#[ but on the other hand I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO EXACTLY WRITE?? ]

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 i'll say a hundred and fourty times, | various hsr men x gender neutral reader reader

💌 — ; i think about you or something like that ! you remember your first date with your husband like it was yesterday, what exactly did they do to convince you that they were the one?

love mail — these vary in length cus bless my heart i js cant 💔 i picked the characters who are super popular on this account + mutuals faves so if urs isnt on here am sorry (ノ´Д｀)ノ posting this early hi i love u guys!!!! thank you for so much love and a platform to write as a other yr passes 4 me and i turn 17!!! this is actually so long im going BANANAS 🩷 proper post tmr ! (anaxa, mydei, phainon, caelus, dan heng, boothill, sampo, blade, ratio, jing yuan, gallagher, sunday in that order)

what anaxa had done to seal the deal was fairly simple; he asked for a second date. the professor had somewhat of a reputation, many saw him as a cold man, soulless when it comes to romance. but what you didn't know was that anaxa had been thinking about what to wear the night prior, something he saw as 'trivial' and 'not an important thing to consider'. or how your hand lingered a bit too long after he gave you your favorite coffee/tea/drink (his treat), little and seemingly insignificant details were becoming more and more important to him as the day of the date was building up, and he wasn't sure why.

it wasn't until after the long date—you grabbed his hand, told him that everything he arranged was perfect, and smiled at him so sweetly he was sure he'd wake up with a toothache. the gesture was unfamiliar yet not unwelcomed, it was then he realized that he didn't want to let this go, that he wanted this.. for the rest of his life.

and he got it <3 hooray!

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

what intrigued you about mydei was his idea of masculinity. it wasn't toxic, you were VERY relieved at that... he was surprisingly a very gentle man despite his intimidating appearance! his first date being at his place was a bit off putting, but he just wanted to bake you a fresh batch of cookies. he's halfway through the process when you suddenly ask; "what's your favorite thing?" it seems you've brought the crown prince of kremnos into a bit of thought, as he thought long and hard of what to answer. "butterflies, i like butterflies. i don't remember if i've ever seen one before i escaped the river of souls. they're beautiful.. delicate, something i'll never really get to be."

the night goes on and you've gotten close enough to lean on his shoulders while you sit on the couch, enjoying a series in silence with a plate of warm cookies on the coffee table. the lack of conversation isn't awkward, rather welcomed, then it was interrupted by what has been probably the sweetest thing ever told to you. "you uh.. remind me of a butterfly. you possess beauty that is.. otherworldly to me, you're someone i've never seen before and i'd be honored if you.. gave me some more time to bask in your existence. let me be gifted with your ethereal charm."

100% spent the night cuddling together, made you laugh at how nervous mydei was to hold you since he didn't wanna mess up 🙏

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

before real dates became a thing, phainon's FAAAVORITE excuse to spend one on one time with you was study dates. was there any actual studying going on? yes, but was phainon listening? absolutely not! how could he? not when you're trying your best to tutor him yet he still fails this one specific class (enrolled cause you were in it) despite your teaching.

you didn't mind the fact he kept coming to your door, he was your best friend before your 'student'. but it was getting to a point that if you explain a complicated concept one more time, only to see him staring at you and absolutely not listening you're about to pull his pretty blue hair off.

which you did tell him. hair ripping threat and all, and naturally the nameless hero—who dominates battlefields and comes out victorious, is quick to confess his true motive for these frequent visits to your dorm. he just likes looking at you when you're focused, passionately discussing your favorite topic from your favorite subject and he gets to be a part of that experience for you.

he wants to emphasize; he gets to be a PART of something greater that you're DEEPLY passionate about, and understand you more as a person. (when he should be understanding the class but wtv)

taking you out on a date-but-never-officially-called-that date as an apology, which worked in his favor. it turned out so good that you told him you wanted to go out again, which he was ecstatic about by the way!!! super gratful he almost failed that class if it meant you two got together 🩷

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

caelus is a big eater at heart, so of course it felt only right to take you out to a nice dinner, all on him! welt even got him a nice outfit to go along with it, very classy and formal.

and while you two ate, drank, and laughed the night away—caelus was quick to notice that you were getting full. you and him had chosen the same meal (he wanted to try to understand and adjust to your food palette in case of a second date), but you felt bad that you couldn't finish it with so much still on the plate.

the trailblazer, who had already bulldozed almost the entire meal, laughs at your frown. only to switch the meals around, where there was only a little left and he had the bigger portion. "don't want anything to go to waste, y'know?" he flashed that charming smile at you, and it made you chuckle. not for such a sweet gesture, which you really did appreciate, but he had a piece of leaf stuck in between his teeth. it gave off the whole charm he had, effortlessly kind and unintentionally funny. you liked that.. liked that a lot, actually. (enough to spend the rest of ur lives tgt <3)

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

for a portion of your childhood life, you found it hard to be heard. your voice was never loud enough to stand out from a crowd, and you felt ignored. that you weren't good enough to be listened to.

so going on a date was extremely nerve-wracking. you decided to make sure to never try to assert yourself too much in a conversation, just let them take the lead and not try to disturb with your 'uninteresting' input.

halfway through the date, holding hands and talking about your favorite place to visit-you are very quick to realize that you've taken up most of the conversation. and it isn't in a bad way either, since dan heng was adding his own little comments.. adding his ideas in the conversation. but he hasn't.. stopped you. he let you speak comfortably, let you be heard. "sorry, did i give you a weird look? i didn't mean to.. i just.. i really like listening to you. please don't ever stop talking."

your now husband loves to tell the people that said his quietness would never get him someone.. that he has a ring now and a very lovely spouse that has a matching one !

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

boothill doesn't usually have time for dates, always moving on the road and hopping around penacony. but when robin set him up with a good friend of hers, he didn't want to decline. the cowboy was quick to realize you were really cute and interesting, so he didn't mind taking a day off... until it wasn't a day off.. and had to handle a quick bounty a couple of hours before your date.

"don'tgetdistractedandthinkofthemdon'tgetdistractedandthinkofthemdon'tgetdistractedandthinkofthem" is what he repeats to himself before he gets distracted, imagines how you smiled at him yesterday and expressed how excited you were about the date.

got his shit rocked :-( but he still trudged his malfunctioning arm and scarred face to your place. "sorry." he strained a smile as he falls into your arms, grunting. "didn't mean to make ya wait. darlin'.. would never try to leave ya alone on such a pretty night."

his selflessness made your heart soften. he was so uncaring for his wounds, and he was even muttering that he was sorry for getting so much of his bleeding oil on your clothes. the date didn't end up pulling through, at least not properly. since you brought him in to care for him, and honestly just ended up to you flirting all night.

you're more than happy to have a real date when he's all fixed up.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

sampo had finally gotten one upped. HE got scammed by YOU in an exchange of information. it wasn't even anything out of harsh feelings, you had always been his informant, giving him what he needs for a good pay and go. but tonight, you decided to mess with him a bit. after receiving the money you charged to find whatever he needed on some random, you never sent it. left him waiting at his laptop and blinking at his camera, knowing damn well you were watching.

this became a normal thing, the back and fourth 'scams'. and soon your time together became less for a transaction, more just wanting to spend time with each other. which you told him from the very first day that you couldn't care less about anything as long as he had money (you didn't know his name till 3 months of working together).

so one night, expecting the usual "oops! sent it to the wrong number!" or "hehe, maybe i forgot a few zeroes and sent you like 5 coins!" you get an actual message.

"what a coincidence, i'm paying in full but it all went towards a restaurant near your place with the best table for two and your favorite food. it would really be a shame to let it go to waste.."

you agreed. and this went on long enough where one day his payment became a ring and a promise to love you forevermore.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

two stellaron hunters slowly growing to be interested in each other is a rather entertaining sight. kafka was quick to catch on, the lingering glances and subtle touches of affection that would slip the average persons gaze. what was unexpected-was blade's initiation of these gestures. how he'd have a protective stance over you during battle, despite your capabilities likely being on par with his. how he allows his hand to be taken into yours, treating his calloused hands gently after a long day of fighting with his sword, or even just the way he looks at you. it's soft, warm, with a hint of tenderness and admiration. despite his nonchalant face.

this becomes more obvious when he finally asks you out, and he's genuinely caring the whole time. he's interested in your discussions about life, entertains him when he asks you for any other details, and you don't make him feel alone. that's the most important thing. and he makes it clear how much he appreciates you with how he tucks your hair behind your ear, murmuring if he could have the blessing to kiss you. it isn't on the lips-he's not pushing his luck.. but just the cheek. it was something small, but for him? an absolutely huge step.

the date with the ever so well known dr. veritas ratio had gone well enough that you agreed to go home with him. he was quick to clarify that this wasn't to sleep with him, he wasn't that kind of man to push something so early on in what he described to be: "a relationship that may be something greater than i could ever imagine" but instead to take care of you. it seemed as if you were exhausted from the travel during the date, and a nice bath would usually help.

nice bath was an understatement, the guy had scented candles, soft music, the right ratio from bubbles to water, snacks for you to enjoy and had a whole selection of books to choose from.

your fate was sealed the moment you walked into his bathroom because a man who can care for himself and still have the room to care for others is FOR SURE a keeper. even invited him to stay in the bath w u but he wanted to be respectful 🙏 (caved eventually)

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

jing yuan was the whole reason you got back into dating. after your first relationship fell apart, you found it hard to want to start things from scratch, learning favorite colors and life dreams all over again. but jing yuan swayed you, something that wasn't easy but he always makes sure to tell you he doesn't regret.

he was introduced to you through yanqing, your former apprentice before he was taken in by the cloud knights. he found out you and jing yuan were around the same age, so the blondie tested out his luck playing cupid <3 so even if it wasn't an immediate yes to his shenanigans, jing yuan started slowly. he could see you had walls and he wanted them to go down upon your own hearts decision, rather than bulldoze through them.

that care never went away. not even years later when he tears up at how far he's come, watching you walk down that aisle and knowing you're his forever.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

gallagher's wasn't even a first date. but you were on one, or supposed to be. till you got stood up and wanted to drink your worries away.

you've been in the bar from the very first hour it opened till now.. aka 3am. and the bartender himself was growing a little drowsy. but you were going strong, probably your 8th bottle of the night, which was starting to be a concern.

one of many, really. for one, gallagher was wondering who could ditch such a person. you clearly fixed yourself up nicely, your outfit was gorgeous and you were so friendly to him up until you realized you were stood up, and the pretty face that made his bar a little brighter went quiet. he couldn't have that.

by the time his shift ended, he slid a drink to you with a napkin. "take care of yourself, alright? come by tomorrow night, and you'll get yourself a real man to go on a date with."

he leaves and the napkin (cliche enough) has his number and name. "gallagher." you say to yourself, making a note in your drunken state to return same time tomorrow.

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

sunday totally took you out with vip seats to robins concert. did he have to do a LIIIITTLE bit of pursuading to have robin hand over these tickets? no.. but she did tease him for finally catching a date after all this time! and as much as he is a big admirer for his sisters work, the whole concert he couldn't take his eyes off of you. how you effortlessly glowed in a sea of people, how your passion for something as simple as music could rival his dream for eternal rest to penacony. he has dreamed of you, he's sure of it. someone so carefree and kind, a soul opposite to his, yet perfectly fills the other half of his empty heart.

he wrote poetry about you, robin found it, turned it into a song and had to awkwardly explain why robin's song that she specifically clarified to be written about someone he liked included descriptions of your physical appearance and hints of your personality.

found it very sweet, and insisted your next date should be something more personal so you can learn more about him the way he's learned so much about you without even needing to talk to you to do so. (was just happy to go on a second date)

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU — PREMIERES @ 15th JUNE SUN 0000 KST

Years after a quiet, painful breakup, you are assigned to write a profile on South Korea’s most elusive figure skater, Park Sunghoon, who just so happens to be your ex-boyfriend. What was supposed to be a byline quickly spirals into a collision of unresolved feelings, buried emotions that are edging too close to the surface, and the slow thaw between two people who once meant the world to each other. With every step you take back into his orbit, the line between story and truth begins to blur—and the version of him you thought you knew starts to unravel.

word count: est 30k

pairing: figureskater!ex!sunghoon x sportsjournalist!afab!reader

genre: exes to lovers, sunshine x midnight rain, second chance romance, right person wrong time, slow burn, ANGST

taglist: open! comment, send ask or submit the form on my profile to be added!

notes from nat: god forbid i don't reference a taylor swift song in my stories. someone needs to stop me /hj. just a short(?) one to angst farm before I kick off another series ^.^

TEASER

The office is louder than usual for a Monday morning. Keyboards clatter like a percussion ensemble, and the faint hum of printers competes with the buzz of hurried conversations. The aroma of coffee lingers, sharp and bitter. You sit at your desk, staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard but typing nothing.

Your new assignment email glares at you with a subject line you never thought you’d see: "Profile Piece on Park Sunghoon."

Park Sunghoon. Even his name feels heavy in your chest.

Memories surge to the surface—his laughter ringing through late-night phone calls, the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke about skating, and the tension in his voice during those last arguments before everything unravelled. It’s been years, but the ghost of him lingers like a song stuck in your head.

“Y/N, you’ve got the Sunghoon piece, right?” your editor, Yunah, calls out, snapping you out of your trance. She’s a whirlwind of energy, dressed in a sharp blazer with a coffee mug permanently glued to her hand.

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, though your voice wavers slightly. “I’ve got it.”

“Good,” she says, striding over to your desk. “The story’s got legs. Everyone’s buzzing about his reappearance and return to Korea. Olympic dreams, media darling, potential scandal… you’ve got to dig deep on this one. Make it personal.”

“Personal?” The word makes your stomach churn. “Isn’t that more tabloidy than what we’re used to?”

“Sports tabloids pay the bills, sweetheart,” Yunah says with a shrug. “And you’re the perfect person for this. You’ve got the knack for human stories, and Sunghoon’s story is nothing if not human. Besides, you went to the same university, right?”

The question hangs in the air, deceptively light. You hesitate for a moment too long, and Yunah’s brows lift, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Ah, I see,” she says teasingly. “Well, use it to your advantage.”

Of course. You forgot you're surrounded by people who read body language for a living. There’s no hiding anything from her.

Yunah walks away before you can respond, leaving you with the sinking realisation that she’s not entirely wrong. Who better to cover Park Sunghoon’s meteoric rise—and whatever personal demons he’s carrying—than the girl who once loved him?

By lunchtime, you’ve done enough digging to know exactly what you’re up against.

Sunghoon’s name is everywhere.

His face—still frustratingly photogenic—plastered across articles, feature spreads, and fan-edited clips with dramatic music overlays. They all show a polished, confident man, far removed from the awkward boy you used to know. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his tailored suits scream sophistication, and his trademark smirk has only grown more enigmatic.

You scroll through write-ups that gush about his triumphant return to the ice. They speculate whether he’ll qualify for the next international season, drop cryptic mentions of a “new fire in his eyes,” and cite sources that can’t seem to agree whether his hiatus was due to injury or personal issues. Or both.

There are whispers about a reality show stint during his time in Spain—something lowkey, never officially aired, but leaked through blurry screenshots and strategically placed fan theories. A training arc in disguise, if you had to guess. Classic Sunghoon: disappearing, reinventing, and re-emerging like nothing happened.

And now? He’s starting to make headlines again.

Which makes sense, you suppose. He hasn’t been in the public eye for months. Not since that withdrawal from the Grand Prix final. Not since the buzz about that infamous tussle—the one that sports reporters avoided naming outright but loved to allude to. The speculation only made him more mysterious. More magnetic. The kind of story that writes itself: the fallen star, re-forging his crown.

Yunah’s right—the story’s got legs. You just wish you weren’t the one chasing it.

You stare blankly at the screen, lips pressed together as your cursor hovers over yet another article about him.

You were supposed to be over this.

And yet, you can’t deny the tightness coiling in your chest—not jealousy, exactly. Not regret, either. Just something far messier. The kind of feeling that comes from watching someone you once loved be glorified by the same world that never saw the nights you spent waiting for him to call. The world that didn’t witness the quiet crumbling of a girl who poured so much of herself into someone who didn’t know how to hold it.

You slam your laptop shut.

If he’s back on the ice, fine. Good for him.

But you’re not the same girl who used to cry over his missed calls and make excuses for his silence. You have a job to do. A byline to earn. And if this rink ends up being his comeback stage, then so be it.

You’ll be there—not as the girl who once loved him, but as the reporter who can write his rise without flinching.

The first step is setting up an interview, which means reaching out to his management. This whole thing could very well end here. You’ll send the email, Sunghoon will reject the request—just like he does with every other news agency or tabloid that thinks they can score an exclusive interview with him. Yunah will realise you’re not some journalistic prodigy, and she’ll move on to the next big headline.

That should comfort you. When Sunghoon says no, it’s over—no awkward reunions, no dredging up memories you’ve spent years trying to bury. And yet, you hesitate, fingers trembling as they hover over the keyboard.

The email stares back at you, every word perfectly composed, detached, professional. It doesn’t betray the tangle of thoughts fighting for dominance in your mind.

Subject: Interview Request for Park Sunghoon Profile Piece

Dear Ms. Yoon,

I hope this email finds you well. My name is Kang Y/N, and I’m a journalist with Manifesto Daily. Our team is planning a profile piece on athlete Park Sunghoon, focusing on his inspiring journey as a professional athlete and his return to Korea.

I would like to request an interview with Mr. Park to discuss his career, his aspirations for the future, and any personal insights he’d be willing to share with our readers. The piece aims to highlight his achievements and provide a deeper understanding of the person behind the athlete.

Please let me know a time and date that would work best for Mr. Park’s schedule. I am happy to accommodate and can meet at his convenience. Should you require any further details about the story or our publication, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

Thank you for considering this request. I look forward to your response.

Best regards, Kang Y/N Senior Journalist (Sports Division) Manifesto Daily +82 XX XXXX YYYY

Highlight his achievements and provide a deeper understanding of the person behind the athlete. You scoff. As if you don’t already have enough material to craft an in-depth exposé on Park Sunghoon—complete with anecdotes, vivid details, and a treasure trove of receipts that you’ve kept buried at the back of your mind, and perhaps in a folder on your computer.

You know the kind of person Park Sunghoon is. You’ve seen him at his most passionate, the fire in his eyes when he spoke about mastering a new routine, and at his most vulnerable, when doubts about his own abilities kept him up at night.

You’ve also witnessed him at his ugliest—those moments when he seemed completely disinterested during your calls, only for you to catch glimpses of him laughing unabashedly in his training mate’s Instagram stories. When he sent curt, dry texts that cut to your insecurities, leaving you questioning if you were the problem. And yet, now here you are, facing the daunting question: Who is he today? A polished media darling, exuding poise and confidence, or a jerk who simply broke your heart?

You’re not just writing a profile; it’s about untangling the complexities of the boy you once loved and the man he has become, all while confronting the version of him that’s lived rent-free in your head for years.

When you finally hit send, you lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply. It’s done. Now all you can do is wait.

[dxrlingluv]

begging u to write more telemachus smut hes so cutie i love him sm ,,, (I LOVE UR WRITING SM)

Forgive you? Already did.

A/N : Oh. My. Gosh. I love Telemachus so much. I imagined him in Ximena’s design while writing this. HE’S SUCH A CUTIE THERE OMG AND HIS MUSCLES? Okay I’m gonna shut up now and let you enjoy this… which I hope you do cuz this is the worst thing I have ever written.

WARNING : Smut, Fem!Reader. Smut with no plot, fluff, slight angst(?), Reader and Telemachus got into an argument.

Word Count : 1.8k

The slam of the door still echoed in your ears, a harsh punctuation mark at the end of your heated exchange with Telemachus. Each of his sharp words replayed in your mind, twisting and turning like a knife in a fresh wound. You paced the length of your room, the familiar tapestries and scattered scrolls offering no comfort. The injustice of the argument gnawed at you. You'd both been under immense pressure, navigating the strange new world you found yourselves in, the weight of destiny heavy on Telemachus' young shoulders. Yet, somehow, that pressure had erupted, and you were left feeling misunderstood and bristling with a hurt you hadn't anticipated.

Finally, exhaustion forced you to sink onto the edge of your bed, the roughspun fabric scratching against your skin. The light outside shifted, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and fading orange. The silence in your room was thick, heavy with unspoken words and lingering frustration. You stared out the window, the intricate network of the city lights blurring through the unshed tears that pricked at your eyes. You missed the easy camaraderie you usually shared with Telemachus, the quick wit and shared laughter that often filled your days. This coldness between you felt alien and unwelcome.

Just as a sigh escaped your lips, a soft, hesitant knock echoed through the quiet room. Your breath hitched. Telemachus. You hadn't expected him so soon, if at all tonight. A flicker of hope warred with the lingering sting of his earlier words.

He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, but his usual confident stance was replaced by a visible unease. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes, usually so bright with mischief and determination, held a shadow of regret. He shifted his weight, his gaze locked on the floor for a moment before finally meeting yours.

"Y/N," he began, his voice rough, laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard. "I... I've been thinking. About what happened." He stepped fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. "I spoke rashly. I was... frustrated, and that's no excuse to take it out on you."

Your own anger began to ebb, replaced by a weary relief that he had come. "I wasn't exactly blameless either, Telemachus," you admitted, your voice softer than you intended. "I let my own frustrations get the better of me."

He took a step closer, his gaze searching yours, and you could see the genuine remorse etched on his face. "I value you, Y/N. More than words can say. And the thought of... of this wedge between us... it's unbearable."

He reached out a hand, his calloused fingers hovering near yours. You didn't hesitate to meet his touch, your own hand sliding into his. The simple contact sent a wave of warmth through you, melting some of the icy barrier that had formed between you. His thumb traced slow circles on the back of your hand, a familiar and comforting gesture.

"I know things are... intense right now," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, "but I don't want that intensity to spill over into how we treat each other. Especially not us."

His gaze drifted to your lips, and a spark, undeniable and potent, flared between you. The lingering tension in the room shifted, the air growing thick with a different kind of energy. The memory of the harsh words receded, replaced by the magnetic pull you always felt towards him. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Can we... can we forget about the argument, just for a little while?" he whispered, his voice husky.

Your own breath hitched. The desire that had been simmering beneath the surface of your anger now surged to the forefront. You nodded, your eyes locked on his.

He closed the remaining distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. The frantic tangle of your mouths intensified, a desperate claiming that went beyond mere kissing. You tasted the lingering bitterness of your argument mingling with the raw, underlying desire that had always simmered between you. "Telemachus," you gasped, the word torn from your throat as his teeth grazed your lower lip, a possessive mark that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Y/N," he responded, his voice a low growl against your ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me." His hands, now insistent and knowing, slid beneath your tunic, the rough fabric a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch as he cupped the weight of your breast. His gaze lingered, a spark of pure desire igniting in his dark eyes before his lips followed, leaving a trail of fire down your throat to the soft curve of your collarbone. You arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth closed over a sensitive peak, his tongue teasing and swirling, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

"I do," you whispered fiercely, your own hands clutching at his shoulders, the muscles beneath your fingertips taut with tension and need. "More than anything. Make me forget everything else." You fumbled with the fastenings of his own tunic, eager to feel his skin against yours. The roughspun fabric gave way, and you reveled in the feel of his warm chest beneath your hands, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your palm. You tangled your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as his mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against your skin.

He lifted you, carrying you effortlessly to the bed, the sudden shift in position heightening the anticipation that thrummed between you. As he laid you down, his gaze never left yours, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. He followed you onto the mattress, his body pressing against yours, the hard planes of his chest and thighs a delicious weight.

His kisses grew deeper, more demanding, each touch igniting a fresh wave of sensation. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip, dipping beneath the edge of your remaining garment to explore the sensitive skin there. You gasped as his fingers found their mark, a pleasurable ache blooming deep within you.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice thick with desire, nipping gently at your lower lip before claiming your mouth again. His hands, no longer hesitant, roamed with a confident familiarity over your curves. "Gods, I've missed this," he murmured against your skin as he cupped the swell of your breast.

"And I, you," you whispered, your own hands mirroring his exploration, tracing the hard muscles of his shoulders and back. "Don't ever... don't ever let us fight like that again."

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes blazing into yours. "Never," he vowed, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "It tears me apart." He then dipped his head, his lips leaving a trail of fire down your throat. "You feel so good," he groaned, his breath hot against your collarbone.

You shifted beneath him, your own hands exploring his body with equal fervor. You traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, the strong column of his neck. You reveled in the feel of his taut muscles, the way he shuddered beneath your touch. His body pressed against yours. "Forgive me?" he murmured, his lips nuzzling your ear.

"Already have," you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer for a deep, searching kiss. "Just… show me how sorry you are."

He obliged, his lips leaving yours to blaze a trail down your throat, each kiss a searing brand. "This is what I want," he murmured against the frantic pulse at your neck. "You. Just you."

