His soft voice cracked as he finally lifted his head to meet your eyes. You heart cracked open in your chest at the sight of defeat and pure tiredness present in the eyes you loved.

“Of course,” you smiled, as his hands moved to cup your face. “I’ll order food while you change and then we can chill on the couch or in bed for as long as you want.”

Luke nodded wordlessly, his head ducking to press a soft, pillowy kiss to your lips, his grip firm but loving as he kissed you. You found your hands settling amongst the curls at the base of his neck as you hummed lightly into the kiss.

Pulling away, his teary eyes met yours once more.

“I don’t deserve you,” he suddenly mumbled, his thumb caressing your cheek as he spoke in rushed words. “You should just break up with me and–”

“Keep talking like that Hughes and I’ll kick you into next week,” you interrupted sternly, forcing Luke to suppress an exhausted smile at your sharp response.

You were the sun after all, bright and warm but at it’s core– fiery, (…and very hot, in Luke’s opinion).

“You deserve to be loved, so let me,” you chided, your forehead pressing against his as he dropped his chin to his chest. “There is no one I would rather love, no one more worthy of it.”

Without another word, Luke sighed and nodded once more, his eyes glancing towards the small living room. Watching him, you smiled, waiting for his gaze to return to yours and when it did you watched him redden under your eyes.

“I rented Secretariat,” you told him, “so why don’t you go and get changed, we have a whole lot of nothing to go and do.”

“I love you,” his voice raw with emotion as he continued to cling to you.

“I love you too,” you answered with a hum, “and I meant it, there’s no one I would rather love than you. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

“I won’t,” he whispered, “and for the record, loving you was the easiest and greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

a/n: Tonight’s game was chaos in its finest form (I hate the rangers)

[peachesofteal]

are going to write more about that recent ghoap/reader scenario bc it’s DELICIOUS i’m on my knees begging for more

(no honestly your writing is INSANE. out of this world. like every word you write is pure gold)

18+ dark content

Wherever you are, it's huge.

It's a compound of some kind, you think, with long hallways with small windows and locked doors twisting and turning for what feels like miles, each step you take more confusing and misplaced than the last.

No matter where you go, you're no closer to a beginning or an end. You can't even turn back to the room you were in, the king size bed you woke up inside, the suffocating headache throbbing behind your eyes, the ache and pain in your mouth making it difficult to backtrack.

It makes you want to rip your hair from your scalp. It makes you feel insane.

What is happening?

You can't stop shaking. You're trembling like a newborn deer, lost in the wilderness without a mother. No shoes. Some night shirt falling to your thighs, hair twisted back away from your face.

None of it your own doing. None of it familiar. Not your bed. Not your clothes. Not your hairstyle.

Where are you?

"Hello?" You try again, echoing bouncing off the walls, to no avail. You strain to look out a window, just barely getting a glance of a rolling hill, lush green grass and a vibrant tree line.

Definitely not in the city anymore.

Fear lights a fuse on a stick of dynamite, the intensity nearly bringing you to your knees.

What happened? Oh god. What's happening?

"There ye are!" You blink, and then blink again. Recognition forcing it's way to the front of conscious thought.

That's... that's.... the Scottish guy. From the alleyway. What's he doing here?

"Wh-what... Who..." You stumble, and he pulls you upright by the elbow, grip just a shade too strong.

"Ye had us worried. Cannae run off like that." He chides, and tries to tug you forward, into his side. Your heartbeat clangs in your chest, too loud, too fast.

When you don't move, he sighs.

"C'mon love. Dinnae be difficult."

"Who... are you?"

"I'm Johnny. Remember? We met last week?" Your stomach flips. Last week? He means last night. Surely.

"Last night? Outside the bar?"

"Last week, bonnie. When ye fainted on me? I know, ye probably dinnae remember. Ye've had a long few days." He's got you firmly on his hip now, an arm around your waist, anchoring you without trouble. You're a wisp on the wind, barely standing, barely breathing, content to be pulled along in whatever gust catches you.

Right now, it's him.

He leads you to a door, smiling the whole way.

"Are ye hungry? Probably need somethin' soft for yer mouth." Your mouth. Your subconsciously touch the corner of your jaw.

"I... what's going on?" You keep throwing these questions at him, and he continues to ignore you, instead pushing you through into a kitchen-

where the scariest man you'd ever seen sits at a table, enjoying some eggs and toast.

"Hello, love."

[ddarker-dreams]

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Some not SFW elements, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, depictions of general & social anxiety disorder, depictions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety medication, Chrollo administers medications to Reader without her consent, and mentions of religion. Also Chrollo just really, really sucks. Word count: 12.3k.

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

Perhaps you aren’t in a position to describe others as ‘strange’, considering your latest proclivity for expressing earnest thanks to any honey bees you happen across for their service. After much contemplation, however, it’s ultimately the word you arrive at. ‘Strange’ not in a disconcerting sense that inspires fear, but just being out of the ordinary enough to exude an undeniable allure. A raised panel on the floor you stumble over yet suffer no serious injury from. 

Well-kept gardens might be the closest imitation to heaven on earth. That’s what brought you to this little oasis hidden in the desert that is urban life. It’s the type of day romanticists wax poetic about: baby blue skies, puffy clouds, and moderate temperatures with a light, forgiving breeze. 

You situated yourself strategically, so you’d be beneath the shade of a magnolia tree whose pink petals kept fluttering down as if in greeting, and near a patch of daffodils that matched the shade of your gingham dress. Blades of grass tickle your legs, but not unpleasantly so, they scratch an itch found only in nature’s loving reprieve. There’s no thought of upcoming assignments, what to eat for dinner, or if buying that purse you thought was a steal at 30% off was a good idea or not. 

It’s just you and your book. 

Until it isn’t. 

Every woman is connected in the experience that is trepidation whenever a man randomly approaches. There’s no telling his intentions, if he has any. You’re left to smile awkwardly and temporarily realign yourself with religion by praying to a higher deity for his hasty departure. You map out potential escape routes and recall the pepper spray situated in your impulse-bought purse. He gently calls out “Miss”, confirming that he hopes to speak with you. 

At least he has the propriety to stop a few paces from where you sit, electing not to intrude on your personal space. This causes your shoulders to relax. In the few seconds you’ve been made aware of his existence, you recognize his appealing features. He has loose, dark hair, along with wide and seemingly unassuming eyes. His outfit of a dark gray turtleneck accompanied by a black jacket and pants somewhat strikes you as odd, considering spring is in full bloom. Two other details steal your attention away from this; those being the beige wrapping around his forehead and his spherical, turquoise-colored earrings. It’s like he was caught undecided between wanting and not wanting to attract attention. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. You try not to think about how pleasant his voice sounds. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the directory, but I’ve never been the best with directions. Do you by any chance know how to get to the Starling House?” 

You nod. It’s a quaint, centuries-old mansion, maintained by the non-profit that oversees the flora here. Getting over the initial apprehension from his approach, you try verbalizing the most efficient path to get there. This proves more difficult than you expected since the arboretum is vast and has few waypoints that can be used for reference. Still, throughout your explanation whose unhelpfulness you grow painfully aware of, he patiently nods and makes no attempts to rush you through. 

This willingness to put up with your scattered description wins over your sympathy, pushing you past your sheepishness. 

“I guess I’m not good at giving directions. I could just show you the way, if you’d like.” 

“I’d hate to disturb your reading, but… if it isn’t a bother, I’d certainly appreciate it.” 

You’re already setting your bookmark into place. “It’s no bother. This is my second time reading it, anyway. So don’t worry. I’m not being left off on a cliffhanger or anything.” 

He smiles at that. When you’re preparing to stand, he extends his hand, a gesture that gives you a momentary pause. Well, you are wearing a dress. You suppose it’s the polite thing for him to do. You accept his unspoken offer and he hoists you up without the least bit of exertion on his part. His hand is warm and bigger than yours, slightly coarse too, surprisingly. His immaculate presentation gave you the impression of a trust fund kid or something in that vein. He’s tasteful in ensuring his touch doesn’t overstay its welcome. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. 

You catch a hint of his cologne. Sandalwood, amber, and leather blend together to form a delightfully woody fragrance. As amazing as he smells, you create a little distance, walking ahead motioning for him to follow. His longer legs have no trouble catching up, yet he never creeps too close. 

The short journey that you expect to only be accompanied by the sounds of cardinals chirping and house finches singing is interrupted by the man speaking up again. Oddly enough, you don’t mind. 

“Do you find your thoughts on Prince Myshkin’s initially endearing simple heartedness changed, knowing how the book ends?” 

You pause, taking a moment to realize he must be familiar with the work. This revelation fills you with a tentative giddiness. It isn’t often you have a chance to delve into your literary thoughts to a willing audience. There’s plenty more you could say on the subject, but you try to exercise restraint nonetheless. 

“I thought I might, but I found myself more critical of the other characters instead.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

He appears genuinely interested, otherwise, you would’ve kept it at that. 

“Ah, well, maybe it’s that they serve as proof that innocence is never meant to last. Or if it does, it’ll inevitably be punished. There are moments where I feel frustrated with the Prince’s naivety… but then I stop and wonder why it’s so bad to want to see the best in people. Does that speak to a flaw in his character, or to a flaw in the character of others? Maybe it’s both. I can’t help but feel the Prince’s case is more sympathetic.” 

His eyes never leave yours while you give your answer. Heat rises to your cheeks and you internally groan over the prospect of making a stranger listen to your ramblings. He was probably just looking to make casual conversation, not everyone wants an existential crisis on a Saturday afternoon. 

“You must be someone who wants to see the best in people as well,” he surmises. There’s no hint of mockery in his tone — he’s oddly sincere. He says it with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. 

Before you can hazard a response, you come across a sign displaying information for an event at the Starling House. The building itself lies in waiting atop a hill less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He stops to read it, as do you, operating under the assumption he came here for the event. It seems that they’re displaying historic artifacts from around the area. You suppose this will be where you part ways. You’re about to wish him well when he sighs, the miffed noise stopping you. 

“I got the time wrong,” he frowns, staring at his wristwatch. 

The sign says the event begins at 6:00 p.m. and a quick tap of your phone reveals it’s 4:00. 

“If you’re looking for a way to burn time, there’s a nice garden behind the House that’s always open to the public,” you explain. This piques his curiosity. “If the sage is in bloom, you might get lucky and see some hummingbirds.” 

“That does sound lovely,” he says. Then, his lips quirk up, promising the start of a smile. “Would you care to join me, Miss…?” 

You give him your name and he nods, as if deciding it fits you. 

“[First]. I understand if my tour guide wants to get back to her reading, though.” 

Bashfulness creeps up your back and threatens to sink its fangs into your neck. Your heart’s rhythm takes an erratic cadence. He’s posing the proposition in such a lighthearted way, offering an easy out if you want to take it. You internally weigh your options on a scale that’s worn from overuse. He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. That’s all it is. 

“Well, I guess I’d be a shabby tour guide if I didn’t show you where the gardens are.” 

On the brief walk to the gardens, the man introduces himself as Chrollo. You both situate yourselves on the same stone bench. You sit on the right, he sits on the left. Once again, he leaves you plenty of space, never testing boundaries. The scent of nascent sage wafts in the air. While you scan your surroundings for hummingbirds, he tells you that his work often necessitates travel, hence his unfamiliarity with the area. 

“Does it ever get lonely?” You ask, not thinking much of it. He gives you a look you can’t quite place, so you elaborate. “Traveling all the time, I mean.” 

He tilts his head, more inquisitive than offended. “What makes you think it’d be lonely?” 

“I just think I’d get homesick after a while, always being in an unfamiliar place. I’d miss my family and friends.” 

When he continues staring at you in silence with those unreadable eyes, you swear you want to slam your head repeatedly against a wall. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family or people to call their friends. The weight of your potential insensitivity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami. 

You move your hands around wildly, rushing to correct your discourtesy. “Uh, I mean, that isn’t to say you need those things!” 

“You don’t think I have any friends?” 

Your face must be radiating more heat than a furnace. Still, the embarrassment doesn’t reach a point where you’re unable to notice his omission of the word family. “I didn’t—” 

Contrary to the reaction you were expecting, Chrollo laughs. Not a little chuckle, but a genuine laugh, hearty in a way that stands in stark contrast to his otherwise reserved demeanor. The smile it imprints on his face somehow feels different than what he’s displayed before. Those were always so well timed, lasting as long as necessary and never a second more. It hits you then just how handsome this man is. Alabaster skin, soft and glossy hair, lips as rosy as the blush on his cheeks from his outburst of laughter. 

It doesn’t last long, he’s quick to school himself. The speed he does so is almost unnatural. “I apologize, I’m only teasing. You’re very expressive, [First].” 

You let out something between a huff and a sigh. “God, I felt so awful…” 

“I can tell,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when you send him a non-threatening glare. “To answer your question… I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it is lonely at times.” 

This revelation pours a bucket of ice-cold water over the embers of your indignation. Your face softens and a stinging pain shoots throughout your body. You can’t bring yourself to remain miffed when you’re the one who dredged this topic up. People use humor as a means to cope, that may be what Chrollo does. 

“Enough about me, though. I’m far more interested in you.” 

You shift in your seat. Did it always feel so warm out? 

“Here, let me guess. You’re certainly a student. Hm… of the humanities, perhaps?” 

“You got the student part right,” you agree. “I’m majoring in criminal psychology.”

There’s something like a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so? You want to catch criminals, then?” 

“Er… not exactly. It’s more that I want to help them.”

He blinks. “Help them?”

“Not, like, as an accomplice,” you earnestly reassure, to which he smiles, “How do I explain it… take the city around us, right? It’s considered one of the most dangerous in the United States of Saherta.” 

As if on cue, a cacophony of police sirens begins blaring in the distance. 

“In the 80s and 90s, there was a surge of incarceration, yet crime as a whole set higher records each year. The policy at the time was ‘build more prisons, give longer sentences’. Obviously, that didn’t work out very well for anyone… except for private prisons maybe… that’s a whole different beast. Anyway, you reap what you sow. Crime rate is going down, but communities were gutted by these policies. There’s still a lot of work to be done. I want to understand ‘deviant’ behavior so I can see what safety nets would benefit them the most.” 

Chrollo is such an excellent listener that unlike before, you no longer feel the pressure to remain succinct and have little qualms completely delving into your passion. His body language suggests total engagement. 

“Ah, so you view crime as a result of societal shortcomings.” 

