#<- i am being true to my word as stated in the tags of my prev reblog 😌

[creatureprofessor]

[piastappies]

📸 BETTER THAN REVENGE

synopsis. after a fight with sirius, regulus comes to his girlfriend sulking and she decides to have a little talk with his older brother.

notes. regulus black x malfoy!reader

you and regulus had many more similarities than anyone could guess just by simply looking at the two of you. the most obvious included your background — ancient, pureblood families, who were nuts about purity, both in slytherin, both richer than most of the hogwarts students together, and in everyone’s eyes you were petty, stubborn and pretentious.

you two were petty and seemed pretentious, but it wasn’t all that. the two of you both had siblings, who maybe cared about you in some way, but never showed it well enough for you to be sure they cared. you were sure sirius cared, but you weren’t sure if lucius did. your brother was far from being a family guy.

both you and regulus were also painfully ambitious, and it kind of made the two of you so close as you were paired to one group in slughorn’s classes, and to secure yourself a top spot, you had to work together. and so half a year later, you were planning a trip to france, lying next to each other on the bed in his dorm.

after that one summer everything has changed, and now you two were an official couple, though not many people knew since neither of you wanted to make a big deal out of it. the amount of classes you shared had shrunken since you took different ones, but it just made your bond stronger.

it all happened on a week before both of you were supposed to return to your respective houses (though, regulus would be staying at potter’s), you were wrapping your present for barty, when your boyfriend stormed into the room. pandora, who sat there with you, claimed she would leave you two alone and left. you could easily see that something happened from the look on his face.

“reg,” you began, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden appearance. “is everything alright, love?” a soft ask left your lips as he just laid down on your bed, face buried in a pillow.

silence filled your room right after you finished your sentence. it was time for you to just sigh quietly, putting a hand on his back and scratching it gently. “you know you can talk to me, right?” your soft tone and the sensation of your nails on his back made him grunt.

“i’m not leaving for christmas.” he stated, catching you a little off guard. you were sure it was about the upcoming christmas ball that slughorn threw and since you were invited, regulus was ought to go with you. “i… got into a fight with sirius, so either we make up or i’m gonna go to my parents.” now, he was looking at you with misery and sadness flickering in his eyes.

“he thinks james is more of a brother to him than i am.” regulus adds, his head now resting on top of your laps as you play with his hair, trying to comfort him at least a little. “and he says it’s not that big of a deal, since i consider evan and barty my brothers and i’d probably say that they’re more of brothers to me than he is, but that’s not true.”

his words made your heart ache. it was clear to everyone in your friend group (including remus, who often just tagged along) to know how much regulus needed sirius’ validation, how much he needed to be reassured that he doesn’t hate him as much as regulus thought he did.

“i know we haven’t talked until he moved out, but it still hurts.” he whispered, not even looking you in the eyes. “and he doesn’t even recognize how much he means to me. he’s the only one in our entire family that matters more than everything. i got his initials and constellations tattooed and he thinks i would choose barty and evan over him?”

“you’re brother is an idiot, and i mean it.” you murmured, showering his head with kisses. if regulus was in his usual mood, he would say he just acts like an idiot, but now? he didn’t even want to defend him. “i’ll stay with you. i’d go nuts if i had to spend a minute with lucius.” you say softly, fingers running through his hair.

it took you a few more minutes to comfort him enough to leave your dorm for his evening practice, and even though you were supposed to finish packing your presents before christmas. you had to talk to one, annoying gryffindor, who was no other than sirius black.

getting into their common room was easy, lily, friend of a friend of yours, let you in after hearing your explanation, showing you how to get into sirius�� dorm that he shared with james, remus and peter. “one of you better hold me or i might kill your friend.” you let out, looking specifically remus, who looked at you with a glint of surprise.

“what did he do again?” lupin asked, his expression scolding. “what’re you doin’ here, malfoy?” peter began, but before he could elaborate, remus put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head as you looked for the perfect words.

“how can you be such an asshole, black?” you hissed, the end of your wand pointed at his throat. “one time you’re all on being the best older brother you can, but next time all i see in yourself is my brother, and believe me, that’s the furthest from a compliment.”

“i’m not done, yet.” your teeth gritted, eyes narrowed at him. “he’d never choose anyone over you, yet you’d always choose him —” you looked at james for half a second, then turned your eyes to sirius, again. “— over your own brother, who’d jump into flames just if you asked him to? unbelievable.” you sighed, putting your wand down, sliding it into your boot. “and you know what’s the worst in all that? that i wish he’d pick anyone else over you, but he won’t, because he can’t even get mad at you for not choosing him, he’s just sad.”

the atmosphere in the room is so tense, someone could cut it with knife. “you’re an idiot for making regulus feel so little about himself, and y’all are idiots for letting him.” another sight left your lips as your eyes were locked with sirius. “maybe even regulus will let you treat him like shit, but i won’t, black. i’ll make sure to haunt your dreams and turn them into nightmares, i can promise you that.” you gave him your most ironical smile. “i’m a malfoy, don’t underestimate me, cutie pie.” you sent him a wink,

“protective girlfriend, huh?” remus chuckled as you passed him, giving you a high-five. “oh you bet, lupin.” and you left, sirius almost shamless at your sudden outburst, but… it was quite impressive — though, he’d never admit it.

you haven’t seen neither of them till the next morning at breakfast, when they walked to the great hall together, talking about something until each of them got to their respective tables. “what did you do?” regulus asked, sitting on the bench beside you.

“what?” you asked with a sweet smile, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “just had a small talk with sirius, why?”

“a small talk? with the tip of your wand pressed against his throat?” you nodded at his words, sending him a fake-puzzled look. “you know i love you?” he bit back a smile, leaning closer to whisper those words right to your ear.

“oi, malfoy.” barty started, interrupting your somehow intimate moment with regulus. “theoretically, if i paid you, could you do that to me as well? that must’ve looked bloody hot.” crouch grinned, getting a light punch on the shoulder from your boyfriend.

“i would rather not touch you, crouch. i don’t know where the hell have you been.” you laughed, your head resting on regulus’ shoulder as his arm was wrapped around your waist. “don’t worry, baby. if any of them bothers you, i can fight.” you winked at him playfully.

[guiltyasdave]

hold on to this lullaby

chapter 4 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, implied death of a character, the angst is once again angsting, reader's thoughts have suicidal undertones sometimes

a/n: girlie is once again going through it. i know that we're moving at a very slow pace but the chemistry is growing, slowly but steadily :)

shoutout to @toomanytookas who left the most thoughtful analysis on the last chapter, and noticed how the doors being open or closed works as a metaphor for the state of their relationship. looking back, that is very true, but truth be told, it wasn't a conscious writing choice on my part lol. i love it so much though and am now using it very purposefully, so thank you for bringing that to my attention and just for being so incredibly kind <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

You’re running through the woods, running, running. Searching for something, someone, that you know you won’t find. 

Keep them safe. Promise me. We’ll be there soon. 

No one’s safe. No one’s coming. No one’s there. Your hands are wet, dripping with red, leaving a trail behind you. You trip, falling down to your knees, hands sinking into the earth. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to find. 

Still, you have to keep running. Running running running, searching searching searching. Keep them safe. Promise me. 

You’re used to it. 

Eyes flying open to suffocating, disorienting darkness, gasping for breath in the stale air of your room, the blanket much too heavy on your body. The images that your subconscious conjured up, still playing behind your eyelids. Your heart racing, your mind struggling to find its way back to reality. Lying alone in the darkness, only gradually able to discern your dream from your real life, the horrors blending into one another too intricately, too smilar to be separated. 

You’re still gasping, tears burning hot in your eyes and leaving wet tracks on your face. But it’s not dark, this time. And you’re not alone. The blurry shape of Joel slowly comes into focus, illuminated by the soft glow from the lamp on your nightstand. The weight of his hand is still resting on your shoulder, anchoring you to the present, and you realize that he must have shaken you awake. That you must have been loud.

You’ve wondered before, if you’re making noises, if the sobs that wrack through your body in your dreams follow you into reality. There’s never been a way to find out, before, but now it seems like they do, loud enough to travel through the closed door and wake Joel up. 

Heat blooms on your face, fueled by shame and guilt, both for disturbing his sleep and for your behavior earlier.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice stumbling over the words, thick with sleep and more tears. 

“Hey, no,” he replies softly, soothingly, his voice a deep rumble, his touch still firm on your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

You shrug, too exhausted to argue. His other arm twitches at his side, reaching towards you before he stops himself, sitting back on his haunches, groaning quietly at the movement. 

“You wanna–” he clears his throat, shifting slightly, “you wanna talk about it? Or is there anything else I can do?” 

You quickly shake your head, eyes trained on your hands that are clasped in your lap. He waits for another beat, before he hums, his knees creaking as he stands back up. 

You miss the feeling of his hand on you as soon as it disappears, but you can’t possibly bring yourself to ask for that, so you swallow against the lump in your throat, watching his retreating silhouette in your doorway.

“Joel?” Your hushed voice travels through the dimly lit room. He halts at once, turning back around to face you, the lines on his face somehow softer than you know them. “Could you— keep the door open? Just a little?” 

You’re awake for a long time after he leaves, at first listening to the fall of his quiet footsteps retreating to the other room, the faint rustle of his sheets as he gets back into bed, Ellie’s hushed voice and his responding grumble, but you can’t make out the words. When it’s quiet again, you retreat into the swirling mess inside your head. Unable to turn the light off, unable to close your eyes, terrified of the darkness and the images it might bring back.

You’ve tried not to think about it too hard, afraid of jinxing yourself, but you’ve noticed that you’ve slept better since Ellie and Joel have arrived. It’s like their presence, the change they’ve brought to your life, is enough to keep your mind occupied, like a safety blanket has been draped over you, keeping the worst of it away from you. But yesterday’s events must have ripped holes into it, must have brought the past and its pain to the forefront again. 

You drift back off eventually, nothingness engulfing your tired mind and pulling you into a dreamless sleep that you’re thankful for. 

You’re roused by the sounds from outside the door, the movements of someone being up filtering through the gap that Joel left open last night. It takes a while until you get your bearings, until the memories all come back to you. The familiar fear, the panic. The unfamiliar presence of someone beside you, of a touch on your shoulder.

Following the sounds, you find Joel in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, something that you usually do. You watch him for a second, taking in his messy morning hair, the specks of gray, the furrow of concentration in his brow as he’s stirring oatmeal. The steaming cup in his other hand, almost dwarfed by his large fingers, that you know must contain coffee. 

His eyes widen for a second when he notices you leaning against the doorframe, scrutinizing your face, gauging the state you’re in. You try a tentative smile, taking a step towards him, nodding towards the pot on the stove. 

“Thought breakfast was my job.” You’re pleased with how normal your voice sounds, nothing like the mess from last night. 

Joel shrugs, the expression on his face just a smidge too innocent, too casual. 

“You’re doing more than enough for us. Thought I’d let you sleep in.” 

You don’t have it in you to start a discussion about it, and you wouldn’t know how to explain this to him anyway. How you don’t want him to do things for you, don’t want to know what it’s like to have someone else care for you. Don’t want to feel how nice it is, even in such small doses. How you’re overly conscious of the fact that it will get taken away again before you know it, that you’d do well not to get used to it. How you’re not sure if you’ll be able to survive having something nice ripped away from you yet again. 

So you smile, mutter a thank you, Joel, and when he suggests that you take a shower, that he’ll be finished by the time you’re ready, you agree. Suddenly, you’re aware of the night’s sweat that has dried on your skin, clinging to you and making you feel sticky. Suddenly, you’re desperate to wash it off your skin, to leave the last night behind you and not look back.

With the stream of warm water raining down on you, the stiffness in your neck eases a bit and your breath’s coming more freely again, pieces of the tension that’s been coursing through you since last night slowly melting away. Still, you keep shivering, no matter how much you’re trying to open your body up to the warmth surrounding you, to let it drive out the coldness that’s emanating from your chest. 

Move on, your own voice echoes in your head. Keep living. The promise you’ve made to yourself, that you’re trying to keep, even though some days, you’re not sure why. 

Your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself when you enter the living area again. You’ve pulled on one of your warmest sweaters, one that you’ve knitted yourself, over the course of several long, lonely days, with nothing else to keep your hands and mind occupied. Still, you feel cold. 

Ellie is up now, sitting on the couch, a bowl of oatmeal all but forgotten in her lap and her nose buried in one of the comics you gave her, the artwork on the cover all too familiar to you. She jumps when she sees you, hastily stuffing the book in between her thigh and the cushion beside her, a guilty expression in her eyes as she looks at you. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles before you can say anything, her hands clasped in her lap. It breaks your heart to see her like this, to know that she heard you last night too. How much your behavior must have scared her. That she probably feels responsible, even though your mind was already in a bad state long before you’ve even met her. 

It does hurt, seeing those drawings of galactic adventures that you’ve seen a million times before, with another pair of eyes glued to the pages. Another child excitedly recounting the stories to you over and over, until you basically knew them by heart and listened to them time and time again anyway, because his happiness made you happy. 

The pain of it weighs heavy on you, but not as heavy as the urge to protect her from being hurt, to wipe that guilt off her face. 

“The pages are gonna crumple like that,” you say, softly, hoping to convey with your eyes what you don’t have the words for. 

She slowly pulls it back out, shooting you careful glances. “Are you sure?” She sounds so young right now, so unsure of herself, and yet she’s trying to look out for you, trying not to hurt you, when she really shouldn’t have to. 

You’re nodding, convincing the both of you, that it’s fine, that you’re fine. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “That one’s good, enjoy it.”

You duck into the kitchen, mumbling about urgently needing a cup of coffee. You’re certain that Joel has heard your conversation, and that he sees how glassy your eyes are, but he doesn’t comment on it, just quietly hands you a cup, his fingertips faintly grazing yours.

It’s a subdued kind of day. Both Ellie and Joel are trying hard to act casual around you, but you feel the lingering glances, notice the looks exchanged behind your back, the cloud of worry that’s surrounding both of them. It makes you nervous, weirdly conscious of your every movement. And you’re still cold.

You end up watching another cheap action movie that evening, Ellie curled up on the armchair while you and Joel are occupying the couch. Your chin is resting on your knees, arms wrapped around your legs, eyes fixed on the small TV. But your mind is wandering, barely taking in the scenes playing out on the screen.

Your thoughts keep going back to how Joel touched you last night, how his hand had rested on your shoulder. How good it had felt, how you have the inexplicable need to feel it happening again. How warm his hand had been. You wonder if his touch might be able to finally stop you from feeling like you’re slowly freezing from the inside.

Another involuntary shiver runs through you. Joel’s gaze slides from the screen to you beside him. He doesn’t ask if you’re cold, being familiar enough with you by now to know that you’d deny it. Even as another wave of coldness passes through you, causing your shoulders to tremble slightly.

His brow is creased with worry as he wordlessly leans over to you, spreading the blanket that had been folded over the armrest that he’s leaning against over your shoulders. Your lips tip up in a grateful smile, the long lost feeling of someone caring for you engulfing you in more warmth than the blanket could ever provide. You allow yourself to get lost in it, just for a little while. 

The blanket faintly smells like him, you realize as you pull it tighter around yourself and up to your chin, inhaling deeply. A different kind of warmth is creeping up your cheeks and you turn your face towards the TV once more, oblivious to the way Joel keeps watching you from the corner of his eye. 

When you go to bed later that evening, you leave your bedroom door ajar once again.

thank you for reading <3 comments, reblogs and asks are love and make my day every single time!

