#[that's so cute gnawing on the floorboards]

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

@teddybeartoji @staryukis @dollsuguru @neptuneblue

matching <3

[pyonpyonpyon]

Otome loves Dice so much I think about that every day. how she has a photo of him on her desk and only put it facedown once Rei pointed out how much she obviously still cared about him. They may never see eye to eye and Otome had chosen justice over family but she still loves her son. She could have just gotten him arrested during their confrontation and get the manuscript at the same time but she didn't. And Dice was betting on that and he won that bet. No matter what, no matter what paths they take, she'll always treasure her son--the light of her life.

[fawnsflowerbed]

♡ Puppy-lovin' ♡

A/N: Oh my goodness this took me FAR TOO LONG!!!! Commission of headcanons for my lovely sunshine anon, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE MY DARLING!!!

Even more headcanons of puppy hybrid and Leon shenanigans!!!

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, grumpy ol' man Vendetta Leon, Leon is referred to as daddy! lots and lots and LOTS of fluff!!! Headcanons!!!

Word count: 3,250 approx.

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

What is his biggest pet peeve that she does? (Ik he's obsessed with her HAHA but he  i s  still a grump at times, after all)

TEETHING. That sweet fluffy baby chews on ANYTHING she can get her little canines on. Food and water bowls, toys, chair legs, trashcans, clothes, towels, shoes. Leon has to sit you down and explain that yes you do have very pretty chompers and yes the hybrid vet said they were very healthy and you were a good girl for brushing them on your own but that doesn’t mean you have to PROVE A POINT WITH SAID TEETH!!!! SAVE IT FOR THE SQUEAKY TOYS!!!!! HIS COMBAT BOOTS DID NOT DESERVE THAT GNAWING!!!!!!

I also feel like her whimpering might sometimes get to him?? Depending on his mood. Like making dinner? Whimper. He’s in the bathroom? Whimper. Reading files? Whimper. Tv without her? Whimper. Broken record. His puppy just wants to be around him any time she can because that’s her daddy obviously, and he loves her to bits, but sometimes the man just wants to take a piss alone! We’re talking he gets a few fingers gently bapping at the gap between the floor and the door out of curiosity with mixed whines, or sometimes he has to keep it open a crack so you can hold his hand as he goes. You’re so damn lucky he loves you and that thumping tail of yours.

“Listen, listen, a man has the right to pee in peace. My puppy says otherwise, okay?” -Likely said by Leon as he’s laughing to one of his coworkers about your behaviour. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

What's something that'll make him go "Who did this, hm?" And she's like- anxiously wags,,,, like when dogs know they're guilty n stuff ��

ONCE MORE THE CHEWING!!!! I also feel like she can’t be trusted with porcelain or glass for obvious reasons (cough cough Picture Perfect fic cough) so if he does let her eat with him at a table or anything it’s gotta be plastic. One time she’s wanting to be helpful and get him a glass of water as they’re winding down for the night, he came home from a long tedious day of work, and on her way to the faucet she’s still so excited about him being back that she completely forgets she is in fact holding a glass. When it hits the floorboards it’s instant chaos, babygirl’s sitting there staring at the shards like ‘uh oh uh oh uhohuhoh-’ and not knowing what else to do she puts a pillow over it. Because yeah honey, he’s totally gonna think that's perfectly normal.

So obviously when Leon finds it, seeing the pieces collected in a neat little pile under a cushion, he’s giving a call. 

“Sunshine. C’mere a second, baby.”

And you toddle your way in with that tail slightly tucked, not making eye contact. Oh he already knows what’s going on, you’ve never been very good at lying.

“Y’know, it’s funny sweetheart. I come home from a long day of work, have an amazing dinner with my favourite girl in the world, take a nice hot shower and start getting ready for bed. But right as I’m turning the lights off, I find this.” He gestures rather pointedly to the cushion atop the glass shards. 

“And I’m thinkin’, hm, that’s odd. So I pick it up, and look at what’s hiding under it.” Picking it up by a corner of the casing, he makes sure to add an over dramatic gasp. “Broken glass! Isn’t that the strangest thing, puppy? I mean, what are the odds?” His broad shoulders shrug as if he himself can’t believe this ‘totally random’ sequence of events leading to a pile of glass ‘randomly’ appearing under a pillow. “You wouldn’t happen to know who did this, now would you honey?”

You’ve got your cute butt planted on the floor by now, looking up at him rather pitifully. Staring from beneath your lashes, tail slowly wagging back and forth across the hardwood, ears pressed back. 

When you do finally speak, it’s a mumble of “I was getting you water n’ I forgot…”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You.. forgot? You forgot what, sweetpea?”

“...Forgot I was holding the glass..”

Oh his heart just melts. You’re an angel, a bit of a dummy at times, but such an angel. Leon can only shake his head with a chuckle, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. “My sweet, silly girl. Let’s get this cleaned up then, alright?”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Do you think Leon will have his days where he needs space from her from a difficult mission/assignment?

It’s a 50/50 depending on how hard the mission was. If we’re talking like freshly Vendetta Leon then definitely. He’s just so mentally drained, sometimes he just needs to have a minute to fall face first into bed, lay there for a couple of hours. He’ll leave to go to the bathroom and hear your paws padding after him but he just doesn’t have the energy to do anything more then pet you as he goes to grab another drink from the fridge. Sometimes alcohol, sometimes soda. It depends on how shitty he’s feeling, how much he wants to torture himself.

Sometimes you sit at the door with a meek whimper and swishing tail, at first confused as to why he’s so down. Pawing at the wood grain like the poor dumb girl you are, missing your favourite person and just wanting to be there with him. From time to time you crawl up into bed next to him, slipping under his arm to lay your face in the crook of his bicep, often to receive a gentle pet. “I just need a second, puppy. You’re my good girl, though.”

A few times you’ve asked him why he gets like that, why he seems to sink back into himself, and he just sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Y’know how you get upset after the vet, cause they prod at your teeth with the nasty tasting gloves and you have to get your shots?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well sometimes Daddy gets like that after a really really hard day at work.”

“..If I put a Hello Kitty bandaid on it and..” You scrunch your little nose in thought, “..buy you a stuffie for being brave will you feel better?”

And he just chuckles fondly, giving your hair a gentle ruffle. God, you’re too sweet. “Maybe baby, maybe.”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Do you think he'll get better with the drinking with her around, or do you think he still drinks? I imagine that she's not a fan, if he still does!

He definitely tries his best to at least cut down on the drinking, but I doubt he’s entirely sober since - well, it’s Leon - but he really doesn’t feel the need to sometimes. Usually when something shitty goes down he instantly goes for the bottle, but now? Now it takes a lot more to drive him into that spiral. 

Most of the time when his depression hits it’s like you sense it, call it that puppy instinct, and you’re toddling your way over to lay your head on his knee and whimper. He tries not to get too drunk, he knows you hate it. How he sways and scruffs at your hair sometimes a little too hard. But he’s trying. Tries to substitute the shitty burning taste of whiskey with spicy foods as an alternative, or punish himself through tonic water only to look like an angry cat once the glass is finished. Anything other than alcohol if he can stomach it.

Because he doesn’t want you to remember him as someone who drank all the time, he wants you to remember how on the bad days he opened his arms to you and let you lay atop his chest as his own personal weighted blanket. How despite how he used to snap and draw away from everyone, how he’d shoot whiskey like it was water, you coming into his life made it all feel so much easier.

He wants you to remember that you made it easier. You made it better.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

When she gets in trouble, what is it for? And is there any form of "punishment" or "grounding"? 

Timeout is HUGE, I don’t think he’d have the heart to actually ground her. One bat of those big babydoll eyes and he has to remind himself NOT to cave. The only thing he can’t do is take her toys away, that would eat the big guy up inside AND out, he knows how much you adore your stuffies and squeakies. 

Usually it’s just lockup time in her pen to sit and think about what she did, doing his best to ignore the pitiful sound of your whines of guilt. He knows you hate timeout, but he doesn’t really know how else to punish you! That or taking away your weekly movie night until you behave, which means no 2 or so hours of uninterrupted cuddle time on daddy’s lap, which is worse than a jail sentence in your opinion. 

The cone of shame has yet to be used, same for muzzles. You’ve cut it pretty close a few times with any of the ladies who stick around and talk to him too long though! He had no clue his sweet sunshine baby had a knack for nipping at ankles.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Does she beg for food, and if so, how does Leon go about dealing with it?

BIG puppy dog eyes at the table, sitting at his feet. Sometimes he caves, because duh, you’re his baby. But Chris keeps saying he needs to be more stern so he tries and tries and TRIES. But you have those HUGE glossy blinkers on blinky mode up at him, and your tail is swish swish swishing happily against the wooden grain and you just look so ready to get a little bite of whatever he’s got and who is he to deny you? You who wakes him up with kisses and cuddles, who trots along behind him everywhere he goes. You sit at the window and wait for him to get home from work for god’s sake, surely a little piece of food is nothing, right?

He’ll do it cause he loves you, other times cause he wants to see how you’ll react. One time you gave him the puppy stare for a lick of the hot sauce he got to go with his wings, which was a moment of instant regret on your end. Leon had to bite back the biggest smile with an “Is it good, baby?” Watching you smack your lips and tongue with a scrunched up face and furrowed eyebrows. Shaking your head around and yapping as if the taste was a personal attack on you.

Sometimes you even get fancy with it, padding from leg to leg at his feet, doing little spins out of excitement for whatever tasty morsel he’s about to drop into your mouth. I mean c’mon, how is he supposed to resist it?

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

How does he interact with her in his depressive states, and how does she comfort him?

You 100% believe he needs a stuffie. So you’re dropping your toys in his lap with big wet eyes and a slow swaying tail. It has to make him feel better, right?

Leon has two main moods when he’s in his depressions. ‘I’ve ruined everything, no one come near me.’ And ‘I’ve ruined everything, please don’t leave me alone.’ Swinging between these moods like an unstable seesaw, but he just can’t bring himself to pull you down with it. Who is he to look you in the eye and tell you to go away, when all you want to do is help? You’re not a bad girl, not a bad dog, so why should he lecture you on behaviour that comes as natural to you as breathing? Your kindness and need to ensure he’s as happy as you are, it’s practically built into your little puppy brain. Because he’s your daddy, and you love him. 

So he tries his hardest. He lays on the couch for his usual hour of slumping but keeps an eye out for a swishing tail, an ear out for any little whimpers. You’re climbing into his lap, crawling all over him to put your weight on him, cuddling up like a plush toy. 

And he wraps his arms around you silently, letting you be his anchor.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

When she asks to come with him to work, how does he respond? (Bc obvi she can't come fight bioweapons with him,,)

Sometimes he’ll take her when he has desk duty and Hunnigan just MELTS she LOVES your sweet little tailed self. But other times either he has to call Becca and Claire over to babysit you, cause there’s no way that he can leave his poor sweet girl at home alone! And you whimper and whine the whole time but it’s either that or coax you to go to the DSO before Claire comes to pick you up after the work day is finished.

Like how is he supposed to look at you and go ‘no baby you can’t go with daddy to work because daddy shoots bugs and-’ 

BUGS? YOU LOVE BUGS!!!! BUGS DESPISE YOU SO YOU’LL BE SO GOOD ON BUG DUTY!!!!

“I know puppy, I know. But daddy’s going in a biiiiiiig metal bird, and I know you love to chase birds so I can’t take you with me. Cause what if you bite the bird too hard, huh? Then daddy can’t buy you new toys! Can’t have that happening, sunshine. So, how about this. You can sit at daddy’s desk next to miss Hunnigan and when I talk to her over the little ear phone she can pass it over to you and you can have a chat with me. Is that okay? Yeah?”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

How does he react when she catches things for him, like bugs or something? (he def didn't ask her to LOL) I feel like she'd be eyeing a moth or something and be like omg a present for daddy :33 (she has good intentions fs)

That man honestly gets a leaf bug or moth at his feet once a month. A little half chewed, he saw you spitting out tufts of wing a few minutes ago so he can guess that’s why. You’ve always been a jumper, pouncing and bouncing around the yard or when he takes you for walks. So it’s no wonder you started up this habit.

“Yes- yes baby, I know you got it just for me and- mhm. Mhm I do love it honey but I just think- And I’m so proud of you for hunting it all on your own but sweetpea how about instead you bring me.. I don’t know, fuck- wait don’t say that word. Hm. I don’t know leaves you find interesting.”

Stupid man. Dumb dumb idiot man. Next thing he knows there’s a small collection of leaves lined up at the back door. He’s gotta figure out an alternative and fast, boy. 

Has he ever had to bandage her up bc she did something dumb that he warned her not to do? 😭

That girl’s mortal enemy is anything that like, rears up at her. Praying mantises, spiders, grasshoppers, wasps and bees. If it moves, and it moves in a way that she perceives as a threat, it will be bapped with her hand.

“Hey- hey woah woah woah woah woah- easy there, tiger.” He’s scooping you up off the grass as you’re growling and yapping at whatever insect has made the mistake of buzzing too close to his sweet girl. “That’s a praying mantis, baby. If one of those big claws gets you, it’s gonna scare the sh- ahem, it’s probably gonna spook you.”

Five minutes later when he sets you back down he hears a startled yelp followed by you scampering around the backyard waving your face back and forth. Yeah he should’ve expected that. Watching as you finally flick the bug away with a huff of disapproval, which is followed by a very overdramatic whimper in Leon’s direction. Obviously need of love and affection after such a traumatic experience. Nothing a bit of antiseptic and plenty of well placed kisses won’t fix.

SO many scrapes. Bee stings, ant bites, mosquito bites, scratches and bruises from bouncing around the yard and house. He had to buy the Sanrio bandaids to patch you up or you refused to sit still. Thankfully your new favourite thing is barking at the other hybrids on the tv, an activity that WON’T result in several bruises. Maybe an earache or two, perhaps a sore throat, but hey, that’s better than box upon box of bandaids. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

When he wants her inside, and she does that one excited play pose (you know the one HAHA), does he entertain it, or does he know better to just go inside because she'll follow? LMAO

You’re padding your way around through the grass of the backyard, tail high and wagging proudly. You’d been very successful in your burying of a bone, planting your own little territory outside the house, and because of that success a buzz ran through your body. Being the jitterbug you were with a case of the zoomies coming on, you gave your ears a shake out when Leon’s whistle was heard.

“Puppy? C’mon, babygirl. It’s getting dark.”

But you were just getting started! Maybe you could convince him, after all if puppies had to listen to their daddies, surely daddies had to listen to their puppies right? That’s, like, the law. And you still have so much energy!

So, ever the bouncy pup you are, you crouch down into ‘the pose’. Everyone knows which one. The one you pull when you’re telling another hybrid you wanna play, the half bow with you eyes locked on him and a fast wagging tail.

“Baby- no. Oh, don’t give me that face..” Leon runs a hand over his face with a long sigh, biting back a smile with all the teeth he can manage.  

But you’re giggling with that big grin on your face, hands braced like paws against the grass and ears perked up expectantly.

“Honey..no. Now-

As soon as he takes a step towards you, no matter how small it is, you’re jumping in a little circle with happy yaps. Next thing he knows you’ve got the zoomies, and you’re bounding your way through the freshly-clipped lawn. All he can really do is lean against the outside wall and wait for you to run out of energy, arms crossed with a grin on his face. IIt doesn’t last too long thankfully, a few bounces, a couple of spins and you’re trotting over to him panting. He watched the whole thing, your tail wagging a gazillion miles an hour each time you hopped, skipped, and jumped. You always found endless ways to entertain yourself outside, Leon really didn’t know how you did it. 

 And yeah, it was getting dark out, but it was only a few minutes more of watching his sweet girl bound around happily, he’d only really try to rouse on you if it was for your safety. But right now? As your big eyes watch fireflies fill the backyard’s air, pawing weakly up at them between giggles, he knows it’s worth it. 

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Like my work? Consider buying me boba!

[aetherdoesthings]

I heard you wanted requests and I came running Aether. I fucking bolted. I cannot tell you how fast I pressed the 'ask' button. Also, if you're still sick make sure to take care of yourself first before doing requests!!!!

Anyways. Robin x gn!reader requested as always :3333 so there's this specific scene in my head thats been playing in my head lately and I crave hurt/comfort.

Either Robin or Reader being insecure about having scars and thinking their body, and the other reassures them that they love them regardless by kissing them/tracing them. And it's a bit suggestive? Like it's not meant to be sexual but one of the two is at least half-naked. I'm not sure if this is okay to request as an anon. If not, totally reject this, but I oust thought it's a cute idea.

And need I remind you that regardless you do it or not ill always love your work and will patiently wait if you do? No, I don't? Great. Anyways, love ya aether my beloved, stop manifesting hanahaki

-Enies Lobby anon (patiently waiting for pt.4 of hanahaki [I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure])

you can tell by that last statement how long this ask was asked 😭

forethoughts: apologies this took a while; this one hit a little too close to home for me :_). there's been a lot happening in my life, including but not limited to a stalking man whom tried to manipulate me :D. regardless, i hope you enjoy this one!! went back to my roots of a nico robin lover for this.

notes: made this one fem!reader because i wanted to write this to my younger self. robin is naked in this. they don't fuck, but robin and reader is like 1 1/2 naked. really soft and fluffy. word count: 2k

“Do you have anything else you have to do tonight, Y/N?” You looked up from the book Robin had gifted you, to find the gifter herself standing in your doorframe, her arms resting on top of one another as she gave you a warm smile. You slipped a piece of paper in the pages of the book, before standing up and facing your girlfriend. 

“Uhm, no, not really. Why’d you ask?” You replied. It wasn’t uncommon for Robin to suddenly pop up in your room ever since you had confessed your feelings to her. Although you slept in her room now, you still used your room as your study to do your work and to hide from everyone else when your social battery went down. 

“I was just wondering if you would like to join me for a bath. We’ve been together for quite a while now, and if you’re alright with it, I’d like it if we could bathe together.” Robin proposed.

Your heart did a backflip, dropping all the way to your stomach. You knew this day would come; you just didn’t know it would come this soon. Ever since you had confessed your feelings to Robin, the day that the two of you would be comfortable enough to bathe together was like a doomsday countdown in your mind. It wasn’t that you did not want to see what Robin looked like underneath two layers of clothing, but something else that had been gnawing at you for years of your life.

“Uhm…” That was the only sound that escaped out of your mouth; the rest were lost in the abyss of your mind. 

“It’s alright if you’re not comfortable; I do not wish to do something that makes you feel uncomfortable for my sake. Still, you should still take a bath soon. It’s getting late.”

“Well…” You sighed, shaking your head. Your fingers twiddled around the hem of your shirt, scrunching it up and releasing it. You could feel Robin’s eyes casted onto the top of your head, encouraging the neurons in your brain to speed up and think of an answer. 

“I… I guess… I should take a bath… we could do it together…” You regurgitated each word, looking at the wooden floorboards. Robin’s eyes analyzed your entire body, nitpicking each detail and examining your facial expressions. She did that everytime you were upset or doing something uncharacteristic. Still, it made you feel like you were under scrutiny by your own girlfriend who had also confessed her love to you. 

“Are you sure?” Robin simply asked.

“Y-Yeah. Totally.” You nodded your head, despite your eyes still downcast. Robin let out a sigh, accepting that you weren’t going to give her any other answer.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

Everyone had unpredictable showering schedules: Luffy and Zoro could go on for a week, Usopp and Chopper every three days, and everyone else would shower every day. Franky had built bathhouses for each gender, so that you, Nami and Robin wouldn’t have to share the same bathhouse with Sanji. Compared to the boy’s, the bathhouse you shared with Nami and Robin always smelled like tangerines or lavender, depending on who used it last. The water was warm (thankfully), and every amenity you could ever need for person hygiene was available. 

Since Nami had just used the shower, the room was filled with the smell of tangerines. You didn’t mind it; you were used to the smell after being part of the Straw Hats for a while. You walked into the bathhouse behind Robin, your eyes gazing at the woman face a wall, removing her clothes without any problem at all. One second, that navy blue jacket and salmon sarong skirt was on her body. The next, she was fully naked and already heading towards the tub. Your feet were glued to the wooden planks below, eyes glued to the sight in front of you. 

Your contact with her was severed as Robin turned her head to look at you, a quizzical look on her face as she observed your fully clothed body standing feets away from the tub. A phantom flick on your forehead brought you back to reality, your mind racing with thoughts that triumphed over Robin's voice.

“Y/N, is something wrong?” The four words drove into that tiny bottle you kept near your heart, cracks starting to appear. Robin had moved closer to the edge of the tub, a hand resting on the wooden frame. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pursed as her eyes analyzed your body again, reading you like a poneglyph.

In the midst of the bathhouse, you could hear your heartbeat thud over the sound of the water moving around. If you could hear it, Robin could definitely hear it too. There was no point in hiding anything from her; she was Nico Robin. 

In your silence, Robin spoke again. “Is something on your mind that’s bothering you? Would you like to talk about it?”

Robin was always aware of how you felt at any given moment, and she was always willing to give you space and let you decide how you wanted to proceed with anything. Robin was the buoy you desperately clinged onto in the middle of a raging storm in the seas. The rope was never weathered down by the heavy downpour. Everytime Robin did something, said something, you could feel your body moving along with the rope, dragging you ever so close to the place you knew you were safe in.

Safe. Safe. That was what Robin was. Safe. With her around, you always felt safe. She always listened and paid attention to all your needs and made sure you were alright. She always went out of the way to make sure you were healthy and well. She was the one that was there to remind you you were loved when you yourself forgot to. Safe.

“Uhm…” Your voice cracked; even with just one word you could feel the corners of your eyes beginning to burn and body shaking alongside the ship. “T-There’s something that is on my mind, and i-is bothering me.”

You were actually doing this. Every part of your body was screaming at you, protesting and shutting down. Despite what you thought and believed, your body rebelled. You couldn’t blame your body; of course they would try and protect you from harm or stepping into unknown territories.

Robin stayed quiet, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. It was her way of telling you that you were welcome to say whatever you wanted, and she would be there to listen.

“I…” You bit your dry and cracked lips, looking down at your feet. “Remember that fight we had with the marines a few weeks ago?”

“Yes. I recall you were injured.” Robin’s stoic expression broke as she remembered your injury that left you immobile. However, she does not interject, letting you continue.

“It’s better; Chopper says I’m okay now, but…” You sighed. “Ever since then… I’ve become scared. I’ve become terrified to look in the mirror without my clothes on, let alone have anything that exposes… you know.”

A steady stream of air exits out of Robin’s mouth. When no words could roll off your tongue, Robin stood up from the tub, drying herself with the help of her multitude of hands. She walked over to you, causing your heartbeat to feign a heart attack. “May I?”

“S-Sure.” You didn’t know what Robin was going for, but you weren’t too disappointed with the results. Robin set the back of her fingers alongside your cheek, before cupping your face with both of her hands, tilting your head to face her.

“My darling…” Robin whispered, her hands moving down to your shoulders. “Can I see? Please.”

“Why do you want to see something… horrendous?”

Robin frowned at your choice of words, shaking her head. “Y/N, nothing about you is horrendous. Your mind, your body, your heart, none of that. You are perfect. You are who you are, no matter what. Please don’t call yourself horrendous when all I can see is goodness and kindness. I don’t want you to be terrified of the shell that protects that loving and caring heart of yours. I don’t want to see you be ashamed and afraid of your own skin.”

The corners of your eyes begin to burn. With just one blink, the floodgates burst open. You stood there in front of Robin, your shoulders rising and falling, choked and garbled sobs exiting your mouth as tears rolled down your face. Your heart churned, fighting off that foreign feeling that felt so wrong, but so right at the same time. A paradox of emotions. You felt so wrong for breaking down in front of the person you called home, but so… good for breaking down in front of the person you called home.

“Shh… Sh… it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe, Y/N. You’re alright.” Robin’s arms wrapped around your head, pulling you closer to her chest. Her still nude chest. In any other circumstances you’d be thrilled at the situation you were in. But vulnerability overpowered lust, and you let out a choked sob, burying your head in between Robin’s supple breasts, allowing yourself to melt into your touch and allowing yourself to be comforted. Drunk on overwhelming comfort and love, you didn’t even notice Robin’s duplicate hands lift your shirt up. You reluctantly removed your hands around Robin’s neck, moving away from your lifeline as your armor was stripped away. A choked protest exited your mouth as Robin placed her hands on your bare shoulders, not allowing you to run to her like a child to her mother. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing, running faster than your heart was. When that familiar feeling of her hand removed, you stopped breathing, the deafening silence filling the room. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. She’s mad. She’s disgusted. She’s repulsed. She’s-

Soft lips were planted on one of the many scars littered on your body, then again, trailing downwards. Robin’s tongue flicked against your bruises, kissing it and swirling around the area. Her hands were around your waist, head making its way towards every scar you bore. Every kiss, every little touch or lick sent spiders up your spine, a shocked gasp involuntarily leaving your mouth. 