“It’s more nuanced than that,” you shake your head. “Hell, even when there were only four people on earth according to the Bible, Cain went ahead and committed murder anyway. That’s like… killing 25% of the population… how messed up. Wait. If there were only four people on earth, who did Cain go on to marry? How does that work…? Asexual reproduction…?” 

“The Quran says Cain and Abel both had twin sisters,” Chrollo offers. 

“Alright, that makes more sense than asexual reproduction. Okay! Enough about theology! Back to crime. There’s no totally eradicating it, but there is circumventing it. That’s what I want to help do.” 

You’ve been so preoccupied with verbalizing your thoughts, you failed to notice he’s scooted slightly closer to you. There’s enough room for decorum yet you can’t help feeling slightly flustered. Why this cute guy is still hanging around despite the fact you casually mentioned asexual reproduction not once, but twice, is a phenomenon that transcends human reason. 

This is so going to be one of those interactions that haunts you periodically at three in the morning for the rest of your life. 

“It’s a noble pursuit,” Chrollo comments. Then, he places a hand to his chin. “Forgive me if this comes off as pessimistic, but… what if you put in all that work, only for nothing significant to change?” 

You shrug. “I’ve considered that plenty, trust me. It’s fine if I don’t kickstart a utopia. So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.” 

“One person, huh?” 

It seems more like a rhetorical musing on his part, so you allow yourself to be momentarily distracted. In your peripherals, there’s a flash of colors, shades of green and red bleeding together. A low buzz accompanies the sporadic sight. The blur moves erratically, high to low, then low to high. 

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, then whisper to your companion, “Chrollo! Look! A hummingbird!” 

The thrum of nature is a wonder you’ll never tire of. It inspires awe that reflects in your eyes like a mirror, enchants without needing to cast a spell. You wrongly assume that Chrollo must be partaking in the same miracle that has stolen your attention. He’s fixated, yes, but not on the right subject matter. He’s still staring at you. This disruption of your expectations can only be explained away by the possibility he hasn’t spotted the creature yet. To remedy this, you slowly point in the hummingbird’s direction. Finally, he breaks his gaze from your form, acknowledging what it is you find so fascinating. 

By then, it’s too late. Your newly made acquaintance departs as swiftly as it arrived. 

“Aw, that’s a shame,” you lament. The disappointment you’d feel if you were in his shoes would be immeasurable. “You didn’t get to see it for very long.” 

You have no concrete proof, but you swear every smile he wears is different than the one before it. 

“It’s alright. I saw something far better.” 

Curious, you glance to your right, searching for whatever it is. You must’ve misinterpreted whatever he was looking at before. “Something better than a hummingbird?” 

“You could say that.” 

The remainder of the time you spend together is relatively uneventful. Chrollo asks you a great deal about yourself, ranging from your hobbies to book recommendations. You try to return the favor — as is only polite, in your opinion — yet the conversation never lingers on him long before circling back to you. It isn’t until you say you feel vain talking about yourself so much that he offers some morsels of knowledge. Aside from traveling for his occupation, he’s something of an antiquarian, hence his interest in the Starling House’s event. He also reveals he has colleagues coming into town soon, the aforementioned ‘friends’ you questioned the existence of. The way he teases is so devoid of malice, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. 

The hour flies by. Good looks aside, he’s a remarkable conversationalist. There’s never an awkward silence or social misstep. One could even call him perfection incarnate. His steady cadence, command of language, meticulously formed ideas… they’re reminiscent of cogs in an automaton turning together in complete harmony. Paradoxically, this immaculate image speaks to some underlying defect in his character he mustn’t want anyone to see. There is such a thing as being too perfect. 

For whatever reason, this draws you in closer rather than repelling you. 

Chrollo’s disappointment is palpable when he glances at his watch. It’s then you’re reminded that all good things must come to an end. 

“I—” 

“It—” 

You both start and stop talking at the same time. When it’s made obvious you intend to stay silent until he speaks his piece, he motions to you with his hands, insisting you go first. 

“It was very nice meeting you, Chrollo,” you say, your voice softening. It’s amazing how you can feel your previously discarded sheepishness returning in real-time. Amazing and annoying. “I, uh, hope you enjoy the event.” 

“Please, I should be the one thanking you,” he insists. Then, for such a well-spoken man, he goes uncharacteristically quiet. Deliberating on some issue you’ll never be privy to. “You’ve already helped me a lot, but could I possibly ask for one more thing?” 

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you. 

His request echoes through your head like it was spoken in a vast cavern. Phone number… phone number... you have one of those. He is asking for it. He wants to remain in touch. Indeed, that is what the statement normally means. Ah, it must be in a platonic sense! It’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially since you both share many interests. Not many of your friends are chomping at the bit to discuss if obtaining the philosopher’s stone was a literal practice or meant to be interpreted metaphorically. 

Whoops, you left the poor guy waiting for a response. 

���S-Sure!” 

He hands you his phone without delay. You put in your contact info, then hold it up for him to take. His fingers brush over yours when he picks it back up and you shiver. 

Well, that was certainly nice. You’re forming a blossoming friendship. You love making new friends. The word repeats in your head as if it were a broken record. Friends, friends, friends. Don’t look too into this. Put your magnifying glass down, brain. The stupid three pounds of gray matter delight in tormenting you with outrageous ideas and conclusions. There’s nothing flirtatious happening here. 

“Also, I hope you don’t mind my saying so…” he trails off, weaving a web you willingly allow yourself to get trapped in, “But you are very beautiful, [First].” 

… 

Ohhhh, he’s been flirting with you this entire time, hasn’t he? 

-

Going on a date is a harrowing experience. 

For some unknown reason, your traitorous amygdala regards going to a café at noon with the same severity it would if a lion were actively chasing you down. Your flight or fight response raises the banners of war. The army it amasses digs its trenches, readies the cannons, its matches lit to fire off the artillery on standby. Who is the dreaded opponent, one may ask? No one. Absolutely no one. Incredibly enough, you can actively recognize this fact, and still, your physiological response claims it knows better. 

Social anxiety is so stupid. You thought you and your body were supposed to be on the same team. Whatever inspired this mutiny, whether it be serotonin deficiency or some other science-y term you can’t pronounce, you most certainly don’t appreciate it. 

To be fair, your parent’s reaction didn’t inspire much confidence. Your dad was asking for information on Chrollo you’re 90% sure could be used to conduct a background check, whereas your mom posited the idea he’s a human trafficker. You felt like a lawyer trying to plead your case for why it’s okay that an adult such as yourself may go on a date (sacrilegious, you know, premeditated murder would be more excusable). With some solid arguments and a few instances of stretching the truth (this sounds far nicer than the word lying), the tempest was dissipated. If Chrollo ever were to meet your parents, you’ll have to tell him he’s actually a sensitive, poetic soul that donates to orphanages and saves kittens from burning down buildings. He’s also celibate. More important than any of those things, though, he’s a political centrist. 

Suddenly everything in your closet either felt prudish enough to befit a woman entering the convent, or raunchy enough you’d need to wear a trench coat to leave the house unobstructed. In the end, you find a skirt that’d pass your middle school fingertip test and a cute blouse that shouldn’t land you in purgatory. 

Your hands are shaking when you go to do the winged eyeliner on your left eye. Then you sneeze while applying mascara, granting a raccoon appearance you could’ve done without. You feel wound up so tight there a mere poke could shatter you into millions of pieces. This is great. Millions of years of evolution led up to this. That selfish, inconsiderate fish should’ve never grown legs and stepped on land. Everything’s gone wrong since then. Fuck that fish. 

Ultimately, you succumb and take one of your ‘stage fright’ medications. If it’s doing anything to help, you can’t tell yet. 

You have to beg your dad to stop staring out the window with a pair of binoculars. 

Eventually, a sleek black car pulls in front of your house. 

Following the theme of the day, you almost trip over yourself walking out the front door. Your phone buzzes — no doubt it’s Chrollo telling you he’s here — but you decide to just go to the car rather than text him back. He must’ve spotted you, for he exits and gives you a wave. You’re grateful he did that while a considerable distance away. There was a time a guy waved at you and you thought he wanted a high five. Needless to say, that was a traumatic incident no amount of therapy could help alleviate. 

“You look absolutely lovely,” he compliments. Your Broca’s area temporarily malfunctions at this bold declaration. Fortunately, you gather yourself fast enough to stop yourself from saying “you too”. 

“Thank you,” the phrase comes out as smooth as butter. You silently congratulate yourself for your immaculate delivery of two words. “Wow… you have such a nice car. And here I thought you were a fellow member of the middle class. Am I allowed to touch this?” 

Chrollo chuckles, having gotten used to the peculiar way you word things after all your electronic communication. No matter how you expressed yourself, he still texted you back, so you figured he must be okay with whatever it is you’re doing. He would’ve blocked you by now otherwise. 

His reply comes as he holds the passenger side door open. “Ah, don’t worry. There was a bit of a mixup at the car rental place. I wasn’t expecting something of this quality either.” 

You tuck this piece of knowledge away for later, should any sugar daddy-esque allegations be thrown your way. One can never be too prepared. 

Sinking into the leather seat is a luxurious experience, although it's cold against the exposed area of your thighs. Chrollo slides into the driver’s seat not long after and sets the car into drive. You silently wonder if your neighbors think you’ve gotten into an Uber. 

The short trip to the café soothes your electrically fried nerves. You’re once again reminded of how good he is at making you forget your anxiety, he could put SSRIs out of business. Or maybe the propranolol is finally working. Whichever it may be, by the time you both order your drinks, you feel more giddy than nervous. Is it a good idea to drink a caffeinated beverage when anxiety threatens to drag you into limbo at any second? Probably not. Does that mean you’re going to wisely choose a different beverage? Nope. 

The sunlight is harsher in the afternoon, but you find this is offset by an occasional breeze. No one else is present in the outdoor dining area except for you and Chrollo. You choose the seat facing a row of bushes so you can observe the house finches and house sparrows fluttering about. One little fella is helping itself to a dirt bath in the freshly spread-out mulch. You coo at the adorable display, pointing it out to Chrollo who admits it is a precious sight. You’ve made it your raison d'être to convince him that every bird is equally fascinating, whether it be a rainbow lorikeet or a common pigeon. 

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

“It’s good,” he decides with a smile. “I can see why you get it so often.” 

“Right? I’ve thought about conducting an Ocean’s Eleven type heist to get the ingredients they use to make it.” 

“Oh? Do you grant a moral exception to thievery?” 

Despite how lightheartedly he phrases this, his eyes have a certain intensity to them. You mull over the question for this reason. 

“Hm… it depends, I guess? Some people need to steal to survive. I probably wouldn’t care if a rich person or mega-corporation got stolen from either,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at your last statement and you hastily add, “A-As long as no one gets hurt, of course.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “Your reasoning is very cute.” 

You groan and shrink back into the garden chair. “I know, I know, that probably came off as terribly naive and self-contradictory… the issue is complex. Giving a one-size-fits-all type of consensus feels impossible. How about you? What do you think?” 

“Coveting is mankind’s original sin,” Chrollo begins. He’s using a tone that tells you to prepare for an in-depth explanation. “It’s a theme that’s recurrent throughout history. David and Bathsheba, Hades and Persephone, Heathcliff and Catherine… we always want what we cannot have. This dilemma never leaves us entirely. We either ignore it, despair in it, or succumb to it. The desire to steal is as involuntary as the diaphragm contracting for us to breathe or the electric signals that cause our heart to beat.” 

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background. 

“Wouldn’t you say that calling it involuntary implies we can’t control it, though?” You query. 

“The only way to exercise total control over it is to kill it.” 

“Some parts of us are better off dead,” you decide. “Getting what you want doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. The examples you listed… maybe they were happy for a time, but ultimately, their transgressions caught up to them.” 

“Is a moment of bliss not worth a lifetime of anguish?” 

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.” 

He rests his chin on his fist, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that what you’re saying I am, darling?” 

Your eyes widen and you almost choke on your drink at the unexpected pet name. Warmth floods your cheeks and you take a long second to recompose yourself. Your blatant display of embarrassment further fuels his amusement, he actually chuckles. You consider kicking him under the table, but decide that isn’t very ladylike. Then you remember it's the twenty-first century, and to honor your feminist ancestors, you scrunch up a napkin into a ball and fling it at him. Although the aerodynamics of your makeshift projectile are questionable, it almost hits him. Until he catches it with admittedly impressive reflexes. 

“You have a good throwing arm.” 

“And you should consider retiring from your white-collar job to join a baseball team,” you take a sip of your delicious drink. This is definitely the most memorable date you’ve been on. “But no, I don’t think you’re a sensualist. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify you. You’re jaded… almost misanthropic. You acknowledge the world for what it is, but it’s like you once thought it could be better. You don’t care to be proven right or wrong about it anymore, you want something else.” 

“Ah… when put that way, I must seem pathetic,” he muses, his casual air hardly matching the severity of the words spoken. 

“Not at all!” Your passionate outcry appears to momentarily take him aback. “If you’re still looking for something, that means deep down, you have hope you might eventually find it. To me, that’s admirable.” 

He regards you for a few moments, before closing his eyes, his countenance strangely content. “You’re a very interesting woman, [First].” 

“Pfft, not really.” 

“I’m afraid this a point I’ll have to insist on,” or so he says, but you both know he secretly relishes his contrarian ways. “I have to wonder, though. How is it you came to gather any of this about me?” 

“Your opinion on books.” 

He blinks. “Pardon?” 

“We interpret media through a lens that’s formed by our experiences, so… I dunno. You can just infer a lot from what a person gets caught up with in a story.” 

In Chrollo’s case, what he doesn’t pay attention to is equally telling, although it took you a while to notice his unique display of apathy. He’d brush on certain themes while giving a rather surface-level commentary. Playing it safe, almost. He still had such an excellent way of weaving his words, that telling it came from another person's loom was difficult. It wasn’t until you hit on a subject he truly cared for that you could tell the difference. He’d give insights so particular to him that they must contain the true essence of his character. 

Even if it is a mere glimmer. 

He speaks your name.

“Hm?” 

“About what I’m searching for…” he unwraps the napkin you unceremoniously threw his way earlier, smooths out the wrinkles, then returns it. “I think I may have found it.” 

-

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated. 

You’re about thirty minutes into the movie Perfect Blue. For some time now, you’ve been praising its merits to Chrollo, who recently said you should watch it together. This begged the question of where. In the months since you’ve begun dating, while your parents have taken a liking to him, you didn’t think the subject matter of the movie should be proudly displayed in your living room. 