You choked out a moan, your breath catching in your throat. "Gods, yes. Don't stop." You arched against his touch, offering yourself more fully to his touch. He moved between your legs, his gaze locking with yours, a silent question passing between you. You answered with a soft sigh and a slight parting of your thighs, an invitation he readily accepted.

As he pressed against your entrance, a gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of anticipation and a primal ache. "Are you ready for me?" he rasped, his breath hot against your thigh.

"Yes," you cried out, your hips lifting to meet his. "Please, Telemachus. Now."

The first slow slide was electric, a searing connection that stole your breath. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as he filled you completely. "Oh, gods," you choked out, clinging to his shoulders.

"So good. So tight." He remained still for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the intimacy, his eyes locked on yours, his expression a mixture of possessiveness and pure pleasure. "Does it feel right?" he finally managed, his voice strained.

"Perfect," you whispered, your nails digging into his back. "Don't wait."

He began to move, each thrust deeper and more insistent than the last. Your bodies slapped together, the rhythmic sound echoing in the small room, punctuated by your ragged breaths and soft moans. "Say my name," he urged, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements.

"Telemachus," you cried out, your head thrashing against the pillow. "Oh, Telemachus, yes. Harder."

He obliged, his pace quickening, the intensity building with each stroke. "You're driving me mad," he groaned, his teeth gritting. "So hot. So wet."

You gasped, your senses reeling, the world narrowing to the feel of his cock inside you. "Don't stop… I'm so close."

"So am I," he rasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "Hold on to me, Y/N."

And then the world shattered into a kaleidoscope of sensation. Your cries mingled with his guttural roar as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your bodies convulsing in unison. You clung to each other, every muscle in your body clenched tight, the intensity almost unbearable, yet exquisitely so.

Slowly, the tremors subsided, leaving you both breathless and slick with sweat. He collapsed against you, his weight a comforting anchor. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of damp kisses. "Mine," he murmured possessively. "You're mine."

You tightened your embrace, your fingers stroking the damp hair at his nape. "Always," you whispered back, the word a silent promise in the quiet aftermath. "Always."

Later, as the first rays of dawn peeked through your window, you lay tangled together, the remnants of your passionate reconciliation scattered around the room. The silence was comfortable now, filled with the soft rhythm of your breathing and the occasional contented sigh. Telemachus held you close, his arm a warm weight across your waist, his lips pressed softly against your hair. The argument felt distant, a storm that had passed, leaving behind a renewed sense of closeness and understanding. In the quiet aftermath, you knew that even amidst the chaos of your lives, the bond you shared was a constant, a fiery anchor that could weather any storm.

[gnohomotho]

May I play with you? 「✦Pt.5✦」

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: Well, folks, it's happening, everyone stay calm. He's lost it (not the game, you lost that one). Flowery shower leading to a bed. There is some fluff, because of course there is. Bit of an emotional rollercoaster, is he still playing? Are you? How many times have you lost? Is he counting? What exactly does he have in mind? How much of him is true? Is anything really? ⭒˚.⋆˖➴༯ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, heavy intimacy, rich sexual inner monologues, description of naked bodies, biting, choking, bondage, abuse dynamics, accurate depictions of trauma responses, very questionable consent, razorblades, heavy snogging, groping, grinding, fondling, power imbalance, near-smut, the man's in love, what can I tell you. (❀´ ˘ `❀) Word count: 8.7k A/N: I'm aware the water bill will be astronomical. ˙ᵕ˙ Again, I'm so grateful for the fans and the people requesting this, tried quite hard and tried to write the saucy scenes very saucily and plan to give them a fully fledged scene in the next part. Just wanted to deepen the characters and relationship, rather than just fucking. But please put "describing the Salesman's nether region while trying to study for a state exam" under things I did not expect to be hard. Wait. WAIT NO--- Gorgeous gif by: @phantom-evil Tag list: @storytellers-randomshortstorys @ingstadstarlight જ⁀➴ Link to previous Link to next If you like my work, I cherish every like // reblog // follow // message - thank you for helping me boost visibility and writing! ♥ Masterlist ฅ^._.^ฅ

The shower water beat down on your delicate beating head like drops on a hot tin roof. Your eyes refused to blink. The water kissed your lashes and blurred the never changing abject scene before you.

There he was.

There he was, the enigmatic salesman, in his entirety, just under the tender curve of your breasts, his dark hair, thick with wetness and heat, his face, slick and never changing, fully focused into you without a single touch. Droplets running down his face but seemingly making way for his engulfing features.

Let me revere you.

Your breath could not catch up, your hands were remotely, unnoticeably shivering, and though the warmth covered your naked body down to the hem of your tights, you felt so very, very cold and exposed.

He was a mirror, the mirror you could not stand to look at yourself in at home, and he took all he reflected.

And, perhaps worst of all, the unwavering stabbing uncertainty dragged through your mind as the steam made the small space ever suffocating.

Curling softly and sliding down your nose and throat.

Sliding the tiles from under you like hands gripping a veil of consciousness from under your toes.

If he was like the others, you could have managed. If he took and grabbed, if he defiled, you could breathe. Bitterly, but you could. But not this.

Your eyes move to the heels of his shoes, perfect spades glistening and getting ruined by water. You try to focus on him, his form breathing under the heavy soaked suit, you don't want to acknowledge what he's seeing. Nor you. Nor the damage. But you don't move.

You watch.

Heavy shoulders so light against their surroundings. A large form lithe enough to jump at you if you make the wrong move. Eyes darkened by the water caught on his eyelashes, a perfect backdrop for the lingering darkness you know is there, barely subdued.

His shirt, soaked through.

His suit, weighed down by dark fabric.

His sleeves, stained.

His hands---

His hands.

Large, meticulous, open hands.

So close to the places you don't wish to recall, harbouring a touch that both holds you here and holds you apart.

You unwittingly, as invisibly as possible stiffen and force your thighs together; how similar are your moves to the dreadful night he bestowed that burning touch on you the very first time.

Heart beating madly, you pray he didn't notice.

His eyes seem focused on your body now, piercing your navel and hips, unmoving. Focusing. You wonder what he sees, what caught his attention and held...before you remember yourself checking the damage even before this nightmare of an evening.

Oh.

Oh no.

His hand suddenly moves. Veins like highways delineating its trajectory. All along down to the wrist you cannot quite see. The electricity between the steam and his light motion plays between your skin and his touch.

A gentle but methodical cut begins to pull each sleeve down just a tad, revealing his entire wrists and you almost gasp - almost - at the concentration imbued in them.

He's either struggling or preparing, either fighting or dreadfully at peace with whatever is running through his mind and intentions.

Even the way he did that - he didn't pull away from you, no. He wouldn't grant you that kind of impersonality.

No.

The salesman instead dragged his open palm gruellingly slowly with each fingertip lightly burning through you across your stomach. Inch by inch.

He slid along your ribs and simply rested there, letting your body pulsate into his firm touch.

Not only mine, the touch seems to say.

One with me.

When he does move, it's to tend to one cuff that he visited by travelling across you. As slowly as it is torturous, he then repeats the motion the other way, gliding across your prickling, responsive skin, to his other hand. Never once hurting or pushing into you, so methodical are his movements - even as his wrist touches your skin and the hand returns to its open palm possession.

Slow, everso slow, so lightly against your navel, soft as transparent cloth, deliberate as the hand of a dealer who knows the house always wins.

Never once letting you go without his touch.

If it was possessive, you couldn't tell. You did not wish to think. To make sure it's not a reaction, you let yourself be still for a time too long before exhaling and closing your eyes.

You feel a new sensation, warm and almost comforting - but bathed in a sense of dread.

Gently he began to lather soap and foam across your stomach, soothingly travelling up to your ribs. Across places that screamed in pain and need. Your breath, your mind was holding onto its last confines of stability not to react, not to give him an inch. But every breath sent a shiver through you, you knew if you dared open your eyes, you'd see him watching you with one eye pinned each time you tried to avoid the charcoal depths.

You feel his momentary focus on your quivering chest, as the droplets fall slower past the tender hills. Circular motions caress your sternum, along each side of your breasts, under them, stopping only for places that visibly hurt. Places you know don't hurt only because of tonight and you dread him reading you like a book.

The foam gathers in heaped warmth and hugs your chest, lazily falling down onto your stomach and he catches it - lathering every inch anew.

Sometimes he lingers. And you swear you have to be imagining the place grow warmer, warmer, then hot - as if the steam gathered there and moulded into you.

You thought you were imagining it until a soft yet rough small surface, wet and warm, momentarily, only for a breath - - - brushed a particularly tender spot.

Are those...is that...

Your eyes flutter open and thankfully, you see for yourself without him seeing you.

And you are not thankful to be gazing into a flurry of dark hair not even a clandestine inch away from your skin.

❥❥❥

As gentle and soft as his hands were - they were methodical. Deliberate. Never lingering without reason. He focused on your bruises and stayed there.

"This one's old," he hummed nonchalantly, but there was a cold edge to the whisper even the shower couldn't heat.

His breath kissed your skin and bathed it in warmth as the whispers enveloped every inch of the soft spot under his lips.

"And this one wasn't done by a fast, brutal, unbecoming drow of emotion."

He didn't have to move to connect the surface you had already suspected to your skin, to your body, to your soaked shivering tenderness.

His lips brushed the surface of your skin - just barely - over the place he had tended with his breath.

The electricity. The touch. The need in you gathers and you almost quiver into him.

Your heart. Your heart is racing and he must feel it through your form, your stomach, your ribs.

But he left you cold once more as his lips departed.

He moved ever lower.

Circling soap and smooth warmth just under the curve of your breasts, never touching - making his presence and his absence the same gruelling pain. And you felt everything.

He is travelling up between them, up your sternum. Slowly. Pressing each centimetre of your skin into memory.

"And this one...these ones..." the breath that left his lips lingered hot on your skin but held nothing but contempt.

His lips closed around the tender place and for a while, only lay there. The contact giving life alone. As he pulled away just enough to speak but so close you could no longer tell what is hot water and what are his lips upon you...

"These ones...my little flower...my dear little bird shielded by a pair of broken wings..."

His hand had stopped and your eyes cannot focus, the eyes you're explicitly not meeting are burning into you. You almost gasp as you feel his finger glide against the soft skin of your ribs, to your hip, sliding along the dip and laying against your side. It slides down ever further and grips your thigh.

"These ones make me wish to lay you down and invite a few more players to the game for you to merely watch."

The knife of his intonation cut through the steam, yet ended on a jovial little chuckle.

"Watch them lose."

The grip on your thigh grows, and you know what that does to him, you know how his thoughts must be spiralling through each and every scene from the tapestry of your skin he's putting together like a full picture. And you shiver straight through.

You must not let him see.

You must not let him see that you are falling apart, and your body is growing into a cold carapace to shield the damage.

Hold me, don't touch me, hold me, don't touch me, ruin me, make it stop, please hold me, make it safe...

Your left eye begins to do something you truly cannot afford right now, and you would almost curse at both it and the thought that forced it to glisten.

...love me.

His thumb leaves the grip of your upper thigh only to softly slide inside the vice-like grip between your legs, rubbing the tights and smoothing them over. Not taking them off. Not roughing them up.

Smoothing them against the water and against your burning skin.

Stability? Possession? Need? Obsession?

Play?

Please let it be that.

The drip leaves your eye as the words leave his lips bathed in pretentious honey:

"You want me to hurt you, don't you, little flower?"

❥❥❥

He gazes up at you, the question hanging in the air, one open hand rested upon you but unmoving. His other firmly gripping your thigh enough to remind you of the poor chair. Is this a test? Or a genuine question? His face is a wet, beautiful, striking vision politely asking each drop of water to pass so that it may be burned into you without barriers. His smile is small, but his expression harbours little warmth.

Reverence.

And detachment.

And...something you cannot quite point to nor comprehend.

Like a snake smiling up at you, and you don't know whether it's satisfied with a meal or about to strangle one.

And your body is giving him every answer he should desire before he even opens his mouth. You almost caught a glimpse at your chest, and something in those eyes that glistened.

Awe.

No.

Self-satisfaction.

But...

No...

Your head is swimming, warmth and heat pooling against his touch, your sense of wrong and yet - safety - dragging you to him, dragging you on each drop that falls down on him, dragging you into his arms but you won't.

You won't.

You're not losing to him and you're not getting devoured today.

The salesman's softer eyes watch the droplets gather on your breasts and kiss each tip, before falling against his hands which twitch ever so slightly with each shared contact they bring to him.

You barely notice his lips move, but the voice kisses your ears past the droplets:

"You would prefer I be like them."

It's not a question.

Please don't.

"You would have me hurt you, wish to hurt you."

The polite soaked figure is only reading each page in front of him like a slow bedtime story. The dripping head lulls so close to your skin you almost lean into the crane of his neck for him and stop yourself - entirely wrong, all wrong, offering him refuge? What is wrong with you?!

His voice is so soft, but his grip on you isn't, and it reminds you of the game once more. His head leans into you, as if ready to kiss a bruise right under your ribs, hidden in such a sensitive spot. Which he surely realises.

Please don't go there.

But the sensation never comes. Only hot breath circling your skin as the words kiss it instead.

"So that my tender flower could loathe me. Discard me. And forget me...even as the poison pulsates through her veins."

He pulls you closer with one slow move, your legs momentarily teetering but you steady yourself. His other hand holds itself outstretched, finger by finger, on the skin below your ribs, just above your stomach where they disconnect into delicate softness, letting you fall into him and letting him feel you in your entirety - but you won't let him know that. You know he's playing.

You know he's playing.

The soft frown as he gazes at you, eyes wide, does nothing to dispel the thought. Lips turning softly, pityingly, patronisingly, he hushes into you:

"Poor thing. That's not how this works."

As he concludes the sentence, he lays his other hand to your side, gliding down the soft curve of your hips and just slightly around, not teasing, but trespassing - stopping at your bone to slide back down the navel and narrowly miss what you expected him to wish to violate first. The salesman instead lays his other hand on your untouched thigh and simply...

Pulls.

Steady, against him, his hands firmly holding you from both sides, you would almost let your guard down and fall. Let your aching muscles rest into his grasp and warm hands, his fingers dispelling lingering pain.

You are pulled into him, meeting both the soaked fabric and his hot body underneath. Firm as it is adaptive, strong as it is fast. Meticulous as it is brutal.

Elegant as it is cruel.

His lips burn into you straight through as their touch travels from the spot he breathed life into, trails down the bruise, and brushes the skin to the very end of your navel. Where his lips rest. Not a kiss. Not quite. Yet not even letting water run between your body and his.

As he pulls away and watches you with detailed satisfaction, studying your face, his eyes follow the little errant drop on your left cheek.

Voice like smoke and velvet, harbouring both hunger and patience, breaks the shower's hum:

"That's a flinch."

❥❥❥

As he pulls away, you're left burning alive.

Shaking. Infuriatingly cold. Pried open. Left to hang.

Helpless.

And ready to move into his arms and kick him at the same time. Your breath makes a sharp inhale and you force it to steady, and of course - he notices.

And he smiles.

It's not a smirk, nor is it triumphant.

It's worse, and you shudder.

It's soft and it is…worshipful.

It is the look of a man who has pried open the most precious of locks inside of you, waltzed straight inside and didn't disturb a single exhibit. Waiting for you to realise just what a heap of kindling is left of your locked doors. For him. And no one but him. Knowing you almost held your arm outstretched with the key as he did so.

The space between you should feel like a reprieve, but it feels like a wound. A void. A chasm. Something terribly missing, and you hate yourself down to the core you don't believe you have, that you want him to close it again.

And...

He does.

He takes your shivering hand and lays it back on his chest, just as you did to catch him in his own game. You feel the hot fabric; you feel his heart. It's pounding.

A knowing smile underlines your surprise, as if reassuring you that you are correct. You may just have an upper hand if you play your cards right.

You may stand to win, look at him, kneeling there, pulse mad, eyes barely concealing their own darkness.

But the salesman moves again and closes the gap. That dastardly gap you'd give anything to close. Closes it by pressing his cheek to your stomach. And he exhales.

His hands grip your thighs and for a moment you wonder if he's steadying himself or tricking you. A softly planted, deliberate kiss right above your navel almost makes you throw the game away entirely.

As you listen to his steadying breaths, hands gripping your thighs, your own gaze softens against your better judgement.

The kiss as a gesture is so very twisted.

So very reverent.

So very...him.

❥❥❥

As you swallow on a dry throat, hard - his eyes flick up, dark lashes wet, and the voice teasingly letting you feel a remnant of warmth it would positively beg for.

"You think I'm cruel?

The salesman's palms skim the inside of your thighs, but stop just before anywhere indecent. Just pressing, not parting. Holding. Knowing you're losing the game and keeping them clasped even as his fingers manage to slide around.

"You think I'll take?"

A single fingertip traces your lower spine, up, slow, deliberate. You're not sure if it's brand, a promise, or a threat. As it slowly teeters down, drawing a shaky breath out of you and leaving electricity wherever it brushed, he speaks once more.

"No, sweet flower, that's not at all how this works."

A single finger slips into the hem of your tights, leaving you just long enough to realise what he's doing before the other mirrors the action on your other hip.

"If I tie you down, if I leave you whimpering and begging for me, it won't be because I made you do so."

The fingers tickle your skin, playing with you, but you feel his own breath quickening as his words are underlined by what he is surely gladly imagining.

"It will be because you sit down freely, bound by the rules of the game, so entirely mine that you offer me the rope through tears streaming down those gorgeous doll eyes."

You feel your stomach pulsate as your heart cannot keep up. He looks up, as if he said nothing at all - relishing surely how much you're regretting every single moment leading up to this one. Cold envelops your mind. Fuck.

"Whimpering, begging, kissing the air with your hurried, strangled breaths...mine from the limbs you won't be able to move to the lips I could tear apart and leave cold. My little lady. Broken by herself. Held together by me. Her will bent like the tender flower stem waiting for its poison to work. Begging for peace."

The fingers dig into each of your hips, surely leaving indentations. Your jaw tightens and your chest does too - and he notices. Oh, he notices the tender skin drawing in on itself, the soft points of your breasts catching his eyes and serving that self-satisfied, leisurely smirk. Though he is under you, he is nothing but towering over you. Just as he surely planned. Just as he intended to play.

His voice comes so unassuming, as if reciting a particularly odd verse he cannot seem to fully wrap his tongue around - so sweet it turns to cyanide on his lips.

"And the poison won't come...hm, my poor little flower...? Can you feel it?"

His eyes close like that of a satisfied cat resting a paw on its caught mouse.

"Because it's too late."

As if to make sure you realise the ramifications of your displaced trust and faint self-assuredness, both of his fingers make the same up-and-down motion, caressing the naked skin he has not touched yet and enjoying the new sensation with polite delight.

As they find every piece of fabric they can, and safely hook themselves under it, the salesman slides down your tights with gruelling, torturous slow detail imbued into each inch of your newly exposed skin. So gently as not to burn your exposed nakedness, but so deliberately it feels like you're being sentenced.

Each new exposed inch is tended to with his lips. Though his fingers are not gripping as you would expect, their pressure is palpable, and they glide slower upon each spot that stings. His lips follow, breathing into you. Kissing the exposed place as if he were burning it into his mind...and yours.

As the tights slide down to your ankles, he traces both palms up your shins, around them, slowly up the inside of your legs you are now vibrating with to keep closed. But he, politely, without explicit force nor a move of the brow apart from his shoulders visibly stiffening, pries them apart just enough for his fingers to glide through.

You're giving him the sensation of your grip and hold without even realising. You quiver further, unable to move - if you know anything...it must be intoxicating for him.

He steadies himself against you, looking up with that small smile but not meeting your eyes, oh, no. He's entranced by your form. Bare before him. So many more avenues to explore and tend to.

So many more petals to pluck.

You merely step out of wet heap and try to nonchalantly slide it away. There still is a part of your brain very, very much concerned about something glistening in the wet clothing.

But you're shivering and you are burning.

And you would collapse around him and hold him to your naked chest, so that you are both enveloped, so that even the gentle water cannot enter the closeness between you.

"My gorgeous little lady," he humms, eyes fixated on your legs and entirely naked beauty, "you're as perfect as you are terrible at this game."

❥❥❥

And you finally move. Never taking your eyes off him, you kick the fabric of your tights away, knowingly giving him your thighs opening on a silver platter.

But as much as the opening captivated him, and as much as his hands squeezed themselves against them – his palm letting fingers envelop the inside of your inner thigh and softly gliding up and down against the water and sliding with it, his eye darted to your movement.

The metallic glint.

You slid the tights away, but the water washed their darkness and let the tiny object half-slip out of their torn hem. Gleaming in the light of the shower and droplets gracing its surface.

And the little glisten caught his one watchful eye. Less than a second, and still – his head stiffens.

The realisation hit you just as it hit him. Though yours was focused on regret and a past life that was washing away with each second with the salesman.

Why didn’t I drag it across his throat, carve out an escape and be done?!

“Oh?” His inflection is curious, but low, his hands don’t stop touching you. One softly brushes fingers just a tad too high and you close your thighs again. But he’s already there and only relishing the comfort of your warm naked skin against his fingers. The smile widens as you make contact with his harsh skin.

The salesman leans towards the wet heap, reaching by your ankles, and takes out the small object that caught his eye.

You should stop him. You should do something. Move!

But you cannot move as you hear his quiet, almost amused breath.

And the expression, as he holds it in his one free hand, is almost ethereal in its captivated fascination. And there is something in his voice that lingers even above the steam of the shower, but heavy enough to pin your feet to the ground and bind your thoughts. Though you detest the thought, as your heart pounds and your vision clouds, you wish it were mockery or judgement, even amusement – but it’s not. It’s something that binds him to you in wire and fishing line, something that is too deep for comfort.

Understanding.

Something close to…admiration.

“The flower came prepared.” Without warning, he kisses your navel and lets his lips rest there. His hand finally releases your thigh, but glides along their side, up your hip, and clenches your behind. And you almost gasp, not expecting him to wash away a boundary he seemed to be respecting most ardently until now.

“Get your hand off my---”

He chuckles into you, moving his head from side to side. He trails his lips up your belly and lets his chin rest in you as he speaks.

Without warning, you snatch at the blade. Without a shiver, without a doubt, taking back something yours, a part of you, your own protection, and you feel…

A sharp snag of your wrist, mid-motion, even as his head never stops resting against you, never leaving your gaze. Both your hands hold the small blade, you move yours to not touch his, he moves his to grip over yours. You don’t let go.

Once more he tilts his head, watching you. Watching you with that infuriating patience that could disappear at any moment. He already knows. And still, he wants to watch the scene unfold.

“If you want to use it, dear flower, why don’t you use it now?”

The salesman cranes his head, slowly, watching you like a snake. Smile still there. You are his one and only project that he’s studying every nook and cranny of, delighted at every gear moving of its own volition…under his control. Until now.

You feel a white-hot frozen anger growing in your chest and step away, leaving him without your flesh. His hand grips your flesh behind you.

Not moving away from me, little one.

You think. You try to think. Shivering even as his hand firmly holds your behind, his other still gripping yours.

And he…grins and guides your hand closer to him, slowly, letting the weight of the gesture sink in with every inch traversed. The razor rests against his throat as he looks up to you, holding your fingers, but leaving his own limp enough in his grip for you to move.

I could cut him. Just add pressure. He’s kneeling before me. He’s drenched. His suit is ruined.

Your heart begins to feel against your will.

He’s still in control. But he…he killed for me. He didn’t hurt me. Yet. He didn’t use me. Yet. And he’s offering his neck to me. Trusting me. Or is it another game? Does he think I won’t do it?

You add pressure to alleviate the thoughts. It feels foreign and wrong to you. Like desecration. Not of him, but of you. This is not you. This is not the girl who tried to save her friend. This is not the hand of the girl who held the detective.

He looks up at you, like you’re truly that flower. Truly beautiful, untouchable, not to be harmed. Worshipping you on his knees at the expense of himself. Playing with you. Testing you.

Each time the thought enters, you wish to push and drag. Drag across his skin. He wouldn’t stop you, that much you know.

But your fingers grow still. And your face saddens into closing your eyes, letting the errant tears drop in full view. Your fingers tremble.

He leans into it.

You almost shoot the hand away for fear of hurting him, instinct doing its job.

Because this is not you.

You feel his skin; his pulsating neck almost touches your hand. The water cascades over him and doesn’t touch your entire palm. His warmth brushes your own. And the pulse beats into the blade that trails the sensation through your fingers up your arm and to your own heart.

Steady. Unafraid. Trusting.

Why do you trust me?

The unspoken question gets a reply as his quiet whisper circles the blade and kisses your fingers down to your wrist.

“If I was like them, I’d already be dead,” he smiles up at you, unmoving.