[jweekgoji]

[BW] Yandere!Dinobot/Reader [hcs/thoughts]

tw/tags: heat cycle, yandere themes, mentions of stalking, jealousy, possessiveness, a tinyy bit suggestive. word count: ~700 a/n: born to obsess over underrated characters forced to yap about the popular one (but I'm joking, I love them all, I'm just sad that Beast Wars is not talked about as much as other shows).

some quick thoughts in between requests because if I don't express it now, i will forget about it.

okay hear me out on...yandere Dinobot. I know Beast Wars is not really popular in the fandom, but oh my god, this ugly handsome man

we all saw that maximals/predacons share those animalistic traits that are connected to their beast modes. Rattrap likes to chew on scrap, Cheetor acts like a cat and even meows, Tigatron considers white tigers as some kind of family; Tarantulas and Blackarachnia have that rivalry for obvious reasons (bad for him).

it would be funny if they also had some type of cybertronian heat cycles.

even though Dinobot is heavily influenced by Jurassic Park velociraptors, I still feel like he'd act like a big bird rather than a lizard. or something in between, of course.

Yandere!Dinobot is overprotective and snappy as hell, to the point he considers even other maximals as a potential danger to you. Unlike more rational bots, Dinobot has no shame at all. It would cost him an arm and a leg to admit it to you, but he's actually jealous. Of what? There's no need to find any reason to explain his behavior once the season starts.

Yandere!Dinobot is vocal; he will growl, hiss and snap his teeth at anyone who tries to approach his mate. All maximals know that it's not the time to come near the two of you, but the unrespectful predacons...I'm a sucker for duos, their possibilities, and to imagine the dynamic between Megatron/Dinobot, both trying to court the poor reader.

But once the two of you are alone, I can see him having those rare moments where Dinobot lets himself relax. Most of the time he's in a constant state of alert, the dangerous mix of his primal instincts and  that warrior code of his just tells him to take you somewhere far-far away, so no maximal or predacon will get you. So maybe he can rest just for a little with you next to him. Dinobot definitely makes soft purrs, even to his own surprise.

Yandere!Dinobot is a stalker. Maybe, when it's just the start of the relationship between the two of you, he will try to somehow justify it, at least. Like, “I am just testing your skills, a true warrior must be always alert. You don't know when the predacons attack you next” , but the more you grow closer to him, the more he lets himself be a tiny bit warmer to you “You should not wander off alone. Stick closer to me”.

Read it, and don't forget a little personal nickname he has for you, which he adds at the end of the sentence.

It will also be funny to imagine Dinobot being a little too invested in building a nest. It also gets more awkward if your beast mode is some far different species. Why would he need to collect your stuff from your room? And why is he so adamant about you always staying in his room? He is holding you so tightly that you practically have no chance but to stay. So clueless!

“Is that [...] from my quarters?”

“Just be quiet and start recharging, you irresistible fool!”

Dinobot himself is a little embarrassed too if you start asking too many questions. He doesn't like being all vulnerable, even though he trusts you very much to know that you will never make fun of him. His own mind is clouded with not so innocent thoughts, and it actually becomes a big problem when he tries to focus on his training or fighting.

I don't think Dinobot would try to attract you with those silly dances reptiles/birds do to impress their mates, but when he is in his beast mode, you can definitely notice his tail wagging just a little bit when you're around. Rattrap probably picks on it faster than you and teases Dinobot about it until the two start fighting again.

[constantcrying]

Ersatz, baby

m!shape-shifter!yandere x gn!reader. 4k words. yes. I'm so sorry.

TW: Obsession, possessive thoughts and behaviors, mentions of violence, gore, consumption of humans, idk how to tag it but the shape-shifter eats humans and has considered eating the reader so like heads up about that

Heeeeey

Somebody PLEASE tell me if the length of this piece is detrimental to the experience of reading it it’s like 4k words. Here’s something I’ve been kicking around for ages. Frankly I am shocked I have something at all after a year

“Odd couple” is the best way to describe the friendship between you and Sasha. You’re awkward and responsible and outwardly boring. He’s highly social, wild, and intriguing. You’re genuine to a fault. He’s an expert in facades; he is a facade. You’re human and he’s something utterly not.

The freak accident of affection between you two is...still hard for him to wrap his head around. It seems to be your fault. If you weren’t so pitifully earnest toward him he would have just gotten rid of you. You were aware of his true nature, and definitely scared of it, but you kept going out of your way to be the Good Roommate™, to play friends. He had to let you live, just to see what the fuck your deal is. Now it’s too late. Now he wants you around.

You are the only person in the world that he has shown his real body to.

Some of his victims have seen it, but you’re the first person he intended to see it. The decision was quiet, perhaps a little impulsive. A simple exchange of “What are you, Sasha?” and “I don’t know. Wanna see?” had you both going to your bedroom and locking the door.

For the first time in his life, his heart pounded as he shed his clothes. He almost didn’t want you to turn around and look. It might be better if you only knew the carefully curated version of him, the handsome appearance he painstakingly crafted for the easiest social life. Even though you already knew he wasn’t human and pretended it didn’t matter, what if you saw him now and knew with absolute certainty that you didn’t want to look at him ever again? He would have to swallow you whole. He wasn’t sure if he could do it.

Regardless he said, “turn around.”

He showed you the unvarnished form that he had inherited from his mother. To be frank: It’s a predator’s body. Worse that that, it’s a monster’s. There are features and junctures of him so uncanny it must hurt the logical mind to observe them. If you were ever looking for the perfect rebuttal to the existence of a loving God, look no further than his cruel mouth.

He crept onto you bed looking like this, towering over you, your bed-frame screaming to protest the weight. He’d have to cut you off at the source, if you were to scream. And though he could smell the fear wafting from your skin, could practically feel the constricting blood vessels and tightening muscles in you, you still asked him, “Hey, is it more comfortable? Do you prefer being like this?”

Honestly? He isn’t sure there’s a body that’s comfortable and natural to him anymore. He’s so used to a human state that anything else feels awkward, even when it’s easier to shift to. As you took his massive claws into your hands and examined them with gentle curiosity, though, he was struck by the warmth of you. It was a long time since anyone had really touched him. It might’ve been even longer for you, loner that you are. Which meant you were the only person who could understand the way he felt in that moment.

He flopped over next to you, letting out an embarrassing dog-like whine, but you just laughed sweetly, and shifted pillows around to accommodate his bigger size. His feet and tail still dangled awkwardly off the bed. “You can relax in here,” you said. “You’re always welcome, since you’re my friend.”

You rambled about your classes and professors until all the adrenaline had left your system. He didn’t say much in response, but you didn’t mind. After a while, you could almost meet his preternatural gaze. You even dozed off like this, with a monster beside you, you utter weirdo. He put his head closer to your chest and felt your sleeping breaths for hours, thinking that your throat would be butter-soft under his teeth.

Sasha knows very little about what he really wants. He’s not sure if he’ll stay in his major, or in school, or even in human society. He knows for certain, though, that he wants more time to study you. He wants just your quiet voice and humble body heat and the understanding that, whatever he is, it isn’t going to chase you away.

So you two keep doing this. Every few days he’ll skulk over to where you are and make room for himself, and the two of you will talk for hours. Sometimes he shifts. He doesn’t always want to, but you get more comfortable with him that way. You...seem more keen to pet him when he looks and acts like an animal, and he wants you to touch him so bad he’s worried he’ll start asking for it. Could he ever live it down, if he started asking to be coddled? No. So he wags his tail and butts his head against you like that isn’t it’s own special brand of pathetic.

It’s not like you’re one to judge, though. You’re just so happy to have a friend that comes to hang out with you. You’ve never had very many of those, but of course Sasha knows he’s extra special. There’s much he’s learned about the world from his strange perspective, and you’re always excited to listen to his stories.

You do understand that he needs to eat a lot. You see him clear out four bacon cheeseburgers as a snack once, and he cracks jokes about how breakfast was red bull and adderall, but you know that it’s just a part of his biology that works against him. So you go out of your way to cook more meat, and give him bigger portions than anyone else, ignoring the way your blatant favoritism must look to the other roommates and occasional visitors. He doesn’t bother explaining that your idea of a big meal is like his idea of an appetizer, and he never will.

He doesn’t talk about the people he eats, either. He’s starting to think you don’t realize he does that.

(If you really don’t know, if this is the way you treat him when you don’t know, there’s no fucking way he can tell you.)

As for you, you talk about your courses and your classmates. From the way you talk around it, he’s mostly figured out the sad shape of your childhood and he decides that’s why you’re so weird and naive.

Mostly, you tell him about your hobbies, and your taste in TV shows. That’s when something in you is unlocked, revealing you to be more witty and giggly than your initial impression. It’s gratifying to know most other people don’t discover that side of you, like being the only prospector who knows where gold is. You tell him about everything you used to watch and play with your best friend, back when she had time for you. He’s a little confused by just how fervently you love things, how you start to care one day and then never, ever stop.

He never did it before, but now the two of you watch garbage TV together. (You tried to invite your best friend to join you, but to Sasha’s satisfaction, she gave you that cringing sort of smile and told you she didn’t have time.) Every Friday comes a new episode of Crater County, this schlocky supernatural police procedural, so every Thursday night you ask him to watch it with you. He’s a busy man, of course, but he’ll fit it into his schedule since he knows you so look forward to it.

This Thursday you must have forgot.

Somehow, in the early morning on Friday, you slip away without Sasha noticing. He wakes up to the honks of geese and distant cars, and the ever-present hum of electricity. As he thinks of pestering you to make ham and eggs, just to watch you get annoyed, he notices the conspicuous lack of your heartbeat.

He knows better than to doubt his hearing. But he still goes into your room across the hall to find the bed unmade and unoccupied. He almost goes to check your pillow for warmth, only stopping when he realizes it’s...stupid, to do that. He stays in the doorway for a long moment, overly-conscious of your scent. Then he goes to pace in the empty kitchen.

It hadn’t occurred to you to say goodbye to him, or leave him a portion of breakfast as you usually do, so you must have been in a hurry. Distantly, he remembers your fast food job. You probably got called to cover for someone at the last minute. Even so, shouldn’t you have said something to him? So that he wouldn’t wonder? Because he’s—

—well, you called him your friend.

It bothers him the more he thinks about it, while he showers and gets coffee and goes to class. The two of you haven’t talked since Monday and it feels weird. You always tell him when you’re going out, so what happened? Where can he even find you?

Not that he would need to find you. Sasha isn’t clingy. Clingy is his ex making alt account after alt account to pester him on instagram with stupid questions like, “are you seriously trying to ghost me you asshole?” And Sasha isn’t doing that. He hasn’t even texted you yet, because you haven’t texted him, and you always text first. If you don’t go through with the trouble of asking for him, he absolutely will not bother coming.

You haven’t sent so much as a “hey!” in the last seventeen times that he’s checked, so. Guess you guys aren’t hanging out. Whatever. It’s not like he doesn’t have stuff to do. He’s behind on several classes, a habitual skipper, and there are four other people begging him to come out tonight. He hasn’t hunted in a while so he should probably do that too.

He should go and talk to other humans, re-acquire their speech patterns and body language. He should catch himself when he makes gestures you would make, stop himself from making them. That’s why he goes to lunch with a friend group he met last month, and fits in with them seamlessly—or, almost seamlessly. No one can say he isn’t a good talker, slick as oil and quick with comebacks, but he’s a little more sensitive than usual today. While he’s in the middle of charming them he slips up and says something you would say.

“Isn’t that a Crater County reference you just made?” One girl says to him, stopping the conversation cold. “I thought you hated nerdy stuff like that.”

Sasha laughs shortly. “What? Says who?”

“Says you. You laughed at someone’s Supernatural tattoo at the party, remember?”

“It was a fucking horrendous tattoo. And I don’t like Crater Country or whatever, either, I just know some lines because my,” his throat feels like a desert, but he continues, “my roommate is obsessed with that shit.”

They brush over that thought soon enough, shifting focus to upcoming concerts, but Sasha can’t get comfortable again. He feels like he forgot how eyes work, and his are going to slip and turn reptilian in the middle of this well-populated restaurant. He’s scared his hands are going to morph into paws. In the end, he excuses himself before he can finish his meal.

Since he’s still quite hungry, Sasha decides he’ll drop by the butcher and get a few pounds of beef chuck to tide him over until dark. He’ll go to that fancy shop with all the grass-fed cruelty-free organic stuff, because he’s passionate about the well-fare of livestock, and definitely not because it’s just down the street from your job.

But since he’s there, anyway, he’ll pass by and peek through the windows to see what’s happening there.

Your restaurant is packed. A sports team, or special event or something, has filled every table in sight, and more people queue up at the register. You’re boxing fries and passing them over to waiting customers’ trays. Even though you’ve got mountains of food to work through, you’re smiling. It takes only a few seconds to find out why, following the arc of your eye up to a man in the same uniform as you.

The guy is tall and average-looking, and he keeps leaning toward you to talk like he doesn’t know how to speak loudly even though he works in a goddamn kitchen. Sasha doesn’t know him by face, or by word of mouth, since you’ve never told him about a co-worker that can make you giggle so much.

Why hadn’t you told Sasha about the funniest man of the century, huh?

More importantly, why hadn’t you noticed the way this asshole was looking at you? Staring so intently, exaggerating his expressions, mirroring you. All the same tricks Sasha has used before but with none of the grace, and yet somehow you liked it from this guy when Sasha had seemed scary to you.

He just can’t understand. That wouldn’t be such a problem if he hadn’t believed that he did understand you, and the way your mind worked. You had said Sasha was your friend and you had sat in the truth with him, relieved to see him for what he truly was, and you had been asking after his health and his happiness, wasting nights with him, cooking for him, cuddling up with him, and now here you were forgetting about his existence with another friend that he didn’t know about.

Sasha has been cheated on by a partner in the past. They left him one night and came back in the wee hours smelling like a fresh shower, with traces of someone else’s odor still clinging to them. It hadn’t felt like anything, to know that they were sneaking behind his back. Not a betrayal, no sting or ache in the heart he supposedly had. He broke up with them a week after, and that, like all his other breakups, was simply annoying. Sasha had always felt like he wasn’t with any of the people he was with. He was watching them, and touching them, and living among them, but there was some kind of invisible barrier between him and all the world. So when they broke a connection, well, what was there to even break? How could he care?

And why did being cheated on come to mind when he saw you happy with some other guy?

Sasha would later find out that you pulled a twelve hour shift that day, and, pushover that you were, you didn’t take a break long enough to check your phone. But he doesn’t stay to watch you, he really couldn’t. A pit had formed in his stomach, some void, some black hole that he had to attend to.

He leaves you there in your job and your apparent fun, none the wiser, and goes to the butcher. He gets himself a rack of ribs, and a few pounds of steak, and a heart just because the shop had one on hand and they were happy to serve a customer with such deep pockets as him. He gets a couple of cheeseburgers for the ride home and finishes them in a few bites.

As soon as he knows your other roommates aren’t home, he tears into the paper packaging of the prepared meats and gorges himself over the kitchen sink, soiling his shirt with myoglobin. It all tastes like ash, disappearing into him the way so many things do. When he’s done, when every last shred of flesh and sliver of bone has been swallowed, his stomach growls.

He’s always been this empty. Maybe that was the thing you saw that made you so afraid upon first meeting him—the bottomless trench that he actually was.

You said he was your friend. You knew what he was and didn’t back away. But you have so little else in your life. If you gained anything more, real friends, real family, a lover, wouldn’t someone as hollow and alien as Sasha be easily discarded?

There’s nothing for it. He has to go and hunt now.

