#And it has been for a long time. It's just managing to rapidly get worse now. My mother has literally threatened to shoot me.

[fvaleraye]

limbus company is a wild game. you play as a nonbinary amnesiac who got their head cut off and responded by replacing it with a flaming wall clock, whose second job is to (ineffectually, at first) be the manager of a group of people on a bus and whose first job is to revive and heal them anytime anything happens, which is all the time. your party is comprised of a dour scientist who has a habit of speaking in poetry, a mysterious white haired genius implied to be in a constant mental discord call with different versions of herself across multiple universes, an autistic woman who named her shoes after a fictional horse and turns into an ancient and powerful vampire if they're ever taken off, a swordswoman who speaks a third of her mind in acronyms and loves to murder people "artistically", an autistic frenchman built like a fridge who refuses to be a person unless ordered to, a long haired rich pretty boy who accidentally pisses people off with his sheltered behavior half the time and pretends to be dumber than he is to purposefully annoy people the other half, a british thug whose entire plot could have been solved by just spitting it out and also turned into a wolf monster for a bit, a ginger who got bored of her office job and decided to get on a boat and hunt whales about it, a russian gambler whose mental health and self image are rapidly deteriorating while she is also getting progressively worse at hiding it, a young man who is really in over his head while also being very good at killing people who also is weirdly good at translating the earlier mentioned swordswoman's acronyms, a kiss-ass former military woman who would probably kill everyone else in the party if she thought she could get away with it, and a czech former-soldier who got a mutant bug arm and intense ptsd and depression. there's also the all powerful guide who tells you where to go who is legally not allowed to be too helpful and is also perpetually sick of your shit, and the strange girl who drives the bus you all ride in without a license or a lick of training. also the bus looks like a train. add onto the fact that most of the characters and their backstories are references to classic literature, and you have what is possibly the world's MOST dysfunctional dnd party.

we love this fucking game.

[p0orbaby]

Getting You Alone Isn’t Easy

summary: two reckless lovers, one ill-timed call, and zero chance of stopping

warnings: suggestive but not explicit

a/n: the length of time it took me to decide on a title for this was painful

word count: 1.5k

part 1

-

You’re draped over Alexia, straddling her in the faint, golden light that sneaks through the blinds. Her hands grip your hips in that familiar way, like you’re the last thing keeping her from floating off. You’re gasping, breathless, clinging to the taut warmth of her body beneath you as though the world is ending and this is your only way to stay grounded. Her hands, usually gentle, are digging in hard enough to leave bruises, but she’s sweet like that, knows exactly when you need to feel it. You can almost picture the bruises they’ll leave behind, thumbprints like violet ink smudged across your skin, each one a reminder that she was here, and that she wanted you badly enough to leave a mark.

It’s been a day, one of those long ones that started with a sun-blinded hangover, progressed into a searing headache, and then—once you forced yourself to actually acknowledge the calls you missed last night—moved rapidly toward near apocalyptic levels of panic.

Somewhere between the drink you had to “take the edge off” and the fourth one you drank without even thinking about it, Alexia texted you, and it felt like a solution, or maybe a distraction, though those two things are the same to you most of the time.

So here you are, in the thick of it, your bodies wrapped around each other, your mind slipping into that strange, dreamlike state where it feels like your skin isn’t your own. Everything’s heightened—her touch, her scent, the whisper of her breath on your neck. You’re right at the edge, teetering, and then—

Your phone rings.

Of course it fucking does.

At first, you ignore it. The vibrating hum is muffled against the sheets, barely noticeable above your own heartbeat, but then it rings again, louder this time, insistent. It’s like a drill sergeant at dawn, determined to ruin whatever peace you’d managed to find. You freeze, eyes half-closed, but Alexia’s hands don’t loosen. She’s looking up at you with an expression that’s half bemused, half annoyed, as if she’s only just managed to convince herself that you’re here, and now you’re about to ruin it with some petty, buzzing bit of reality.

You almost get through it, on the cusp letting it go to voicemail or hurling the damn thing into the bottom of your Birkin where it belongs. But something in you—a survival instinct, maybe—forces you to reach for it, fumbling as you do so. Alexia’s eyes follow your hand, then flick back up to yours with an exasperated look that says, Really? Now?

You manage to grab it without rolling entirely off her, though it’s a close call. Her hands move down to your waist, still holding you in place as you glance at the screen, and of course, it’s George. It’s always George. You swear he has some kind of sixth sense, an uncanny ability to detect the exact moment you’ve slipped into some semblance of happiness, so he can yank you back with some catastrophe or another. The man is a walking interruption.

“Don’t,” Alexia murmurs, pulling you back to the matter at hand, her voice soft but firm, her hands slipping up to your ribs with a kind of slow, determined patience. But you know better. If you don’t answer now, he’ll only call back five more times, and each time, he’ll sound more panicked, until he finally leaves you a voice note that’s somehow worse than the call itself.

“I have to,” you mutter, as you answer, attempting to clear your throat and sound like you weren’t just seconds away from giving in to everything she was doing to you.

“Hello?” you say, trying and failing to keep the breathlessness out of your voice.

George’s voice crackles through the speaker, shrill and brimming with that particular brand of theatrical urgency agents reserve for “crises.” He sounds faintly nasal, the sort of voice you imagine would belong to a man with an allergy to anything fun. You imagine him sitting in his cold, grey office somewhere in Soho, every surface immaculate and white, his expression permanently fixed into a grimace of perpetual disappointment.

“You need to sit down,” he says, voice pitched in that “I’m barely holding it together” tone that never actually means anything good.

“I am sitting,” you manage, though it comes out sounding more like a gasp than anything else, because Alexia—God bless her—is now trailing her lips along the column of your throat, completely unbothered by the fact that you’re very much occupied now. In fact, you’re convinced she’s doing this on purpose, her eyes meeting yours with that devilish glint that says she’s fully aware of what she’s doing. You pull back and give her a look—part warning, part exasperation—but she only grins, slowly, like she’s daring you to keep up the charade.

George doesn’t miss a beat. “There are photos,” he says, each syllable dripping with an ominous weight that would make anyone else think he was delivering news of a tragedy.

“Photos?” you ask, as Alexia’s hand slips a little higher, her fingers just grazing the edge of your panties. You’re barely holding it together, biting down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound. “George, there are always photos. What are you on about?”

He sighs, the kind of exasperated sigh he reserves for when he’s forced to explain the intricacies of your own life to you. “Not just any photos,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow makes everything sound worse. “These are… explicit”

“Explicit?” you repeat, your voice catching because Alexia’s lips are trailing across your collarbone now, her fingers dangerously close to places that make it impossible to sound remotely professional. “Define explicit, George”

He pauses, a beat of silence so thick with hesitation you can practically see his nervous, tight-lipped expression. “You and Alexia. On that yacht. Full-on… everything. Let’s just say someone with a very long-range lens took a rather extensive interest in your… activities”

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do, it’s like being doused in cold water. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the sweat on your skin, Alexia’s fingers toying with you, her mouth now having moved to the swell of your exposed breast. You can’t tell if you’re more annoyed or amused by the fact that, somehow, your most private moments have once again become public property.

Alexia looks up at you once more, eyes glinting with something between curiosity and enjoyment, as if she can tell exactly what George is saying and finds the whole thing hilarious.

“So you’re telling me,” you say, trying to sound casual, though it’s hard with Alexia’s hands and mouth all over you, “that someone out there’s publishing wildlife documentaries of my sex life?”

“Don’t be flippant,” George snaps, though his voice cracks a little, like he’s barely holding it together. “This is serious. The Daily Mail already has them. And they’re… well, they’re explicit. The kind of thing they’d plaster on the front page if they could get away with it”

For a moment, you consider the insanity of it all—your life, reduced to some tawdry tabloid spread, the kind of thing boring nosey housewives read in supermarket queues. You imagine the headlines, the breathless, shocked tones they’d use to describe “the scandal.” Never mind the fact that you’re not the first celebrity to get caught like this, nor will you be the last. But still, it stings in that strange, twisted way fame always does, a reminder that your life isn’t really your own.

“I’m sorry, George,” you say, barely stifling a moan as Alexia’s hand moves just right, making it almost impossible to keep up the conversation. “But I don’t exactly have a solution for you right now”

George lets out a strangled noise. “Well, you bloody well better come up with one. Unless you want the world to know what you look like without your clothes on. Which, I might add, is not exactly… career-friendly”

You stifle a laugh, more out of habit than anything else. Alexia’s fingers are moving with that slow, calculated patience she knows drives you mad, and you can feel your resolve slipping. “Look, George,” you say, your voice strained, “I’ll call you back. After I… handle things”

“What? You can’t just hang up on me!” he practically shrieks, but you’re already pressing ‘end call’ and tossing the phone aside.

The phone lands back somewhere on the bed, George’s panicked voice cutting off abruptly. For a moment, there’s silence, and then Alexia lets out a low, throaty laugh, her eyes alight with amusement. She reaches her free hand up, trailing her fingers along your jaw, and there’s something wicked in her smile that makes you forget the world outside the bedroom.

“Where were we?” you murmur, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss, slow and lingering, the kind of kiss that makes you forget everything else.

“Right here,” she whispers, her voice soft but possessive, and you can’t help but smile as she pulls you back down, your bodies tangling once more as you lose yourself in her warmth.

[moonstruckme]

hi !! i saw that your requests were open and i'd really love if you wrote something with james (or poly!m !!) with a gn!reader taking up literature in uni who tends to get back pains from being hunched over reading and writing almost all hours of the day (definitely not projecting, hehe!)

i love the stuff you write and everythings just so sweetly written and portrayed so lovely !! thank you for keeping the marauders fandom alive lol

Thank you ml <3

modern au

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 709 words

James plops down beside you on the couch, and when he pokes your spine you straighten reflexively. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, only half in the room as the rest of your brain continues working on your essay. 

“Are you really not done yet?” Sirius asks, putting a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You start typing faster. They’re going to want to start the movie soon, and then your laptop is going to be wrested away from you whether you’ve reached a stopping point or not. “I can’t remember the last time I spent more than a couple hours on an essay. You’ve been laboring over that thing all day.” 

“It’s a long one,” you admit, “but it’s hardly labor.” 

“Sure looks like it, when your back is hunched worse than a coal miner’s.” 

You give him a deadpan look. Sirius glances down at your fingers, still typing rapidly, and shudders. 

“Fucked how you can do that.” 

“Literature students might be the new coal miners,” says James.

You hum dubiously, looking back to your work. “Not sure that’s a super fair comparison.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Remus agrees with you, “but it’s not like you’re not doing yourself any harm when you write all day like this, love. Your back is already hurting you—” 

“You’ll probably get carpal tunnel,” James adds. 

“—and I know looking at your laptop for this long gives you headaches.” Remus’ slow strides into the living room feel like a countdown clock. You manage to hammer out the end of your sentence just before he pulls your laptop out from under your fingers. “If you’re not careful, it’s gonna fuck up your sleep. That’s enough for tonight.” 

You sigh but don’t complain, rolling back your shoulders to ease some of the tautness there. Your spine crackles, quicker and louder than the popcorn popping in the kitchen, and James flinches away from you. 

“God, make it stop,” he pleads. 

You ignore him and roll your neck to the side, eliciting a series of cracks from there too. James makes a dramatically horrified sound and squeezes his eyes shut, and Remus grabs your head in both hands, restraining you. 

“Don’t,” he tells you severely. “We’ve been over this.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly as he pulls the bag of popcorn from the microwave. 

“It hurts,” you complain. 

“Sounds like it, fuck,” James agrees emphatically. Now the danger has passed, he leans towards you again, splaying a protective palm over your mid back. “Sirius, could you grab my icy hot from the fridge? Here, lovie, lie down.” 

Remus lets go of your face somewhat reluctantly, letting James help you lay across his lap. His hand smooths up and down your spine, pressing down lightly upon muscles rigid with tension. You sort of wish he’d just crush you. You’re sure he could, he doesn’t spend all that time at the gym for nothing. 

“I’m gonna get you a back brace,” Remus mutters, fondness under the veneer of resentment in his tone. 

“That'd be kind of hot.” Sirius lifts your feet, dropping down onto the couch before passing James the tube of cream. “Those are the strappy looking things, right? I’m for it.” 

“I do not consent,” you say clearly, then hiss as James applies the cool balm to your lower back. 

He and Sirius laugh. Remus reaches over to press your shoulders back down. 