To remedy this, Chrollo suggested watching it in his hotel room. 

You couldn’t fully explain your initial apprehension if you tried. You felt comfortable around him and have been alone together plenty. Yet for some reason, being alone with a man in a hotel room produced this mental image you weren’t sure you were ready for. He never pushed you or asked why you seemed hesitant to take things further than kissing and some light petting. His lack of questioning had the unintended side effect of birthing different doubts. 

Does he not want anything else? Is he only acting like it doesn’t bother him? Will a day come when he tires of your squeamishness and simply moves on? 

It’s this taunting mantra that haunted you in the lobby, the elevator, then the long, impersonal hallway to his room. 

Your chest feels heavy enough that you wonder if lead has filled your lungs. 

When he sat next to you on the couch, you barely registered his presence, much less his question if the temperature in the room felt agreeable. At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then his hand began to meander, although his attention never left the screen. He played with your hair. Gently stroked your forearm. His hand wandered down, down, down, to the hem of your skirt. He straightens the lightly bunched fabric out. Your heart pounds. 

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated. 

During the scene where Mima sees her reflection as her idol persona, his hand creeps onto the exposed skin of your thighs. He gives it a gentle, tentative squeeze. A soft gasp leaves you and your attention turns to him. Immediately, your eyes meet his in the dark. The side of his face is lightly illuminated by an array of cool tones. He uses his free hand to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing your lower lip. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He speaks the question with such rapture, low and quiet. 

Your heart violently hits your ribcage like it���s trying to burst free. 

Silently, you nod. He tilts his head to the side and slots his lips against yours. There’s a pleasant buzz that tries so hard to overpower the frantic adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your body is at war with itself; indulgence or indignance. It’s a conflict that’ll never have a winner. You want to enjoy it — and you are, you think — so why does your biological makeup hold you as a prisoner without ransom? He tastes nice, feels nice. He did everything right. You don’t want to tremble at what’s a normal aspect of a relationship as if it were death itself hanging over your head. 

It’s this mounting frustration at your condition that spurs you into action. 

While maintaining the languid kiss, you situate yourself on his lap, a gesture that causes him to inhale sharply. He may be as surprised at your boldness as you are. You snake your arms around his neck and intensify the kiss. Humming, he reciprocates your ardor. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you grant him entry. He tastes of dark chocolate and mint, a combination you wish you could get drunk on, if only to put your tense body at ease. 

One hand squeezes and massages your thigh, the other cups your feverish face. In this position, you’re afforded no modesty. You can feel your skirt hiking up, exposing more of you. His fingers explore the new territory. They venture dangerously close to your panties, though he doesn’t go beyond there, as if respecting an invisible barrier. The cocktail of emotions this invokes is impossible to properly sort through. 

Can he feel the heat emanating from your body? Your pulse which finds new highs every minute? You want to lose yourself, but you can’t, your anxiety always drags you back kicking and screaming. It is an unforgiving warden that thinks you’d be better off in a cell. 

Chrollo admires you when you pull back, in desperate need of air. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you don’t know if it’s the right kind. There’s something hard forming beneath where you sit. His lust for you is apparent, and you want to please, want to be normal. It should be fun. Your friends regale you with stories of taking strangers home and never feeling more than butterflies in their stomach. That’s what you want. Not this contortion of the aforementioned organ that makes you think your insides are slowly liquifying. 

You still haven’t fully caught your breath, each one growing more shallow, more panicked. He finds other ways to entertain himself, namely, by lavishing your clammy skin with kisses. Your jawline, neck, then collarbone. He’s so calm you think you might be envious. Finally, he works his way back up, teasing your earlobe with his teeth, his breath warm as it fans against you. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

“[First],” his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Garbled, distant. “Should we take this to the bedroom?” 

You break into too many shards to fix. 

You get up. Straighten your skirt. You think you mutter something about needing a moment. Your legs don’t feel right. They move anyway. The bathroom’s door knob is like ice. You grab a hand towel. Turn on the faucet. Soak the towel until it drips water down the sink basin. Sit on the floor. The tiles are almost as cold enough to help. You place the towel around your neck. Your ears are ringing and you wish they’d stop. You hug your legs to your chest. What is it you’re supposed to do? Breathe? 

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. 

It always does. 

Just hold on a bit longer. 

Feeling comes back in your hands first. It spreads throughout your body, though the antidote is far too late. Exhaustion is the next thing you register. The kind that seeps into your cells, makes your limbs feel like dead weight. Cognition returns as well. You remember where you are, who you’re with, what you’ve done. 

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced one of these. Somehow, it’s worse than you remember. Infinitely worse. 

A shiver runs down your spine. Has it always been so cold? You wonder what temperature your body was running at for you not to have noticed sooner. 

How nice it is that your homeostasis decided to return. Is your sympathetic nervous system giving itself a pat on the back? Celebrating and popping champagne bottles at yet another job well done? We’ve done it successfully again, folks, you imagine it cheering. We’ve stopped her from doing something completely normal and harmless! 

You’d laugh, but this time, you can’t bring yourself to. 

As tempting as it is to stay here and pray for the tile floor to swallow you whole, you sincerely doubt that’ll happen, so you’re left with the far less appealing option of being an adult and facing the predicament you’re in. Getting back up, you’re treated to a glimpse of your reflection. 

The change in your complexion would make any onlooker think you’ve seen a ghost. 

Abruptly, you’re fourteen again, trying to get your mom’s attention so you can beg her to take you home because the social gathering of ten or so people is just too much. Next, you’re fifteen, talked into some weekend youth getaway because saying ‘no’ makes you feel guilty and the car ride has another two hours remaining. You feel sick, terribly sick, but you don’t want to get sick, because then your peers would think you’re strange, so you sit there and endure. Then you’re sixteen, locked in the stall of your high school bathroom, trying not to pass out because you think it’d be an inconvenience to anyone that happened upon you. 

You thought you were over this. You’ve done the therapy, read the self-help books, and taken your medication every day like clockwork. 

What’s left for you to do? 

Why does it always come back? 

Chrollo asks if everything’s alright when you walk back over to the couch. You say yes. He then asks if he can get you anything. A glass of water, please, is your reply.

You can tell he’s examining you when he hands the glass over. Your face warms — not in a fun way. The television screen is dark and yet you’re fixated on it like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. Going from feeling as if you’re a stranger in your own body to being hyper-aware of everything never fails to give you whiplash. You can hear the low thrum of the air conditioning, footsteps coming from the hallway, the steady drip of the sink he filled your glass from. You think to rub your eyes then stop yourself; that’d smudge your mascara. It’d be nice if he could at least think you’re pretty as you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“Was it something I did?” Chrollo questions. He almost sounds… curious, a concept you furiously scrub from your head. You’re exhausted and your brain is waving the white flag. Attributing false interpretations to his words is not going to help. 

“N-No, not at all, I, um,” you have the words, you just don’t want to say them, so you opt for taking another drink instead. The glass runs out of water, your safe haven disappearing with it. “Just… a panic attack. It happens… sometimes.” 

“Entirely unprompted?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. “Kind of…? It— nothing about it is exactly logical. I can know I’m fine, believe it too, and still, that doesn’t matter. It’ll happen anyway. I guess I have some reservations about that level of physical intimacy, but what my body decides to do is completely overkill.” 

“You always minimize the role your anxiety plays in your life,” Chrollo points out. You’re grasping the glass tight enough that your knuckles hurt. “You can’t mention it to me without making light of it in some way. Is there a reason for that?” 

Well, he’s got you there. 

You’re about to joke and ask if he’s the one studying the behavioral sciences, when you realize that’d just be proving his point. 

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

“A reason? I can give you more than one. It’s stupid, it’s annoying. The most simple things become like a fucking life or death experience for me and I can’t stand it,” you feel tears gather at your lower lashline but you’re too far gone to care. It’s a good thing your mascara is waterproof. “And then I… I think sex sounds nice, but when it actually gets to the moment, I feel so guilty and anxious and wrong that I leave my partner frustrated or thinking they’re some sort of monster.” 

Usually, Chrollo's countenance is difficult to read, but there’s this raw emotion that makes itself known. Understanding? Relief? You don’t know for certain. It disappears without a trace, leaving you no way to confirm or deny your intuition. It’s probably too fried to be reliable, anyway. 

“Hm… you must think all this would put me off, then. Make me want to move on to someone else.” 

A knife stabbing you in the gut and twisting its blade until your viscera turned to mush would hurt less. 

“Sweetheart, I was already aware that it was worse than what you let on,” his voice sounds so kind and near, you marvel at it, the gravitational pull drawing you in. You barely realize he’s brought you into an embrace. Your cheek is against his chest, right above his heart. His has a calm, steady rhythm, whereas yours is picking back up once more. “Your avoidance of talking on the phone, how soft your voice gets when interacting with strangers, the way you act like you’re an inconvenience by asking for the slightest assistance.” 

The tears you tried holding in break free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I find these qualities of yours very endearing. You can go from passionately speaking about your interests over dinner to going shy the second the waiter walks over. You care so much, feel so much… it’s a wonder to me. You experience this life in the exact opposite manner I do.”

With the hand he isn’t using to keep you secure against him, he rubs your back up and down. 

“Ah, my poor, sweet girl. What a tender heart you have,” he whispers. His grip on you tightens. That’s when you hear it — the undeniable sound of his heart beating a bit faster than it did before. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not after all the effort I put into stealing it for myself. No, I’m almost hurt you entertained the thought. Have I ever treated you with anything less than the utmost care? Hm?” 

Chrollo starts to pull you away from him, yet you refuse, clinging adamantly to his torso in an attempt to hide your face. He ignores the way you shake your head and by exerting the slightest force, achieves his original goal. His fingers find purchase on your chin, which he tilts upward, allowing himself an unobscured view of your puffy eyes and runny makeup. He smiles, wiping away your tears with such gentleness, he must think you’re made of porcelain. 

Sniffling, you remember he asked you a question, and attempt cobbling together a coherent response. Such is the polite thing to do. “I guess not.” 

“And why do you think that is?” 

“... The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to conduct an in-depth case study for your future dissertation on GAD and SAD?” 

His visage lands somewhere between mild bemusement and exacerbation. “I know you’re smarter than that. Try again.” 

“My winning personality, once you wade through all the mental illness?” 

“That certainly plays a role.” 

“I know I’m cute, too. I suppose that helps. Otherwise, I’d be completely and utterly fucked.” 

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.” 

Sensing your hesitancy to land on a definitive answer, he decides to spell it out himself. “I’m fond of you, to a degree I previously thought myself incapable of. I have a… callous disposition, for lack of a better word. Yet for whatever reason, this doesn’t seem to bother you. I’ve never cared for subjective terms like ‘good’ or ‘evil’, but… if there is goodness in this world, it’d be found in you.” 

Chrollo’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone as he speaks, seemingly bewitched by the glittering stream your tears left behind. Tangible proof of your emotions that tumult like a tempest, whereas his often remains an unmoving body of water. 

You take his cheeks in your hands and glare at him. This time, when your lower lip trembles, it’s with righteous anger, not sorrow. “Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re the world’s biggest villain?” 

His eyes slightly widen — you’ve never used a tone like this with him before, or anyone else, for that matter  — though his composure doesn’t wane for long. 

“So what if you don’t think everything is sunshine and rainbows? You aren’t heartless; you just know the dangers of putting your heart on display for everyone else to see. I can’t blame you for that, from what you’ve told me.”

He’s never been particularly forthcoming about sharing details from his past. What you do know is that he grew up in extreme poverty, without parents or a guardian, scraping by with some other children in a similar situation. You never pushed to learn more. There was this quiet melancholy that possessed him in the rare moments he shared glimpses of his childhood. The specters that haunted him could almost be felt lingering in the atmosphere, turning the air heavy and thick. 

“You lost a precious friend in such a cruel way. That loss of innocence, it’s unforgivable, it’s completely unfair…!”

This time, your tears aren’t for you, they’re for a little boy you’ll never know and a girl that you couldn’t if you tried. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh on yourself. You act like you’ve done something unforgivable.” 

He parts and closes his lips. Whatever he intended to say, he must’ve decided against it. Instead, he pulls you back against him, almost greedily. He presses kisses atop your head then murmurs a few words you can’t quite catch. Your body is deprived of energy, having flickered through almost every major emotion a human being can experience. If your parents wouldn’t have fussed over the act, you could’ve fallen asleep on him for the night. 

The person who inadvertently caused your blistering anxiety is also the best balm for it. 

It’s unexplainable, teetering on the edge of delusion, this sentiment that he could shield you from all harm. He’s always so sure of himself when you remain plagued by indecisiveness. He can talk you out of any irrational thought, anchor you when a stressful situation is beginning to be too much, and understand you almost eerily well. He’s able to piece together your chaotic thought processes with next to no context. He listens to you, remembers everything you say (and you mean everything), and genuinely values your input, even if he disagrees with your opinions. 

This level of an intimate connection is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

“No one’s ever cried for my sake before,” he thinks aloud. He’s stroking your back again, almost mindlessly. You swear there’s something magical about his touch. 

“Do you think I’m weird?” 

“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you,” he decides. As always, he’s clever at avoiding questions he doesn’t wish to answer. “Currently, the one that stands out to me the most would be…” 

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you. 

“Warm.” 

-

The arboretum is far different in autumn. Green leaves have transitioned into rich auburn and golden shades, hesitant buds nowhere to be seen. The grass beneath your feet is crunchier, the foliage dry and scattered, almost as if it were trying to form a protective sheath for the earth. No longer can you hear the melody of grasshoppers and buzzing from busy bees. The wind whistles when it blows, the underlying frostiness biting at your cheeks and ears. 

“Ah, would you look at that, it’s a junco,” Chrollo points out. You cover your mouth to muffle a gasp. Thanks in part to your guidance, he’s gotten better at identifying different types of birds. While you’d like to think it’s because he appreciates them too, you’re convinced he finds your excited reaction far more interesting. 

The little blob of black and white hops to and fro, using its feet to rummage for anything edible. You silently lament your lack of birdseed. You’ll have to settle for cheering the tiny friend on from afar. 

Hand in hand, you both traverse the area of your original meeting. Sweet nostalgia swirls in your chest. You’ve always found it befuddling how a single chance encounter can permanently change the trajectory of your life. In the moment, you have no idea how your actions will go on to form ripples that influence the future. Whether this is chaos theory or some other fancy metaphysical-sounding concept, you haven’t the slightest clue. 