His fingers softly ease your own off the blade, one by one, stripping you of its cool surface until you are left…

Vulnerable again.

His.

His hand closes around the blade, hiding it, but you see his resolve and the pressure that built up through the scene in the veins on the back of his hand and the grip with which he envelops the blade.

“You’ll cut yourself, don’t hold it like that…” you hush against the shower, voice breaking. You begin to lean to him, hair falling past you, water shaping around your breasts and tummy, softly as you guide your hand to his. But no blood comes out of his palm as he opens it for you.

So you see everything, so close he himself could now slice your neck as you rest above him, exposed, naked, worried – he lifts the blade.

But he lifts it to his mouth.

The salesman presses a slow, deliberate kiss against the flat side of the blade and then…

Lets it fall.

The softest metallic sound against the wet tiles, a clatter, and…

It’s gone.

Just like your resolve, your armour, your weapon.

Just like the safety of placing him in the role of all the others.

And you know the innocence of you, the helplessness he might have imagined, is gone too. He sees you now. And he…is delighted.

And still, he didn’t hurt you. He took your weapon. Gave you his throat. And then didn’t hurt you.

The salesman leans back from you, resting on his heels and studies you anew.

❥❥❥

As if something clicked in his head, he finally stands up to his full height, soaked suit dripping on the tiles, face closing in the distance between you both until you step back at the feeling of his suit brushing against your skin. But you step into the cold wall and wince. And he towers above you, expression unchanging, full of mischief yet frozen condemnation, the snake finally zoning in on its prize and its meal. With no further need for theatrics or dances.

You feel his hand ghost your hip, and his breath kiss you – restrained, slow, but shallow. Too shallow.

As you move once more to avoid his hand, naked skin against the wall, his other grabs the small of your back, squeezing you tight. Before you can gasp, the other glides up your side, from your knee up, and as his face buries into your neck and collarbone, he grips your thigh and hoists you up against the wall as if it was nothing to him.

Instinctively, both your legs wrap around his waist and squeeze for balance, for safety, and you feel his head pull away from your skin just enough to let breath through.

You're blushing, you're almost overwhelmed but feeling everything, and the wetness of his suit against your naked skin, him holding you and being so, so close…The salesman lifts his head from you, water gliding past his hair onto his face, eyes sharp and entranced with you being locked in and gripping for dear life while he is standing there, looking down at you, having nowhere to go – dark eyes pinning you to the wall, just as he is with his entire body.

His smile is tender as it glides from your lips to your eyes, where it turns to pure hunger and restraint, something akin to a high off losing control. His large hands are gripping your flesh, but they jitter – even though the wall keeps you steady. He can't stop squeezing you, so hard he’ll leave marks, fingers brushing and exploring what they can.

As he leans into you, his eyes close, and the crane of your neck is kissed, softly, then simply rested in.

Such a false calm before the storm.

He's taking you in. All of you. His inhale is shaky, his breath hot. His hands firm and almost desperate in their pursuit of every inch of you he’s yet untouched. You feel his hot breath and you feel him nestle in, taste you, feel you, inhale you. Like he wants every sense enveloped in you. His thighs move and you feel him – truly feel him – truly no way to avoid his excitement. Each time you grip your shins or thighs for stability, he moves a bit more into you, until you could swear he was naked too for the sheer closeness of his own body.

"Clever girl," he coos into your shoulder, kissing the spot he knows must be tender.

"My good, obedient, clever girl..."

And you couldn’t control the feelings any longer. Between the tears forming in your eyes, heart beating out of your chest, and legs shivering around him as the roughness of his soaked through suit left nothing of your skin to yourself, you whimpered and let out a gasp as his teeth grazed your throat, sinking into your collarbone again. Your whole body twitched against him and your legs inadvertently squeezed him tighter.

It was like you flipped a switch in him. Time stopped. Even the water seemed to slow its drops. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours and pinned you down with his eyes alone. His face slowly distanced itself, his lips half open, head craning everso slowly to one side as if studying you for the very first time.

And in that small second that it took you to realise he’d pulled away, he hoisted you up against himself and pushed you into the wall, his hips crashing with yours and his excitement pushing against you with all the fervour he was hiding until now.

He pulls his head back slowly, drifting across your face and looks above you, a small, almost unnoticeable breath of a chuckle escaping his lips before he lets the wall hold you, one hand still gripping your thigh.

He looks fond. Calm. Steady as his other harshly grips the back of your head and grabs a handful of hair straight at your scalp – and pulls your head back. One last whisper swallowed by the shower caresses your ear, as his lips form around the words like soft nudges of air:

"You lose."

And his lips crash into yours. The kiss is anything but gentle – it is hungry, desperate, full of unspoken yearning and need – his tongue gives you no warning, he invades your mouth and tastes every little part of your mouth, craning your neck back with each pull of his fist. You cannot move, you are utterly exposed, and he’s inside of your mouth, against your body, exploring, invading, tasting, taking, owning you. You try to pull away to get air, but he only leaves your lips to explore lower – guiding himself to your neck and biting down, all the way down to your collarbone.

“Beg me,” he growls into your throat, and you pull your arm out of his grasp and grip his chin. You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t quite know why, but it was on instinct – and he freezes.

Oh, you made a mistake of a lifetime.

Your lips curled into a bitten through kiss, you taste blood as you hush against the shower:

"You first," and you kiss his forehead in a gesture both tender and devastating.

The way he gripped your thigh that pulsated straight through your leg to your toes.

The way he stilled, but his breath remained ragged, slowly collapsing into that calm you knew and feared so well. A snake shedding his skin to reveal a shining new one underneath.

The way his eyes refused to blink and the way his gaze remained frozen on you, a million horrendous scenarios drifting across his pupils the further he drank you in.

That was your only warning as he wordlessly stepped out of the shower with you, traversed the room in only a few deliberate, heavy steps, and clutched you in his fingers so hard your back arched into him as he stood above the bed. You shiver and try to remain stoic, but he has you outplayed.

No more kisses, no more taking you in. Something broke and you don't understand what direction the carnage is falling in. The salesman easily flicks your hand away, and you let it fall – he does the same to your arm, as if suddenly detesting your touch.

"Bad girl," he states, voice nonchalant, but you hear him holding the equivalent of a dam back behind the two words. And it's cracking.

"Very, very, very bad girl. Let go. I'll show you what you can and cannot touch."

If you were a betting person, you'd place it all on him doing a bad job at hiding something, something important, something big – but you don't have time to study his shifting eyes or his suddenly harsh cold hands. You're growing cold, the suit stings, his touch seems foreign.

Still his hand lifts, while still holding you up with his other, and he touches your face – as if doing so for the first time.

As if doing so for the last time, you try not to think as you swallow on a dry throat.

And there's something dark, solemn in that touch, just as his eyes seem blank and his breath too calm.

"I'm going to have to hurt you, little flower," he softly coos, caressing your cheek and brushing your skin as if he were telling you something gentle, "I'm going to have to hurt you very badly."

You start shaking your head, but his hand lifts a finger to your lips and stops you.

"Ah ah ah. You've forfeited the right to beg. You lost. And then you tried to play dirty. Little flower little flower...you have no idea what you've done."

The salesman kisses your lips softly, everso softly, but his hand holds your cheek far too harshly.

So you grip his waist with your legs. You move your face on your own. If he doesn't wish for your hands to touch him, you don't lift them.

You crane your head to him, brushing the hair from his forehead with your nose, and kiss his forehead again, so gently, so lovingly that you forget how sealed your fate is. Because you're kissing the man who wasn't like the others, and the man who almost lost his composure in you – the one who held the blade and could have sliced your neck open, the one who kissed each bruise and didn't stray. The one who broke something in the man who's holding you now the moment you gripped his face.

"Please," you whisper as your lips pull away just enough to let words through, "please."

Come back.

But he doesn't.

You only twisted the knife further.

He shakes his face as if trying to rid a thought and looks at you anew, eyes cold, something wild and uncontained dancing in their dark pupils.

"Too late," he whispers, "too late, little flower."

❥❥❥

And he throws you on the bed, with such force that your legs don't get a chance to unravel on their own, and your arms fall beside you and by your head, your body bouncing on the mattress.

Before you can adjust or move, you close your legs on instinct and try to take a few heavy breaths, as you note you're not hurt – just shaken and your trembles vibrate through your entire body. But you wince at the sudden realisation of just how much of you he was holding together.

The salesman doesn't give you time to think, he climbs above you, sealing your limbs one by one – both of your wrists get pinned down before you can lift on your elbows, your midsection is left under his weight and he is above you, shielding the light, eyes wild, mouth closed, no smile.

"You think you're special?" His voice coils around your ear as he gathers your wrists above your head and pins them to the headboard.

You shake your head, fear finally gripping you and enveloping you to your core, and you try to twist away from under him. But his weight replies with a sharp thrust to keep you in place.

"I've plucked flowers like you from the side of the road, and dozens remained in their place. Better. Fairer. More open."

He uses his free hand to slide down your ribs, your side, your waist and stop at your hip, gazing into you the more you shiver, the more you pull away and touch him in turn. He grabs at the skin of your waist and pushes you down into the bed, feeling every inch of you he can.

"You're nothing. You lost. I'll take my prize and leave you to wilt."

As he finishes the sentence, he grinds against you so harshly you feel him in his entirety. Your recoil only made his movement sharper. He lays his body against yours, full weight pinning you down. As he takes in your trembling, he thrusts everso slightly for you to feel just how well he intends to deliver on his promise. Your legs give in and leave an opening which he uses to his advantage.

You gasp and a moan escapes your lips, turning into hurried breath and ending in a small whimper. You almost wish you didn’t hear the hardly contained ecstatic inhale that reverberated through you as he grips you again. He teasingly repeats the motion, harder this time, and stays fixed against you, pinning you down with the full measure of his need for you. You shiver at the length you feel still contained.

He almost smiled the more you coiled under him, the more your body touched his with your every jitter, every recoil, every hurried breath. Every flinch, he caught and returned with force to pin you in place. Every move you made to avoid him; he used against you. The moment he felt your thigh lose grip against his, he dragged his arm up your leg and squeezed your behind, pinning you to him, squeezing you in place and letting him sink further into you.

"Mine," he whispers under his breath as he drags his teeth against your skin, biting down on your breast and suckling the more he feels you arch your back.

"Mine."

And you still. You no longer grip against him, you grow cold. The sensation of his wet suit, his length against his trousers barely contained, feels like fabric and force, not lust.

He fades into the background even as your senses are overwhelmed by the smell of him, mixed with sweat, need, and the lingering softness of the soap he lathered you with.

Just as you thought you’d lost – him, the game, your sense of self, everything, you realised something and hope he didn’t.

His hand.

His hand gave his bluff away.

His hand betrayed him, even as the words sent tears into your eyes and your heart into overdrive. But his hand. The same harsh hand that left prints on your thighs hesitated above them, just next to your tummy and the place he cared for so intently – so gently, the place he rested his head against and lulled into. The skin he smiled into and caressed.

You only watch him, wary to disturb the air. Your eyes follow his chest lifting and falling heavily. The chest that rises with yours and pushes you down. The hand that trails from gripping you and holding you down, to sliding and caressing your skin from your shoulder across your breasts down to your tummy and lower still. You see his eyes drink up your breasts, your waist, your skin, your collarbones, your neck...with each move putting the puzzle of you together and trying to keep the pieces apart all at once. He rests his hand against your most tender place and remains there, unmoving.

In stark contrast to the rest of him, it’s his hand that doesn’t let you leave entirely.

He's losing.

Without warning his hand moves down and climbs between your knees, forcing them apart. The moment he has an opening, he climbs between your legs, and his own body holds you down, pinning your thighs at each side of him and not letting you curl back into yourself.

As he rests above you, that self-satisfied smile glides across his lips, as if you’re so perfectly in place for everything he promised and more – as if you’re just a chip in a game he never intended to entertain losing.

“Those eyes…” he mutters as his head softly cranes to one side, as if studying a painting. But he’s not admiring its beauty. He’s admiring the ruin in his hands.

“Those eyes crying for help and safety…” he leans down to you and whispers into your ear, breath hot and poisonous: “…how foolish to run to safety to me. I thought you were better than that.”  

As his head straightens, he looks at you anew. Expression a falsity of tenderness.

“All the more beautiful the more you break with every thread you trusted me with. You lost. Flower. You lost each and every game. Did you think it would go unnoticed? Did you think you could ever play me? Unpunished? My dear sweet flower…”

His hand slowly glides up and touches you finger by finger, playfully, coldly across your naked skin until they arrive at your face where he simply dots your lips with each finger and bends down to kiss the side of your mouth. As you close your eyes into the kiss, fear and hope gripping you at once, you feel a sudden sensation on your neck – which turns into a grip. You gasp and try to move away, but he'd holding you tight.

You feel his waist move into you and with each breath you try to take for yourself, his body replies with less space for you to even think of moving. His waist guides into you, keeping your legs apart and grinding against you as his breathing grows more rapid. His chest is heavy as it collides with yours, and your hips inadvertently move with his every time you try to avoid him and sink into the bed. He pushes himself onto you, the full length of his need against you, the heavy breaths against your own chest turning into desperate kisses of every place his eyes drank up.

As if reading your mind, his hand moves from your throat to your mouth, this time, laying his entire palm over it so you don't make a single sound. And you sharply inhale as you hear the sound of a belt unbuckling.

You twist under him, feeling your hips grind into him and your stomach touch his fingers - you move backwards but he pulls you back down and pins you down.

His kisses turn from hungry to ravenous, leaving marks everywhere they touch – moving from your cheek to your chin to your neck and finally, your chest. He's not gentle anymore. He takes your breast into his mouth and kisses it, before biting down and feeling you whimper into his hand.

He pushes it down further and does the same to your other breast, stopping only to look back above you, looking into your eyes above his form, palm still strangling breath from your mouth.

He stops. Lips half open. Eyes wild. Face dishevelled. He stops.

"I thought I told you that you've no right to beg," he whispers in one breath, as if speaking to himself. The hint of anger at the very end of the sentence doesn't fit and you freeze. You haven't uttered a word. You can't.

The salesman guides his hand down your lips to your jaw and grips it, turning your head in his palm and driving his fingers into your skin.

Studying you. Pushing into you.

"I told you not to beg," he whispers again, losing your eyes.

You slowly try to undo your hands from his grip. His fist adds fervour until you tear up again for the pain.

He sees the tear and immediately lets go entirely, pulling away. Breathing heavy.

You lie there.

Before him. His eyes trail you so slowly, as if time had truly stopped.

❥❥❥

The bruise left my someone else, the remnant, fades next to his own handprint.

The tender, soft body still lifts – in perseverance, not defiance.

Her lips are tender, still tender, even after they've been torn apart.

Her eyes don't beg. Wide, gorgeous eyes, full of sorrow and betrayal but still. They understand. They accept.

Her body is scratched and marked where she should have been revered.

Red on skin that should have been tended to.

Petals lying scattered about her like little halos, cracked but not broken. Torn apart.

The light in her eyes is burning through everything, it hasn't faded. She didn't run. She didn't lose feeling. She didn't go numb.

She didn't fight, didn't kick, only tried. She could have. She didn't.

When she should have beat her fists into his back, she clung to him for refuge. Him.

Through everything, she's shivering under him, not begging, not using any poison. As naked as her body.

And he would defile it and ruin her.

To prove a point.

To win against himself.

To discard her as she would discard him.

Shoot first, lest he be shot.

Lest she realises his gun is full of blanks.

❥❥❥

You don't know his mental process; you only feel your tears against his hot skin on your cheek and mouth.

"So soft," he finally whispers to himself, gliding a hand just above your skin, his finger only lightly brushing certain parts as if scared to shatter you. Just as his hand hovers above your navel and your tummy, he rests it there fully. Listening to your pulse. Your breath. Lifting against him. Against his warmth. Against his harshness.

"So...delicate."

You gently, still terrified, but acting on an algorithm you don't recognise and do all at once, softly untie your hands for his fingers. Just as he did yours off the blade.

You touch your neck, your collarbone, and freeze at feeling scratches and bumps, tender places that burn on touch. Wetness and heat. But you don't say a word.

The tears fall to each side of your face. And through it all, you smile.

You smile as you lift both hands.

They seem like those of a stranger, but you fight to keep yourself in them, try to stay here one last time.

And you smile as you softly, carefully cup his face, tenderly as if he were about to flinch or break entirely.

And you whisper, meaning every word:

"It's alright."

And as if on cue, he begins to shiver in your embrace but doesn't pull away.

"It's alright," you smile through the tears, and allow yourself a deeper breath. Which he feels reverberate through his palm still laying upon your stomach. Just as he feels your pulse grow rapid, then...calmer.

His shivering turns harsher, but he never loses your eyes. Lips still semi-open, he's transfixed by you, frozen yet lost in time. Unable to blink away from you. His eyes begin to turn glassy.

You once more, with heavy effort and ignoring the pain pulsating through you, straighten just a tad under him, just enough to pull yourself up to him, clinging to his legs once more for stability.

You pull up to him and gently place a kiss on his forehead that is speckled with beads of sweat, vibrating in your hands.

"It's..."

You move down and kiss the bridge of his nose.

"All..."

You kiss the tip.

"…Right."

And you tenderly lay your lips on his, first merely resting there, then turning touch into a kiss. You feel him hesitate, grip you then...fade in his strength...and kiss you back.

Just as softly.

Just as gently.

And as if you lent him life in that moment, he moves, of his own volition, and lays you back down, cradling your back so you don't hurt yourself. His kiss deepens, but doesn't take nor hurt. You feel your head hit the pillow and envelop you in your wet hair and you swear you feel him smile into the kiss, one hand shakily placing errant strands from your face.

"My perfect little flower," he whispers as he pulls away just for a moment.

"Now I'll never let you go."

[scrubbinn]

In Stars and Systems: Buddy talk

Prev - Next

Mirabelle 33 days since the King’s defeat

“Mira?”

You jump. Almost falling off the wagon before Iseabeau and Siffrin catch you. You weren't used to Siffrin starting conversations. Let alone tapping your shoulders to get your attention.

“Oh! Thank you, sorry you just startled me is all. Did you need something Siffrin?”

Siffrin points to your nails. They look damaged. Oh no, were you chewing on them again?

“Oh! Sorry…” 

You grip your dress to keep your hands away from your awful biting teeth.

“Have you taken your anxiety medication yet?”

“Oh! Yes. Don't worry! I took it about ten minutes ago, so it probably hasn't kicked in yet…”

Hopefully soon.

Siffrin's worried face didn't change. Noooo, you absolutely most definitely, DO NOT, want to make them worried.

You're about to reassure him but he starts speaking first.

“Feelings buddies?”

Oh no. Not feelings buddies. Now you have to talk about it! But it's not like Siffrin has been honoring your feelings buddies talks either! But, not being able to process everything they went through sounds pretty understandable.

Ooooh… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk about things. At least until your medicine starts working… What exactly are you so worried about? No that’s not right, it’s more like where do you even start.

“Oh Siffrin. I’m just… I’m worried about everything. I’m worried about leaving the King alone in the house. I’m worried about everyone in Dormont, and Claude, and Euphrasie. And this trip to Bambouche has me so worried that something might go wrong when we get there or even before that. And I’m worried about you Siffrin!”

Siffrin shuffles back into their spot in the wagon. He's trying his best to blend in with the tent supplies and snacks. Oh no, you made him upset, didn't you?

“The King won't move again. I promise.”

They sound so sure. They’re probably right. They would know the best after all. But, but, but. “But what about everyone else?!”

“Is Dormont known for getting attacked by powerful time craft wielding aristocrats?”

“Well, I mean it might be? It was kind of a big deal. Oh no… do you think they’re going to write about me in a history book? No that’s silly, of course they are! Oh, I have to make sure everything is accurate or, or… I’m rambling again aren’t I?

“It’s ok Mira. Dormont isn’t going to get attacked again. The others are going to be fine. As for this journey. We’ll be fine. Odile and Isa already triple checked everything. Bonnie has a ton of ingredients saved up, and if there’s any trouble, I can always loo-

“No!”

Siffrin seems startled, but you know this is something you have to put your foot down on. “You shouldn’t have to loop at all, Siffrin!.” 

The others are turning to look at the conversation. Even if you were quiet, everyone knew to keep an ear out for that L word.

“Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But you promised you wouldn’t. Even if it’s a joke, it’s not a funny one!” 

You aren’t sure if it’s the sudden surge of anger or your medication finally working, but your other worries seem tiny by comparison. Siffrin looks confused? Scared? Now, it’s taken over by something else. Concern?

“When did I promise that?”

Ah, it was just memory problems. “You said it sometime… um… 

“12 days into your recovery.” Odile interjects.

“Right! Thank you Madame. You promised you wouldn’t ever put yourself in a time loop again, Siffrin!”

Odile continues. “You were exhibiting some odd behaviors and tried to play it off as a nightmare. One would assume it to be symptoms of PTSD. You were oddly cheery as well. I assume some sort of self defense mechanism to avoid our attention. But you at least promised me that you would avoid using timecraft in the future. And if you ever did use it, you would inform us immediately.”

Siffrin’s expression didn’t change at all. “Ok. I promise.”

“Pfft.. hehe.” You can’t help but laugh. “You already promised, Siffrin. What makes you think you need to do it again?”

That seems to have gotten them. “Well then it's a double promise. If I forgot it then I should promise it again right? So that it counts?” 

They shrink back into the supplies, trying to hide their face in their cloak. No one could find Siffrin’s old hat unfortunately, but it at least gave Isabeau an excuse to craft some for Siffrin to try.

The conversation seems to get Bonnie's attention as they climb over everyone to reach Siffrin.

“Frin are you getting forgetful again? You got a crab for brains sometimes. Here, have some pumpkin seeds. A nice lady in Dormont said it helps your brain grow better if you eat a lot.”

Bonnie puts enough pumpkin seeds into Siffrin’s hands that it starts to spill. It’s cute. Bonnie has been so energetic now that you’re all heading to see their sister. They must be so excited. Maybe you can let them take care of Siffrin for a bit. Then you can restart your conversation. Well, Maybe you don’t have to. Seeing everyone’s smiles makes you realize that you don’t need to worry about everything. You can rely on each other, and now you know that Siffrin knows that too... Yep, the medication has definitely kicked in now.

Bonnie passes out snacks to everyone, including the wagoner. You take a few dates and nibble on them. You look around to your friends. Madame Odile is doing her best to stay comfortable in the bumpy wagon. Isabeau is staring at Siffrin munching every pumpkin seed at once like a squirrel. Oh! And they're taking out the journal you got them! You scooch over to their tucked away seat, making sure not to pry of course.

Normally, you'd be super curious about dark mysterious Siffrin and their many possible secrets... but that impression got shattered pretty hard after you found out they were just shy. But! It's still great they're actually writing! It's a step in the journey of helping their memory problems. Maybe they'll be fine without it eventually. It'd be nice to see him change like that!

They write a few sentences before rubbing their fingers between the wilted petals of a flower they picked up in Dormont. The second he could, Siffrin darted to Jacintha's home and asked for five flowers. It was nice! Each of you getting a flower from Siffrin. Although they did gift one of their flowers for themself. You tried to explain that's not really how it works. But they said they were giving it to someone else in their own way. It sounded confusing and it didn't seem like he wanted to explain it any further.

The wagon hits a pothole and you're almost bumped off again. Isabeau catches you again. 

“You're giving me heart problems Mira. You’re so light. Are you eating alright?”

Not really. Even with your medication, you've been skipping meals a lot lately. Your stomach would be growling if not for Bonnie's snacks.

You sigh. “I'll be alright Isabeau, I'll make sure to eat a lot tonight.” 

“Well that’s reassuring, but maybe try not to skip so many meals anymore. Y'know, if you're ever dealing with something troubling you, your good friend Isabeau is here to help.”

“Hehe. Thank you Isabeau.” Leave it to him to always offer a hand. It's good to see him looking so bright now. Ever since he confessed to Siffrin, he can't help but give the happiest smile he can. Speaking of. You wonder if Siffrin ever got back to him about that. You hope the two of them are a couple now. It’d be so cute!

“Isabeau, can I ask you-

Madame Odile snaps her book shut for everyone's attention. “I'm sure we're all having important conversations, but unlike everyone here, my back can't handle another bump in the road. It's already getting late, we should set up camp soon.”

Ah. That's fair. You shouldn’t ask that question anyways. It’s probably something private. Isabeau asks the driver how much longer the walk to the next town will be and asks to stop here. It was nice to have so many helpful people here in Vaugarde. Everyone keeps talking about how they’d be happy to help the saviors of Vaugarde, but you’re pretty sure you got a lot of this kind of generosity when you were just a housemaiden. Still it’s pleasant to always know there’s a helping hand nearby.