“Easy, angel,” says James. “It’ll help.” 

“I didn’t know it’d be this cold,” you defend yourself, a little laugh tripping out of you as well. “You do this voluntarily?” 

“You’ll see why in a bit.”

“If I were spending all of my Saturday hunched over my laptop and a bunch of books,” Sirius says, “I think I’d at least use the right ‘your.’ What are they teaching you, babe?” 

You suppress a groan. You’d sent Sirius a grammatically incorrect text two days ago, and he’s yet to stop lording it over you. 

“That was autocorrect,” you tell him again. 

He hums noncommittally, tracing a path up your calf with his forefinger. “I’m just saying, can it really be worth it if we’re making those sorts of mistakes? Will they even still give you your degree?” 

“Sirius, their back is getting tense again. Knock it off.”

[kasagia]

Game of survival, final hunting...

Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem!rebel! reader Summary: After he catches you, he tries to turn you into a lady who can stand by his side. However, you are not that easy to break... after all, a wild animal in a cage is still a dangerous animal. Warning(s): 18+; smut scene; Coriolanus Snow being Coriolanus Snow; blood; mention of dying; Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @divineidolatry @edb954 @missakward123 @blythlover @leclercsgirlshhs @squidscottjeans @theaaeht @yourmomsbjtch @lovelydoveval @staylowessafe @jeanscremebrulee Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

One step. Second. Third. Fourth. Keys jingling. The lock is twisted. Then the second one. You hear the door sliding open.

You manage to hold back a hiss as the door to your cell opens and light floods into the small, dark cell, blinding you for a moment. Your eyes, too accustomed to the dark, are watering and blinking rapidly as the light enters through your pupils.

"Rise and shine. I hope you're in a much better mood today." Coriolanus says, placing the tray of food on a small crate. He walks over to you and uncuffs your ankles and wrists from the handcuffs attached to the wall.

You fall into his arms after your aching, tired muscles from spending the night suspended against the cold wall of the cell can no longer hold you.

"I know, little hunter. This didn't make me happy at all. You know I don't like punishing you. But yesterday, you crossed the line. We're in the Capitol, not in the District. You can't cut off the fingers of my peacekeepers and expect not to be punished for it." He explains to you, scolding you like a little child as he gently sets you down on the makeshift bed. He runs a hand through your sweaty hair and reaches for your wrist to wipe away the blood that had flowed from the wound the handcuffs had caused.

"You… despise… them…" You speak in a hoarse voice. You hadn't had water in your mouth since last morning, but you weren't going to submit to him because of it and obediently listen to his lectures. You've been through worse, running away from him.

"True. But they are useful. And maybe you were right to cut off his finger for touching you where he shouldn't have, but it's my job to punish people for desecrating what's mine, not yours. We need to temper your thorns, petal, before I announce to the world that you will be my first lady. Next time, let's try to make it less gruesome, shall we?"

You would snort or roll your eyes if you had enough strength. Instead, you rest your head against the wall and close your eyes, as you are letting him bandage your wrists and ankles. He gently wipes away the dried blood and applies some ointments to the areas of your skin that were most abraded—evidence of your feeble attempt to escape and break free from these stupid shackles.

This has become a routine between the two of you. He tried to turn you into his first lady, and every time you showed your true colours and tried to get away from him, he locked you in here. For a day, two, or a week. You will never be able to determine exactly how long you have been hanging on the wall.

And then, moments like these came.

"You know you won't make it? I am and always will be from the district. You should have killed me ages ago." You mumble as much as your dry throat allows. Coriolanus, however, as usual, doesn't care much about your sarcastic remarks.

However, he lets go of your wrists and reaches for the water bottle, pressing it to your lips. You drink slowly, keeping your eyes on his blue irises, which always seem to be watching you intently.

You had long ago stopped trembling under his gaze, but there was something about him that wouldn't let you take your eyes off him. You wanted to think it was caution—the hunter's innate, eternal vigilance. But both you and Coriolanus knew very well that the reason you couldn't tear your eyes away from each other just like that was something more than your distrust for one another.

"I would let you go for the names of all the rebels. You know it well." He says this, throwing away the empty bottle. He wipes away the drops of water that have trickled down your chin and throat with his thumb and traces the line of your lips for a moment, caressing them.

"Of course, Mr. President. You would surely let me go. By extending my cage's run to your gardens." You mock him, and he just smiles slightly. He huffs, shaking his head as he pulls you into his arms and walks out. You might have found it romantic if he hadn't trapped you in that small, dark room or forced you to play the role he had assigned you.

"The reason for all the problems we have, is that you can't trust me." He states it matter-of-factly as he helps you sit on the armchair in his bedroom.

He ignores your angry glare and takes off your sweaty and dirty clothes. He takes you in his arms again and carries you to the bathroom, despite your attempts to break free from his arms. He carefully lowers you into the tub filled with warm water and foam. It smells like roses. Damn bastard.

"Because what you're doing now is giving me a hell of a lot of reasons to trust you." You growl in anger, pushing his hands away from you. Coriolanus grabs your chin tightly, forcing you to look into his icy blue eyes.

"Behave. We're not in the district." He reminds you with a cool tone of voice.

If he thought for even a moment that you would take on the role of his obedient pet, he was very wrong. You would have bitten off his finger to prove your point, but the prospect of another few nights in the cell had effectively dissuaded you from that tempting idea. At least for now.

You glare at him with an equally stubborn gaze, pulling your chin from his grip by tilting your head back. Coriolanus sighs, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. Without taking his eyes off yours, he begins to gently wash your hair, which you reluctantly allow him to do. The bastard gave good head massages. You could have let him have that false sense of gaining a little advantage. After all, you had been hanging for God knows how long, chained to that wall... or rather, the devil kneeling next to your bathtub.

"Why did you do that?" You ask with a shaky voice, breaking the silence between you as he reaches into the water to gently pour over the skin of your collarbones. He strokes your neck lazily, making you shiver under the touch of his rough, large hands.

"Specify. You obviously hold a lot of grudges against me if you came here after all these years with the intention of killing me... however pathetic and false this reason for your arrival may sound."

"False? I intended to kill you." You say, more furious with the stoic calm he displayed than with the fact that he dared to question the reason for your fateful arrival at the Capitol. Although, maybe you shouldn't be surprised? After all, it probably wasn't the first attempt on his life...

"Of course, little hunter." He replies, amused, thoroughly rinsing the foam from your hair. As he gently runs his fingers through them, you wonder what he said.

He couldn't be right. You came here for one simple purpose: to kill him. So why did your heart skip a beat when he declared that you were bluffing and fooling yourself? It could have been because of his closeness, how he was overwhelming you, and how both his warmth and his scent made you crazy, taking you back to those peaceful days in District 12 when you didn't know what a monster he was. But everything between you and Coriolanus ended a long time ago, right?

"Why did you kill Sejanus and Lucy Gray?" You ask, trying to stubbornly focus on the reason for your anger towards him, trying to push away the poisonous thoughts this snake has put into your head.

"I didn't kill them." You shudder as he spreads cold bath liquid over your heated body while whispering his answer.

You frown and turn your head, looking at him willingly for the first time. His eyes are focused on your body, though, as he slowly explores your body with his hands, caressing your skin. You see in his eyes how he reminds himself of the times when you two used to wash each other more often and in... much better circumstances. At least for you.

"So what? You sent them to the bottom of the ocean for a vacation?" You ask mockingly, pushing away his wandering hand that started to move too dangerously down your stomach. His eyes meet yours. You flinch as he takes your hand in his and guides it to where he wants it as he continues to wash you.

"Why? You want to join them?" His tone is laced with amusement as you unsuccessfully try to resist him. He finally stands up, grabs a towel, and lays it out for you, waiting for you to get out of the tub and let him dry you off.

"I want you to join them." You say, turning your back to him and standing up. He laughs softly, steps closer, and wraps the towel tightly around you, pressing his torso against your back. You shiver as you feel his breath on your neck.

"Not going to happen, my little hunter." His soft whisper, combined with his tight grip around you and the scent of roses that fills the bathroom after your forced bath, makes you feel even more trapped than when you were hanging against the wall. It was a difficult achievement, but you should've gotten used to the fact that, for him, nothing was impossible.

"Just answer the question." You reply stubbornly, brushing his arms off of you and turning to face him, keeping an iron grip on the towel.

"Why? So you can be under the illusion that I am not a monster and that you can feel something for me without feeling guilty? Or perhaps to make it easier for you to kill me?" He asks, running his hands through your wet hair before cupping your cheek. His thumb collects the drops of water that fall from your hair onto your temple and cheek, caressing your skin tenderly.

"I feel nothing but hatred for you. And believe me, when the time comes, nothing will stop me." You growl at him, furious. You push him away and get out of the tub.

He clicks his tongue, displeased more with the way the water drips from you onto the white marble floor of his bathroom than with the fact that you are desperatly tring to oppose him.

"You've always been a terrible liar, my darling. You are a much better hunter... but as you can see, not all of your prey fall into your traps."

"A mistake I intend to fix."

"Are you under the illusion that I'll give you a chance to do this?" He aks, following you as you exit the bathroom. He is using a tone of voice that reminds you of the way parents are scolding their child. You hear how bored he is and you feel your anger grow even more as he doesn't even try to take your threats seriously.

You don't respond to his taunt. You push past him and go back to his room, only to stand frozen in the middle when you see a blood-red dress with red rubies sewn onto the bodice on the bed.

"What is it?" You ask him angrily, turning to face him, knowing full well that the bastard was standing leaning against the doorframe with that shitty, smug smirk on his face you have learned to hate with the time you have spent with him recently.

"A dress."

"That I can tell. Why are you ordering me to put one?" You fold your arms, making sure the towel doesn't fall off of you, as his piercing blue eyes are focused only on you.

"Ordering? I wouldn't order anything to my sweet fiancèe."

"What?" You ask in pure shock as he steps closer to you. You step back with every step he takes until you feel the cool window pane against your back. You curse under your breath as he walks over to you with a smirk and lifts your hand, slipping the ring onto it. A fucking gold ring with a big white diamond.

"You didn't understand?" He asks with a mocking, dark chuckle that makes you question how much you actually know about this man and the customs of the Capitol. You knew that if Coriolanus Snow planned something, there was nothing you could do to stop him. And when he became president... his room for manoeuvre only increased.

"You are mad to think that I will marry you and that society of Capitol will accept our sick marriage." You tell him, happy that he walks away from you, but only to grab the dress and hand it to you.

"Why? After all, you are Y/N Y/L/N. The long lost descendant of an important general who died in the dark days. I found you and took you from the district to the Capitol, I returned you to your rightful place. And now you are recovering from the trauma you experienced."

"Nice story. How many people did you kill or bribe to make people believe in this?" You look down from him to the dress you held in your hands to avoid meeting his piercing eyes. The bastard knew how much you fucking loved it.

By the way, you were surprised at how well he remembered your preferences after so many years... because you were absolutely convinced that the dress you were currently holding in your hand was one of Tigris' designs that you had praised when you exchanged letters.

"No one died. And no one will die if you will cooperate with me, my little doom." He says, cupping your chin between two fingers and making you look straight into his eyes again. You swallow, trying to bear his burning gaze. He smiles wolfishly and kisses your lips gently, unhurriedly. Savouring the win. At least until you push him away, to which he just shakes his head with a smirk. You hate yourself for wanting to straighten the strand of his hair that fell on his forehead. "Dress up. You have underwear in the dresser. Choose something nice. And remember. One wrong move, and you're back in your cage. And that would be a terrible pity. The chefs prepared your favourite dishes for our engagement party. I'm sure you'll also enjoy some of the delicacies from the Capitol. I'll be waiting for you downstairs, my darling."

"You can kiss my ass!" You shout after him as he walks towards the exit, giving you some semblance of privacy to change and get dressed.

"Later, little hunter." He replies, unfazed by your outburst, and leaves, closing the door behind him. Locked, of course. You were always in a cage. Either a cold, musty cell, an exclusive bedroom, or the arms of that slimy, poisonous snake. And the worst of it all was that it was the first option that started to scare you the most.

"Don't eat so quickly. They'll think we started trying for an heir too soon, my dear." Snow admonished you with a quiet whisper in your ear as he approached you from behind, gently pressing his chest against your back as he wrapped his arm around your waist. You almost spit out your food at the thought of giving him any heirs.