“My beautiful. My beautiful Y/N.” Robin murmured, her breath against the most vulnerable and hidden spots of your body. You stifled a gasp, your hand shooting up to your mouth as Robin continued to kiss every single abnormality from your skin. “My beautiful. My strong Y/N. I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you for being so brave. I love you so much. My love, in this vast world, you alone are the epitome of grace, the prettiest in the world. How could I ever be repulsed by the sight I see?”

Robin stood up, her hands slithering from your waist to your cheeks, as she wiped your tears away. She looked at you with a smile, kissing your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips. When you couldn’t breathe and choked on your breath, she was there, giving you the oxygen in her lungs to breathe, to stabilize yourself. When your legs couldn’t hold your body, she was there, holding you up with her arms. 

When you couldn’t speak, when all you could make was choked sobs and unintelligible rambles like a baby, Robin was there. She was always there. “My love, never be ashamed of the scars on you. They are a testimony to the challenges you face. They tell the story of a battle you fought, and won. Do not deny them, for your scars do not make you weak. They make you strong. My strong beautiful Y/N. My love.”

[scribblue]

Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitzu first watch

Finally started watching masters of spinjitzu (yes, I watched the movie before the show) and I'm gnawing on the floorboards like a rabid animal RAHHH

I wanted to start a thread to share some of my thoughts and reactions as I watch, for anyone that wants to hear 'em or to live vicariously through a new fan hehe

○ Note: I don't care too much about spoilers given that its an old show I've already gotten plenty of spoilers for, but I'd appreciate it if you kept big stuff vague in my comments! Also, there will be spoilers in this thread for any other first time watchers.

Pilot– s1 ep 13:

Okay so my expectations going into this was that it was going to be different from the movie, given how people talk about it online. Honestly I wasn't prepared for how different, but like– in a good way? I really love it so far, and also still love the movie (esp Garmadon), which is probably a byproduct of having seen it with zero context first. Ik a lot of ppl dont like the movie or have crits of it and that's very valid, but I'm really enjoying both of them for their differences.

Some rapid fire thoughts in no particular order (might be more organized next time):

- I really like how much development they're giving each ninja, that was something the movie def lacked.

- I had no idea what spinjitzu was and i was not expecting Ninja Tornados but i fuckinglovethatAHAHA

- Zane is my favorite ninja so far. I loved him in the movie too but the reveALLLL GOD. That was something I was spoiled for but it still hits so hard. Hes so me when I (love me some autism-coded robots). Honestly tho I rlly like the whole cast !!

-I mistakenly thought Nya and Jay were the siblings in the movie bc the dialogue rlly wasn't clear to me, but uh– yeahno AHAHAHA OOPS theyre cute though

-show!lloyd is.... growing on me! Slowly! I know he's got a long way to go and I'm sure he'll get there but his first few appearances was a lil whiny for my tastes. The fact that he's trying to follow in garms footsteps tho and garm doesnt want him too?? aUGH i love their whole dynamic so much.

- the fact that garmadon pronounces lloyd properly throws me all the way off cuz I'm so used to L'loyd PFFT

-I also didn't put it together that Lloyd Garmadon is meant to sound similar to Lord Garmadon. Idk how but it took someone literally saying it in an ep for me to realize

-I love how clear it is that garmadon cares for lloyd and would do literally anything for him but also the angst of him being infused w evil and knowing lloyd is destined to defeat him???? WHILE STILL BEING PROUD OF HIM??? unmatched. I love that so much

-I also just love garmadon's whole vibe but thats to be expected. Much less silly so far (with a few expections) but he's so interesting. I wish they did a lil more with his backstory in the movie. Imso brainrot over him

Anyway thats all for now I'll share more thinks as I watch hehehe

[knoepfl]

HEYYYY~ me again XD Could you write a story about shigaraki. I was thinking about something like he is Stalking the reader and leave little indicators that lead the reader to be paranoid. And in the end he kidnappes them or something like that.

PLEASE 🙏🏻 🙏🏻 🙏🏻

In the Shadows

Characters:

Shigaraki Tomura

Reader (you)

Trigger Warnings:

Stalking

Psychological manipulation

Paranoia

Kidnapping

Obsessive behavior

Masterlist

Words: 1028

---

The first sign was small—so small that you told yourself you were imagining things. It started with your phone charger. You always left it coiled on your desk before leaving for work, but one day you found it draped across your bed instead, as if someone had used it and forgotten to put it back.

You shook it off at first. Maybe you were just tired, distracted. It was easy to misplace things in the chaos of life. But then it kept happening. Little things. A book slightly out of place, a window left cracked open when you were sure you’d closed it, the faintest scent of cigarette smoke lingering in your apartment when you didn’t smoke.

You began locking the door every time you left. Double-checking. Triple-checking. Yet somehow, the signs persisted. Subtle but undeniable.

Someone had been inside.

At first, you tried not to panic. It could’ve been nothing—a forgetful neighbor, a maintenance worker. But as the days passed, the intrusions became harder to dismiss. You would come home to find your closet door ajar, or your curtains drawn in a way you’d never leave them.

And then the notes started.

The first one was tucked under your pillow. Miss me? it read, the letters scrawled in jagged, uneven handwriting. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared at the words, dread curling through you like smoke.

You told yourself it was a prank, but you changed the locks anyway. Still, the feeling of being watched gnawed at you. At night, you couldn’t shake the sense that someone was just out of sight, waiting. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the windows set your nerves on edge.

It didn’t take long for the paranoia to creep into your daily life. At work, you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, scanning the faces of strangers on the street, convinced that someone was following you. But no matter how hard you looked, you could never catch anyone. Just shadows slipping through the cracks, always one step ahead.

Then the gifts began appearing.

The first was a single black glove left on your doorstep. Not the kind you would wear to keep warm—this was old, worn, with holes at the knuckles. You stared at it for a long moment, heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to leave it where it was, but something compelled you to pick it up.

A chill ran down your spine as you turned the glove over in your hands. The fabric felt strangely familiar, like you’d seen it somewhere before. And then it hit you. You had seen it—on the news. On him.

Shigaraki Tomura.

Your breath caught in your throat. It couldn’t be him. It had to be some kind of coincidence. But deep down, you knew better. The little things, the notes, the way your belongings kept shifting out of place—it all added up. He was watching you.

You tried to convince yourself you were overreacting. That night, you double-checked the locks again, drew all the curtains, and crawled into bed with your heart racing in your chest. Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it finally did, it was restless and shallow.

When you woke, there was another note.

This one was on your bedside table, next to your phone. You look cute when you sleep.

Panic surged through you, and you bolted upright, heart hammering in your chest. Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, but there were no missed calls, no texts—nothing that could explain how someone had been inside without you noticing.

You spent the rest of the day in a daze, your skin crawling with the sensation of being watched. Every sound seemed too loud, every passerby too suspicious. The world felt like it was closing in on you, and you had no idea what to do.

Then, one night, it finally happened.

It was late—well past midnight—when you heard it: the soft click of your front door unlocking.

Your heart lurched, and you froze beneath the blankets, every muscle tensing as your mind raced. You knew you had locked the door. You knew no one should be able to get in.

The apartment was silent, except for the soft creak of footsteps drawing closer. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying it was just a nightmare, that if you stayed perfectly still, it would go away.

The footsteps stopped beside your bed. You could feel the presence looming over you, the air thick with menace and anticipation.

“Found you,” a voice whispered, low and raspy.

Your eyes snapped open, and there he was—Shigaraki Tomura, standing just inches from you, a grin stretching across his scarred lips. His pale, bony fingers hovered above your face, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

Your scream died in your throat as he pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh… No one’s going to help you.”

He leaned down, his crimson eyes glinting in the darkness. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he murmured, his voice carrying a strange, almost affectionate undertone.

Terror gripped you, and you tried to scramble away, but Shigaraki was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his touch featherlight yet unyielding. You felt the ghost of his Decay, a silent threat hanging between you.

“You made it too easy,” he whispered, tilting his head as if studying you. “Leaving the curtains open… falling asleep so peacefully. Almost like you were waiting for me.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, and panic clawed at your throat, but it was too late. Shigaraki was already pulling something from his coat—a syringe, gleaming under the moonlight.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, as if sensing your fear. “This won’t hurt… much.”

You thrashed, but he was relentless, his grip tightening as the needle slid into your arm. The world tilted, blurred, as a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face with eerie tenderness.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening, but you caught the last glimpse of his twisted smile before everything faded to black.

---

Author’s Note: This story explores the darker, obsessive side of Shigaraki and the psychological impact of being stalked. I wanted to dive into the tension between paranoia and helplessness, building toward the inevitable outcome. If you enjoyed (or were thoroughly creeped out by) this, feel free to leave feedback! Thank you for reading, and stay safe!

[sophieswundergarten]

@nobodysdaydreams Here you go

Chapter 28

BODS THE TITLE IS SCARING ME

This part really feels like TPD, with all the planning and secrecy

Ajdsdjfk Constance just staring at him really intently to freak him out

Poor Nathaniel

“It was rather unsettling, though being physically assaulted by one of the children was a much less frightening concept to Nathaniel than the possibility of having his mind read.”

Yeah, unfortunately that tracks

Reynie being all polite is very cute, though. And then there’s Kate, who is on the defensive every time

“Like he’s just some guy named Nathaniel now?”

Kate and the importance of names again! I need to write another analysis about that

And of course her lovely nickname suggestion

Yeah, Reynie!! The “L” stands for “Le”! It’s weird, right?

I’m very pleased that Constance is the one to reveal Curtain’s full name

Sticky’s aunt!! I love her so much, you don’t even understand. I was so hugely upset by how the Show changed things, but you’ve turned that all around and now she’s one of my favourite background characters in your story.

“He sleeps, he eats, he takes up space,” said Constance. “And he cleans. A lot. Obsessively. It’s concerning and confirms what we already knew. The man has serious mental problems.”

I don’t know how you positively nail each character voice every time!! It’s so impressive, and I love when certain lines stick out in my head because I feel I can hear them being said <3

Kate’s house!! Such a good plot point, so full of memories and emotion

Marcus! Marcus is so sweet. I’m really glad that you talked more about him, Sticky deserves to have good friends

Miss Perumal and Rhonda! A very good team. (And possibly the most forgiving out of the grownups, besides Mr. Benedict of course)

Ooohhhhhh. SQ photo album…

I AM NEVER GOING TO STOP BEING UPSET THAT HE WON’T TALK ABOUT HOW CLOSE HE WAS WITH THE WETHERALLS

BODS YOUR FLOORBOARDS ARE MINE

NATHANIEL. I get that you two are different in some ways, but. YOU’RE IDENTICAL TWINS??? SAYING SQ LOOKS MORE LIKE NICHOLAS ISN’T THAT BIG OF A DIFFERENCE??

Of course, it’s not his exact physical appearance that Nathaniel’s talking about, it’s more the fact that he feels too guilty and undeserving to be associated with his son. Because nothing is ever simple with this man

I love when Miss Perumal gets to talk about parenting with Nathaniel, it’s so interesting. I don’t know, because I don’t have kids, but to me it seems like you’re doing a really good job writing about it, Bods

Poor Number Two. She’s right, even though no one knows it yet. There is something suspicious going on :( 

Garrison mention!! Garrison would probably like to stay as far away from this mess as possible, but of course they aren’t going to let her do that

And naturally the thing that Nicholas fixes on is correcting his brother that Constance is his “roommate”. Not the ridiculousness of anything else in the statement

I like how you use the verb “comforted” often, it gives a really good note on the tone of the situation and how the dialogue is being said

Oh no. I’ve read the sad, sad tale of Puddles the duckling, like, three times now. We’re skipping it

Kate! Kate popping out of vents is the best thing, and I love how you set it up here. I can just see it in my brain

Nooooooooo

Bods I am gnawing on all of your pens until they are beyond repair. This part guts me every time

I love when we get a giant brick of Nathaniel dialogue because he’s explaining something. It’s very good

AND THIS IS THE PART WHERE IT ALL GOES SOUTH

I genuinely gasped and put a hand over my mouth when I first read this

I’ve been thinking about Nerissa and her outbursts a lot, and I have so many questions about how her powers work…

I think SQ’s mind would be a forest

I know Nerissa has not the best of intentions, but ever since she got introduced all I want is to give her a hug. I think she needs it

Now we get to see Nerissa’s plans from her point of view! I always love how you explain stuff via multiple different characters, it makes it really interesting and it somehow doesn’t ever come across as boring or talked about too much

Although it makes me wonder how many fake identities she has…

“The boy is eighteen Natty, I’m sure he doesn’t need or want you constantly helicopter parenting him like this”

As if she is not also doing the exact same (And arguably worse)

“his whole…team of genius minds and trained fighters”

Ah, yes. Nicholas, his adopted family and friends, and some children. Obviously an impossible number of enemies /s

Erika! She is somehow STILL not getting paid enough for this. Let her go do something else, like be a National Park ranger. I’m sure she’d love it

And the slip back into having the narrative refer to him as Curtain!! I get all excited every time you do that, no matter how many times it’s been now

“He had expected to see anger in his SQ’s eyes at having secrets kept from him”

I’m burning your house down

Curtain’s just running on frantic autopilot and it’s only making things worse. I know this is, like, the third POV for this scene and maybe the fifth time I’ve read it, but still. I am taking some scissors to your window drapes

“And to think, when I was a kid, I looked at you like you were my hero, I thought you were brilliant, I used to dream about being like you! And now, I’ve been putting up with everything you do, all the times you ignored me, filled your schedule with work, got stressed over some mundane detail, and acted like a complete control freak, all because I thought you were doing it because you actually cared about someone other than yourself.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Bods. Bods you need to chill on occasion. Seriously, I don’t know how much more of this my heart can take, and I already know what’s going to happen!! 

I Am Foaming At The Mouth

AND ONCE AGAIN CURTAIN’S SELF-DEPRECATING, GUILTY, OVERLY RIDICULOUS MENTALITY GETS IN THE WAY. AGAIN.

If he could take a step back and, I don’t know, go to therapy????? Then maybe he’d be able to have this conversation with his son. BUT NOOOOOOOOOO. IT’S EVIL PLANS THIS AND MIND ERASURE THAT. SO HEALTHY THERE, LEDROPTHA. NICE JOB /s

“You’d think that after all those losses he’d be used it to by now”

I Am Screeching At A Tone To Shatter All Your Glass

AND GARRISON. GARRISON DOESN’T KNOW. HOW COULD SHE? BUT SHE STILL UNDERSTANDS THE ENORMITY OF SWEEPING SQ. AND SHE’S STILL HORRIFIED.

“Please Dad. Don’t do this. I love you. I’ll do whatever you ask, and I’ll…I’ll stay. I won’t leave. I’ll stay here with you, forever. I’ll be good. I promise.”

This is always one of the worst parts for me…

“She supposed death wouldn’t be so bad. Garrison knew she deserved it, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she would even be able to keep living with herself after all she’d done. / But she still feared the pain.”

Someone PLEASE help this woman

Curtain hugging her… But it doesn’t do either of them any good…

AND CURTAIN CAN’T BRAINSWEEP HIMSELF BECAUSE HE FEELS LIKE HE HAS TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL THE THINGS HE’S DONE. HE HAS BLOCKED OFF EVERY OPTION FOR HIMSELF

Oh dear, I just keep rereading the last bits instead of commenting. Please know they are just as amazing as everything else, but I don’t have any words for any of it…

Poor Nathaniel has been locked into a truly impossible task, and Nerissa certainly isn���t helping. Although, I must say that her dialogue can be pretty funny

“I really think you’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. Nicky has never struck me as a particularly difficult person to kidnap. One bad pun is enough to knock him out. Just tell a clever joke, wait for him to pass out, and shove him into a sack.”

“Nathaniel had tried to think of other solutions. Really, he did. But although he knew that Nicholas would willingly give himself up at the word that his nephew, or that anyone really, was in danger”

Man, you really are so good at balancing humour with drama

[stormysinnoh]

☼About me and my team☼

☼Fun facts about me:☼

I'm autistic and have BPD

I met Mesprit! I hope to meet it again at some point in my life!

I love weird but cute Pokémon

I'm a former trainer but decided to settle down and look after neglected Pokémon

I've visited almost every region with the exception of Alola!

☼Current team: ☼

☼ Appletun♀ My sweet apple pie girl, she helps to get me out of bed in the morning to make breakfast and likes to sit in my lap while I work. I found her injured in Galar after some weird explosion in Hammerlocke and took her back to Sinnoh. She’s really good at calming the Pokémon we look after and often lies beside them on their first night, keeping watch if they’re scared.

☼ Klefki They help me keep track of my keys (and phone haha) but they’re not very trusting of strangers. I found them far from home, close to an abandoned mine. They’d lost all their keys and took mine from my pocket- the rest is history. I’ve had them assessed by several Pokémon breeders and even a scientist but we just can’t figure out their gender.

☼ Glaceon♂ One of the first Pokémon I ever found. He helps me to cool down since I’m not very good at regulating my body temperature and loves to make little snowstorms for other Pokémon to play in. He can be a bit aloof but he’s very caring and uses his cold breath to soothe the wounds of injured Pokémon. He’s also a slightly different colour than other Glaceon I’ve seen- maybe it’s just the lighting though.

☼ Goodra♂ A kind, sweet boy. He refuses to leave my side at all times so I'm always covered in some kind of goop. I found him in the Kalos region on a very hot day. He was mostly dried out and I thought he might die before I brought him to a Pokémon centre. It took three weeks for him to recover but all the while he never wanted to leave my side (even when I had to go). When he was finally cleared to go home, he slept in my bed every night (and every night since). I bought waterproof sheets and pillow cases so now he doesn't ruin my linens.

☼ Swinub♂ Food obsessed but deeply loving. He never strays from giving everything a snuffle and loves being held (all the time, literally all the time). He’s dug through my floorboards several times, looking for food I dropped between them (the repairmen know me by name at this point). He's found several cool items like evolution stones and even stardust when I take him for walks! I found him near the base of Mt Coronet and he came home with me because he wanted more treats.

☼ Totodile♂ A little shit, through and through. When he's not trying to bite my arm off, he's eating everyone else's food and gnawing on my sofas. He means well but by Arceus does he get on Glaceon's nerves. We first met in the Hoenn region, his trainer was using horrible methods to try and make him stronger. After he lost a battle to a gym leader, his trainer left him in Mauville City where I rescued him. After months of rehab, he finally trusts me enough to not abandon him (though I suspect his battling days are behind him).

[zeawoo]

New beginnings

—yang jungwon

PAIRING ▸ NextDoorNeighbor!Jungwon x Fem!reader

GENRE ▸ fluff, a surprising amount of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, neighbors to friends to lovers

SUMMARY ▸ When a new family moves into the apartment next to yours, your parents grow quite fond of them whilst their son catches your attention with his—very—cute dimples

WORDCOUNT ▸ 2.32K

DISCLAIMERS & TAGS ▸ mentions of food, jungwon is moving and he’s most definitely not happy about it, a lot of reminiscing, mint choco (derogatory), hiyyih is a real mvp here, a terrible attempt by me at being poetic by putting together random stuff to create metaphors

In the cycle of seasons, each one of them held its own meaning. Summer symbolized hope and positivity whilst its counterpart, winter, represented pain and loneliness. Between the two, autumn was there to fill the bittersweet void. It was what people often compared to adulthood; the transition between being a teenager living their best life to an adult with responsibilities to worry about. But with pain came new beginnings, and that’s exactly what spring was there for. Blossoming life.

That’s what Jungwon’s parents had told him when they sat down and had one of the hardest conversations a parent could have with their child. They were moving. Far away.

Jungwon didn’t say anything. He listened to them as they tried their best to sugarcoat the unexplainable feeling of leaving everything behind to start a new life somewhere else he wasn't even sure he was going to like.

When they announced that the move would take place in three months, Jungwon excused himself and retreated to his room where he spent the rest of his night filling the emptiness he felt in his heart by studying for a test that he would be long gone before they even started printing them.

His dog, Maeumi, lay on the neatly made bed. It was like it could sense Jungwon wasn’t his usual self and whimpered, jumping down to nestle against the teenage boy’s tibia. The dog was small, but its radiating body heat was comforting. Jungwon reached down to gently pet its head, chuckling when it responded by licking his hand.

The bedroom door was the only barrier between Jungwon and the reality he wasn’t ready to face. He thought back to a few weeks ago when the guest room had been filled to the brim with empty cardboard boxes. Now it made perfect sense as his parents were using them to put away bits and pieces of the life he grew up with and sealed them in with clear packing tape.

New beginnings. He repeated to himself, finding it hard to understand why it was necessary when things were already going great just how they were right now. New beginnings meant a change of scenery, environment, and mindset. And Jungwon wasn’t very fond of the idea of that.

So when those three months went by at an alarming speed, Jungwon couldn’t do anything but watch as the days decayed into hours. Watching the movers transfer his whole life, everything he knew, into a truck was a signal that time had run out. This was real and the boy had no way out of this. And so with a heavy heart and Maeumi in his arms, Jungwon turned his back to the home he’d grown up in, leaving the uncaptured memories here to disintegrate as time gnawed away at them.

The new apartment felt weird. The walls were too white. Not like the ones at his old house that had turned a little yellow over time. He suddenly missed the creaking of the outdated wood tiles that were far better than whatever the floating floorboards beneath his feet were. His soon-to-be room felt suffocating. It smelled too much of fresh paint and it reminded him too much of a clean slate that was just waiting for him to start filling in.

At the sound of the doorbell ringing, Maeumi jumped down from his arms, running towards the source of the sound. Jungwon stood by the window, observing, watching. Watching as teenagers his age met up at a bus stop. Watching as businessmen took the time to grab a bun from the bakery across the street from their office during their lunch break.

His mother’s voice caught his attention as she called for him in the kitchen. He bowed immediately upon seeing the unfamiliar couple sitting at the breakfast bar along with a girl who seemed to be about his age. They introduced themselves as the Kim’s, next-door neighbors and Jungwon could only manage a polite introduction through his neutral demeanor.

The girl peeked through from behind her father, curiously watching as Jungwon crouched down to kiss his dog’s head before slipping on his shoes and leaving the apartment in search of a place that didn’t feel so.. unwelcoming. The woman sighed watching her son in such a miserable state. She knew he’d acted like everything was fine to not add any more stress and she was very grateful for that, but what she wanted most was for him to get back on track and hopefully find something— someone that would make him find the will to start anew.

And so she turned to you, a sad smile present on her lips as she gently wiped away the tears of her son’s burden from her downturned almond. “Please befriend my dear Jungwon. He’s all alone now.”

When Jungwon came home that day, his parents suggested that he stay over at your place for a couple of days. At least until the movers were done unpacking and assembling the furniture. He made sure it was okay for your parents to host him before gathering his belongings along with his best friend and settling in the guest room. His parents were staying at a nearby hotel and when he’d asked why he couldn’t come along, they’d simply said that it would be a good opportunity for him to get closer to you.

A knock on his door catches his attention and he mumbles for the person to come in. The door opened and you peeked your head inside before completely stepping in, taking up as little space as possible with your back glued to the door. Jungwon noticed how you were treating the guest room as if it were his own, being careful not to overstep any boundaries that he’d felt no right to lay down.

“Here, if you want to go shower,” You said quietly, placing two different-sized towels on the dresser before awkwardly rubbing your hands together. “I’ll set up the futon in the meantime. Unless you prefer sleeping on a mattress? I’ll bring mine over if you want.” You’d said, which made the cavity in his chest start to feel warm all of a sudden.

“I’m okay with the futon, thank you.” He’d replied calmly, peering at his dog who found laying on your feet comfortable. The boy envied Maeumi, wishing he had the ability to quickly adjust to new surroundings without any guilt.