Your co-worker is pitifully easy to discover. By checking the likes on your posts, he finds the creep has been hounding you for three weeks now. His unmitigated social media addiction leaves the entirety of his existence splatter across the internet. Sasha learns and forgets his name. He knows exactly what place he’ll be at tonight, with whom, for how long. He shifts to look exactly like you, heads out and stops at the right street corner with a bulky gym bag, waiting.

It’s so easy. Sasha can play You, but this guy hardly deserves all that effort. It’s enough to show up magically with your face, even if your clothes and piercings seem out of place. All Sasha has to do is bat lashes and flash a smile that he has already memorized—your stupid sincere grin that had made you, like the sun, difficult to look at directly—and this idiot thinks the person in front of him is really you, out on the same night by coincidence. He’s happy to see you, and happier still that you want to go somewhere together. He lets Sasha take him by the hand, convinced that the two of you are going out for drinks through innocuously empty backstreets. It doesn’t strike him as weird that you’re so energetic and flirty all of a sudden. Asshole.

He at least has the decency to carry the bag, no doubt hoping to come off as a gentleman.

“Why a duffel bag, anyway?” He marvels.

“To change clothes before I go home, silly,” Sasha tells him, leading him further into the night.

It turns out the co-worker is deeply uncomfortable with silence. He cracks jokes that aren’t funny, to which Sasha politely chuckles for what is only ten minutes but feels like an hour.

“When you kept turning me down,” he says, predictably, “I was worried you had a boyfriend or something.”

“Why would I not tell you if I had a boyfriend?” Sasha croons in your voice, fighting with all his will-power to not crush your co-worker’s hand. They’re finally on a quiet street, between two condemned houses, where there are no cameras and no pedestrians.

“Haha, I don’t know. You’re like, really private. That roommate you talk about all the time? The one going to the same school? I honestly feel like I know more about her than I know about you.”

“You mean, ‘him’? Sasha?” Sasha blinks owlishly with your eyes, his heart melting a little when he imagines you gushing about him to other people.

The guy laughs nervously. “No, I mean Maya. Is Sasha another roommate? Have you mentioned her before?”

Really. Maya. That “best friend” who basically pretends you don’t exist, who takes up valuable real estate in your mind when some people who have spent months getting to know you don’t even get a text.

Sasha gives up on looking friendly.

Your co-worker has finally sensed something is off, wincing as he tugs his hand out of Sasha’s vice-grip. Stretching out his fingers, he asks, “Hey, how much farther ‘til we get there? I swear we’ve passed like, three bars already...”

He doesn’t get to say more because Sasha lets out his teeth and goes for the throat.

It must be said that a warm meal always beats a cold one, but other that that it’s a shitty fare, gristly and lacking in flavor. This guy’s blood, fresh from the veins, is flat and forgettable. Even the marrow of his bones disappoints. At least he didn’t put up a fight...though maybe some enrichment could have saved this boring dinner.

Sasha feels more bloated than full when it’s all over. He wipes down and changes into fresh clothes, stuffing all the bloody garments into the duffel bag. He still feels kinda gross, and considers a long, hot shower while picking muscle fibers from between his teeth.

Are you going to worry about your co-worker? Are you going to miss him? Will you cry if they identify his blood on clothes found in the dump? Will you even tell Sasha why you’re crying?

Sasha snaps out of his deep thoughts when his phone buzzes. The text from you reads:

hey! i forgot to ask, are you on for crater county tonight?

What the fuck. Renewed frustration flushes through his system. What is he, your backup plan? He has a life—actually, many more lives than you! You should know better than to screw around with his time. He shouldn’t even dignify your bullshit with a response, but he does anyway—

At a party

And your answer is,

oh ok

we’ll watch it some other time

have fun!

…

Stay safe ok! Call me if you need something

It’s such a low blow he has to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose: you’re telling him all the same things he’s heard you tell Maya when she blows you off. He can hear the disappointment and embarrassment in your voice, the way you assure her of your eternal affection and concern while she practically dismisses you. Once he’s imagining your face, then, all he wants in the world is to look at it.

He’s a good runner. He’s barely out of breath when he arrives home, tossing aside his sweaty hoodie and kicking off his shoes while he quietly closes the door behind him. The dishwasher is running. He can just make out the low moan of the central air system, and one lazy heart thumping in the living room.

For a moment you don’t notice that Sasha is there. He gets to watch you quietly. You’re languishing on the couch in your bedclothes, staring blankly at the No Signal screen on the TV with a bowl of popcorn untouched on the coffee table. It surprises him. He hasn’t seen you with an expression this dull in a while.

But it disappears in an instant.

“Sasha!” You bolt upright, your face brightening like the sky at dawn when you find him standing in the doorway. “Did the party end already?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

You glance back at the TV. “Um, I swear I wasn’t going to watch without you! I was just…”

“Were you waiting for me?” He asks.

Your expression flickers, betraying the anxiety in your eyes before you have the chance to look away. Why did he even bother to ask? You’re here for him, like a puppy waiting for their owner, and suddenly he’s flushed and queasy—no, it’s not sickness that he feels, it’s butterflies. He’s so delighted he feels dumb, all of his frustration and embarrassing angst vanishing in an instant because all he can think of is how sweet you are.

“Ah,” he laughs dryly. “I’m screwed.”

Before you even know to cry out, he’s thrown himself at you, arms coiling around your waist. The two of you fall back on the couch.

When you get your bearings, you scold him. “Sasha, don’t just do that! You scared me!”

He mumbles, “I had a bad day.”

“...you did?” Your left hand cups his head, almost protectively, and your right strokes his back. “What happened? You’re not hurt, right? Are you hungry? I have some stuff in the fridge—”

“Can we just stay like this?” He asks.

“U-um. Well...” You must be thinking of your other roommates, who could walk in on this scene and “misunderstand” the relationship you have with him. You don’t want to cause weird rumors or tension. But he wants you so much he can’t pretend to be above it anymore. He squeezes you just a little bit, betraying his own desperation, so you say tenderly, “Of course we can.”

It’s scary to be honest. Sasha considers it contrary to his nature. However, he has never in his life avoided adapting or transforming to get what he wants. If he has to bare himself again to endear himself to you, he’ll do it.

“You’re the best friend I have,” he admits, “and I didn’t see you all day, and I missed you.”

Your heart quickens. “Sasha…”

“I know I’m being clingy. I just can’t help it. Say you missed me too. Say I matter to you.”

“I did miss you,” you murmur, your smile bleeding into your voice. You pull him closer. “It feels wrong when we don’t talk all day. And I worry about you, you know. I never see you make a proper meal.”

“I like it better when you make it. So keep cooking for me. Please.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” you say.

His whole body thrums with satisfaction. You care about him so much he can feel it all the way through. He’s soaking up your warmth and savoring your smell, face pressed into your neck. Twisting his hands into your shirt, he finds that he resents your clothes. He even resents your flesh and bones for barring direct access to your heart. Right now, though, he’s almost content with a body in his grasp, a pulse fluttering under his lips.

God help him, he’s been starving for this.

[boyfhee]

UNKISS ⋆ nrk

prompt · “you're so dumb” insert fond smile requested

g · bittersweet / fluff warnings · kissing, profanities wc · 0.9k

note · hi lily i hope u like this :< pls take care of urself, yeah? i luv u, and thanks to @flwrshee and @dokiyeom for beta reading + helping me with the ending. i asked both of them for advice and used neither's 😆☝️ go follow them

riki follows you closely behind as you rush down from the hallways to the middle of the football ground for some reason, anger spilling around with every step you take. “riki, what the fuck? what the actual fuck? how could y— why did you do that?” 

“relax, it was just a kiss,” and his voice is calm, like it’s just a kiss, just a moment where his lips touched yours, like it’s an everyday thing, as if you’re making a big deal out of it by making it sound like he just committed a crime. you don’t know why or how he’s so normal about this while you feel every nerve in your body go off with sirens. 

“my first kiss,” you turn around hastily, your index finger pointed at him as he takes a step back to avoid crashing into you. “it was my first kiss, riki, and you took it. you, and you’re not even my boyfriend,” 

is this supposed to be a secret? yes. are you in the middle of the football ground throwing a tantrum like a five year old, for the world to know? also yes, and you couldn’t care less, actually. the fact that riki took your first kiss easily tops your list of concerns at the moment. 

“i am,” he blinks, as if he’s stating a fact, hands on his waist like he’s making a completely valid point. “a fake one, but i am still your boyfriend,” you roll your eyes, scoffing at his oh so true words before shooting him a glare. 

“that doesn’t even make sense. i thought i made it clear when i said ‘no kissing,’ at the beginning of this fake dating thing,” there were three rules, actually— no kissing, none of you are allowed to go on dates with someone else, this is a secret which means, none of you are allowed to breathe a word about this to anyone, not even your best friends. 

“well, what do you expect me to do when your friends dare me to kiss you?” another factual information falls off his lips, it’s actually true this time. truth and dare with friends— never a good option, especially when you’re playing with your fake boyfriend and when your friends are spawns of the devil. 

“i don’t know, you should’ve made an excuse to not kiss me, or you could’ve pretended to kiss me, you know, since this is all about pretending,” right, all about pretending, from pretending to date, to pretending to like each other, fake smiles and fake words of affirmations, fake sweet nothings whispered and fake claims of being in love— it’s all about pretending and riki, he isn’t enjoying this little play at all.

he doesn’t like that every i love you that leaves his mouth manages to convince the world but you. he hates that at the end of the day, every second spent with him is simply tagged as ‘fake dating’ under the chapters named after him in your life. riki despises the fact that no matter how true his feelings are, in your eyes, they’re just an act pulled by him to convince people he doesn’t care about, and he hates himself for not being able to tell you how he actually feels. 

“eh, what’s done is done. besides, it can’t be that bad to kiss me,” so, he just picks up pieces of you from the smiles and hugs you give him here and there, hoping that there will be a day when you will actually consider turning whatever you two have into something more serious, something real.  

you feel your cheeks heat up at his words as you turn around to face away from him. truthfully, the kiss wasn’t half bad. it only lasted for a few seconds, but the ghost of his lips still lingers over yours as if you’re the home they’ve been looking for. you can still taste faint flavour of strawberry from the strawberry milk he had during the game. the moment replays at the back of your head like a movie, one that makes your heart beat relentlessly everytime you think about it. you don’t even know why your mind keeps travelling back to it every now and then. 

“whatever, ‘ki, first kisses are important to me,” you like the fact that he hasn’t noticed your flustered face, he likes the little name you’ve given him unknowingly. “i wish we could just…unkiss or something,” 

“that isn’t even a thing,” he chuckles, earning another glare from you in return. “you’re so dumb,” your words make no sense, but riki can feel himself smiling fondly at your stupid thoughts, his eyes fixed on you while yours are staring at the horizon with slight annoyance. what you said is baseless, but the next second, he’s actually considering it; to unkiss, if that’s even a thing— he can make it a thing, perhaps,

the next thing you know, riki is cupping your face to make you look at him, and before you could say something, his lips are on yours again, catching you by surprise as he pulls you a little closer. you swear your heart might’ve just skipped several beats, another second passes as you process the situation, and riki pulls away the very next moment. “there, i returned your first kiss back to you,” 

and all it took riki is a kiss to find his way to your head, and an unkiss to find his way to your heart.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 13

Hello!!! We are back for another lovely chapter of this fic. It's still going strong and I have hit Act 3. I don't know how many chapters of that there will be, but I'm to the happy parts of the story. So yay!!!

In this we find out who our little elf is, and Steve makes an instant friend. Then he tries sushi with disastrous results.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Pt 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

~

Steve watched as she turned in slow motion and her eyes go wide. She then threw her hands over her eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you!” she shrieked. “Please put your shirt back on!”

He huffed out a laugh and then went over to the dresser and pulled out a old t-shirt. “There, I’m all dressed. Now tell me who you are.”

“I’m Robin Buckley!” she squeaked. “I’m sixteen and about to enter my senior year of high school, my Uncle Justin got me the job as a PA for the band Corroded Coffin, but my mom was worried about the band taking advantage of me, so she insisted I stay in Hawkins. Which worked out great because I got the task of sneaking stuff in your hotel room, which is also great because I’m super stealthy!”

Steve smiled, immediately taking a liking to her. “Wow that was a lot. Nice to finally put a name and a face to the person who keeps sneaking into my room while I’m showering.”

Robin blinked for a minute before she realized the implication of that. “Oh shit! You must have thought I was a creep or something. God, I’m so sorry!”

“Something like that,” Steve said, tilting his head and chuckling. “But now that I’ve met you, it’ll be easier to drop stuff off whenever and not have to wait for me to be gone or out of the main room.”

“You don’t mind that I can just walk in?” she asked in confusion.

Steve shrugged. “The cleaning staff do it all the time. Unless I put out the tag that says do not disturb, they just come in to do their job. That’s how I made friends with Carla and Juan. They’re teaching me Spanish!”

Robin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re learning Spanish from the cleaning crew?”

He walked up and flopped on the sofa, kicking his feet up. “Juan is teaching me all the swear words first.”

“Wow,” she said, sinking into a nearby chair. “Don’t you have other friends that come see you?”

Steve shook his head. “All my friends abandoned me when my dad caught me and my boyfriend on the sofa making out. I can’t tell anyone else where I am because my dad could find me and beat the shit out of me for not leaving town like he wanted.”

“Wait...” Robin said, “Are you Steve Harrington?”

He reared his head back in confusion. “I mean yeah, weren’t you told who I was?”

She got up and pushed his feet to the floor to sit on the sofa next to him. “Holy shit, dude. No one knows where you’ve been. There have rumors about you still being seen around town, but your like a local cryptid or some shit. All anyone knows is that you’ve been laying low.”

Steve sat up straight. “Wait, really?” He burst out laughing. “I guess being registered at the hotel as Steve Munson is really doing its job.”

“Yeah,” Robin said enthusiastically, “even my mom thinks your his cousin. She’s been broadly hinting that I should accidentally meet you so you can date me.” She snorted. “Which even if you weren’t over eighteen, sorry you’re not my type.”

“Yeah, what is your type?” Steve asked. Robin pursed her lips and looked up. “Come on, who am I going to tell? Eddie and the band are about to be out of communication because they’re traveling out of country.”

“Girls.”

He snorted and then snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry. Um...like I just told you I was caught with my boyfriend and you were worried about telling me you like girls?”

She blinked at him for a moment and then gave a snort of her own. “Oops!”

Steve shook his head. “Hopeless. Just a couple of baby gays in the most backwater town in the whole fucking state. At least you can tell your mom that you’re not my type.”

“That’s true,” Robin said cocking her head to the side. “She didn’t want me traveling with the band because she was afraid that they would prey on a teenage girl. Like I feel like I would be safer with them then some stranger in a hotel room, but...” she shrugged.

“Mom logic,” Steve said, nodding, “can’t argue with it and can’t make it make sense either.”

Robin threw her arms in the air. “Exactly!” She looked around the room and spotted the presents she was supposed to have leaving for him.

“The presents!”

“The shower!” Steve shouted at the same time and they both went running. Steve to the bathroom to turn of the water and Robin to grab the boxes from the sidebar.

They met back in the middle. Robin shoved the boxes at him.

“I want to know what’s in them,” she said brazenly. “I’m not allowed to peek and I really want to know about everything Eddie Munson is sending you.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “It could be sex toys you know. Are you sure you want to see what’s in here?”

“Yes!” she huffed and smacked his arm. “Now open it!”

Steve opened the first box and inside was a beautiful yellow floor length robe with a note that said, ‘For that hot divorceé look!’

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. “Care to explain that one?”