Although you had plans for it in District 12. Two boys and one girl. You even had names. Crassus Xanthos, Adeline Rose, and Cardan Xenos. How stupid and naive you were back then.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't locked me up without food, I wouldn't have to make up for God knows how much time I spent without it." You reply grumpily, but you listen to him and slow down your eating pace a little.

"If you behaved like a lady and not a savage from the district, I wouldn't have to do this. Besides, I thought you didn't believe in God?"

"I have to. What other explanation is there for why devils like you exist in this world?" You answer very seriously, obviously mocking him. He rolls his eyes at you and looks around, making sure no one is listening to your conversation. The last thing he wants is you, spoiling the picture of a perfect copule he made up for the Capitol masses.

"I don't think that's exactly the right thing to say to your fiancé, my lovely little rebel." He replies, adjusting the necklace around your neck. You shiver as his fingertips brush against the skin of your collarbone, hating yourself for how pleasant that small touch felt.

For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you hit him and whether the ridiculously large ring he gave you would accidentally gouge out his eye in the process. You have to test it someday...

"So suddenly you want to play the conservative, exemplary couple?" You ask mockingly, playing with the sleeve of your dress, trying to ignore the hateful glances the harpies were giving you for ruining their plans to settle down the great President Snow.

"I told you this before, Y/N. All that stands in the way of our happiness is your childishness, idiotic stubbornness, and lack of trust. I took care of you in District 12, I met your every need, and I protected you from every other man who tried to lay his finger on you, including the commander. I risked my future for you more than once. Do you think that I have suddenly changed completely? That I am not able to feel the same as before and take care of what is mine?"

"Wait... you killed Hoff?" You ask in shock, trying to hold on to that one sentence he had said. You won't let that bastard make you feel guilty. "I never asked you about any of these things. You did it all by yourself. Because you wanted to. Because you got something out of this. So don't try to pull the wool over my eyes and tell me that you're my hero, because even now, when you are trying to turn me into a Capitol girl, you are doing it only for your benefit and entertainment."

"You could show some gratitude. If I wanted, I could easly have any woman here. And they would bring me much more than you."

"Would they? Would they be able to fill the void left by me? Because that was the point, right? You saw me everywhere. In everything. You couldn't get rid of the ghost of our past, and it made you feel crazy. Maybe even mad and lonely. I'm only here for your mental health. To tie up loose ends, right, Coriolanus?"

Your mockery finally throws him off balance. His calm, indifferent façade breaks before you. You see the burning anger in his eyes as he takes a step towards you, closing any space between you. However, he's still composed enough to remember that you're both in a public place, so instead of reaching for your neck, he cups your cheek, holding you tightly. He leans down, pressing his temple to yours to whisper in your ear.

"I could kill you so quickly, painfully and silently that no one would notice your sudden disappearance..."

"But then you'd also be burying your sanity with me, right? You know... I heard you screaming after me in the forest all these years ago. Your desperate pleas for me not to leave you. The only person who showed you warmth, compassion, and care, who wasn't related to you, who didn't have to do it out of any sick sense of duty or fear. Tell me, do you still have your mother's shawl that I dropped when I ran away from you? Does it still smell like me?"

You keep pushing him to the edge of his patience, hoping he'll break and show all these people who gathered to celebrate your fake engagement what he really is. But instead of causing a scene, he just growls into your ear before capturing your lips in a passionate, aggressive kiss. He takes advantage of your shock as you gasp, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth.

Kissing Coriolanus has always been like this. A passionate, possessive fight between you. Everything or nothing. Either completely gentle and tender or a breathtaking, mind-blowing experience. And you hated yourself for how easily you found yourself in his arms and close to his body as he pressed you to him, trying to vent the burning anger (that you aroused in him) on your lips. A clever bastard.

Before he pulls away from you, he bites your lower lip in some twisted act of punishment. You lick your lips as he pulls away, tasting your blood on the tongue.

"For your own good, you should learn when to shut your damn, pretty mouth." He growls, moving away from you. He discreetly wipes your lipstick from his mouth with a tissue and hands it to you, so you can also fix the makeup he ruined. And you try your hardest to ignore the looks other people give you. You're fucking blushing anyway.

"I am not a puppet you can control." You say, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

"I never wanted you to be one. It would be so boring… after all, it's so much more fun to break you down every time you're hoping you'll escape and have someone at your side who actually uses brain cells.. Nothing can tear us apart, Y/N. I won't let you run away from me again. The hunt and chase are over, my little hunter. Even death won't separate us, because I swear I will take you with me everywhere, even to my own grave." He mumbles, his nose brushing against yours. You feel his breath on your cheek as he places his hands on your shoulders, making sure you don't run away from him. You shiver when he touches the bare skin of your arms. He gives you a cocky smirk, well aware of what the closeness between the two of you is doing to you.

From the outside, to casual observers, it might have looked like an ordinary, loving conversation between two people who couldn't keep their hands off each other. You should get used to the fact that people's eyes will always be on you and that Coriolanus can whisper death threats with the most tender expression on his face.

You move away from him and reach for the champagne the waiter hands you. You take a sip, ignoring Coriolanus' glare, but as soon as the liquid slides down your throat, you feel like you've swallowed corrosive acid. You drop your glass in shock, shattering it on the floor, and you grab your throat, coughing.

Blood flows from your mouth, soaking the neckline of your dress as you lose control and spitting the red liquid onto the floor as you kneel, unable to steady yourself on your shaking legs.

Poison. Coriolanus poisoned you. He was planning your death all along. How wrong you were...

But why would he do it this way? Why now, in public and not in the privacy of his residence, taking his revenge? Why was he keeping you alive for so long, under the pretext of making you a resident of the Capitol and his polite, obedient little fiancée and future wife and First Lady?

And when he kneels next to you, taking you in his arms and holding you, as panic begins to form around you from the screams of the crowd and their chaotic footsteps, you become even more confused. His eyes are all you can look at when you are struggling for air.

The chandelier above him causes you to see a golden halo-like glow around his head. The thought crosses your mind that this is what Lucifer must have looked like before he became a fallen angel. This is how you were supposed to die. In the arms of the devil. The devil that you yourself allowed to get close to you.

"You did great, my love." You hear him whisper in your ear. Before you drift off into the darkness, you feel him place something cold against your lips, forcing the thick, bitter liquid down your throat.

The first thing you feel after regaining consciousness is a terrible pain in your throat. As if it had turned into a real desert. You are convinced that this is hell. It's only when you realise you're lying on soft red silk sheets, on the familiar bed that belonged to Coriolanus, that you realise you're still in YOUR hell. Unfortunately, you cannot say which option was worse: meeting the real devil or facing the blonde demon in a red suit again.

You open your eyes slowly, gratefully accepting that you are surrounded by darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight that filters through the half-covered windows.

You are hit by the strong scent of roses next to you. You freeze, feeling Coriolanus's arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Only now do you realise that he is lying right next to you, his face turned towards you. He breathes easily and calmly. His usually combed and slicked hair is slightly messy, which only adds to his charm and makes you want to run your hand through it and feel its softness (an opportunity you were deprived of in District 12 during his time as peackeeper). You almost forget that he poisoned you at the party. Almost.

You slowly try to slide his arm off of you and get out of bed. You manage to sit up, but when you gently push his arm off of you, he immediately wakes up. He automatically reaches for your wrist and locks it in a tight grip. He looks at you, blinking a few times before he wakes up enough to realise what's happening around him.

"You finally woke up. Dr. Gaul said it might take you some time. You're not as resistant to poisons as I am yet, my darling, but we'll change that soon." He assures you, sitting on the bed as well. He places his hand on your jaw and forces you to open your mouth so he can check your throat. You don't fight him for now; you are too tired from the events of a few hours ago to try to stand up to him like you always do. Besides, you'd rather have him checking and treating you than that crazy woman.

The concern shining in his eyes tells you that if he wanted to kill you, he wouldn't be giving you the antidote, checking your injuries right now, or sleeping and watching over you in his bed, playing the role of nurse to help you recover.

So you have no fucking idea why he let you drink the poison from the glass. Nor who put it there.

"What happened…" You try to ask, but as quickly as you speak, you feel your throat begin to scratch. A new wave of coughing comes over you. You cover your mouth with your hand, choking as blood sprinkles on your hands again. You feel like you're about to hyperventilate or have a full panic attack as you remember the situation from a few hours ago.

"Easy." He whispers, placing his hand on your back. When you finish coughing, he hands you a glass of water. You look at it distrustfully. He sighs, rolling his eyes, and takes a sip. You wait a minute, and when you see that nothing is wrong with him, you take it from him and drink. "This should explain everything to you."

He takes a folded piece of paper from his pants pocket and unfolds it. He places it on your lap. You freeze for a moment at the image of yourself.

"Wanted poster. District 13, as your little rebel group called itself, has put a large bounty on your head. And this evening, they carried out an attack on you. Something about getting to me through you. The peacekeepers couldn't get anything more out of the rebels they caught before... I think you know what happened to them. You have become their next arch-enemy. Almost as big as me."

"At least they did a better job with my portrait. What you told your dogs to show around the districts did not fully reflect my beauty." You wheeze as you try to speak. You see, he's not happy about you trying to use your voice.

Coriolanus sits next to you again, and despite your silent protests, he pulls you into his arms, making you lean against his chest. He puts his chin on your shoulder and shows you some portraits of some people. People you knew well, people you had fought with before against him and the peackeepers. People who poisoned you likely met their own deaths at the behest of a man who wrapped his arms around you, holding you hostage in his bed. Honestly, you'd rather rot in the ground with other rebels who wanted your death and be interrogated by peakceepers than be here with Coriolanus. Or at least, that's what you were telling yourself.

"I did it on purpose. Do you think anyone would believe that you suddenly went from being an enemy and a traitor to the nation to becoming the respected daughter of a general who died in the war?"

"Why are you doing this, Coriolanus? This whole fake performance and show for the Capitol. And that keeping me alive and scaring me with my people—what is it for? What do you want to achieve?" You ask, pausing to sip your water and turning in his arms so you can carefully analyse his face and his reactions to your questions.

"People like us should stay together."

"Like us? I'm nothing like you." You quickly protest, at which he just chuckles, shaking his head. He places his hand on your cheek and strokes it with his thumb, examining your face carefully.

"Now… don't insult my and your intelligence. I know when you're lying, so stop telling yourself these slanderous things, my lovely little hunter. Don't act dumb. You know why I want you. Here. With me on my laps and by my side. Right where you belong." Coriolanus holds you against him possessively, emphasising the validity of his words.

Apart from the delicate, intoxicating scent of roses coming from him and the warmth that emanates from his body, you can feel his heart beating calmly in his chest. A cold chill runs through you at the thought that yours might have stopped pounding like that long ago if he hadn't given you the antidote in time.

"If you really wanted and loved me so much, you would never have let me drink this poison today." You mumble into his neck as you let him hold you, even welcoming the way he lazily massages your scalp and plays with your hair. There is little you can do in your dazed state. You still feel tired from the whole day. Or rather, I spent weeks and months locked in this large villa.

"It's because I love you that I had to do it. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't understand how dangerous these people are. These dogs who chew on the hand of the Capitol that feeds them will do anything to overthrow us and destroy the peace we reached. And I won't let the dark days come again for the Capitol. Our children will not have to starve like we did. I had promised you that, and I intend to keep that promise." He says, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

You shiver at the familiar feeling of his lips on your skin and the seriousness of the situation this small gesture caused. Once upon a time, these promises seemed sweet to you; they were even a dream come true. Now he was only offering you your worst nightmares on a golden platter.

"I thought then that we would stay in the district. Away from the Capitol, away from the bloodthirsty ambitions of people like Dr. Gaul and the psychopaths who think that killing 24 innocent children every year in some fucking Games is a great idea for entertainment. I thought you were different, that you were capable of love, but now I see that you are a monster, just like they all are."

"Would a monster take care of you? Would I hold you close, try my best to protect you, and make you my First Lady if I were one? Would I forgive you for your escape and betrayal and welcome you with open arms, even after you tried to kill me? What do you think this is if not love?"

"An obsession. The sick desire to have control over another." You say with complete confidence, recalling 'the training' he gave you very clearly. Maybe for him, being locked in a cold cell for a few days wasn't a sign of cruelty, but a way to educate you to be an excellent lady from the Capitol. But you would rather die than become a pretty doll on his shoulder.

"Maybe yes. Maybe I'm obsessed with you. But that doesn't change the fact that you're mine, Y/N. You were always meant to be mine. You better get used to it. I wouldn't want to give you poison without an antidote."