What you do know is that meeting Chrollo was a catalyst for something greater. 

A wave of chills cascades over you.

“Are you cold?” He inquires, his tone having this ‘I told you so’ quality to it that you don’t appreciate. You’re wearing a light beige, plaid fitted blazer, that while chic, doesn’t have much insulation. You waved off his initial concern by saying you’ll warm up once you both get to walking around. So much for that. 

“Cold is a mindset,” the chattering of your teeth doesn’t do much to help your cause. He raises an eyebrow. “Mind over matter… mind over matter…” 

Chrollo shrugs his coat off and drapes it over you. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick, dear.” 

“You sound like my grandma.” 

“The one who tried taking my head wrappings off, or the one who kicked me?” 

“A combination of the two that coalesces their tendency to fuss over me.” 

“You’re very easy to fuss over,” Chrollo chuckles at the face you make at him. “You’re absolutely precious. It’s a mystery to me how you make the smallest acts endearing.” 

At this, you strike a dumb pose, winking at him all the while. “Aha, it’s no mystery. You have my irresistible charm to thank for that.” 

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.” 

Although the sage gardens behind the Starling House are no longer in bloom, you decide to swing by anyway. The plans for the remainder of your day follow a similarly simple yet pleasant precedent. You’re going to go window shopping in a quaint commercial district, grab something to eat at a pub, then end the night off with a movie. Chrollo’s trying to convince you to watch some indie flick that’s in black and white and uses a 1.19:1 ratio. You want to watch Alien, a classic he’s never seen like the weirdo he is. 

The walk isn’t long or monotonous. It’s so idyllic that you could believe you’re the only two people in the world. 

However, that isn’t the case. Upon entering the garden, you’re quick to note the presence of another.  

A young woman is kneeling down, murmuring under her breath. She’s acting as if she’s lost something and can’t find it. Frowning, you detach yourself from Chrollo, approaching her with the intent to offer your assistance. She doesn’t lift her head upon hearing the obvious sounds of your footfall. She just continues blindly grasping at the ground. 

“Miss?” You ask, to which her entire body freezes. “Did you drop something? I could help you look for it.” 

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better. 

Then, much to your confusion, she enunciates your full-given name. Even while doing this, she doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“Have to… have to…” she’s back to being difficult to make sense of, “I have to…”

 A strange sensation possesses you.

Have you met this woman somewhere before? You do a quick mental scan of her disheveled appearance and come up with nothing definitive. Her hair is matted, her complexion sallow and her cheeks sunken in. Her disoriented state stirs concern within you. It’s a good sign that she’s still conscious and exhibiting motor functions, but the longer you examine her, the more you can tell she isn’t in a proper state of mind. You don’t want to leave her out here alone in such a vulnerable state. You try to push aside the uncanny feeling that came from her apparently recognizing you when you’re certain you’ve never met. 

Chrollo speaks your name. Turning around, you face him just in time to catch a surreal expression forming on his countenance. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part, then he’s reaching out for you. 

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt. 

And then there is a visceral burst of energy. 

It’s as if a blizzard manifests from the direction the woman is hunched over in. There’s this thick, harrowing tension that causes your legs to buckle at the knees. Swirls of negative emotions wrap around you in shadowy tendrils. Grief. Hysteria. Rage. Bitterness. Most notable, however, is the sickening yearning to inflict harm. How can a human being produce and project such raw feelings? It’s like hatred itself has been given a palpable form, submerging you in a swamp of mire. 

You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but you do have this primal foreboding that the longer you’re exposed to it, the more endangered you’ll be. 

In the millisecond it takes for you to blink, Chrollo is no longer in your line of sight. 

It’s strange, you think. There are no knives, guns, explosives; or anything that could hurt you in the traditional sense. In a way you could understand and reliably assess the threat level of. 

And still, despite this uncertainty, you have this unshakable premonition that death isn’t far away. 

-

You wake up in a bed that is not your own. 

Your body is drenched in sweat, your muscles sore, and your head feels as if it’s being clamped in a vice-like grip. Trying to get up proves to be a poor decision. Nausea and dizziness force you to lie back down. You take shallow, frantic breaths, wincing at yet another wave of throbbing coming from your temples. Your senses aren’t reliable either. The first few times you open your eyes, dark spots dot your vision. Then there’s your hearing, or lack of. There’s this distant ringing that while slowly fading, isn’t replaced by anything better. Your hearing grows so muffled you almost think earplugs have been jammed in your ear canal. 

Groaning, you manage to lift yourself off the mattress with trembling arms. The dark spots fade away enough for you to make out your surroundings. 

You’re in Chrollo’s hotel room, lying on his bed. 

It’s nighttime. The digital clock sitting on the bedside table reads 3:40 a.m.  

The next thing you do is feel around for your phone. It should be in the back pocket of your jeans, but it isn’t there. 

The brisk air takes your breath away when you tug the comforter off. Your body groans with protest at all the movement, yet you ignore its request to lay back down, the situation at hand far too perplexing. Your outfit is the same as the one you put on this morning, aside from your boots, which sit together near the wall. You then assess your body for any physical injuries, finding nothing visible to explain your current malaise. Are you hungover? Frowning, you dismiss the idea. You know your tolerance well and never try pushing it. 

Taking small steps and using the wall as leverage, you make your way over to the adjoined bathroom. You fill a dental cup with water and down it instantly. After satiating your thirst, you call out for Chrollo, your voice gravelly with sleep. 

No response. 

Sighing, you slink over to the closed bedroom door. Your equilibrium steadies itself enough that you only need to grab onto something every few steps. The handle doesn’t budge. You try again, exerting more force — still nothing. The subsequent attempts end in the same manner. There’s no denying it, it’s been locked. That begs the question of why. Safety, maybe? It’s possible Chrollo stepped out for whatever reason and wanted to ensure no one could get to you. Then again, that’s what the deadbolt on the door leading to the hotel hallway is for. 

You don’t want to start rattling the door and making a scene when you’re certain there’s a solid explanation for this. He has to come back eventually, his stuff is still here. Although, you can’t help noticing how sparse his personal belongings are. The book he was reading no longer sits on the bedside table, the framed picture of the two of you gifted by your parents isn’t on the wardrobe either. Next, you check the closet, finding it in a similarly desolate state. You once pillaged a shirt of his when you grew tired of wearing a dress, so you know its usual presentation. The hangers remain on the rack yet everything else is gone.

Chrollo told you his job had placed him in this city indefinitely. Is he planning to move to another hotel? 

Not knowing what else to do, you sit on the edge of the bed. The former pounding in your head has soothed into a far less egregious dull ache. You must’ve been asleep for a decent chunk of time, this initial grogginess is what you experience upon first waking up in the morning. You hope you weren’t unconscious for too long. It's an unsettling thought, being in that vulnerable state, totally shut off from the world. 

A few minutes of absentmindedly admiring the twinkling lights that make up the city skyline’s pass. 

Then you hear the door handle jingle. 

Chrollo silently examines you. It’s almost as if he’s gauging your entire being, anticipating what is to come. His mouth is set in a straight line and he’s standing unnervingly still. There’s this intensity to him that has you breaking off eye contact. Your mouth goes dry and you temporarily forget how to form words. You had so many burning questions in his absence, why is it that they've been wiped clean from your head now that he’s here? 

When you find the courage to look up at him again, there’s not a vestige of his former expression. The grave lines have smoothened out and you no longer believe you’re face to face with a stranger. 

“How are you feeling?” He’s quick to close the distance. The mattress dips, adjusting to his presence by your side.  

“Oh, uh, not the best, but… I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you say. Silvery moonlight shines into the room, illuminating him in an otherworldly veil. Goosebumps line your skin when he takes the side of your face into his hand. He’s cold. “I’m mostly just confused. Is— is everything okay? Why am I here?” 

“How much do you remember?” 

Remember, remember… that’s right, you hadn’t given that much thought. You pick through your hazy memories aloud. “Well, we were at the arboretum, just walking around. I remember heading to the gardens behind the Starling House. Then… um…” 

You squint and furrow your eyebrows together. It’s as if your recollection was a film reel that had been trimmed after that point. You try piecing together a mental image of the garden. Hummingbirds? Sage? No, that isn’t right, you’re thinking of its spring appearance. The colors would be more muted, there’d be less shrubbery. The image grows sharper.

Then there’s a shadow. 

Vaguely human-shaped, situated right in the middle of the mosaic you’re trying to form. Their outline isn’t solid, it’s splotchy, like water paint left to run on a canvas. 

Finally, something clicks. 

“That woman!” You exclaim. The corner of his lips twitch downward. “That’s right! Is she okay? She seemed so out of it.” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“How is that possible? You were—” 

“Let’s focus on you for now,” he cuts you off. There’s a finality in his voice you can’t bring yourself to challenge. “Can you tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing?” 

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

“I see. I’ll get you some painkillers, then.” 

You grab his wrist to stop him when he starts getting up. “I’d really prefer you told me what happened first.”

When he doesn’t immediately acquiesce to your request, you quietly add, “Please.” 

His eyes soften at your gentle, uncertain timbre. He intertwines his fingers with yours and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Earlier, when we arrived at the garden, you grew lightheaded and fainted.” 

You take a moment to process the information. It seems plausible enough, yet the more you mull over it, the more little details start to catch your attention.

“Okay…” you trail off, pursing your lips. A vengeful throb from your head causes you to wince. He notices — frowns — then places a featherlight kiss against your forehead. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t invoke any pleasant warm fuzzy sensations. “So I fell unconscious for over ten hours and you didn’t… call an ambulance…?” 

“That is correct.” 

You shuffle in your seat, momentarily taken aback at how easygoing he’s acting about the entire ordeal. “Why?” 

“I’ve been monitoring your vitals,” he reassures. Sensing your growing apprehension, he adds, “I can promise that you were never in serious danger. I would’ve acted accordingly if you were.” 

The phrase ‘acted accordingly’ doesn’t tell you much either. What does he mean by that? Is there some threshold you needed to enter for him to have taken you to the hospital? Your various volunteer experiences with the city’s vulnerable communities taught you that if a person is unresponsive for over a minute, an ambulance should be called, just to be on the safe side. Besides, isn’t that just common sense? Chrollo is an intelligent man. You can’t fathom any line of reasoning that’d justify not erring on the side of caution. 

You glance at the clock again. 4:03 a.m. glows in the dim light of the room. It’s late. You wonder what your parents—

Holy shit. 

“Do my mom and dad know?” You glance around as if expecting to find them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have insisted on calling emergency services if you were unconscious for that long. 

“I didn’t inform them, no.” 

“What?” You make no attempts to tone down your incredulity. “Then— they must be out of their minds with worry! My phone, where’s my phone? I need to tell them I’m okay!” 

You shoot up off the bed too fast and your body doesn’t take kindly to the rushed movement. Debilitating lightheadedness causes you to lose your balance. Chrollo steadies your swaying form and helps sit you back down. You scoot away from him as far as you can, your thoughts an absolute mess. Nothing here is making sense. It’s not even a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, there’s almost nothing to work with at all. 

He’s staring at you in that strange, anticipatory manner again. It makes your stomach churn. 

“My phone, Chrollo,” you hold your hand out. “There’s no way you don’t have it.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you,” he sounds apologetic too, which makes your subsequent temper flare up even worse. 

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, exasperation winning out. You were trying to be reasonable, but that is over and done with. “You’re acting like— like there’s nothing weird happening! Can you please take this seriously? You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you, so I wanted to remain calm for your sake.” 

Your tongue couldn’t properly form words if your life depended on it. Sure, remaining calm in a crisis is helpful, but he isn’t acting like this is a crisis. He’s treating it as if he was burdened with sitting you down to relay bad news that no one else had the heart to share. 

You’re starting to think you don’t know the person you’re talking to. 

“For my sake,” you repeat in a wry deadpan. “If that’s true, then tell me what’s actually going on, Chrollo. Because I know you’re bullshitting me.” 

Not calling the ambulance or informing your parents, withholding your phone… then there’s the matter of how he got you here in the first place. Did he carry you through the lobby? No good samaritans thought it was unusual to see a man carrying an unconscious woman up to his room? Hotel staff these days are trained to have a vigilant eye for these situations too. Not one person thought it might be a good idea to ring up law enforcement over such a blatantly suspicious act? 

Nothing is adding up. 

“I’m being more forthcoming than you think,” Chrollo says, as if he’s doing you a favor. He tries reaching out for your hand again, only this time, you don’t allow him. “Everything I’ve said and intend to say is the truth, even if you don’t particularly like it.” 

That’s a hell of a creative way of putting it!

“Who was that woman earlier? What did she do to me?” 

“I have someone ironing out the details, but from what I’ve gathered, she was sent with the intention of killing you. I don’t believe she was aware of the fact herself until you entered her vicinity, triggering the necessary condition for the true culprit’s ability to activate. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to get so close.” 

Someone was sent to kill you? You? A run-of-the-mill college student who has no enemies to speak of? It’s not like you’re a part of the fucking mob. That can’t be right, not to mention the bizarre jargon he’s using. There’d be no plausible motive. If he says she was sent, and you choose to believe he isn’t making this all up, that implies it was premeditated. Not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’d almost make more sense. 

That is, unless… 

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together. 

“If you’re telling the truth — and right now, that’s a big fucking if — does this have something to do with you?” 

“That’s my clever girl,” he praises, entirely devoid of condescension. The pure fondness in his voice makes you sick. It’s almost as if he’s delighting in watching you piece this nightmare together. “Yes, you haven’t deliberately done anything to earn the wrath of the wrong people. They simply know getting to me is near impossible, hence their decision to go for the next best thing instead. That’d be you, dear.” 

“Oh my god,” you bury your head in your hands. “Why… why am I not freaking out more? I should be hysterical, or, or— I don’t know…” 

“Beta blockers,” he reveals. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. “In anticipation of how… touchy this conversation was going to be, I thought it might be best for you to be in a good headspace while receiving this information for the first time.” 

“You drugged me?” 

“If that’s how you want to look at it.” 

“Because that’s how it is!” 

A lump forms in your throat and lodges itself there. Are you stuck in a hellacious dream? Or hallucinating, perhaps? Visual hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this cohesive or clear. There has to be another explanation. Something you’re missing that’d make this all go away. The beta blocker admission certainly holds weight. Your heart rate, while slightly elevated, isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as it should be. It’d explain the general malaise, fatigue, and lightheadedness too. That, and you doubt you’d be able to think this clearly if there wasn’t something heavy pumping through your system. 