“I was feeling down a couple of days ago because I was bored,” Steve explained trying not to laugh, “I said I felt like a divorceé who had taken her husband to the cleaners, but now was only left with riches and no company.”

She looked around the fancy hotel room like she was properly seeing it for the first time. She took in all the brass fittings, black marble, and leather furniture. It was pretty, but it was very much not a place someone lived in, only visited.

She couldn’t imagine staying here for as long as Steve had been here. “Oh.”

Steve shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with her pity. So he opened the other present. It was a much smaller box, he had wanted to open the big one first because he guessed it was probably clothes.

Inside was small golden music box that when he opened it it had a little yellow bird singing “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants. Only blue canary was swapped for yellow, mangling the song a little, but Steve was touched.

“What is with all the yellow stuff especially the yellow birds?” Robin asked as he handed it to her. She had spotted a lot of them as she looked around the room.

Steve laughed and told her about how he met Eddie, highlighting especially the part about wearing yellow in the middle of a metal concert.

“Oh my god!” Robin said roaring with laughter, “I think I would have shriveled up and died of sheer embarrassment if that was me.”

“That would assume I had any dignity at that point,” Steve pointed out. “My dad had tossed me out, I lost my job, and all my friends. If there were better places to get drunk in this god forsaken town, I would have gone there.”

“Have you tried getting another job?” she asked, tilting her head the side. “Like they can’t all be afraid of your dad.”

He just shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it, really. Just been trying to keep away from him.”

“But he’s been out of town for a couple of weeks, right?” Robin pressed. “Do you really think he’s going to come back and hound you just for trying to get a job?”

Steve shrugged again. “You don’t know my dad. His colleagues call him Mad Dog because he’s as tenacious as a bulldog and twice as mean. If he gets it into his head that I must be ran out of town, he’s going to do whatever he can to make it happen. He only left town because Chief Hopper stonewalled him.”

Robin wrinkled her nose but didn’t say anything.

Steve showed her all the other presents Eddie had gotten him and she was delighted with each one. But especially the necklace.

“Well now there are two birds in this cuckoo nest,” Robin said proudly. “Robin and Canary.” She held out her hand and Steve took it with a smile.

“So does this mean you won’t be sneaking around my hotel room from now on?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

She burst out laughing. “I might do a little sneaking for old times sake, but yeah. I’ll make sure to announce my presence from now on.”

“Good,” Steve said with a huff. “Get out of here so I can shower.”

She laughingly did as she was told, Steve shaking his head the whole time.

~

After Steve got out of his shower and bathrobe secured tightly at his waist, he sat down with the want ads. He had long since gotten a subscription to the newspaper for the movie times and funny pages. But now he could use it to see if anyone was hiring.

Because as much of a loud mouth asshole, Tommy had been, he had a point. He couldn’t just sit around and wait to be be rescued by Eddie. There was no guarantee that Eddie would continue to fund Steve’s life style after the band returned from their tour.

He flopped on the bed with a red pen and the newspaper open in front of him. He scoffed when he saw that Family Video was still looking to replace him, even though it had been six weeks since they fired him.

He really didn’t know how to do much. His main jobs had been being a lifeguard at the rec center and the Family Video job his dad forced him to take so that he could ‘learn how to be productive in society’ or whatever bullshit he had spouted at the time.

So he immediately disregarded anything that required typing or phone skills. With it being summer again, he could probably get his old job back at the rec center but then he would most certainly run afoul more Hank Tippets of the world. Which would be more trouble than it was worth.

There was the new mall.

Maybe he could find work there. He circled a couple of other places but decided his best bet would be the mall. He threw the newspaper aside and rolled over on his back.

He was hungry and tired and just wanted to forget about everything for awhile. So he got up and ordered food. This time was going for something different. Sushi. If he didn’t like it he could always order something else.

Steve needed to try other things and if it wasn’t on his dime or his parents forcing him to try it, why not? He couldn’t do raw oysters. But that was probably because he was six at the time and his mother forced him to try it.

Never doing that again.

He also ordered an appetizer just to double hedge his bets. He knew from the description that it was raw fish and rice. He wasn’t going into this completely blind.

The sushi arrived with his weird side of garlic mashed potatoes. Sue him, the potatoes were his comfort food. They were almost as good as the ones as his Auntie Sophie made. The recipe his mother would kill to get her hands on. And probably tried.

Look, he tried. He tried them with the brown liquid-y stuff, the red paste, and green goo. The green goo made his mouth burn like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. If he hadn’t tried the red paste first, he would have assumed it was all that bad.

So he tossed the rest of the sushi back on the trolley and begged for them to take it away and replace it with ice cream. Anything to stop the burning.

Eddie tried to be sympathetic when Steve told him that night, but Steve could tell the other man was trying so hard not to laugh.

Never again.

~

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[dancingbirdie]

hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!

Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3

If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The Dark Sun

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.

None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 

It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!

Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.

Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child. 

Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices. 

The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 

Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.

So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again. 

***

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days. 

He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies. 

Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came. 

Tav’s tent. He was sure of it. 

Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves. 

Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong. 

Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects. 

Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace. 

They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance. 

Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence. 

Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply. 

Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart. 

“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear. 

“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.

Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek. 

Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned. 

Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face. 

“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling. 

“And why ever not?”

“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”

“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”

Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”

Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders. 

“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek. 

“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”

Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face. 

That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him. 

Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought. 

He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms. 

“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”

“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”

They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.

“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised. 

And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion. 

And he was not afraid.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Bodyguard! Mr. Scarlatella:

Content: Yandere! Mr. Scarlatella but he is actually human + assassin + farmer! scarlatella; non proof-reading; female anatomy + dubcon/noncon + kidnapping + usage of substances (once for the kidnapping) + mindbreak + lovesick! Mr. Scarlatella; cunnilingus + breeding kink + baby trapping + possessive! dom + overstimulation + orgasm denial + creampie + impregnation + trophy wife! reader (kind of?)

Summary: You never imagined that the guy that was about to end your father's and your life would end up falling head over feels for you, but hey, at least you're alive, right?...

Word count: 4240 words.

Note: I just hate how my brain decides to get dry af as soon as I end with my exams/essays... btw, Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this!! I'm thinking about making a kind of pt. 2 but with Mr. Crawling, let me know if you would want to read it!! It's weird to go back to the more dark stuff when I had started to write less heavy stuff... I feel I may have gotten a bit too creative for his personality, so let me know!!

Note 2: Let me know if any content tag is missing-- I wrote this over a whole week so I may have forgotten some...

You were the daughter of one of the wealthiest so it was only natural for you to live under the feeling of being targeted by someone, even since you were a child. So when your father presented a new bodyguard for you, it was nothing out of the ordinary, just some new guy who would probably quit by the month (at most). So he arrived, long black hair falling in a cascade and deep purplish pupils that pierced you through his polarised glasses.

"Dear, this is the new bodyguard, I hope you know how to behave yourself, I don't want to keep on complaining to that damn company, they keep saying it's your fault, but it's impossible for it to be solely your fault, I mean, it's been over 10 bodyguards in less than two months... Anyways, I have to leave, Daddy has some work to do." With that, your father left, his expensive cologne lingering in the air as he slammed the door, the new bodyguard still on the entrance of your room, a slightly unsettling smile creeping on his lips as he stood there.

"So you won't even introduce yourself? Seriously, the quality of that damn company is so freaking low... Can't believe they didn't even teach you how to introduce yourself." The man bowed a bit, taking a small notebook and giving it to you. "What the...? So you're saying that you're still learning the language and don't want to mess up? Ugh, ok, whatever. What's your name?" The man with crimson hair refused to speak, stating that he had not received a proper code name yet. "Seriously? Can't even call your name cause they didn't gave it to you, well that's just perfect. Don't bother me, just stand outside or whatever, as if I care." With those last words, the man left, finally leaving you alone in your room. "What the heck is wrong with that dude? I'm gonna complain to that fucking company of security, how am I supposed to trust him when I don't even know his name..."

As time went on, you were slowly able to get to know him, getting to know that he was actually coming from Japan because of some "old acquaintance" he knew since many years ago, that he loved magic tricks and that he was actually quite... cute. It hurt to even think it, but it was true, he was a cute man, always behind you when you allowed him, always running around you with your delicious drink ready and your purse hanging off his shoulder. God, he even learnt how to do your nails, makeup and hair in case you wanted to get it done on the days you were just too lazy to get out of the house... He was even there that night.

You had waken up by around three in the morning, making your way to your door so you could get something to eat in the kitchen, soon noticing that Scarlatella (as you liked to call him in a kind of playful way because of his hair colour) was nowhere to be seen, but hey, he was human as well, maybe he just went to the bathroom or something like that. As you were about to arrive to the kitchen, you noticed that the mansion was a bit too quiet, one would even say that it would have been possible to listen to a pin dropping to the marble ground. Unsettled, you quickly made your way to your father's bedroom, but you soon found out that the bed was completely cold. Now alarmed, you run to his studio, the sound of your feet resonating all over the empty corridor as you forced the door open, soon finding a terrible scene.

It was your father, well, what used to be your father, as his body was already turning cold, his skin turning slightly blue with clear signs of choking. Just as you were about to scream, your vocal cords were unable to produce a sound, your lungs being completely filled with a strange air that made you gasp for hair before you started to feel lightheaded. As you felt your conscience drift, you silently cursed that stupid company and that useless yet slightly charming man.

By the time you woke up, you soon noticed that your whole body was intact, expect for slight marks of rope on your wrists. As soon as you recovered a bit, you took a deep breath, deciding to try and scream to the top of your lungs in case someone could hear you.

"Hey! Someone there? Some crazy jackass has kidnapped me and---!" Suddenly, the heave iron door was opened, a familiar face entering the room.

"Good morning, dearest. I'm so glad you were finally able to open your eyes, you see, it was a bit difficult to get the amount of dose correctly, as I have never tried to keep someone as tiny and beautiful as yourself." Your old bodyguard entered, the heavy door closing behind him as he brought a tray on one of his hands. "Here, I brought you a few things I know you like." You looked at the delicious-looking food, your mouth watering as you saw all your favourite desserts, together with a bunch of your most beloved fruits. Despite the confusion, you tried to keep it together, looking to the other side and refusing to do what he asked. "Dearest, you've been asleep for over t--" Before he could end his sentence, you had already hit the tray with one of your legs, sending the appetizing food.

"Why the fuck are you here? You failed protecting me-- Fuck, you left my father to die, you're lucky I'm tied here cause I would crush your fucking skull with my---" The crimson-haired man got closer, dangerously close, in fact, his warm breath hitting against your face.

"Oh dear, I always knew you had quite the filthy mouth, but you must have been quite shocked to see that pig like that... I understand, I would never stop loving you for something trivial like that... Nor for anything, to be fair." His cold hands touched your face, the callouses in his hands making you frown even more than before.

"Listen fucker---." The man covered your mouth with his much larger hand, the shivers resulted from the cold shifting into goosebumps from the fear.

"Shh, dear. I understand, no need to explain it to me. I will make sure to re-educate you so you can go back to your natural self, that pig tricked your poor mind, but I will be able to fix it for you, see? I’m being such a good man for you, after all, I was supposed to kill you, but I even decided to turn my back to my client and let you live, I even avoided someone to think that you were alive. It was a bit of a hassle, but hey, I would do everything for you, dear.” The man finally got away from your face, taking the tray that had fallen to the ground because of you, together with the food that had been smashed to the ground. “It’s ok, dear. I understand this will take some time, luckily, I have all the time in the world, you just need some… hard love. I’m sure you will start to appreciate my company and care soon enough.” With that, the man smiled one last time to you, leaving the room with the sound of the heavy iron door closing, leaving you in the middle of the dark.

Since that moment, your slow torture started. The man left you in the dark for who knows how long, covering your eyes with a soft cloth, only taking out when he was around so he could start to… kind of associate him with the light, you supposed. He kept bringing you scrumptious plates, from your favourite foods to exotic ones. Of course, that was until the… maybe over tenth time you had throw his tray to the ground. That time, he simply took the tray, taking once again all the food on the floor and leaving in complete silence. The next time you was him was after… maybe one whole day? Your stomach kept rumbling, and what began as anger quickly became desperation, then crying and finally crying while screaming.

By around two months, your mind and body had become completely accustomed to his timetable and behaviour, letting him pet you as you ate what he brought, letting his hands clean your whole body and hair, not even complaining when you felt his hands drift towards your more private parts. Scarlatella looked extremely content with his work, rewarding you with constant praises and even a “pretty” collar for you. Despite it was a clear symbol of your turn into a kind of pet, the collar was beautiful, the gold glistening under the cold light as the beautiful charm with the form of a heart made a small noise of a bell each time you moved.

“Do you like it? I wanted something to congratulate you, after all, you have finally graduated. You are now back to your natural self.” You nodded, letting your head fall on his lap as he kept petting you. “I was thinking about giving you whatever you want, you can just ask.” He waited patiently until you were able to think about something other than the warmth that was coming from his body.

“…Freedom. I want to leave this room, please.” His eyes widened a bit, perhaps surprised that you were still able to think about your freedom.

“Dear, I know this can get suffocating, but you must stay here, it’s for your sa—”

“Please! I can feel my mind… slipping. This is getting worse each day, I… I don’t want do it, but the constant darkness is making me… think about… Just give me a bigger place, I don’t need something as fancy as my house, just something bigger than this room.” Scarlatella looked at you with a puzzled expression, his hand still massaging your scalp as he thought. Finally, he answered, not before letting a deep sigh.

“I suppose that’s fine. I can think of a story to explain your sudden appearance. Give me a few days so I can get everything ready, yeah? Promise I will do it.” As soon as he said that, he got up from the sofa that was in the room, quickly leaving the place before you were able to beg him to keep his promise.

Contrary to what you believed, Scarlatella kept his promise, coming back with a small suitcase and some clothes for you to change yourself, taking your hand as he made you walk with your eyes covered by that well-known cloth. When you were finally told to take it off, you were in the middle of a beautiful flower field. All the flowers were spider lilies, making it seem as if it was some kind of blood-filled battlefield.

“Do you like it, dear? I had to pay some money so they could build this house, together with planting these flowers.” He kept his grip around your wrist tight, not hurting you, but not letting go either. As he opened the door, you finally saw the house. It was a beautiful villa, completely decorated with cottage-like furniture.

“Yes, I like it.” Scarlatella smiled, a strange sheen in his gaze.

Soon, you realised why was he looking at you like that. You had fallen completely into his plan for turning you into his wife. He had created some complex story about you being his wife for over eight years, having to separate because you had been taking care of your sick father while he worked to the bone to get you as much as he could for the moment you came back to him. Everyone in the small hometown believed him, after all, he had been working there as farmer for quite some time, using it as a mere disguise so he could plan every little detail, creating a perfect façade so everyone would simply nod and smile to whatever he said. After that, your role became the one of a housewife, making you bake, cook, and clean, keeping the house warm and tidy by the time he arrived back home.

Soon, the days started to melt together, and your deep engraved hatred for him turned into a less bitter resentment. After all, he was the one that was providing for you, keeping you all warm and cozy while buying every single thing you asked him for, never doing anything that could hurt you. Slowly but surely, your mind started to reshape once again, now seeing him as a still intimidating, yet protecting figure. With that, it was finally the perfect ground for Scarlatella to create his perfect little wife.