You don't know what's colder, the tone of his voice in which he delivers his warning, or the emptiness you feel when his arms abandon you as he gets out of bed. Either way, you don't feel the sweet taste of victory when he leaves, dramatically slamming the door behind him and, of course, locking you in the room as you are left on your own.

You start to lose control. You can feel it. You were starting to become very attached to him, to his presence, smell, touch, kisses... You were starting to question everything you had ever believed in. He fed you lies that you wanted to believe, and that was the worst. You grab your arm, rubbing it, and the large diamond on your finger mocks you, as it is reflecting in the dim light of the bedroom.

You close your eyes, sighing shakily as you realise your fate. Today's attempt to poison you wasn't just an attempt to kill you or to get to Coriolanus. You knew it. It meant something more. It was a signal. You were supposed to move before they took matters into their own hands.

And for a brief moment, as you played with your engagement ring on your finger, you wondered what would have happened if things had turned out differently. What would life be like if you and Coriolanus ran away together? Maybe you could stop the carnage he caused? Spare human lives by keeping a domesticated Coriolanus on a leash? NO. You shake your head. A caged animal is still a dangerous animal. Not a home-pet. And even if you became his first lady, nothing would change. He won't change. Not like you.

Because the undeniable truth of the world of people who have high ambitions, the ability to carefully observe human behaviour and predict their movements, insight, and perseverance, is that they either live long enough to become a monster or short enough to become a hero. And you promised yourself a long time ago that you would rather die than ever become one of the Capitol's citizens.

One step. Second. Third. You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you sneak through the presidential palace, avoiding the peacekeepers.

You stop and hide behind a pillar, waiting for the two patrolling the corridor that led to Coriolanus' office to pass by you. You hold your breath, listening to a pair of footsteps approach and recede, leaving you alone in the hallway for a moment.

You remember the first night you entered the mansion—the night Coriolanus caught you. You promised yourself that you would not leave the presidential palace until you saw his dead body. And if there was one good thing you had in common with Coriolanus, it was that you always kept the promises you made to each other. Except for one.

You were both breathing heavily as you lay in the small bed in the lake house. Coriolanus held you close to his chest, placing small kisses on your bare shoulder. You sighed, still stunned by your activity from a few moments ago. You turned around, careful not to fall off the small mattress, and clung to his chest, ignoring the smell of the two of you's mixed sweat.

The rain pounded against the roof of the wooden hut, lulling you to sleep in your peacekeeper's arms. You buried your face in his neck, humming as he lazily ran his hand through your hair. You felt peace—a rare and very precious thing in District 12. Coriolanus' arms and his closeness gave you great comfort and a sense of security; it was a promise of a break from reality and entering your world, limited only to the two of you. You've never felt anything like this with anyone else. And you know, you will never be able to feel this way with anyone else.

"Promise that you will never leave me." His soft whisper snaps you from your half-asleep state. You lift your head to look at him, frowning at his strange request.

He had his soft moments, but he had never shown you such a... vulnerable side of himself. Even when you first saw the wounds on his back, or discovered how thin he was under his peackeeper clothes two weeks after he arrived in District 12. Coriolanus trusted no one. Except you. A gift that you valued more than his love, devotion, and desire.

So when you see the hesitation in his eyes and his attempt to retreat into his hard shell, you lean in, connecting your lips in a tender, gentle, slow kiss. You taste his lips as if they were the sweetest nectar; you savour them slowly, only becoming more and more addicted to him. You massage his scalp, pulling him closer to you and straddling him.

You reluctantly pull away from him and look into his eyes as you link your hands and place them on your chest so he can feel your heartbeat. He looks at you, stunned, waiting patiently to see what your next move will be.

"It's yours. It'll always be yours. You stole it from me the day you shot that guy who was trying to get to me and arranged for him to be hanged. You hold it in your iron grip, and you'll have it until the end of time. And I'd rather die than live without my heart, Coryo."

You see that he is touched and that you are slowly breaking down his walls. To avoid showing such weakness, he pulls your head to his neck. He plays with your hair and presses a long kiss on your temple as you lay on top of him. He covers you both with a blanket, and you fall asleep cradled in his arms, lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

And for a moment, being with him in the privacy of the cabin, you really felt like you were the lucky one.

You shake your head, and before the peacekeeper patrol arrives, you walk to the door of Coriolanus' office. You don't knock. You quietly open the door and step inside. The soft carpet that touches your bare feet is a nice change from the cold marble.

Coriolanus doesn't respond to your silent entrance at first, but it's only when you approach the desk that he senses the presence of someone else in the room. He looks up from the papers on his desk and frowns when he sees you in your nightgown (one of his sleep shirts, that is).

"What are you doing here? The peacekeepers were supposed to keep an eye on you so you didn't go anywhere." He says, pretending his heart didn't beat faster at the sight of you so homely. He's already replaying the fantasy in his head of this becoming your routine. You came to him late at night to distract him from presidential matters and drag him to the warmth of your shared bed. Later. With time. He will be there.

"I needed to talk to you. It was easy to avoid these two to get to your office. As for the remaining 20 in the building, it probably wouldn't have been so effortless to get out of here."

"35. There are also secret passages." He corrects you, putting down the papers he was looking at. "What do you want?" He asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly. You stop your curiosity from looking at the papers and focus your eyes fully on him.

"I was thinking about what happened yesterday… And I came to the conclusion that you might be right."

"Don't you say..." He mutters mockingly, standing up to pour himself some whisky from the bar. He comes back with two glasses, handing you one, to which you just nod politely. He shrugs and pours the liquid into one glass, not taking his eyes from you.

"Do not look at me like this. You know how hard it is for me to admit this. I... since then, in District 12... after Sejanus was hanged and... I could have been blinded by Lucy Gray's grief and resentment towards you. I could believe the picture of the monster she painted. After all, you've known each other longer. You, Sejanus, and her... But you can't blame me for thinking I'd be next." You try to explain your course of action to him. He seems uninterested in it; at least that's what you can tell from his body language. But the eyes... you had studied reading them long enough to be able to read his thoughts in them.

"I don't blame you. I would think the same. I blame you for actually running away with her. That you chose her instead of staying and trusting me." He says, not hiding the hurt in his voice. You lower your head in mock contrition as he downs his drink and places the empty glass on the desk.

"And I regretted it every single day, Coryo." You lie, trying your hardest to make him believe you. You even use his nickname and kneel next to his chair, taking his hands in yours. You don't meet his eyes. You focus your gaze and grap on his hands, knowing all too well that if you look at him, you will reveal your intentions. Because Coriolanus knew you as well as you knew him. "I know it's been hard for you without me... but I haven't had it easy either. I saw you... us... everywhere. I... I wished every day that I was in your arms. That I could somehow feel you next to me, talk to you. And that's why, instead of sinking into my growing despair and longing, I tried to turn this feeling into hatred, but... I can't go on like this anymore... I... I can't pretend that you are my enemy, that I hate you. Because that's not true. It never could be." Only at the end do you dare to look at him, trying to look as uncertain and contrite as you can. "You were right. All this time. I was... too proud to admit it, since I went so far in all of this running away from you and trying to fight you, but I can't do this anymore. I can't deny anymore what my heart wants."

"And what is it?" His whisper is hoarse, and his eyes are completely focused on you. This is a breakthrough moment. The course of events will depend on whether he believes you... but do you really have to put a lot of effort into lying to him?

"You." You confess, bringing complete silence to the room.

You don't know if he decides to ignore your bluff, or if he's fed up with this fight between you and simply needs your closeness, or if you've finally learned to lie so well from him that even he can't tell that you're entirely honest with him, or if you are trying to lie to yourself in an attempt to simplify your mission.

You don't want to know.

That's why, when he suddenly grabs you by the waist and sits you on his lap, you don't protest. Same when he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. The feeling of his soft, plush lips on yours befuddles you for a moment. You forget about your plan and let him caress your lips, giving yourself over again to that familiar, burning feeling that overwhelmed the two of you every time you gave in to your deepest desires.

When he bites your lower lip, demanding full access to your mouth, you remember what you came here for. You let your tongues tangle and sigh softly, accepting, after so many years of separation, that burning sensation spreading from your chest to his touch and closeness. You bite the inside of your cheek and deepen the kiss, your tongue fighting with his for dominance.

You give in, allowing him to place you on his desk. In one quick movement, he throws everything off it onto the floor. The glass shatters, but that's the last thing you notice as you melt into his touch and moan into his lips.

He pulls away for a moment, and you only see the smirk on his face for a brief moment before he dives down to your neck, marking you with his kisses and small bites. His hand slides up your bare leg, making you shiver as it leisurely reaches the hem of (his) shirt you're wearing.

"Coryo." You moan, tangling your hands in his blonde locks at the nape of his neck and pulling him closer to you. You sigh as he pushes his hips into yours at the sudden feeling of your fingers in his hair and tugging—something that was impossible to do in his peacekeeper days.

You hear him growl into your neck. He tries to position you comfortably on his desk so that he has adequate access to you, but suddenly he freezes, and you can see in his eyes that he's changing his mind. You're afraid he might have sensed your trick, but the moment you're back in his arms, you calm down a little.

Coriolanus from District 12 wouldn't care what surface he takes you to. It didn't matter to him at all, as long as you both could hold yourselves in the position he had imagined. That's why you're surprised when he carries you all the way through the presidential palace and into his bedroom, ignoring the brief glances he gets from the surprised peackeepers before they look away in confusion.

As he places you gently on his bed, you almost feel sorry for what you have to do. Almost. His lips on yours effectively drive any logical thought from your head. You can only feel, see, and hear him.

It scares you how much control he has over you and how much you've allowed him to control every little piece of you over the years, even though you were several districts apart. Your foolish heart believed his lies. That you belong to each other. And you're convinced that a few more weeks at his side would make your common sense stop protesting and accept the role he's given you.

But you won't admit to anyone that, in the darkest depths of your heart, you dream of the life he could have given you. About being his First Lady and about the selfish, luxurious life you could lead by his side. But you didn't want to be a monster. You didn't want to become one of them. The fear of this was greater than the fear of what awaited you at the end of the night when you carried out your plan.

But as long as he is with you, you can drown out your heart's cry for the future you could have if you were a little more like Coriolanus. You can pretend and deceive both him and yourself that this night is only the beginning of your wonderful, long future.

You gently push him off of you and onto his back. You sit astride him and lazily place a trail of kisses from his jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, and toned stomach down. Before you get to where he needs you most, he grabs your neck and pulls you closer to kiss you hard and possessively. He tangles his hand in your hair and moves to rest against the headboard of the bed.

You both moan, resting your foreheads against each other as you lower yourself onto his length. He holds you in a tight embrace, his breathing getting heavier, and you know it's not just because he's excited about what you're doing now.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him as tight and close to you as he is holding you. Your walls tighten around him as you slowly move, settling on a ridiculously slow pace compared to how you used to be madly chasing your peaks.

This is a completely different type of intimacy. You're glad he can't see your face, because he would definitely read the guilt and bitterness you feel when he moans your name and sweet words into your ear.

"I've waited so damn long to have you again. My little hunter. You will be a beautiful bride and a stunning First Lady. Nothing will stand in our way. My darling. My sweet poison. My greatest pursuit and reward. I will give you the life we dreamed about in District 12. All you have to do is stay and trust me."

You nod, moaning as he picks up the pace. You dig your nails into his shoulders as you feel how close you are to reaching your edge.

"Promise. Promise me it will never happen again. That you are mine, and you will stay with me, right where you belong. Promise me, Y/N." He grabs you tightly by the neck and forces you to look into his eyes. You shed tears that he licks away, mistaking them for tears of pleasure as he presses himself relentlessly into your most sensitive spot.

Little does he know that these are tears of guilt that you shouldn't feel. But you can't convince your foolish heart otherwise. Not when he's buried deep inside you and looks at you like you're his whole world.

"I… I promise, Coryo." You moan and tangle your hand in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss to take his burning, searching gaze away from your face. He pushes you onto your back and hugs you tightly as he pounds into you with newfound speed, aroused by the promise you just made to him. He sucks on your skin, littering it with hickeys, as if you weren't marked enough by him in his mind. As if he hadn't already completely penetrated your soul.

You scream his name, hugging him painfully tight as you come. You feel a great sense of bliss that you haven't felt in a long time. You're completely dazed, feeling nothing but the rapid thrusts as your lover and greatest enemy chases his orgasm to join you in the orgasmic haze. Coriolanus comes a moment after you, crashing into your mouth hungrily, making you both swallow each other's moans as you two are experiencing the greatest bliss in your life.