Deciding to leave his thoughts there, Jungwon stood. He grabbed his bag and the towels, not uttering a word for the grateful bow he’d shown you was enough to speak volumes. You felt your heart ache, the exhaustion from having to deal with his life being turned upside down weighing on the half-smile he still managed to put for your sake.

A week went by and Jungwon’s family had finally begun settling into their newly furnished apartment. You didn't spend much time with your neighbor when he’d stayed over, merely sitting next to him during mealtime and running errands together for your parents. You barely talked to each other, except for when you two would play with Maeumi, a movie playing in the background as your parents came home from work and started working on dinner.

Despite all of that, you grew quite fond of the boy. Especially his dimples that made very rare appearances in front of your parents when he thanked them for the food they either made or brought home.

Jungwon hated his new home. Hell, he couldn’t even call that apartment his home for his heart was still stuck in the past. He missed his childhood bedroom, navy walls covered in crayon marks from when his three-year-old self enjoyed drawing anywhere but paper. His new room felt empty. Cold.

And so Jungwon took it upon himself to slip on a hoodie before heading over and knocking on your door. When you opened it, you were surprised to see your neighbor with those dimples you couldn’t stop thinking about. “Hey”

You opened the door wider, stepping back to let him in and Jungwon already felt more comfortable in your apartment than in his, even though they were the exact same save for the furniture and scent. Your home felt a lot warmer, and it reminded him of the place he’d abandoned not even two weeks ago. The smell of fresh bread and candles lingered throughout the air. He felt better here than next door, already reminiscing the meals he’d shared with you and your family, the times Maeumi preferred to sleep with you instead of him.

“Hey, sorry for stopping by. I know I was here a few days ago.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re always welcome here.” You felt your cheeks heat up that the words that left your lips so easily, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Oh by the way,”

He had his full attention on you as you spoke softly, “Have you been registered at the school yet?”

He nodded, “Yeah, the same one you’re going to, I think. That’s what my parents told me, at least.”

“Yup, my parents suggested it to them.” You chuckle awkwardly at the silence that follows and the boy does the same, his dimples showing through.

“It starts in two week, right? Would you mind showing me the way there on the first day so I don't get lost?”

“Of course! We can even walk to school together every morning.”

A chuckle resonates in his chest, “And how about after school?”

You pause to look at him, a mix of surprise as you weren’t expecting him to want to spend more time with you than necessary. “If you don’t mind stopping by the manga store every day then sure.”

Time flew by surprisingly fast for Jungwon and before he knew it, the snow outside had started to melt and the sun shone warmer. Spring was nearing and Jungwon thought back to what his parents had told him almost four months ago. Spring means new beginnings. And for him, it meant a new school that he hadn’t yet seen, classmates that, unlike everyone else, already knew each other from prior years. All he had was the newfound trust that things were going to be okay, and you, the girl he’d often spend time with at your apartment arguing over if mint choco was an acceptable element in society.

Just as promised, you two walked to school together and when you’d got there, Jungwon was whisked away by the secretary before you could bid him goodbye. A chuckle bubbled in your chest watching him awkwardly follow the woman around before you turned to go find your friends.

You’d introduced them to your neighbor and they hit it off instantly. Your art club senior, Jay, had taken quite a liking to the new boy. At lunch, when you’d left the table with Bahiyyih to get some food, the girl looked at you like she knew your deepest, darkest secret. The grin on her face made it hard for you to take her seriously.

“What?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, giving you a pointed look as she switched her gaze from you to Jungwon.

“You like him, don’t you?”

Your eyes grew wide as you began panicking, shaking your head and hands as your friend smiled teasingly at you.

“Oh my god no! Of course not he’s my neighbor, Hiyyih!” You covered your face with your hands, feeling your stomach being overwhelmed with what you could only assume was butterflies at the thought of you and Jungwon being more than friends.

“I see the way you look at him, Y/n. You’re clearly crushing on him and i’m surprised the others— well except for maybe Jay— haven’t noticed yet.”

“What? No! Hiyyih, I-“ You couldn’t even lie because you knew she was right. Somewhere along the way, maybe it was from the usual movie nights in your living room with a tub of mint choco ice cream, or maybe the awkward glances you shared whenever the both of you didn’t know what to say in the middle of a conversation. You couldn’t pinpoint where exactly, but you knew that you started feeling something more than what you were supposed to feel for a friend.

“See?” She raises a brow teasingly, giggling like a madwoman and trudging back to the table with you trailing behind. You slid down to your spot next to Jungwon as Hiyyih sat down between Sunoo and Yeeun.

You could tell she was up to something when she whispered into Sunoo’s ear that made his eyes widen in shock. Yeeun had overheard, and did the same, the both of them switching glances between you and Jungwon.

Before you can send her a signal to stop, Sunoo had already told Jay. The older gasped, a grin picking at the corner of his lips as he looks to a clueless Jungwon.

“So, Jungwon.”

The boy next to you raises his head, completely unaware of the three others watching the situation unfold as they grinned like idiots. “Yeah?”

“Do you like Y/n?”

It didn’t take Jungwon a single second before responding. “Of course, she’s a cool person and an awesome friend.”

Your cheeks heated up again at his words, sending panicked looks to your other friends who giggled as they held each other tightly, mouthing a few words that you can only assume were You got this!

“Would you date her?”

The question from Jay makes you freeze in place, and you’re almost certain the color drained from your face. Jungwon tears his gaze away from Jay to you. For a moment, you swore you saw a faint rosey color dust his cheeks. The smile on his lips was worth more than a million dollars when his dimples were on full display for you to admire. And Jungwon answered, his eyes never leaving yours.

“If she’d let me be her boyfriend, then yes. Absolutely.”

[0risha]

“BONES.”

✰ PAIRING ⤷ dabi x fem!reader

SUMMARY ⤷ It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones, not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself.

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

✰ WC ⤷ 6.6k?

✰ TAGS ⤷ major angst, there is fluff though pinky promise, there’s a suggestive line, please don’t cancel me, it was detrimental to the story manga spoilers, a few curse words, character death, very, very soft dabi, shigaraki is an ass

NOTES ⤷ this is, indeed, the longest thing I've written that wasn't for school. and the summary is just a blurb because i had no idea what to write there. lol, I'm sitting at my laptop while crying my eyes out...... but uh.... I hope you like it ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

You smoke, Dabi takes that into account on the first day he sees you. Dabi hates cigarettes, despises them. He hates that itchy feeling his lungs get whenever he takes a drag, hates the way it makes him feel abyssal, co-dependent. And if there's one thing that Dabi hates, it's relying on something else that wasn't him self.

With that into consideration, he’s not entirely sure why you catch his eye, you’re not typically the type he goes for. He usually chose the dainty ones, the ones that were so eager to experience a jive of thrill, they don’t realize that they’ve encountered a person who played an important role in one of the most powerful villain organizations. 

You're in the corner of a dingy bar, the dim lights somehow doing your angelic features justice. The light catches the glint of your name tag and the pastel blue of your scrubs. You look tired. Even from a far distance, he can see the sunken tent of your cheeks. The cigarette stick which hangs from in between your index finger and middle is halfway from becoming a stub. The plastic platter of pretzels that sit across from your chest is untouched as you grumble out replies to the bartender who's trying to make conversation with —a very uninterested— you.

When the clock hits eleven, your bar stool is scraping the ground as you attempt to leave. The relentless bartender grabs your arm with one last plea. His voice raising when you deny the idea that you should give him your number because you're too pretty to be by yourself. With one last pull, you stomp away towards the exit. Dabi doesn't know if it's because he's a villain too, but he follows after you. His senses telling him that there’s no way the bartender who you’d just rejected would let his wounded pride stay unbandaged. 

He’s careful not to make any noises with the soles of his boots. The absence of street lights concealing his figure. Unbeknownst to him, his body enforces the skills he uses while stalking his next prey. His languid motions flowing with the same transverse as the cold, biting wind.

And you don’t notice a thing, your hands stuffed into the pockets of your thick silver jacket. But when your walking comes to a stop, Dabi’s heart nearly tumbles out from his chest. Not a second later, you pull out a pack of cigarettes and place one to your lips, lighting it in one go. When you resume walking, Dabi’s body internally holds a jubilee with jeers of relief. He’s not exactly sure why he’s helping you but what type of person would he be if he let a pretty lady like you get hurt? 

At the thought, his throat tickles with the hope to let out a laugh.

When Dabi hears the crunch of leaves that bounce off the cracked concrete, for the second time that night he nearly breaks into a fit of laughter. The culprit’s first step is to trap you behind the fenced wall and his burly figure. What an amateur.

A part of Dabi wants to wait and see what you do. Are you a regular civilian? Do you have a strong quirk that would fight him off? His trail of thought evaporates when you hiccup out a laugh, smoke from the corner of your lips flowing into the man’s face. Dabi’s eyebrows quirking up with interest. What’s your next act?

After several hitches of breath, nothing comes and Dabi finally decides to step in as he feels the waves of anger emitting from the balding, middle-aged man who has you cornered.

The confrontation is brief —when the bartender turns to glance at an approaching lean, scarred figure, he scurries off without a word.

“Didn’t have to help me, I had it in the bag.” You squint at your savior as your cigarette bobs with the movement of your full lips. His stature towers over yours but you don’t seem the little bit phased. 

“You weren’t scared,” he says and it’s more of a question than a statement. His cool voice sends a frosty layer through each stack of your vertebrae. Though, it slowly ebbs away as you study his features and realize how pretty he is —his eyes a pool of melted lapis. Sharp cheekbones molded to accustom to scars and silver staples that do nothing but add to your thinking connotation of him being ambiguity personified. 

“Yeah, even if he did... you know.” You wave your hand. “He would’ve died sooner or later.” Dabi’s eyes narrow in confusion as he catches the way your eyelashes flutter prettily against your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh.. uh- he had heart issues, the kind you can’t recover from.” You remove the lit stick from your lips and give him a full-toothed smile. “Thank you, Mr. Stranger.” And with that, you turn away and resume your lethargic walk down an empty alleyway.

Must be your quirk. Dabi thinks as he watches your figure disappear into the grasping shadows of the night. When he returns to the battered LOV hideout, he goes out of his way to avoid any interaction with the League. Refusing to taint his memory of your pretty smile and pretty face.

The next time Dabi sees you, you’re in the same place. This time you’re not wearing scrubs, opting for a more casual look with a baby blue top that contrasts nicely with your skin and jeans that accentuate your figure. You don't have a pack of cigarettes either.

Unlike before, you notice his stare and you bathe in it. The bartender from the other day all but glances at you. Amusingly, you turn to glance at the brooding figure in the corner of the bar with a knowing look.

After two beers and spinning courage, you walk towards Dabi with sway in your step. His eyes follow your movement until you decide to situate yourself next to him in the booth. His low lids focus on you as you fidget with your manicured fingers. Cute. He thinks. You’re too cute for your own good. 

“What’s your name?” You break the silence. Teeth gnawing into the plush dent of your bottom lip.

Dabi takes his time to mull over his answer, he doesn’t notice the way his body temperature flares nor the tiny blue flames that threaten to dance on his scabbed knuckles. A grasp —an unfamiliar cloak, wraps its fabric around his shoulders. Prickles of his being push with urgency to ease it away but it’s all in vain.

“Touya.” 

Touya, from the corner of his eye, watches your eyes light up with interest. Bright and wide with swirling specks of gaiety— joy. Which Dabi guesses are because of him. He turns his attention away from you, not wanting to get warped into your pretty eyes that sparkle just from hearing his name. 

“S’ a pretty name,” you whisper. Sporting a subtle grin, one that blows wide when you see all four chambers of his heart pumping wildly with blood. 

“Can you walk me home, Touya?”

It goes on like this, again and again —conversations with Touya at the back of the bar, sitting next to him in the grimy booth. His replies are quip ones but you know he’s listening to your idle chatter because you feel the way his eyes bore into your skull. 

The night always comes to a close with both of you walking shoulder to shoulder, the plans of your upcoming day echoing off the bounds of the night sky. You live in an apartment building, a shitty one. He remembers you complaining about the squeaky floorboards, your loud neighbors, and the pervy, greasy-haired landlord that barges through your door at the most unreasonable times of the day. Touya raises his eyebrow at that.

“I’ll take care of him for you.” The words fly past his lips before he can stop them. 

Your response is a peal of robust laughter that comes to a halt when you pull out a cigarette. “I’ll be sure to come to you,” you say. Today marked the thirtieth time you both engaged in subtle conversation. He takes note in the fact that you only smoke when you wear scrubs —the rope of curiosity gets the best of him.

“I have to keep up with the appearance of my two personalities, duh.” Touya has no clue what you mean but your clipped tone tells him that he shouldn't pry.

Meanwhile, your eyes flit to his sapphire ones than to his lips.

“Touya?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I kiss you?” You watch the way his eyes widen with a low giggle. 

But before he can answer, your lips are already on his. He’s quick to take action as he cups the underside of your jaw, your breath minty even though you just had a smoke. His head’s a mess, there’s a jumble of terms that fail to come together and form coherent ones. The only thing his brain can commit is the pillowy softness of your lips. Sadly, he can’t enjoy the whole experience. His bottom lip erased with the tissue needed to feel, only leaving a purpled patch in its wake. 

For a second, his chest tides over with a tinge of shame but it’s quickly washed away as you pull him even closer. Your small, gentle fingers carding through his soft, inky tresses.  

The kiss ends when you pull away with a breathless sigh. You stay close to him, noses nearly touching as once shared breaths mingle. His hands are on your hips now, slowly kneading the soft flesh. A couple of seconds dart by as your dark eyes stare into his bright ones. The low-lighted area giving them a fascinating glow.

You want to tell him how pretty he looks at this moment. His flustered expression causing your gut to simmer with heat.

You need to tell him how nicely entrapped his presence always makes you feel but something in you decides against it, choosing to save it for another time. So you search for an alternative, breath growing unsteady as you stumble across one.

“Can you....walk me home, Touya?” This time it's different from the first night you asked him.

This time your voice trails off with a much different undertone.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Touya wakes up before you do. Peeks of the sun squeeze through your bedroom blinds, casting a shining glow on your skin. As he studies your peaceful features, he encounters a divulgence. One that causes his skin to crawl with parasites that immediately beg him to keep up with this facade. To derive a little longer and enjoy this bliss at his own expense. However, Touya decides against it. It’s quite obvious that he’s not the safest person to be around, his appearance giving that thought away. 

It might be better if he tells you first, he thinks.

It might be better if he lets a precious thing like you go before he builds a stockpile of lies that’ll eventually come crashing down when the realization finally hits. 

“I’m a villain, you know,” he murmurs as he watches your eyelids flutter open. He grimaces as he tries to think of what your reaction may be. The first words you woke up to would have to be that you’d let a criminal into your home —into your bed.

He sits up to place his back on your cool headboard. The bell of anxiousness that sits at the pit of his stomach rings after a few beats of silence. You turn to stare at his upright figure with two arms tucked underneath your satin pillow. “I know, m’ not stupid, Touya.” You grumble, turning your head to return to sleep.

“What?” His eyebrows knit has his chest shutters with disbelief. 

You ignore his bewilderment. “Since we’re confessing our deepest, darkest secrets can I tell you what could’ve been my villain origin story?” Touya stares at your face before bursting into laughter, one that nearly causes the staples around his jaw to unhinge. Though, this laughter is one of relief.

 A part of him doesn’t believe it. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever done a deed so right, so pure, that had earned him someone like you. The only thing his reeling mind can suffice is that he had killed a scum in some random, dirty alley that ended up being the lowest of the low. At the random thought, he laughs some more. 

“What?” You can’t help but giggle, his laughter —which was a rare entity— made you giddy with joy. “I’m serious!” You pout, turning away from him to feign anger, your ears stay perked up as his smooth, rich laughter fills your bedroom with warmth. 

“Okay, fine I won’t tell you.” His laughter trails off as he moves from the headboard to lie directly across from you. 

“Alright, tell me.” His abnormal body heat causes you to shuffle closer until you rest your head on his chest. 

When your story is done, he can’t help but stare at the ceiling in cerebrate silence.

At the age of fifteen, a program introduced by the hero association had recruited kids with abilities related to the medical field. Yours being an x-ray like quirk that allowed you to detect diseases, broken bones, and infections. Ones even normal x-ray’s couldn’t see. Forced to drop out of high school to take nursing classes and discard your latest stage of childhood life, you’d already become a registered nurse before the ripe age of nineteen. You worked in a special division, one where you only dealt with pro-heroes. You tell Touya about your worst encounter, one where you diagnosed a collection of broken ribs and the incapability to do hero work for several weeks and got shoved so hard that your ankle had twisted. Fortunately, the program had been discarded when you were twenty. With your inability to do other things that weren’t related to nursing you decided to stay one. 

“Where were your parents?” It takes you a second to answer, chest deflating in the worst kind of way as you remember your father and mother’s shame-ridden faces staring back at your own —your's ridden with disbelief.

“They got money, so it didn’t really matter what happened to me.” You whisper, using the soft pad of your index finger to trace his scarred skin.

“Wanted to be a writer, Touya.” You try your best to hold in your cries but to no avail. “Wanted to write a best-seller,” You laugh, but it’s overshadowed by the watery sob that follows.

And with that, he finally understands. You’re two personas, a writer and a nurse. His chest tides up with pride once he realizes that he’s probably the first person to see and understand what they both mean to you.

“You can still be one,” he says. But it’s a promise of his own in disguise. I’ll change the world for you, make it so you can do anything you want to. It echoes from his every syllable and trails off with a familiar lilt.

And you see it too —hope-filled eyes flit to glittering ones. His, a bright pair of blue gems that shine with raw, unfiltered passion- yet to be completely polished. Against your will, every tendril of your being untwines and wraps itself around his words- you believe him. Unconsciously, your lips blow into a wide smile. “I’ll hold you to it, Touya.”

The stagnant air diffuses once you ask him a question, “when’s your birthday?” 

Internally, you kick yourself in the shin as Touya shoots you a whimsical look. You’re not sure why this is the first personal question you decide to ask him.

But to you, Touya’s painted in grey, moral wise. You’ve only known him for less than a month, his background revealed the same night you met him. When you were with Touya, he didn’t seem like a villain. Villains were supposed to be vile, viscous people that didn’t dissolve properly into the troughs of today’s society. 

His touch was gentle, handling you with nothing other than care. But you’re sure he’s used those same nimble fingers to inflict pain on whomsoever he chose. To you, Touya’s a jigsaw. You’re prepared —at least you think you are— to solve it. Prepared to start with the small pieces. And when those gradually come together, you’d use them as a guide. Treading carefully to work from known to unknown. 

However, Touya prays to the gods that you don’t use your quirk to see the way his heart pumps wildly and the way his breath hitches. It took him over a decade to muddle his brain with different memories to overshadow his past ones not wanting for the abstained shadows of remembrance to embrace him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.

Dabi doesn’t trust himself. 

He doesn’t trust the color of his mind to stay in the now state it’s in. If Touya Todoroki were to unwrap the gauze that clung to his very being, he’d fall apart. And he couldn’t have that. This unforgiving life of his had finally unfolded its palms and given him a gift and he’d stay sane for as long as he could to enjoy it.

“December 15th.” Your eyes widen when you realize the day was when you both had met. “I was your birthday gift then, huh.” You giggle, pressing closer to his body to feel the erratic thump of his heart.

“Guess so.” A good lie is always better than the truth. 

That’s what he tells himself when Tomura asks where he’s been for the past couple of months. Vehement, crimson eyes digging into Dabi’s skull.  He scoffs in annoyance, opting to tell the blue-haired man that he’d been out of town to scout for new members. Rummaging through underground areas where the average of villains was the thickest. 

And yes, they’re all lies. He’s happy that Tomura is as dumb as he looks. Though it may be because Dabi has mastered the art of weaving intricate webs of lies- he’s grateful, nonetheless. 

When Dabi turns away from him, Tomura’s eyes narrow.  

Shigaraki Tomura isn’t as dumb as he looks. But Dabi didn’t know that -at least, not yet.

Here in the LOV hideout, where Dabi’s just a ruthless flame kindler, he finds no self-content, only impatience. Sometimes, taking part in Toga’s antics as a source of entertainment, her bloodlust too damn thick to ignore.

Impatience, a contagious drug that filters through Dabi’s veins and causes his blood to sear whenever he thinks about the overturn he wants hero society to so badly face. It’s the only way this ache of his can be soothed.

At first, it was just for him to bask in -for him to enjoy. For him to see a part of his past, burn. To see a rage of flames that -in time, turned to a cinder, his memories with it. 

But now, he wants you to see it too. He wants to keep you tucked by his side as everything unfolds. Knowing this, he waits. Dabi’s not naive, this dream of his isn’t a one-man act. 

Though, the biggest step closer to glory comes earlier than expected…

He’s a hero, the number two pro hero in all of Japan. His speed and the aid of his wings being his strongest suit. The information he provides is what still causes the Leauge to thrive. And the reason that Shigaraki now knows of the Meta Liberation Army. A powerful villain organization that rivaled Tomura’s very own. Led by a man named Destro, a name that every villain’s supposed to know. Kuriogi tells him this in his usual monotone voice, he’s the founder and now his son currently leads the army. The thing is, Dabi does know but for other reasons. His father was a hero after all.

Shigaraki orders Dabi to keep watch over Hawks. Sure, Dabi has his suspicions too, but he couldn’t differentiate if it’s the hostility he feels after he learns Hawks’ friendly relationship with Endeavor or for the fact that several missions had been deemed as errors because of the red-winged man’s mistakes. 

Though, his stress dissipates when he comes home to you. It didn’t take a lot of time for Touya to get accustomed to your apartment. He’s used to living in shitty places, the League had been -and still is- living in one for months. 

Fortunately, your landlord never comes around. You think it’s because of Touya’s intimidating presence but it stretches farther than that. Farther into the territory of what makes Touya into the fearful villain he is. But, you didn’t have to know that. Touya deliberates. You were stressed enough as it is.

Sometimes you’re not even home, late shift reminders overtaking your flimsy calendar. On those days, when you return, you’re so tired that Touya has to undress and bathe you himself. It’s never a toll, he enjoys listening to your barely decipherable recaps of your day, ones that sometimes turn into angry speeches of frustration that he’s sure to soothe with soft kisses to your pursed lips.

“Touya,” you whisper. Head in the crook of his neck while he lathers your body with body wash. Your head’s cloudy, exhaustion taking its home in your body. 

“Mhmm.”

“Love you, like.. a lot.” The words bleed together with little to no pauses. It’s so slurred that Touya has to mull over it.

When he finally separates them in his head, he pauses. Eyes going wide as the grip on the pink loofah loosens. 

Those words had never been emitted between you two. They were the three forbidden syllables that hung still, frozen in mid-air. It should’ve been easy to say. So easy to confess if push ever came to shove and the tides of adoration ever became too much to bear.

Despite that - in Touya’s head, his sole belief was that he was a package of damaged goods. What solace could you find if he ever told you that he loved you? Would it bring you happiness- fear?

Months had passed between the two of you, the light of winter and spring passing with intertwined hands. But what if- what if- you didn’t love Touya as much as he thought? What if you stayed by his side because you took pity on him? Took pity on a man who had no efficiency, no worth, no value, and used it to your heart’s content to mend yourself together.

Unbeknownst to him, those thoughts had run aimlessly across your mind as well. Both of you were damaged goods. Both of you unfamiliar with the thrum of the common melody. 

When you feel his movements halt, a part of you feels victorious.

Oh, how lucky you were for being high on delirium. This was a chance pulled out of luck’s pocket. 

“Don’t gotta say it, I see it.” He lowers his gaze to see you staring intensely at his chest. Which no doubt encases an organ that beats wildly because of your words. For the first time in a long time, he grows embarrassed. A streak of red blossoms from under his scarred cheeks as he chooses to hide his head in your neck, inhaling the strong citrusy scent of your body wash. 

Hesitantly, you brush your fingers across the expanse of his back. Careful to avoid rough skin. Hoping that with your touch, you can convey a message of understanding. 

I love you Touya and I know you love me.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

On a week that you’re finally off from work, you choose to spend it with Touya. He‘s barely out anyways. When you ask him why he’s never out doing villainy things. He answers with, “to spend time with you, princess.” A chortle at the end of his sentence when he sees you duck your head in embarrassment. 

“Wanna go dress shopping with me tomorrow?” You ask, taking a handful of potato chips in your palm, focus still on your tv show -which Touya believes is the most boring thing he’s ever come across.