Since that moment, Scarlatella started to become more physical with you, helping you around with all the cooking, “accidentally” rubbing his groin against your ass while he pretended to search for something on the top shelf. Not only that, but he made sure you could see him as a capable man, carrying the animals over his shoulder with ease, other times he was simply fixing stuff around the place. But the last moment he needed for your brain to start to see him as a possible partner was when you found him around town playing with the small children from the orphanage. He was surrounded by all of them, lifting them around and making them fly across the hair, his relaxed smile plastered on his face as he tried to make them control themselves as they waited their turn. Your eyes widened a bit, surprised to see him in such a… casual scene. So when he got back home, his working shirt slightly drenched because of the sudden rain that had started quite recently. The shirt was getting clung on his body, making his lean and muscular body stand out even further.

“Hey dear, how was your day? I hope it went great. Sorry I’m late, can’t believe I got caught in the middle of the rain while I was finishing some errands…” As he said that, he made his way around the kitchen, taking off his shirt and leaving it hanging on one of the chairs, surrounding your smaller frame with his arms. “I missed you so much, dear.” You tried your hardest to pretend not to notice, but of course you did, fuck, his groin was rubbing against your ass, and even then, it was clear that he was quite… gifted, down there. Still, you simply tightened the grip on the knife, biting your lips as you kept trying to focus on the food you were cooking.

Ever since that moment, you were no longer able to control yourself, always orbiting around him with your hand tightly wrapped around his arm every single time any other persons started to look way too affectionately at him. Scarlatella quickly noticed this, looking completely pleased with how he had been able to fix your precious little brain into a loving wife. In fact, he even started to pamper you even further, kissing your forehead every morning, asking you to let him shower together… Of course, you said yes.

So then, the two of you entered the bathroom, slowly undressing each other as the water started to warm up. “Love, you look so nice like this… All naked for me… I could just eat you up.” His hand drifted around your body, making your body shiver under his hands, and even if you were about to kiss him, he got away, extending his hand so he could help you get inside the bathtub. “Let me help you, dear.”

As the two of you finally entered the bathtub, he calmly traced your body with the sponge, making sure to scrub your skin without causing any type of harm. Then, he moved to your hair, taking the bottle of shampoo and scrubbing it while he hummed a little tune. Then, he focused on himself, redoing everything he had done to you. As he did that, your naked bodies kept pressing against each other, making you squirm at the slightest touch and forcing you to let small whimpers out every time you felt his lower half rub against your back. Finally, Scarlatella lost his composure as you kept pressing against him on purpose. “Dear… I have a feeling that you’ve been quite, eager to make our relationship more physical, am I right?” His eyes were now fixated on your face, making you feel even more flustered as you avoided his gaze. “Oh sweetheart, if you wanted that, I could have given it to you any time, after all, I do believe it is time we get to expand our little family.” And despite you would have normally shivered in disgust, this idea now started to charm you. So you nodded, accepting whatever he wanted you to do at that point. “Then we should get to business, let me get you ready love.” With that said, Scarlatella finally kissing your lips, his tongue entering your oral cavity as if he had been starving for a long time. “You taste so good… I could stay like this forever.” Scarlatella kept kissing you, his hands starting to glide towards your chest, starting to play with your nipples as his tongue kept exploring your mouth. “Dear… I think we should move to our bedroom; I don’t want your first time to hurt.”

“Oh, that’s fine, not like it’s my first time, you know, I did it a few times before you became my-.” Before you were able to finish your sentence, Scarlatella was already getting the two of you out of the bath, lifting you up and carrying you over to the bedroom he had been preparing for quite some time. Despite his gaze looked a bit crazed out, he let you down softly on the bed.

“It seems I was a bit too gentle with you, that was my fault. I suppose you must prefer someone meaner, treat you as if you were a little fuck toy, I suppose your brain is still not that adapted to having a husband, that’s ok, I will fix it.” With nothing left to say to you, he got on top of you, towering over your smaller body as he started to kiss your neck. “I just wish I could have arrived earlier… Get to be your first, let you make me yours…It’s a shame we had to meet under those circumstances.”  And even regardless his almost apologising words, his actions were crude, clearly showing his uncontrollable desire to make you completely his. “… I should definitely get you pregnant, make sure everyone knows who your husband is, let’s see if any other fucker tries to get with my sweet wife.” As he kept mumbling to himself, his lips started to make a trail towards your chest, moving even further down as your moans got louder. Suddenly, he got away from you for a second, taking something from the small nightstand. Still quiet, he opened the small bottle, letting the sticky liquid help him prepare your pussy for him. “Not like you will need it, apparently you were more prepared than me.”

“Come on, it’s not like we are… fuck, I don’t know, it’s just, it’s not like you are a virgin, right? There’s no need for---”

“I am.” His hands stopped for a second, his fingers a few inches away from entering you. “I’ve been investigating so I could make it as comfortable for you as possible, but that’s ok, I will make sure our next time is perfect… Let’s just use this time for letting you know how this works.” Without further due, Scarlatella started to tease your entrance, rubbing his fingertips against your entrance, while his other hand started to move towards your weak spot, starting to tease your clit as he kept kissing your neck. As the minutes went on, you started to notice a weird warmth inside your cunt, making your tears swell up in your eyes as Scarlatella kept teasing you.

“Stop— Can’t—It feels weird, like really weird, it’s not normal!” Scarlatella smiled wickedly, his eyes darkening as he saw how your pussy kept releasing your sticky fluids, with no shame, he got his face closer, starting to leave kitty licks over your clit before he began to fuck your entrance with his tongue, making you cry due to the overstimulation as he kept stopping just before you could release. This torture kept going for a couple minutes, making you clench the sheets, biting your lips as you kept mumbling barely understandable words: “Please, please… Just—Please! Fuck, please, let me cum, please, please…” Your words kept slurring, making him smile at the beautiful portrait he had been able to turn your gorgeous face into, he caressed your face with one of his hands, his lips still curved into an amused look as your face had become a mixture of snot, tears, and saliva. Suddenly, you felt Scarlatella’s arms wrap around you, lifting you from the bed and letting you lay on his lap, his unclothed erection rubbing against your clit, rocking your body back and forth as he kept taunting you.

“I just can’t believe you preferred some random person over me, love. I’ve waiting for you my whole life, I even learnt all this… tricks to get you to feel as good as possible.” All of sudden, his tip went in, barely letting you get ready as he kept pushing it inside and out, making your eyes water as he kept tormenting you for a few minutes more, his gaze becoming more and more obscure as his erection just kept growing. “Fuck, whatever… I’ll just have to prove you that nobody will ever fuck you like I can, get you pregnant so you can only see me… love me…” His eyes lightened for a second just from the thought, and before you even noticed, your back was once again pressed against the mattress, with Scarlatella towering over you as he was finally able to gradually introduce his whole length, the stretch making you whine and cling to his back. “You feel so good around me, love… Just wait, I’ll fill you up, fill your pretty pussy with my cum so nobody ever tries to get too close to you—You’ll look so pretty with your tummy all round—” As Scarlatella’s hips started to punish your sore cunt, you were finally able to cum, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your legs locked around him, as a poor attempt on getting him to stop for a second.

“Wait—Too soon, I can’t get pregnant yet!” You pushed a bit against his lower abdomen, your hands barely stopping him as they kept shaking because of the constant orgasms that just kept pilling up, forcing your brain to become more and more fuzzy each time. It was then that Scarlatella wrapped his own hands around your waists, using them as mere handles for him to push the tip of his cock just a bit further, just enough for you to cum once more with a pathetic whine. Despite you had already cum all over him, Scarlatella’s thrusts didn’t slow down, if not growing stronger as his mind was already too far gone.

“Gotta get you pregnant—That’s all I need—Fill your pretty pussy with my cock and get you to- Fuck- cream all over my cock, that’s it baby… Cum all over your husband, make a mess on my cock, you’re doing so good love…” His words kept resonating in your mind, almost as if it was some kind of chant, and despite you tried your best to endure it, your brain gave up, after all, Scarlatella had been taking care of you so nicely… It wouldn’t hurt to let him keep doing it for the rest of his life… right? As Scarlatella kept muttering to himself, his cock was already twitching, signifying just how close he was to releasing his essence inside of you. With your mind now completely broken, you smiled, your arms and legs tightening around his waist as his cock kept hammering against your cervix, one of his hands carefully pressing against the lower half of your abdomen, causing the pleasure to just build up even further as he finally released his load inside of you, his constant groans now turning into soft praises and kisses. “You did so good, love… Let me take care of everything from now on, I will make you the happiest wife ever, no need to think about anything, just promise to tell me everything you need or want, yeah? I’ll be the best husband int the world.” His hands kept petting your hair as his cock started to deflate inside you, still remaining inside as he refused to pull out in case some of his essence spilled out. “Let’s wait a bit, love. I will prepare the bath in few minutes; I just want to make sure everything goes correctly.” He peppered a few kisses all over your face, his hand rubbing your tummy as he kept imagining that near future he had been longing for.

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege. 

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson. 

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing. 

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds,  he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you. 

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition. 

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying. 

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you. 

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it. 

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else. 

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild,  lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

[fatfuckingcatstuff]

FUCK ME DEAD

SniperTF2 x TeenMerc! Reader

((Year is set in the 2020s))

Tags: Brainrot slang, fluff, platonic relationship, reader consumes tiktok media brainrot and tries to infect sniper

"Fuck Me Dead" is an Australian slang for ffs so please don't misinterpret it as an NSFW fic.

NOT PROOFREAD

Ever since you got the job working as a mercenary for 2 old fucks fighting for a piece of land it's been pretty fun. When you were first offered a position it was equicoval. Why the fuck were they offering a minor a job in a battle-like field? Was this even a legal operation??? Nonetheless, you accepted the offer.

After a good few months of working with your team, you've managed to form a bond with most of them. More specifically, Sniper. The Australian raised New Zealander had become your best friend. Or at least to you. Despite being a introverted fuck when it came to people in general you had managed to get on his good side.

You've hung out with him, watched videos on the Internet together. Though he could never understand "what you kids mean these days", he liked spending time with you.

"Sniper." you called out from his door frame.

"Whaddya want you ankle biter." He replied, visibly cleaning his gun after the day's match.

"Do you have skibidi rizz."

He's stunned by your words and turns to look at you concerningly.

"Mate what? Skibidi rizz..?"

"You have a negative canthal tilt and poor features have you tried looksmsxxing or mewing?"

“What the bloody hell is a looksmaxxing???"

"You look like a true autumn lowkey. Wanna be in my OOTD for my GRWM where I show my new Stanley cup I just got?"

".. Wha-"

"Level 5 gyatt rizz LeBron James you are my sunshine my only sunshine tiktok rizz party she ride the dick like a carnival digital circus pomni rose toy edging mewing streak gooner cave is it acoustic? Tiktok shop Ohio sigma tshirt am I deer pretty or bunny pretty. "

"Sheila wai–"

"are you an alpha or a beta male. And swear it on skibidi."

At this point you would have already killed the poor soul because what the fuck were any of the words you just spat out at him. Did you cast a spell on him?? You.. you witch???

"Mate did you hit your head." He stares at you horrified and concerned for your mental state.

".... No."

"I think you should go see medic."

[sundeathh]

Just three words. ✨ Soft Yandere Aizawa✨

Okay, this one was in my inbox for a very long time. So first of all, sorry for the long delay. Second: before proceeding, please read what I want to tell you: I am not particularly into Yandere narratives. Besides, I had trouble picturing Aizawa's character in this specific scenario because I don't see his character as one that would act as a Yandere. So, I am sorry if this sucks or if it isn't exactly what you asked for. I tried my best to place him into a Yandere narrative without losing his character essence.

.

Masterlist | NSFW / + 18 only

Pairing: Aizawa × Reader | Words: 2 K

Tags: SFW/NSFW, soft Yandere themes, headcanon.

cw: Stockholm syndrome.

- SFW part -

You caught Aizawa's attention with your unique and powerful quirk. Aizawa becomes fascinated by your abilities as a vigilante and sees your true potential as a hero.

During his patrols, he would frequently encounter you, your paths occasionally crossing as you both maintained the peace and protected others. Aizawa's initial interest in you is sparked mainly by your skill and dedication, further developing into a genuine admiration for your abilities.

His fascination with you would grow more over time, and as an expert in stealth and surveillance, he would subtly observe you from a distance. He would track your routine and patrols, skillfully remaining undetected in the shadows. 

Though he kept telling himself that he would meet with you "occasionally," his true intention was to keep a close eye on you, gaining further insight into your personality, strengths, and weaknesses.

And on a fateful day, a villain attack left your quirk temporarily weakened, rendering you vulnerable and unable to defend yourself effectively. So, Aizawa doesn't think twice before intervening, saving you from further harm.

Recognizing your injuries and weakened state, he would then convince you to seek refuge and protection with him, assuring you that he would take care of your wounds.

This accident catalyzes his plan to keep you close. He didn't even need to kidnap you! But, if you had not suffered the attack, though, maybe he would fake one anyway. He would be subtle. 

Once you were in Aizawa's custody, he would treat you with surprising gentleness, providing genuine care and ensuring your well-being. He understands the importance of earning your trust and making you feel safe in his presence. 

So, he would never restrain you. Instead, Aizawa would keep you locked in a comfortable space, his actions driven by his desire to gain your trust and affection. He is cautious not to cause you unnecessary harm or distress.

However, you would inevitably become resistant to the situation, yearning for freedom and wary of Aizawa's motives.

And he would try his best to respect your boundaries and acknowledge your desire to escape, but he would maintain a firm stance in preventing your departure. 

He would make you stay through subtle manipulation and persuasive tactics. He would never use aggressive force, even if you tried to escape aggressively.

He would only erase your quirk and evade your attacks until you were tired of fighting but would never attack you back.

Aizawa would constantly try to balance his desires toward you and your autonomy.

And as time passed, Aizawa's genuine care and occasional displays of vulnerability created a complicated mix of emotions within you. While you may not fully reciprocate his feelings, you begin to recognize a genuine connection and understanding with him.

But tension would inevitably rise as your desire for freedom clashes with Aizawa's determination to keep you close. Anyway, he continues to demonstrate acts of kindness and understanding even when you call him names or tries to attack, only to be left tired again without causing him any scratch.

As he pursues your affection, Aizawa may go out of his way to fulfill your needs and show you a softer side. He would attempt to break down your resistance through carefully thought acts of kindness.

He pays attention to the more discreet details, providing you with your favorite meals, engaging you in conversations about your interests, and even bringing you books or movies you might enjoy; Though these gestures are not grandiose, they display subtle moments of care that eventually begin to form a foundation of trust.

With gestures and conversations, Aizawa allows glimpses of his softer side to shine: During quiet evenings together, he shares stories from his past, revealing vulnerabilities and personal struggles he faced.

He would try to create a space where you felt safe to open up, fostering an environment of mutual understanding and empathy. He would encourage you to voice out your worries and distresses, even though he would get quiet and avoid the topic of letting you go.

Over time, he aimed to create an emotional bond based on trust and shared experiences. Through acts of gentleness and patience, he hoped to impress you and demonstrate his capabilities as a protector and a provider.

Aizawa is patient and aware that your journey toward reciprocating his feelings will take time. He also recognizes the importance of granting you space for self-reflection and growth. So he would do everything you asked: leave you alone, bring you some specific food, not talk to you, or to talk to you, tell you a story, listen to you, anything, except for letting you out.

However, Aizawa is not without his internal struggles. He battles with his conscience, questioning the ethics of his actions. He grapples with the conflict between his genuine care for you; and the fact that your relationship began under non-consensual circumstances.

The turning point in your relationship arrives when you start to see glimpses of Aizawa's vulnerability: He shares his fears, his insecurities, and his past failures, exposing his humanity and flaws.

And it is through these shared vulnerabilities you begin to connect with Aizawa on a deeper level, seeing him as more than just your captor but as a complex individual with genuine emotions.