He pulls you along with him as he lays down on the mattress. He still holds you in a possessive, strong hug, afraid that you will run away from him or suddenly disappear at any moment. You bury your face in his neck and place small kisses there, drawing lazy patterns with your finger on his chest.

"I love you." He mumbles and presses a kiss on your forehead. You tilt your head to look at him briefly. Before he can read anything from your eyes, you lean in and connect your lips in a slow, tender kiss. You cup your hand around his cheek and stroke his skin with your thumb. You pull away from him. Coriolanus grabs your wrist and moves his head to kiss the palm of your hand and the finger on which you had his engagement ring.

"I love you too." You whisper and snuggle into him. Coriolanus holds you tightly, sighing with relief. Finally. The moment he had waited for since he saw you entering his presidential palace.

He begins to feel tired as the adrenaline wears off and his heart beats slower and slower. He shifts you off his chest as he finds it increasingly difficult to breathe with you on top of him, but he still holds you close to him, always having at least one hand wrapped tightly around you.

You stare into each other's eyes until he's so tired he can't keep them open anymore. He falls asleep, his face turned towards you, and you can't help but trace the line of his jaw with your hand, caressing him gently.

It was an equal fight and chase.

Coriolanus made only one serious mistake. Enough to seal the fate of the two of you.

He forgot himself, deeming you a non-threat, and left you alone in his bedroom. Exactly where he kept all the poisons he had already become immune to.

It was too easy to secure a few vials and send a message to the other rebels. And you had huge doubts as you implemented this multi-step plan, but you were there. You patiently made it to the end. His own and Coriolanus Snow's.

You bit through the vial of poison sewn into your cheek, drawing blood, and let it pass into Coriolanus' mouth as he kissed you hungrily in his office a few hours ago.

And now, you lay next to him, staring at him as he sleeps peacefully next to you. He was breathing evenly, like you; your pulse slowly decreased, as did the rate of your breaths. He looks like an angel with his hair spread out on the pillow. You were supposed to hand him over to the devil himself. Yourself too.

You closed your eyes as you started to feel the effects of the poison.

You nuzzle your nose into his chest, inhaling his scent. Roses overwhelm your senses. His scent and the warmth radiating from him lull you to sleep next to him. The last one, you think to yourself as he buries his nose in your hair and tightens his grip on you.

Hunters sometimes died in pursuit of their prey, bringing an end to both them and themselves. Both you and Coriolanus could have predicted that you would be each other's end. At least it wasn't as bloodthirsty and drastic as the outcome could have been, you think as you fall asleep cuddled together.

[horangare]

daddy dearest

pairing : dilf!jeonghan x collegestudent!reader

content : smut (mdni or else!!)

in which : meeting the father of your project partner and new friend didn’t go how you planned, but hey, you’re not complaining

warnings : age gap (jeonghan is in his early 40s, reader is in their early 20s), reader has female anatomy, cursing, dom/sub dynamics, (kinda? i think?) begging, oral (jh giving), teasing, (dirty talk, praise, degradation) pet names (jeonghan calls reader princess, baby, slut, good girl/reader calls jeonghan sir, mr. yoon), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap)

wc : 4.6k words

note : omg my first fic on here

part 2

You trudged into your last class of the day, completely exhausted and overwhelmed. The week has been full of nothing but exams, presentations, and essays. Midterms were even worse in college than they were than when you were in high school. Just thinking about it makes you wish you could go back to writing essays that were five-hundred words instead of five pages.

All you wanted to do was get through this class with a simple task, or, maybe if you were lucky, just a lecture along with some note taking. After all, for the past week your professor hasn’t made you write pages upon pages or cram weeks worth of information into your head for a test that he could spring on you at any day.

Unfortunately, luck has never been your best friend.

Your professor beckoned you to his desk where he was organizing various stacks of papers. “Good afternoon [Y/n]. Ah, here, take one of these.” He said, handing you a—somewhat thick—packet. You looked down and flipped through it, slightly dumbfounded with the amount of pages it contained.

“Uh, sir, what is this?” You asked. He chuckled a little and shook his head.

“Your midterm project. The packet contains all the details, now as for your partner…” The man scanned the still somewhat empty lecture hall before his eyes landed on someone sitting in the back. “Ah! You’ll be with the girl back there.”

You turned around, looking to the back to try and find the “girl back there” he was mentioning. Your eyes landed on a girl who you don’t think you be ever seen or talked to before with her attention completely focused on her laptop as she rapidly typed away at her keyboard.

“Um, okay, thanks,” You mumbled to your professor before making your way to the back of the hall and towards your partner. Now that you were close enough, you actually managed to recognize her.

Iseul was always a bit quiet. She always sat in the back of the lecture hall, always typing away on her laptop. She always wore clothes that fit loosely on her and kept her hair in a bun or a ponytail, which would have gotten old if the styles didn’t work so well to show off her gorgeous cheekbones. You wondered who her parents were, because damn those genes had to be strong. When you thought about yourself, the two of you were pretty much complete opposites. You got sat close to the front and talked to anyone that would bother to listen. You dressed up every day and spent careful time on your hair, and wow, you were really getting jealous of those cheekbones.

“Hi,” You greeted her with a friendly smile. “You’re Iseul, right? I’m [Y/n]. We’re supposed to be partners for this project.”

Iseul looked up at you, a faint smile on her face as she nodded. “Uh, yeah. Hi. Oh, sorry, please sit,” she grabbed her bag from the chair next to her and placed it on the ground. You sat down next to her, placing your bag down on the ground in front of you.

“So, have you looked over the project yet? Is it a lot? Please say no…” You asked her, mumbling the last part. By now, she had turned her attention back to her laptop, but she laughed when you asked that. If you were being honest, you didn’t think you could bring yourself to flip through all those pages without breaking down in tears.

“It isn’t too much. Just a powerpoint and a short essay to go along with it. I don’t think it should take too long…” Iseul trailed off, preoccupied with flipping through the packet and typing.

To your surprise, you got along with Iseul better than you thought. She seemed enthusiastic to hear your ideas and responded earnestly, the two of you bouncing your ideas off of each other until you finally came up with something you both agreed on. While she got started on the written portion, you had taken decided on doing the powerpoint. You got along with her so well that when class had ended, you couldn’t stop a pout from forming on your lips.

“Is something wrong?” Iseul asked, a slight look of worry showing on her face. “Is there a problem with the project? Should we revise?”

“No, everything’s fine. I just…” Still pounting, you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone. “I need your number. So that we can keep up with the project and…‘cause we should be friends.”

And in an instant, Iseul’s face brightened, and she nodded. She typed her phone number into your phone and smiled at you. “I’ll..um, text you later. About the project, okay?”

You smiled back, picking up your bag and walking to the door before the two of you went your separate ways. As much as you had enjoyed Iseul and her company today in class, you really couldn’t wait to get back to your dorm to shower and get a little rest before the weekend. Oh, you couldn’t wait for the weekend

Right. You wouldn’t have time to even enjoy it because you would be working on that stupid project. Damn your professor.

The weekend went by in a flash, much to your disappointment, and the last thing you wanted was to return to your classes. Of course, the project for your early childhood development class—which was the class your project was due in—wasnt due until next week, but you had still been dreading it. However, when you got there, you were greeted with an empty classroom.

Confused, you called Iseul, who picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Iseul, where is everyone? Why’s the class empty?”

“Oh, didn’t you read the email? He said he won’t be there for a while. Something about the stomach flu, and blah blah blah, a bunch of other personal stuff.”

You smiled. Karma was real.

“By the way,” She continued. “I’m staying at my dad’s house this week. Do you think you could come here so we can work on the project today? I’ll send you the address.”

“Sure. I’ll be there soon.”

Iseul was outside before you could even exit your Uber, still in her pajamas and with her hair down instead of up. Now that you were seeing it like this, you were surprised with just how long it was. She greeted you at the door with a smile and led you inside.

You couldn’t stop your mouth from falling open as you took in your surroundings. “Woah, Iseul, you live here? What’s the deal, are your parents like…”

“Parents?” She asked. “No, no, it’s just my dad. And he’s a model, he has been since he was younger.”

This caught your interest.

“Who’s your dad?”

Iseul brought her hand to her mouth, nervously biting on one of her fingernails. “Well, he’s—”

In that moment, one of the doors opened to reveal possibly the most gorgeous man you think you’ve ever seen. He was taller than both you and Iseul, but there was a bigger gap between the two of you as opposed to him and Iseul. His hair cascaded down the sides of his face and down his neck. And he had the same gorgeous cheekbones as Iseul.

So this was where she got it from. Iseul was Yoon Jeonghan’s daughter.

“Ah..hey dad.” Iseul said, pulling her hand away from her mouth. “Oh, this is [Y/n], from school. She’s my partner for that project I was talking about.”

The man nodded at Iseul, shifting his gaze from her over to you. His gaze felt so intense, you couldn’t help but squirm as his eyes looked over you, taking you in.

“Hello Mr. Yoon.” You greeted him with a smile and a short bow, silently wishing he would take his eyes off of you because it was making you more nervous than you would’ve liked. He nodded slowly, looking you over one more time before turning down the hall and disappearing deeper into the house. Iseul grabbed your hand and dragged you to her room.

“Sorry about that, I was about to tell you, but he’s got this habit of just…appearing, so…” Iseul’s apology came out quickly and a bit hushed as she threw herself onto her bed. She sighed. “I should’ve told you earlier.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s really fine.” Iseul was relieved that you didn’t seem as shaken as she thought you would’ve been. With a nod, she smiled at you and patted the space on the bed next to her.

“Okay, we should get to work, we’re almost done with the project.”

With much reluctance, you settled onto the bed next to her and opened your laptop. Iseul may have been your friend, but you wanted nothing more than a break from this project. After this, you never wanted to hear or see the word project ever again.

God, you weren’t sure which you hated more, this project (honestly though, you really did hate this project) or your brain.

As much as you wanted to focus and finish as quickly as you could, you just kept getting distracted with thoughts of Jeonghan. It’s not like you wanted to keep thinking of him, especially when you were just meeting him for the first time, but he was just so much more breathtaking in person than you could have imagined. Those magazines did not do him justice. You got hot just thinking about it—about him.

You couldn’t take it any more. “Iseul, um…where’s the kitchen? I really need some water.”

“Oh, uh,” Iseul sat up, climbing out of the bed and walking to the door, “Right down the hall and then it’s through the first door on the left.”

“Thanks.” You smile before practically running out of her room to the kitchen. With a somewhat shaky hand, you pulled open the fridge and grabbed the closest bottled water before shutting the fridge, turning to leave when you froze.

Jeonghan was standing in front of you. And this time, he was closer. Much closer.

Slightly surprised, you took a step backwards. Jeonghan tilted his head to the side and mirrored your actions, taking one step closer. This continued for a short bit with him coming one step closer for every one step you took backwards until he had you backed up against the counter, caging you in place with both arms by your side on the countertop.

“Ah…Hi again, Mr. Yoon.” You said, feeling nervous all over again with how close he was.

“Mmm…you’re just making yourself right at home, aren’t you?” Jeonghan asked. “Taking from my fridge without even asking…”

Your eyes widened, worried you had upset him. “I’m sorry sir, I asked Iseul first, really I would never!”

Jeonghan smirked and shook his head. “Relax baby, I’m only kidding. You can get as comfortable as you want here.” He mumbled, one of his hands moving from the counter to rest on your hip.

You tried to back away, right now you wish that was an option, but between the counter keeping you from moving backwards and Jeonghan’s hand on you, it was a little hard to go anywhere. “Mr. Yoon, what are you doing..?”

“Just…looking. Why, should I stop?”

With every word he spoke Jeonghan inched his face closer and closer to yours until you were only inches apart. His eyes wandered down from your eyes to your lips. You were hoping he wouldn’t lick them, but of course he did.

God, this man would be the death of you.

You turned your head to the side, too shy to meet his gaze. “Sorry sir, I don’t know if…” Your words got lost in your throat as Jeonghan placed his hand under your chin and turned your head back to look at him.

“Now now princess, anything you have to say you can say it to my face.” He said as he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. “God, I really want to kiss you baby. Can I?”

You bit your lip and nodded every so slightly, feeling your heart betray you as it started to beat so fast and loud you would be surprised if it didn’t burst out of your chest right now. You looked down at his lips like he did to you just moments ago before. “Yes, please,” you mumbled. “kiss me.”