You look at Siffrin. They know right? You’re not as perceptive as Isabeau and especially not like Madame Odile. But you can tell they’ve been hiding something since the end of your journey. You watch as they help Odile off the wagon, and you let out a brief sigh. You have to trust him that he’ll talk to all of you. Hopefully it’s nothing serious.

Maybe you can talk more about that stuff tonight… Feelings buddies… right?

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

Prev - Next

This was meant to be posted on Sunday, But the universe decided to give us a taste of post game Siffrin and made us incredibly sick. There will be a chapter this Sunday as well.

Hope you enjoy. If you have any questions about this story, you can always send us an ask or message us directly, the same goes for if you want to be added to a mention list so you'll always get an update for when the next chapter releases. That's all for now. Have a wonderful week ✨️

[anonithemousse]

The Magnus Archives Animated Update 3# - Little bit of everything

Greetings 👋

I started writing this post around Easter, but I put it off, because I needed some time to recover.

Yes, I finished The Magnus Archives. And yes, despite expecting this type of ending by looking at what genre it is, I was still completely devastated. I mean 3 days of being zombie with eyes red from random whailing.

I don't regret listening to this podcast though. This story is amazing in many levels and it would take me ages to write all my thoughts.

In short, general summary:

Narration - This is my first time listening to narrative podcast, so I like how this medium was used to tell the story, both from read statements and characters' experiences. You can get a clear idea of what's happening, or confuse viewer just as much as the characters are in current situation.

Voice Acting - Everyone did great job by delivering played characters' personalities and emotions just with voice. Jonny/Jon really did the job here especially. The stories, even if given second-hand story-wise, feel genuine with how Jon delivers the feelings of person giving the statement. You can easily forget you're listening to just one voice for entire episode.

Setup - The idea for world and how the horrors work has potential, yet the exploration is properly limited to what characters can really experience and comprehend. Since this is horror, fear relies on how much (or how little) you know about the danger and so not all mysteries will be trully solved. You will still get lot of side stories nicely unwrapped and concluded with satisfaction.

Characters - What I like about them the most is they all are multidimensional. It's clear they all have different points of view, they have flaws, they make mistakes. They're not superheroes, but people who try to figure things out and won't always suceed. Some dynamics hurt, but they're also well settled in circumstances and personalities. Even though it hurts to see characters in conflict with each other, I can understand behaviour of each.

I also really liked how relationship between Jon Sims and Martin Blackwood evolved throughout the series. It wasn't in main focus for most of the series, but there were enough clues to see them bonding, at least to me.

The genuine worry of Jon for Martin in Season 4, but not butting into his business, because he believes Martin knows what he's doing? I loved that.

And their dynamics in Season 5? Wonderful. I think this is what I felt lacking in many relationships I've seen over years. They communicate, they address issues, they set boundaries, they listen to each other. Well, it doesn't sound that simple and perfect when put in these words, their relationship is more complex than that. But it's genuine. No foul play, just two people trully caring for each other and listening to other's feeling, doing their best.

I usually am passive towards couples in fiction, but TMA just awoken something in me. I think most of the time the couples I've seen were... ingenuine...? Unhealthy? Shallow? Cliche? The other ships I really liked are Ruby and Sapphire (Steven Universe), Luz and Amity (The Owl House) or Balister and Ambrosius (Nimona) for exactly reasons mentioned above.

So yeah, given that plus my devastation after TMA finale, I spent last month mostly drawing Jon and Martin to cope. The main goal remained, to find the fitting designs, but it also made me explore their personalities and relationship dynamics. You can see in my recent posts most of the results. I regret nothing, hehe!

But there's more! I drew other characters as well, whenever I felt like it. They've been shared in separate posts as well, riiight here.

There's lot for me to discover and creative within The Magnus Archives territory and it's hard to predict what next turn my journey will take at this point. I will not slow down, nonetheless!

That's all from me, for now. You can expect more drawings or rambling.

Stay tuned and stay creative! 🎨

[nellie-elizabeth]

The Handmaid's Tale: Exodus (6x08)

Not going to lie, I'm pretty massively underwhelmed by this one.

Cons: 

I just... for one thing, I thought the wedding was going to be where Shit Went Down, and instead it was where People Handed Each Other Weapons and Then Went Home. Just kind of a momentum killer, to be honest. Drugging the wedding cake is certainly audacious, but it's also silly. And I kept thinking that if going to the wedding was just about distributing stuff, why on earth did June and Moira even risk going? Everyone else is supposed to be there. No risk of Serena or Nick or anybody else recognizing them. It felt silly that they'd be there at all.

Serena has this big moment where she learns that her new husband is "just like all the others" and is not a good man, since he brings a Handmaid into their home together. Honestly, the idea that Serena would be surprised by this, that she would have bought into her own delusions enough to believe that this would be a different kind of marriage, didn't really bother me. But the way she reacted? Like, Serena, are you stupid? Just play dumb, lay low, get Noah out of there safely! Now you're on the run with no supplies and no recourse. I just wish she'd played it more clever. Like, nodded and smiled and asked that for their wedding night, it just be the two of them... then in the light of day find a way to get Noah away and figure out a plan. It just seemed silly for her to freak out and burn that bridge with no thought to strategy at all.

The big scene of this episode, the one that I wanted to move me, was the June speech to Lydia. And it just... did not land for me! I'm sorry! What, exactly, has changed Lydia's mind here? The Janine stuff? Okay, so then why did she need June to come and explain it to her when she's already seen Janine beaten by Bell? I was extremely distracted by the guard holding a gun in this scene. There's this crowd of Handmaids waiting with baited breath, there's June making her big speech, there's Lydia listening with a trembling lip... and I'm sitting there thinking: who's this dude, what does he think, is he being swayed? Is he too scared to act? Would he have shot June if Lydia had commanded it? And that's not what I wanted to be feeling, in this big culminating moment. I didn't want to be preoccupied by what the one man in the room thought about the things happening. It just didn't work for me as this ultimate turning point for Lydia. I'm not convinced that this would sway her after so much else did not. And I honestly thought June's speech went on a little too long and was a little too generic.

Pros:

I'm not completely writing this show off as a loss, of course. We have two more episodes, and I'm hoping they're bombastic and shocking and interesting. Serena's wedding was kind of a dud, more setup without payoff, but now the Handmaids are on the loose, and they're out for blood. There were a lot of cool little moments nested into this episode, even if the overall effect was underwhelming.

At the wedding, I loved how... insane and delusional Serena was when she went to talk to the Handmaids. Like she really thinks that being nice to them and trying to claim that she and her former Handmaid found a way to forgive and make friends, is going to make up for anything? She really thinks it's enough? She's totally lost it. When Rita came up and says "eyes on the prize, ladies," I was grinning so big. Like, I'm sorry, Serena, but I want you to get what's coming to you, and I want you to know it was June who did it.

I also like that Nick and June don't cross paths, that he remains entirely unaware that she's there and that anything is going on. The tension of that, when she can't quite stop herself from walking a few steps closer to him, when she fixates on him and Rose there together as this "happy" little family unit... I still don't understand what they're trying to do with Nick as a character but I have this hope/thought that he's going to figure out what's up and help June at the eleventh hour, which I would appreciate, at least.

While the Serena moments did kind of piss me off, I did like how genuinely crushed she was as she asked the Handmaid what her real name was. She's not a good person, and there's no going back on what she's done, but selfishly I'm glad she's at least woken up to how monstrous the system is, even if it's not sufficient to any degree. Great acting in that moment of dawning horror.

Similarly, while so much about the big Aunt Lydia v. June moment annoyed me, I loved Moira standing in her power and shouting Lydia down, and I especially love that Lydia didn't remember who she was. It puts paid to so many of the lies Lydia has told herself. That she's doing this to protect and save "her girls." She doesn't even know the names of all the people she's tortured and handed over to serial rapists over the years. And I loved Moira prepared to stare down Lydia and protect June, and then June just showing up like "here I am." Great acting from Ann Dowd in the aftermath of that scene, as she calls out "God help me" and sinks to her knees. I really believe in her as a broken, confused woman. Although again, that doesn't justify shit about shit, when you get right down to it.

So... yeah. I find myself really uncertain what we're meant to think, going into these last two episodes of the show. Poisoning the cake at the wedding felt like an anticlimax, people are behaving kinda stupid, and do we really think that this is going to be enough to bring down Gilead for good? Or maybe it's not, maybe this is a setup for The Testaments, maybe we're meant to believe that there are decades left before the real downfall comes. Who can say! All I know is, I don't want to walk away from this whole show with a sour taste in my mouth. I hope it all comes together in a way that feels earned and powerful.

6.5/10

[hopefulqueer]

I'm starting to think the reason I'm not as good of a writer as I want to be is because I like writing more than I like reading.

[sysig]

Hm ok what's your favorite or a really cool worlbuilding thing you've done? For any fandom or original or even an unimplemented idea

Hmm well at least in the past decade, my big worldbuilding projects have mostly come down to three-ish stories: Other Side of the Gun, Adventures of Gæilo and Ethon, and Just Desserts

OSG was an Invader ZiM fancomic concept I started around 2013 to justify every single Irken headcanon I ever came up with lol - I never finished it, or even really started it, but I put a lot of time and energy into its roughs back in the day :)

^A stick figure recap of Ch. 1, inspired by - what else - the Vargas stick figure recaps lol

One that you can see over here is all the work I did for my DnD campaign, AGE! (Though its sideblog hasn't been updated in a while haha - the AGE tag over here works just as well) I basically homebrewed a pantheon and had an absolute blast designing all the gods and their forms before they became gods and even things like architectural differences in their churches and the BBEG and his motivations and just ah <3 Such a fun project :D

It also laid the groundwork for things like Pokemon Homestyle, specifically all my papercrafts! You can really see how I leveled up haha

And my latest has been Just Desserts! Even with less time under its belt, it's still pretty expansive, as evidenced by my icon and theme and the backlog lol, and it's the one I have the most AUs of! (Though OSG does come close actually haha) There are still some thorny details I'm trying to iron out, especially to do with the magic system, but all the characters and creatures and the fact that I made my own fighting minigame, ah, pleased! I've never been so happy with a sona before Charm! ♥ From the very beginning it's been so fun to work on and I still want to improve!

[odoraful]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬)

it's date night and the boys react to you wearing a new dress

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel/caleb x gn!reader; established relationship; complete & utter fluff; compliments & showers of affection; dresses are described (i had dress references that i thought would suit the boys' vibes hehe, but feel free to picture whatever dress you want!); ~0.5k words per scene

⟡ a/n: my first time writing for caleb GASP! it was very fun to write him but, admittedly, i don't own all of his cards (the struggles of f2p 😞), nor have i done all of his memoria/other content, so i hope i was still able to do him justice! 🥺

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ⟡

Subconsciously, Zayne rose from his seat as soon as he saw you. His body somehow told him that appreciating you whilst sitting down was a horrible injustice. It was true, though. Standing gave him the proper vantage point to admire your outfit. The way the smooth white material draped around your curves and flowed down to your ankles, the fabric turning sheer near the hem. Blue watercolor-like flowers were scattered across the dress—the softness of it all made it seem like you were a walking dream. A silvery necklace rested against your collarbones, matching the teardrop gemstones that dangled from your ears.

You were still in the middle of adjusting your earrings when you walked out, not paying any mind to the effects your entrance had on your enamored partner.

Zayne’s lips parted, the air seemingly sucked from him. He blinked multiple times as if he were trying to see whether you were an illusion.

It was no trick conjured by his mind. You were real, you were his, and you were stunning.

Finished with your earrings, you looked up at him with a smile. It took every ounce of will for Zayne’s knees not to buckle and fall back onto the chair.

“I’m ready to go now,” you said, walking over to him, your heels giving a dull click against the hard floors.

“It’ll be a bit colder tonight,” was all Zayne could muster saying with most of his thoughts entangled by your appearance.

Your face immediately fell into a pout. With a disappointed sigh, you hung your head.

“Alright, I’ll go get something to cover up…”

Before your feet could even move to walk away, Zayne’s hands snaked around your waist. A short gasp fell out of you.

Beneath the thin fabric of your dress, you could feel the press of his cool fingertips. He held you in place with a firm grip, his body flush with yours. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his closeness leaving shivers up your spine.

“T-to bring something to wear on top of my dress? You just said that it would be cold.”

His brows lifted, realizing the misunderstanding he caused. “I apologize. What I meant was I’ll bring my jacket for you to wear if it gets too chilly.”

Your stomach fluttered, though you didn’t know if it was due to the proximity of his body, his low voice, or his offer to keep you warm during the night out. You turned around in his grasp, meeting his gaze.

“There is no need for you to hide it beneath extra clothing if you want to show it off. You look beautiful in that new dress, my love.”

Now you knew exactly what caused those tingles in your stomach.

The direct compliments Zayne tended to give always affected you deeply. Combined with the nickname that rolled so effortlessly off his tongue, you were the one left entangled now. And he would admire you a thousand times more just to see that expression on your face.

”Perhaps I should change the color of my tie to match.”

“Dr Zayne wanting to do couple matching?” You feigned a gasp of shock, bracing a hand against his chest. “How unheard of!”

Zayne breathed a fond and quiet laugh. “Yes, I’ve been learning a lot of new things when I’m with you.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 ⟡

“My, my, my,” Sylus sounded out as you walked into the kitchen. He chuckled in astonishment, the resonant sound warming your senses. “Don’t you look absolutely divine this evening?”

Sylus washed his hands at the sink and dried them off with a towel. He was in the middle of preparing dinner for the two of you when you made your grand reveal. Naturally, he had to stop everything to give you the attention you deserved.

“Do you notice anything different?” you asked innocently, hands tucked behind your back.

Sylus smirked. He rested his chin on his hand, indulging your theatrics.

“Hmm, let me guess… is it your hair?” he began, reaching out to tuck a strand behind your ear.

You tempered your expression, trying to remain neutral despite the corners of your lips curving upwards.

“Or… maybe your makeup?” he trailed his hand down to your cheek, lightly brushing against your skin with his thumb.

Sylus’ hand moved to rest at your back, guiding you closer to him. His gaze travelled from your head to your toes. 

“Ah, I know what it is.”

You were wearing an elegant black dress that reached your ankles—certainly fit to be in attendance at a high class function. The bodice resembled a corset, with faux boning running from the square neckline down towards the waist before disappearing before the skirt. Thin black straps tied off in ribbons at your shoulders. A necklace of silver and ruby dazzled under the warm lights of the kitchen. Contrasting with the rest of your outfit, rather than wear a matching pair of shoes, on your feet were your prized fuzzy slippers that you wore around the Onichynus base. Sylus could help but break into a smile.

Tonight’s date was a night-in after all, so comfort would be given number one priority.

“It’s this lovely new dress.” 

His compliment seemed to be amplified by the husk in his voice. You clasped your hands around his neck, pulling him nearer. 

“Correct!” you grinned. “It’s the one you helped me pick out, remember?”

He nodded. Two weeks ago you had gone clothes shopping together and stumbled upon this simple black dress. Sylus saw the way your eyes lingered on it, even after being alarmed by the price tag. You were prepared to say goodbye to it on the clothing rack. Little did you know, Sylus had already signalled to the shop assistant to have it wrapped up and sent to his home. 

“I do,” he answered, drawing small circles at the small of your back with his finger. “It seems we both have good taste.”

Your eyes darted away from his gaze. “I know you’re just making dinner for us, but I wanted to dress up a little.”

There was very little that could make the leader of Onichynus lose his composure, but the shyness on your face was enough to make him weak.

Sylus kissed your forehead. “Trust me when I say this, my dear, the gesture is greatly appreciated.”

He tilted your face upwards. Sincerity brimmed in his crimson gaze as he spoke, 

“You know you can wear whatever you want around me. Whether you dress up or dress down, you always look stunning.”

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ⟡

Eyes growing wide as porcelain plates, Xavier watched with awe when you exited the bedroom. He’d never seen you wear this dress. He didn’t even know where to look first.

The white fabric ruffled in two tiers around your thighs, with loose frills lining the neckline, accentuating your decolletage. It was shoulderless, with long sheer white sleeves that extended from the dress. To complement its shorter length, you wore white lace socks that ended below your knees.

It was the embodiment of flirty and sweet, only made more so by the twirl you gave him.

“You got a new dress,” Xavier observed.

He walked over to meet you, a smile blooming across his face as you toyed with the ruffles at your neckline.

“Mhm, I did! How do I look?”

Xavier ran his fingers down the sleeve, feeling the material. He trailed the length of your arm, the light touch leaving goosebumps in its wake, until he reached your hand.

“The color is just like starlight.”

Lifting your hand up to his lips, he gave your knuckles a tender kiss. It was almost a scene from a storybook—a prince boldly showcasing his affection for his lover. Though, rather than a castle, you were standing in his apartment on his blue striped rug. It didn’t matter. For you, it was a fairytale nonetheless.

“You look radiant,” he said, looking up at you with admiration and… something else.

Xavier straightened himself and inhaled. Unexpectedly, he leaned over and began unlacing his shoes, taking them off his feet. Your face contorted with confusion. Whatever he was doing now was a stark difference in tone from the previous moment you just shared.

“Xavier… what are you doing?”

He neatly lined his shoes up on the edge of the rug on the wooden floorboards.

“Can we change the date to just staying in?” he asked.

“Huh? Why?”

His answer came in the form of pulling you into a hug and collapsing on the sofa with you. You gasped in surprise. Cupping your face in both his hands, Xavier began to kiss you. Starting from your forehead down to your cheeks. In that fraction of a second each time he pulled away, he eyed you—your expression a mixture of surprise and delight, the way your chest rose and fell in that ruffled dress. He continued his affectionate ambush, his gentle lips leaving your skin warm and rose-colored.

“Xavier!” you cried out, bursting into giggles.

Though you had your hands on his shoulders, you didn’t give much resistance, letting your partner shower you with kisses.

“We’re going to be late for our reservation—mmph!”

He finally reached your lips, slowing his movements, letting himself savor the faint sweetness from the gloss you applied. You too almost got lost, brain clouded by the familiar and tempting sensation. Xavier felt your hands tap his shoulders and he pulled back to find your lips in a pout.

“You know we’re never going to leave if we stay like this.”

Xavier sighed resignedly. “Okay, okay, we’ll go.”

Nodding his head he rested his forehead on your shoulder, as if it took all his strength to move away. “I just couldn’t help it. It’s hard to resist kissing you when you look like that.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ⟡

Being a denizen of an underwater kingdom meant Rafayel had seen many pretty sights in his life. But, none would compare to when he was looking at you. Especially now when you walked into his studio wearing a new dress. His lips curved into a smile, unable to contain the wonder on his face.

The dress was made of a taupe-coloured chiffon with red flowers and olive leaves patterning the fabric. From the open window of his studio, the light breeze made the flowy material flutter around your legs. The waistline ended just below the bust, with a heart-shaped neckline that gave the perfect space for your shell necklace (given as a present from Rafayel himself). Your white sandals tapped against the floorboards, ready for your evening by the beach. 

“Is there a special anniversary I’m forgetting?” Rafayel asked, placing his hands on his hips. “Why am I receiving such a lovely gift?” 

You chuckled, speaking with a playful lilt, “Sometimes there’s no reason for nice things to happen. I just thought I’d try on something new.”

He approached, holding your hands in his. The swirl of violet and pink in his eyes gleamed with splendour. “You look beautiful, like you just stepped out of a painting.”

“You can thank Aunt Talia,” you said. “She helped choose it for me when she visited Linkon.”

Rafayel shrugged, though, there was pride in his voice as he spoke. “It’s easy to pick when you have a perfect muse like yourself.” 

With his hand still in yours, Rafayel stretched his arm outward, creating distance between you two before leading you towards his chest. You twirled into his arms like a ballroom dancer, the skirt of your dress dancing along with you.

He wished he had something to record your laugh in that moment—the pure delight in your voice. Perhaps he could keep it in a seashell for him to hold to his ear whenever he missed you. More of your giggles erupted when he swung you out from him once again. This time, when he pulled you in, he braced an arm around your back, dipping you. 

His face was inches away from yours. He looked at the pink dusting your cheeks, the sparkle on your eyelids, and the giddiness in your smile. The statement remained true. No other sight could compare to you.

Lifting you back to standing position, he kept his arms encircled at your waist.

“The fabric of the dress flows just like water,” he commented. “And the colour compliments you so nicely.”

Rafayel appeared entranced, as if he was staring at a rare artwork sitting in an illustrious gallery. Studying your features with that same painter’s eye. 

“You’re giving me that look again.” You lightly poked the tip of his nose with your index finger. “Am I to be the inspiration for your next piece now?”

He shook his head in amusement. “Cutie, you should see the margins of all my sketchbooks.”

“You’re always an inspiration to me, every second of every day.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ⟡

Waiting for you to come out of your room made Caleb’s stomach flutter in anticipation. It wasn’t dissimilar to the very first time he tried flying. The sudden change in speed and altitude. That momentary weightlessness before everything dropped. He didn’t realise being at your apartment in Linkon City, waiting to see what you were going to wear for the night, would provoke the same feelings as being in a fighter jet. He covered his face with his hand in an act of controlling himself–conscious of the effect you had on him. 

The moment ended when he heard your door click shut. Caleb turned around from staring at the photographs on the wall to finally see you.

At a first glance, the dress was simple–made of a silky material with no embellishments, and two thin straps at the shoulders. However, in the light, your green dress shimmered with iridescence. The gold that shone through the fabric shifted with every step you took towards him, ever changing depending on where the light was hitting you. 

Caleb folded his arms, his eyes shamelessly wandering up and down. A slow and intentional gaze that ensured he could memorize the image he saw before him.

You were practically beaming at him, and his own heart leapt from his chest.

“I don’t recognize this from your wardrobe. Is it new?” His question came out almost breathless. 

“It is, how observant of you,” you chirped. “What do you think?” 

You took one more step closer until he could reach out and feel the material for himself. It was smooth and delicate under his touch. He let it slip off his fingers before looking back at you, completely transfixed. 

“You look gorgeous,” he breathed. The earnesty in his voice made your pulse skip. 

“You know,” Caleb circled around you, hands at his back. It seemed as though he wanted to admire the dress from every angle, “any person in their right mind would want to get close after seeing someone as cute as you.”

Without you realising, he had actually cornered you against your wall of photographs.

He placed his left hand against the wall beside your head, satisfaction plain on his face. You puffed out your cheeks in mock annoyance at Caleb’s sneaky position switching. Only you got to witness this mischievous, boyish side to him. 

“I guess I’ll have to keep a lookout tonight,” he whispered in your ear before kissing you on the cheek.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay right by your side,” you reassured, patting his head. 

“Mmm, that’s good to hear.” He leaned into your touch, lips curved into a soft, nostalgic smile.

“I remember you weren’t too fond of wearing dresses when you were younger.”

“That was a long time ago,” you commented, brushing your fingers through his dark hair to tidy it up. “Things can change.”

He caught your hand in his, interlocking his fingers with yours. Warmth radiated through your palms. 

“Then, I want to see you in more pretty clothes like this,” he said. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow, I’ll get you anything you want.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[florestalio]

FATAL OBSESSION — l.hs

even if your best friend seemed to have found the love of her life, the one that keeps her the happiest, while also treating you, and everyone else with respect—you can't help but feel something was... off about him. you didn't dwell on it much—something which proved to be a fatal mistake on your part.

GENRE — pwp, kidnapping au, psychopath au, best friend's boyfriend trope

WARNINGS — DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, noncon, noncon-ish dumbcon, psychopath!hee, kidnapping, character death, oral (both m! and f! rec), throat fucking, throat bulge, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gun play, gun in v (DON'T!!!), sucking the barrel of a gun (seriously, don't), squirting, unprotected sex (don't), doggy, cumming inside, groping, tit squeezing, nipple pinching, clit pinching, bondage, let me know if i missed any!