And as your bond deepens, Aizawa becomes even more attuned to your emotional shifts and moods. He learns to anticipate your needs and provide stability and support. During moments of vulnerability or distress, he offers a comforting presence – allowing you to lean on him for solace and reassurance.

Gradually, your resistance toward him begins to wane, replaced by a complex mix of emotions. You may find yourself drawn to Aizawa's unwavering dedication to making you comfortable and cared for, seeing how the genuine connection you have developed over time.

However, remnants of your initial resistance may linger, reminding you of the complex dynamics that brought you together. Anyway, Aizawa remains committed to maintaining a delicate balance. He respects your autonomy and your desire for freedom, yet he also nurtures your affection for him.

- NSFW part -

He would never sexually touch you without your consent. However, he would indeed stare at you intensely sometimes, but he wouldn't do more than that. And, when you would catch a sigh of him ogling your body, he would immediately turn his vision away with his face bright red. 

He admires your body with great appreciation. He would not comment on that for fear of making you uncomfortable, but he frequently wondered what you had under the clothes he provided to you;

He often imagined what it would feel like beneath all those clothes, the skin underneath, and the curve of your waist. His body would ache from wanting more than just that sight.

While he would not allow physical contact, he would fantasize about being able to explore every inch of your body. And so, he would always find ways to sneak glances or peek inside your room.

His mind would wander as he envisioned you naked and spread open for his perusal, feeling aroused at the possibility that he could possess you, even if you weren't aware of it.

In those fantasies, he would gently caress the parts of your body he desired most. Carefully, he would trace each contour, savoring the sensation of feeling your softness in his palms, tracing circles against your inner thighs, lingering over your stomach, chest, and shoulders. 

His imagination would then drift off, imagining scenarios where you would finally allow him access to pleasure, and make him feel complete, finally satisfied, leaving him weak and limp.

He often fantasizes about you having sex with him, giving yourself freely as you would take his hands in yours, guiding him through your soft body, kissing him with passion;

When your lips parted, he would eagerly follow you until he could kiss you again. And, when finished, he would pull you into his arms, burying his face into your neck, breathing deeply in your scent.

Then, when you finally started to see him beyond your captor, he would always be surprised by any small show of affection coming from you. For example, he would be speechless if you gave him a simple peck on the cheek. 

Or, when you started to smile at him, he would be ecstatic. Sometimes, you would give him a pat on the arm; or maybe a rub on the back when he would open up to you.

And once you saw past his walls and started to develop a mix of feelings toward him: he could tell. You would smile more and look at him differently.

Sometimes he would look at you and smile, knowing that you were starting to have feelings for him because you were changing. 

You would not flinch away when he would touch your hand anymore and wouldn't mind if he sat close to you. Sometimes, you would even lean against him when he was around. 

The first time you kissed him on the lips was when he was upset with you for wanting your freedom. It was sweet and passionate, conveying a sense of safety and warmth. You wanted him to know that you did want to be free, but you weren't sure if you wanted to leave him anymore. You had started to find comfort in your surroundings while living with Aizawa. 

And as time passed, you eventually realized how attractive he seemed to you. You noticed his sharp features, his sharp gaze, his hair, and the curves of his toned body. 

You became fascinated with how his eyes would light up when he talked with you. And then, you would find yourself leaning closer, wanting more. 

You also got bolder, teasing him as you explore your new boundaries. Your physical intimacy drastically improved as you opened up and trusted him more. He then started taking risks, going further, initiating physical contact, and exploring those new boundaries.

In turn, you enjoyed the new closeness that came with a change in atmosphere, a strange yet good feeling of security and belonging.

It was this sense of closeness that prompted you both into the process of bonding. You slowly became more intimate, and it started to feel natural for the two of you.

One day, when you were enjoying a peaceful evening together, he reached behind you and gently started playing with your strands of hair as you rested your head in his lap. 

As he played with them, he brushed against your ear, throat, and collarbone. Then, he stopped. He let out a frustrated sigh before pulling you close and planting small kisses over your cheeks, chin, brow, eyelids, nose, forehead, and mouth. And then you were lost in an instant of pure bliss.

You couldn't remember exactly when it happened. All you knew was that you had only a few moments of clarity and could see what was happening, feeling the heat rising within you.

He would always ask you if he should stop or ask for permission to go further whenever you flinched. But you rarely did that, so he would continue doing whatever pleased the both of you.

He would gently massage your shoulder blades and back. His hands would then hold onto your waist. Sometimes, you would feel his lips on your neck, trailing down, sucking on the sensitive skin, and leaving tiny hickeys.

He liked to mark you, but he would be gentle on how he would do it. He'd start with tiny nips and suckles, then gradually go down until he got close to where he wanted most.

Afterward, he would kiss you harder and deeper, trying and succeeding in eliciting a good reaction from you. The longer he would go on, the hotter you would get.

As time progressed and you became really intimate, he would fuck you with no shame, giving you more pleasure than ever before until you moaned his name. You would gasp and squirm, and he would always ensure you climaxed every. Single. Time.

He would shiver every time he heard you moan his name. He didn't know why, but it always caused a deep excitement in his chest and heart.

He would come undone in seconds as you called out his name. And then he would hold you tight, whispering soothing words as you continued gasping and moaning in delight for a while after.

Eventually, you started to love that sound and how he felt pleasure from just your touch and noises.

And soon, you realized that nothing would prevent you from loving him back.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! Check the fixed post for requests & more details!

[kibbles-bits]

any voxval fics you’d recommend?

Ah, yes, voxval fics... The one ship that finally made me cave and read explicit stuff. I am now numb to everything.

Everything.

I'll only be posting completed fics. Warnings, almost all of these are explicit. A couple also have Angel, you know, suffering.

And please mind the tags.

First off is a couple of favs that I always go back for a reread:

Corrupted Love by DoveFactory (Words: 149,495)

In a moment of blind desperation to one-up Alastor, Vox puts himself in a compromising situation that leaves him worse for wear. His state triggers something in Valentino who decides to change the nature of their relationship.

The title and summary of this is so misleading I thought it was going to be a dark fic but nope. The Vees are a bunch of goobers and Valentino always wins. I would scream about this every time it updated. I love the characterizations and their banter it almost made me forget there's sex in like every chapter. Honestly I wish there was more tags referencing the character/story stuff.

Virtual Reality by passthevoxcord (Words: 7,634)

Vox gets tired of his cybernetic biology being a barrier to his sex life, so he starts a new project to fuck Valentino in VR. Val will try anything once, but he has something else in mind.

This one ends up being so sweet I want to die. passthevoxcord's other fic, Only a Shadow, drives me nuts but its a WIP and hasn't actually gotten to the voxval yet.

choke behind a smile by gloriousmonsters (Words: 19,881)

"I'm not scared by extreme, although I doubt I'll find it interesting. What is it?" Valentino's eyes narrow slyly over his smile. "If you aren't scared, why do you need a warning?" Vox has everything under control in his new business partnership with benefits. His emotions, his unfortunate desires, the little mind games they play. Even Valentino himself. When Val offers an invitation to a special show he's performing, Vox knows it's a dare, and knows he has to take it, show Val that he can't be scared or destabilized. He has no idea of how deep under his skin the show will get.

Everyone's so normal. I love this Valentino. There's another Valvel fic that has the same Valentino I also recommend called bad girls go backstage.

Great Expectations by MarenRose (Words: 11,280)

“It’s his goal. Those three simple words. If he could get to hear them once, could let the reality of their meaning and spoken existence occupy his mind for only a few indiscernible moments, then maybe, Vox could learn to see the appeal of this god forsaken holiday. He might even learn to ‘love’ it too.” Or: Vox hates Valentine’s Days. His prick of a ‘wife’ is just too damn hard to please.

This miiiight have been the fic that made me Lock In on voxval? I'm not sure. It's sweet. Alastor is hilarious.

biting keeps your words at bay by Subedarling (Words: 1,511)

“You can’t hit me,” Valentino says. He’s practically vibrating with rage. “You’re not allowed to—you can’t hit me!” Vox sneers, cruel and mocking and hopefully masking the way his heart is breaking apart inside his chest. “Baby, I can do whatever the hell I want.” A decade into their partnership, Vox and Valentino have their first and last physical fight.

This might be the only non-explicit fic in this list. I am all for Val being the worst just because he's Like That. But I will not say no to an implied tragic backstory. I read this one a lot and want to die. Can I draw this. I want to draw this. Oh my god I have free time I can totally draw this...

And my other recs:

Just For The Record by PeppermintWalrus (Words: 13,795)

Vox is thrilled about his new film enterprise with his business partner, ready to build a lucrative empire for the denizens of hell to experience true cinema, in the only genre their depraved minds desire. There’s just one problem that he finds out too late; Valentino has never filmed porn before. Vox decides that some... hands-on teaching, is necessary to save their production.

Yeah you read that right.

a putrid feeling that i've addressed by spoondrifts (Words: 5,162)

They weren’t a couple because Valentino was pathologically noncommittal and Vox simply knew better. He tried the whole romance thing with a certain radio demon a few decades back, and he’d learned his damn lesson. Hell just wasn’t the place for that sort of cutesy bullshit. Also, he was pretty sure that Valentino was straight up incapable of love, which was both par for the course for Vox’s friendships and amazingly convenient—things couldn’t get complicated if there was nothing to complicate in the first place. Or: Full Moon, Vox/Val edition.

Haha I love pain. I lied, this is the second non-explicit fic.

Little Miss Hellion by DoveFactory (Words: 10,657)

Hell’s worst married couple spends a day of family bonding at a beauty pageant doing whatever it takes to make sure their daughter takes home the crown, because failure is never an option for the Vees. Pilot AU where Vox and Valentino are married and Velvette is their adopted daughter.

It's more Vees than voxval but they're married so.

The Art of Pimping by MarenRose (Words: 9,161)

Desperate to close a deal with one of the most lucrative investors in Pride, Vox does the unthinkable and pimps out Valentino for a one-time date. What could go wrong?

Val's attitude in this one is funny and Vox. Yeah. Vox made a mistake.

You Found Me by passthevoxcord (Words: 4,338)

Long before Velvette came along, it was just them. Vox and Valentino. Valentino and Vox.

Sobbing.

Something Less Than Dishonest by daphnerunning, Galiko (Words: 33,931)

He isn’t expecting the way Valentino walks, for some reason. Maybe it’s the extra limbs. Maybe it’s the wings. Maybe it’s the heels. Vox had skipped briefly through a few of the slut’s movies, for research, and isn’t expecting the way Valentino moves in person to feel so… Different. “…You must be my four o’clock,” he says, standing and offering a hand. Oh, shit, he’s huge. Valentino towers over him, easily would without the stripper heels. Vox is not afraid of heights.

Vox is so offensive in this it loops back around to hilarious.

Red Skies and Valentino by alternatedoom (Words: 86,050)

"Vox and I are special friends, doll. Go give him a kiss," Val says to the boy.

Angel does not have a good time. But the Voxval is nice.

before you go by xoTsundoku (Words: 4,426)

Before Alastor came into their lives, Vox and Valentino were happy. Maybe they still can be.

A Farewell to Ghosts by Accidental_Ducky (Words: 37,149)

"What do you think that is," Vox demands, pointing at the new guy. Valentino turns, eyes raking greedily over the man's body. He's gorgeous, skinny in a heroin chic way with big blue eyes and blond hair that falls just so across his eyes. "Hot." "Don't fucking call the ghost hot!"

The only human AU I've liked so far. Love the character interactions. Vox and Val are hilarious.

God I hope I didn't miss any. There's definitely some good WIP ones out there.

[couchpotatoaniki]

An Annoying Kind of Pretty

Pairing: College Rival!Jungkook x College!Reader (British college, so basically senior year in highschool--they're 18) Word count: 4k+ Tags: mega fluff, light swearing, mentions of very mild violence (banter...maybe), mentions of clowns, reader is terrified of them, honestly, just cute shit, and they're being idiots A/N: I'm in the middle of reading Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute by Talia Hibbert and this just sprung to mind soooooooo yeah

No matter how much you scrub, you can't get this darn plate clean. At this point, you're ready to smash it to pieces so you don't have to spend another second on it. But, alas, this is not your dish and therefore dish-smashing rights are revoked. A true travesty, considering how ugly the damn thing looks anyway. Society would be better off without it.

But you scrub, scrub, scr--"Are you done?" A deep voice rumbles behind you. Involuntarily, your eyes close to hide the annoyance flickering through them, lest he somehow sees through the obscured reflection of the kitchen window. This time you've spent together has taught you he's almost decent at guessing body language (almost--he's still otherwise a useless male).

Gosh, if only you could destroy the plate and take a shard to one of his annoyingly pretty brown eyes. Honestly, the fact that a man like him has such wonderful features is what you'd consider to be a crime that nature has committed.

"What does it look like?" Yeah, maybe you should relax your jaw before your teeth grind to dust. Your dentist would have a heartattack if she saw the stress they've put them under lately (she likes to talk about them like they're some separate entity, a bit odd but she's sweet and likes to rant about her cats so you can happily bare it).

"Looks like you're slacking off."

Excuse me? "Maybe I'd be more efficient if you didn't leave your dishes to grow a mini ecosystem in your kitchen. You're likely worshiped as a god by bacteria since you created them their own little world."

He rolls his eyes. This you can't see through the haze of his reflection on the slightly filthy window but you've somehow grown accustomed to his mannerisms. Like a shitty superpower.

"Don't be so dra--"

"If you dare say 'dramatic', the next thing I'll be cleaning are your insides off the floor and countertops."

His reflection raises a hand in mock surrender. "Touché. But for your information, I don't live here."

This makes you turn around, pinning him with a glare. "If you don't live here, which ogre or troll does?"

"My brother. But he's been... ah, what's the word--" he waves his hand in a circular motion with his eyes closed, only to open again at the snap of his fingers--"backpacking across mainland Europe for past three months."

A huff leaves your nose as you return to the gruelling task at hand. You're going to need a shower after this, maybe two, just to make sure you don't catch the Black Plague or some other disease that would trigger another pandemic. "Then why am I here?"

"Because you owe me, remember?"

"Yes, you--not your brother that can't even remember to put away his dishes before he goes on stupidly basic holidays."

"'Stupidly basic'?" Jungkook's frame hobbles into the corner of your eye as he mocks you with a smirk. Darn him and his unusually large (and unfortunately well sculpted) build. A disgustingly natural beauty that demands attention, but you'd rather poke your eye repeatedly than admit that to him lest his cocky smirk and big head grow more than it already has.

Yet, you can't help a glance in his direction. Props to you though, your face managed to not betray your soul and remained in it's usual disinterested state.

"If I had a penny for every time I've heard someone backpacking across Europe, I'd be so rich I wouldn't have to pay you back with my services."

"Considering you sprained my wrist and my ankle, I'd request both payment in money and services."

The thought of the Incidents sent and involuntary shudder down your spine. About two weeks ago, you were minding your own business in the library, one thing led to another and long story short, you accidently pushed the usually well-balanced hulking man onto the hardwood floor and his hand landed at a funky angle. Less than 72 hours had passed and various shenanigans ensued involving 12 glue sticks, streamers, a helium tank, and an unwanted clown roaming the gymnasium which led to his second trip to Accident and Emergency.

In all fairness, he shouldn't have even been there helping to set up the farewell assembly for the final years in the first place. His fault, really, but he wouldn't hear of it since you did crash into him as you were running away from a definite (maybe) psycho killer.

"How many times do I have to apologise," you huff.