He turns to glance at you, eyebrows knitted as he contemplates. 

He knows he shouldn’t, situations where his identity might be discovered, wouldn’t be good for the both of you. 

And if Tomura were to find out…. the possibilities were too endless and Touya would keel over before he put your life in jeopardy.  

But he still says yes- he’s never actually seen you wear a dress, he tells you. A subtle smile adorning his lips when he sees yours. He doesn’t ask why you want to buy a dress all of a sudden but he doesn’t mind.

The next day, you dress him up in a big burly coat that you had found at a thrift store years ago. Touya scrunches up his nose in disdain as you pull it up to cover his purple-hued scars, the fabric smelling oddly like sulfur. If it weren’t for the way you seemed so focused on hiding his identity he would’ve discarded the clothing a long time ago. He thinks the last straw is when you plop a pair of dark sunglasses on his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that!” you fuss. “I tried my best.” 

“Was your best option really a combination of coat and sunglasses?” He exasperates, voice coming out muffled.

“What... I can’t hear you?” You cup the back of your ear, feigning curiosity.  

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “Whatever, let’s go.”

You grab your silver coat from your rack and walk outside, both of you making it to your beat-down  Honda. As Touya shuffles in the passenger seat you can’t help but giggle at his uncomfortable posture, they turn louder when he turns to glare at you but fails miserably, his intimidating face shrouded by the coat and glasses. 

When you enter the boutique a small ding of a bell hits your ear. You smile in victory once you realize the vacancy. A short lady with gray hair waddles towards you and Touya. “Well, hello there!” She exclaims her soft voice matching with the appearance of her shop. Sweet and adorable. “What are you two looking for today.” She walks closer to you two, her motherly aura shrouding you in contentment. 

“Well… I’m not entirely too sure,” you say, clasping your hands behind your back. “But something blue and flowy.” You hum.

“Blue and flowy, you say?” She turns. “Follow me.”

You turn to glance at Touya, whose attention is already on you. You grab his hand and follow behind. She leads you to a wide room, the smell of laundry detergent filtering through the air. Your eyes widen once you see the rows of dresses adorned in plastic.

“These are all my babies.” She waves and turns to you with an expectant look, eyes crinkling as she gives you a warm smile.

“They’re real pretty, aren't they?” You nod. “Well, the dressing rooms are back there.” She points to the far right. “If you need anything just come to me, I’ll be at the front desk.” 

You walk towards the small corridor of dressing rooms and pick the first one you see. Pushing Touya into the stall, you place your hands on your hip after clicking the door shut. He takes his sunglasses off and shoots you a quizzical look.

“Show me your flames,” you breathe out, palms growing clammy as nervousness starts to set in. 

You wring your hands as you watch his adam's apple bob, his stare turning hard. “No.” 

You cross your arms and plead. “Please Touya, I wanna find a dress that matches your flames. They’re probably really pretty… don’t know why you won’t show me.” Your voice trails off.

He had an idea that this would happen sooner or later. There were times where you did see his flames but those were accidents. He always made sure to quickly extinguish them when he caught your peering eyes. 

His chest floods with guilt once he sees your disappointed expression. He didn’t think his flames were pretty. He’d melted too many flays of flesh to count. The last thing he wanted to do was show you the bright-tinged spirit responsible for his grave sins.

But one dilemma Touya has is that he can’t ever seem to jump over the weak spot he has for you. So, he gives a meek - fine.

He watches your features light up with glee, only hoping that you wouldn’t regret asking him for this. “Can I take the coat off, first?” You hum, scrambling to do it for him. Revealing his plain white tee and his dark black jeans. 

“Step back for me,” he whispers, gnawing at the bottom of his scarred lip. He opens the palm of his hand- to first, show a tiny blue flame that sways languidly. Progressively, he increases the flame until it engulfs his hand and upper wrist. When he looks up from his palm to your face, he’s surprised to see that your eyes aren't menacingly calculating or searching for release from fear. Instead, you look on in astonishment. 

He sees the reflection of his flames in your eyes and from that circled mirror, a tiny nibble of his conscience starts to ebb with pride of his quirk. 

After gushing about how pretty his flames look, you commit the color to memory. Dashing out of the stall to search for a dress, humming a tune when you envision his reaction to seeing you in such a nice, quaint dress on such a special day. 

He perks up once you unlock the door, expecting you to change and show him what you’ve found. But instead, he’s met with your smiling face and what seems to be a dress -shrouded in a velvet coverup. “Don’t look so disappointed.” You wag your finger in front of his face. “You’ll see it soon.”

When December rolls by with chilly air as company, you start to see Touya less and less. He never does tell you what exactly it is he does while out doing villain work. Though, he did tell you that his absences would occur more and more since he and his league were working hard to take down a villain organization. 

Your eyebrows had furrowed at that. “I thought villains were supposed to band together,” you asked, head resting on his thigh as you stared up at his face. “Not ones with different philosophies,” he had said, hand suspiciously inching closer and closer to your chest. You hummed, still confused. 

It might sound naive, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Hero society didn’t interest you. You couldn’t say villains did either but Touya was one. One of the bigshots. 

Once, when you’d seen him on the little tv in the corner of your break room, it took a lot in you to not crack a smile. Though the idea of bringing chaos into the world with wide arms made your nerves rack with trepidation, you had Touya, and that seemed like enough. 

Fortunately, Touya not being home was a benefit to your plan. You’d already scheduled your days off for work and booked the reservations for the fancy restaurant that was at least an hour’s drive from your apartment building. It was hard work, but for Touya’s birthday, it was all worth it.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Shigaraki Tomura does not like to be lied to. 

If he had written commandments for the people he came across, that would be his first line, golden engraved. It’s an unexplainable feeling he gets. If he could, he’d describe it as an itchy, hot coil that warps across his skin. It’s not painful, it’s simply annoying. And he feels it nearly every day. The scars that mar his neck being a result of it. 

Why does the world have to be riddled with so many liars? 

Dabi’s a liar, he knows that much. Hawks, that red-winged hero may be one too, but he’d deal with that when things finally came into play. 

Now, he focuses on the man Dabi truly is. Villains lie. Shigaraki knows this, he’s a villain too. But- he tells the truth when it comes to his goals. 

He tells the truth with what he wants. 

What he wants LOV to bring. 

What he wants society to flood with.

So why couldn’t Touya Todoroki do the same?

Shigaraki Tomura’s smart and Dabi is a fool to not see this. Who came up with the plans? The missions? The very concept of LOV? Sure, AFO had shaped him into who he was today but he was the same man locked in Tartarus, not Tomura.

When Tomura finds the roots of Dabi’s lies through Kurogiri’s peering eyes. It takes an hour of pleading for the ghastly man to convince Tomura not to find Dabi and disintegrate him into a fine pile of dust. 

“Why should I!” Tomura shouts, his ruby eyes glaring into Kurogiri’s yellow ones. “He lied to me.” Shigaraki spits out the word so hastily and it’s as if saying the word itself was a sin of its own. Kurogiri nods, silently transmitting his words of understanding, not wanting to raise his temper even higher. 

“But Dabi’s an important member of the League, Tomura.” Kurogiri coaxes. “In a week or so, we’ll be off to fight with M.L.A. If anything give him a warning, a threat. Just don’t kill the boy.” Shigaraki takes a second to glare at Kurogiri but eventually, his shoulders sag with defeat. 

Even though Dabi had committed the gravest sin, he’d show mercy. 

Begrudgingly, he grabs the cup of orange juice from Kurogiri’s hand, his thoughts flying at a fast pace, anger refusing to subside. All until his thinking cogs get stuck on one idea, one thought. 

The thought crawls out from his mind and paints his expression with one of sickening glee. His smile so wide, that rivulets of blood dribble down from his cracked lips. His tongue darts out to lap up the tangy liquid as he gets high on this idea, on this revelation. 

Shigaraki Tomura needs Dabi but Shigaraki Tomura does not need you.

Tomura knows everything about you, your background, your parents, the countless homes you had to reside in, where you live as of now- where you and Dabi live as of now. Where you work and what exactly you’re planning to do on the 15th day of December. It’s terrifyingly easy to uncover reservation logs.

You’re a pretty woman, Tomura could admit that. But you were a stain in his perfect, webbed canvas of the future. Those countless months where he had expected Dabi to be his righteous subordinate and listen to his demands were spent with you. Cooped up at your run-down apartment doing god knows what. 

Tomura’s teeth grit as he digs into the flesh of his neck, specks of blood underneath his fingernails while he fervently scratches the already scabbed skin. Kurogiri glances over at him, seemingly reading his mind. 

“I’m leaving.” Shigaraki swipes up from his dusty seat. Oh, how he missed the elegance of his LOV’s old hideout. 

“Don’t forget AFO’s orders concerning Gigantomachia.” 

Tomura blinks once, twice. “That thing has way too much HP.” He breathes out. 

“For now, I need to do something else.” He whispers, bringing his embalmed hand to rest on his face.

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

Whenever Touya thought of coincidences he thought of the word luck. It was a coincidence that Touya had been at the same bar as you, a coincidence that because of your lack of care for hero society that you’d glossed over the fact that he was a villain. But as Touya stood in your empty apartment, bloody and bruised from his prior fight, his connotation of coincidences slowly turned sour. A bitter taste sat on his tastebuds as he read over your note. 

Happy Birthday Touya, my love.

meet me at the Burqoues Restaurant! 

Take an uber…. I don’t have any money for one 

(using it on the restaurant money) 

so I’ll just take my car.

p.s. you’ll get to see my dress. 

It was a coincidence that the day he told you was his birthday was the very day the League of Villians had merged with the Meta Liberation Army. Touya didn’t know what this grappling hook of fear was, but as he saw that your Honda was still idly parked in that weird angle you always had a habit of doing -it came to take its hold around his neck. 

Maybe you’d actually found a couple of bucks and took an uber instead. Right? 

You were probably in the restaurant, ordering that expensive champagne you really wanted to try. Ready to show that pretty, wide smile you always gave Touya when you saw him. 

Right? 

Touya couldn’t think- couldn’t breathe as he sped down the street. His grip on the wheel was so tight that his staples were close to popping. The loud ringing in his ears drowned out the persistent honking of cars that he nearly collided with. 

What should’ve taken an hour took a measly twenty minutes. Without a second thought, Touya was already out of the car. 

Upon entering, he received perturbed glances. He didn’t blame them, his clothes were bloodied, several staples unhinged from the skin. 

“S-sir?” a tiny voice squeaked. He glanced at the receptionist desk, the bright chandeliers illuminating her meek stare that looked borderline terrified. He probably looked like a villain. 

“D-do you have a reservation.” 

“Yes.” He answered gruffly, head craning to see if he could catch sight of you.

“Your name please.” 

“Touya.” He gritted, eyes focusing back on the receptionist who didn’t seem to believe him. She ducked her head to check, eyes scanning frantically. 

“Oh, yes!” She smiled, it was too wide to be real but, frankly, Touya didn’t care. All he needed to know was that you were here. 

“Table 15.” She pointed. “You won’t miss it.”

Touya didn’t bother to reply, legs already scrambling towards what he hoped would be you. Ignoring the stares that followed behind him.

Table 12

Table 13

Table 14

Table 15-

Touya's heart nearly stops, vision tinging with black as his knees nearly crumble beneath him. 

You weren’t there. 

››››››››››››››››››››› ~★~ ›››››››››››››››››››››

When Touya returned to the now, Paranormal Liberation Army hideout, Shigaraki had given him a smile so sweet that it had caused Touya's blood to run cold.

However, Touya did not pry, choosing to ignore the guilty glances the rest of the league sent his way. And he hated himself for it, hated the coward he'd grown to be in such a short period of time.

Later on that night, he returned to your desolate apartment, choosing to take a cigarette from your half- empty pack. 

Yes, Touya despised cigarettes but at that moment they'd never tasted so sweet. His lungs didn't itch, he didn't feel abyssal. He just felt— soothed. As he took several drags, Touya silently pleaded for the nicotine to somehow make every fiber of his being believe that you had decided to finally leave.

That you had finally realized that a villain like him was no good and would only put your life at risk.

However, his façade had cracked when he'd found multiple files on your desolate laptop, drafts of your story in the making. The first page dedicated to your love for giving you the motivation to publish your first ever book.

And at that moment, for the first time in his godforsaken life, Touya wished he could cry. To show you, somehow that he was grateful for everything you had given him. That he was thankful and sorry for letting his mirror that reflected thousands of moments with you -your arms cradling him, him cradling you- shatter into fractured pieces.

As Touya Todoroki sat on a velvet sofa, arms wide and camera ready, a piece of his brain fabricated the image of you next to him --adorned in a sapphire blue dress, showing him that pretty, pretty smile that he’d grown to love, he told you —and told the world the story he never had the chance to.

To simply, atone.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Alone at the Edge of a Universe - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: You were in an accident before everything went to hell. You don't remeber how it all started. Now you live in a small apartment with a strange man who seems to be trying his best to look after you, but doesnt know how to take care of himself.

AKA: oh my god they were roommates.....Despair Edition TM

Word count: 7169 Contains: fem reader, no pronouns usage, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, very mild blood/injury, panic attacks, despair era Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

There’s an explosion outside your window, and something huge tumbles to the ground. Everything in the apartment is shaking, Knick-knacks wobble and fall off the mantle, smashing on the floor, the bed frame shakes and lurches underneath you. Your fingers are digging tight into the quilt, trying to find purchase somewhere in the quake.

It is not your first collapsing building, and you fear it will not be your last. The world outside the apartment is dangerous and frightening, layers upon layers of horror folded together into the culmination of true despair. You don’t remember how it happened. It was some time ago (weeks? Months? Years?) that you woke up in a hospital, weak and emancipated, barely able to walk. You had been in some sort of accident, whatever happened to the world, started while you were still comatose and all the doctors were long gone when you finally came to. The fact that your life support was even still running was a stroke of luck.

There’s another thundering outside, but this one doesn’t make the house shake. Another building? You can't be sure, it was too far away to be of any danger to you so there is no reason to think about it. Instead you pull yourself up from the bed, bringing one foot down on the floor and being absolutely sure that there won't be any aftershocks before standing up properly. There are little broken pieces of glass and china all over the wooden floorboards, you cross the room on your tip-toes, careful to avoid any of the more dangerous looking shards. It is as you feared, your favorite knick-knack had also broken. You drop into a crouch, trying your best to gather the shattered pieces of what had once been a small glass jar full of little keepsakes.

Your housemate (if you could call him that) frequently brings back little presents from his adventures out into the fractured city. But this had been your favorite, a blue jar with a cork stopper, full of buttons, beads, marbles. Any pretty trinkets he could find for you. The shattering of this particular gift hurts something terrible, because you know it took him a very long time to collect it all. You manage to find a sturdier jar that survived the quake (it was once holding three stems of lavender, long since dead) and scoop as many of the shards and trinkets that you can inside. It isn't as pretty, but it will do for now.

He’s been gone for a week now, and you are hoping he will be back today.  

When he first brought you to the apartment, you couldn't even stand. Confused and scared about what had happened to the world during your coma, and having trouble remembering what your life was like before either. The apartment was a mess when he first found it, but there was a bed and clean sheets in a closet, so it was fine. He sat with you for hours, barely moving, just watching as you slipped in and out of consciousness, as the world finally came into focus. At first you were afraid of him, of his dishevelled appearance, trembling limbs and wide watery eyes. He never made any move to touch you, he sat there and would answer questions if you asked them, but otherwise just watched.

Once you were able to move on your own, he started heading outside for longer stretches of time. He used to just leave for a few hours each week to bring you back enough food until his next trip, but now he is often gone for days at a time. You wonder how long it will be before you can go outside with him. He is strange, but given the state of the world outside, you can’t imagine anyone else is faring much better.

You manage to salvage a decent amount of the broken trinkets and either pour them into a vacant jar or the trash and are in the middle of sweeping away any remaining shards when you hear a shaky knock on the door. He has a key, but he always knocks anyway. You let the broom drop to the ground and dash over to the door to let him in.

“Hey…” you say, pulling the door open. His red striped sweater has more holes in it than it did last you saw him, his hair curled and messy, more grey than white. His disheveled appearance means little, you are thrilled to see him, “Welcome home.”

His eyes are desperate as he looks you over, crossing the threshold of the apartment and closing the door behind him, “The quake...are you okay?”

“I stayed in bed the whole time, I’m fine.” You attempt to take his rucksack from him, to help him carry it to the kitchen. He pulls it away from you and carries it on his own, “A bunch of the gifts you brought me fell off the mantle, though. I should have been keeping them somewhere safer, I’m sorry.”

He wheezes, giggling under his breath as he starts pulling food out from the rucksack and onto the bench, “Don’t waste such sweet apologies on me. I can find more gifts if you want them.”

With you standing in the sitting room, and him unloading groceries in the kitchen. In a different time, this may have been domestic. Your heart warms at the thought, “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Trouble?” He doubles over with laughter, the sound is scratchy in his throat, “You could never cause me any trouble.”

He doesn’t look like he belongs in the nice clean apartment. He stands in the middle of the room, all shaking limbs and wheezy breaths, clutching his own arms like it’s the only thing still keeping him together, but you can tell he is trying, he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, “you were outside when it happened”

He giggles breathlessly, gnawing on the cuff of his sleeve, “you are worried about me?” His knees shake like they're about to give out and he buzzes with manic energy, “Aha! the extent of your hope, it’s incomparable!”

You suddenly notice a line of blood running down from his forehead, curling down past his eyebrow and over his cheekbone. You rush over to him and take his face in your hands. His skin is pallid and sickly, his lips chapped and bleeding. You push his mess of dirty hair away from his forehead and gasp, “you’re really hurt, why didn't you tell me?”

He doesn’t say anything, he’s just staring at you with wet unblinking eyes as a wide smile tugs at his lips. Shuddering under the soft grip of your hands. The gash on his forehead is shallow, but blood is gushing out of it quite quickly and you aren’t really sure what to do. As you look closer at the wound, his eyes flutter shut and you feel him leaning into your palm. Your heart thunders in your chest, he’s cute under all the dirt and grime.

He cares for you a great deal, you aren't sure why. He won't even tell you his name.

“I’ll wash it out for you. Okay?” You say, taking one of his hands in yours and tugging him towards the bathroom. The one gentle tug on his hand is enough that he almost topples over, but he rights himself quickly. His hand is quivering in yours.

“Oh! You don't need to do that!” he protests, but continues obediently following after you, “I’ve dealt with much worse, aha! Don't bother dirtying your hands to fix something that will only break again.”

You grab him by the shoulders and lower him down onto the toilet seat. His big eyes peer up at you from behind the mass of hair now tumbling down over his face, he watches you with a pointed devotion that might make you uncomfortable if you weren't already used to it. He brings his sleeve up to his mouth to chew on it again, you take his hand in yours and lower it before he gets the chance, “I’ll be gentle. Don’t worry.”

His nails dig into the meat of his thighs and he is shivering again. You can feel his legs bouncing as you lean forward to take a better look at the gash on his forehead, he whines when he feels your fingers brush his hair away from his face. You sigh at him, “You know this will get infected if you don't clean it, don't you?”

He whimpers, practically rattling as his tremors get worse, “How kind of you to notice! But I have more important matters to attend to of course.” another bout of laughter boils through him, shaking his bony shoulders,“like you, for instance!”

You drop to a crouch so you can meet his eyes, resting one hand on his shoulder and holding his hair back with the other, “You can't look after me if you’re dead.”

“Oh I won't die.” He breathes, the depths of his eyes shining with a shocking lucidity, “Not yet.”

He really believes that. You can see it on his face, “Either way. I’m going to clean it. Sit tight.”

Sitting tight is not possible. To his credit, he doesn't move on purpose, but he is still shaking intensely as he waits for you. His protruding knees knocking as his legs bounce up and down. You purse your lips and wet a cloth in the sink, the water is a little brown, but all of the water is a little brown so there isn't much you can do about it.

“Okay.” You say, turning back to him and lifting the cloth to his forehead, “Let me know if it stings too much, alright?”

He nods, smiling up at you pleasantly as you bring the cloth down on the gash. There is a lot of blood, the coppery smell is overwhelming but you try your best to seem like it isn't affecting you. If there is any pain, it doesn't seem to be bothering him, his eyes are closed again and he is leaning gently into your touch. Your heart warms for him, and the hand you are using to hold his hair out of his face starts gently scratching his scalp. You hear him gasp, but he makes no move to stop you. His hair is soft, you can feel the grit of dirt and smoke caught up in it, but under that...he is so soft. The blood running down his face is well clean by now, but you don't stop. The washcloth falls from your hand with a splat and his eyes snap open. One of your hands is buried in his hair, combing the mess through your gentle fingers, the other traces the sharp line of his jaw, all the way up to and then down his cheekbone.

“What are you doing?” He asks, you are dimly aware that his shaking has stopped. At least for now.

Your pointer finger runs up the bridge of his nose and over his right eyebrow, now you are the one shaking, “I...don’t know.”

“You’re touching me.” He breathes

Your voice is barely a whisper when you reply, “I am.” you let your hand drop, “I’m sorry. I don't know why i did that.”

He reaches out and takes your hand in his, pressing it firmly to his cheek. His eyes are wild, “You can do whatever you want to me! I don't mind!”

His suggestion raises an unwarranted heat to your cheeks. You gently tug your hand from his grasp, “There’s some vodka in the cupboard. Give me a moment to disinfect you.”

You pick the cloth up off the ground and leave it on the side of the sink as you walk over to the kitchen. All of the food he brought back with him is still strewn about on the countertop, abandoned when you realised how badly hurt he was. You worry about him. Constantly. He was the one who found you half crawling, half stumbling through the desolate remains of the city mere hours after you woke up in the crumbling shell of the hospital. Since then he has been so careful of you, making sure you are well fed, bringing you gifts or clothes, anything he can find out there. He clearly doesn't extend the same olive branch to himself. You stand up on your toes to grab the alcohol from the top shelf, it was already here when he first found the apartment. Half empty. You hope whoever lived here before you had enjoyed it.

“This is going to hurt.” You warn as you step back into the bathroom. He nods loosely and you wring the cloth out as best you can before dousing it in the vodka, “Are you ready?”

“Pain or pleasure,” he starts, looking up at you with a loopy smile, “anything I feel by your hand is exhilarating.”

Oh. You liked that . It made something in the pit of your stomach twist.

You clear your throat and crouch down in front of him, pushing his hair out of the way. His eyes are half lidded, and you can tell he is uncomfortably lucid. He intimidates you a little like this, there is a sharp intellect behind his big green eyes that feels like he is dissecting you with his stare alone. Even though he has stilled quite a bit, his hands are still jittering at his sides. You gently press the alcohol soaked rag to the gash in his forehead, he hisses through his smiling teeth, but the sound teeters dangerously close to being a moan. You swallow, continuing your ministrations.

“Did you get hurt anywhere else?” You ask, purposely focussing on cleaning his wound so you don't have to meet his eyes.

“No.” He says. It doesn't sound like he’s lying.

“Okay.” You reply, “I trust you, but you can't hide these things from me. I have a duty to keep you safe, too.”

A shudder runs through him at your words and his eyes flutter shut. Like he is savoring it, “You are too generous, truly.” his voice is so breathy, and your positioning makes it sound like he is whispering in your ear. You bite your lip.

“It is not generosity.” You laugh a little, your fingers tangling in his hair again, “It’s selfishness. You are all I have and I don't want to lose you.”

He is shaking again, his long fingers grasping at nothing. Like he desperately wants to hold you but knows he can't . His arms wrap around himself instead, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket as he rocks back and forth, “Aha! A regular Pylades you are, looking after trash like me!”

You have long since abandoned any pretense. Not even pretending to be tending to his wound anymore, your fingers brush through his hair unhindered, “Pylades?” you ask, twisting a lock of pale hair around your index finger. Surprised with how much classic literature he’s managed to remember through all this tragedy, this is not the first time he has quoted one such piece to you.

“From Euripides!” he’s grinning now, lips curled almost painfully wide, “You need me to jog your memory, hm?” He asks, leaning forward. He is very close to you now, and your hand freezes in his hair, “Orestes says ‘it’s rotten work’ and Pylades replies-”  

Oh. You do know this one.