WORDCOUNT — 11.8k

NOTE — READER'S DISCRETION ADVISED!!! went a little too insane while writing this. thank you to my bestie sena who always encourages me to write my deranged wip ideas that I get during the most random times—this one in particular came to my mind while I was... studying. no I'm not lying. this was, as always, not proofread. so if you see any mistakes? just pretend you didn't, okay?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

there was something severely off about heeseung.

your best friend, chaeyoung, had met heeseung—who is currently her boyfriend—at a bar. from what she had told you, apparently she was simply drinking there, celebrating her first ever paycheck—alone, since you were stuck at a family event. when it was time for her to pay, the bartender informed her that someone had already paid for her. surprised, she asked about this mystery person, getting directed towards a guy sitting a few seats away from her.

apparently for her, it was love at first sight.

he looked like everything she ever wanted in a guy—tall, dignified and confident posture, rich attire, a good taste in fashion—not to mention how attractive he looked while sipping his drink, a light smirk on the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with hers. he never broke eye contact—not even once, as she walked over to him—albeit quite bashfully.

from what she told you, they talked all night—about their reasons for being in the bar, their hobbies, their backgrounds, their families, and other things that you couldn't really bother to keep track of.

they exchanged numbers, texting each other every single day. eventually, he asked her out, taking her to the most exquisite restaurant in the city, treating her like royalty. according to her, he was the biggest gentleman—a complete green forest, if you will. he always took care of her interests, noticed every single detail about her, and never failed to bring a smile to her face. truly, she was the happiest version of herself while they were dating.

eventually, she introduced him to you, him being an absolute sweetheart with you as well. he made sure not to make you feel like a third wheel, including you in their conversations. it didn't feel awkward for you at all—almost as if you three were a trio of best friends who hadn't met in a while, catching up.

everything was perfect with him. until it wasn't.

you didn't understand why, but for some weird reason, you started to get a certain... vibe from him—even though his behaviour never really changed. he was still an absolute sweetheart, treating chaeyoung like his own personal goddess… yet there was something so—unsettling about him.

heeseung didn't really do anything, but you still found a chill running down your spine whenever chaeyoung mentioned his name. if you saw him in front of you? you bet either your leg or hand would shake uncontrollably, betraying your anxiety.

anxiety for exactly what reason, you didn't know.

you thought it was ridiculous. why would your best friend's more than perfect boyfriend’s mere presence have you shaking like a goddamn leaf? it made no sense at all.

until it did… sort of.

well… heeseung, despite being such an amazing boyfriend, ends up becoming an ex. how? the story behind that is… messy. extremely so.

you see, they had been dating for almost a year. everyone expects a good and memorable gift from their partner for their anniversary, right? so did chaeyoung. she was really looking forward to it too, given how much of a great boyfriend heeseung was.

and he didn't disappoint. he gave her a present, one that was definitely memorable. it wasn’t memorable just for her, either. it was memorable for you as well. was it good? not so much.

it was around eight in the morning when your alarm rang, effectively waking you up.but it was a sunday,  so you turned the alarm off, trying to go back to sleep. but you were already awake, so it didn't really work.

you picked up your phone, the date catching your eyes—it was chaeyoung and heeseung’s anniversary!

your eyes widened. how could you have forgotten such an important date? it was a date your best friend had been extremely excited about, with her always talking about it to you for quite a few days now, yet you forgot. did that make you a terrible friend? probably. eager to redeem yourself, you quickly shot her a text.

you: happy anniversary to my favourite couple!!! enjoy yourselves you both <33 give me all the details tomorrow!!

you let out a small breath, one which you didn't realise you were holding, hoping your best friend hadn't realised that you hadn't remembered her anniversary. however, you didn't get to ponder too long on that, since your phone rang with a ding. chaeyoung had texted you back!

chae: thank youuu!! also girl i need help chae: can you make it to xxx restaurant by twelve?? a friend of heeseung got broken up with, so he wanted him to accompany us for the morning to help him cheer up. chae: he also mentioned something about ‘not wishing him to be a third wheel’ so please do me this favour?? chae: pleaseee??? i promise i’ll make it up to you

you were a bit hesitant about the request. you honestly wanted to stay in today, since it was a sunday—a rest day—but you also didn't want to disappoint your best friend on her first anniversary with her boyfriend, so you agreed.

you: fineee i can do that you: but you're gonna owe me one

chae: THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH chae: you have no idea how stressed i was about this chae: honestly i didn't wanna agree to it at first chae: but you know i can't say no to him

you: girl it's okayyy i can understand you: i’ll distract the other dude so that you guys can enjoy your day, alright?? <33

chae: ugh have i ever told you how much i love you???

you: love you too now GO!!!

as soon as you keep your phone down, you instantly regret your decision. so now you have to go and attend the anniversary lunch of your best friend and her boyfriend… along with some mopey guy that recently got broken up with. great. just great.

you were in front of the restaurant that chaeyoung had sent you the address of—right on time too. you had been trying to call her for the past thirty minutes, but she wasn't picking up. you knew it took a while to get ready, and look absolutely out of the world, but seriously, it doesn't take that long.

you tried to call her for the—what, seventh time now? once again, the call went to voicemail. jesus christ, was she getting plastic surgery or something?

you heard your name being called, causing you to turn around. it was heeseung, waving at you, dressed in an absolutely dashing suit, his ever-so-polite smile adorning his face. the only odd thing was that he was alone—no sign of chaeyoung near him.

you frowned, voicing your thoughts out. “did you not come here with chae? she hasn't been picking up my calls—i have been trying since the past half an hour already.”

he looked surprised at that. “she picked up my call around… forty? minutes ago? she told me her make up wasn't setting right? something else about her foundation being almost out? i told her i was gonna wait, and we could schedule the reservation for later, but she told me it wasn't possible—made me come here on my own. but—i figured she must have called you for help, since, you know, you're the person she usually goes to during these kinds of emergencies–”

you shook your head, your forehead creasing in frustration. obviously chaeyoung thought the ‘emergency’ wasn't urgent enough to call you—now she won't pick up your calls, or arrive on time.

you looked at him again. “when is your friend supposed to arrive?”

he looked at his watch. “we told him to come at fifteen minutes past twelve, so that me and chae could have a little time alone before it's all about him, so… he should have been here ten minutes ago.”

right then a ‘ding!’ sounded on his phone, causing you to raise a brow. you gestured at him to check, which he did… his face falling almost immediately. he looked up at you, sighing heavily. “he just texted me. apparently his sister was busy, which meant she couldn't pick up his niece from school—which left him to do it.”

you rubbed your temples in frustration. for fuck’s sake, this wasn't your anniversary lunch, why the hell were you here on time? to help a friend out, who didn't even need the help anymore, and who was yet to arrive at her own anniversary lunch?

noticing your distressed state, heeseung quickly tried to make the situation better. “h-how about we go inside, yea? chae said she reserved the table under her name, so we can sit down—maybe even order something to eat till she arrives? how does that sound?”

you nodded, sighing mentally. you loved your best friend, but seriously, she needed to be more responsible. being late to your own anniversary lunch? causing your boyfriend and best friend to sit down and possibly even eat lunch until you decided the time was finally ideal enough for you to show up? real mature.

heeseung could sense your building frustration and anger, causing him to do his best to keep you calm. you waited by the front of the restaurant, as he practically sprinted towards the help desk to get the reserved table. he quickly ran back to you, ushering you towards the table. as soon as the two of you sat down, he quickly looked through the menu, asking for your favourite drink among the ones listed. once you gave him the name, he quickly called upon a waiter, ordering your drink choice. while they took their time to give you your drink, he engaged you in a friendly conversation, trying to diffuse the tension, and any possible awkwardness. safe to say, it worked, as you even cracked a laugh or two at his terrible jokes.

another half an hour went by. chaeyoung was yet to show up. the two of you decided to order lunch, the wait having made you both hungry.

while you both were digging in, heeseung made sure to keep you engaged in conversation, the atmosphere not turning awkward even once—despite the circumstances. the food was top tier too, so you had to give chaeyoung that one. credit was needed where it was due, after all.

by the time it was the turn for dessert, your anger had started fading into worry. where the fuck was chaeyoung at?

you knew your best friend well enough to know that she wouldn't miss her anniversary lunch, no matter how much her make-up sucked. so why wasn't she here yet?

heeseung, being ever the gentleman, politely kept you engaged in conversation. oh, for chaeyoung to have ended up with such an amazing guy, and to miss their first anniversary? yea, your best friend is definitely the problem here.

once dessert was finished, you excused yourself, going to the washroom. you needed to wash your hands anyways, and redo your lipstick. you also wanted to try and call chaeyoung again.

while you were washing your hands, one of the servers came in, giving you a polite smile and a small bow. she washed your hands alongside you. “ma'am, may i ask you something? it might sound a little intrusive, but i promise i mean it in a nice way.”

caught slightly off-guard, you nodded your head. “absolutely! don't worry about being intrusive, just ask whatever you want to.”

she gave you a wide smile, giggling slightly. “you and your boyfriend look so cute together! how long have you been together? if you don't mind me asking, of course–”

you quickly cut her off. “oh no no no—he isn't my boyfriend, he is my best friend’s. they have been together for a year, so this was supposed to be their anniversary lunch.”

the waitress gave you a skeptical look. realising exactly how weird your answer just sounded, you rushed to explain yourself. “w-wait wait wait—i know it sounds weird, but i promise i’m telling the truth. i sent her a ‘happy anniversary’ text this morning, to which she told me to accompany her to her anniversary lunch, since her boyfriend’s recently dumped friend was coming along, and her boyfriend didn't want him to be a third wheel…” you trailed off, noticing the look of disbelief on her face.

you didn't know why you felt the need to explain the situation to a complete stranger, but you weren't going to question your anxiety induced instincts. you took out your phone, showing her your texts with chaeyoung from the morning, while continuing to rant to her. “–but for some reason, she hasn't been picking up my calls, despite her being the one to invite me to this. she even reserved the table in the first place, but… oh well.”

at that, the server furrowed her brows. she seemed to believe you, although only to a certain extent now. “uhm… ma'am, are you sure? the table you were sat at was reserved by who we thought was your boyfriend. no girl came in to reserve that table for today. but he did so, yesterday. said he wanted to have lunch with his girlfriend in peace, without anyone interrupting, and that today was the only opportunity for doing so.”

you were stunned at the revelation. you were sure heeseung told you that the table was reserved by chaeyoung, not him. why would the server lie? hell, why would heeseung lie? this revelation, paired with your best friend not picking up her calls… something wasn't adding up.

the server waved her hand in front of you to get your attention. “uh, ma'am…?”

you quickly snapped back to reality, the unsettling feeling you usually got around heeseung creeping back. “o-oh yea, uhm—can you help me out really quick?”

sensing the undertone of panic in your voice, her face quickly became serious. “of course, whatever you need.”

you gulped. “so, uhm—i- i think my best friend’s boyfriend—the guy i was sitting with right now—lied to me, and my friend isn't picking my calls either. d-does your restaurant perhaps have a… a backdoor, or something similar to that?”

she didn’t question it anymore, nodding quickly. she gave you the directions to the backdoor, which luckily happened to be nearby, just behind the kitchen. she promised to keep your escapade a secret, and also promised to make heeseung pay the entire bill.

“–oh, and please be careful. the backdoor is connected to a network of alleys, which are filled with homeless people. they are always looking for an opportunity to steal, especially from unsuspecting women. there's also a lot of—well, men, so you need to be extra careful.” you quickly thanked her, heeding to her directions.

you got out of the washroom, finding the backdoor quickly enough. you went outside through it, the door leading into a back alley. you quickly navigated through it, wary of any potential homeless people that might think you're an easy target for them to steal from.

you kept turning corners, staying at least five meters away from any suspicious people. however, you soon felt as if you were being followed. since you were in an area infested with men that were starving—in more ways than one, you didn't pay as much attention to it—although you should have, since that was extremely stupid of you. it turned out to be a big mistake on your part, since you soon felt someone hit your head—hard—with something that was probably made of metal.

your head exploded in pain, causing you to clutch it tightly with both hands. you felt someone catch you as you fell backwards, holding onto you tightly, your vision unsteady. as you swam in and out of consciousness, you could swear you heard a laugh. it was the most unsettling sound you had ever heard. the last thing you heard before you blacked out sent a chill down your spine.

“that eager to escape me? not fucking happening princess.”

when you woke up, you couldn't open your eyes, nor could you open your mouth to scream. you tried to move your hands and legs, but they seemed to have been tied up as well. you could tell that you were tied to a chair, but you had no idea why, or how—or who did it. what would anyone gain from kidnapping you?

you let out a muffled scream through your gag, trying to catch the attention of literally anyone. to add to your anxiety, you heard another muffled scream in response. you tried to struggle against your binds—which you just realised were fucking metallic chains—but it was a futile attempt.

in the midst of your struggling, you didn't hear the footsteps nearby, or the door opening. so naturally you were surprised when the blindfold was yanked off of you. you squint your eyes, to adjust to the sudden brightness, while your captor ripped off your gag as well. you promptly let out an ear piercing scream.

your captor let out a groan, putting his hand on your mouth, effectively shutting you up. “for fuck’s sake, shut up. no one can hear you—at least no one that can save you can hear you, so shut up and spare me the trouble of going deaf. or i can leave the gag on, whichever works best for you.”

you immediately stopped trying to scream, your eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness—or excessive darkness, whatever it was. to your utter horror, your captor was lee fucking heeseung of all people. you did have a bad feeling about him, but for it to be true? that was something you weren't prepared for.

you gulped, your throat feeling slightly parched. you looked around, your eyes landing on another girl that was tied up. her blindfold and gag was still on, but she didn't seem to be straining against her binds. from the almost dried tear patches on the blindfold, and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, you assumed that she had given up trying to struggle.

as you analyzed her carefully, the pit in your stomach grew. that was chaeyoung. “w-what did you do to h-her? why—why are we here? why are you doing this? l-let us go!”

he let out a chuckle, which only caused the pit in your stomach to grow bigger. he put both of his hands on the arms of the chair you were tied to, leaning closer to you. his face had the most bone-chilling smirk ever. “‘why?’ that's a great question. cute, even. it's cuter how you think i’ll let either of you go.”

noticing your breath hitch, he leaned even closer, his voice more of a sultry whisper. “your friend… she was just a puppet. a pawn, in my game.”

your eyes were brimming with unshed tears, your voice shaky. “g-game?”

he chuckled. “why yes, a game. my game. the game to get closer to you.”

you froze, causing him to hold in a laugh at how your eyes widened comically. “m-me? closer t-to me? w-why? why would you want to—how would that even benefit you–?”

he tilted his head to the side. “why? because i like you, silly. i’m in love with you. always have been.”

your mouth hung open in disbelief. “...what?”

he caressed your cheek, his touch tender—a great contrast to how he kidnapped you, and tied you up to a chair, in some random, abandoned, basement. “we went to the same school. we were never in the same section throughout all of our school years, but i still noticed you. i always did. how could i not? you were the most beautiful among them all, a rose in between thorns. a lone firefly, shining in a field of darkness. naturally, i was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.”

he cupped your jaw with the same hand that was caressing your face just seconds ago, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “anything and everything you did, always had me thinking, wondering, hoping—that you were doing it for me. just for me. to catch my attention. you don't need anyone else anyways, i’m more than enough for you. you just… don't see it yet.”

his grip on your jaw grew slightly tighter, your wince of pain going unnoticed by him. a crazy glimmer appeared in his eyes. “that's why i needed to wait. wait for the perfect opportunity, the right moment—until it finally presented itself. in the form of your best friend, chaeyoung. she wasn't difficult to sway. her trusting nature made it even easier. she talks a lot, a bit too much sometimes—but of course, you would know—you’re her best friend after all. she made it easy to know everything about you, things i couldn't find from stalking you. suddenly, you were so, so much closer. but not close enough. you still didn't care enough, you still weren't mine.”

you were freaking out. this whole situation was insane. he was insane. you were a hundred percent sure that you had never even seen him at school! yet he claimed to have been in the same one as you? either you were as invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging of a new play, or he was bluffing. based on the current situation, he was definitely not bluffing.

but how? how could you have missed the fact that you were getting stalked? stalked! this was so, so bizarre. you were terrified, both for your life, and chaeyoung’s. you felt guilty that she had gotten involved, when clearly this was all about you.

heeseung continued talking. “so i had to do something. something, literally anything, to finally have you all to myself. the one thing i was glad for, was the fact that you remained single, your disinterest in relationships being both a blessing and a curse. it was the reason i lured chaeyoung into this, instead of getting to you directly. although, she could have gotten away from all of this, unharmed, if you weren't so… nosey.” 

he started caressing your cheek again. “don't know why, but for some reason you started to become… uncomfortable around me. i didn't know why, since i was more than sure that i didn't do anything to make you feel that way. but you still did. so of course, i had to do something fast. i scraped together this elaborate plan, one that involved me and chaeyoung breaking up, after i found her ‘cheating’ on me on our one year anniversary, and you consoling me, but—you just had to run away. naturally, i had to bring both of you here.”

you gulped, trying to steal your nerves. “please—you said it yourself, it's me who you want, not her—so please, let her go. she did nothing, she doesn't need to be involved in this–”

he tutted, cutting you off. “ah ah ah—where’s the fun in that? she is going to remain right here, as long as i see fit.”

he took his hand off your face, stepping away from you. he walked towards chaeyoung, a few meters away from you. your heart broke, seeing the fresh tear tracks on her face, the wet patches on her blindfold being clearly visible. your own tears broke free, once he ripped her blindfold off. she squinted in the light, her eyes landing on you. a fresh batch of tears cascaded down her face.

before you could call out to her, your eyes widened, your body freezing. heeseung was pointing a gun to her head. chaeyoung realised it, muffled sobs breaking free from behind her gag—which, for some reason, he didn’t take off, unlike what he did to yours. he rolled his eyes, nudging her head with the gun. “shut up. or i won't hesitate to blow your brains out.”

she immediately tried to stop, a small muffled hiccup escaping her in the process. heeseung rolled his eyes again, walking away from her, towards you. he kept the gun pointed towards her. he stopped in front of you, clicking the safety off. he smirked down at you. “you want her to live?”

you nodded frantically, your eyes shaking from how much you were crying. he snickered at your state. he put the gun under your chin, using it to tilt your head up, towards him. “in that case, you better do whatever i tell you to. and no trying to act smart, or else…”

he pointed the gun at chaeyoung again, flipping the gun in his hand, making it point at her again. he made a small ‘bang!’ sound with his mouth, imitating the gun going off. with your body raking with silent sobs, you nodded again, eyes red from your tears.

he smirked again. “that’s a good girl. just keep being obedient like this, yea?”

he didn’t wait for you to nod your head, or say yes again, going straight to business instead. to your—and chaeyoung's—utter horror, he began using his unoccupied hand to unbutton his jeans, under which he was somehow already hard. he pulled down the zipper—your widened, teary eyes and shocked, tear-stricken face making him stifle a groan, sending more blood straight down south, towards his cock. oh, he was going to have so much fun playing with you.

you looked in horror as he shrugged off his pants, glancing over at chaeyoung’s equally horrified face, before looking up at his face. in a panicked state, you spoke. “w-what are you doing–?”

he snickered at you, the gun not once moving from the direction of your best friend. his pants had come off, his hard bulge straining against his boxers, a large spot of precum having already formed on it. “what do you think?”

your expression was one of disgust, mixed with panic. there was no way you were going to suck your best friend's cock right in front of her, while you were both tied up to chairs, your lives in great danger. “you can't make me–”

“i can’t?” he interrupted you with a scoff, his hand pulling down his boxers. he shrugged them off, his leaking cock slapping on his stomach, leaving a trail of his sticky precum behind. his tip was an angry red, demanding immediate attention. “i can’t?” he repeated, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “what makes you think you have a choice? unless you want your oh-so-beloved friend here to die?”

he made a move as to pull the trigger, as you quickly yelled out, your eyes widening in panic. “no no no wait—please, i-i’ll do it, don’t shoot her, please–”

he smirked. you were so, so easy to scare. but apparently chaeyoung was too, since he heard a scared whimper—or a muffled sob—whatever, from her direction. he rolled his eyes subtly at the sound. he stepped closer to you, holding the base of his dick. his musky smell immediately invaded your nose, causing you to subtly scrunch it. although the smell wasn’t disgusting, his act sure was. he nudged it against your unwilling lips, coating it in a layer of his precum. he decided that it was by far the prettiest gloss he had seen you wear. “well? go on and suck it. or do you need more motivation?”

by motivation, he meant putting chaeyoung to sleep forever, of course. obviously you didn’t want that, so you quickly opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to give his tip a tentative lick. the salty taste immediately invaded your taste buds, causing you to gag slightly.

the action, however, elicited a completely different reaction from heeseung. he almost fell forward with a groan, balancing himself just in time, by holding onto the top of your chair. it set a chain reaction of his cock getting pushed further in your direction. despite your unwillingness, you were fuelled with the thought of you and your best friend getting out of the hell hole—unharmed—if you obeyed him. so you tilted your head, licking a long stripe along a vein on the underside of his cock. it stretched from his base, till his tip. your tongue’s movement caused him to twitch above you, more precum dribbling out of his tip.

above you, heeseung was a mess. god-fucking-damnit, this was what he had been missing out on?! chaeyoung’s head game was nothing compared to yours, and you had barely done anything.

it was getting harder to keep the gun pointed at her, so he decided to taunt her instead. he turned to the side, towards her, to mock her—only to be met with her eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down her face. displeased by the sight, he called out to her, trying to not sound breathless. “stop acting like a fucking prude, and open your goddamn eyes. i could shoot you right now, the only reason i’m not is because of your friend right here–” he gestured down to you, seeing as she opened her eyes again, which were red and swollen from crying. “–so you better be grateful to her, and keep your eyes on her. or else… you know what kind fate is waiting for you.”

hearing him threaten her directly, made your actions falter. you glanced at chaeyoung again—the sight of her teary eyes causing a fresh batch to roll down your eyes. you mouthed a ‘i promise i’ll get us out of here—unharmed’ to which she simply shook her head. your promise was empty words, as long as you both were here—under the threat of heeseung’s insanity. she didn’t hold it against you, she knew you didn’t want this either. but as long as heeseung was here, you both weren’t safe.

not liking how you stopped, heeseung fisted your hair tightly in his unoccupied hand, pushing your face forcefully towards his cock once again. you had done the mistake of gasping at his tight grip, causing his cock to push itself inside your deliciously warm mouth.

heeseung had to once again let go of your hair, to hold onto the top of the chair, trying to steady himself. fuck, your mouth felt so much better than chaeyoung’s ever did. he let out an unbashed moan, as you slowly bobbed your head up and down his length. “fuck,” your tongue swirled around his tip, collecting his precum, the action only causing more to ooze out. your tongue pressed down on his slit, causing him to throw his head back. “just like that baby,” he gripped the top of the chair tightly, in order to avoid thrusting into your mouth. “hah—doing s’fucking great f’me–”

he got cut off by his own groan, as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him off harshly. your tongue rubbed deliciously on the underside of his cock, the combined mixture of your saliva and his precum making it easier for you to take him in and out of your mouth. you tried your best to tune out the muffled sobs from chaeyoung in the corner—you were doing this so that she wouldn't be killed, not for your selfish reasons. as long as heeseung was satisfied, you both would be safe.

heeseung thought the same, as he seemed to want to take full advantage of that fact. unable to resist temptation anymore, he thrust his hips forward, relishing in how you gagged around him. he stood still for a moment, just to bask in the warmth of your throat.

but you only had one goal. satisfy him—impress him—till he deemed your performance good enough to let you and chaeyoung leave. which is why he was soon pleasantly surprised, as you took him further in, deep throating him. he almost moaned at the sight of his bulge in your throat. chaeyoung could never do that.

he took a glance at her, his hand holding the gun starting to ache. she was looking straight at you, small sobs raking through her body, tears running down her eyes in a steady stream. with his gun still cocked straight in her direction, he used his unoccupied hand to grab your throat, pressing down on your bulge. he let out a moan as you choked, the pressure on his cock being more than perfect.

seeing you struggling to breathe, he rolled his eyes slightly. “breathe through your nose.” it was all he said, before he pulled almost completely out of your mouth. without giving you barely enough time to take a breath, he slammed back in, your nose pushing against his abdomen. his balls slapped against your chin, as you choked, trying hard to breathe through your nose. his hand gripped your hair tightly, as he started fucking your mouth—throat—roughly.

your wrists and shins were hurting from how the chains were digging into them, bruises having definitely formed on them by now. from his merciless pace and brutal thrusts, your throat palate, as well as your chin, was sure to be bruised later as well. tears were streaming down your eyes, mirroring chaeyoung's—not just from the brutality of his pace, but from the entire situation. you never thought that one day you would have to let heeseung fuck your throat, just to ensure that you and chaeyoug could live for another day.

but unexpected situations happen everyday, as heeseung’s pace turned sloppy. “fuck fuck fuck–” he changed his fast pace and short strokes to slow and deep thrusts, his cock going impossibly deep inside your throat everytime—as if he was trying to leave an imprint in it.

finally, he let out a broken moan. “o-oh fuck—mmm–” he pulled out of your mouth quickly, his hand clutching the base of his cock to avoid cumming immediately. he started jerking off at a fast pace in front of your face. “f-fuck—open your m-mouth f’me baby—n’ stick out your tongue–”

you did as he said, screwing your eyes shut. you didn't want to accidentally make eye contact with your best friend. your face and neck was already burning hot from embarrassment, you didn't need to feel guilty as well—not that any of this was your fault in the first place.

with a loud curse, and a broken moan of your name, his orgasm finally crashed over him. spurts of warm cum erupted from his angry red tip, landing all over your face. most of it landed on your tongue, but quite a bit landed on your eyelids, nose, and cheeks as well. admiring his masterpiece with a darkened look in his eyes, heeseung spoke. “don't swallow… yet.”