That was all it took before Jeonghan closed the last bit of distance between you two, attaching his lips to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you brought your hands away from your sides to tangle them into his soft black hair. Jeonghan lightly but your bottom lip, causing you to let out a moan which allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth. His hand that was on your hip traveled up to hold your waist, while his other hand rested on the nape of your neck to pull you impossibly closer. It all felt so unreal, so intense, it made your head spin and your underwear slick.

Jeonghan pulled away and looked down at you with a faint smile. You looked up at him, still breathless and panting.

“Iseul will probably be getting worried about you by now, huh princess?” He asked, stepping away from you. “You shouldn’t keep her waiting. She tends to worry, you know.” You nodded, still a bit dazed from the kiss and started to walk away, but Jeonghan tugged your hand to stop you, slipping the bottle of water back into your hand with a wink and slipped out of the kitchen and once again disappeared into the house.

By Monday evening, you had said your goodbyes to Iseul (unsure of where her father had went inside that giant house of theirs) and hauled ass back to your dorm to try and get said father off of your mind—it didn’t work. Needless to say, you ended the night with your fingers buried in your pussy with the image of Jeonghan replaying over and over in your mind, you chanting his name like it would bring him out of your fantasies and have him ravage you right here in your dorm room.

By Wednesday morning, you had almost completed your part of the project. Iseul had been finished by Monday night and offered to help, but you insisted on doing it yourself. The more you thought about it though, you were starting to think you should have accepted it.

“You can come over again if you want. I won’t be there until later in the afternoon, but my dad will be there..if that’s okay with you. Once I get there I can help you finish the project.” Iseul said while you two were on the phone.

At her home? Alone? With Jeonghan? No way. Not when he made your heart race and your cunt throb. Not when he had your head spinning after one kiss. Absolutely not. Not happening. Never.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll text you when I get there.”

The Uber ride back to the Yoon house had you clenching your thighs together, recalling the events from Monday. You weren’t sure you could trust yourself to be alone with Jeonghan, but you were hoping you could settle into Iseul’s room and avoid him until she came home and then leave undetected.

You slipped out of the car and into the house with the spare key Iseul had given you and hurrying down the maze of halls and doors to Iseul’s room.

Or what you thought was Iseul’s room.

“Seulie? You’re back early, were your classes cancelled?” Jeonghan asked as he stood over the wide wooden desk in front of him. When he received no response from who he thought was his daughter, he turned around to face you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry sir, I thought this was Iseul’s room. I’ll leave, please forgive me.” Your blurted out as you tried to turn around and leave, but Jeonghan had gently tugged you back by your arm.

“Oh baby, why are you in such a hurry? It’s almost like you don’t want to see me.” He gave you a half-hearted pout. “Don’t you think that hurts my feelings a little bit?”

The look in his eyes and the pout on his face had you melting into his touch and feeling bad. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yoon. That’s not what I wanted to do at all.”

Jeonghan cooed at you and nodded softly, spinning you around and slowly walking you backwards until he had you pressed up against his desk.

You were starting to think he liked seeing you pressed up against random surfaces.

“So pretty, aren’t you baby?” He mumbled, leaning closer and trailing kisses down your jaw and your neck which had you moaning and whining as you reached up to hold onto his shoulders. “Truth be told, I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you since Iseul brought you over on Monday.”

You moaned softly. “Neither have I.”

Jeonghan let out a satisfied hum, rubbing his hands up and down your sides before he slipped them under your shirt and pulled it up over your chest and revealing your lacy white bra. He groaned at the sight and pushed his body closer to yours, bringing his hands to your chest to trace over the details.

“Wow, I didn’t realize my princess was such a little slut.” He said as he reattached his lips to your neck, peppering a few lingering kisses before bringing one of his hands behind your back to unhook your bra. “And who did you wear that for, exactly? Hmm?”

Truth be told, you hadn’t worn it for anyone—especially since you didn’t even plan on being in this situation to begin with—but if you knew how to do anything it was flatter people, so you decided to go with that approach.

“I wore it for you, Mr. Yoon.” You said, looking up at him and batting tour eyelashes. The action had Jeonghan swearing under his breath. He reached forward and patted the desk behind you.

“Lie back, princess.” He instructed. You did so instantly and Jeonghan chuckled at your obedience as he lowered himself to his knees in front of you. and pressed a chaste kiss to your thigh. When you tensed, he pulled himself back. “Relax, I promise I’ll go easy on you. For now.”

Without even giving you the chance to respond, Jeonghan tugged your shorts down, stopping to admire the white panties that matched your bra and the wetness that stained them. He gazed up at you with a smirk before pulling them down as well, relishing in the image of your soaking wet pussy on display for him. “Just as pretty as the rest of you, princess.”

A little embarrassed, you looked away from him and tried to shut your legs, but Jeonghan seemed displeased by that. He forced them open wider with ease and gave you a disapproving look.

“That won’t do. If I’m going to do this, you’ll have to be a good girl for me, understand?” When you nodded, Jeonghan shook his head “Use your words.”

“I understand, sir.”

The corners of his lips turned upwards as he brought his face to your core, kissing and licking gently while his hands soothingly ran his hands up and down the sides of your thighs, relishing in the way you moaned and whimpered and, occasionally, tugged on his hair.

“Oh, shit,” You cried when you felt Jeonghan slip a finger inside you, curling it upwards and hitting that one spot inside you over and over again. “feels so good, sir, please don’t stop.”

The man hummed against your skin, the vibrations making you moan louder than you would’ve liked if you weren’t so close already, and with him adding another finger inside you and sucking on your clit, there was little holding you back.

“Aww, is my princess about to cum?” Jeonghan asked, even though by the way your cunt pulsed around his fingers, you got the sense he wasn’t being sincere. When you nodded, he pressed one last kiss to your clit and pulled himself away from your core.

You whined. “Why..why’d you stop?”

“Believe me princess, I was enjoying myself too,” He muttered, bringing the fingers that were just inside you to his mouth and licking the remnants of your arousal off of them. “But I really don’t want you to cum unless it’s on my cock.” You exhaled shakily, reaching down to feel how hard he had gotten already. He moaned softly, quietly, so faint you wouldn’t have even heard it if you weren’t listening. If he really wanted, he would be fine to continue like this, maybe even get himself off rubbing against your hand, but there was nothing more he wanted right now than to bury himself inside of you.

A gentle push send you back into the once cool surface of his desk, now warm with your body heat and slightly damp with your sweat. Jeonghan wasted no time in ridding himself of his clothes, sliding a hand under one of your thighs and pulling you closer. His other hand held onto his cock, pumping himself a little as he rubbed it against your slick to coat himself with your wetness before he slowly started to push himself inside of you.

“Fuck, princess,” Jeonghan hissed once he finally bottomed out, feeling your insides squeezing his cock. “you can’t clench like that unless you want me to cum before I’ve even started moving.” He said, leaning down to your face and kissing the corner of your lips. He tried to pull away, but you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back down.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

His sudden gentleness shocked you, almost forgetting what position you were even in, but the need for him to start moving took over and you were right back in the moment. “I’m ready.”

His hands held your hips tightly as he pulled himself almost all the way out of you before thrusting back in, knocking some of the air right out of your lungs.

“So tight for me, aren’t you baby?” He groaned and buried his face into your neck. You nodded, albeit you hadn’t really been meaning to, you just couldn’t help your responses when the way he was fucking you felt so good.

“Harder, please. I need it. I need you, Jeonghan.”

Hearing you moan out his name stirred something in Jeonghan, something that had him snapping his hips harder and faster into you. Something that had him burying his face into your chest and sucking marks into your chest that you were certain wouldn’t fade for days. Something that had him bringing his mouth to your ear to whisper more of the filthy things you didn’t know he was capable of saying.

“Jeonghan? All it takes is me fucking you for you to lose all sense of respect, huh baby?” He asked, his breath becoming ragged and uneven as he continued to thrust into you with all his strength. “I thought you were my good girl, but I guess I was right before. Maybe you are just a little slut.”

“I am good!” You cried out, arching your back when Jeonghan continuously hit that spongy part inside of you. “I’m sorry sir, I’ll be good, I promise!”

Jeonghan chuckled, easing up on you a little bit but still continuing to fuck you with the pace he had already set. “Is that so? Does that mean you’ll do what I say? Will you be my good girl?”

“Yes, yes, anything you want sir!”

“That’s it baby,” He whispered with a tenderness that contrasted the way his cock was abusing your insides. “Be a good girl for me. Take my cock like a good girl.”

Shit, you weren’t gonna last much longer at this rate.

“Mr. Yoon, I’m gonna cum soon, please please please let me cum—” Jeonghan shushed your babbling by pressing his lips to yours, swallowing each whine and moan. While you were distracted with that, he trailed his fingers down your body all the way to your clit and rubbed it in fast, tight circles.

“Go ahead baby, cum whenever you want.”

That was all it took for the coil in your abdomen to finally snap, sending you spiraling over the edge. Jeonghan continued to thrust into you, though they started to falter as he got closer and closer to his own release.

“S-Shit, where do you—ah—want me, princess?”

“Inside me, please, sir.” You moaned. “I wanna feel you..need to feel you.”

With one final thrust, Jeonghan let out a final strong of curses before his hips stilled and he emptied himself inside you, painting your insides white. He hovered over you as the two of you caught your breath, eyes shut tight and lips slightly parted. After a few minutes like that, Jeonghan pulled out of you and mumbled for you to stay put there, fishing out his boxers and pants from the pile of clothes on the floor and pulling them on before slipping out of the room.

You sat up on the desk, allowing yourself to fully take in everything that had just happened. Did you seriously just let the father of your new friend fuck you? And enjoy it?

Yes, yes you did.

Jeonghan was back a few minutes later with a damp towel and a bottle of water. You eagerly took the water, drinking half of the bottle without a single break while Jeonghan wiped away the cum from between your legs and the sweat from your back along with the desk.

“I hope I wasn’t too hard on you.” Jeonghan spoke, picking your clothes off of the floor and handing them back to you. You smiled, slipping them back on and smoothing them out as much as you could.

“No no, it’s really fine.” You insisted. “It felt good.”

“Did it now? Should we go again?”

Jeonghan looked at you with a newfound hunger in his eyes that made you feel like you were in the kitchen pressed up against the counter all over again. You bit your lip and nodded, pulling him closer for a kiss, but at the sound of the door unlocking and opening you immediately jumped up and pushed him away.

“Dad, I’m home.” Iseul called out from somewhere further away in the house. You heard her footsteps coming, but you still jumped when the door to the room opened and Iseul stood there in the doorway, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, you were in here. I was wondering why you weren’t in my room.” She said, appearing completely oblivious to the situation that had just occurred in this room.

“Oh, yeah,” You laughed a bit fakely, taking a quick glance at Jeonghan before walking over to Iseul. “I got lost again.”

“Yeah, I get it. I still get lost sometimes too.” Iseul smiled apologetically, waving at Jeonghan before leading you out of the room. “So, did you finish the project? Or do you still need my help on those last few slides?”

As Iseul started to lead you out of the room, you couldn’t help but look back at Jeonghan one last time. He smiled at you, whispering something you almost didn’t hear before Iseul dragged you away.

“I’ll be waiting for you, princess.”

You smiled. Maybe this project hadn’t been so bad after all. Fingers crossed your professor would partner you with Iseul for the finals, too.

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘

𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝖕𝖙 2 — 𝖕𝖙 1 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊, 𝖕𝖙 3 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, smut, phone sex, wee bit of angst, brief mention of the word 'daddy'

notes - vibrating with both excitement and fear, but hoping y'all love this like you loved the last one!! also on ao3! ♥

Johnny was right to send you to bed when he did because you're already struggling to get through the day, and on any less sleep, you might have fallen asleep at your desk. Clearly, you're terrible at making decisions for yourself, if that wasn't already evidenced by the nearly empty fridge accompanied by the pile of empty takeout containers.

It's not even the end of the workday yet, and you're beat—except staying up with Johnny was so worth it, getting to hear his voice and everything he said was complete bliss. You only wish he was here now, whispering in your ear and making your day go by quicker. Unfortunately, the sad reality is that beyond your good morning text, you haven't heard from him since, and you hate that you already feel like you're suffering from withdrawals. 