“Not to me.” You breathe, heart thumping in your chest and mouth going dry. Your hand slides down from his hair to cup his cheek, you can feel his pulsepoint racing like a hummingbird under your thumb. He is so close now, you can see flecks of gold in his eyes. You can count his eyelashes. You are shaking, “Not if it’s you.”

For a moment, you think you are going to kiss him. For a moment, you want to kiss him. Instead you let your hand drop from his cheek and stand back up, “It’s um...it’s as clean as im going to get it. Might need stitches, but i dont have the means or the skill to do that for you.”

He brings his arms up in a shrug, “No matter. So long as you’re satisfied.”

“This isn't about my satisfaction.” You say, crossing your arms, “You need to take better care of yourself out there. Look, maybe next time i should come with you and-”

He shoots upright, suddenly towering above you, all quivering limbs and sweaty palms, “Nonononono. You have to-” he sucks in a wheezy breath and shakes his head, “-you have to stay in here. For you to be tainted by the world outside, the despair it would-” a breathy laugh escapes his lips, growing and growing in volume, his hands tanging his hair pulling strands out at the roots, “-It would be glorious .” He growls, shaking and panting as he starts hitting himself in the head with his fist and a crescendo of, “nononononononono” is erupting from the cavern of his mouth.

It is frightening, but you are used to it. He gets in these fits sometimes, but has never attempted to hurt you, it’s more like he’s fighting himself. You wrap both your hands around his wrist, holding his arm still so he can’t use it to hit himself anymore before slowly bringing it back down to his side. He is still shaking with a mania that seeps out through every pore, but at least he isn't hurting himself. His mouth runs a mile a minute, arguing with both himself and people you have never met. He talks to them a lot, these other people, you don't want to ask him about them.

“Hey.” you whisper, “I’m here. It’s okay.”

His big eyes turn to you, but he doesn't calm. He is still muttering and shaking, but this is okay. You start slowly rubbing your hands up and down the length of his forearms, “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

He whines and brings one of his sleeves up to his mouth to gnaw on it. You don't stop him, when he gets like this it’s one of his less destructive habits. It's preferable to scratching. You keep rubbing his free arm, your other hand curled around his hip. His eyes are slowly growing less wild, drool is dripping down his chin, “Alright. We’re going to move to the couch. Nice and slow.”

You loop his arm over your shoulders and tuck your other hand into his back pocket, slowly walking him over to the couch. This is the main reason you haven't left the apartment, the door unlocks from the inside so if you really wanted to, you could leave at any time. You’re scared though, both of what is waiting out in the city, and of what will happen to him if he comes back one day to find you gone. He is finally starting to calm when you lower him down onto the couch, still chewing absently on his sleeve, but his breathing has slowed a little. A soft smile tugs at your lips, and you tuck some of his hair behind his ear.

“Why do you worry about me so much?” You ask, more to yourself than to him. Stroking his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, “I am no one to you.”

He is tired now after his episode, his arm is slow and shaky as he reaches out to you, resting his hand in the dip of your waist. The warmth of his skin seeps in through your shirt, your heart climbs up into your throat when he squeezes , “You are hope. You are everything to me.” his eyes are half lidded, and his smile is soft, “The corruption, the despair it...haahaa...it tainted us all, but you-” he takes a deep, shuddering breath, “-you slept right through it. You’re still hopeful...still perfect…”

“And if I hadn't. What would I be to you then?”

“Dead, most likely.” He sighs and it rattles through his chest, “Is there even a point to talking about what might have been? In my experience it has never helped any.”

He’s right. You hate the idea of a reality where you never meet him. This realisation makes your stomach turn. Familiarity breeds comfort, but when what is familiar is a man who is (under dirt and grime and sweat)  incredibly beautiful, you find that it breeds something else as well. You give the hand on your waist a pat, and he lets you go.

“The sun is setting.” You say, trying to distract yourself from how much you want his hand against you again, “I’m going to light some candles before it gets dark.”

“Oh! Before you do.” He manages to pull himself up from the couch and stumbles over to his rucksack, bending over and rummaging through it some, “I hm...i found something for you.”

You stand in the middle of the room, the last dregs of daylight are casting an orange light over his shaking form. He comes back over to you, holding out his offering, for a moment you're not even sure what it is.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, turning it over in your hands. It’s a polaroid camera, a little banged up but it looks like it will still work, “thank you.” you smile up at him, heart melting to nothing in your chest, “thank you so much.”

He laughs a little, shaking as he passes another two objects over to you, “I only found two film cartridges, but i can look for more!”

“No! This is perfect, I'm amazed you even managed to find two.”

“My luck may not be worth much.” He says with a sad smile, “but if i’m able to bring you some happiness with it, then i'm glad!”

“Here, just...give me a second.” Your hands are shaking as you fumble with the first cartridge, popping open the back of the camera and clicking it in. Before he has a chance to protest (because you know he will) you lift the camera up to your eye and snap a photo. For a moment he is dazzled by the flash, but then immediately starts wheezing.

“Wha....What?” His knees are wobbling again, his eyes are wide and unblinking.

The photo slides out of the camera and you grab it between your index finger and thumb, giving it a light shake, “I took a photo of you.”

“Why would you do that?” He’s laughing, but it sounds more confused than it does manic, “You only have two cartridges of film and you would waste a photo on garbage like me?”

“I don't think it was a waste.” The photo has just about finished developing, the light from the flash doesnt do his already pale skin any favors, but you smile all the same, “Sometimes you’re gone for a long time, and if i can't come with you then...i dunno, it’ll be nice to have.”

“You...miss me?”

You see no reason to lie, “I miss you.”

He is just staring at you now, eyes slowly examining every inch of your face. Your heart is racing. He takes a slow, shaky step towards you, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

“I shouldn't.” He says, even as his trembling hand rests on your hip, the pads of his fingers slipping up under your shirt to stroke your skin, “I’m disgusting for even thinking about all that I want to do with you.” His grip on your hip grows tighter, and you feel a warmth in your stomach, “If you knew...eheh...if you could see what i was thinking right now.” his breathing has quickened, and the hand on your hip is trembling. So are your legs, “you’d kick me out of this apartment like the...the...haahhaa...the perverted trash that i am.”

Any thoughts within you about resisting or denying him have long dissipated. You do not even hesitate as you loop an arm behind his head, digging your fingers into the back of his hair, “I wouldn't.”

He doesn't say anything, he’s just looking at you and trembling. A whiny moan escaping his lips.

“The things you want to do to me…” You start, fingers slipping under his striped sweater, just enough to feel his skin, “Show me.”

His hand joins its brother on your hips, and he tugs you towards him. Your lips colliding in a desperate kiss, all tangled tongues and nipping teeth. You moan into his open mouth, your fingers tangling even tighter in the mess of hair on the back of his head, he groans when you tug a little harder, slipping one of his hands up the front of your shirt and palming you over your bra. You cling to each other like two lost sailors adrift in the sea, attempting to find purchase in a world long gone. Your kisses open mouthed, wet and sloppy, desperate and needy. He is moaning and shaking, his long fingers tightly squeezing your breast as his other arm wraps around your waist and somehow tugs you even closer. He is so thin, pressed up against him like this you can feel his bones shifting under his skin. You bite his neck so hard you taste copper on your tongue and a moan explodes from his lips.

“Yes... yes! ” He stammers, drooling and shaking. His mouth pulled in such a wide smile that his lips tear and bleed, “hurt me...hng-hahAHA... destroy me !”

Your hands become frantic, grabbing his jacket and tugging it down his arms. His sweatshirt soon follows, ripped up over his head with a tenacity you didn't even know you had. You want to feel his skin, to suck, to bite, to bury your nails in it. Desperation is building inside you, almost ready to overflow. His skin is salty with sweat when you run your tongue over the length of his collarbone, fingers on your left hand running over each jutting rib as you slip your hand down to grasp his hip. The bone is sharp under the soft skin of your palm. Despite all his sweating and panting, his flesh is still cold under your hand, you want to warm him up. You tug your own shirt up over your head, chucking it behind you and unclasping your bra.

A wheezing laugh escapes him, he pushes his hair away from his face but it immediately falls back down again, “You...you’re…” his breath hitches, his pointer finger traces the underside of breast, shaky and cold, “you’re so soft...so warm .” he moans, licking his lips, “my goddess...would you permit me to pleasure you with my mouth?” he purrs. His eyes are swirling with arousal, his hand creeping up to massage your breast in his palm. It feels so good, he feels so good. He looks at you with this endless devotion, like you are something precious to be protected and loved .

“My guardian angel.” you whisper, tucking a wisp of hair behind his ear, “Whatever you want to do to me. Do it.”

His ghostly green eyes are blown wide, and he is wheezing again, “You just...what did you just call me?”

“I would have died out there on my own. You know that right?” You say, leaning in close enough that the tips of your breasts brush against his bare chest and cupping his cheek in your palm, “You saved my life. You are my guardian angel.”

“You are too kind to me, truly.” He whispers, his cold hands moving to your shoulders as he guides you backwards, “I am little more than garbage after all.” the back of your knees hit the couch and you collapse onto it, “Just a bug under the heel of an ultimate’s shoe...but you...hm…” he drops to his knees in front of you, his grin is all sharp teeth and drool. Some people might have been afraid of him, you thought he was the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen, “you deserve to be worshipped .” he breathes against your skin, leaning in and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples. His mouth is warm and wet, you throw your head back in a wail, digging your fingers into the mess of hair on his head.

His hand slides up the side of your ribcage, thumb rubbing small practiced circles around your other nipple. A needy moan escapes your lips, and your legs drop open almost instinctively. He scrambles forward to nestle himself between them, the sharp angles of his torso dig into the soft flesh of your thighs and his free arm wraps around your waist to tug to two of you even closer together. A strangled cry rips through you as the bare skin of his chest presses firmly against your sex, hips bucking against him almost involentarily, overcome with a desire to just feel him . He laughs against your breast, sinking his teeth into your flesh as his tongue continues lathing across your pert nipple.

“Mm...you’re so soft…” He whispers, resting his cheek on the plump skin of your breast, “your skin is so smooth…” His other hand is still toying with your nipple, rolling it in between the calloused pads of his thumb and forefinger, “haaAAH...I’m so lucky. You permitting scum like me to pleasure you? Your kindness is...hm, how could I put it?” his tongue darts out to give your nipple a lick, you shiver, “It is inexorable ”

“Wrong again.”, You laugh breathily, carting your fingers through his unruly hair, “This is no kindness. This is desire, unflinching. I want you so badly, selfishly .”

A raspy giggle escapes him, shaking his shoulders as he pulls his arms from you to wrap them around himself instead, “Someone like you getting so riled up over someone like me...eheh…” His hands are shaking when he brings them back down to your waist, gripping the elastic waistband of your sweatpants, “The ideas I have - the things I want to do with my fingers,” he starts pulling your pants down. You lift yourself up a little to help him pull them over your hips, warmth blooming in your cheeks, he moans at the mere sight of your panties, “f-fuck…” he whines, all drool and sweat, “i want to finger you until i die . Oh... oh god… ” he’s kneeling lower down now, you can feel him shaking between your thighs, “you smell so good...i want to eat you until there's nothing left. Like you’re my last meal…” his hands come up and grip your thighs tight, he leans in closer to your center and you can barely hold in a moan when you feel his nose bump against the wet spot on your panties. You don't hold in the moan when you feel his tongue. You aren't sure you could if you tried, it tears out of you, the one swipe of his tongue over your soaked panties is like a bolt of lightning to your cunt.

He continues like this for a while, moaning and shaking as he drags his tongue up and down your panties. Occassionally suckling your clit through the fabric. His bony fingers dig so tight in the soft flesh of your thighs that you swear you’ll have bruises tomorrow morning. After one particularly brutal suck, all you can do is sob, pulling his hair so tight that his lips are torn away from your centre.

“Something wrong?” He asks, playing innocent, but the look in his eye is cool and intelligent.

You heave a shaky breath, staring down at him, “Take them off. Please! ”

You swear you see his hips twitch at your demand. Eyes glazing over and tongue lolling out of his mouth as he hooks his fingers through the legs of your panties and tugs them down, leaving them to dangle off your left ankle. A whimper escapes you at the feeling of his breath against your wetness, his hands are hovering above you, shaking in the air like he isn't sure what to do with them. He wants to touch everything, he just can't decide where to start.

In the end, his left hand comes to rest at your hip, while his right middle and ring fingers push their way inside you. Your head lolls backward and your mouth drops open with a long moan at the feeling. His fingers are longer than yours are. A lot longer.

“I can feel you... twitching around me.” he makes a strangled noise, half a laugh, half a moan and pistons his fingers slowly in and out of you. The sound it makes is obscene , but it seems to only encourage him further. He leans in, and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently and occasionally flicking it with his tongue. Your hips buck reflexively, trying to get closer to his mouth.

“Ahh - ah! You taste so sweet...” he whispers against you, his breath cold on your burning flesh, “I - mmph...i feel like adam biting the apple...or persephone swallowing the pomegranate seeds...haah…” he removes his fingers, and his tongue slips inside you, swirling around before he returns his attention to your clit, “But which do you think it will be, hm? Will i be forced to leave you, or will i be bound to you for all eternity?” his eyes meet yours, boiling with passion and desire. He looks godlike between your thighs, grinning up at you with sharp teeth and the sheen of your own slick all over his chin. All you can do is shake and moan, quivering for want of him, “Care to try your luck answering the million dollar question, my goddess?”

“Never leave me…” you say, chest heaving. You reach down and cup his face in your hand, “I will never ask you to leave me.”

“Never?” he asks, his smile growing manic and his nails digging into your thighs. You hiss at the pain, “A dangerous promise.” His tongue enters you again and he moans sinfully against your skin, slowly thrusting the wet muscle in and out of you. His hands slip down under you and he lifts you up by you ass, pulling your sex even closer to his face. You whimper and moan and grind against him. Fingers tangled in the mess of his hair as he tongue fucks you into oblivion.

He’s whining and groaning, devouring you like a man starved, and when you feel the couch lurch, you realise he is also desperately grinding his cock into the front of it. You tug on his hair again, weaker than last time as the wobbly feeling of pleasure has overtaken you. He slowly draws back from your sex, licking his lips and staring up at you with his intimidating eyes, “Mm?”

A shaky breath rattles through your lungs and you lean forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips, “I want you inside of me. Would that be okay?”

“I was already inside you.” He says, smirking and sticking out his tongue as a reminder.

“You know what i mean.” Your eyes flit down to the tent in his jeans, making what you really want even more obvious than it already is.

“You spoil me.” He breathes, pressing a wet kiss to your jawline, “You couldn’t possibly know how desperately I want to sink myself inside you...but I- haaahh ...I am not worthy of such an intimate act.” His fingers reach out, and slowly begin circling your clit, you choke on a moan, “I am more than happy to pleasure you like this...no need to worry about my satisfaction.”

“But I want to see you come undone.” You hiss as his index finger circles you entrance, “I want you on top of me, inside of me. I-“ his finger pushes inside and your breath catches, “-I want you to fuck me. Please .”

A giggle bursts from his lips that quickly grows into a cackle. His shoulders shaking with its intensity, a line of drool dripping down his chin, he throws his arms wide and shoots you a manic grin. All teeth and gums, “If that is what you truly desire, then it would be pointless to deny you any further!” He clambors up from the floor, stumbling a little as he struggles to remove his jeans, “After all, I want you as well.” He purrs, his jeans and boxers dropping to the floor, “More than that…” he breathes, lowering you by your shoulders until you are lying back on the couch and nestling himself in between your open legs. Your heart is racing, he is hovering over you now. His lips barely a breath from yours, and the head of his cock brushing against your sex. He groans, “My goddess, I hunger for you.”

He hisses a breath in through his teeth as he starts pushing himself into you. Hips shaking as he resists the urge to shove himself in with one long stroke, his eyes roll back into his head and he moans. The feeling of him slowly entering you, combined with watching the strangled ecstasy on his face, it’s the most aroused you’ve ever been. You can feel yourself clenching around him, your own hips quivering as he finally bottoms out inside of you with a raspy groan, “So wet…” he hisses, “You feel so good around me…” he slips one of his hands down between the both of you, rubbing gentle circles around you clit. You keen loudly at the feeling and his hips stutter into yours, “Y-you like that, huh? I felt you tighten around me…”

You nod loosely, struggling to speak through your moans, “Please...move…”

He visibly shudders at your request, slowly inching his hips backward, and then forward again at full force. A moan that shifts to laugh halfway through escapes his lips, and he finally sets his rhythm. His hips snap against yours with a desperate fervor, he whines and mewls above you, his hair bouncing delicately with the movement. Eyes half lidded and drool slowly dripping down his chin. You look up at him in absolute awe, he looks and sounds like an angel . Covered in grime, twisted and tangled, but an angel all the same. His fingers return to your clit and you moan again, digging your nails into the skin of his back, tracing the protruding vertebrae with your fingertips.

A particularly deep thrust causes a choked sob to break forth from his lips, his head lolls forward and he nuzzles into the join between your shoulder and neck, “You’re perfect .” he breathes, hips still pumping, “I’m throbbing...can you feel it? Can you feel what you are doing to me?”

You can . You can feel the warmth of his cock pulsing inside of you. His arms are trembling and his breath is a rapid staccato, he’s trying to maintain his composure, “You feel so good, sweetheart.” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. He breath hitches when you call him sweetheart .

“You are so kind to me…” He wheezes, his breath warm against the column of your throat. You shiver, a strangled moan escaping you as his dexterous fingers circle your clit even faster. Your thighs tighten around his narrow waist, hips grinding against the meat of his palm and deeper onto his cock. All you can do is shake and moan, the muscles in your stomach tight and only growing tighter. He looks at your face, visibly euphoric, “are you close?”

You nod and he drags his tongue up the shell of your ear, “Jeez...I can’t believe trash like me is going to make you cum.” His eyes are wide when they meet yours, lips pulled tight in a grin, “You’re going to cum for me!” His hips move against yours at a frantic pace, his hands groping any part of you he can reach, a laugh in his chest building to a crescendo as he hits deeper and deeper inside of you, “You’re going to cum around me and I’m going to feel it...I-haaaaHAAAAA-“ he can’t speak any more, he’s laughing and moaning and fucking into you with an unbridled desperation.

“You need to...cum...Ah~ I want you to cum too…” you swallow, words catching in your throat when his fingers start working your clit again, “Cum inside me, angel. Please .”

“In-Inside?” He stutters, breath heaving and teeth clenched as he grows closer and closer to climax, “You would permit me to soil your insides with my filthy seed?”

“I don’t just permit you. I’m begging you! ” Your hips are canting up to meet his, wanting to feel him as deep inside you as possible. Drawing yourself tantalisingly close to orgasm, “I want to see you, to feel you. Come undone for me, please.”

His breath hitches, and his eyes grow dark. His fingers begin circling your clit at a brutal pace, his mouth collides with yours in a desperate kiss, all tongue and clicking teeth. You moan loudly into his open mouth, legs twitching underneath his frantic ministrations. His fingers on your clit, his cock pumping in and out of you, his tongue tangled with yours. The heat in the pit of your stomach is boiling, your breath is coming in gasps. It feels so good.

“You’re mine.” He whispers against your lips, and you swear you hear a sob catching in his throat, “accept me, please. Cum for me, my love.”

With those words, he kisses you firmly, thrusting deep and slow inside of you, and the coil in your stomach finally snaps as you cum with a strangled moan. Dragging your nails down his spine and curling your toes, warmth settles through your entire body and it feels like a perfect finality. He whines against your lips, grinding and writhing as you walls clench around him, then his eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open in the most beautiful moan you’ve ever heard, and he cums .

His face softens in that moment, and for just a second, he looks normal. Like someone you might pass on the street or sit next to in class. You see him , and your heart turns to butter. You love him. Slowly, the speed of his thrusts peter out and he heaves a breath, eyes half lidded, giving you satisfied (albeit sleepy) smile. You return it, brushing your fingers down his cheekbone.

“Thank you.” He whispers, eyes moist with what will soon be tears.

You curl your hand around the back of his head and tug his forehead down to your lips. His skin tastes like sweat, “No. Thank you .”

*

He leaves the next morning. Unlike all the other times before, he never comes back.

[writesowhatnext]

the teacher’s pet // neville longbottom

Summary: the reader visits their husband, Neville, at work

Request: Neville Longbottom but after the war, maybe being married and visiting him at hogwarts with your toddler?

A/N: this was so fucking cute I screamed also I wrote hagrids bit like a normal person but then I was like nope let’s be real here Hagrid has his own brand also I watched philosophers stone while writing this and oh boy Neville makes me cry

Reader: unspecified, parent

Warnings: children

“How was that, baby?” you asked, pleased to see your daughter’s smiling face cheerful despite the appariting. You sighed, releasing a shaky breath. “At least someone liked it.”

It seemed she was better at it than you were, you thought as you readjusted her in your arms and swallowed the bile that crawled up your throat from the process. She giggled as you shifted the gift bags in your hands and when you glanced at her, your chest tightened a little bit. She really was perfect. With her pretty green eyes and mop of dark hair, she had Neville written all over her face and you couldn’t help the way your heart soared as you looked at her.

“Come on then, darling,” you whispered, stroking her cheek with the back of your hand. “Let’s go find your dad.”

Walking through Hogwarts after so long was a strange experience. After the battle, they’d rebuilt all the fallen structures and the new and improved architecture of the school seemed foreign to you. Most of the hallways were familiar; at the back of your mind, you remembered running down them with Fred and George, sneaking off with Neville in the dark of night, silencing his worries with stolen kisses. You shook your head at the image of Ginny throwing a bat-bogey hex at Malfoy, a fond smile on your lips. There were so many memories that lingered in these corridors and one day your daughter would make her own. You were so wrapped up in your reverie you barely noticed the eleven-foot-tall man wandering down the corridor towards you.

“Y/N?” he said, drawing your attention away from the curtain you’d once hid from Filch behind, Neville’s grip eating into your hand with nerves. “Blimey, I thought that were you. Barely recognised yeh’-“

Hagrid stopped in his tracks as you turned around, your daughter taking a break from her goal of shoving her whole blanket in her mouth as she stared at the giant of a man.

“Now, who is this?” Hagrid asked, creeping closer and crouching down to make her less nervous. Your heart softened at the thought, even if he was still obscenely large and looming.

“Say hello,” you whispered, squeezing her leg lightly. The blanket dropped from her mouth as she grinned.

“Hello!” she squealed, reaching out to Hagrid with grabby motions. “Big man.”

He cooed as she barely managed to wrap her fist around his little finger.

“Oh,” he whispered. Tears filled his eyes. “She’s a beauty, she is. What’s ‘er name?”

You smiled, bobbing her up and down gently as you pushed a lock of hair from her face.

“Frankie,” you said. “After-“

“Neville’s dad, yeah,” Hagrid cleared his throat and pulled away, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “A great man was Frank Longbottom.”

He nodded solemnly. “How is he doing? And Alice?”

You paused, swallowing as you thought about the last time you’d visited Neville’s parents. It had been the same as the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before. It was always the same.

“They’re alright,” you said, an optimistic take on the situation. “As expected, I suppose.”

He nodded again before he straightened up, his eyebrows raising.

“You’ll be here to see Neville, won’t yeh’? It’s just turned lunchtime.”

You chuckled at him, biting your lip as you shifted the bags in your hand, remembering why you were there.

“Yes,” you said, watching Frankie with a small smile. “It’s this angel’s birthday today.”

“’Er birthday?” Hagrid thundered, earning a few grumbled murmurs from the portraits around you. “Well, in that case, yeh’ must get on; ‘ave to make sure she sees ‘er dad on ‘er birthday. You know where to find ‘im, don’t yeh?”

“He’ll be where he always is, Hagrid.”

You laughed again as he shooed you off, smiling as Frankie waved at him.

The walk to the greenhouses was a familiar one as you retraced the steps you’d made so many years ago; this time without the gaggle of students surrounding you, laughing and joking, but with your daughter in your arms, eating your jumper. You heard Neville before you saw him, his confused muttering carrying under the glass roof of the large room. A grin stretched at your cheeks as you finally saw him leaning over his desk, frowning deeply at a pile of essays on his desk. He looked up at you when a floorboard creaked underneath your foot.

“Hi, love,” he said absentmindedly, before returning back to his work, scratching away will his quill on the parchment. You smirked, treading closer.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, head darting up when he realised who was in his home away from home. “It’s you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, handsome,” you said, smiling as his chair scraped against the floor.