he swiped the excess cum off your face with his finger, to the best of his abilities. “swallow.” he ordered, leaving no room for disobedience. he watched as you gulped, your subtle look of disgust going unnoticed. “open your mouth again,” he said, watching with a dark satisfaction, as you obeyed. he pushed his cum covered finger inside your mouth. “suck it, and swallow everything.”

you did just that, although you really wished you could spit it out instead. without him asking, you opened your mouth wide open, showing how you swallowed every drop. it was only then, that you dared to speak, your voice hoarse from his ministrations. “c-can we go now? i p-promise neither of us will tell anyone.”

at your question, he laughed. full on laughed. “‘leave’?” he echoed; as if it were some foreign language. he brought his hand that was holding the gun towards your face, before using it to tilt your chin up. “why do you want to leave so soon, baby? you need a reward first, don't you think so?”

you blinked confusedly. “a reward…?”

a smirk creeped up on his face. “why yes, a reward. you have been such a good girl for me, of course you need a reward! besides, it's only logical that i return the favour, isn't it?”

your eyes widened, as the realisation settled in. “oh, i-i don't think that's necessary–”

he subtly rolled his eyes, already sinking down on his knees in front of you. “of course it is necessary! can't just leave a girl hanging, you know?”

your eyes were wide with panic, looking at chaeyoung, as if expecting her to help—her own eyes were wide open, as she gulped inaudibly. at this point, she was simply grateful that the two of you were alive.

you squirmed, as heeseung placed the gun down beside him, giving chaeyoung a break. his hands moved up and down your legs, lifting your dress up, bunching it around your hips, leaving you squirming uncomfortably. “h-heeseung please, i r-really don't think this is necessary.”

his jaw clenched at your words, as he tightened grip on your legs. he forced his voice to be sickly sweet, as he spoke. “but that's the problem, isn't it? you women always think you know everything; whatever you decide is correct, is always correct. news flash darling—not everything is sunshine and rainbows. there are loads of things out of your control, things that you should simply relax and let others do for you. so shut up, and let me do what i want to, got it? or do you want me to blow chaeyoung’s brains out, since threatening you seems to be the only way you learn to listen?”

you gulped, tears stinging your eyes, as you met his hardened gaze. how long were you both going to be trapped here? how long before he finally got bored of these games and killed you both off? how long?

heeseung produced a knife from his pocket, your panic settling in again. you only calmed down—slightly—when you saw him use it to slowly tear through your panties, careful not to hurt you. although, the knife being so close to your skin scared you shitless anyways.

he sliced through them, the cold air coming in contact with your bare core, a shiver running through you. as he smirked at you, leaning closer to lick a stripe up your cunt, you suppressed a flinch. fuck, this was really happening.

you watched as he gathered a wad of saliva with his tongue, before spitting directly on your clit. you flinched slightly, which he took great delight in. heeseung watched his spit slowly drip down your pussy, causing him to be unable to resist temptation. he pushed his face towards your core, kissing it, before diving in. his tongue pushed deep inside you, something which unintentionally caused tingles of pleasure to run through you. you gasped loudly. “oh—god—wait, d-don't–”

your broken sounds only spurred him on more, as he dragged his tongue across your inner walls, his moan reverberating through your cunt. he licked at your walls, slurping up your juices, like a starving man. you tasted so fucking good, so much better than chaeyoung. but your squirming was pissing him off, his bruisingly tight grip on your thighs not being enough to keep you still.

even after digging his blunt nails into your thighs, you didn't stop the squirming—even though he knew you were loving it. especially given the way you kept letting out broken gasps and the way you pushed your absolutely delicious cunt further onto his face. it was really starting to piss him off.

he quite reluctantly pulled off to glare at you. “why is it so hard for you to sit still, hm? it's getting really fucking annoying, you know?”

you gulped, panting slightly. “i-i just—really want you to stop…”

he raised a brow, his expression otherwise blank. “oh really? because ‘it doesn't feel good’?”

you nodded quickly—a little too quickly. “y-yea! it f-feels weird—not good in the slightest.”

his jaw clenched—again. “well,” he gritted out. “in that case, i’ll have to try something else, don't you think so?”

you blinked, before furrowing your brows. “what–?”

he proceeded to pick up the gun from beside him, relishing in the way your eyes widened in horror. “if my mouth makes you feel so—uncomfortable, we will just need something else, hm? an object perhaps?”

your breathing grew shallow, as you realised where this was going. “n-no, please–”

he sneered at you. “too fucking late for that, princess.”

he pushed the barrel of the gun inside you slowly, watching as it slid in with ease, due to his previous ministrations. he ignored your sobs and cries to stop, relishing in the way your pussy sucked it right in. “sure you don't want this princess? your pussy disagrees with your mouth, you know?”

your head faced the ceiling, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip painfully, to conceal your whimpers. your eyes were screwed shut, praying that this was just a terrifying nightmare, one you hoped you would wake up quickly from. you swore you heard a whimper near you, which was probably one of utter horror, elicited by chaeyoung, since she was witnessing everything—but you didn't have time to worry about her anymore, since your own life was in a much graver situation.

you let out a whimper as heeseung pushed the barrel of the gun even deeper inside you, the disgusting squelching sound from your slick almost making you gag. why, just why did this situation have to happen with you of all people?

heeseung on the other hand, was enjoying himself. he pulled the barrel out slightly, before pushing it right back in. the sounds that your cunt produced were music to his ears, your whimpers of horror and choked sobs only fuelling his sick delight. he knew you liked it, even if it was only to a certain extent. why else would your cunt clench down on the gun enough to make it hard for him to pull it out? 

he made sure to voice out his exact thoughts to you. “such a slutty hole you have… don’t you, pretty girl? it will get wet for anything that is hard enough to stick inside it, won’t it?” he revelled in the particularly loud squelch that your pussy made, when he pushed the barrel in deeper. “ah… point proven.”

tears were streaming down your face at a fast, never ending pace, your face and neck burning up from a mix of emotions—fear, anger, humiliation—everything. even if you gave him his—his satisfaction, would it be enough to keep him satisfied for long enough? were you really going to die here? here? under these circumstances?

heeseung used his other hand to rub your clit, tired of your resistance. he rubbed dizzying circles around your hardened bundle with nerves, with deliberate slowness, the gesture teasing, with a hint of impatience. your breath hitched, giving him the incentive to continue his actions. he pinched your clit, drawing out a shocked gasp, before rubbing it harshly.

your head was spinning. with the gun still dangerously sliding in and out of you, and the added stimulation of your clit, it was hard to focus on anything. your head tipped back, and before you could control yourself, a moan slipped past. “h-heeseu—ah–”

you immediately bit your lip, your eyes widening, surprised by yourself. did you really just…?

heeseung on the other hand, was on cloud nine. he was both elated, yet shocked at the same time. with a nasty grin, and a crazed gleam in his eyes, he fastened the pace of the gun, pinching and flicking your bundle of nerves. “fuuuuck baby—do it again, c’mon—i knew you were a nasty little slut, just needed a little bit of… encouragement, isn’t that it? c’mon pretty, again–”

your eyes screwed shut, as you refused to let any sounds escape again, despite the very loud moan bubbling up in your throat. you tried to squeeze your legs shut, as his actions started to make you feel alarmingly good. for fuck’s sake, there was a goddamn gun inside you—how on earth were you liking this?!

heeseung caught on immediately, pushing your legs further apart, sliding the gun in and out of you at a ruthless pace, forcing another moan out of you. with how fast he was rubbing your clit, it was extremely hard to not moan—in fact, it was hard for you to even breathe, given how he was drawing out choked out moans from you at an almost inhuman pace.

he leaned down, replacing the thumb on your clit with his tongue, sucking on it harshly. you almost doubled over from the intense feeling, letting out a sharp cry. he bit down on your clit, the gun drawing out disgusting noises, as it dragged across your slimy walls, coated in your arousal. he flicked your clit with his tongue, enjoying the choked sob you let out.

your stomach started to tighten, the alarming realisation of your rapidly approaching orgasm alarming you. you tried to squeeze your legs shut, drawing out a groan of… pleasure, from heeseung. he sucked on your clit harder, rolling it around with his tongue. he paid no attention to what you were babbling about. “h-heeseung—hng!—stop—i- i can’t—ah–”

he flicked your clit again, before increasing the pace of his hand, the gun pounding into you with alarmingly deep strokes. he bit your bundle of nerves again—not too harshly, but enough to finally make the band in your stomach snap.

your vision went white, your ears ringing loudly, as your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami. clear liquid sprayed out of your cunt, coating the lower half of heeseung’s face and his hand with your squirt. he was quick to try his best and lick up every drop, before looking up at you; his eyes dark, a predatory smirk on his face.

as you came down from your high, you locked eyes with him, immediately understanding what had just happened. red hot shame washed over you, covering you like a blanket of fire. it creeped up your neck and face, making you want to crawl into a hole and never see the light of the day again.

“well…” heeseung said, sliding the gun out of your sensitive pussy, your face scrunching from the sound of your wetness. “there is absolutely no way you can deny not liking this now—any of this. you’re enjoying this a lot more than you’re letting on darling, and this proved just that.”

you pant, trying to catch your breath. you suddenly remembered about chaeyoung—fuck. she watched all of it. well—there was nothing you could do. heeseung is… insane, that bit was for sure. this was all technically her fault. if only she didn’t approach him that night, all of this wouldn’t have happened. you wouldn’t have been the one to suffer.

were you feeling bitter? yes, extremely so. after all, why wouldn’t you? chaeyoung was a pawn in heeseung’s sick and twisted game to attain you for some weird reason, which could have all been avoided if it wasn’t for her thirsty ass that fell for a random guy that smirked at her in some bar one day. her lack of self control caused this, so yes, excuse you for feeling bitter and resenting your oh-so-beloved best friend.

suddenly, as if heeseung hadn't yet reached the height of insanity, he brought the barrel of the gun towards his mouth. he locked eyes with you, relishing in the way your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear, before engulfing the barrel with his lips. still maintaining eye contact with you, he sucked the barrel of the gun, licking off your juices.

your breath hitched, as you gulped. what the actual fuck was wrong with him?

you watched as he took the gun out of his mouth with a pop, setting it aside. he got up, his dick on full display, already rock hard, with precum dribbling out of it. he untied your hands, but gave you no chance to move them, before producing a pair of handcuffs from his discarded pants. he used them to bind your hands together, before untying your legs.

once you were free to move from the chair, he dragged you off it, before shoving you down on the ground, face first. you landed with an uncomfortable thud, almost falling on your face because of your dress. you managed to balance yourself on your hands, trying your best to steady yourself.

before you could do much, heeseung was grabbing you again, manhandling you, so that you now faced in chaeyoung's direction. he went over to her—ignoring her sobs—turning her chair to make her face you directly. you gulped, tears streaming down you face again as you both locked eyes. silent apologies were exchanged between you both, the fear of heeseung’s newfound crazy side terrifying you both to death.

your heart raced against your chest, as you watched heeseung pick up the gun again. he got behind you, as you heard his knees hit the ground—presumably from kneeling down. all the colour vanished from your face, your blood running cold. was he seriously going to–

you didn't have to wonder for too long, your fears getting confirmed, as he lifted up your dress unceremoniously, bunching it up on your lower back. you squeezed your eyes shut, a whimper of utter humiliation leaving you, as he squeezed your ass cheeks. he slapped them, watching them jiggle, before continuing to rub and squeeze them. it was then that you made a promise to yourself: if you made it out of there—alive—you were going to make sure he rotted in jail for the rest of his life.

you felt his hand graze against your wet and still sensitive cunt, a shiver running down your spine. he noticed it immediately, giving your pussy a slap. your eyes widened in shock, a loud gasp leaving you. his grip on your ass cheeks tightened. “you know…” he leaned down, his torso pressing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “you looked so, so cute squirting over that gun—even after pretending that you hated every second of it. think you can do it again? on my cock this time?”

your eyes widened, as you stared down at the ground in a mixture of shock and disgust. “heeseung,” you spoke, your voice shaky. “i-i think this has gone too far already–”

he pinched your clit harshly, making you cry out in pain. “shut the fuck up. i don't remember asking you whether it has gone ‘too far’ or not. was the question really that hard for your pea sized brain to comprehend?”

he grabbed the knife from the pocket of his discarded jeans, barely giving you any time to react, as he cut open your dress—leaving you bare to his eyes. he groped your tits with one hand, keeping the knife away again. he twisted your nipple, smirking when you let out a whimper of pain. “perhaps you can't answer such simple questions. must be too hard for you to understand, aren't they?”

his mocking tone made your face and neck burn with humiliation—along with the fact that chaeyoung was witnessing all of it. her boyfriend of one year forcing himself upon her best friend. you didn't know who to feel more sorry for—yourself, or for her.

with another pinch on your nipple, this time harder than before, heeseung drew your attention back to him. “maybe i should stop asking questions and just get on with it. you would like that, wouldn't you? oh, my bad, forgot sluts can't comprehend basic questions.”

without another word, he plunged two fingers right into your—to your utter horror—dripping hole, dragging them across your inner walls. you suppressed a whimper, as he began scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching out your already stretched and very sensitive cunt.

you screwed your eyes shut, your forehead touching the ground—floor, your teeth painfully biting down on your bottom lip. you hated how he dragged you both here, hated what he was doing to you, hated that he made chaeyoung watch—you despise his very existence. unfortunately, seething in your mind did nothing to improve the situation. in fact, it only continued to lower your morale.

heeeseung rubbed slow circles around your hardened bundle of nerves, trying to evoke any kind of sound from you—nothing. you were being stubborn, refusing to give in. well—fine by him. he could always catch you by surprise. which, given the current situation, was something he had been doing this whole day.

he pulled you closer by your hips, your knees scraping the ground slightly in process, a pained noise of protest eliciting from you. but that wasn’t even the actual surprise. your breath hitched, your heartbeat running wild, as you felt his tip sliding through your wetness, collecting your slick. this was really happening.

knowing it was bound to happen—dreading it—didn’t really make it easier. if you had known that chaeyoung going to the bar a year ago would have landed you in this position, you would have never let her go. this—this was worse than anything else that could have possibly happened.

you felt him start to slowly push in—a slightly difficult feat, since you were doing your best to resist—but your cunt was doing the opposite. his grip on your hips tightened. “c’mon pretty,” he pushed in another inch. “just let me in, yeah? don’t—fuck—don’t be such an uncooperative little bitch.”

he pushed all the way in with a grunt, your pained whimper accompanying it. “fuuuuckkk,” he groaned in satisfaction, enjoying the way your core pulsed around him. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

heeseung didn’t really wait for an answer—he knew he wasn’t going to get one from you anyways. he slid almost completely out, before slamming back in, letting out a loud groan of satisfaction at the wet squelching noise. noticing that you were struggling to hold yourself up, he let out a snicker, before yanking your body upwards slightly. he balanced himself on his knees, setting a slow, yet satisfactory enough pace for himself. he squeezed your tit with one hand, before yanking on your chin, making you face chaeyoung again. he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “look at her,” the small sob you let out had him thrust into you at a particularly harsh pace. “doesn’t she look lonely there? such a shame, this was all your fault after all. if only you noticed me back in school.”

he slammed himself into you, tip kissing your cervix, his pelvis hitting your ass. he reveled in the way it bounced with every thrust, his hands never stopping their wandering, groping and squeezing every bit of flesh he could reach. the look in chaeyoung’s eyes made you wonder if cooperating with him in the first place was the right decision. wasn’t dying better than this torture that he was putting you both through currently?

fisting your hair, he yanked your head back, slamming his mouth onto yours. he practically devoured your lips, barely giving you a chance to breathe. it was as if he was quite literally trying to steal your breath. biting down on your lip, he fastened his pace, each thrust forcefully eliciting loud gasps and whimpers from you, sounds that he gladly swallowed. “keep making those pretty sounds for me baby, it’s only making me want to continue to ruin you.”

a fresh batch of tears rolled down your eyes, as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. more moans of his name spilled out of your mouth—telling him to stop—but they only served to encourage him further.

detaching his mouth from yours, he put his hand on your back, pushing it into an arch, as he continued to pound into you. you could see stars at the back of your eyes, unwanted pleasure starting to cloud your senses. holy fuck—this wasn't supposed to feel good. but it did. it felt so fucking good.

you could feel every single vein of his dragging across your inner walls, cock curving into you and hitting all the right spots. it felt good—he felt good. dizzyingly good.

you didn't even realise when you let out a broken moan of his name, pure unadulterated pleasure laced in your voice. “hee—ahh—seung–”

the effect, however, was immediate. his hips slowed down, before he completely stilled inside you. when he spoke, his voice was soft, sounding like a dangerous whisper. “what was that?”

you didn't really hear his question, too focused on the way the pleasure was suddenly gone. you wiggled your hips, trying to get it back. it was as if you were drunk; completely delirious of your surroundings. he gripped your hips to still you, repeating his question. “i said, what was that?”

you barely registered his words, opting to just say his name. “h-heeseung?”

“fuck.”

with a loud groan, he pulled almost completely out, before slamming back in, his pace brutally fast now. the grip he had on your hips was sure to bruise later on. the fast pace had his balls slapping against your clit continuously, the motion only serving to pull more sounds of unadulterated pleasure from you. it was sickening, the way your body was starting to like this, the rational part of your brain completely ignoring chaeyoung’s existence.

it wasn't that any of it mattered to him. all that did matter to heeseung was you, and right now you were doing more than okay. chaeyoung was a… casualty in his quest to obtain you. a quest that obviously was—to his utter delight—very much successful.

you didn’t know how long he had been going at it, you just knew it had been long enough. the tingling in your clit was driving you insane; your release so close—yet so far.

heeseung was seemingly holding out. it was as if he was afraid of this to end, in a way. afraid that maybe all of it is just a dream—you’re not really here. none of this is actually real.

fortunately for him, everything was very much real. it was all happening. you were really in his grasp, he was really fucking you, while chaeyoung was being forced to watch. along with the fact that you were liking it. enjoying it. that was real too.

perhaps he had enough of playing around. or maybe he just remembered his previous wish—was it even a wish?—of wanting to see you squirt on his cock. but either way, he suddenly did a three sixty. or one eighty. whichever would be more accurate in describing his current mood, as he harshly pinched your clit.

you let out a sharp gasp, an incredulous “heeseung—!” leaving you. but he ignored it, opting to flick your hardened nub, rubbing torturous circles around it. he has to see you squirt on his cock, he knows you can do it—he can make you do it.

your gasps soon turn into moans, which encourage him to continue. his actions were driving you to your breaking point, that much was clear from your reactions. the way you were clenching around his cock, making it harder for him to continue to thrust into you? so fucking delicious.

perhaps he should have done this sooner. you know, this whole kidnapping thing. you could have been his a lot earlier then. but then again, patience is the key. this was the best chance he has ever gotten, it was only logical for him to pull such a stunt today. besides, good things take time to acquire. and you, are the best fucking thing to ever exist.

the band in your stomach continued to grow tighter and tighter and tighter, to a point that it physically hurt. so you did the logical thing, and told him—all the while tears slipped past uncontrollably from the pain. “h-heeseung—please, it hurts, i can’t–”

but he shut you up immediately, rubbing your clit at a harsher pace. “yes, yes you can, you’re so fucking close, c’mon–”

the pressure in your stomach was insane, so was the pressure on your clit. the pace of heeseung’s thrusts was bordering maniac, that’s how fast he was going. it was a mix of pain and pleasure, your brain fogging up, vision going foggy.

heeseung’s hand was starting to tire, but he doubled his pace, desperate to see you squirt again. “please please please–” he chanted, like a mantra. you were so fucking close, damn it–

then it happened. your vision went white, shapes visible in the back of your eyes. white noise ringing in your ears. your back arched almost uncomfortably, as you let out a loud cry. your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, your squirt spraying all over his lower abdomen, wetting his shirt. it kept spraying, coating his cock, as he plunged in and out of you at an insane pace, making you ride out your orgasm.

as your vision slowly swam back, you felt him pull your hips back one last time, burying himself to the hilt, before ropes of warm cum spurted out of his tip. it coated your inner walls in white, as he let out a satisfied groan. he slowly pulled out his softening length, reveling in the way his cum dripped out of you.

you collapsed to the floor, close to passing out. you were sore, so fucking sore. heeseung felt the tiniest bit of pity for you, but he could take care of you later. right now, he has something else to take care of.

he slowly pulled you up, making you sit in his lap, facing the front. he forced you to open your eyes, and face chaeyoung. your eyes widened slightly, regret and guilt starting to hit you. you had almost forgotten that she was still there. you could barely meet her eyes from shame, not wanting to look at her expression of hurt, or her dried tears.

but heeseung wasn’t having any of it. he made you face her, properly. your breath hitched, feeling the gun touching your chin. “look at her properly darling,” his voice was husky, and creepy. something about his tone didn’t make you feel very good about whatever was about to come out of his mouth next. turns out, you were right to be scared.

“because this will be the last time you ever do.”

before you even had time to process his words, a loud ‘bang!’ rang out through the basement, making you flinch. as you opened your eyes, disbelief and horror was etched upon your features.

surely—surely that wasn’t chaeyoung slumped over in that chair? blood dripping from her head. surely? she was—she was just alive! it can’t be—it simply couldn’t be–

but you didn’t even have time to process that, as you felt a sharp pain on your neck, before everything started to go black. you hadn’t noticed when heeseung had produced a syringe from his jeans’ pocket, just like you didn’t notice him picking up that gun. the same gun that ended chaeyoung’s life.

when you woke up, you were dressed in clothes that you didn’t recognise. but they were larger than you, so you guessed they belonged to heeseung. your left hand was tied to the bedpost with handcuffs, the rest of your body free to move—even if it wasn’t exactly freedom. the room you were in was… dingy, and quite small, with just one window and a singular cabinet on the other side of the room. there was a nightstand with an untouched glass of water on it—but you wouldn’t dare drink from it.

as you slowly sat up, you folded your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. you stared at the wall—and everything started rushing into your mind at once in a huddled mess. chaeyoung and heeseung’s anniversary lunch, chaeyoung’s absence from her own anniversary lunch, the kidnapping, chaeyoung’s death–

oh.

oh.

chaeyoung was dead.

when the tears came, it was as if a dam broke. the tears flowed and flowed, with no signs of stopping. you didn’t want to cry. what was the use of crying? would these tears bring her back? it wouldn’t. nothing would. she was gone. your best friend of almost two decades—gone. poof. just like that.

all because of some maniac, who didn’t care for anyone. a jerk, a disgusting psychopath, who doesn’t realise that human’s lives aren’t dispensable to his will.

in the middle of your wallowing, you heard the door open. you picked up your head, your vision blurry from crying. you squint your eyes, seeing heeseung enter the room with a tray, filled with a bowl of cut fruit. he placed the fruit near the end of the bed, sitting down, maintaining some distance between you both. he knew you didn’t want him near you right now, given his previous actions, but you would warm up to him soon enough. you had to. this was your new life.

he tilted his head, noticing the glass of water still untouched on the nightstand. he raised a brow at you. “you’re not thirsty?”

you glared at him, shaking your head, despite being absolutely parched. he sighed at your defiance, saying nothing. he got up, went around the bed, towards the nightstand. picking up the glass, he sat close to you, grabbing your jaw in his other hand. “drink up, c’mon. don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

as he brought the glass near your mouth, you pressed your lips into a thin line, before smacking the glass out of his hands with your free one. he watched as the glass shattered into a million pieces on the floor, an unreadable expression on his face.

his silence suffocated you. you were already regretting your decision. why did you always have to act in such a brash manner?

he turned his face towards you again. as he brought his hand up, you flinched, screwing your eyes shut. you felt his hand caress your cheek, leading you to open your eyes. his face was expressionless, even when he spoke. “don’t be mad at me because of chaeyoung. it was bound to happen anyways. she was a hindrance in our story, don’t you see? she would have taken you away from me if i didn’t kill her. don’t hate me because of her.”

your hand twitches, and so does your eye. you wanted to strangle him. calling chaeyoung a hindrance?! oh, he was so dead. as soon as you escape this hell hole, you were going to make sure you personally hunted his sorry ass down and gave him a death far more slow and torturous than the one he gave to chaeyoung. he was going to pay. you were going to make sure of that.

you stayed silent, simply glaring at him. you were currently at a disadvantage, so you couldn’t really do anything, except for waiting. so that’s what you were gonna do. wait.

sensing that you weren’t going to say anything, he kisses your forehead—to which you have to stop yourself from slapping him—before getting off the bed and making his way to the door. right before going out, he turned around. “don’t forget to eat the fruit, or you will grow weaker than you already are.”

he shut the door, finally leaving. you breathed a sigh of relief. finally. you were alone again. you could continue to wallow in self pity now. you didn’t plan on eating anything, since you didn’t trust him.

you laid down, looking at the ceiling. how long were you going to be trapped here? would you ever be able to get out? right now, there didn’t seem to be any hope of escaping, but perhaps in the near future…

a wave of sleepiness washed over you. you were tired, so, so tired. maybe sleeping would be good for now. yes, you should get some rest.

when you woke up, it was dark. confused, you blearily sat up, blinking at your surroundings. why were you suddenly up?

then you heard it. the gun shots. they rang loud and clear, yellings of ‘get down!’ and ‘surrender now!’ rang through the place. a flash of hope rose in you. was it the police…?

suddenly, the door to your room banged open. two female police officers entered the room, pointing the gun around the room. upon realising that there was no one else other than you, one of them quickly broke the handcuffs as best as she could, as the other frantically checked upon you. “ma’am are you okay? did he hurt you?” she kept throwing questions at you, as you assured her that you were fine—as fine as a person could be, after the kind of hell heeseung put you through.

they wrapped a coat around you, before bringing you downstairs. it was a dingy two storey house in some shady part of the town, apparently, according to what they told you. they told you that they got a tip about a kidnapping from an anonymous source, which, from your deduction, was probably that waitress from the restaurant. although you could be wrong, of course.

downstairs, you saw heeseung with a busted lip, hands restrained with handcuffs behind his back, two police officers assisting him to the car. when his gaze landed on you, he spoke with a bone chilling smirk. “don’t worry darling. they won’t be able to keep us away from each other for too long. i’ll come back for you, i promise.”

the policemen scoffed at him, rudely pushing him forward. although his words scared you, you trusted the police to do their job. as you were guided out of the dingy house, you suddenly remember chaeyoung. you informed the police of her, causing them to share a look. they led you to the car, four of them staying back, to look for her—her body.

two months had passed since that incident. a trial was held for heeseung, which almost immediately declared him to be ‘guilty’, due to the presence of overwhelming evidence. he was charged with a lot of things, things which you both knew, and didn’t know of. either way, he got what he deserved. a lifetime in jail.

it was finally time for chaeyoung’s funeral. her family and you wanted to wait until heeseung got what he deserved, and now that he was finally behind bars, it was time to say goodbye to chaeyoung. for the last time.

as the coffin was lowered down, you said your final goodbyes. you never imagined this day would come, at least not this soon. but it was here. life was unexpected and cruel, that’s what you had learnt in the past two months. but it has to go on. you couldn’t let events—no matter how unfortunate they are—hold you back. so you wiped your tears, leaving the grounds quietly.

as you sat inside your car, your phone rang with a ‘ding!’. it was a notification. a message, from an unknown number. you frowned, clicking on it. the contents had the blood from your face draining. your hands shook, as the phone fell out of your grasp.