Again, that could be the lack of sleep, or adequate nutrition, or the fact that lately you haven't exactly been the most social person, and you've definitely been missing social contact. All of that missing need you just want to be filled by Johnny, Johnny, Johnny—his name like a chanted prayer in your mind. 

You at least have the sense of mind to focus when you need to, but at any idle moment, Johnny crawls back into your brain. Your mind drifts to wondering what he's up to, wondering where in the world they've shipped him off to this time—what timezone is he even in? What hemisphere? 

5 p.m. comes round sooner than you expect, and you find yourself logging off from your work laptop with a relieved sigh. You might be exhausted from lack of sleep, but Johnny's arrival in your life left you energised in a way you hadn't felt in so long. Every part of you hums with excitement, thinking about what the future might hold. 

You have to keep snapping yourself out of getting lost in the fantasy, even as you find yourself rereading through texts and committing Johnny's words to memory. The last time you did this still sticks in the back of your mind, still stings—someone who came into your life and was everything until they were nothing. Someone who said they could be trusted as they broke down your barriers. 

The aching loneliness was too much, so you'd run from it straight into something worse, not even realising how easily you fell into the trap. 

Your thoughts were spiraling, and you needed a distraction, so you put on the TV in the hopes of getting lost in the shitty reality dating show you've been watching lately. 

A few hours later, the buzz of your phone pulls you from the drama of the screen—your spirits soaring as you see the little icon you're rapidly growing attached to. 

Evening bonnie, hope you're not napping too close to bed time. 

hi!! no... for once, lol. how was your day? 

Long, but thoughts of you got me through ;) how was yours? 

The rapid responses mean your smile never has time to waver, as your eyes are glued to the screen watching as the messages are read, the app tells you he is typing and then another one of his messages appears. 

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you eagerly respond.

somehow managed to not fall asleep at my desk, i would've napped but... 

But? 

didn't want to risk missing any messages from you. 

Johnny heart reacts to the message immediately. 

Call? 

please!!! 

Mere seconds later, his face fills the screen once more, and your sheer excitement overtakes your nerves by far.

"Hi." You say shyly, as soon as you accept the call.

"Hi bonnie, gotcha on loudspeaker by the way." He greets you, his voice immediately sending warmth through you. 

You were rapidly growing obsessed with his terms of endearment, too. 

"Oh." You pause, suddenly self-conscious and hesitant. "Are you not alone?" Does anyone in his life even know you exist? You know you haven't really mentioned to your friends that you're 'dating' again.

"Definitely am, don't worry. Jus' need ma hands free." 

At that, your brow furrows, your voice filling with both mischief and disbelief. "What are you doing, Johnny?" 

He chuckles, before rustling some papers around. "Paperwork, nothing fun." 

Even hearing the word paperwork right now drains you, and can hear that Johnny isn't exactly pleased with the idea either. 

"Wishing I was under the desk again?" You ask, hoping your playful tone will make him smile. 

"Dinnae start." He groans. "What are you doing? Have you eaten?" 

"Not yet, I need to check my milk is still in date." You throw yourself off the sofa and make your way through to the kitchen—it's a good job Johnny actually poked you to eat. 

"Milk?" His voice is filled with confusion.

"For cereal." 

"Ach." 

"I can feel your disapproval from here." You can practically sense him shaking his head disapprovingly too. 

"Good, I see how this gonae be." He sighs, the disappointment evident, along with that sense of control, guidance. 

It just makes you tingle.

"Yes, daddy?" You giggle audaciously like you know exactly what you're doing, and hope it has the effect you want it to.

Johnny chokes, and then growls... and then sighs. "Away n bile yer heid." He whispers, yet he sounds anything but angry, his voice thick with arousal as he undoubtedly fights all kinds of urges. 

You want to take that step with Johnny, to dirty talk with him now that you feel comfortable, but you suppose now isn't the time—after all, he is still working. 

"I'm being mean now, sorry." 

"A right brat." He growls playfully. "Do something for me, lass?" 

The shift in his tone and the previous conversation topic gives you a good guess at what's coming next. "Is it cooking a real meal?" You groan playing into the role.

Well, admittedly committing to self-care tasks like cooking isn't the easiest thing in the world, and having someone to guide you in that is... a turn-on. 

"Knew you were a smart girl." He purrs, and those words turn your brain and your body to mush. 

You have to stifle a whine from leaving you, as your face flushes furiously. Oh, how you wish you could hear that over and over again—in that voice, with that accent, whispered right in your ear as he—

"What you gonna cook?" He asks, interrupting your rapidly spiraling thoughts. 

Staring into the fridge is a depressing experience—the shelves are mostly bare and there's a faint smell of something off. "Ugh, I don't have a lot in, to be honest." 

"Logging onto the Tesco website now, or maybe meal delivery service..." He muses, and you can imagine the smirk on his lips.

"Johnny!" Your protest is weak, as the coddling and infantalisation make you feel something you probably shouldn't. 

He snickers at your tone, but he knows now that if things are to continue, he won't listen to your objections. "Jokin'... for now. Talk me through yer fridge, lass." 

"Do you cook?" You ask, wondering if he's going to magically talk you through a recipe with the condiments in your fridge and the dried pasta in the pantry. 

There's a beat of silence. "Not often." 

You're overcome with a fit of giggles and a wave of faux offense. "Then who are you to lecture me?" 

Johnny meets your exclamation with a series of tuts, which already quiet your discontent, but you find yourself ruined when his voice drops and he delivers his next few words. "What happened to 'Johnny knows best'?" 

Fuck him, using his powers for good—and you can already tell he's getting off on it too. Today, you won't indulge him by submissively repeating it back, since he's making you face the horror that is cooking.

"Fine." You sigh, looking for what items in the fridge that are actually still in date. You pull open a cupboard or two as well. "I have... hummus and celery and uh, supernoodles in the cupboard." 

"Better than cereal." He waits for your response that doesn't come, as you pout on the end of the phone, and then he plays his next move flawlessly.  "For me, bonnie girl?" 

The plea in his voice makes you melt, makes you want to do just about anything for him. 

"For you." You say with a smile, grabbing the packets of noodles and a saucepan. "Have you eaten?" 

"A have, chicken tikka masala." 

You sigh, knowing that if not for Johnny you could've ordered a nice Indian for yourself—you get to work on the noodles anyway. "Kinda jealous now, if I'm honest."

His laugh is short but earnest. "Same, haven't had beefy supernoodles in an age." 

"Yeah, I would hope they're feeding you actually decent, nutritious food over there." 

He huffs. "I would hope you're feeding yerself decent food, but here we are." That playful judgement is back, lacing his words and making you crave his approval. 

It's a startling thought, that here you are, only a few days in and needing his praise, his encouragement—you suppose it comes easy as it plays into both of your natural instincts—his to lead, yours to follow.

"Less sass, more... paperwork." You grumble playfully, trying to cover up the fact that, maybe, you like being teased by him. 

"Aye." He laughs, and you can briefly hear him scribbling in the silence.  

For a few moments, it's just the sound of him writing and you cooking, but the quiet feels comfortable rather than awkward—strangely routine and domestic after such a short space of time. 

Your mind wanders back to what the two of you had discussed last night, about his day later in the week. "Have you thought more about Friday?" 

There's a brief shuffle and the sound of the call changes as Johnny seems to take you off the loudspeaker and moves around. "Meetin' you?" 

"Yeah." There's a sense of nervousness within you, a fear he's going to suddenly decide that he doesn't want to see you after all, that he doesn't see this going anywhere. It's so soon, and yet the thought seems crushing. 

"Haven't thought of much else." His confession seems to settle your rapidly beating heart just a little, the sincerity in his voice making your stomach twist and turn. 

Maybe you shouldn't push it, but you want to meet him more than anything, so you can make the first step toward all of this becoming real. "Would you be up for coffee? I can come to you!" 

"About that..." His sigh is weary, and panic overtakes you as the silence stretches on. "Am leaving for a week or so." 

It's not a total rejection at least, but somehow it still stings, still settles heavy and unpleasant in your gut. "When?" 

"Tomorrow." He falls silent, waiting for you to say something, yet you don't know what words to even summon right now. "'m sorry, lass." 

You take a deep breath for a moment, collecting your thoughts as you stir your noodles and try to put everything you feel into some sort of coherent order. 

There's no logical reason to feel rejected, as it's not that he doesn't want the date, but that he can't. Perhaps it's that lingering thought that this kind of thing will be a frequent occurrence—it's just a small taste of what's to come. But wanting Johnny means handling this, like he deserves. 

You push through the discomfort and force yourself into a more positive mindset.

"But... after that? Or is this just because you hate coffee so much you're fleeing the country?" You laugh softly, hoping the joke will lighten the thick atmosphere. 

"Now, if you'd asked me out for tea..." He laughs in return, before turning serious. "But... when I'm back, I'd love to see you. Have ta, really. " 

"I'm glad." The beaming smile on your face is ridiculous, and you're so thankful he can't see you grinning like an idiot at his words. He has to meet you. 

With your cooking complete, you take the saucepan off the stove and pour the noodles into a bowl, grabbing it before returning to the comfort of the couch. "Okay, noodles done." 

"Wanna call me back once yer done, or?" 

Fuck, he's so considerate. 

You hum negatively as you start to blow on the noodles to cool them. "I'll eat on the phone if you don't mind the sound of me slurping." 

Johnny chuckles, before making a suggestive noise. 

"The noodles, Johnny." 

He coughs, covering more juvenile laughter. "Aye, the noodles, of course." 

"So... going anywhere fun?" You ask, referencing his upcoming deployment. 

"Classified, I'm afraid." He answers curtly, but you know it's nothing more than his duty. 

No questions about that, then, you suppose. It's going to be a strange thing to adjust to, but it's another thing that comes along with accepting Johnny into your life. You change your line of questioning, hopefully to something he can answer. "Are you... scared?" 

"No." He answers quickly and firmly, in a manner that suggests certainty rather than bravado. "Don't worry about me, hen." He rushes to add.

"Kinda hard not to, even if we only just met..." You sigh, but you suppose you have to trust Johnny's skills and training. "I imagine it only gets more intense from here." 

The admission feels like a swift kick to the stomach. 

"Yeah..." You hear a knock on the door from Johnny's end, and he swears colourfully under his breath. "Ach, can I call yer back?" 

It's almost cruel the way such timing drives the point home. 

"Sure, things to attend to?" You ask absentmindedly, not really expecting an answer. 

He sighs, before trying to turn his tone more positive. "Aye, but I'll catch you before bed, yeah?" 

"Yeah. Bye, Johnny." 

"Bye, lass." 

He ends the call, leaving you with your meal and your thoughts. 

Maybe you aren't strong enough to deal with this after all, you think, trying to settle the ugly, gnawing feeling inside you. It already hurts, but maybe that's because you're trying to hold so tight onto something intangible. Maybe if you and Johnny become something, mean something to each other, it'll all be easier to deal with. 

It's an hour or so later when you're tucked up in bed that Johnny's call lights up your phone. You pick it up instantly. 

"Hey, glad you haven't fallen asleep already." He chuckles, his voice softer than before. 

"Mmm, still hanging on." You mumble, cheek pressed into plushness and tiredness lingering at the back of your mind, as well as the mess of feelings that still simmers within you. 

"Cuddled up with the big B?" He asks, voice cheeky and charming. 

You can't help the soft giggle at the ridiculous nickname. "The big B?!"

"Barnaby!" He clarifies with a hearty laugh, not ashamed at all of his goofiness. 

"The big B! That's so silly" 

The laughs quiet, and another silence falls, but this time you feel the discomfort that comes with it. 

Johnny is the first to breach it, his tone tinged with worry. "How are yer?"

"I'm fine." You sigh, not wanting to elaborate and get yourself upset again. It's not far from the truth. Nothing has changed, but this is something you have to learn to sit with, have to make peace with for both of your sake. 

Johnny cuts right through the noise. "Yer seemed a little upset earlier. Wanna talk about it?" 

Communication—the key to any good relationship, an essential to any kinky one, and one thing you think you really kind of suck at. 

It's a simple sentence with a simple answer, and nothing about Johnny suggests that his reaction will be anything other than supportive—but it's not Johnny's voice that whispers cruel things in the back of your head. And for now, Johnny's influence is not enough to quiet the storm. 

The fear grips at your heart, stops your words right in your throat, but your mind wars between the ghosts of your past and the duty of your present and future. 

Johnny waits quietly, not pushing you for an answer or assuming how you feel, and that small act helps pull you out of the fog and helps you force yourself to speak. 