Your eyes hesitantly settle on Chrollo, who sits there perfectly still and almost relaxed. He’s observing you like a hawk. 

“Listen,” you try using a mellower voice. He raises an eyebrow at your drastically different approach. “You had ample opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. That must mean you have my best intentions at heart, right? Why don’t we try to work something out, because this isn’t sustainable. My absence isn’t going to go unnoticed.” 

Chrollo sighs, heavy if not unsurprised. “Sweetheart, I’m not suffering a break from reality, although I’m sure you’d prefer to rationalize it that way. I assure you I’m lucid and everything I’ve done is intentional. You’ll come to accept it eventually.” 

It isn’t going to help, yet you feel your remaining grains of patience slip through your fingers. 

“What’s this talk about a ‘condition’ and ‘ability’, then?” You challenge. 

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d mention that,” he doesn’t sound like you landed on a reason that’d prove him wrong. “How to explain it… you once told me you think there are phenomena in this world that can’t be explained by empirical evidence. Consider this an example of that. I’m sure you must’ve felt it before you fainted. An intense, concentrated sensation that awoke your primordial fear. Bloodlust.” 

You want to argue until you run out of breath, but this description does strike a chord. Reality itself feels as if it’s drifting further and further away. In an awfully cruel twist, Chrollo and his collected disposition is the most grounding factor you have to latch onto. 

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” he finally replaces that matter-of-fact tone with something resembling compassion, “But know this: you’re not in any danger. Neither are those you care about, so long as you act sensible.” 

Shivering, you hug your arms around your chest. “How can you say that to me so easily? I thought… I thought you…” 

He’s enveloping you from behind. You didn’t even see him move. Weakly, you struggle against his hold, but you’re not in any condition to put up a fight. In the event you were, it’s doubtful it’d make much of a difference. He’s strong. It goes beyond physical strength, into some esoteric realm you’ve become forcibly acquainted with. He’s exerting this slight pressure that makes your heart skip a beat, despite the medication. It isn’t comparable to what you experienced in the garden — there’s no malice — it feels more like a warning. 

“You’re surprisingly sensitive to Nen,” he murmurs, humming contentedly when you go limp against him. His chin rests atop your head and his arms ensnare your midriff. “How interesting. No matter. Whatever your fascinating brain concocted is still true. You may think me merciless, but if you knew me, you’d find this to be my greatest act of mercy yet.” 

“I thought I did know you,” is your weak reply. You don’t recognize the sound of your voice. 

“The parts of me I wanted to show you, yes,” he moves your hair aside so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck. “And a few glimpses you gleaned in your own way. Really, you are such a sweet girl. Willing to overlook discrepancies to see the ‘good’ in me.” 

Heat rises and ignites on your cheeks. “I-I could scream, you know.” 

“You could.” 

That’s not the reaction you were expecting. 

“You’re… not going to try and stop me?” 

“No,” he responds. “I’ve always found experience to be the best teacher.” 

“You really,” you heave a humorless laugh, uncertain of what else to do, “You really don’t see anything wrong with this?” 

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, marveling at how your pulse remains steady, thanks to his intervention. 

“‘So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.’” 

“What?” 

“It’s what you said the first day I met you,” Chrollo explains, nostalgia evident. “I’ve thought about those words often. Your effulgence, your desire to do right by others. It made me wonder if there could ever be anyone more perfect for me than you. You, whose pretty neck I could snap before you’d ever realize what happened, stirred up a sentimentality in me I thought myself incapable of.” 

Sandalwood, amber, and leather. His scent is the same as that day.

Are his intentions? 

Is this a prophecy he himself ordained and always intended to see fulfilled? 

“You stole my heart, and as recompense, I will steal you. Think whatever you want about me, dear. Just don’t think I’m selfless enough to ever change my mind.” 

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.2k | tags: rockstar!eddie, drummer!steve, secret relationship, part of @thefreakandthehair and @firefly-party and mine project pickup note | @steddielovemonth prompt love is staying in bed for five extra minutes because you can't tear yourself away from them just yet by @starryeyedjanai | art by Kei | story in the same verse by Lex | AO3)

Steve came to slowly, like swimming through molasses, his mind caught somewhere between dreaming and being awake. In his dream, he had been lying in the sun, his head cushioned in Eddie's lap, Eddie's fingers running through his hair, humming a soft melody Steve had never heard before.

Slowly, the melody changes to the sound of soft snoring, and the soft thing under his head isn't Eddie's lap, it's his chest, gently rising and falling with each snore. Steve presses his smile into the warm skin beneath him at the thought of Eddie's face when he tells him he snores.

Some things are worth waiting for, though, and he knows the perfect moment to reveal this particular piece of information will come.

He has no idea what time it is. Judging by the morning light filtering into the room, it's just after sunrise, the sun's rays piercing through the blinds and casting a warm, golden glow that gradually fills Steve's hotel room.

Moving as carefully as he can, he cranes his neck to check the aged alarm clock on the bedside table. It tells him that he was right, it's 7:58 a.m., and the sun has risen just minutes before him. The light filtering in is soft and diffused, making the colors seem muted yet rich, with shades of pale orange, pink, and yellow dancing across the surfaces. Long shadows stretch out elegantly, accentuating the contours of furniture and objects in the room.

It's Steve's favorite time of day. There's a sense of quiet serenity in this early morning moment as the world slowly awakens. It offers a brief respite before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.

These days, early mornings hold an even more special place in his heart because it's the only time of day he can just look at Eddie.

Sometimes Steve thinks Eddie is like a hummingbird, always moving until all his energy is used up and he falls into a deep slumber that almost looks like he's dead to the world. It allows Steve to soak him up undisturbed and unabashed. His fingers carefully exploring the hills and valleys of hard muscle and soft flesh, he can drink in the swirling ink on Eddie's pale skin.

It's such a stark contrast from the rest of the day.

Eddie often seems driven. By the perceived expectations of others, by his own fears of falling short. By his own demons, which Steve has only glimpsed. But as the darkness of the night gives way to a new day, Eddie looks at ease.

It's probably too soon to think, but Steve hopes it's because he's now sharing Eddie's bed. That Eddie feels safe with him, safe enough to let go of all the things that plague his beautiful but sometimes overwhelmingly loud mind.

That's why it pains Steve to be the one to wake Eddie from his peaceful slumber and bring him back to reality. But they have a sound check at 9:15 because the venue has had some problems lately and they need to make sure everything goes off without a hitch tonight. This whole tour means too much to them, to Eddie, for it not to be perfect.

Pressing a gentle kiss just above where Steve can feel the steady beating of Eddie's heart, he softly calls Eddie's name. Not surprisingly, nothing happens, so another kiss follows the first, this time on Eddie's collarbone.

"Eddie, c'mon," he tries again, this time closer to Eddie's ear, eliciting a soft murmur. "We have to get up, the soundcheck -"

"Mm, they can check the sound without us," his - Eddie's - voice comes in a slightly drawn out tone. "Don't wanna get up."

Eddie, obviously not fully awake yet, wraps his arms around Steve and buries his face in Steve's hair.

"I know, ba-" Steve stumbles over the pet names that want to come out more and more now that they're so much closer than when he first started touring with Corroded Coffin. "I know. But we can grab a big coffee with enough sugar in it to put an elephant into a sugar coma, and when the check is done, we can come back to the hotel and sneak into your room and I can make it worth your while."

Steve's tone is low, almost a purr, as he says this. The others don't know about them yet, although Steve thinks that at least Robin and Chrissy have their suspicions. And Jeff has been watching them more closely as well. He's sure that they'll tell them soon, but first they want to enjoy getting to know each other this way, without their friends getting involved.

"Five more minutes and I will make it worth your while. Whaddya say, big boy?"

Before Steve can answer, most likely telling Eddie no, we're going to be late and how are you going to explain that to the others, Eddie rolls them both over until Steve lands on his back with a soft umph. Above him, Eddie is smiling down at him, suddenly much more awake than seconds before.

"Hi," he says, nudging Steve's nose with his own.

Steve doesn't even try to fight the dopey smile, even as he rolls his eyes at Eddie trying to get what he wants by playing dirty. It's so Eddie, just like the wolfish grin on his face.

"I'll make this the best five minutes of your life, Harrington. Scout's honor."

Steve snorts. "Scout's honor? I doubt you ever talked to a scout in your life."

"Oh yeah. In fact, I'm sleeping with one. And I'm about to kiss one before I rock his world."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

"Is that so?"

This makes Steve laugh out loud. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," Eddie replies, then hesitates as his choice of words seems to register with him.

Before the moment between them ends in awkwardness, Steve leans in to kiss Eddie on the nose. "How did you know I was a Boy Scout?"

Steve's distraction works, and the worry in Eddie's eyes is replaced by mischief. "Just a guess, but good to know."

"Ass."

"I have it on good authority that you like my ass," Eddie teases, and Steve has to agree. He really does. As much as he likes everything else about Eddie. How much is becoming a problem.

Instead of saying any of these things, Steve looks over at the alarm clock, which now reads 08:04. He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. "I think your five minutes are up, and I have to say, not the world-rocking I was expecting, Munson."

"Oh you..." Eddie growls before swooping in to capture Steve's lips in a deep kiss. It turns into another, and another, the dim light in the room growing brighter around them as they become lost in each other.

Eddie makes it to sound check just in time, while Steve is ten minutes late, carrying five cups of coffee. He hopes no one notices the bright grin Eddie flashes with the first sip of his overtly sweet coffee, or the wink he gives Steve.

A promise is a promise, and Steve intends to keep them all when it comes to Eddie.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Conrad's panic attack at the end of episode 3 but instead of Steven, reader goes after him. Maybe they no longer speak and had a huge falling out

Seeing that scene gave me so many flashbacks of scary times. When it happens, you sometimes don’t know what is happening and there’s so many things happening at the same time. I often get them at night. Waking up unable to breathe, heart palpitations, shaky legs and feeling so hot no amount of cold air makes me cool enough. Or during ptsd moments. 

Warnings: panic attack

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You were all gathered in front of the television, ready for a movie night. It happened one night filled the screen, a choice made by Belly, but no one was mad about it. Though the seating arrangements caused a few initial hiccups, everyone managed to find a comfortable spot. Belly and Taylor sat closely on the right end of the couch, Jeremiah and Steven on the left, and you occupied the middle. Conrad had the loveseat all to himself.

As the movie began, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Conrad, secretly wishing you were sitting beside him. However, things had changed between the two of you, and you hadn't spoken in months — not since the funerals. 

Beside Steven, Jeremiah's soft laughter echoed, reminding you of the good times you all used to share. It felt like a brief return to the past.

A few minutes in, Conrad’s phone buzzed, drawing your attention. His expression shifted as he read the message, the light amusement on his face falling, the movie now entirely forgotten. He quietly got up, trying to not disturb anyone, and left the house through the backdoor.

A sense of concern washed over you as you watched him go. You couldn't help but wonder what the message on his phone could have been and why it affected him so deeply. Your first thought was that it was about his mom, but Susannah was gone now. So, it was either school or his dad. 

Without hesitation or explanations, you stood and went after him. Steven opened his mouth to ask where you were going, but you ignored him. 

Forgetting about shoes, you let the door slam shut behind you, only thinking about Conrad. You hurried down the deck, seeing his figure walking down the beach in the darkness of the evening. The beach and the sea had always been a safe place for Conrad, he found the sound of crashing waves created soothing.

‘’Conrad!’’ you called out in the distance.

He didn’t turn or stop. He kept walking to the shoreline, his back was hunched as his breathing became rapid and shallow. Like he was struggling to find air. You saw him place a hand over his chest right before he stumbled and fell to his knees in the sand.

Your eyes widened with worry, and you could feel your heart racing. ‘’Conrad!’’ 

This time, you ran up to him. The sand was getting between your toes, a feeling you absolutely despised, but you ignored your own discomfort and focused on Conrad. You fell down on the sand beside him, saying his name again. 

Conrad looked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes wide with fear and vulnerability. His breaths were erratic, and it was clear he was struggling to regain control of the rising panic within him. His eyes were filled with distress, not understanding what was happening. 

‘’I-I can't breathe,’’ he managed to say, his voice trembling. ‘’My chest feels so tight, I—’’ 

Your heart sank as you realized what was happening. Conrad was having a full-blown panic attack. You should have guessed faster. You knew the signs all too well. They can be overwhelming and debilitating.

‘’You’re having a panic attack,’’ you explained calmly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

Conrad's gaze locked with yours, searching for some form of reassurance. ‘’Make it stop,’’ he stammered, his voice still shaking. ‘’Please, make it stop.’’ He clutched at his chest, gripping his shirt tightly, the air unable to pass through his lungs. 

You had been taught a few techniques to come back from a panic attack, but you figured the fastest one would work best on Conrad. 

You took his hand and put it over your chest. Conrad tried to push you away, but you didn’t let him. ‘’Follow my breathing.’’ 

It felt overwhelming to be touching you, to be so close to you. It made Conrad’s heart want to jump out of his chest. He tried his best to follow along, trying to focus on your breathing instead of how you made him feel. It was evident that he was struggling, but he made an effort to control his breaths, to follow your pattern. 

Gradually, Conrad's breathing started to stabilize, and his panicked expression softened. ‘’That’s it. Keep breathing with me,’’ you encouraged him, offering a sense of safety and stability in the midst of his distress.

As the minutes passed, the panic attack began to subside. Conrad's shoulders relaxed, and his grip on your arm loosened. The crashing waves provided a natural rhythm for his breath, and he started to find a sense of calm. 

Once he was in a better state, he looked at you with gratitude in his eyes. ‘’Thanks for…helping me,’’ he whispered, his voice still shaky but filled with appreciation.

‘’You don't have to thank me, Con,’’ you replied gently.

Con. You had not called him that in a while. It felt strange on your tongue. 

‘’I want to,’’ he insisted. ‘’If you had not followed me out here, I would not have known what to do.’’ Conrad looked down, brushing sand off his jeans. 

‘’Well, I’m glad to have helped you. I…I’m gonna go back inside, now. I know you don’t want me to be here.’’

His words had been harsh when he saw you arriving with Jeremiah yesterday. They stung, but you didn’t expect him to be happy to see you either. Not after your breakup at Susannah’s funeral.

‘’It’s not true.’’ Conrad lifted his head, but kept his eyes on the sea. ‘’I always want you to be there. Even when I say I don’t.’’ 

You looked at Conrad, surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. It was rare he would speak his emotions out loud. He was more of a bottling things up and rarely, if ever, expressing them kind of person.