“black suits you. but red looks the best on you, don’t you think so?”

[steddiehyperfixation]

silly little thing for my @steddiebingo prompt: nerds | 758 words | T |

"Hey, maybe he can help," Robin says, sweeping a hand towards Dustin who's just walked into Family Video for his regularly scheduled afterschool bug Steve and Robin time, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh come on." Steve shakes his head. "The kid doesn't want to hear about my trash heap of a love life."

"Oh, no, I absolutely want to hear about that." Dustin perks up at the opportunity to learn about Steve's trivial suffering.

"We're trying to figure out why Steve goes on a million dates but can't seem to find someone he actually likes," Robin fills Dustin in. "Tell him, Steve."

Steve groans, dragging his hands over his face before splaying them out sarcastically, as that's the only thing he can really do in protest right now. Dustin's looking at him expectantly, and Steve has no choice but to tell the kid all about Linda and Heidi and Brenda and Lucy and whoever else he's been out with recently, doing his best to answer any subsequent questions as PG as possible.

"Well of course you haven't found the one yet, you keep trying to date a bunch of normal, basic, girly girls. That's not your type," Dustin informs him once Steve's done talking.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Oh, it isn't?"

"You can't really be that stupid, can you?"

"No, please, Henderson, enlighten me on what you think my type is."

"You're into nerds," he says like it's completely obvious.

Steve scoffs. "I am not into nerds. You know, just because I hang around you little weirdos all the time does not actually mean I want to hang around even more weirdos in all the other aspects of my life too."

"Seriously, Steve, think about it," Dustin argues. "Think of all the girls you've actually been really genuinely into in your life. They've all been nerds! Nancy-"

"- is not a nerd."

"She's a straight-A student and a journalism super geek. She's a nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs grudgingly. "Alright, fine, but-"

"And you were into Robin-"

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"-who you can't deny is definitely a nerd," Dustin continues.

"You know what, actually, he does have a point," Robin says.

Steve looks at her in betrayal. "Don't encourage him!"

"That girl you told me about that you liked in middle school who was super into Star Trek, and the other one who wanted to write a fantasy novel one day- oh and the elementary school crush who was always reading a new book every day..." Robin lists, ticking each one off on her fingers.

"I told you all that in confidence!"

"They were all nerds!"

"Exactly." Dustin grins, vindicated and insufferably smug. "Ergo, you, Steve Harrington, need to find yourself a nerd."

"I am not into nerds!" Steve protests hopelessly.

"What more proof do you need?" Dustin says. "You're into nerds."

"Totally into nerds," Robin concurs.

Steve huffs and throws up his hands. "Fine! I'll admit I'm into nerds if it will make you two shut up about it!"

Eddie happens to wander into the previously empty store at that exact moment, catching the tail end of the conversation as he approaches the counter. "What's all this about nerds?"

Steve freezes, glances Eddie over and stares at him strangely for a few long seconds. "Holy shit," he mutters.

His gaze cuts to Robin, whose eyes go wide when she meets his look. "Holy shit," she agrees.

"Oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Dude."

"Dude!"

Eddie blinks at them. "Are you two having some sort of joint stroke or something?" He looks at Dustin as if the kid might have a better clue of what's going on. "Can you understand them?"

Dustin shrugs, equally mystified. "Don't look at me, man. They're weird."

The incomprehensible parroting conversation is still going on.

"Okay," Steve's saying, taking a deep breath in through his nose and exhaling determinedly.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Robin grins and shoves at his shoulder.

Steve finally turns back around and leans on the counter in front of Eddie with a classically charming smile. "So, Eddie, are you free on Saturday?"

Eddie smiles back despite his confusion. "Yeah-"

"Oh my god!" Dustin bursts out suddenly.

"Oh my god," Robin agrees with a knowing smirk.

Eddie glances at Dustin. "Oh no, not you too."

Steve exhales a long-suffering sigh and pushes himself off the counter, marching around to grab Eddie by the hand and drag him away from Dustin and Robin. "So. Saturday?"

"He's into nerds," Dustin whispers, wide-eyed.

Robin nods sagely. "He's into nerds."

[endofthelinegang]

sleepy

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this is literally just how i believe introducing how someone thinks and interpts a character should be done. so i don't send someone into shock when i write for these characters.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ robert "bob" reynolds x fem! reader, james "bucky" barnes x fem! reader, john "stfu" walker x fem!reader, ava starr x fem! reader, yelena belova x fem! reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  how the thunderbolts act when they are sleepy.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i never know what to do put here, i guess curse words?

yelena belova does not believe that she is ever tired. black under the eyes, yawning does not qualify at all. but all of that being said this is exactly what happens:

"I am not tired." Both of you sat on the couch. With a smile, you nodded your head and rolled your eyes, taking off the blue hoodie that had been helping keep you warm all evening. The inside was so fluffy that when you put it in the dryer, pieces would float around onto the other laundry for days. It was perfect bait.

"What are you doing?" Yelena was squinting but not daring to move her head down and forward off the back of the couch to face you as it would most certainly make her dizzy and that would make her yawn even more.

"I'm just a little warm." With a small smile, you place the hoodie on your lap and just let it sit as the TV played some reality tv that the two of you had been spending the late evening judging after dinner.

You closed your eyes and pressed your head back to mimic what she was doing. The moment she could sense you not staring at her, she moved and yawned as silently as she possibly could before taking her boots off with her feet. They thudded to the ground as she slowly dragged the clothing you had taken off closer to her until it was no longer sitting on you at all. Rubbing her eyes with all of her makeup still on she wiped her hands off on her pants before adjusting the hoodie to go over her head and onto her body.

"Fine, we can crash on the couch." Secretly, you did not hate crashing on the couch, but letting her believe that and watching her get all excited was just too cute to pass up.

With some quiet humming, you sat forward while she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and onto the two of you as you stayed sitting up she pulled the hoodie over her head and got ready to lay down.

"Wait. You are not sleeping?" She side eyed you as she held part of the blanket covering her in her hands running her fingers over the plush material.

"No I am, just like this." You propped your feet up on the coffee table and kicked the blanket to cover your socked feet. Putting your head back in place with a nod.

"What? No, that is not comfortable at all." Before she could continue her rant, you lurched in her direction and pulled her down onto your lap, her head resting on your thigh and the length of the couch now hers.

"Goodnight star starfish." You mumbled eyes closed still feeling her tug and pull at your arm and the blanket to get in the optimal sleeping position.

"Starfish?" For a moment, she smiled and thought what a cute nickname, then it hit her, "I DO NOT SLEEP LIKE A STARFISH!"

A moment of silence followed. she had placed your arm so that your hand was touching the opposite side of her jaw. In order to keep this from becoming an entire discussion, you pet her face gently like one would to a baby who was fighting sleep.

"If a starfish loses all its arms, is it just a really confused circle until it grows them back?” Yelena mumbled under her breath as her head finally became heavy against you, and her breathing slowed and deepened. As follows, a leg came off the couch, as did an arm. A starfish.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bucky barnes will straight up be passing out doing something, he is like all of a sudden on the floor dead asleep, which is great to try and time:

"What? What are you doing?" Slipping the knife from his hand you sat it down on your bedside table with a small clang.

"You're falling asleep with a knife in your hand, or you were anyway." You watched as he sat with his mouth slightly opened looking at you with a deep offense.

"I was not. I was working on something." He tries to reach over you but you put a very gentle hand on his chest.

"Where's the cloth?" You watch as Bucky mumbles and opens his hand to show you nothing. To which he starts fluffing the comforter, hoping that it would float up and he could say he just dropped it. The smell of his cologne wafted in the air, unlike what he was looking for. You laughed at him as he incredibly slowly turned his head to reface you.

"Witch." He glared at you without even having to look, you pulled the cloth from the side of your bed. It dangled in between your fingers as his eyes flickered between you and the damn barely dirty treacherous object.

"Wanna tell me what we were just talking about?" Matching his glare he took in a deep breath that turned into a yawn he tried to hold inside of his mouth.

"It's only nine o'clock." He rubbed his flesh hand over his eyes as he looked over at his old-fashioned alarm clock that you insisted he keep because it was so useful and reliable. Not wanting to possibly be wrong about what was said earlier or what had actually happened.

"So late already, man, I thought it was seven!" You began quickly turning off your lamp and climbing over top of him to turn his off.

"You think I get sleepy at seven?" Bucky's head thudded against his soft pillow as you manhandled him to get him to fully lie down.

"What were we doing at seven?" You placed both hands down on his chest now looking at him as he batted his eyes slowly not even trying to think about what you had just said to him.

"Oh, cmon, I don't need to be tucked in, I'm a grown man." He groaned as you rolled off of him and began bringing the blanket on top of him up to his shoulders.

Bucky let out a puff of air as you trapped him with your body and blankets, basically giving him a go-to-sleep treatment. Truth be told, the second he was warm, he totally passed out flat on his back exactly the way you placed him.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

john walker did not believe in naps or bedtime, let alone possibly resting anywhere that was nice in soft, but even the best need to rest:

"WHAT THE FUCK JOHN!" You jumped back and screamed with your hand clutching at your chest, now looking down at the floor. It was literally four o'clock in the morning, and you had just gotten up to get a damn ice pack for the migraine you had all evening thanks to a storm. But what you had came across was John sitting on a bar stool drinking a cup of coffee in silence.

"What the fuck you." He gestured in your direction, not taking his eyes off of the coffee cup sitting in his hand.

"What are you doing up?" With a roll of your eyes, you walked over to the freezer and slid the door open to grab an ice pack from the deep freeze where you kept the ones you used.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He scoffed and sipped some more. He had to have been sitting there for quite some time. You noticed the coffee pot was freezing cold, and he was in training clothes. He had been wearing earlier.

"Yes, John, that is typically why someone asks what someone is doing." You wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel before pressing it to your temple and leaning forward on the bar.

"You wouldn't understand." He finally looked up at you, not with his whole head, but just his eyes moved. Circles were incredibly dark, and you knew right then he had not yet even tried to sleep.

"Why did we give you a bedroom if you just weren't planning on ever sleeping?" You joked shaking your head the littlest bit you could manage.

"Hilarious." He picked up the cup with the shakiest hand you've ever seen on someone under ninety. The veins in his hands popped out, and his knuckles were white as he brought the cup up to his mouth.

Fuck me I am going to be nice to Walker

"Hey, can I ask a favor since you're up?" You knew he was going to give you shit and bitch and make jokes about it regardless.

"What do you want?" He was now fully looking at you and you took in a deep breath and puffed it back out through your nose.

"My head is killing me, like seriously killing me, and I would really love to get some sleep. I can't hold this ice pack and sleep at the same time because if I lay it on my pillow, even with it wrapped, it will eventually leak and get my pillow all wet." You tried your best to come up with something stupid that made enough sense for him to fall for.

"You want me to sit and watch you sleep while I hold ice on your head?" He summarized what you had just given him before rolling his eyes and getting up off his stool, "You coming?"

"Tell a girl, Walker, tell a girl." You mumbled as you walked to catch up with him as he made his way towards your bedroom.

He opened the door and let you walk through it before closing it behind himself. You handed him the ice pack and jumped in bed, getting all comfortable and curled up before he took off his shoes and got in bed, sitting on top of the bed.

"You can get under the blanket." Waving a corner of the blanket at him he took it roughly and covered himself up to his torso. Holding the ice pack on your head you switched your lamp off and dozed off. Needless to say Walker followed soon after and the ice pack ended up across your face and onto the floor.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

ava starr is happy to get some rest when she can, in fact finding her asleep is not uncommon when there are days she feels she can just be at peace:

You find her in the hallway, slumped against the wall just outside the room you're sharing.

Not ghosted. Not flickering. Not phasing in and out like she does when she's upset or startled or fighting the hum in her chest.

Just still.

Her legs are pulled up like she sat down with the intent to rest for a second and then forgot how to move again. Her head tips to the side when she notices you, a small, exhausted blink like she’s dragging herself back into her body.

“Ava?”

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “Sorry. I meant to come to bed. I just... stopped.”

You crouch beside her, gentle. “Rough day?”

She huffs out a breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Rough year. Rough life.”

You don’t push. You just sit, shoulder against the wall, close enough that she can lean in if she wants. You wait.

After a moment, she does. Slowly, her head tilts, coming to rest against your shoulder. She exhales, and it sounds like something deeper than air. Like permission. Like surrender.

“I’m so tired,” she murmurs.

There’s no dramatics in her voice. Just simple truth. She says it like it’s a fact: the sky is blue, water is wet, and I am so tired I could disappear.

You reach over and gently thread your fingers through hers. “Then come to bed.”

“I don’t want to move.” Her voice is smaller now. Not scared, just fragile. “I just want to be... still. For a little while.”

You nod. “Okay. Then we’ll be still.”

So you sit there together, on the floor, in the quiet. Her head against your shoulder. Her hand in yours. The baseboards are cold and the hallway light is too dim, but none of it matters because she’s here and breathing softer now. Less like she’s holding her breath. More like she’s starting to believe she doesn’t have to.

“Do you think it’s stupid,” she whispers, “that I want someone to tell me I can rest?”

You shake your head. “No. I think it’s human.”

She’s quiet again. Then: “Will you say it?”

You squeeze her hand. Thumb brushing her knuckles. The kind of touch you know she can actually feel.

“You’re allowed to rest, Ava.” You feel her lean into you a little more.

Something in her unclenches.

You help her up, slow and easy, no rush. She doesn’t protest when you guide her to bed. She collapses into the mattress like she’s been underwater for years. You settle in beside her. She doesn’t usually like to be held when she’s vulnerable—but tonight, she turns toward you. Finds the crook of your arm. Tucks herself in there like she belongs.

“You’ll stay?” she asks quietly.

“Always.”

She falls asleep with your shirt clutched in one hand and your other arm draped over her back, her breathing finally even. No flickers. No phasing.

Just Ava. Resting.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bob reynolds was so happy to have a peaceful, safe place to rest that he was happy to use it:

You were fucking exhausted, there was simply no other way to put it. It was a cold and cloudy day that had dragged on; every single hour felt like seven. You had just spent fifteen minutes looking for Robbie when it finally made sense. He’s already in bed, waiting for you, knowing you've had a long day. When you open the door, you see him stretched diagonally across the mattress like he’s trying to occupy every possible dimension of comfort.

One leg hanging off the side. One arm flung dramatically over your pillow. Half the blanket was tangled around his waist, the other half already on the floor. He blinks up at you when you open the door, slow and heavy-lidded like a cat in a sunbeam. His hair is sticking up in five different directions, and there’s a content, sleepy smile tugging at his mouth.

“You look cozy,” you say, amused. Dropping your shoes you had carried in, not wanting to dirty up the floor he had cleaned earlier.

“I am cozy,” he mumbles. “But I’d be cozier if you were here.”

You laugh and climb into bed beside him. He is so warm that you can feel the energy before you even get to touch him. The smell of a slightly salty vanilla was woven into your bed sheets from him lying there. The second you settle under the blanket, Bob instinctively shifts, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, slinging a long arm over your waist like it’s second nature. Which, at this point, it kind of is. His fingers tap at you gently, feeling you breathe.

“Mm. Yep. There it is,” he sighs, already sounding drowsier. “Perfect.”

You run your fingers gently through his soft hair. “Rough day?”

“Not even,” he says. “Just… long. Have you ever gotten that kind of tired where your bones feel floaty?”

You smile. “Only when you talk like that.” His voice sounded deeper and softer than usual like how a cat has a deeper purr when ready for a nap.

“Poetic,” he insists, eyes closed now, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m floaty-tired. Just need to melt.”

“You’re halfway there.”

You feel him grin. His hand finds yours under the blankets and laces your fingers together, thumb stroking lazily across your knuckles.

Everything about him in this moment is soft. His body, warm and loose against yours. His breathing slowed to match yours. The weight of his arm, the scratch of his stubble, the little hum he makes when you kiss the top of his head.

“This is my favorite,” he murmurs. “This part. Just you. Just now.”

You press your lips to his hair again. “Mine too.”

And for a few minutes, neither of you says anything.

You just exist there—tangled limbs, warm skin, the quiet comfort of being with someone who doesn’t need anything from you but to be near. Bob’s breath deepens. His grip on your hand loosens just a bit. You think he’s fallen asleep, but then—

“I hope you know I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep.

Your chest tightens, but in the best possible way.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I love you too.”

And this time, when he melts into sleep, it’s with a smile on his face and your heartbeat under his ear.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

you'd never let me fall ・b.c

—Bangchan who carries you home while your a little drunk and your feet a lot a bit hurt

paring・bangchan x gn!reader // genres・fluff, established relationships // words・900 // warnings・drunkenness, if you don't like rambles or tooth-rotting fluff than you won't like this

a/n・i needed something soft and fluffy after a pretty big fight with my dad and i found this also @sunnysdiary istg i dont know what i would do without you ilysm. p.s. lowkey proud of myself for finally just writing (i only edited once for like an hour :))

You were exactly two blocks away from your apartment when the handful of shots you had thrown back earlier really started to hit you. The sun had died hours ago, the sky now sparkling with stars that seemed to dance and tangle with the streetlights in your vision.

Wow.

You were really fucked up.

You sigh, leaning deeper into the crook of Chan's neck, his hand pressed protectively against your back as he holds you up. His breathing is soft and calming when the world begins to shift again, sharp pain shooting up your legs thanks to the stupidest decision you made all night—wearing high-heels.

The only thing that could be heard over the harsh click of your foot-shaped-death-traps is your pained groan as you loll your head against Chan's shoulder and stumble over the sidewalk mindlessly.

"I'm tired, carry me home," you slur, a slight whine in your voice. He simply smiles, looking down at your dizzy gaze with tender eyes before effortlessly scooping you up bridal style.

The moon grins with you.

Your heartbeats intertwine as you squeal, lovesick giggles pouring from your lips as you hide your face in his sweat-coated neck.

There was no way he was real.

You pull away, blinking up at his sharp jaw and shiny lips, and you swore if you looked just long enough you could find the stars hung on his lashes. There was something about him, something that spread warmth underneath your ribs. You could never quite place it—the feeling bursting within you before settling down like sweet rose perfume fading off your shirt as your nose acclimates to the scent.

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made you so sentimental, or how in a rush of emotion you remember days when you used to assess others by their expressions, the tone of their voice, and the heaviness of their footsteps. You had gotten so used to living on the edge of disaster the thought of certainty deemed to be an impossible feat—that was until you met Chan. He was something special, he loved you softly, with gentle fingers and adoring gazes. He wasn't loud, not with his words or his actions, and sometimes from the outside, society might have deemed he didn't love you at all, but you knew better than that.

Just because it was subtle didn't mean it wasn't there—it just meant it was safe.

The notion alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, drunkenly choking out: "Thank you for always carrying me."

His gaze softens before he faintly tilts his lips, muttering, "Thank you for letting me carry you."

You were almost to the house when, mindlessly, half-asleep, you mumble, "You'd never let me fall," before going limp in the comfort of Chan's strong arms.

If you weren't so drunk, you might have noticed the shift in his stride, how a shy blush falls over his cheeks and he fights the urge to spread a smile so bright across his face it would put the sun to shame.

But you were far too gone to notice. And he was so focused on keeping you safe that he didn't sense how deeply in love with him you were right then.

You were correct; down to his very last days, he would never let you fall.

You hadn't realized how close you were to the apartment before he steps through the unlocked door, your vision blurring into the darkness of your shared home. It was the silky sheets you felt first, the warmth of his hand leaving you only before he gently pulled the covers over your body and right underneath your chin.

He kisses your forehead, lips lingering there before, hesitantly, he whispers, "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't get to carry you."

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes as you crack them open only to smile, lopsided and silly. "I guess we'll never know."

Bangchan stares at you for hours after that, admiring you in all your tranquility. He knows he should stop, but he also knows he can’t. It had bottled inside him for so long, and it felt as though the rug had been ripped out from under him, and suddenly his feelings flooded out of him all at once. This wasn't what average love felt like—it was pure, gentle, and, best of all, entirely absolute.

In the novels, love is described as something maddening, profound, and disorienting. And while there are moments where it felt as though the galaxy had been sewn into your fingertips, it was more than that. Chan quickly came to find that love lived in silence—the intimate moments where words didn't matter. There was no pressure or unrealistic expectations when he was with you, no anxiety about being perfect all the time. Being with you made his world feel... lighter.

He breathes, brushing a lock of hair out of your face. You shift, instinctively leaning into his touch. A small smile tugs at his lips when the moonlight catches your face just right; you were peaceful, angelic like spring flowers fluttering in the breeze.

There are very few things in this world that are truly poetic. Some may say the stars, the sea, humanity, and the very depth of our emotions. And while Chan could agree with all of those, his love for you outweighed them all.

please don't forget to reblog with tags or comment what you think your feedback makes my day 😁

[laufeysvalentine]

cat's out the bag

spencer reid x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ spencer reid x secret relationship!reader — in which members of the bau go out for dinner and see spencer with... a girl?

early seasons spencer, twilight & ariana grande references for some reason (i don't even listen to her), reader sits on spencer's lap, disgustingly cute but mostly disgusting

word count ༄ 2k

nora’s notes ༄ my first spencer reid fic + a new writing style. this may be a complete disaster 💖

Spencer’s in the middle of finishing up a reread of a Sherlock Holmes installment and packing up from work when the clomping of two pairs of shoes ruins his peace. 

“Morning, genius,” one of the voices says, bubbling with sweetness in just a way he knows exactly who it is without having to look at the two shadows that enter his vision, blocking the light. 

“It’s almost evening. In fact, it’s been six hours, thirty-four minutes, and eighteen seconds since morning,” he mutters, flicking the page over. “Now, move. I can’t see.” 

“No, you’ve been in a funk all week and we’re going to get you out of it,” Garcia sing-songs, taking his book hostage. She looks the opposite of how he has the past week–put together, with a perfect outfit, as always. “I don’t care why you’ve been a grump, only that you come out with us tonight, yeah? You don’t have to drink, just hang out.” 

He looks up, reluctance prodding his expression. Garcia and Derek are side-to-side, arms crossed, looking down at him. Yeah, nope. “I’m busy tonight.” 

“With?” Derek raises an eyebrow. “You got a date, pretty boy?” 