“Dada!” Frankie squealed, reaching out her pudgy little hands, her grin only widening when her father lifted her into his arms.

“Hello, little one,” Neville whispered, bobbing her up and down. He chuckled as she placed her hands on his cheeks, his eyes shining with an adoration that made your heart flutter.

“How’s my favourite husband doing, today?” you asked, setting the gift bags on the floor and kissing him on the cheek, moving to sit on his desk.

“I should hope I’m your only husband,” he said happily, tearing his eyes away from Frankie to look at you, the same adoring look in his eyes.

“You should be so lucky,” you said, grinning when he shot you a dry glance.

“I’m kidding,” you huffed, pecking him on the lips as he walked past. “What more could I ever want?”

You enjoyed the blush that spread over his skin, biting the inside of your cheek as he distracted himself by playing with Frankie, watching her tug on his finger. A strange longing filled your chest.

“How was she this morning?” he asked, turning to you again.

“Good as gold,” you said, waving your fingers at your baby girl. “Bit grumbly when I told her she couldn’t open anything yet, but when I told her that she’d get to see her daddy, she lit up like a Christmas tree.”

You brushed her hair from her face as he brought her closer to you, a wonderful pride flooding through him. “Didn’t you, baby?”

Her smile lacked teeth as she grinned a wide, wide smile, but that only made her cuter, her eyes lighting up like stars. 

“Time for presents?” you said, looking more at Neville than Frankie.

“What a great idea,” he replied, the high-pitched tone of his baby voice making you laugh. “Isn’t that a good idea?”

The greenhouse was filled with giggles and coos as Frankie opened her gifts. Of course, for a toddler, paying attention to anything long enough to reveal it from a colourful casing was a chore. However, with you and Neville’s help and baby-talk encouragement, she ended up surrounded by brightly-coloured and outrageously noisy toys. She was perched in Neville’s large swivel chair, her little legs far too short to reach the edge and she looked unfairly adorable. Neville came up behind you as you leant your hip on the desk, watching her play. His arms circled your waist and he leant his chin gently on your shoulder.

“She’s a little princess,” he said softly, hugging you to him.

“She really is,” you said, rubbing your hands over his.

“I’ve missed her,” he tilted his head agaisnt your own. “And you.”

You hummed.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing his lips to your temple.

“What for?”

“Her.”

A peaceful silence fell between you as she swung one of her toys in her grip, the bright yellow rattle already dripping with saliva.

“Hey, Nev?” you asked, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. You hadn’t anticipated your words, but something about the moment and the longing pulling at your insides made the words tumble out.

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you ever think about having another one?”

“Another what?”

“Another kid.”

He stiffened behind you and you gnawed at your lip, already regretting your question.

“Are you for real?”

You exhaled sharply before turning to face him, preparing to retract your words, but surprised to see a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I know she’s still so small, but she’s growing up so fast and wouldn’t she just make the best big sister? I know it’s-“

You were cut off when he pressed a long kiss to your lips, your mind drawing a blank as he turned you around in his arms, his hands settling on your lips.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly, the same youthful sweetness you fell for displayed all over his face. “A hundred times, yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You stared at him for a moment before the sound of something hitting the floor garnered both yours and Neville’s attention. You turned to see Frankie grinning at you, her face resting on her chubby fists and her elbows on her knees. She looked wise beyond her years as she stared back at you both and as she started clapping, a delightful shriek slipping from her lips, you convinced yourself that she’d somehow understood.

“Seems like she wouldn’t mind someone new to play with,” Neville said, smiling brightly.

You just looked at him, letting your hand fall against his chest before you pecked his lips once more. You had to agree.

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[allegoryofthebeast]

hey omg i love your excerpt in that web weaving post is it part of a larger piece? I'd love to read it if it is!! 💕💓💟💖❣️

Omg you’re so sweet yeah it is part of a larger piece! I’ll post it down below but I feel like I have to disclaim it is truly just a super angsty kinda long reflective essay that I wrote when I realized I was actually really sad about being dumped teehee. But you’re so sweet for your interest! (I hope I have appropriately lowered your expectations :) )

A Pirate Fairytale

He sent me more of his writing tonight because I always ask to read it, and I am desperately pouring over it trying to find a shred of myself, that he’s feeling as lonely and lost as I am, that he wants me back too – or – maybe that he does miss me, at all. Misses me the way I miss him. Misses me the way he lies awake at night, haunted by his new boyfriend and how he’ll never be as charming and interesting, free-spirited and attractive in an infatuating arrogant way as I am, but despite my warring desperation and my cliff diving hopes built on a bedrock of crumbling dirt, a thousand years could hardly be enough to dull my aspirations, though – there was only a single phrase. 

I’ve moved on. It told me. He’s gone, really gone. And not in any way that matters, or maybe the only one, he’s still my friend, my friend who tells me about his new man and expects me to laugh when he’s funny and coo when he’s sweet, get mad with him when he’s exasperating. And I do, I love it. Because I love him.

Heartbreak came to me obliviously, and unwillingly. I spent months wondering why I wasn’t sad that we were ending things when his inevitable moving away came ever closer, until it was a week until, the next day, during – I gave him a CD of my favorite singer I can only imagine he didn’t listen too, which I understand – until it’s been five months and I finally understand the sinking feeling that’s been soaking me unconsciously yet steadily the whole time. I’m a drunken sailor locked in the brig for punching the caption in his smug face, a face I’ve only seen in blurry dating profiles and – I don’t know, I think he’s cute, I want to start dating again. I’m stuck and I’m drunk, again, only everyone’s gone and everything’s changing. Naturally. The ship is sinking. We’ve been hit by too many cannons this time and mermaids are gnawing on the rotting plywood and I could squeeze out my tiered hat and I could jimmy the lock or use my yellow nails to pry up the floorboards. I could leave if I wanted to. I could say something. I’m stuck in here, I could say. This is awful, I’m sorry I got drunk and I’m sorry I punched him, could one of you let me out, please? I won’t though. I hate doing that. I love the feeling of saltwater biting into my bloody cuticles and filling in through my ears, bouncing my brain on my spinal cord. I love it. I love him. I see that now, I really did.

For half my life I’ve been saying I’ve only been in love once, with a girl five years older than me but I realize with thoughts that only tend to come while floating that now I’ve loved twice. What an incredible thing, I think, to be in love twice. To have loved two beautiful people in almost no time at all. I’m young which makes me stupid, and I feel that now in the way I didn’t really kiss him before he left forever and moved on within the course of three months. I don’t really like kissing. We never had sex. I only kissed one of them, I wish I could’ve kissed the other one too, even if I wouldn’t have liked it, just so I would’ve known something. Something.

Something is very important while the water is getting dangerously close to my eyes, filling the brig like a pitcher. Even if he’s moved on and I haven't, something helps me think myself a little less pathetic. Something helps me think that at least I showed I cared somehow, I can only dream up the emotions he must’ve received when it took five whole months for them to reach me. My own body is like a secret, a list ranking the prettiest people in school that gets thrown in the trash bin before I can read it, before I know if they're written on there, if they leave behind a trail of broken hearts. If I'm on there. If they’d want me if I wasn’t.

I’m thinking I’m particularly jealous of the mermaids, as I glance at their graceful movements and gestures, eating the wood and my bloated rum-drenched dead fingers with beautiful smiles on their faces. I’m trying to rationalize to myself how I let this happen. How did I let myself get so drunk again? How did I let them leave me like that? Why didn’t I say something, I could’ve said something. They’re good people, they would’ve listened, I loved them you know. I can’t say with certainty if they loved me. I cannot deem myself as the kind of person people love. The description of my death should be palpable in this. They certainly liked me. I am very fun and very interesting when not floating dead in briny water, missing my fingers and ears to those beautiful sirens pulling apart the memories of the only vessel I’ve ever lived on. I cannot say if they think about me, floating and huge, practically decomposed after all these months, krill play in my molars like a playground. I cannot say they think of this ship, partially nothing, just the sails that the mermaids could not chew through, the weave irritating their canines. They’ve moved on. But I love this place. I’m going to stay until it’s gone entirely.  

[chasingshhadows]

so just give me all of you

(AO3 link) Post-1x13 Malex ficlet. 

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

“Guerin?!”

Michael passed out in his truck a half mile from the junkyard, the fever panic of seeing Max’s lifeless body floating in that pod finally succumbing to the weight of days without sleep, to the adrenaline crash of weeks on edge.

He woke up to the frantic patting of Alex’s hands against his cheeks, to the shout of his name through the alarm beeping of a car door left ajar.

“Guerin, come on, wake up, fuck!” Alex’s voice was panicked as Michael groaned and scrunched his face against the light peeking through his eyelids.

Then relieved. “Guerin, thank god,” he said on a sigh. “Are you hurt? What happened?” Alex’s hands were warm on his face.

“Alex?” He tried opening his eyes again, blinking before he was able to bring Alex’s face into focus, eyes wide and brow scrunched together.

“There you are, hey. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

“I-” Michael closed his eyes, shaking his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, Alex ducked down to catch his line of sight, hands tightening on his cheeks.

“Guerin, talk to me. I need to know if we can move you.”

Michael looked around them. He was in the cab of his truck, engine still rumbling the floorboard under his feet. His hat was resting haphazard on the dashboard like it’d been thrown there, jacket half-slid from the seat to the floor next to him. The beeping noise was coming from his left - Alex’s truck, parked several feet away, driver’s door thrown open. Outside the passenger side window, the junkyard rose out of the desert, the clouds from the night’s storm retreating behind it along the horizon, sun high in the sky.

It shouldn’t be on the right. It should be in front of him.

Michael looked back to Alex. “What happened?”

Alex sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. You went off the road.” Alex’s hands tilted Michael’s head into the light. “Are you drunk?”

Michael blinked, pulling away from Alex’s grip with a scoff. “No, I’m not fucking drunk, Alex.” He rubbed the bridge between his eyes with his left hand. “I-” He cut off, eyes catching on the colors shimmering on his hand, context sliding like oil into his mind.

Alex drew back in the small space, hands dropping as he pressed against the open truck door. He’d changed since the night before, deep red sweater under a black leather jacket. His hair was gel-spiked, carefully mussed - he hadn’t worn it that way since high school. Michael knew he wasn’t allowed the flush of content he got seeing Alex this way. He glanced away, focusing on his hand, tilting it toward him to get a better look at the shiny, multicolored handprint. It’d been years since Max had left a mark like that on him.

“Guerin. Your hand.”

Michael looked back up, meeting Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He tried not to think of the last time he’d seen Alex look so shell-shocked. Tried not to think of the prison, of buildings exploding, of dozens of voices going quiet in his mind. He swallowed. “Max is dead.”

Alex blinked. “What?”

Michael sighed. He was too tired for this, mind sluggish and heavy, the weight of an exhaustion headache pulling all his senses down. “Look, I know I said we’d talk but right now isn’t much better-”

“Guerin, stop, what do you mean, Max is dead? What happened?” When Michael didn’t say anything, just let his head drop into his hand, taking a deep breath, Alex’s voice went softer. “C’mon. You need to sleep.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Michael mumbled. He reached absently for the gear shift, catching only air before noting with surprise that it was in Drive instead of Park. He glanced down - his foot wasn’t on the brake.

Shit. He’d drifted to a stop. He’d gotten lucky - very lucky. His foot must have slid off the gas pedal when he passed out, but if it hadn’t… He looked up through the windshield, seeing the jutting landscape, heart clenching sharply in his chest at what could’ve happened. The road was off to the right, farther than he was comfortable with. He’d drifted through the cracked desert soil and scrub brush for a couple hundred feet.

Exhaling sharply, Michael moved his foot to the brake out of habit, hand reaching for the gear shift to put it in Reverse, but he was stopped when Alex reached out with lightning quick reflexes, stopping him in an iron grip around his forearm.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to bed? Watch out.” He shrugged out of Alex’s grip, almost surprised when he let go.

“You’re not driving.” His voice was firm, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

Michael was used to ignoring that tone, especially from Alex. “Alex, I’m fine. It’s right there.” He gestured out the window.

“No. Get in my car, I’m driving.”

Michael took a calming breath. “Look, you can follow behind if it makes you feel better, but I’m not leaving my truck out here.”

“Oh, and how is that supposed to help when you go off the road again and crash into Sanders’ house? Or go speeding into the desert and flip your truck on an outcrop?” He was glaring and tilting his head in that way Michael usually found cute.

It wasn’t cute now.

“God, Alex, I’ll be fine, I just want to go to sleep.”

“Fantastic, we’re on the same page for once. Now get out. You can walk if you want, but I doubt you’d make it very far.”

God, but Alex was infuriating. Michael was tired, he was drained beyond capacity, and there were too many memories fighting for space in his head, far more vivid than seemed fair when every other thought was foggy. He couldn’t deal with Alex right now.

“Alex, just go home. I can’t do this right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you get out of the truck.”

“I kissed Maria.”

He just blurted it out, thoughtless and sharp, the only thing his weary mind could rummage up to make Alex go away. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Alex to slam the truck door closed and go storming off, maybe. What he wasn’t expecting was for Alex to roll his eyes, mouth dropping open on an exasperated sigh.

“I’m aware. Now get out.”

Michael felt cold in the late November air. “Wh-” What does that mean? How did you know? Why are you still here?

“Maria called,” Alex answered the unspoken question, leaving the others floating dangerously between them. When Michael just stared, Alex leaned back against the door, eyebrows relaxing. “For fuck’s sake, Michael, I’m not leaving until you’re in bed. Either you get out of the car, or I drag you out. Your choice.” He reached around the wheel for the keys, but Michael got there first, batting him away and putting his hand over the keyring, the keys tinging as they knocked together.

“Have you forgotten the part where I’m telekinetic?” Michael was getting mad again.

Alex snorted, mocking smile tugging at his lips, eyebrows rising.

Michael sighed heavily, looking to the side. They both knew Alex was right - he didn’t even have to say it.

Fuck, he was tired. The longer he sat here arguing with Alex, the longer before he could pass out and try to forget this day - these last several days, in fact - ever happened.

“God, you’re fucking stubborn,” he spat out, angry as he gripped the gear shift and put the truck in Park.

Alex smiled, head tilted in sarcasm. “It’s part of my charm. Let’s go.”

Michael grabbed the keys and his jacket, swallowing down a growl of frustration before hopping out of the truck and stepping around Alex, pretending he didn’t notice Alex’s hand reach out when he wobbled on his feet. He shoved the keys into his pocket next to his phone and stepped forward, letting Alex close the door of his truck.

“Make that fucking beeping stop,” he growled as he made his way around the front of the Explorer.

He passed out against Alex’s passenger side window in the time it took Alex to turn his car around and drive the half mile down the dirt road to Sanders’ Auto. Alex was nudging him in the shoulder.

“Wake up, Guerin. I’m not gonna carry you.” He heard the click of a seat belt and sudden quiet of an engine shutting down before the nudging was back. “Let’s go. I know you can hear me.”

“Asshole.” Michael coaxed his eyes open, shoving away from the door enough for his hand to find the handle and pop it open. He tumbled out, hand reaching out to grip the top of the door to stabilize himself. The hubcaps clanged in the wind and he half turned his head back when he heard the driver’s door open. “Go home, Alex.”

“I told you,” he said, closing his door. “I’m not leaving until you’re in bed.”

Michael’s lips started to turn up into a snarl, but he didn’t have the energy to keep arguing. He threw the car door back behind him, letting it slam as he followed Alex into the airstream.

He didn’t think about the last time he’d followed Alex in here. Didn’t think about the events that followed. Didn’t think about the words Alex had said the last time he’d been standing in this space, only hours before. Didn’t think about how Max had still been alive then.

He just shoved past Alex, tossed his jacket on the chair, and flung himself into his bed, kicking off his boots. His eyelids were already too heavy to hold up as he mumbled a final dismissal into the pillow.

When he woke, the Airstream was dark, just a single lamp lit over the table at the other end of the cabin and another light source, bluish, that he couldn’t place amongst his catalogue of possessions. His head didn’t ache anymore, but he still felt groggy, that thick mental sludge of having slept too long. A pressure in his belly gnawed at him - he needed to piss. He lifted his head, squinting to make out the figure sitting in the chair, fingers clacking away on a laptop that definitely wasn’t his.

“Alex?”

Alex came into focus as his fingers paused, looking up at Michael, face half-shaded in the light from the lamp. “Finally.”

Michael groaned, letting his head drop back against the pillow. “I told you to go home.”

Alex’s eyes turned back down to the laptop screen, fingers moving again. “I did. You’ve been out for about... 14 hours.”

Sighing, Michael rolled himself out of the bed, catching his hand on the half wall to stand and only missing the full glass of water resting there by an inch. He stumbled toward the toilet, hands already working on his belt and jeans, pulling himself out with his left hand and dragging the curtain closed with his right, feeling it catch and snag along the rail from misuse. He let himself take a deep breath, resting his head on his forearm against the wall.

His eyes caught on the mirror on the wall behind him when he reached back to drag the curtain back after buttoning up, a flash of color where it shouldn’t be. Another handprint, this one along the front and side of his neck, barely a glimmer in the low light. Michael’s heart thudded painfully. He was covered, covered in Max’s mark on his skin, covered in reminders of the lengths Max went to to save his life, even after Michael betrayed him, attacked him.

Michael tore his eyes from the mirror, twisting out to step toward his bed. He snagged the water glass, downing it in one go. Alex ignored him, didn’t so much as glance up at the soft thud of the empty glass on the wood when Michael set it back down, and Michael didn’t know whether to be irritated or grateful. He’d changed again, layered in a dark t-shirt, yellow plaid button-up, and black hoodie.

Michael dropped back onto the bed, elbows resting on his thighs. He let his head hang low between his shoulders and took a moment to just let himself breathe, soothed by the rhythmic sound of keys clicking.

Max was dead. Died doing exactly what Michael had told him not to do.

Rosa was alive. Standing suspicious and uncharacteristically quiet in the corner of the cave, clutching the blanket tightly around her while Isobel and Liz wiped silver goo from their arms on Max’s clothes.

Liz had told him to go home, to sleep. She’d said he was no good to her like this, that she needed him to think. That she’d take care of Isobel, who was wide-eyed and bone-white in the shifting light of the pod. He’d wanted to protest - Isobel was his to take care of, especially now - but he was barely holding himself upright against the rock of the cave wall, body already sagging with exhaustion.

Liz said they’d figure this out, that they’d fix it, whatever that meant.

Max was dead.

Alex was here.

Alex, who said he wanted to be friends. Who said Michael was his family. Who said he didn’t look away. Who looked at Michael with want and said he wanted to fight his own battles.

Alex, who knew Michael had kissed Maria anyway. Who hadn’t even flinched when Michael threw that in his face.

Guilt burned dark and hot in Michael’s chest, rising up his throat. He was confused and frustrated - Alex never made any goddamn sense, not unless he was naked and panting under Michael’s hands. He didn’t understand what Alex wanted from him. He didn’t understand why Alex always left. He didn’t understand why he always came back.

He didn’t understand why Alex was here.

Michael loved him so fucking much, even after everything. In spite of everything. Because of everything. It was this heavy, intangible thing, pulling at him constantly, pulling him toward Alex, even when Alex pushed him away.

Even when he pushed Alex away.

Fuck.

“I shouldn’t have said that,’ he said, speaking the words to the floor between his dirty socked feet, eyes tracking the shape of Max’s handprint shimmering on his hand dangling between his knees. He saw Alex look up from the corner of his eye and the clacking stopped.

Michael sighed, turning to meet Alex’s eyes in the dim light. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” He knew Alex knew what he was talking about. Hoped he knew how much he meant it.

Alex looked away, mouth opening and closing once before he spoke. “It’s not my business who you kiss, Guerin. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Bullshit.”

Alex snapped his head over to look back at Michael, brows furrowing.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re angry. You should be.”

Alex swallowed, lips pursing. He nodded. “I’m angry,” he admitted, edge slipping into his voice. “I’m hurt.”

It shouldn’t feel good to hear that, it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t curl happy and satisfied in his chest, quieting that piece of Michael’s heart that always doubted whether he meant anything to Alex. If he was angry, if he was hurt, that meant he cared.

But Michael could never truly relish in hurting Alex, not even the bitter parts that lashed out when Alex walked away. He never wanted to see Alex hurt.

“I don’t want her.” Michael stared down, not meeting Alex’s eyes. “I want to want her. It’d be easier. But I don’t.”

“That’s not fair.” Michael looked over to Alex, expecting pique but seeing only understanding in Alex’s eyes. “Not to her, or me.”

Swallowing, Michael nodded. He took a deep breath, wetting his lips. “I don’t know what you want from me.” I don’t know why you’re here.

It was a beat before Alex reacted, inhaling sharply and glancing back to the laptop long enough to pull the lid closed, cutting off the iridescent blue light. He looked back to Michael, tongue darting out before his mouth popped open on the exhale, long and steady.

In the past, this was the point in the conversation when Alex would stalk over, roll over, lean over, and kiss Michael stupid, make him forget the question. Make him forget his name. And a part of Michael ached for that, for the feel of Alex’s lips on his, but the rest of him knew it wouldn’t do them any good right now. Alex knew it, too.

Alex took another breath before he spoke. “I want... “ He closed his eyes, head shaking before he met Michael’s eyes again. “Everything?” He said it like a question, like he couldn’t not say it. Like he was scared of it.

Of all the things Michael thought he might hear, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t like Alex. It was declarative and undeniable. It was a lot. It was everything.

Michael huffed out a humorless laugh, fingers caught in tangles as he tried to drag his hand through his hair. “I’m a mess.” His voice cracked and he could feel the heat of tears welling at his eyes.

Alex nodded, swallowing. “I know.”

Michael choked back a sob that twitched through his chest, tears burning hot down both cheeks when he closed his eyes. Alex said that like it was simple. Like he could handle it. Like he wanted to.

Michael shook his head, drowning in the well of everything he was feeling- love and hope colliding with fear and worry, swirling around and making his head spin. He couldn’t catch up, couldn’t hold on, thoughts and feelings sliding out of grasp.

Movement caught his eye and he watched Alex set his laptop on the table and twist around to reach for something leaned against the door, standing up as he lifted it.

Michael’s eyes went wide when he recognized the shape of the black bag in the low light, breath hitching when Alex stepped across the small space toward him. His throat clicked on a swallow when Alex extended the bag to him, just waiting patiently for Michael to find his hands.

He did, accepting the guitar, brow furrowed in confusion. Alex gave a small smile before turning on his heel and stepping back to the other side of the Airstream. “That one is probably out of tune, hasn’t been played in years.” His voice was sharp, the heaviness already forgotten in the change of topics.

“I-” Michael let his hand drift down the bag, feeling the shape of the instrument underneath. He looked over to Alex, who had leaned against the table, arms braced against the edges on either side of his thighs.

“Thank you.” He felt the tingle of déjà vu against his skin, a moment relived. It was so similar, and yet everything had changed. Everything had changed, and it was still the two of them. Still Michael and Alex; except this time, Alex knew the gift he was giving. And Michael knew what Alex was saying.

Alex’s lips turned up, this smile more genuine than the last. He didn’t answer, just nodded, before slipping back into the chair and reaching for his laptop.

Michael unzipped the bag, pulling out the guitar and dropping the bag to the side. It felt good in his hands as he pulled it up into his lap, familiar in the way the guitar at the Pony hadn’t. The clicking had started up again, Alex seemingly paying him no attention as he worked. Michael started picking at the strings, listening and pausing to tune, plucking and tuning, again and again, until it finally sounded right.

Then he started to play. He took a deep breath as the feel of the strings’ vibrations reverberated through the fingers of his left hand, still unused to sensation after ten years of aching numbness. The music rolled through his mind, silencing the chaos, like the way the lid on a pot of boiling water quieted the babble.

His eyes drifted shut and he tilted his head into the void.

He wasn’t sure how long he played. When one song ended, another flowed through his fingers right behind it, seamlessly picking up the beat. He absently noted Alex getting up to leave the Airstream, returning a song or so later. Michael kept playing, letting the melody break through the churn of emotions - through the dual walls of grief, through the confusion, the heartbreak, the love, and the fear. He kept playing until everything settled, a peace within his mind that he hadn’t reached since the last time Alex had extended a hand to him.

His fingers stilled and Michael noted the light peeking through the newspaper-covered windows, sun rising on a new day.

Alex was still there. Still clicking away at his laptop. He paused when the music stopped, looking over to Michael with eyebrows raised.