‘’I'm sorry for what I said to you. For everything,’’ he said, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. ‘’I never wanted to hurt you, but I did. I should have taken the hand you were holding out for me instead of ripping it off and seeking comfort in someone else's arms to hurt you enough that you'd hate me and go away.’’

As Conrad poured his heart out, you could see the pain and regret in his eyes. For once, he wasn’t pushing you away. He was opening to you and making confessions you never thought you would ever get. 

He kept going. ‘’No matter what I do or say, you'll always be there. Here.’’ Conrad clawed at his heart and then dropped his hand. ‘’You’re engraved in my heart, Y/N, and I can’t get you out. I tried. I tried really hard, but something always pulls me back to you.’’

You took a moment to process his words, then spoke. ‘’Have you ever heard of the Red string of fate?’’ Conrad drew his eyebrow together, so you continued. ‘’It’s an ancient legend that originated in East Asia. The legend speaks of an invisible red string tying two together those who are meant to meet, no matter how far apart they live or how different their lives are. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.’’

Conrad traced over your pinky, as if he was visualizing the red string there. ‘’Do you think this string is— that our string is tied to each other?’’ 

You looked down where he was touching you, feeling a slight shiver at his touch. You looked back up into Conrad's blue eyes. ‘’Maybe,’’ you replied, reaching out to gently touch his hand.

—

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[icarusignite]

the ships have come to carry you home (Kim Hongjoong)

Pairing: Captain Hongjoong x Runaway Princess Reader Summary: Desperate to escape a horrifying marriage to the man who murdered your family and stole your father's crown, you escape your opulent life, only to realize that your longing for freedom has landed you in the clutches of ruthless pirates who are willing to trade your life for one of their own. Determined to prove your worth, you must persuade the enigmatic captain that you are indeed worth keeping after all.

Word Count: 5.7k

Genre/warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, captain is kind of a jerk in the beginning

PIRATE! ATEEZ MASTERLIST

The damp, dark underbelly of the ship seemed to swallow you whole as you pressed yourself into the corner, drawing your knees up to your chest in a desperate attempt to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. Above you, the reverberating boom of an explosion echoed through the wooden planks, sending shivers down your spine.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a war drum as you prayed fervently that whoever was raiding the ship above had no interest in you, that they would simply pass by without a second glance. But fate seemed determined to thwart your hopes as heavy footsteps clambered down the rickety wooden steps, each one resonating ominously in the darkness.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to disappear into the shadows as the sound drew nearer. When the figure finally emerged into the dim light, you felt your stomach lurch in dread. He was a muscular man with sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness, searching every nook and cranny for any sign of life.

"Found her, Captain!" the man called out to someone above deck and your blood ran cold. 

Panic surged through your veins, but you remained frozen in place, hoping against hope that somehow, by some miracle, you might escape notice.

But the man's sharp gaze landed on you immediately, you knew your hopes were in vain. He approached with purposeful strides, his every movement calculated and precise. When he reached your hiding spot, he crouched down beside you, his expression almost apologetic. 

"Come on, then,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the urgency in his tone. "There’s no use hiding. You'll only make things harder for yourself."

You shook your head frantically, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You knew you had to fight, to resist with every ounce of strength you possessed, so when the man reached out to grab your shoulder, you recoiled instinctively, fear overwhelming your senses.

He sighed heavily, a sound laden with weariness and regret. "I'm sorry, truly I am," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of the ship. "But orders are orders.”

With that, he seized your arms firmly, his grip still gentle despite the urgency of his actions. You struggled against him, your muscles tensing with the effort, but it was futile. The man's strength far surpassed your own, and with a determined grunt, he began to drag you towards the stairs leading back up to the surface. You kicked and screamed with all your might, and in a desperate attempt to break free, you lashed out, your elbow connecting with the man's nose with a sickening crunch.

A string of curses erupted from his lips as he stumbled back, clutching his bleeding nose. "Careful, Captain," he growled, glaring at you with annoyance. "She's a feisty one."

“Thank you, San,” the captain presumably, responded with a sigh as you were unceremoniously dumped at his feet. 

He stood before you, a tired expression etched features, shadows lurking beneath his weary eyes. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, muttering something under his breath as he regarded you with a mixture of exasperation and resignation.

"You're more trouble than you're worth.”

“That’s right,” you nodded frantically. “I’m nobody. I’m irrelevant, and of no use to you, so please…please let me go.”

The captain scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You? Unimportant?" he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Sorry, Princess, but I find that hard to believe. You are our most important cargo, and we've been tasked with returning you home."

Home.

That wasn’t even the word you’d call it anymore. Bile rose in your throat once again. You couldn’t return, especially not after what had happened to your family. Not after what they would do to you. 

You had hoped against hope that you could somehow escape that nightmare, that you could slip through the cracks unnoticed and reclaim your freedom, but now, faced with the harsh reality of your situation, you wondered if your fate was sealed.

"Please don't make me go back,” you tried again. “I was going to leave. I promise I'd be no trouble at all. I was going to go away and never come back."

The captain's expression hardened at your words, his frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. He knelt before you, his grip firm as he grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Are you really that hopelessly naive to think that these people would have simply dropped you off at the next harbour?" he spat, his voice laced with bitterness.

Your heart sank as you glanced around at the crew of the ship, your stomach churning with dread. They had been subdued and tied up by this new captain’s crew, their faces grim and resigned to their fate. 

"No, they were going to sell you out just the same," the captain continued, his voice low and menacing. "At least this way, you’ll be helping to save someone’s life.”

He seemed to seethe with anger, his fist clenched at his side as he struggled to contain his emotions. But then, a hand rested gently on his shoulder, and he glanced up to see another man standing beside him, his expression calm and reassuring.

"Ease up, Hongjoong," the man said softly, “you’re scaring her.”

“I don’t care, Seonghwa. Can you imagine how Jongho must be feeling right now? And to think we’ve sailed halfway across the continent for this pathetic creature, in exchange for his life. It’s ridiculous!”

“I know you’re worried about him…we all are, but this is no way to act.”

Hongjoong sighed, his bruising grip on your jaw easing before letting go completely as if deciding that you simply weren’t worth his energy. He felt the smallest stab of guilt at his behaviour, particularly when he caught the flash of hurt that crossed your wide eyes. It wasn’t your fault that the new king had decided to capture their youngest crew member, holding him ransom until you were returned to your kingdom. By the looks of it, you didn’t seem too fond of the new sovereign either, but he did wonder what it was that you were so desperate to escape from back home. 

He jerked his head to the rest of his crew, “Take what you can of value, and prepare to return to our ship.”

Back on the captain's ship, the crew was abuzz with activity as they prepared to set sail. Your captor, San, seemed distracted as well, and you took this moment of distraction to break free from his hold again and do the only thing you can think of, throwing yourself overboard.

Just as you can though, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. You gasp in shock, the world spinning around you as you find yourself ensnared in another's grasp.

"By God, are you insane?" a voice exclaims, the words ringing in your ears. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

It's Hongjoong, his voice filled with disbelief and concern. You thrash against him, your body writhing with the desperate need to break free, but he holds you tight against him, his arms like steel bands around your trembling form. Upon further struggle, he bends to place his arms beneath your knees and sweeps you clean off your feet, and despite your protests, he carries you effortlessly, his stride purposeful and determined.

If you weren’t quite so hysterical, you might have been comforted by the warmth of his frame against your frigid one, but there is no comfort to be found. When he finally places you on your feet again, you are in what you assume to be his personal quarters. 

“Do not even think of doing what you just did again!” he snarls. “You are of no worth if you’re dead.”

“I shall do just as I please,” you return with just as heatedly. 

“If you’re going to cause trouble, I’ll put you in the brig. See how long your act lasts in the company of the rats.”

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door to his chambers behind him, and even as you rushed toward it, you heard the resounding click of a lock being turned, effectively making you his prisoner. 

You spent the next few hours pacing the room, rummaging through his belongings in an attempt to find something, anything, that might aid in your escape. There was a large table strewn about with maps, and he owned an absurd amount of books, which was a little surprising as you didn't think pirates read. Still, when you realized your search was futile, you slumped to the floor in the corner, picking up one of the books to thumb through. 

Eventually, a soft knock on the door came, followed by a familiar click as it opened slowly with a creak. It was San, his frame filling the doorway for a few moments as he hesitated at the threshold. He held a tray of food in his hands, and behind him, darkness swallowed the rest of the ship, by which you assumed night had fallen. 

“Captain says you have to eat,” San mutters, setting the tray down in front of you, but you turn up your head. 

Almost as if he was inside your head, Hongjoong’s voice echoed from outside.

“Tell the snobbish princess that if she doesn’t fancy starving, she had better eat what she’s given.”

Your lip curled in disgust, and you turned away from the tray with an even more aggressive shake of your head. San sighed softly, before settling himself on the captain’s bed to simply watch you. You noticed that he had cleaned up his nose and you felt a stab of guilt. After all, he was simply following orders too, and you had decided that if anyone was to be the target of all your ire and hatred, it would be Hongjoong. 

“I…” you began hesitantly. “I’m sorry about your nose. I didn’t mean to…”

San chuckled, “Yes you did.”

“I…I mean I did but I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he shrugged. “Hazards of the job, I suppose.”

“Still. I am sorry.”

When Hongjoong finally returned to his chambers, his weariness was palpable, etched into the lines of his face and the slump of his shoulders. But as his eyes fell upon you, curled up in the corner of his room, a pang of guilt tugged at his heart. You were a sorry sight, alone and vulnerable in the darkness, and he knew he could not put you in the brig. A person of your station must have always enjoyed the finest things in life, so being here must be quite an adjustment, and despite his earlier animosity, he did not wish to cause you greater discomfort. 

He approached you slowly, his footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floorboards. The sight of the untouched food on the table made him sigh in resignation. With a weary yawn, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, his exhaustion evident in every movement.

"Hey," he said gently. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor or something."

You shook your head stubbornly, your lips pressed into a thin line of defiance, but Hongjoong could see your weariness and it mirrored his own. He sighed, realizing that arguing with you would be futile.

"It'll be uncomfortable for you on the floor," he tried again.

Still, you remained silent, your gaze fixed on some distant point in the darkness. Hongjoong rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

"Suit yourself.”

As he began to undress and prepare for bed, peeling off his shirt with practiced ease, you couldn't help but let out a squeak of surprise, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You turned your head away so fast it was almost comical, your heart racing in your chest.

Hongjoong chuckled at your reaction. "Relax," he said with a teasing grin. "It's not like you haven't seen a shirtless man before."

You hadn’t, and it made your face redden even more. You huffed indignantly, refusing to meet his gaze. When he realized, he cleared his throat awkwardly, hurrying to put on something, internally berating himself for such a comment. You were a princess, brought up in refinery, so he should refrain from making such crass comments around you. 

When he settled down for the night, you remained in your place on the floor, eyes wide open in an attempt to evade sleep. However, unfortunately for you, it proved a fruitless endeavour, and eventually, the subtle shifting of the ship on the calm ocean waves lulled you into a restless slumber. 

You dreamt of fire and bloodshed, and the violence that seemed to haunt your every waking moment, following you even to the realm of Morpheus. You had to watch your family be slaughtered in front of you all over again, their blood seeping into the cracks of the pristine marble of your castle’s floors. The new self-proclaimed king, the usurper, grinned manically while the gore dried in the creases of his palms, his sword held aloft as he prepared to deal the final blow. You wished he would kill you, end your suffering once and for all and send you to be with the rest of your family, but he had much crueller plans for you. 

Hongjoong’s sleep was just as fitful as yours as he tossed and turned, and it was only made worse when he heard the quiet sounds of your sniffles. It made him bolt upright, gaze falling to your frame, curled up in a fetal position in the dark. Cautiously he approached you, only to see that your eyes were still screwed shut tightly, but a steady stream of tears flowed from behind your eyelids, and a pained whimper escaped your lips every now and then. 

The captain shook your shoulder gently in an attempt to wake you, but whatever dream you found yourself trapped in seemed to have its claws embedded too deeply and you only flinched at his touch. He sighed, mumbling a brief apology before lifting you from the floor. 

Almost instinctively, you curled into him, tucking your face into his chest, still in the throes of sleep, and Hongjoong froze. With a great sigh, he placed you on his bed, smoothing back the matted tangles of your hair away from your face. Your features were troubled, and he pressed his index finger against the wrinkle between your brows, easing your frown a little. It seemed to help a little, at least to the extent of halting your tears, but your face retained its characteristic pinched expression. 

Hongjoong watched you with fascination. He would not be cruel, he reminded himself. He would be kind to you and hope that wherever Jongho was, he was being treated with kindness in return. He doubted the new king’s ability to be kind, but there was little else he could do besides hope for the best. He was no stranger to the new king’s capability for cruelty, so it made him wonder just what had driven you from home, so desperate not to return. 

The next morning, you woke up with damp cheeks, and a throbbing headache, but much to your surprise, you had been covered by a threadbare blanket, and you were no longer on the cold, damp wooden floorboards. A tray of breakfast had been left out for you, but despite your rumbling stomach, you pointedly ignored it. 

That is how you spent the next few days. Hongjoong no longer returned at night, leaving you the sole occupant of his room, and when eventually your curiosity got the better of you, you decided to settle down with some of his books, biding your time. 

The opportunity presented itself one night when San arrived to bring you your evening meal, and when he left, you noticed that there was no telltale sound of the lock clicking. You crept up to the door and it swung open without much protest. 

The ship was bathed in darkness, and you could hear the distant sounds of the crew members, but they were muffled. Slowly you inched up the steps to the main deck, arms outstretched as you felt your way, holding your breath in anticipation. You hoped that everyone would be too busy with their own endeavours to pay you any mind. 

The surface was bathed in silver moonlight and it was almost ethereal, the way it reflected off the softly lapping waves. The sea was calm, but as you made your way to the edge, you were almost taken aback by its vastness. The murky depths stretched out as far as the eye could see, almost too infinite to fathom, and with a grim sort of resignation you realized that there was nowhere for you to go. No escaping your fate. 

You slumped against the wooden railing, almost listless, as you turned your attention to the stars above, charting the constellations that you could make out in the clear night sky as your father had taught you. You missed him terribly, and the prospect of having to marry the man who killed him made you want to pitch yourself overboard. 

Still, you had some sense of self-preservation because you remained with your feet firmly planted on the wooden deck. There were other ways, perhaps, for you to prove that you were worth more, that you could be of use to these pirates who were determined to return you to a monster. 