“I’m meeting with a friend who’s been out-of-town.” He responds, reaching out for his book. “Okay, Dad?” 

“Seriously, Reid?” JJ chimes in from behind the other two. “Come out with us.” 

“I’m busy. I would say I was sorry, but I’m not. 1 in 8 people apologize at least twenty times a day. 43% of people regularly apologize during a situation in which they are not at fault–” Spencer begins as he turns away from them to collect his things. 

“Yeah, that’s enough. Getting Hotch to come was hard enough, I’ll call it quits while I still can. See you tomorrow, Reid.” JJ turns on her heel and walks back towards her own desk.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow too.” He nods and passes them on his way out. “Bye.” 

Garcia looks at Derek, her eyebrows cocked. “Well, then.” 

“Guess it’ll just be you and me, baby girl,” he teases, heading to walk back to his desk. 

“Just the way I like it.” Her heels nip the back of his shoes as she chases after him. “Even though JJ and Hotch will be there too.” 

“They can watch.” 

— 

“When’s Hotch getting here?” JJ drums her fingers on the side of her glass, tilting her head up. The restaurant they’re in is loud and crowded, the three of them squished into a booth clearly meant for two, all having glasses of what the waitress described as “fun, flirty drinks” cradled in their hands. Garcia’s stirring some kind of electric pink concoction with an equally pink umbrella when a throat clears. 

“I’m here,” their boss says, sliding into the booth next to them. His eyebrows furrow–well, maybe that’s just his resting face, they can’t really tell–as he glances at the drink in Derek’s hands. “What exactly is it that you’re drinking?” 

He shrugs, taking a sip. “I think it’s called the Orange Surprise. Not that there’s anything surprising about it–or this place, at all, really. I mean, look around. And this just tastes like–” 

“Wait,” Garcia interrupts, eyes on something behind him. She whips off her glasses, rubbing them furiously on her shirt before her jaw drops and she begins to stand in her seat. “Is it just me or is that Reid over there with a girl? A gorgeous girl at that?” 

As soon as she finishes her sentence, three more heads whip around to her line of vision, shock pulling at their faces. Even Hotch looks mildly surprised. 

From their vantage point in the restaurant, they can see Spencer’s side profile as he stares at a girl across the table from him–you, looking magnificent, even in the dingy, uneven bar lighting. Your elbows are on the table, face cradled by your hands as you stare up at him. The love shining out of your face--lips parted with intrigue as you listen, eyes soft, cheeks relaxed--is sickeningly lovely. And even at first glance, a table full of profilers can tell just how much you care about him–enough to reach across the table and smooth down an untidy lapel, enough to listen raptly as the words begin spilling out of him in a ramble, to smile at him with a kind of learned tenderness you only get from knowing someone with incredible intimacy and just time. 

“Oh. My. God.” She tries to scooch past Derek, who catches her by the hips. 

“Wait, baby girl. I wanna see how this plays out before we interrupt. What if that’s a cousin? I don't know, a friend?” He says, stalling her. She reluctantly sits back in her seat, neck craned. 

“They’re touching,” JJ reports, a gasp falling from her lips. “Reid hates touch.” 

“We can see, JJ,” Derek quips, though his jaw is just as dropped. 

As soon as the boy started rambling, everyone at the table expected you to get up and walk away, or look as bored as they felt listening to him. But you stayed. Your eyes are on his, nodding every so often. They watch as one of your hands wanders to Spencer’s arm, rubbing a circle on the fabric of his button-down. He looks so relaxed in your presence, unlike they’ve ever seen him before. What the hell is happening?

“Please let me go over,” Penelope begs. “I need to know. I need to meet her!” 

“I second it,” JJ echoes. “They’re worse than the two of you, and I didn’t think that was possible with Genius over there.” 

“No, we still don’t know if they’re long-term or first date or what. What if we barge in and they’re just friends?” Derek almost sounds convincing. Almost.

“That is not friendly behavior,” Hotch chimes in. Their attention lasers in on the table in front of them, shock freezing their limbs. You’re pouting, saying something to Spencer–he’s melting in your hands, nodding so much it looks like his head could just screw off any moment now, and you stand. Are you going to leave? Break up? What’s happening? 

You wander to his side of the table, and, in the most disgusting display of PDA ever, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands knitting themselves together behind his neck. And Spencer is sickeningly okay with it, hands traveling to your hips, massaging your pelvic bones as you say something to him. A blush pinches his cheeks–no, it’s like a virus, spreading all over his face as he buries himself into your neck. 

Garcia thinks she heard Derek gag. A giggle escapes you, loud enough to hear from their booth. From across the restaurant.  

“Okay, we’re going over,” he announces, standing from the table. “Even just to break this up. I’m nauseous.” 

“Copy that,” JJ contorts her face, following the group towards them. 

Garcia’s practically skipping ahead, expression both accusatory and giddy as she reaches your table. Her hands slam onto the wood, eyes wide as Spencer rears back, immediately on alert. “Alright, Reid, explain yourself now.” 

“Less dramatic, princess,” Derek whispers to her, nudging her shoulder. 

You cock your head at the quartet. They can all tell you’re mentally scanning them, just as much as they’re doing to you. It takes you a couple moments–and Spencer’s groan as he returns to his previous position nestled on your shoulder–before it clicks who they are. 

You jump up, abandoning Spencer with an embellished gasp. “You must be the BAU!” 

“Minus a few members, yes.” Hotch nods at you, looking the exact picture of what your boyfriend had described. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be able to peer past the perfectly neutral, bordering on pleasant mask he’s pasted on his face. But that twitch of his lips gives it all away: he knew nothing about you, and mentally his jaw is on the floor. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You too…Aaron Hotchner?” You guess, biting your lip. You’re so purely adorable that half of the team is already in love with you. 

He nods, and you smile at all of them. The happiness you’re wearing is so genuine that JJ whispers to Derek, “I think I just got blinded.”

“And you’re Penelope Garcia?” You turn towards her, eyebrows raised. She reaches her hand to shake yours, but you bypass it entirely and go in to wrap your arms firmly around her. She hugs you back, eyes blown up at shock.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her from me this whole time!” She accuses Spencer as you pull back, greeting the other members as well. You hear the surprise in JJ’s laugh as you do the same for her, hug firm and leaking with kindness. 

“I haven’t,” he responds matter-of-factly. He’s resisting the urge to pull you back into him, annoyed at all of his colleagues for stealing your time together. Instead, he shifts to the edge of the seat, legs opening wide in a manspread that would be absolutely disgusting on anyone else. But it fits him. Alarmingly well. “I talk about Y/N all the time.” 

“Y/N’s your girlfriend?” Garcia’s tone borders on a shriek, but in a restaurant as loud as this one, no one notices. “I thought she was your cousin!” 

“Ew, what?” you crinkle your nose just as Spencer echoes your words–“That’s disgusting. But scarily more common than you’d think.” 

“I-I mean, you do talk about her a lot. You’ve just never mentioned her in relation to you before.” She sputters out. Everyone can see the cogs turning in her brain, trying to piece the puzzle together. “I love you already.” 

“He said he wouldn’t talk about us at work,” you agree, letting his arm pull you between his legs, one hand falling to your thigh. “Do you guys want to sit down? Now that the cat’s out of the bag, we should catch up.” 

“Um, yes, absolutely!” Garcia throws her hands into the air, scooching the two of you over so she can fit into the booth. “Now, tell me absolutely everything.” 

You shrug, snug on your boyfriend’s lap while also leaning in to look at her. Both of you sparkle in a way he absolutely adores. “I saw him, I liked him, I wanted him, and I got him.” 

“In the wise words of Ariana Grande,” she nods, words wise and expression stoic.

“Are you an Arianator?” You gasp, hand collapsing onto her hand in excitement. She takes that cue to launch into something Spencer does not at all understand. The other members of the BAU shuffle into the other side of the booth, Derek closest to Spencer and JJ at the end. He almost lets out a laugh seeing Hotch sitting so uncomfortably between them, shoulders drawn up tight as to conserve room, face equally as scrunched.

He opens his mouth to comment, but your fingers interrupt, drumming on his shoulder in excitement. You recap your conversation in a voice no one else can quite hear but him. He nods as you ramble, the opposite of what you were doing for him a few minutes ago. In some ways, you're just like him, but you're also complete opposites in so many others. While he usually hates physical touch, you lean into it, fingers tracing patterns onto his broad back while the sun peeks out of the sky, showering him in a glow that makes him downright angelic. Your other hand creeps to his as you watch him brush his teeth–you love seeing his toothbrush next to yours, there’s something so incredibly romantic about it that you can't describe, something that intertwines the two of you. He’s yours, you’re his. 

He presses his lips to your hair, then behind your hair, inhaling you. You’re perfect for him. So, so perfect. 

“Wow, pretty boy.” Derek shakes his head. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything. I didn’t think you’d be so into PDA.” 

“She was away for a whole week. What do you expect me to do?” He huffs, arm wrapping around your waist. Yes, he still hates handshakes, but for you–well, he is absolutely pathetic. And after having you leave for work? Not seeing you for seven whole days? He would get down on his knees and beg you to hold his hand. To pay him an ounce of attention. God, he is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. 

“Greet her like a normal person. Or stay in your apartment,” Morgan advises, only half-joking. 

But Spencer’s no longer paying a shred of attention to anything his co-worker is saying. He’s too absorbed in you, laugh unabashed and tinkling as you discuss something animatedly with JJ and Garcia. You fit so well in his little family, he thinks. You might as well just stay with him forever. 

masterlist

tags @lydiasfalling @cowboylikemac - didn't tag anyone from my other list because it's a diff fandom!

[illbegottenfaith]

stutter (a puzzle pieces by saint motel inspired fic)

something about you and your features reawakens theo's stutter (theo nott x reader)

a/n - LOVE how I usually naturally write in British English (for the most part) but the title of this fic is apparently the American English variant?? sorry but stammar just doesn't have the same sound as stutter and it rlly messes with the flow of my sentences lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, theo has a stutter, tw alcohol, slightlyy mean reader? very mild tho lmao

word count - 3.2k

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf

Theo’s stutter had never been bad exactly - just bad enough to be noticed. Bad enough to make him hesitate before speaking, bad enough to make his father sigh whenever he tripped over a word at the dinner table.

"Think before you speak," his father would say, voice clipped, disapproving. "There's no point in opening your mouth if you don't know what you're going to say."

As if Theo didn’t already try.

So he adapted. He learned to pick his words carefully, to stay quiet unless absolutely necessary, to keep his voice even and deliberate. The less he spoke, the less he had to risk tripping over his own tongue. He stopped rushing and started living his life at a careful, highly controlled pace.

Over time, with extensive help from the best speech therapists his father could find, he grew out of his stutter. By the time he was old enough to be surrounded by classmates who would’ve torn him apart for it, it was already buried beneath layers of indifference. He built himself a reputation on cool control - on quiet, dry wit and the ability to cut someone down with a single unimpressed look. He spoke when he wanted to, not when people expected him to, and that was enough to keep it from ever being a problem.

Until you.

Because for some infuriating reason, with you, it found a way to slip through the cracks.

You and Theo were like two puzzle pieces that never quite fit right.

You didn’t hate each other - not really - but it seemed like a stretch to call yourselves friends. Try as you might, your personalities seemed fundamentally disconnected. He had little patience for your sense of humour, or lack thereof in his opinion. On the bad days, you had a snarky quip ready for even his most innocent comments. It was the most maddening thing for your friends - just as seemed that the two of you had finally learned to get along, Theo would take the mickey out of you, or you would turn your nose up at his boorish antics, and the cycle would repeat.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), all of that changed two weeks ago. It had happened on a brisk Wednesday night. His dorm was fresh out of bottled water and it was too late and too cold to sneak down to the Kitchens to get some. Mattheo was keeping everyone up fretting about what-if-someone-gets-extra-thirsty-in-the-middle-of-the-night-then-what and no one could get him to shut up. Naturally, Theo had been rather unceremoniously evicted from his cosy, dry bed to fetch water from the girls’ dormitory, after a unanimous (and unfair) vote.

So there he had stood outside the girls’ dormitory, shivering, waiting for one of your friends to bring out some water. He had glared at the distorted view of the moon through the common room walls, fuming about how it already was the middle of the night and none of his roommates seemed the least bit thirsty, not that Mattheo would listen to reason.

Finally, the door had swung open, and out of the shadows peered your wan, tired face.

Maybe it was something in the way your lips twisted in displeasure as your droopy eyes struggled to stay open. For some odd, inexplicable reason, he felt a pang of regret over having woken you.

If you were slightly more awake, you might have noticed the glazed look in his eyes. But as it were, all you had done was shove a small jug into his lax hands, manually curling his fingers around the handle when his grip refused to tighten. Of course, you and your roommates were too environmentally conscious to be entertaining single-use plastic.

“Hold still,” you had muttered as you tipped your room’s jug into the smaller one, filling it up. In the pale moonlight, it had been as though he was seeing you in a completely different light for the first time, both figuratively and otherwise. You hair looked unbearably soft from the way it cascaded down your shoulders. Almost as soft as your pillowy lips, which were now parting to release a sigh. And did your skin always smell this sweet, he wondered, as you stepped closer?

“You want a cookie?” you had asked waspishly when he had kept staring at you once his jug was full. That had snapped him out of his trance. After bidding you a hasty, clipped goodnight, he had crept back down to the boy’s dormitories, head reeling, heart thudding. Before finally nodding off in the wee hours of the morning, he had put the whole thing down to sleep deprivation.

But when you looked just as adorable in your 9 am Charms lesson the next day, bags under your eyes as you poorly stifled your yawns, he knew he was well and truly fucked.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he’d be hard pressed to muster up any real sort of annoyance over the reactions you elicited from him, knowingly or otherwise.

You were all in the Great Hall, having breakfast. Your friends were talking about some book they had read recently. Mattheo and Draco were having an arm wrestling match right over their eggs. Enzo was yammering in Theo’s ear, not that he was listening. Theo had long since learned to tune out Enzo’s chatter until lunch, when he was sufficiently awake to actually process it.

No, what he was doing was watching you - watching the way you chewed on your bottom lip instead of your breakfast, a faint crease between your eyebrows as your eyes flitted across the parchment. He cast his eyes around the table listlessly, desperately wishing for a change in topic, preferably one that had to do with you.

His prayers were soon answered. Ivy turned away from her conversation to look at you.

“How’s the essay coming along, Y/N?”

You finally peeled your eyes away from the essay you were proofreading, sliding your gaze disinterestedly to Theo and the rest of your friends. He watched your sleepy, downturned eyes momentarily rest on his, a familiar electric jolt twinging in his chest. There was no denying it - what had previously seemed uninteresting or unimaginative was now hopelessly irresistible to him.

You scowled, flipping back to the first page. “Terrible. Awful. I don’t know what possessed McGonagall to let me take N.E.W.T level Transfiguration.”

Because you’re brilliant at it, Theo wanted to say, just like how you’re brilliant at everything else.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Ivy said reasonably as you haphazardly started gathering your things.

“It is, it really is. Even worse, my guinea pig escaped so now everyone has something to practice on except me.”

“I can be your Guinea pig,” Theo murmured. Mattheo gave him a hard shove in the shoulder blade.

“What?” You distractedly pushed a lock of hair out of your face.

He grimaced, a throbbing pain now settling in his upper back. “I said,” he forced out, “serves you right. Losing your guinea pig.”

You rolled your eyes. “Charming as ever, Nott.”

You hurriedly placed a kiss on Ivy’s cheek, glowering at Theo as you walked off. Just as he opened his mouth to ask (yell) where his kiss was, Mattheo shoved a bun into his mouth.

"Real subtle, mate," he said sarcastically.

Theo shot him a glare, but the delicate flush dusting his face betrayed him. "Shut up."

Mattheo only smirked, taking a bite of his own toast. "Whatever you say."

Some nights, trouble had a face. Tonight, it was yours.

He saw you before you saw him - tucked inside an alcove at the far end of the corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of a lone torch. It was the late kind of hour when nothing good was bound to happen. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey dangled loosely from your fingers, the deep amber liquid catching the dim light as you swirled it absentmindedly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this - pushing limits just for the sake of it. It wasn't immediately apparent, but anyone who paid close enough attention would see you had a habit of toeing the line between reckless and untouchable.

He should have walked away. Should’ve let you self-destruct in peace.

But Theo was never that smart when it came to you.

"You’re not exactly being subtle," he said, stepping out of the shadows.

You didn’t jump, didn’t startle. Instead, you turned to face him with a slow, deliberate ease, like you’d been expecting him all along.

"Wasn’t trying to be."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Could’ve fooled me."

You smirked, raising the bottle in a lazy toast before taking another sip.

"What, you gonna tell on me?"

Theo scoffed. "If I wanted to get you in trouble, you'd know."

"Mm. So you’re just here to nag, then?"

"Not nagging," Theo said. "Just pointing out that if you’re going to break the rules, you should at least be smart about it."

You hummed, swaying the bottle between your fingers, humming poorly. You were definitely well past tipsy. "Smart’s overrated."

"Yeah? So’s liver failure."

That made you laugh, short and sharp, like you hadn’t expected him to be funny.

He shouldn’t have cared about that. Shouldn’t have cared that his words - his stupid, judgemental, throwaway words - had gotten a laugh out of you.

But he did. And that was the problem.

You studied him for a moment before holding out the bottle. "Want some?"

He looked at it disdainfully. "Generous."

"Hardly," you said. "Figured it might loosen you up a bit. You’re wound tight, Nott."

Theo exhaled, crossing his arms. He knew all about being tightly wound when it came to you. "Right. Because getting pissed in a dark corridor is the key to inner peace."

"You should try it sometime."

"Hard pass."

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Then, just to be a menace, you took another slow swill, letting your lips linger at the rim of the bottle before licking a stray drop off the corner of your mouth.

Theo didn’t react. Wouldn’t react. You weren’t doing anything special. Just drinking. Just looking at him with that same lazy amusement, like you had him all figured out.

And maybe you did. Maybe that was what rattled him.

"You’re - " He started, but his tongue tripped over the word, catching slightly before he forced it out. "You’re d-drunk."

Your drooping eyes widened fractionally. Your lips parted in your efforts to concentrate as a slight frown creased your forehead, not all that different from the one at breakfast a few days ago,

Theo felt the heat crawl up his neck before he could stop it. His mind scrambled for damage control, but the way you were watching him - head tilted, intrigued, like you were piecing something together - made it worse.

"You good?" you asked, something teasing yet concerned in your tone.

Theo cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain control of his rogue tongue. "Obviously," he muttered, shifting his weight.

You let the silence stretch a beat too long before raising an eyebrow.

"You sure? ‘Cause for a second there, you almost sounded - "

"Drop it," he cut in, swiping the bottle from your hands before you could protest. He took a slow sip, letting the firewhiskey burn its way down, using it as an excuse to steady himself.

You watched him succumb to the buzz of the drink. "You’re changing the subject," you noted, smirking.

"Yeah?" He felt less wired, less sober. "You’re still an idiot for doing this in the open."

You watched him lean against the wall opposite yours, eyes gleaming in the dim alcove. You let him have that one. But just as he thought you were letting it go, your gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing.

"Don’t act like you’re any better," you mused.

Theo frowned. "What?"

You nodded toward his pocket, where a cigarette pack was sticking out slightly. "Don’t you go through, like, three packs a day?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. You had him there. "That’s not the same."

You widened your eyes mockingly. "No, you’re right. I might get liver failure in thirty years. You’re aiming for lung failure by, what - next week?"

Theo clicked his tongue, tucking the pack deeper into his pocket. "Cute."

"Not as cute as you stuttering over your words a minute ago."

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," you murmured, grinning as you took back the firewhiskey.

The Slytherin common room was empty when you both stepped inside, drenched from head to toe. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did nothing to dry the water you trailed in as you stalked toward it.

Theo watched you try to wring out your sleeves with an air of great suffering, muttering something about "bloody weather conspiracies" under your breath as you peeled off some of your outer layers.

"This is all your fault," you grumbled.

Theo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah? How’s that?"

"You control everything else," you shot back, flicking a few stray drops of water at him. "Figured you had a deal with the bloody sky, too."

He smirked. "Don't give me ideas."

You rolled your eyes, crouching slightly to warm your frozen hands by the fire. Your clothes clung to your frame, and Theo forced himself to look away before his thoughts could wander into dangerous territory. Instead, he shrugged off his soaked sweater and tossed it over the back of the nearest couch.

"Relax. You’ll live," he said idly.

"You better hope so," you threatened. "If I don’t, I’m haunting you forever."

Theo snorted, undoing the cuffs of his shirt.

"I don't think you have the attention span for that."

You shot him a look. "I'd find a way," you said darkly.

"Sure," he agreed sarcastically.

You huffed, standing up straight again.

"And here I was, thinking you actually liked me."

The words were meant to be teasing, flippant, meaningless. But something about them made his pulse stutter.

Maybe it was the way you said it, light and careless, like the idea was so ridiculous it wasn’t even worth entertaining. Maybe it was the way the firelight flickered against your golden skin. Maybe it was the way a stray droplet trickled down your throat, inch by agonising inch, before disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt.

Maybe it was the fact that he did actually like you.

Theo didn’t know what made him say it - either the warmth from the fire or the cold still clinging to his skin or the fact that he could feel the exhaustion of restraint pressing against his ribs. But before he could stop himself, he was opening his mouth, lips forming words he had barely formulated.

"You look - " he started, then faltered.

Shit.

His tongue tripped, his brain suddenly too slow to catch up. He could feel the syllable stuck in his throat, unable to escape, the word stuttering into nothing.

"Y-you l - l -"

Silence.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, slow and smug, realisation dawning on your face.

Theo exhaled sharply, his stomach twisting as he tried to force his expression into something impassive, something cool, something...unaffected. In short, he tried attempting what was an impossible feat when your very features were enough to leave him dizzy.

A wicked smile unfurled across your face. He wasn’t getting out of this alive, was he?

"Do you not know how to talk?" you demanded, eyes glittering with suppressed mirth. "Is this your first day on planet Earth?"

Theo clenched his jaw, crossing his arms in a futile attempt to feign indifference. "Shut up."

You refused to let up. "No, really. What was that? You looked - what? What do I look like, Theo? Enlighten me."

He forced himself to roll his eyes as his fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re insufferable."

"J-j-j-j - " You stuttered mockingly, eyes alight with mischief. "What are you, an idiot? Does your tongue need rewiring?"

Theo should’ve turned away, should’ve thrown himself onto the couch and forced himself to think about literally anything else. But he couldn’t help it.

He watched you - watched the way you grinned to yourself, watched the way your fingers twisted in the fabric of your damp clothes, watched the way you were so completely and utterly oblivious to the way you made his mind unravel.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just the heat in his chest or the feeling in his bones or the fact that his name sounded so damn good dripping off your honeyed lips while you teased him.

It was everything.

It was the way you filled every empty space like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there. It was the way your laughter lived in his head rent-free, the way you made even the most infuriating drivel you spouted feel like something he couldn't bear to go without. It was the fact that no matter how much you poked and prodded, no matter how ruthlessly or relentlessly you mocked him - he still wanted you. Desperately.

He should be embarrassed. The Theo of a few years ago would have been - would’ve burned with the humiliation, would’ve clenched his fists at the reminder of all the times he’d stood in front of his father, struggling to string together a coherent sentence under the weight of that unimpressed gaze.

But you were different. He could hear it in your voice, buried beneath the teasing - the unmistakable warmth, the absolute delight you took in making fun of him. Not because you wanted to humiliate him, but because it amused you. It endeared him to you. Because you liked getting under his skin.

And, Merlin help him, he liked that you liked it.

"Go on," you continued mockingly, roughly drying your hair with a towel, still oblivious to Theo watching you like you hung the stars and moon. "Careful with the big words, now."

Theo just stood there, staring at you, utterly gone. He wasn’t even trying to school his expression anymore.

When you finally looked up from drying yourself, your teasing faltered ever so slightly at the look in his eyes.

You blinked. “What?”

Theo shook his head, leaning against the wall thoughtfully.

“Nothing.”

You stilled. Because for the first time, you actually noticed. Theo wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t enduring your teasing with quiet exasperation.

He was watching you with something softer - something warmer, something dangerously close to adoration. It lingered in the lines of his face, in the almost-smile playing at his lips, in the flicker of fondness he couldn’t quite suppress fast enough before your eyes met his.

You stared back, speechless. Theo swallowed, tearing his gaze away, turning sharply as if shaking himself out of it.

"You should dry off before you actually get sick," he muttered, forcing his voice into something steady.

You stared at him for half a second longer, something unreadable in your expression.

"Right," you finally said, clearing your throat.

Neither of you acknowledged the moment for what it was. But the resurgence of Theo's stutter remained a secret kept only between the two of you.