“Hey.”

Michael swallowed. “Hey.” He pulled the guitar from his lap, bracing it on the floor between his feet. It was so similar, sitting here on the edge of a threadbare cot, Alex to his right, the weight of words said and unsaid hanging between them.

Shaking his head, Michael stood, propping the guitar against the wall and marching across the Airstream. Alex just watched like he was waiting, hand settling on the lid of the laptop and dropping it closed, placing it on the table as Michael reached him.

Michael bent down, hand wrapping around Alex’s neck as Alex’s hand slid into his hair, pulling together until their lips finally met. Michael sighed into the kiss, into the feeling, into the way his chest dropped in relief. Alex braced his free hand on the arm of the chair, pressing up and crowding against Michael as he stood, hand slipping against Michael’s waist when he was on his feet.

God, but nothing felt like this. Every nerve in Michael’s body was pinging, sounding off to his brain that this, this was right. This was it. Everywhere Alex was touching him was on fire, licking at him from the inside out, compelling him to step into the flames.

Alex walked him back to the fridge, cold and firm against Michael’s shoulders, as his fingers tightened around Michael’s hair, making him gasp into Alex’s mouth. The other hand slipped around to press against the small of Michael’s back, pulling him closer. He twisted into Michael, thigh pressing between Michael’s legs, and rolled his hips into Michael’s. Michael moaned and Alex nipped at his bottom lip before he drew back, breaking the kiss.

“You’re not the only mess here,” he said breathlessly, like he needed to say it, like he needed Michael to understand. He was staring into Michael’s eyes like he was pleading.

Michael just laughed softly, fingers brushing gently against Alex’s face. “I know,” he said, squeezing where his hand had landed on Alex’s hip, slipped beneath the hoodie. Alex huffed, nodding and smiling as he kissed Michael again.

Michael could stay here forever, locked in this moment with Alex. It was easy, when they were like this. When they were just two bodies fighting to share space, aching to touch more, feel more. To chase the energy that crackled whenever they were near, that simmered when they weren’t.

Michael had told Alex once that playing music was the only thing that made him feel quiet. It had been true, at the time; it just hadn’t been true for long.

Something vibrated against Michael’s leg and Alex jerked back, startled for a moment before his hand dropped from Michael’s back, leaving a cold spot as Alex shoved his hand into his pocket to pull out the ringing phone.

Liz’s name and smiling face lit up the display of Alex’s phone. He sighed, the hand still buried in Michael’s hair gripping lightly as he swiped to answer and brought the phone to his ear, letting his forehead drop against Michael’s.

“Hey, Liz. Any updates?” Alex was looking directly into Michael’s eyes, unblinking. Michael could only stare back, chest rising and falling against Alex’s.

“Isobel’s awake.” Michael heard Liz’s voice, tinny and low through the phone speaker. “Michael needs to get here.” Something crashed in the background, a loud boom accented with the shatter of glass. “Now. She’s throwing furniture around the room and I don’t think she knows how to stop.”

Shit. Fuck Max for being right and leaving Michael to deal with it on his own.

Alex sighed. “We’re on our way. Is Rosa still with Kyle?”

Liz answered in the affirmative, trailing off in a mutter of Spanish curses as another thud echoed through the phone. Michael’s eyebrows scrunched together, looking down as Alex asked another question, confirming some detail they must have discussed while Michael was passed out.

It was baffling - and a bit terrifying - just how much had changed in the last few months. Last June, it was just the three of them: Isobel, Michael, and Max. Them against the world. Aliens hiding in a hostile world.

And now there were these humans - Alex, Liz, even Kyle Valenti - that were helping them. Taking care of them. Protecting them. Watching over Isobel as she slept off her grief. Making sure Michael didn’t drive his truck off a cliff. Hiding away their secrets while they recovered.

Alex dropped the phone from his ear, tucking it back in his pocket with a frown. He took a deep breath, meeting Michael’s eyes, flicking down to his lips when Michael wet them. Michael surged forward, inhaling into the kiss, breathing Alex in, feeling that pleasure curl when Alex pulled at his hair to draw him closer.

It was so good, fuck, nothing ever felt so good. But it didn’t last, Alex shifting back, panting into the space between them.

“Isobel needs you,” he breathed out, eyebrows betraying how much he resented the words.

Michael nodded, swallowing. He was all Isobel had left - and wasn’t that a terrifying thought? He let himself drop back against the fridge, nodding again and loosening his hold on Alex, hand sliding down his neck to his chest as Alex stepped back, licking his lips and sniffing.

Michael put on his boots, newly-healed fingers clumsy on the laces, as Alex slid his laptop into its case and grabbed his backpack.

“C’mon,” he said as Michael was finishing up. “They’re at Isobel’s. I’ll drive you.”

Michael swallowed back an irritated sigh. Not this again. He looked up from his boots to see Alex standing over him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I can drive.”

Alex’s jaw tensed and his eyes rolled, but he sighed and conceded. “Fine, I’ll take you to your truck.”

Cursing, Michael stood. He’d forgotten it was still out there, parked in the middle of the shrubs. “If someone stole my truck,” he started.

At that, Alex actually started laughing, that easy, giggling laughter that meant Michael had just said something ridiculous. “Guerin, I know you love that truck, but you’re the only one. Literally no one is gonna steal it.”

Michael frowned. “Liar. You love my truck.” He raised his eyebrows, daring Alex to deny it.

Alex’s expression softened, lips spreading from a mocking smile to a more gentle, sincere one. He opened his mouth, closing it again and swallowing before speaking. “She’s a good truck.”

“Damn right.” He reached over his head to pull his shirt off, twisting to grab the gray one that had fallen onto the pillow from the half wall. He sniffed it before pulling it over his head - it wasn’t freshly washed, but it was better than the bloodstained one on the floor and the one he’d slept in.

When he turned back, Alex had hitched his backpack over his shoulder and was watching him unabashedly. He met Michael’s eyes, inhaling. “Let’s go.” He chucked his head toward the door and spun around, Michael following, stretching to grab his jacket from where Alex had lain it across the back of the chair.

The air outside was chill as Michael shoved his arms through the sleeves, crossing the front of the Explorer to the passenger side. The sun was rising, painting the east in oranges and pinks that blended across the sky to the deep blues of the pre-dawn west.

They were silent as Alex turned around and exited the junkyard, following the dirt road out towards where Michael’s truck sat stark and blue against the tawny landscape.

“I thought you were kidding about the rattle,” Michael commented.

“Huh?” Alex glanced over, eyebrows pressed together in confusion before the expression cleared and he looked back out the windshield. “Oh. That’s been there forever.”

Michael suppressed a groan, running a hand over his face. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” Alex laughed. “You’re lucky it’s just a loose exhaust.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed out the windshield. “Do you actually know what that sounds like, or did you…” His hand lifted off the wheel, rotating on its wrist, before dropping back down. “Ya know?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to use my powers to know what a loose exhaust pipe sounds like.”

Alex’s fingers extended outward, head tilting to the side slightly. “Touchy.” He took a deep breath, lips pursing before he reached over and grabbed Michael’s hand. Michael looked down, confused, as Alex wrapped his hand around Michael’s, thumb rubbing along the top of his scarless fingers, shimmering pink and blue in the light.

Michael swallowed, resisting the urge to pull away. “I told him not to.” The words felt weird on his lips, like he was violating some rule about speaking ill of the dead, but he needed Alex to know that. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Alex looked over, meeting Michael’s eyes long enough to nod. He dropped Michael’s hand to turn the wheel, pulling off the road to rumble over the desert towards Michael’s truck, parking alongside and leaving several feet between the two driver’s side doors.

Michael got out, feet crunching on the dried soil and spindly plants as he made his way around. Alex was already rolling his window down when Michael approached, resting his forearms through the open window. “Are you meeting us at Isobel’s?”

Alex nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Michael sighed, looking to the side, already weary with what was awaiting him.

“Guerin?” Michael looked back to Alex. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

Taking a deep breath, Michael stared at him. It didn’t make sense, that Alex could be so good, that this could be so right, when everything else was so wrong. They weren’t perfect, weren’t done talking, and it certainly wouldn’t be easy.

But it was something, that Alex was here, that Alex was looking at him like that, that Michael could duck through the window and press a kiss to Alex’s lips like it was normal, like that was just a thing he got to do.

Alex waited while Michael climbed into his truck, sliding his hat over his head and digging out his keys. His truck turned over on the first try, rumbling to life beneath his hands as he put her in Reverse and backed out around Alex’s front end, turning back for the road.

He didn’t know how he was going to face everything before him. Isobel and the horrifying reality of losing her husband and twin within days of each other. Having to teach her a kind of control he’d only been able to master out of sheer survivalistic need. The reality of a dead girl resurrected in a town that scorned her name. A shadowy government conspiracy he was sure they’d only scratched the surface of. Maria, and a conversation he really didn’t want to have, but owed her anyway.

Michael’s eyes flicked to his rearview mirror, seeing Alex through the dusty windshield of his Explorer, both hands on the wheel.

No, he wasn’t sure how he was going to face it all. But for the first time in his life, he knew he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

[xpouii]

Tentacletober Day 12

Yes it’s late! Yes I’m deeply ashamed! Yes it’s a sequel to day 9!

Prompt: “Get those things away from me.”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Roman, Logan, Virgil, Remus

Warnings/Tags: SFW, drug use, prescription pills, eating disorder, binging/purging, self-harm, bad bad bad parents, psychological abuse, emotional abuse, swearing, blood, unsympathetic Deceit, unsympathetic Patton, mild Prinxiety

Please be careful when reading this if you see any of your triggers above!

               Roman rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time, “Roman, your pill!”

“Mom I’m gonna be late!” Roman called, but she appeared in front of him.

He opened his mouth obediently and she dropped the pill in, handing him a bottle of water. “Drink the water and you have to wait forty-five minutes. Don’t forget baby.”

“I’ll set a timer,” Roman said, swallowing the pill with a swig of water. He let her kiss his cheek then threw his backpack over his shoulder, jogging outside and jumping into his car. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror before pulling out and driving to school.

He sang along with the radio and guzzled the bottle of water; it settled in his stomach like a weight, but his mother’s words ran through his head as he added a timer into his phone, sighing. Don’t forget baby.

           The school was big, probably not big enough for as many students as it served, but gargantuan anyway. He parked in the band lot and took a moment to go over his hair and face again before he slid out of his car, shouldering his bag. Logan was leaning against the building with his massive cello case stood beside him. Roman smiled, “Hey! Director late?”

           Logan rolled his eyes, “Always. I refuse to haul this thing to first period. Last time I did Mrs. Miller kept rolling her eyes at me and I couldn’t concentrate. It’s like I could hear her doing it.”

               “Maybe you should smoke a little more before school, Logan, if you’re hearing people’s eyes.”

               Logan sighed, “On that note, did your mom make you swallow the Adderall today?”

               “Yes but I palmed last night,” Roman said, taking a tiny folded square of paper out of his pocket and slipping it into Logan’s hand.

               Logan smiled and took the pill quickly, swallowing it dry and pocketing the paper. “Thanks I’ll leave a baggy in your car during lunch.”

               “You’re my hero!” Roman sing-songed as he leaned in, kissing Logan’s cheek. “Have you seen our shrinking Violet this morning?”

               “He’s in his car pretending not to cut his lip,” Logan said, nodding toward Virgil’s black truck.

               Roman sighed, “Well, I’m not going to miss breakfast for him! He can self-harm on his own time! I’ll be right back.”

               Logan muttered a reply as he spotted the director coming to unlock the band room. Roman trotted off and let himself into Virgil’s truck, “Whoa!”

               “Hey sexy,” Roman purred. “Nice lip ring.”

Virgil grabbed the razor blade and turned beet red, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Thanks.”

Roman leaned over and touched his face, “Bad morning?”

               “Not really,” Virgil said, letting out a little moan when Roman kissed him. When he broke the kiss, Roman had blood on his lips. “You wanna smoke?”

               Roman licked his lips with a wink, “I’m all out until lunch, but after we eat I’m down. You wanna head to the cafeteria and get some breakfast?”

               Virgil rolled his eyes, leaning in for another kiss that Roman returned eagerly. It wasn’t sexual, or even romantic, not really. They’d been making out since they were young and started practicing kissing. Now it was a platonic habit that gave Roman the attention he craved and Virgil the love and affection he needed. It was also Roman’s way of letting Virgil know he wasn’t bothered by his cutting, his emotional scars or his physical ones. When they broke the kiss, Virgil’s lip had stopped bleeding, and it was red for an entirely different reason. “Sure, what time is it?”

               Roman checked the timer, “Fifteen minutes—um, I mean it’s seven ten.”

               Virgil nodded, pulling down his visor and checking his chin; Roman could see the concealer and foundation he was wearing. He reached over to blend it a bit with his fingers. “I thought I’d try something.”

               “Right,” Roman said. “Need help?”

               “Um… actually, yeah. My dad took that eyeliner you gave me.”

               Roman sighed, “I figured. Don’t worry baby, I got you.”

               Virgil smiled, unzipping his hoodie and shrugging it off, “Thanks.”

               Roman opened his bag and waved his hand at Virgil, “Nonsense. It’s what friends do, and besides, I’ll look better when my friends look better. If I can just convince Logan to do something about those glasses. He hasn’t updated his style since third grade.”

               Virgil smiled, holding still as Roman began to work on his face, blending and balancing until Virgil looked less like he was wearing makeup and more like he’d started a decent new acne routine. Roman took out his eyeliner and applied it thick just under Virgil’s eye, then licked his thumb and spread it down and outward, doing a prettier, more put together version of what Virgil had done himself the night before. Virgil watched Roman, blushing at the cute face Roman made when concentrating. “How do I look?”

               “Perfection, baby, of course,” Roman said, wiping his hands off on a discarded fast food napkin from Virgil’s floorboard. “I don’t do bad work, but you look good even for my standards.”

               Virgil opened his mouth, but Roman’s timer went off, “Oh, breakfast time then?”

               “Yes please!” Roman said, putting away his things and jumping out of the truck.

               Logan fell in step with them once they reached the cafeteria, “Morning, Virgil.”

               “Hey, L. Finally get that cello stored?” Virgil greeted.

               Logan sighed, but he was perky, taking long, quick strides that made Roman and Virgil struggle to keep up, “I swear I’m more organized than any of the adults in this school district. I like the eyes. Why didn’t you wear it at the concert?”

               “Shitty parents,” Virgil said. “Thanks though.”

               “What do you guys want? My treat!” Roman said.

               “Already ate,” Logan said.

               “Oatmeal,” Virgil said. “And a bottle of water.”

               “Two oatmeals, please, garçon!” Roman called to a rather unamused cafeteria worker.

                 When lunchtime rolled around, Virgil and Roman ducked out to his truck, sitting low to hide from the security guard as Roman lit the joint that he’d gotten from Logan. “So I wanted to tell you something,” Virgil said. “Something kind of… intense.”

               Virgil leaned in, and Roman took a hit, “Is this about what happened to your chin?”

               “No,” Virgil said briskly, “Last night afterward, I was trying to sleep and I kept hearing my name, you know? Like somebody was whispering it.”

               Roman raised an eyebrow, holding out the joint for Virgil to take, “Like a ghost?”

               Virgil took a drag and held it, then coughed lightly, “Well I saw what I thought was like a snake or something, go under my bed? And I didn’t want to scream or anything so I like… crawl over and look under the bed right?”

               Roman gasped and grabbed Virgil’s arm, “You didn’t!”

               “I did! Suddenly, something reaches out and drags me under the bed.”

               “What?” Roman let go of Virgil’s arm, “Wait seriously?”

               Virgil nodded, “I was like… in this cave, with this… guy? But he’s a monster. He has like um… what do you call them… the octopus things? Tentacles! Yeah, but he says his name is Remus and then he took me to Mrs. Miller’s. We came out from under her bed. He scared the shit out of her. I think I was out with him until like four in the morning.”

               Roman fiddled with his hair for a moment, trying to ignore the gnawing in his stomach. “Virgil, you know I love a dream story as much as the next gay, but-“

               “It wasn’t a dream,” Virgil said. “That’s the thing! This morning I got out of bed and I reached under, and it was cold… like… I was reaching into a cave. It wasn’t carpet. I don’t know how to explain it. Anyway, it felt like some kind of guardian angel, you know? Like… he was sent to help or something. He said monsters watch people because we’re weird.”

               ”Well you’re weird he’s right about that,” Roman muttered, then laughed when Virgil shoved him playfully. “Ok ok, I’ll believe you. You met a monster and he thinks you’re weird.” He handed the joint to Virgil then took his face in his hands, “If that helps you, baby, then I’m really happy for you.”

               Virgil took a hit and Roman kissed him.

                 They got to band just as the bell rang, smelling like Axe body spray and guzzled mouthwash, grinning and snickering. The director let them sit before he stood up to start his announcements. Logan was scribbling notes as the director spoke, his gaze laser focused. Roman patted his knee when he sat, and Logan gave a tiny nod in response. “Have a good lunch?”

               Virgil chuckled, “It was delicious.”

               “And decently low in calories,” Roman said. “But I’m fucking starving now. Do you have anything to eat?”

               Logan kicked his backpack, “I got you both a Snickers.”

               “You can have mine,” Virgil said. “I’m actually not super hungry.”

               “You’re not getting paranoid are you?” Roman muttered. “Just relax baby nobody can tell.”

               Logan raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Roman rummaged the candy from his bag. “I can tell,” Virgil muttered.

               Roman downed the first candy bar without speaking, but he ate the next one slowly, listening to the director lecturing the percussion section, savoring it as much as he’d let himself before his hand shot up, “I need to go to the bathroom, please.”

               “Mr. Prince, you just came from lunch, did you not? Why didn’t you go then?”

               Roman shoved his small bottle of mouthwash into his pocket as he shrugged, “I guess I didn’t need to go then.”

               The director gave him a withering look, then waved him off toward the door. Roman didn’t waste any time slipping out of the classroom and power walking to the bathroom. He checked for feet in any stalls and took the one furthest from the door. He wasted no time layering toilet paper in the toilet, then he put his hands on his hips, bending at the waste and purging himself of the food—and subsequent guilt—he’d just swallowed. It was easy now, quick, requiring no fingers or ceremony. He flushed the toilet and went straight to the sink, rinsing his mouth out and using the mouthwash, giving himself a winning stage smile in the mirror. He washed his hands and hurried back to class with a head full of adrenaline.

                 Roman pulled into his driveway and jumped out of the car, grabbing his backpack and a bag from the convenience store a few miles outside of town. He kept his head down as he made a straight line for his apartment, letting himself in and locking the door behind him. “Mom?” he called, pausing for an answer. “Mom I’m home!”

               She was still at work. He dropped his backpack by the door and went straight to the bathroom. He locked himself in. Roman opened the first carton of ice cream and ate his way through the entire quart in minutes. He was desperate to finish. An interruption at that point would be hell. He set the carton aside. Assuming the obscenely graceful pose, bent at the waist, hands on his hips, he let go. The kick of adrenaline and pleasure shot through him with every heave. Then he was empty again, free and spinning and the world slowed down around him. His eyes and nose were running, and he blinked the tears away as he went to the sink, splashing water on his face.

               Roman rinsed his mouth out and waited until the adrenaline slowed, and the hunger returned, his stomach twisting and begging. He went to the second carton and opened it, eating a little slower, savoring the feeling, but not the taste. By the third carton, he was too far gone to taste anything anymore, caught up in the cycle of full and empty, sensation and mental distraction. It was everything to him, a ritual he did every night he wasn’t forced out of the house to a rehearsal or a reading or sitting for pictures to update his portfolio. Roman opened the fourth carton, now just sweet liquid, but that made it easier to get down faster, and he swallowed away all of the thoughts left in his head, letting them settle in his stomach and weigh him down before he brought them back up again and sent them away down the pipes. He returned to the sink, rinsing with water and then swishing the fluoride mouthwash, wincing as it stung in the sores along his tongue. He spat and smiled at himself, taking a careful look at his teeth. The front ones had gone almost transparent at the bottom, and his mother had already scheduled him for a dental visit. She’d read on the internet that a dentist could get a special mouth guard to keep the stomach acid from eroding enamel—and you’ll never be in movies with bad teeth, sweetheart. You’re not talented enough to get on without your looks. Mommy loves you.

               Roman splashed his face with water and ran it through his hair, ignoring just how much hair came out in his hands as he did. He shook it off into the trash and gathered every bit of evidence, hurrying it out and down to the large dumpsters behind his building. He dumped the cartons and spoon and bags and shame where his mother wouldn’t find evidence of his excess. She supported the purging, but her disappointed stares anytime Roman took in more than one or two hundred calories at a time made his face burn and his stomach flip—and not in the good way. He got in and stretched out on the couch for a nap.

                 Roman was laying awake in bed staring at the ceiling and watching the dancing shadows of cars passing outside. He was thinking about Virgil, what he’d said, and how he’d looked in his makeup, and Roman couldn’t help the smile that played on his lips.

               “Hi Roman.”

               Roman screamed and jumped to his feet, standing on his bed. A man had popped up beside his bed. Tentacles were flicking lazily around him, “What the fuck?”

               “Roman!” his mother yelled from her room. “I told you to go to sleep!”

               Roman looked at Remus for a moment, then called, “Sorry mom I fell out of bed!”

               Remus grinned, sitting on the edge of the bed; Roman scooted further away, avoiding the tentacles. “Get those things away from me!” he whispered harshly.

               “What, my tentacles? They have minds of their own sometimes. Don’t worry. They’re not slimy or anything.”

               “Am I hallucinating?”

               “Good question. What do you see?”

               Roman blinked, “A creep with tentacles sitting on my bed?”

               “Nope!” Remus said happily. “You’re perfectly… well… not hallucinating.”

               “So Virgil isn’t crazy either,” Roman breathed. “You’re…”

               “Remus, yes. Virgil said you might need a friend. He’s in love with you.”

               Roman blushed, slowly moving closer to sit on the edge of his bed, “So… you’re here to do what?”

               Remus shrugged, “We could go break into a gas station and steal some ice cream but I’m not sure it’s the best thing for you… we could go draw penises on Logan’s window while he’s trying to study.”

               “I’ll get my jacket.”

[neokollection]

Next To You ㅡ Taeyong [Part II]

Part I

A/N: Uh, yeah- I suck at plot so honestly this is for my horny peoples- Fem!Virgin!Reader-who_doesnt_like_coffee FYI

** S M U T; fingering, oral [receiving], penetration, cum... love bites, typos **

Word Count: 5.8K

ㅡ  Genre: A sprinkle of angst in the beginning- Fluffy smut!

Each time you heard the Weeknd’s chaotically mellow voice in Try Me it brought you back to that time. To the late summer party at the beach house of Johnny’s family; to the time Taeyong had you beneath him on the bed just upstairs as the floorboards thumped with the lustful bass. Bits and pieces were missing, conversations and words lost in translation, but touches and soft murmurs seared into your memory like a branding.

The two of you had been careless with your words and actions, hesitation seeming to have dissipated after several kisses shared between the two of you- You’d like to blame it on the alcohol.

Things had changed- For better or worse, you weren't sure... An awkward fog surrounded the two of you- Without the liquid courage you seemed the be at a stalemate with each other. Taeyong didn’t want to seem to clingy or pressuring, handling you delicately and always withdrawing himself when things seemed to pass chaste. As a result you became more hesitant, rarely initiating anything first. In public he seemed to have two modes, distant or protecting the spot beside you fiercely. 

An example was right now- He seemed preoccupied on his phone, his Americano left untouched before him as his elbows perched upon the table adjacent from you. Idly, you stirred your straw in your drink, listening intently as the ice clinked. As a friend he seemed to easy to understand, the two of you seeming to share the same wave-length- However, now you felt as though each glance and word needed to be dissected... Partly, it was due to your self-conscious nature, feeling doubt overwhelm you on occasion.

It’d been a mere week since the party, since the events unfolded to bring the two of you together as a ‘couple’.  You hadn’t expected much to change about your dynamic other than the addition of skinship and a few more loving traits. Yet, it seemed even now the chaste things he’d do like pinch your cheek when you were being silly or place his hand upon the nape of your neck on occasion to massage the tense joint considerately were a thing of the past. He seemed hyperaware of touching you, keeping his hands to himself most of the time. Except on the random occasions he seemed to be lovey or protective, always keeping a hand on you.