His finger taps his chin in mock thought. "Preferably forever, seeing as though I am having to limit my activities while it's the summer holidays before we go off to uni. But I suppose having you as my little servant until I get better is decent enough."

You send him another glare before carrying on. Almost spotless, this dish. "This is abuse of power."

He raised his cast as well as a deadpanned expression onto his face. "And this was just regular abuse."

"It was self-defence."

"Against me or the very innocent clown you claimed was 'chasing' you?"

"Both. And he was chasing me. I was terrified."

"Remind me when your birthday is?"

"Why?"

"No particular reason. Certainly not a clown-related one for retaliation. None whatsoever."

Your head turns so quickly to him that it almost gives you whiplash. "You dare."

"We'll just have to see."

Huffing, you finish up the last of the dishes, with Jungkook sat on the countertop beside yours (with a bit of difficulty). Guilt begins to bleed out of your heart and pool into a warmth in your cheeks as you once more mumble an apology to him, the dishes suddenly looking more appealing for your eyes to land on. "I... I really am sorry, though."

He sighs--as he usually does when you once more feel horrible about the state he is in and try to voice it. "Stop that."

For the millionth time, you purse your lips, ready to let a few beats of silence pass before you could say something to return it back to that annoyingly fun hateful banter than the heavy and suffocating air that follows an apology. Jungkook, however, did not care for your mental plans (you don't really think he cares about much of anything besides his grades, friends, and snacks like a typical man).

"Can I... admit something to you? So, like, Truce?"

"...Truce." You reach out for a cloth to wipe anything left on the countertop, but ears keenly remained on him.

"I'm kinda... glad you fucked up my arm." You send him an incredulous look, to which he blurts in response, "don't get me wrong, it hurts like shit and I'm no masochist, but having you here doing my bidding--" his lips quirked at the sight of you murderous glare, "--and keeping me company is... nice."

"...'Nice'." The word feels funny to your ears as you hear it, and even funnier when you speak it.

"Yes, nice." His feet swing a little, his head hanging a little sheepishly. "My friends are cool and all, but you're, like, really fun to piss off." Okay, you might actually end up killing him. "And we don't really hang out all that often during the holidays. Plus, you've got a different vibe to you that I think is... nice--" There's that fucking word again, how on earth did he get higher marks than you in English? "--and my parents work a lot regardless so having you as company is, I suppose, ni--"

"Get a grip, dude." Your eyes roll by themselves. "You're rambling."

His lips pout and his cheeks puff to make a ridiculous (yet adorable) face of a child being lightly scolded for no reason. "You said Truce."

"I'm hearing you out, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but you're still being mean."

"Boo-hoo." He look up at you and his narrowed eyes make you retract your statement. "I mean, sorry. Carry on."

"That's it."

"What's 'it'?"

"The thing I wanted to tell you."

"What thing?"

"You know...the thing."

"You spewed a lot of crap in that short frame of time, I truly have no idea what you're talking about."

Jungkook's eyes narrowed once more, this time in suspicion. "You know exactly what I mean."

"No I don't." It's pitiful to say that your face is losing the battle to keep your smile away, which ultimately makes him gasp and point accusingly towards you.

"Yes, you do, you egg."

"Going for the Shakespearean insults? Wow, I must've really ticked you off," you laugh.

Lucky for you, the nearest thing to him was an almost-finished kitchen roll, otherwise he would've landed you in A&E too from his well-aimed throw to your forearm.

"I'm trying to be sincere." His voice is at that whiney pitch he uses when he's frustrated but not enough to care about it. He tends to only use it around his friends, but the more hellish (a potential exaggeration) time you spend with each other, the easier it slips out of him.

"Stop saying 'nice' like someone's pulling it out of your arse and not in a fun way."

"Well, what else am I supposed to say?! That I think your wonderful and funny and interesting and I like it when we spend time together!"

You try not to let the admission show up in your expression, not when it's making your heart race a mile a minute. "I mean, yeah. Don't stop on my account, keep telling me how you think I'm the most amazing person on the planet and you worship the ground I walk on, please."

He rolls his eyes and smiles in that adorable shy why which tells you that he knows exactly what you're trying to do and appreciates the way you relieve the tension. "Jesus, even when you take the piss out of me you still say 'please' in a way that makes me want to..." he trails off, then sighs. "Nevermind, ignore me."

Oh no, you're not going to let it go that easily. "Hard to do when your pig-headed ego takes up half the room." You take your gloves off--making a mental note to burn them in the incinerator for all they've had to deal with today (it's a mercy, really)--and turn towards him to give your full undivided attention. As if that would make it any easier for him to speak. "Go on, please."

He rolls his eyes again, trying even harder to hide his smile but it's fails just as easily. "Stop it."

"Stop what? Could you tell me, please?" Your head cocks to the side and your eyes challenge him in a teasing sort of way.

"God fucking damnit, Y/N. I don't know how I'm going to survive uni with you," he laughs, but the way he looks back at you feels a little too fond.

It takes a second to process what he just said. "Um, what?"

"What?"

"You said... wait, are we going to the same uni?!"

"Um, yeah? We got into the same uni."

Shock takes ever your expression for a moment. "You remember which uni I applied to?"

He looks at you incredulously. "Yeah, of course I remember. And don't be so damn humble about your exam results, I know for a fact we're both getting in."

You take a second to find a response in your head, which seems momentarily empty except for that one phrase 'of course I remember.' "Well, that's beside the point." Jungkook raises a brow at you, not buying it but willing to shelf the matter for now. "What did you mean by all that earlier?"

He looks down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I have no idea what you mean."

"No no, you can't get out of it that easily."

"I think I can."

You take a few steps to his side and try to perch yourself up on the side of the counter next to him. He doesn't say anything as he helps you up with his good hand wrapped around your waist--and neither do you in case the combustion of heat in your body will expel flames out of your mouth the second you open it, right for your rival to see. "You're infuriating, you know that right?"

"Really? Haven't heard you say it before."

"Shut up," you chuckle, lightly shoving his shoulder with your own.

"Never. I know how much you love my snark, even if you don't admit it," he grins in return, looking at you in a way that makes your insides turn and twist. God you didn't think you could hate his stupid face even more than you do now (or something like that).

Then there comes a moment where everything went still. You think it's slightly unfair that this boy is able to bend people to his will with his looks and charm, and now apparently he can bend time too. Okay, maybe in this instance it doesn't feel as bad because you strangely don't mind having time suspended when he's there with you.

Those brown eyes flicker down to your lips so quickly you wouldn't have caught it had you not been intently gazing at him too. Rushes of heat fill every inch of your body, and to be honest, you don't know how to respond to it.

Times like these are few between you two, mostly because most of your interactions happen where there's a number of people around. But when it's just the two of you...

It feels slightly dangerous, but in a warm, comforting way that's so addictive you get a little scared of how much you don't want it to end. And also how his lips don't look as repulsive to press your own again as much as they usually do.

Damn him and his witchery.

"Anything else you want me to do?"

He raises a brow. "I want you to do a lot of things, you're gonna have to be more specific."

It was your turn to roll your eyes. "I mean, any cleaning up you needed me to do for your unhygienic brother?"

"Ah... no. The dishes were the main thing."

"Okay..." Silence stretches around the two of you until you find enough boldness within you to break it. "What were the other things?"

"What other things?"

"That you wanted me to do."

"Uh, I think you might fracture my balls too if I said them."

"Coward."

The corner of his lips curve. "There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity."

"Wow, I didn't think you knew it existed since you tend to cross it a lot."

"Har har," he deadpans, making you smile.

Your hands run over your thighs, a nervous tick you have that you have no doubt he's clocked onto by the way his good hand reaches out to squeeze one of them gently. Your hand, that is, though a corner of your traitorous mind that's steadily becoming louder over the past couple of weeks the longer you spend time with him thinks that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it was your thigh instead. It's certainly big enough and you've seen the way he handles modelling clay for his art homework. There's no doubt he'd be able to relieve the tension of the muscles there. Or anywhere else--ah, no. Nope. Absolutely not.

"Sometimes I kinda kick myself for doing this deal with you." At your quizzical look, he clears his throat. "Makes it harder to ignore you when you're right with me for a good chunk of the day."

"You couldn't ignore me even if you tried."

He snorts. "Tired and proven."

Your brows scrunch, though your heart still beats against your chest. "What, really? You've tried to ignore me? Damn. Here I was hoping it would've worked out."

"Oh, I tried a few years ago, I think? Closer to when we first met. But unfortunately, you're hard to ignore."

Mockingly, you straighten you back and lift your head up. "Given how perfect I am, smarts and looks and all."

His smile is a bit weaker this time. "Yeah... Practically impossible to keep my mind off you."

Silence flows once more for a moment or two and you realise his hands is still wrapped around yours. "You know I tried too...in the beginning. Unfortunately, that didn't last long either."

His brow quicks. "Given how perfect I am, smarts and looks and all?"

"The opposite, actually. You were too dumb and ugly not to. Out of pity, really." From your teasing expression, he knows that he was right.

"Riiiiight, 'pity'. We'll go for that blatant lie if you want to save face."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I think you do."

"I think I don't."

You don't realise until now how close your faces have gotten, able to feel the soft gentle breaths against your lips from his. It feels so difficult to maintain the distance but even more so to move closer to further.

"When you asked me what I meant by all that... ask me again."

"What?"

"Ask me what I meant by everything I said before."

You've been sensing this coming for a while now, longer than whatever time you've spent together in his brother's now-clean kitchen (thanks to you). Like the sky is falling, but you can't seem to look away from it.

"What did you mean?"

Jungkook's tongue peeks out to run along his bottom lip. "I meant that I... I think you're amazing, potentially out of my league--"

"--definitely out of your league--" Definitely what you would consider a lie because look at him and his social skills and his grades and passion and whatnot.

"--and so damn sweet and kind."

"Did you not just hear me call myself out of your league? Or pay attention to most of our conversations in general."

He sends a questioning look to you, as if he can see through your bullshit. "I think we both know you don't think that--for some stupid reason, because you actually are out of my league."

"Don't be humble, it doesn't suit you."

"I'm not. Just truthful. And the truth is, I find it hard to be around you and not fall for you. I see the person you are when you let your guard down with people you care about and how annoyingly well you follow that moral compass of yours even if you use fancy mean words to distract everyone else."

You snort. "If only you heard my thoughts about you while I was doing the dishes. Maiming was not off the list."

He tried to bite back a laugh. "Given the condition of those dishes, I would give you a free pass for homicide."

"Good thing your teen boy-genes haven't totally overtaken your common sense of hygiene."

"I think we can both agree we're growing out of the 'teen' bit of our lives."

"Nope," you deny quickly, waving your hand out as if to undo what he just said. "I'd like to stick my head in the sand and forget about how quickly life is moving into adulthood until it hits me like a train--"

"--or a clown--"

"--thank you very much," you end tightly, sending him a light-hearted glare.

"As I was saying," he continues, amusement lighting up his face, "it's hard not to want to kiss you at times."

"Even when I'm mouthing off to you?"

"Especially when you're mouthing off."

Even though you were expecting it, it takes a minute to process. "Oh."

"Yes, 'ohhhhh'," he mocks, nudging you with a teasing smirk.

"That must've been annoying in class then."

"Very," he nods solemnly. "There were times I wanted to throw caution to the wind and traumatise everyone."

"From the shit some of my friends say, I don't think people would be that shocked if you'd kiss me."

"Huh, maybe you're not as airheaded as you make yourself out to be."

"Rude," you mumble. "I pay attention. I just tend to...second guess."

"I think my feelings for you were a bit obvious. I mean, I think I could've survived without having you be at my beck and call this summer but I said yes anyway."

"Manipulative bastard."

"Anything for you," he sends a cheesy grin your way, making you laugh at the sudden and very inconvenient butterflies fluttering about in your stomach.

"'Anything'?"

"Okay, from that tone, I can tell you're imagining something horrifying so let me change that to 'anything within reason'."

"Coward."

"You are slightly terrifying."

"Why, thank you," you smile, and he smiles too with that buttery warm look of fondness again before he leans in slowly, giving you enough time to move away. But when you don't, he pressed his lips against yours and fucking hell it's the softest thing you've ever felt.

You don't know how long it takes for the kiss to break but even breathless you still miss the warm softness against your mouth. And apparently he felt the same because it takes very little time for him to capture your lips again, untangling his hand from yours to cup the side of your jaw, keeping you in place--not like it was possible for you to leave his addictive taste anyway, it might take dark magic for that to happen.

Maybe something even more potent, when his tongue slips its way past your lips and you find that he's stolen every single thought that occupied your mind. Again, time slips away until you're lungs are burning from the lack of air and you both pull away--though not too far from one another.

"So," he says breathless.

"So," you repeat in the same manner, mind still a little fuzzy.

"That was... something."

"Good something or bad something?"

"I don't think 'good' is a strong enough word I want to use." You hum in agreement, and reluctantly pull a little further away, his hand dropping back down onto yours. He looks at you curiously. "So..."

"So..."

"Would I be too soon if I asked you to take pity on a poor simp like me and be mine?"

"Hmmm," you hum in thought. "Given your performance, I'm inclined to accept."

"I can upgrade you from being my reluctant servant to my reluctant lover." He wiggles his borrows and you groan.

"With a romantic declaration like that, I find it hard not to accept," you deadpan, before sighing and leaning against his shoulder. You want to bottle up that sound up and listen to it until you get sick of it--which you have a sneaking suspicion is about as likely as the sun imploding in your lifetime.

"Would you let me continue to wreak havoc on your life?"

"Naturally."

"Then yes. I accept." He raises a brow expectantly and you clock on to what he's waiting for. "I'm not saying it."

"Say it."

"No."

"Please?"

"I take back my answer."

"No backsies."

"What, are you five years old or something?"

"Just say it! Say you'll be my lover."

"If you manage to make this relationship last for 50 years, then I will."

He huffs, leaning his head on top of yours, fingers linking with yours. "I suppose I can agree with that. I'll keep a note of it in my calendar."

"How unusually organised of you."

"Like I said, I'd do anything for you."

"Within reason, of course."

"Of course. Doesn't need to be logical reason, just reason."

"Good to know. Now, let's get out of your brother's place. I feel all the germs crawling all over me and need an extra hot shower--maybe two--to feel even remotely clean after that ordeal."

He laughs as he pressed a kiss on top of your head. "Yeah, okay, we can do that. Though I hoped you reminded me before I kissed you."

"You just did again after I told you, dumbass."

"In my defence, I did tell you it was hard not to. If I die of some unknown disease, I blame on you." You roll your eyes with a smile as the two of you hop off the counter and make your way out, hands still clasped together.

[silvermarley]

Hello there! For your 400+ followers event, may I request an Obey me! Mammon who is so incredibly in love with an MC that doesn't feel pretty? After she/they acknowledge it or he realizes how she/they feel, he's determined to make her/them feel otherwise (This has nothing to do with my own traumas. What are you talking about?).

You can do it NSFW or simply Fluff, and AFAB reader or gn!neutral, that's really up to you.

If you decide to do this one, please feel free to tag me if you want to, so I won't miss it. Also, it's totally fine if you don't want to write it.

I hope you have a great week!

I wholeheartedly see mammon being like that 😭 but anyways, I hope yours is too <3 @treasureofmammon

Warnings: angst to fluff, comfort, mammon in so in love aw

A/N: dear lord I was so unmotivated but I’m back with this

You’ve always held yourself in low self esteem. Even when you got to the Devildom. If there would be anyone who would notice your dismay regarding your looks, it would be your “first” right?

Of course. Your first man, and the one meant to protect you, Mammon. He notices the little things.