“Good to see you aren’t as determined to escape us,” came a voice, startling you. 

You felt a frown pull at your lips when you saw Captain Hongjoong standing right behind you, arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smirk on his face. 

“What do you want?” you muttered sullenly. 

“Just testing out a theory.”

“I’m not your guinea pig!”

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not as determined to die as I had previously thought.”

“No one really wants to die,” you pointed out somberly. “It is our circumstances that drive the urge.”

Hongjoong hummed thoughtfully, coming over to lean against the railing beside you, and that is how you remained for several long moments, each one of you lost in thought. It was a comfortable sort of silence, one you didn't think was possible between the two of you, but you supposed he wasn’t entirely unpleasant to be around, provided he kept his mouth shut. 

“I am sorry, you know,” he spoke first. “I may have been…”

“I believe asshole is the word you’re looking for?”

“...excessively harsh,” Hongjoong finished sheepishly, still staring straight ahead. “Nonetheless, I apologize. I should have minded my manners, and that was no way to treat a princess.”

“That was no way to treat a person,” you corrected immediately. 

“Yes, you’re right. I was terrible. I’m truly sorry.”

You watched him from the corner of your eye, not missing the way the moonlight highlighted his sharp profile. You found it difficult to resist his apology, particularly due to the sincerity that was so evident in his tone, but you didn’t say anything in return. Perhaps, you’d let him ramble on, giving you the opportunity to figure him out, and see if there was any way to convince him not to take you back. 

“It’s not about the money, you know,” the captain continued, running a hand through his hair, dishevelling it even further, and you resisted the urge to brush a wayward lock away from his face. “It’s been a terribly worrisome few weeks…and it’s all my fault. I should have been more cautious, less naive. Jongho was taken because of me. He’s imprisoned, out there all alone because of me. Who knows what they’re doing to him, and there is nothing at all that I can do.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, although you didn’t know what you were apologizing for. Somehow it felt like it was your fault. 

“It’s not your fault,” Hongjoong suddenly turned to you, his eyes heartbreakingly earnest, and you swore you could see the glint of tears in the moonlight before he blinked them away. “But, you understand why we have to take you back now, don’t you?”

You were taken aback by the intensity of his words, the desperation of a madman almost. 

“I’m not sure I—”

“The king…he said he’d return Jongho to us, if we found you and returned you to your kingdom. It’s the only way we’ll get him back. 

“The new king is a cruel man,” you spat bitterly. “There is no telling he’ll keep his word.”

“But I have to try,” Hongjoong continued desperately. “I owe it to Jongho to try. His life is worth at least that much.”

And what of my life? What is my life worth? 

You closed your eyes, trying to block out his words, guilt and bitterness warring inside of you. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You didn’t ask to be a pawn in this terrible game of chess. You didn’t ask to be born into such a family. You just wanted to be happy, to be free. Were your dreams worth so little, were you that insignificant to the fates?

Hongjoong pulled away, composing himself and clearing his throat, “It seems I have upset you again. I am sorry.”

“Another apology?” you scoffed. 

“It seems I have many things to apologize for,” he laughed self-depreciatingly. “I am a man of many flaws, and these days there is little I can do right.”

“It wasn’t your fault either,” you blurted, feeling the sudden urge to comfort him. It was strange, you should have despised him, but you felt that you understood him in some way. And besides, it had always been in your nature to be the peacemaker, to always out the feelings of others before your own. 

“Of course it was. I was there. I watched them take him away and could do nothing about it.”

“The…your crew member’s captor. He is a cruel man. I am certain there was nothing you could have done to save him.”

It was Hongjoong who watched you carefully now, “Is that why you do not wish to return?”

You found yourself unable to answer him. There were no words to describe it. No way to speak the terrible things you had witnessed out loud, and if you did, you would only cause the captain further worry, as his crew member was still in the king’s possession. 

“You do not have to tell me, of course,” he amended quickly, finally stepping back to take his leave. “I shall let you get your rest, princess. I do hope you’re finding my bed to be far more comfortable than the floor.”

And then with a polite bow that seemed much too formal on one such as him, he was gone, leaving you to contemplate your pitiful existence. Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong felt your burdens deeply as well. His brief conversation with you made him feel even more guilty, but there was nothing to be done. He had a duty to his crew, to protect them and do whatever it took to ensure their life and safety. His crew had to come before some foreign princess. Jongho had to come before you. There was nothing else to do about it. 

The next morning you were pleasantly surprised to see that the door to Hongjoong’s chambers had been left unlocked again, and when you made your way to the deck early in the morning, no one stopped you. A few of the crew members nodded politely at you as you wandered the ship, and San even granted you a smile. Hongjoong, as usual, was nowhere to be seen, and briefly, you did wonder where he had managed to hole up when you had taken over his quarters. 

Over the next few days, you put your only plan into motion. You learned the names of every member of the crew, attentive in your endeavours. After your conversation with the captain, you realized that he wasn’t entirely cruel and that perhaps there was still hope. If you proved yourself to be a useful enough member of the crew, perhaps he’d let you stay. They were pirates after all, and surely, if they liked you enough, they’d manage to come up with a way to keep you as well as rescue their youngest crew member from the cruel king’s clutches. 

You helped Wooyoung in the galley, and Mingi with polishing the canons. You even offered to mop the decks; anything at all to remain useful. You had been schooled in the arts of diplomacy as a princess, but you found that you did not have to make a great effort to pretend to be interested in their tasks. You genuinely enjoyed hearing their stories as they amicably conversed, and watching them during the night, when despite the subdued air about them due to their missing member, there was a sense of camaraderie to them that you desperately yearned for. The way each of them cared and valued one another was truly astonishing, particularly to someone like you who had never before seen such friendships. 

Hongjoong’s relationship with them in particular awed you. You imagined a captain to be harsh and commanding with his crew, but Hongjoong was anything but. They obeyed him because they genuinely respected him, and valued what he had to say, and in return, he treated every single member aboard the ship with that same courtesy, everyone including you. Sometimes he’d flash you one of his charming smiles, as he’d go about his day, and you found yourself wishing to stay even more desperately. It felt almost pathetic, caring this much about a group of people who surely did not care for you. 

However, what you didn’t realize is that your desperate efforts had indeed endeared you to the crew, the captain most of all, and when the day arrived for the ship to dock at the harbour, the sky seemed overcast in shadow. 

It could be put off no longer. You had to be returned, and they would be reunited with their brother. You supposed you could beg, plead for them to let you stay, but if you were to bear what was to come, and their inevitable denial, you needed to hold on to whatever shred of dignity you had remaining. You would not cry, you would not say a word. With grace, you bid your goodbyes and hoped that you weren’t imagining it when the crew seemed almost sad to let you go. 

Perhaps they might remember you as they set sail on their next adventure. Perhaps your memory would receive the freedom your physical form could not. 

It was Hongjoong who led you to your castle, its towering spires no longer comforting. You held your head high, as the guards led you to the throne room where the usurper sat upon your father’s throne, wearing your father’s crown. To the side stood another three guards who held down a chained young man between them, beaten and bruised. Hongjoong’s fists clenched at the sight of him, so you imagined that this must be the infamous Jongho. 

“You have returned,” the king drawled, slowly descending the dais. “I did not think a pirate capable of it.”

“I am a man of my word,” Hongjoong stated through gritted teeth. 

“As am I,” the king gestured toward his guards who promptly let go of Jongho’s chains. “You may take your scoundrel and be gone.”

Before the king could reach you, and before Hongjoong could move toward Jongho, your hand shot out to grab his wrist. It was an unconscious movement, your body moving against your will. You had promised yourself to show dignity, you had promised that you would not beg, but you could not deny yourself this small act at least. 

Hongjoong looked at you in surprise, his heart hiccupping in his chest when he saw the tears pooling in your eyes. 

“Please,” you mumbled, fingers squeezing around his. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry.”

With great difficulty, he wrenched your hand away from his, lowering his gaze so that he did not have to watch as your expression plummeted at the act. He took measured steps toward Jongho, kneeling to help his crewmate stand, providing much-needed support to the injured man. 

You, on the other hand, swallowed bile as the king approached you slowly. When he was before you, he trailed a single finger down your cheek and you flinched, feeling sick. 

“I did miss you, you know,” he lamented. “You had to know, I’d do anything to have you back.”

Then he struck you. 

The blow was sharp, sending you sprawling to the floor with the force of it, but you pressed your lips together defiantly. You would not cry out. He would not get the satisfaction of watching you come undone. 

“Did you really think you could run away?” he snarled, grabbing you by the shoulder to haul you up. “There is nowhere that you could go to escape me. I would drag you back from the underworld if I had to, and if you are to meet death, it would only be by my hand.”

“You cannot command death,” you spat, despite the blood dripping from your lip. “Not even you are that powerful.”

“I commanded it just fine when I ended your family, and I can do the same to you if you do not silence yourself. We are to be married tomorrow, so I suggest you make your peace with it. There is nowhere to run anymore.”

Before you closed your eyes, your melancholy eyes met Hongjoong’s one last time as he strode out of the throne room, Jongho in tow. Despite everything, you could not bring yourself to hate him, and you hoped that perhaps he did not despise you that much after all. 

It was well past midnight when you heard the knock on your door. You had been moved to one of the towers, a prisoner within the stone walls until your impending nuptials, so you most certainly were not expecting visitors. It could only be one person and your blood ran cold. Having to marry him tomorrow was one thing, but if you had to see him tonight, you would fling yourself out of the balcony that very instant. 

The knock came again, urgent and sharp. 

“Go away,” you whispered. “Please, please, please, go away. I’ll marry you, so please, just go away.”

Another knock and rage bubbled in your chest. How dare he impose himself on you like this. How dare he take and take from you until you had nothing more left to give. No, you would not stand for it, but before you could make a move, the door wrenched open and there stood the last person you expected to see again. 

“Hongjoong?”

The captain was out of breath, and there was a nasty cut on his forehead that bled into his eyes, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. He did not let you utter a word before grabbing your wrist and dragging you down the isolated hallway. A quick glance backward revealed the incapacitated guards that lay slumped at the threshold of your door and your brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Hongjoong, what are you—”

“I couldn’t leave you!” he blurted, still dragging you along, pausing every now and then to duck into a different alcove, or through some hidden passageway. “I couldn't bear to leave you behind.”

And it was true. The sight of you, teary eyes pleading with him as he walked away was the final straw. He would not have been able to live with himself if he had left you to the vile creature you were to marry, especially after seeing how he treated you. 

The two of you emerged into the dark night panting, the cool air soothing against the sting of tears in your eyes. 

“You came back for me?” you could hardly speak the words, lest they turned out not to be true.

“Of course, I came back for you. I had to!”

“But—”

“We still have to hurry. They might not have noticed you are missing just yet, but they soon will, and when they do, we need to have set sail far away from here.”

Only when you had reached the docks did he let you pause, ducking into an abandoned alleyway to catch your breath. 

“But, the others…”

Hongjoong laughed, “In case you hadn’t noticed, they adore you. They may even like you more than me if I’m being entirely honest. No doubt, they’d have threatened mutiny if I did not bring you back.”

Your shoulders slumped, “So…you came back because of them?”

It was pathetic. You should have been grateful regardless, but you couldn’t help the stab of disappointment you felt. 

“No!” the captain frantically shook his head, taking your face in his hands ever so gently. “I came back because of you…because of me…because I could not bear not having you around. I came back because I had to.”

“Oh.”

“And I am sorry I have been such a fool. I should have done something different, planned it so that you did not have to spend even a moment with that wretch of a man who does not deserve one such as you.”

He brushed away your tears, his thumb pausing at your split lip. 

“I’m alright,” you tried to put on a brave smile, but it came out more of a grimace, and he chuckled. 

“No, you are not. And you do not have to pretend to be. Not here, not with me, not ever again.”

And then he was kissing you. It was just a mere brush of his lips against yours as if he was afraid of hurting you further, but he tasted of freedom and possibility and something so distinctly right with the world, that it stole the very breath from your lungs. 

It was over all too soon, and then he was pulling you forward again, eager to return to his crew and to the net adventure that now awaited the both of you. 

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one. Comment to be added to the taglist. Comments/reblogs are highly appreciated, as I'd love to hear what yall think <3

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Could I ask for an Alastor getting Hanahaki over Reader and everyone has to chip in to help him out? He's afraid of losing them as they're the only one who's never been afraid of Alastor (sure the Radio Demon part is creepy asf but Reader looks past it to befriend him) and would rather die alone then lose their presence.

The others figure out what Hanahaki is after finding him coughing up flowers one day and they each pitch in to help him through it; even Lucifer helps. And Charlie threatens Al with telling Rosie and Mimzy (you decide if they need to get involved)

Just everyone helping Alastor not second-die, him being confused as to why they're helping him and learning he has more friends then he realizes (and is nicer to them as it goes on) and also Reader being incredibly fucking confused as to what's been going on.