“Tae,” you spoke softly, watching as his relatively calm gaze flitted back and forth upon the screen of his phone.

He hummed in response before glancing at you over the top of his screen.

“You haven’t even touched your Americano,” you stressed, adding a light whine to your voice to keep the atmosphere light.

“Jaehyun’s hosting a party tonight-” 

It was news to you, your brows raising gently as you brought your straw to your lips.

“Do you want to go?”

The question seemed to hold weight. You mulled over your options silently- Taeyong seemed to be phasing out of the party-scene and he’d already told you he didn’t like it when you got wasted. You didn’t want to seem too wild- Honestly, you just wanted to spend time with him.

“Not really...”

“No?”

His eyes were a little wider than normally, surprise by your words.

The last party you’d gone too was a mess, but it led to the events which led to the current moment.

“Then,” he trailed off, typing back a reply to you assumed Jaehyun.

“I just want to be with you,” you admitted, feeling a little sheepish.

You couldn’t hold in the small giggle that erupted when you met his gaze again. He grinned in return, placing his phone down before nudging his drink aside gently with his knuckles before reaching to cradle one of your hands in his own. Your insides churned and you hated yourself for shifting your thighs together in your seat. Even the simplest of touches made you hyper-sexual. Ever since that night you’d been dragging yourself for being so spontaneous and careless, cringing as you remember snippets of you crying and begging him to take your virginity- It made you feel like such a loser... Yet, you didn’t regret any of it- Because if you hadn’t, perhaps the shared touches in Johnny’s bedroom wouldn’t have taken place. His touch was so warm and gentle- And you couldn’t shake it. You thought about trying again constantly, turned on by nearly everything and anything Taeyong did- In the week since Johnny’s you’d given him another blow-job, but yet had he touched you again. You were scared he’d want to try again, but didn’t want to run the risk of disappointing him again so soon by backing out once more- So, you never asked for anything in return and simply labeled yourself as a giver. This thumb ran across the range of your knuckles, dragging across the soft skin delicately.

“Should we have our own party?”

You nodded immediately, wearing a thoughtful smile as you began to imagine the evening.

“Let’s go then-”

“Ah-” 

Letting out a small sound of surprise at his words as he withdrew his hand, you blinked several times.

“You didn’t finish your-”

“I decided I don’t want it-”

“...W-Why? That’s-”

“You don’t like coffee,” he interjected.

Your brows scrunched together as he shrugged on his denim jacket.

“So?”

A knowing grin took over his features.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Confused as Hell, you let out a small sigh, collecting your small tote as you stood. He was always so cryptic.

“What does that mean?” you inquired as you left the café.

His fingers slipped into your own, before swinging your conjoined hand gently. 

“It means,” he began, lowering his voice, “I don’t want you to use it as an excuse later-”

“Excuse?”

He nearly rolled his eyes, feeling as though his intentions were so obvious.  The wind blew suddenly as the two of you reached the bus stop. He unclasped his hand from your own, reaching up to brush your hair from your face with a small smile before his thumb brushed your bottom lip affectionately before pinching it gently between the pad of his thumb and smooth plane of the side of his index. He tugged it softly, his warm eyes seeping into your own.

“My place or yours?”

You sputtered, reaching up to grasp his hand with your own two, pulling him away so you could answer.

“Mine is kind of messy,” you admitted.

You could feel your cheeks heat, he was oddly so affectionate, giving you the attention you craved.

“Of course it is,” he teased, tearing his gaze away from looking down at you and instead at the approaching bus.

Just your luck... All of the seats were full.  Holding onto one of the poles, Tae loitered behind you, reaching up to hang off of one of the squeaky rungs. As the bus lurched forward, you felt his chest press to your back. A hand swung around to grab the cool metallic pole just above your own. His hand seemed so large in comparison, his forearm flexing as he adjusted his grip. A bit shyly, you looked up at him from over your shoulder. He wore a small smile as he met your gaze. Perhaps this was the turning point. Perhaps the awkward tension of transitioning from friends to lovers was natural and took only a bit of time to fade away. As chaste as the moment was, you wanted nothing more than to plaster your lips to his neck and jaw, gnawing on the inside of your lip at the idea of painting his skin in dark hickies. 

“What should we do?”

His voice had a cute lilt too it- He never broke his cutesy side out too often, but ever since you said you wanted to spend the evening with him he couldn’t help the butterflies from bubbling inside.

“Maybe...” you pondered, “Order chicken-”

He sputtered a laugh, “Are you hungry?”

You’d had a light lunch before you met him- But the idea was always appealing.

“And watch a movie?” you suggested, “Is it too boring?”

“No,” he grinned, “It’s simple. I like simple.”

You could feel eyes upon the pair of you, no doubt seeming as enamored lovebirds in public was bound to catch a few stares.

Taeyong could feel a heat rise to his ears as his stop neared, his mind having played tricks on him all day- It was a simple evening, but after being worn out simple was exactly what he was looking for. That is... A hope he had to get worn out. A strenuous activity that’d leave the two of you satisfied- Was what he was craving.  He couldn’t stop glancing down the hint of cleavage your shirt allowed- How the tops of your breasts rounded when you crossed your arms or leaned against the table across from him. And your ass- He shouldn’t have been so objectifying, but your ass was always something he’d appreciated. From the tight skirts or dresses you sometimes wore at parties to the simple jeans you wore now- He just wanted to knead it, to feel it beneath his fingertips- His mind wandered to the time he’d thought of holding you close as you rode him in his lap, his hands glued to the curvature of-

“Tae?”

He was snapped from his thoughts as you tugged on his sleeve, scanning your bus card as the mechanic doors slid open. Following after you, he let you link your arm with his as he shoved his card into his pocket. He knew he shouldn’t have such explicit thoughts, considering it’d only been a week- What if he subconsciously pressured you... Too caught up in his own desires...? Little did he know, you were having the same thoughts.

Window open, you were able to here the quaint sounds of the city- Buses brakes hisses in the distance and the chatter of pedestrians. It was a tad too loud for your liking, although he was on the 7th floor.

“Can I close the window?”

He gave a nod, slipping off his shows behind you before watching your quick steps. The silence that came with closing the window made his small apartment feel even smaller. Glancing to the side, you saw his bed wasn’t made, blankets messily strewn about on the mattress.  He lived in a studio, you could see everything. Yet, you had to admit, it was more well-kept than your own.

You felt arms circle around you, your hand still reaching up to grasp the window latch. A hot breath ghosted along your neck- A hand reaching up to brush the underside of your chest, his other smoothing along the outside of your hip.

“I ditched my Americano so you would make-out with me,” he admitted, turning you around.

You had to chuckle, pawing at his shoulder gently, “Because I don’t like the taste of coffee?”

He gave a hum, resting his forehead against yours as he backed you up against the wall to the side of the window.

“I would have made-out with you anyway,” you retorted, your voice a mere whisper.

Instead of verbally responding, he let his eyes flutter close, his head tilting to the side so gently before his lips were melding with your own. You sighed against his lips, gripping his shirt in your hands, to bring him closer, but push him away if he smothered you- His kiss was chaste and sensual, the first of its kind you’d ever received. His second kiss was less-so however, his hunger portrayed through the pressure he applied to your lips as his body drew nearer. His neck craned the more he drew neared, his hands ghosting over your own before pulling them from his shirt, guiding them to drape around his neck. You had to pull back for a moment to breath- Yet, your breath seemed to get caught in your throat once you felt his soft lips migrate to your neck, his hot tongue laving at the flesh before his lips kissed over it. You let out several small whimpers, fueling his growing desire.

“You’re so sensitive,” he breathed, as if to himself, before sucking upon the skin suddenly.

Your hands had woven into his hair at this point, your tiny voice increasing in volume as you struggled to stay quiet. His nostrils flared against your skin, hot breaths making you squirm. His hands went to your hips before falling to your thighs, pulling one of your legs to hook over his hip before motioning for the other. With one leg around him, it didn’t even take a small jump, your legs encircling his waist easily as he pressed you against the wall, his fingertips digging into the would-be flesh of your thighs-

He was on his bed, perched on the side with you in his lap, his lips reconnected with your own. He moaned against your lips in appreciation as his hands smoothed over your ass, the tight denim prohibiting him from feeling the soft flesh beneath. He gave it a small slap before pawing at it. You could feel the stiffness in his pants grow.

“I want you so bad,” he muttered.

His lips trailed down to your blouse, pulling the collar further down with an agile finger to kiss your cleavage, taking his time to let his lips explore the valley of your breasts. With a huff, you toppled him over, your thighs buffering either side of his hips as you knelt upon the sheets- You’d meant to be more suave and not so rough or sudden, but you had to stop yourself from falling on top of him, your hands holding you up on either side of his head.  His dark eyes flickered down between the two of you, taking in your position. He didn’t have much time to react, a choked gasp escaping him as you let your lips mouth at his neck- You wasted no time introducing your teeth, happy to litter his skin with blossoming bruises. He was more vocal than you’d expected, small hums and sudden ‘ah’s escaping him every other breath. He wanted to pull the rest of you flush against him, to grind his painful tent against whatever he could...

Suddenly, he was rolling the two of you over, his weight pressing to you as you clung to him. He let you continue to suck and kiss along his neck, creating space between your lower halves before he was reaching down to undo the button of your jeans.  You couldn’t help but draw back slightly panicked.

“I want to eat you out,” he replied, unzipping the zipper before letting his gaze fix upon your own, “Is that okay?”

“I-”

You wanted the pleasure he promised, for him to get what he wanted, but... You felt shy still-

“D-Don’t look though,” you stammered.

Without reply, he drew back, pulling your jeans off with the help of your lips rising from the sheets. He shucked them aside, letting his lips linger upon your knee for a moment as his hands smoothed up the expanse of your smooth legs. He took a quick glance at your panties and you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment for a moment before they nearly bugged out of their sockets. A sharp hiccup of a mewl left you, feeling his lips indirectly upon you. His saliva and your essence were quick to aid with bleeding through the thin fabric of your panties, the warm moisture causing your back to arch. He positioned himself between your legs, mouthing at your heat through your underwear, taking deep breaths of your scent in all the while. Taeyong’s hands had curled around your thighs, keeping them close to him, but far enough apart to not shut him out.

“Oh my God-,” you whimpered, threading a hand into his locks.

His obsidian orbs shot up to meet your own, transfixing you. You broke his gaze only when you felt his tongue wiggle against your clit, the semi-rough fabric of your panties feeling blissful. He transitioned to kissing the inside of your thigh as his fingers hooked in the waistband. Your scent and taste already had him salivating and he hadn’t even tasted you properly yet. He pulled your panties down, the fabric biting into the tops of your thighs as two of his fingers hooked into the crotch, pulling it towards the sheets to allow him full access to you. He licked a long stripe up the expanse you offered before drawing back slightly.  Dazed, you let your head lull to the side, too affected to even make a scene as you caught Taeyong staring at your heat.

“You shaved?”

“I waxed,” you corrected, voice quiet.

A week ago when he’d had his fingers sheathed within you, he could feel a tuff of hair buffering your womanhood, but now- It was bare. You’d been so self-conscious of it and not knowing when the next might present itself for you man to touch you, you did what any panicking virgin would do and got it waxed. A hand slid to your folds, stretching them apart to allow your Taeyong to press a kiss to your clit.

“So beautiful,” he muttered, knowing the words were cliché, but nothing else came to mind, “All mine,” he muttered, lower.

Squirming under his gaze, he took the hint, leaning in to tease your clit with his petal-pink tongue gently before letting his eyes drift to your construed face.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No...”

He took a certain pride in being the first to give such an intimate gesture, feeling as though it’d be a memorable moment for the two of you- And as if your sex was truly his. You squirmed in the sheets once more, letting your nails dig into his scalp as your fingers curled in his hair, pulling him closer, but also giving you something to grapple onto in reality. Nose brushing your swollen bud, he let his lips drag along the folds of your heat, darting his tongue out to prod at your entrance as you drew your legs further apart to spread you. His plush lips embraced your lower lips hungrily, lips noisily suckling upon your clitoris before drawing back for a moment to press a kiss to it.  His finger dipped into your core and you withdrew your hands from his hair, pulling one of his nearby pillows to hug against your face. He chuckled against your heat as you did so, swirling his finger around your core to collect your natural lubricant before adding a second finger. You felt his fluff of hair brush your thigh before the weight of his head rest against it, lazily tonguing at your clit as he slowly pumped two fingers into you, watching intently. Your face felt hot, even more so that you could smell his scent so strongly from his pillow. Why was he so good at this? Withdrawing his fingers, he pressed them to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles.

“So pretty,” he mumbled, “So pink-”

You had no words to reply to him, your back nearly snapping in half as you jolted, feeling his tongue against your ridges once more, able to feel what you assumed was your own slick mixed with his saliva drip from your core as you constricted around nothing. Humming in delight, he flattened his tongue against you, his fingers applying more pressure as their pace increased. A chant of curses and a squeal left you, muffled by the pillow. He used one hand to still your writhing hips.

“Fuck- You taste so good,” he grumbled, an addicting sweetened tang he’d never had before.

“I-I’m close,” you whined, his fingers abusing your clit causing your thighs to tremble.

Removing his face from your heat, his tongue darted out to lick his lips before he wretched the pillow away from you. Falling to rest upon his other hand he stared down at you, your panties snapping to brush his knuckles.

“I want to see you-”

Your hands struggled with where to cling- Settling with grabbing your own shirt as your back arched off the bed.

“P-Please,” you begged, eyes trained upon the man above you.

You didn’t have to beg, he’d give you what you wanted and more.

“I’m- God!” you heaved, brows knitting together as his fingers tugged your clit side to side vigorously.

You came, clenching around nothing, your hips lifting from the bed to chase your release before your thighs began to tremble. Your voice was caught in your throat, your mouth hanging open dumbly as you lost yourself in euphoria in his eyes. Leaning down, Taeyong pressed several kisses to your face as you let out a small whine of overstimulation, your body curling up. Drawing back, he was quick to make work of his belt, dropping it aside with a clamor as he shucked his jeans down- His eyes raked over your limp figure before he reached down to unbutton your blouse, flinging it open before pushing his black jeans to his knees which dipped into the mattress. Impatient, he pulled down his briefs next, out of breath.

“Can I cum on you?”

He was already palming himself, his stiff length painfully hard.

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you let your blouse fall from your shoulders to your elbows, craning your neck towards Taeyong to let out a breath against his member. He stopped his hand, his hips seeming to move towards you on their own. Clutching his taut sack, he let out a hiss as your lips wrapped around his blushing tip, your tongue pressing to the underside of his head. Working himself, he hand pumped the rest of his shaft, the tip bleeding with precum onto your tongue. He cursed to himself several times, etching the sight into his memory for later times. The way your lashes seemed to bat up at him, pink tongue coaxing him to release... How was he already so close?  Regretfully pulling himself from your mouth, his hand vigorously pumped himself, his neck and love bites on display as he let it fall back, mouth hanging open before he snapped forward, a groan escaping him as he hunched over you. A guttural sound left him before a soundless breath, his seed painted your stomach before he angled it upward, milking the last of him on the valley of your breasts, a few drops getting on your bra. 

“Ah- God...” he groaned, leaning back on his haunches.

His member bobbed to the side as he did, still hard. Looking at him in alarm, as to why he only seemed to grow harder you noticed his semi-pained expression.

“Are you-”

He leaned back forward, his mused fringe falling over his eyes as he resumed tugging himself.

“I want you inside me-” you burst, unable to hold it anymore.

Retching his shirt over his head, he didn’t seem to care as he wiped the cum from you with it before balling it up carelessly and tossing it aside. It was so unlike him. Stepping off the bed, he shucked his jeans to the floor, not even taking the care to peel his socks off before fumbling for something under the bed. Condoms.

“Take off your shirt,” he directed.

He was back on the bed in a matter of seconds, propped against the headboard slyly as he watched you, tearing open the condom to roll over his member. Doing as he instructed, you let your flimsy blouse fall to the floor, kicking your panties off in the process, reaching behind you to undo your bra next.

“Leave it on,” he bargained, waving you towards him.

Crawling towards him he patted the spaces on either side of his toned thighs. You in took a sharp breath- Were you going to be riding him? The thought made you nervous. With legs on either side of his own, he held your gaze, sitting up straighter before pulling you forward by the thin material holding the cups of your bra together. A small gasp sounded before his lips were on yours again. His hand was once again at your heat, dipping a finger in before another easily, spreading your own cum around your folds. You felt filthy- He made you feel filthy, with the things he did to you and made you do. Two fingers penetrated you once more building a steady pace as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth. You let out hiccupped moans at the sensation, your hands falling to his shoulders to steady yourself.

“You like it?” he asked, pulling away a tad.

Nodding, you bit your lip, rocking forward gently with each pump he gave you.

“Look at you now- You’re a little slut now- Aren’t you?”

Hearing him call you such a name was so hot and you nodded with a mewl, clenching around his fingers as he smiled.

“Think you can take another?”

You gave a hum, nails digging into his shoulders as he added a third. His fingers stopped pumping into you, opting to curl, a squelching sound sounding as he did so vigorously. You let your face fall to his shoulder with a loud whine of his name.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” he whispered into your ear before removing his fingers.

His other hand fell to the crown of your head, holding you close.

“Are you ready?”

You gave a silent nod against him, your thighs tensing.

“Relax, “ he breathed into your hair.

His slick hand directed his length to your core- You were glad he couldn’t see your face, you’d be too embarrassed to meet his smoldering gaze- His tip pressed into your folds gingerly before he lifted his lips slightly, pushing further into you. It was rather uncomfortable for a few moments as you clung to him. He pushed in further before his progress slowed, seeming to be stuck.

“Relax,” he reminded, his breath uneven.

Trying your best to melt into his hold, you let out a small cry of discomfort before a sharp breath. He’d pressed on, past what you assumed was the tightest part of your cavern. It didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before now, but you moved your hips a tad. Seating your weight deeper, you aided him in going down his length. His hips falling back to the sheets as his head fell back. It was beginning to feel uncomfortable again, his girth thicker near his base. Forcing yourself to finish what you started, you bottomed him out, wincing in the process and adjusting your hips to find a comfortable position. His hands flew to your hips, his hips flexing gently to slowly press himself deeper. Letting you adjust, his fingertips skimmed up your back to your bra, undoing the clasp before gently ushering your face from his shoulder.

“Is it okay?”

You gave a nod, bringing your arms in to let him pull the straps from your shoulders.

“Ah-” you whined suddenly as he shifted, pulling you closer as to let his cheek press to your breast as he peppered kisses.

“You feel so good, angel-” he praised, his gaze half-lidded, “So tight.”

You blushed, never in your years of friendship had he called you such an affectionate pet name-

Experimentally lifting his hips, he withdrew from you a tad before shallowly protruding once more. After a few experimental rolls of his hips, he rocked your hips back and forth as he sat of further against the headboard, resting his forehead against your own.  Impatient for pleasure yourself, you rose your hips before letting them fall.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, repeating his simple words.

Fuck. Even in such a compromising position you were cute-

“I-”

He held back his words, remembering he should take things slower.

“Y-Yes,” you whined as he flexed his hips against you, fucking into you shallowly.

His nails dug into your skin before they raked up the expanse of your back to pull your front flush with his.

“Does it hurt?”

“No-”

Impatient, his hands slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh in his hands before he increased his pace, pulling back further to infiltrate you deeper with each thrust. His pace wasn’t fast, nor was it slow. You soon found yourself bouncing upon his length in time with him. It felt a hundred times better than his fingers, a full feeling you’d never experienced before. He gave a particularly hard thrust causing you to whine.

“O-Ow, that-”

“I’m sorry,” he soothed, voice husky as if out of breath, his face nuzzling into your hair as he slowed.

Leaning you back, he laid you on your back, slipping out of you in the process. Hovering over you, he was quick to stuff himself back inside, pulling one of your thighs to hook over his sharp hip. He gave languid strokes, his eyes boring into your own all the while. He was intense, so much so you had to look away.  The mattress creaked beneath the both of you, his knees digging into the springs. His thrusts built up once more, he opted to build his pace, but keep his power relatively the same, content with staying within you shallowly with quick and light thrusts. You couldn’t get any words out- Everything that came out was an unintelligible sound. Accidentally, he gave a harsh thrust, bottoming out with a slap of skin. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head and Taeyong held in his apology.

Everything was too much. The smell of sex, an intoxicatingly unique scent that you found yourself rather liking- The smell of him, his cologne lingering on his body and sheets. The taste of a dry mouth- The sounds of his low grunts and skin slapping- The sensations; the feeling of the ridges of his cock penetrating you. The way your heart beat so rapidly, over flowing with affection and emotions.

And like that he came- Again. You were a tad sad the fun had to end now that you were getting used to it- But you were equally as exhausted. He pulled out and waddled to the bathroom and you had to chuckle at how he’d left his socks on. The sink ran for a few moments and you pulled one of his covers around you, inhaling deeply to bask in his scent. Next you heard the familiar sound of peeing, grinning to yourself that he hadn’t even closed the door. You rolled yourself further into the sheets, feeling cozy enough to drift off. The faucet sounded once more.

“What kind of chicken to do you want?”

Rolling over to face him, you watched him tug on a pair of sweatpants, his lean torso snagging your attention.

“Any-”

Dropping to the sheets, he draped a leg over your cocooned form, phone in hand. Playfully, he pulled you into his chest, propping his phone up on the top of your head as he scrolled through the delivery menu. Wiggling, you looked up at him. He grinned in return- A beautiful heart-throb of a grin. His eyes flickered to your hair, patting it down softly.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he teased.

As he did so, you focused your gaze on the love bites you’d scattered across his honey skin. Smiling to yourself childishly.

“Cajun wings,” he sang to himself, not even giving you the chance to add your input as he checked out.

“Is it boneless?”

“No,” he chortled, amused by your pout.

“You’re so cute,” he added, dropping his phone to the side.

“I feel so filthy,” you admitted.

“Why? It’s only natural-” he said, flicking your forehead, “Are you saying I’m dirty?”

“No,” you howled, wiggling.

“My cum baby,” he teased.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why?”

He rolled over you, his voice dangerously low, “You like it when you cum, don’t you?”

You nodded, as if it was obvious, opening your mouth-

“And you like it when you have my cum on you, don’t you?” he interjected, “You like to swallow my cum and taste yours from my lips-”

You heaved at his chest, pushing him away. He was teasing you again.

“Do you want to shower?” he suddenly asked, rolling away.

ㅡ

A shower was just what you’d needed, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You felt clean and pristine- Though his body wash had been a bit too musky for your taste. On the back of the toilet was a set of shorts and t-shirt he’d set out for you.

When you came out you could smell the tantalizing scent of chicken. On the floor sat Taeyong, box of delivery open, a small tray placed to the side for bones. The washer ran, water noisily splashing against its’ door. On his desk, his monitor, playing some sort of movie.  You sat beside him on the floor, surprised to find there was not a hair or crumb in place. His eyes were so wide, peaked with interest at the movie on screen.

“Did you answer the door like that?” you questioned, grabbing a wing.

Glancing down at his shirtless self as if oblivious to why you’d even ask he nodded. The delivery man must have had a fright...

A tad sore, you shifted, searching for a comfortable position- Tae had fallen asleep, the movie not entertaining enough to keep him focused evidently. He spooned you, his soft breaths against the nape of your neck making your hairs stand on end. You hadn’t planned on staying the night, but seeing as it was late- He was already asleep and you were growing drowsy, it couldn’t be helped.

“Yong-ie?” you whispered quietly, curious if there was a chance he wasn’t dozed.

You were met with no reply, but when you shifted once more on the bed his hold constricted. Smiling to yourself, you felt satisfied. Your first time had been such a scary notion, hearing horror stories and your friends’ complaints, you worried that it’d be an uncomfortable and terrible experience- But it went smoother than you could have hoped~ Sure, there were some things you wish you could have changed, but who didn’t have those kind of thoughts? It was thanks to him- Thanks to having a friend like him who could laugh off any awkward moments and talk comfortably- And thanks to a lover like him who patiently did his best to put you first; conveying his emotions perfectly to make the situation feel twenty times more intimate, each touch more igniting. You already craved him again. His expressions were the first of their kind you’d seen on him, ethereal- And his words and voice, haunted you, making your toes curl in delight.

You hoped from now on things would stay as sugary sweet as they were at this moment.