It all started when he would notice how you put yourself down in what you hid as a solely joking manner. You two were just lounging around in your room, watching “some show” you put on (so he tries to tell himself, but he’s actually invested in it and refuses to admit it). And the female lead character is shown modeling for a clothing brand. You frown to yourself, wishing you could be as stunning as she is.

“I wish I was her.” You joke, although the meaning of your words was lacking in humor.

Mammon glanced over at you and then back to the screen. “Ya want to model or somethin’?” He asked, the true meaning lost on him.

You shrug, leaving the statement out in the air. His eyes fall back to you. Oh. You weren’t smiling, as someone who just made a playful comment would.

He didn’t quite understand why you would say that in such a way if you weren’t jesting about it. From that moment on, he would listen for alternative messages in your words. Mammon may be a little.. slow at noticing the undertones of what you say. But he picks up on it.

He’s not one to confront someone about their emotional state. But you are a different case. You’re the one he adores, the one that it’s so painfully obvious that he’s in love with to anyone that sees the two of you. You’re his beloved.

The state of your mindset clicks with him when he catches you staring at yourself in the your mirror, which was propped up against the wall. You were fumbling with your clothing to make yourself possibly look better while also moving your hair around to see if that helps, with no luck. Along with that, you were almost obsessively staring at your face, scrutinizing how you look.

Your mind were a mess. A jumble of thoughts reminding you that you don’t feel pretty. You were so in your head that you didn’t notice him. Mammon leans on the doorframe as he watched you do that for a moment, seeing that to his dismay he was right about something being wrong.

“MC?” He calls out, making you jump from where you stood and snapping you out of your thoughts. “You doin’ alright?” He inquired, the question rhetorical because he knew you were acting off.

“Uhm..-yeah!” You try to smile to hide how you felt moments ago. “Why do you ask?”

The demon now stood right next to you, his face oddly serious. “What’s really goin’ on with you?” Before you tried to cover for yourself he spoke again. “Don’t lie.. clearly there’s somethin’ on your mind.”

You looked down. You really couldn’t lie to him when he confronted you like this. The thoughts from before still swirled in your head. Though.. the caring tone of his voice alone made you want to spill. But you didn’t want to cry right now. You couldn’t.

The tears flowed faster than you could stop it. “Am I pretty to you..?” Your voice waivers. You plop down on your bed, shoulders slumped and you can’t even look at him.

His eyes widen a little as he sat next to you. “What..?” He couldn’t believe you just asked that. You, who was the prettiest girl he has laid eyes on. You, who captivated him the day you met by the moment he saw you. You, who makes his heart flutter on the daily when he so much as sees you. And yet here you were asking him if he thought you were pretty.

His question was left unanswered as you sniffled and laid your head on your knees. Fuck, how couldn’t he notice sooner you thought this way?

He places a comforting hand on arm. “MC.. can ya look at me? Please?”

You hesitantly lift your head. The tear filled e/c eyes he could get lost in finally met his gaze once more. He smiled a little before returning to a more calm-serious expression. “You’re more than pretty to me..” he said, his cheeks rosy as he continues, “Y-You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.”

It was like he needed to confess this, given the timing and the overwhelming feelings he has for you even as you cry. He never wants to see you like this. Even at your worst times, he can’t help but fall harder. His heart is pounding and there was so many things he wanted to say. But instead of rambling or trying to play it cool by denying his love for you (as a tsundere does), he takes one of your hands and places it on his chest.

“Feel that? I… I get like this just from being around you. E-Even just seeing you.” The sincerity in his tone made your tears begin to slow down. You sniffled, in awe of his words. You wanted to believe him, but you couldn’t quite yet.

“Mammon..” is all you managed to murmur. He held your hand on his chest with his above your own for a bit longer, before shifting it to his lap where he softly grasped it. Almost like he didn’t want to let go.

“I think you’re beautiful, ya know?” He cleared his throat, looking away embarrassingly as you stared at him. “So stop puttin’ yourself down like that..”

Your legs fell back down to where you were now in a normal seated position. Mammon’s kind words made you feel some sort of comfort in yourself. While you still didn’t quite think you’re pretty, it helped.

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to lean your head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand in gratitude. “Thanks..”

He melts at this, his heart leaping. Now, he knew that this wouldn’t mean you automatically think differently. And that only made him want to try harder to convince you that you’re absolutely stunning. The demon knew he was positively whipped for you, and he was determined to eventually make you see yourself as he sees you. No matter how long it takes.

[seangelfish]

Our favourite items

Ritsu Sakuma x Reader ♡ Tags: Fluff, established relationship, casual romance, really wholesome, INTRO IS REALLY LONG, SORRY!, she/her pronouns ♡ Word count: 2,215 ♡ Synopsis: Inspired by the Meowsketeers scout story in which this card is featured in. I've been trying to read the scout stories since I never read them, and I thought that this one would be cute to add the reader in! Please note that this fic does not stay true to the story, but it has taken bits from it. A/N: There needs to be more Ritsu x reader fics.

Drenched in sweat, Ritsu slowly woke up from his nap in the ES gardens. His mind was still filled with thoughts of what happened the other day when Tsukasa confronted and withdrew some of the new members of Knights.

Ritsu pitied them, but what was said was the mere truth. That's the way Knights operated, it was never a unit to have fun with as an idol. But seeing those tearful faces did take a toll on him.

At that moment, Ritsu felt something heavy weighing on him. It wasn't what happened that day, but something physical that he could feel near his stomach.

'Who is it? Am I being attacked? It's not those pranks Tsukipi set up, right?' he thought tiredly. Unless it's (Y/N)...? No... she said she'd be busy today–

Ritsu was getting annoyed. "Hold on. You don't disturb people when they're sleeping!" he groaned. "Now I'm in a bad mood... Don't mess with me– Huh?"

Eyes wide open, Ritsu found that on his stomach was a black cat.

"Ugh, so it was this guy!" he fumed. "Get off! You're heavy and it's too hot...!"

Yet the cat wouldn't budge. It stayed lying on Ritsu's stomach as if he were a pillow. Ritsu wasn't having any of it though, no one dares disturb his sleep even if they were a cat! Getting angrier by the second, he decided to fight it off him.

"Hey! Ow! Don't dig your claws in me!"

"That Suo, he's late!" exclaimed Leo. "What a troublesome guy! I came early today since he gets angry at me when I come late."

"Unbelievable! He's wasting my precious time!" Izumi chided. "This is so annoying. Did your wanderlust infect Kasa-kun?"

Leo laughed. "Eh? What, what? Wahaha, that's funny, Sena! I suppose it's fate that Knights' leader is to be cursed by wanderlust!"

Frantic footsteps could be heard as Tsukasa barged into the studio panting. He apologised, mentioning to his seniors that he got involved in a little incident with Ritsu. That was when Ritsu entered the room, still arguing with the black cat he encountered outside.

"I told you to let go of me, didn't I?! Why can't you understand me, you stupid cat?!" Ritsu growled. "Do my clothes smell like catnip or something...?"

"A stray cat got attached to Ritsu-senpai and it won't let go of him," stated Tsukasa.

"Unbelievable. This was why you were late?" said Izumi. "There's got to be some way to pull it off. Just grab it by the neck like how a parent cat carries a kitchen– Owah! This guy tried to scratch me! If you were human, I'd have you pay compensation!"

Arashi suggested that they all calm down and get started on the retrospective – the reason why they were holding a meeting in the first place. If they ignore the cat, perhaps it would let Ritsu go!

But as Arashi started playing the video of their live, Leo noticed something. In the video, Leo pointed out the front row seats where beside a fan's feet, a black cat was seen.

"This guy, it saw Ritsu at Knights' live and came to meet him!" said Leo excitedly.

"Hah...? No way! That sounds so unrealistic," Ritsu replied before turning to the cat which started showing him affection. "Owah, what? Don't start licking my cheek!"

"Given its reaction, it probably did come to meet Knights," said Tsukasa. "Isn't it just the cutest? It probably fell in love with Ritsu-senpai's brave figure at the live!"

"What?! Don't say things so nonchalantly!"

But the other members of Knights had agreed to let the cat do what it wanted despite Ritsu's comments on how much of a disaster this was.

The cat didn't let go of him even during the retrospective. It lay sound asleep on Ritsu's lap. Knights had come up with a name for the cat too, 'd'Artagnyan', their 'newest knight that was drawn in by Knights.'

Ritsu didn't like this idea at all. He didn't see any resemblance between him and the cat that his fellow members were constantly pointing out too. Though, he didn't want to just kick it out. He wanted it to leave on its own volition.

"It clings to you like how you cling onto (Y/N)," stated Arashi causing Ritsu to erupt into a steam of embarrassment. "Maybe it finds your scent comforting~? If so, it might be satisfied with something that has Ritsu-chan's scent on it..."

"Something with my scent?" Ritsu repeated. "Ah, I just came to an unpleasant conclusion..."

He was talking about his favourite blanket – the only thing in this studio that had his scent on it. But there was no way that Ritsu wanted to give this unlucky cat his favourite blanket!

"Ah, wait! Don't suddenly pounce for my blanket, you idiot cat!" huffed Ritsu as he tried to yank the blanket away. He was now on the floor fighting with the cat. "Give it back! I don't want such an unlucky cat to use my blanket! Guys, please help me out here!"

"Oi, oi. There's no need to get so worked up over something like this, right, Ritsu?" said Leo. "I know it's annoying, but it'll be dangerous if you get violent in here, no?"

"But I really like this blanket! I won't allow it to use it! Ah, don't scratch it–"

"Please calm down, Ritsu-senpai...!" sputtered Tsukasa.

But before Izumi could assert himself to scold Ritsu, you had rushed into the studio. Arashi had texted you about the situation before they started their retrospective, hoping that you'd come to solve the issue at hand. After all, you solved a lot of their problems before, it became customary to ask you for help.

"Ritsu, are you okay?" you asked worriedly, bending down. "Hey, what's wrong? You're not usually like this."

"(Y-Y/N)?!" Ritsu blurted, perplexed at your sudden appearance. "W-What are you doing here?"

You answered that even though you were busy with your own assignments today, you couldn't just ignore what was happening with Knights, with him.

"Is this what's bothering you?" You tried picking up the cat, but it immediately started hissing at you. "Ah! Okay, I'm not going to pick you up then...! Anyway, Arashi texted me all the details already. Why don't you just give up the blanket, Ritsu?"

"N-No!" he cried. "I can't!"

"I don't understand why you like that blanket so much," said Izumi. "I'll buy you a new one if that makes you happy–"

"That's not it! (Y/N) bought me this one!"

Everyone had gone silent over that fact.

"Then I'll buy you a new one," you offered.

"No!" Ritsu protested. "You got this for me when we were first years! I can't just let that go!"

Ritsu usually wasn't this worked up, so you knew he was upset about something other than his blanket. But you also knew that he was a very sentimental person too, so you couldn't just force him to give up something that he truly loved. It was sweet that he had kept this blanket up until now though. It showed how much he loved you.

"I have an idea," you suddenly said. You rummaged through your bag and pulled out a white sweater. "This also has Ritsu's scent on it."

"Wait," Ritsu began. "That's my sweater."

"Mhm, my favourite one too!" you giggled. "If we give the cat this, then it'll give up on the blanket!"

"B-But (Y/N), you love that sweater...!" he said.

"I do, but you love that blanket too, right? I'll give this up so you can have your blanket back!"

With how selfless and thoughtful you were being, Ritsu had finally cooled down.

"N-No, it's fine," he said sadly. "I'll let it keep the blanket, you keep the sweater, okay? I'm sorry, everyone, I went overboard. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"Ritsu..."

He picked up his blanket with the cat still attached to it and left the building quietly. The meeting with Knights had come to an end. You sighed, apologised and thanked Knights for putting up with your boyfriend before following after him.

Ritsu was situated on one of the tables at the ES gardens, his head laid on his arms as he watched the black cat sleep in his blanket.

"It's my fault that Knights ended up fighting again... If only this cat hadn't been there. No, I should've been calmer..." he murmured. "It would've been better if I had analysed the situation calmly like I usually do, and brought it to a positive conclusion..."

"Ritsu~" you called out.

With the sound of your voice, his eyes immediately gravitated towards you. He didn't lift his head though, he was too tired for that.

"(Y/N)..."

"Here," you said, pressing a cold can of soda to his cheek. He cried at the coldness but quickly covered his mouth from being too loud. He didn't want to wake up the cat despite how annoying it was today.

"Ah, thank you..." he said, taking the can from you. He laid it in front of him, not opening it. "(Y/N), I'm really sorry about earlier. You were busy, and Nacchan had to call you over to deal with something so small."

"Eh, it's okay~," you said. From behind, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. "I'm nearly finished with my assignments anyway. But Ritsu, are you really okay?"

Ritsu strained a smile, but he held your arm in a way to comfort himself. "I'm fine now. I'm going to sit here and reflect on my actions until this stupid cat wakes up. If I ignored the cat in the studio and it gets restless, it might be even more troublesome."

You laughed. "It's so cute when it's sleeping. It reminds me of you."

"Eeehhh? Why does everyone keep saying that?" he asked.

"Well, it's cute and you're cute! Also, it takes naps just like you, hehe~"

Ritsu sighed but laughed along. "Ah, you're wearing the sweater," he said, finally noticing the baggy look on you.

"Yep! I'm glad I didn't need to give it up in the end, but I do feel sad that you had to give your favourite blanket away," you said.

"It's fine. Maybe it'll let it go later..." he started. "Well, I hope it does anyway. I really do like that blanket..."

He chuckled, reminiscing the time you first got him the blanket. The two of you met just before entering Yumenosaki. You were Mao's friend initially, but he had introduced you to Ritsu during the time he had to repeat his first year. Ritsu had treated you coldly at first, but when you spotted him sleeping in the gardens, coming to know of his illness, you had decided to gift him a blanket for him to use.

It was a blanket you had bought at a shop in town, nothing special, but Ritsu thought the world of it. Even when he treated you so poorly, you were still so nice to him – to accommodate him in this way. He grew fond of the blanket, but he mostly grew fond of you.

After that day, he stuck to you just like the cat he was watching now.

"You know, I'm surprised it's still kept in good condition after all these years," you pointed out. "We're in our third year now... and it still looks brand new."

"I take good care of my things, (Y/N)~," he said. "And I'll be keeping that blanket for as long as I can."

You smiled and gave him a peck on the back of his head. "Anyway, aren't you going to tell me what got you so riled up? It can't just be because of the cat, right?"

"Ah, right..." he said. He opened the can that you gave him and began to drink the contents of it. "So, this is what happened..."

He explained everything to you, recalling what happened that day when they had to withdraw some of the new Knights members. He was honest with his feelings, how bad he felt when he saw those tearful faces, how bad he felt when he knew that those dreams were being crushed.

But after some reassurance from you, Ritsu felt a lot better. That's when Tsukasa showed up to check up on him too. A suggestion of finding foster parents for the cat was brought up which Ritsu agreed to.

By time, he grew fond of the cat albeit he still wanted it gone. But things had resolved themselves, and Ritsu was back to his calm, analytical self again.

You had come to say goodbye to the cat, d'Artagnyan, too. This time, it had let you hold it.

"Hehe, it really does remind me of you," you told Ritsu who immediately turned red. "Don't miss Ritsu too much, you hear me~? I hope you live a comfortable life."

Watching you be so gentle with the cat like that had Ritsu feeling some sort of way. He smiled gently to himself, appreciating that you were there with him, that you were there to console him and to listen to every word he had to say. There was nothing better in this world – even his favourite blanket – that would compare to you.

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