Sorry if it's a lot! And thank you in advance if you decide to write it ^-^

~~~ ALASTOR X READER ~~~

Hanahaki! Alastor x F!Reader

'A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and a man cannot live without love." - Max Muller

Trigger Warning: mentions abuse, vomiting, near-death experiences, cringe obliviousness

Alastor knew he was feared among mortals and sinners. He was the equivalent of a boogie man, so to speak. He had no time for trivial things like love, relationships, or weakness. He had to be strong, always ahead of the game, and ready to take anyone who dared to oppose him. Well, that was till you came along. You were an enigma; he had heard about you when you appeared in the realm of sinners; however, you were fierce in the human world. Every man that wrongly touched a woman or attacked a woman was soon dealt with by your hand. You tortured them, strung them up, and ended their lives slowly. Alastor was impressed, to say the least.

However, when you turned up on the Hotel's doorstep six months ago, you were anything but scary. You looked innocent, almost too innocent. Alastor tried so hard to hate you to think nothing but the worst in you, but you had a grip on him. It's not every day that someone is entirely unphased by him. The day you two met was like nothing before; everyone in hell knew of him and his reputation. You even did, too; you had to have known of this since Rosie was the one who suggested you find refuge in the Hotel. Yet you looked up at him when he loomed over you and just smiled.

The Radio Demon was known for the catchphrase 'never truly dressed without a smile,' but somehow yours was just as off-putting as his, like you learned something no one else ever would. He enjoyed that about you. That you were so full of kindness and energy but also something so dark and twisted. Before Alastor knew it, he took you in as an apprentice. The end goal is to teach you his ways and your soul; well, that would be his. That was always the plan to create a powerful accomplice to assist in his dirty deeds, yet something changed over time.

Alastor didn't remember when he started protecting, defending, or even fighting for you. It all happened out of nowhere. He hated all of it, but he couldn't stop himself. Slowly, as time passed, he sought guidance for these newfound emotions, leading us to now.

Alastor made his way to the bookshop in town, the best place to get anything involving the damned and dead. These newfound feelings could be an ailment of sorts, perhaps. As he perused the books, he bumped into you, of all people. Shocked, he spoke, "Hello, doll, good to see you here. Are you catching up on some light reading?"

As he said this, he looked down at the book in your hand and noticed the book was covered in an arrangement of flowers. It's odd for being a book in hell for it to look so innocent and cheap. As he was questioning the existence of this book, you spoke up. "Alastor, what a pleasure it is to see you here! I was researching sicknesses and curses from the mortal realm when I stumbled upon this book. It's pretty, no?"

Alastor looked at you and the sweet look in your eyes and couldn't help but nod in agreement with you. God, if he truly existed, needed to help get him whatever cure was necessary for these stupid thoughts. Alastor took the book from your hands, observing the details, and flipped through the pages gently. He looked back over to you when he spoke. "Dear, why don't I buy this for you? If I remember correctly, you have a date with Ms. Rosie soon. I would hate for you to miss your confidential meet-up."

You nodded gently, smiling that same eerie smile as always, making your way out the door, not before leaving a generous tip for the demon at the counter. You were always kind and gentle to those who had done no wrong to you or your loved ones. Yet when someone wronged anyone close to you, they would coincidentally go missing. You were like a gorgeous rose with those incredibly thin secret thorns. Alastor went to the front soon after you and placed the books you two had found on the front counter. As the shopkeeper looked up to see the grinning radio host, he just ducked back down, minding his business. Alastor smiled, dropping some coins in the jar before returning to the hotel.

Once inside, Alastor made his way to his tower, ready to read the books that may cure these insufferable feelings he has been having towards you. The first book on the document, "Freudian Emotions," As Alastor read through the book, he couldn't help but be mildly disgusted and enamored with the literature. Who just openly admits they were in love with their mother? Who was the man who wrote this book? Deeming the book unsatisfactory, Alastor moved on to the next, "How to know understand your darker feelings". This book pertains to many of Alastor's emotions when he was in the mood to kill or harm. Only the chapter 'Lust' has mild insinuations of the random emotions he was suddenly feeling. Another dud he surely would need to pay that shop keeps another visit to request better literature.

As Alastor thought everything was lost, he noticed your book again. Taking a closer look at it, one would call it eloquent. The sage green cover was adorned with thousands of different flowers. The title reading, "Ancient Alments of the Flowers and Gods," piqued his interest greatly. As he skimmed through the pages, he saw countless excerpts about those who scorned the gods and curses placed upon them. One specific page really caught his attention, it was about an ailment called 'Hanahaki'. Someone with feelings of unrequited love would profusely vomit flowers till their feelings were requited. The other option was an intense surgical procedure that would leave the person affected loveless. Underneath a picture of a young girl with flowers around her and coming out of her mouth was a message. It was hard to make out; Alastor moved the book closer to his face.

Squinting closer at the message, Alastor mumbled, 'A Flower Can Not Blossom Without Sunshine, Just As One Can Not Live Life Without Love.' As those words left his mouth, his fate was sealed. A sudden urge to get sick overtook Alastor as he dropped the book on the ground and ran to the bathroom down the hall. There, he passed a confused Angel Dust, putting on more makeup in the mirror. Alastor made it to the toilet where he proceeded to get violently ill.....with......flowers. Flowers? Why flowers? As Alastor tried to process the turn of events, Angel Dust popped his head in. "Uh, radio man, you good? I don't think I have ever seen you get sic- Oh god, why are there flowers everywhere?"

Before Alastor could pop his head up enough to respond, he threw up more flowers. Standing up woozy, he washed his face in the sink before turning to the spider demon. "I don't know what's wrong. I read this book Y/N bought, and now I am seemingly throwing up flowers."

Angel nodded, lending a hand to the demon and helping him straighten himself out. The two started to head out of the bathroom when the woman herself appeared out of nowhere. "Hi, guys! Oh, Alastor, are you okay?" Concern was evident in her voice, and it was adorable when she worried about him.

Before Alastor knew it, though, he was pushing Angel towards the girl and returning to throw up some more. With some gentle words from Angel and a lot of persistence, finally Y/N left. Once she was far enough away, Alastor was freed from the clutches of flowers once again. Sighing, he turned to the spider demon, "Angel, good fellow, I need to find where I dropped that book."

Angel joined Alastor in the hunt for the book and kept Y/N away. Luckily, they made it back to the radio tower unscathed. Once the book was found, Angel and Alastor began digging into it. Nothing came of it except a simple smirk from Angel. "Alastor, do you have feelings for little Miss Y/N?"

Alastor looked at the demon, puzzled. What a stupid question to ask while he was here, vomiting flowers. Yes, he had some odd feelings he didn't understand right now, but nothing like what that stupid book described. Angel sighed, shaking his head, and went for the door. Alastor was in a panic, "Where are you going? Are you not going to help me?"

Angel turned to Alastor, "I'm going to get more help because you obviously don't realize what everyone has been seeing since the day that girl arrived."

Alastor looked at Angel quizzically as he left. Sitting on the floor of the tower, he thought about everything. He understood the explanation of the curse in that stupid book was about someone loving another who didn't return the feelings, but he had never experienced love before. Well, he had for his momma, but not another. Would he describe these odd feelings he had for you as love? While lost in thought, Angel appeared with Husk, Charlie, and Vaggie hot on his tail.

As Alastor was snapped out of his thoughts, a concerned Charlie appeared before him. "Alastor! Angel told us everything. Are you alright? Where is Y/N? Should she be here too?"

As the young girl's name left the princess's lips, the sick feeling happened again. He turned to his side and started to vomit more flowers. Everyone was in shock. When he was done, he turned and looked up at the others. Angel picked up the cursed book and handed it to the others for them to read. It clicked for everyone as soon as they got to the message at the bottom. Alastor was in love but didn't realize it.

Alastor sat weak and groggy, observing from the sideline as everyone huddled together. Rolling his eyes, he went to stand and go about his day when he was ushered into his seat by the group. Now, sitting in his hosting chair, everyone lined up before him. Charlie stepped forward, "Alastor, you are in love with Y/N!"

Again, as the name left Charlie's lips, Alastor doubled over, vomiting profusely. Flowers littered the room; all anyone really could think was that at least it smelt good. Angel placed his hand on the Radio Demon's shoulder and turned to Charlie, "Toots, I think we should avoid saying her name for now until at least we come up with a plan."

Alastor shook his head and looked up. "Where is she? I don't know what will happen if I see her again right now. Just her name is causing this. I would hate for it to be worse."

Everyone nodded. Husk said, "After Angel told me what was happening, I convinced her Rosie needed her." A sigh of relief was heard from everyone in the room. Alastor looked to the crew in front of him and spoke again, "I don't even know what love is, so why has that damned book cursed me?"

The group looked at each other and nodded, lining back up. Angel stepped forward first: "Exhibit A, When she who shall not be named appeared at the hotel, she was unafraid of you. You came to me later that evening and asked if your name was still prevalent in the demon community. When I confirmed it was, you stared at her for hours and kept mumbling, 'Fascinating, truly fascinating.'

Alastor blanched at the omission, not ready for the retelling of the last six months of his life. He couldn't deny, though, that having someone not immediately afraid of him was refreshing. Over the six months he had known you, he repeatedly tried to make you scared. Nothing happened, though. You always just smiled and went about your day with him.

Next up was Vaggie, "When we were all practicing for the war with the angels, and she was fighting with one of the cannibals, you asked me how her form was so perfect. You were enamored with her when I explained that she had to have been a fighter in one of her lifetimes. I don't think you stopped staring at her while she was practicing that whole day."

Alastor turned his head away from his friends, feeling a bit warm. He couldn't deny your fighting form was gorgeous. You were fierce on the field that day. Constantly slaying enemies, though you were beautiful in red, the Gold that adorned your face after you slew the angels was something else. Not to mention, you were the one who found him in the wreckage of the radio tower that day. You helped him and tended to his wounds before returning to the others during the rebuild phase. He vividly remembers how you were right there, so close yet so far.

Husk stepped up to the plate: "The night that she drank herself silly at the bar after losing Pentious, you sat with her the whole night while she talked. You never do that, and I would know. You even carried her to her room when she passed out."

It was confirmed that he watched you drink your heart out once the hotel was rebuilt. Crying profusely over the snake man. A part of him felt anger that you felt so strongly towards another, but it also hurt him to see someone he 'cared' for hurting. When you finally passed out, he realized how soft your features were. You were so calm and delicate but also so fierce and aggressive. He picked you up so delicately and carried you to your room across the hotel. When he laid you down, you gripped him and mumbled, 'Be safe, Alastor, please.' Hearing that, his heart was alight.

Finally, Charlie took center stage, " On top of all these instances, you've not once asked for her soul, nor have you made a deal with her, nor have you made any insulting comments."

Alastor stalled....was that true? He knew deep down it was. He continually lied to himself; he was only interested in you because he wanted your soul. Did he really want to force you into servitude, though? Everything came crashing down on Alastor so quickly. There was no way was he....was he...in love. As the pieces clicked for the Radio Demon he hunched over in the chair spilling his guts full of flowers out, this time they weren't just any flowers, they were Roses. He always compared you to roses, your beautiful soft exterior covered with those hidden thorns.

As the coughing of flowers ended, he looked at his friends. They all were smiling, waiting for him to admit it himself. Alastor didn't know what scared him the most: that he loved you or that all these people cared enough about him to remember such antics. Did these people actually have so little time in their dreary lives? "Thank you all for the trip down memory lane, though I understand I apparently love......her......how does this help my situation?"

The group looked astonished at the thanks but contemplated the weight of his words. It's great he understood, but how did you feel? You were an enigma to everyone, eager to help and lend a hand but keeping your heart close to your chest. Charlie, in all her wisdom, spoke, "Go to Rosies and profess your love right now! No woman can resist a sweet confession!"

Angel laughed, "Sorry, toots, but I would deny a man who went to tell me he loved me and then vomited on me."

Husk said, "At least the vomit is flowers that could be a plus if not mildly concerning for the girl."

Alastor listened to everyone's points; going to Rosie wouldn't do, and it would just be too much and embarrassing. He had a front to keep all these other demons in the realm, still had to know who was in charge. While everyone was deep in thought, the door to the radio tower opened. Everyone turned to the noise. Alastor, still sitting, couldn't see what was happening. "I heard from a little birdie's phone that we need a magical love confession!" Oh god not Lucifer, may an Exicutioner strike Alastor down now.

"Dad! Yes, Alastor needs an amazing proposal that won't be hindered by his uh issues." Charlie exclaimed.

"Oh, you are talking to the king of romance, baby! Here's the plan!"

~~~~~ Time Jump ~~~~~

A week had passed since Alastor came to terms with his feelings and realized he had more friends than not. However, this elaborate plan for each person in the hotel to try and get Y/N to confess she had feelings too was becoming too much. The symptoms of the Hanahaki were becoming too much. Her voice alone now was making him vomit. So far, each attempted love confession ended with the girl being overly confused and concerned about where Alastor was hiding. They usually were inseparable, but he had avoided her for a week since the bookstore.

This is where Lucifer's plan came to a head; see what he told everyone to do: get her to confess. In reality, he planted the seeds of worry and doubt in the young girl's mind. If she also loved Alastor, she would seek him out and confess herself. Maybe she was just as oblivious as the Radio Demon. The sweet, innocent young demon was starting to bear her fangs and claws, as luck would have it. Lucifer was an avid Kdrama stan. Of course, he knew how this troupe would play out and took the right amount of push from the group.

Alastor was also growing to miss you; the more he agreed with his feelings, the more he was worried about what you were doing if you hated him for disappearing, and if you were going to accept him. As the thoughts plagued his mind, a timid knock was heard on his door. Standing up and straightening himself out, Alastor opened the door. There you stood in all your glory. He could tell you hadn't been sleeping from the bags under your eyes, and you looked a little pale, probably from not caring for yourself from worry. He was so happy to see you, ecstatic that you cared! Well, till he started to vomit flowers again.

Panic ran across your face as you reached out to help Alastor; however, your touch only worsened things. The flowers were changing colors; rushing to sit him down, you noticed the book you had wanted to buy a week ago. Picking it up on the page it was on, you saw the term 'Hanahaki.' Reading through the page after noticing the girl in the picture had the same ailment as Alastor, you grew upset. He was in love with someone....who? You got to the part of the passage that has a message. 'A Flower Can Not Blossom Without Sunshine, Just As One Can Not Live Life Without Love.' As you spoke those words, Alastor grew worried. What if the same aliment that was affecting him now also affected you. Not only would he worry about your health, but he would know you didn't love him.

After a few minutes, nothing happened; Alastor didn't know how to feel. Were you not in love at all? While contemplating all these thoughts, the flowers came up again, so you didn't love him back; he would have to resort to some stupid surgery to be okay again. Coughing out the last flowers, Alastor stood, "I'll be fine, doll. Just leave me be."

"Who is she...or he...whoever?" He could hear the sadness in your voice. Why were you asking him who caused his ailment?

"Never mind....we should get you help.... or get you to confess something so you can live normally again." You were doing everything in your power to hold back the tears. Alastor reached out and moved some fallen hair behind your ear.

"Who do you want me to be in love with?" Alastor spoke timidly for the first time in his lifetimes since he was a child. He was afraid of your rejection, the illness, something, anything. You did so many strange things to him. As you looked up into his eyes and he saw the hints of tears forming, for once, he didn't feel like vomiting. Slowly inching forward, he placed a soft kiss on your lips. Gently, like at any moment, everything could be ruined.

When you kissed back, Alastor felt light. Once you two pulled away for air, he was prepared for more flowers. Your voice alone made him throw them up; he was worried about touching you. Nothing came. He looked down at you once more and smiled his signature grin. "Doll, I dare say, do you love me back? No wonder you didn't get cursed with the ailment when you read the passage."

You smiled softly at him, wrapping him in a hug. Things were back to normal again, and now, with you two together, hell had a whole new list of worries to deal with. Who knew the Radio Demon would only grow stronger once he found the love of his lifetime?