"Reality setting in, I guess." The words don't come easy at first, your throat tight—but once you start, the rest just seems to flow, taking the weight of your burdens with them. "Like, it's not too bad right now, it's just... knowing what's in store? Assuming we keep talking." 

The opportunity to really put your thoughts in order and get them out actually does help, surprisingly.

Johnny goes silent for a moment, considering your words before he speaks. "If you wanna stop—" 

"I don't." You feel bad for interrupting him, but you already know that's not what you want, even if he sees it as a kindness. "Like I said yesterday, I'm not faint-hearted... the intensity just took me by surprise. All of this has, really." 

"I'm with you there. Sat here thinking about how I'm gonna be thinking of anything else when I'm on the mission." He laughs softly, the sound laden with emotion. "Lt's gonna have my head." 

The gravity of his job sinks in now, with the realisation that he will be busy and focused, and rightfully so.

"Will you be able to get in touch while you're gone?" You ask, more for informational purposes, rather than being unable to last a week without hearing his voice. 

"Not a whole lot, no. Sometimes no' at all, but I'll let you know when I can." He states plainly, and the honesty is so refreshing. 

"I'll try not to bother you too much then." You giggle, though you don't really mean your words. He has his mission, and you have yours—stay strong while he's gone. 

He scoffs instantly. "You? A bother? Never." 

You hum, continuing with your playful statements. "You haven't seen me when I'm clingy." 

"A like clingy, am clingy too." 

Ugh, just when you think he can't be more perfect, he comes out with that. The sweet smile on your face is relentless, and you just know the same is true for him too. "Oh yeah? So you won't be complaining when we meet, and I just take a hold of your hand and don't let go." 

His barked laugh is so genuine that it makes your heart sing. "Bold of yer to assume I'd be letting you go, lass." 

The thought of even his hand in yours is enough to send you into a frenzy—a simple, delicate, and chaste act, yet you crave it like nothing else. When your date finally does come around, you'll be able to touch him and see him up close. You'll be able to hear that voice and those words up close and unrestrained by the slightly shitty quality of the phone call—and that is a little terrifying.  

"I guess waiting isn't a bad thing after all, maybe I'll be less nervous by then." Because right now you know you'd hesitate to reach out and touch him, would struggle looking him in the eye for too long. Maybe if you wait, the radiance that is Johnny's warmth will wear off, but somehow you doubt it. 

"Why ya nervous?" 

You almost snort at such an oblivious question from such a seemingly smart man. "Have you seen you?" Have you talked to you? Been on the end of your affections? Your mind pleads. 

"See this ugly mug every day." He grumbles, though you can still hear the smile. 

"You can't see, but I'm rolling my eyes." You giggle. "But what if I just... can't resist you? Jump you right then and there?" Your voice takes on a more teasing tone. 

"In public?" He tuts, slow and sexy, his voice dropping low. "Naughty girl." 

You straight up whimper. "Needy girl, for you." 

A growl leaves his throat, along with a whispered "Fuck." 

Arousal floods through you, overtakes you, as you feel your mind slipping to a space of deep-seated need, all for him. You feel on fire, your skin hypersensitive to the brush of the sheets, as your lower body hums and begs for attention. No longer can you hold yourself back from falling under his sexy spell. "Your groans, your voice, it all drives me crazy." 

The laugh that leaves him is weaker, choked with arousal. "All wet fer me, bonnie?" His voice, now a touched graveled, wraps so wonderfully around every word. 

"Soaked." You squirm in place, not even needing to feel to know just how dripping you are—every time he teases you, you practically gush. Your spare hand dives below the sheets, tracing ever so slightly over your stomach as it crawls lower. "Johnny?" 

"Yes, bonnie?" It sounds like his control is wavering too. 

"Please can I touch? I need it so bad." You whine and plead, surrendering yourself to Johnny's command. 

"You don't—" Another growl leaves his throat, you hear him shuffle and when his voice returns, he sounds even more aroused than before—sweet, gentle domination drips from his tone. "Touch yerself, go on." 

You comply immediately, your hand diving under your waistband and zeroing in on your swollen clit—relief floods you the second you make contact, your fingers rubbing delicate swirls on your soaked nub as gentle moans force themselves free. 

"Oh fuck." Johnny's breathing is ragged between his groans. "Gonna have tae join ya." 

"Fuckfuckfuck." Your eyes slip shut as you imagine him reaching down to free his aching cock, all for you. Your thoughts center on conjuring up an image of how long and thick you imagine him to be. "Is... is your cock as big as the rest of you?" 

You squeak out your words while you still have command over the English language.

"Guess you'll find out soon enough." He chuckles breathlessly, some of the words catching in his throat as he clearly works himself. "But I don't think you'll be disappointed. I know how tae take care of yer, know you're already desperate for me." 

Your circles quicken, his words sending pleasure coursing through you in a way that almost feels better than your touch. You fill the air with breathy moans. "Need you, Johnny." 

"Need you too, pet." He growls his words over the building slick sound.

"Oh fuck." Your reaction is instant, the word sending everything in your brain into overdrive. Pet. Pet. You almost cum right then and there, but his assault on your senses and sensibilities continues. 

"God, thinking about you on the end of a leash for me? So fuckin' hard thinking about it." His voice modulates between and whine and a growl, his need growing furiously. "I'd be so fuckin' lucky." 

You imagine the collar slipping around your neck, imagine Johnny clicking shut a lock and attaching a leash—pulling you to him just as he is now with every word. 

"I'd be the most loyal pet ever, I swear." You start to babble, unable to hold back any longer on the wave of submission that overtakes you. "I'll Wait for you to come home, naked and kneeling with my leash ready." 

"Jesus, fuck." Each grunt that leaves him makes you shiver. Each word like its own bolt of electricity straight from his body to yours. "Yeah, my good girl would be so lost without me." He says it with such certainty, speaking the truth to life. 

"I get separation anxiety like mad. I'll miss your touch, miss your smell, miss your taste—" You cut yourself off with a high-pitched whine, your fingers working you so fucking close to the edge.

"Don't worry, I'd fuck you so good before I go bonnie, fill yer up and leave you dripping with me." His groans are accompanied by more of those slick sounds. "Mark that pretty neck o' yours, too." 

"I'm... I'm not gonna last." You admit, holding back even now from cumming—you crave his permission. 

"Me either. Go on, moan for me, let me hear you." He urges you gently, even if his voice is filled with need. 

You let all your noises flow freely as you teeter toward the edge and desperately try to please him with the sounds you make. It's all too good, too much, too overwhelming. 

"Johnny, can I—" 

His demand is out of his mouth before you can even finish your sentence. "Cum fer me, bonnie. Go on." 

You cum with a strangled cry, flying over the edge right as Johnny demands it. The build-up of the past few days along with Johnny's noises has you shaking in ecstasy—ecstasy that's only prolonged when he cums too with a long, drawn-out groan.

After a moment, the only sound is both of your heavy breathing, as you come down from your high. 

"Oh my god." You sigh, a silly, blissed-out grin overtaking your features.

"You okay, sweet girl?" His voice returns to that sweetness you're coming to know and love.

You nod mindlessly, even though he can't see you. "Better than okay, are you?" 

He hums in affirmation, before his voice turns a touch serious. "You did so good. Just want tae make sure you're good, and a didn't go too far." 

"Hah, I mean, nowhere near too far." You admit shakily. 

"Am glad, it's only early days, though. That trust..." He hesitates. 

"... It takes a while, yeah." The post-orgasmic bliss coupled with the feeling of that trust taking root and growing. "I'm glad you understand." 

And he understands perfectly, as you never feel pushed or rushed, only pampered and adored. 

"Of course... it's special, for both of us." He admits, and you know you're on the same wavelength when it comes to the bond and relationship between dominant and submissive. 

"Mhmm." You hum dreamily, wholeheartedly agreeing and yet not able to summon up something profound. 

"Already sleepy?" His laughter is soft and sincere. 

"I'd get so much rest if every night was like this." 

"Even more so when I finally get to fuck ya, bonnie." He whispers so casually, yet even after your orgasm your clit still thrums with interest—God, he has such a hold on you.

"Yeah?" You sigh, dreaming of the day you'll get to experience it. 

"Yeah." 

The line falls silent, and you feel yourself fading. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so... sleepy." You whisper while you still have the chance. 

"It's okay, sweet girl, close yer eyes. Am right here." Johnny's sweet voice lulls you closer and closer, and your phone falls free from your hand to your pillow, resting there with Johnny just on the end of the line. 

"Goodnight Johnny." You mumble, before sleep finally takes you.

"Goodnight, Bonnie." His reply is soft, carrying you off to unconsciousness as he drifts off too.  

-//-

Johnny practically vibrates where he stands—wired beyond belief. Part of it is his usual pre-mission adrenaline, but the events of the past few days especially almost have him climbing the walls. His energy is frenetic as usual but with so much more—lust, yearning, withdrawal. 

It's only been a few hours since he ended the call after waking up before you, and yet he finds his thoughts unable to leave you, even as he finishes gearing up. You'd love to see him like this, and an idea strikes him.

He pulls out his phone, turns to the man beside him, and hopes he doesn't regret asking. Then again, some ribbing from the masked man would be nothing compared to the floored reaction he'd get from you.

"Ghost?" He asks, piercing the comfortable silence between the two of them. 

"What?" Ghost turns, eyeing Johnny and his hand holding his outstretched phone.

Johnny doesn't waver, sure in his request, and eager to see your response. "Take a picture of me, yeah?" 

"Girl back home?" Ghost asks, cutting straight to the point as he takes the phone. "Is this the first time she's seeing you? Cause you look fuckin' rough." 

"No." Johnny frowns, and worry washes over him. Surely Lt. is just messing him around—he knows she'll be happy to see him either way. 

Ghost pulls off a glove and navigates to the camera before stepping back and holding up the phone in Johnny's direction. He might be giving Johnny shit, but he at least takes the time to angle and position the frame in a way that compliments Johnny's stature. "She like the tac gear?" 

Johnny sighs, wishing this was over already. "Just take the picture, Ghost." 

"Say cheese." Ghost deadpans, and the softest of smiles graces Johnny's features—for her, not for him.

Johnny practically snatches the phone back from Ghost's hands, checking out the photo immediately. "Thanks." 

He pulls up their messages immediately, firing off the picture with a kissing face and a teasing message just for her. 

When he locks the phone and throws it in his bag, Ghost's eyes are fixed on him, his blackened eyes narrowed.

"Mind on the mission, yeah, Johnny?" 

Johnny nods, doing his best to push thoughts of her away for now, and letting his inner soldier take over. He'll be back to her before he knows it. "Aye, Lt." 

Days later, and after a successful first phase of the mission, Johnny stares down at his phone. The signal is nonexistent and won't return for a while, but he misses you, his mind is itching with his need for you. In this shitty safe house in the middle of nowhere, while someone else is on watch, there's very little to do, and truly nothing else he'd rather think about. 

He scrolls to the top of your messages, rereading each message and reliving each conversation, experiencing all over again how each message made him feel. 

Your sweet texts, your copious use of emojis, and your cute little selfies—it was all so intoxicating to him. For a man who was so used to maintaining focus, you were a fucking curveball. Something about you just sends his protective instincts into overdrive, makes unearned possessive tendrils curl up through him and around his heart—calls out to his guiding, dominant, caring side.

He has to constantly stamp down the thoughts inside that called out to him to find you, scoop you up, and take you home with him. Luckily for you both, Johnny is a patient man. He spends time out in the field waiting days for anything interesting to happen, he's spent years waiting for his pet, his girl to come along—and you're right there. He can wait a little longer. 

He holds down the record button, intent on recording a message for you, and begins whispering into the phone.

"Hi, been sat on my arse for far too long with nothing to do but think of you. Dinnae think I'll get signal anytime soon, but I 'spose it'll send at some point." He feels himself relax just a little as he falls into Johnny, the man—rather than Soap, the soldier.

"Been thinking about our first date, since you mentioned coffee. Kinda had a crazy idea actually, but I need your input. What about a cat café? Has to be one in that city o' yours, and I figure you must like kitties."

"Won't be long until you might be one for me... or a bunny... or a puppy." He interrupts himself with a sigh.

"Need tae stop those thoughts and quit while I'm ahead. Let me know, yeah? As soon as I get my leave, we'll set it up."

"Talk soon, bonnie." 

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 2: The Heat of Battle

Summary: The mission continues even after Soap warns you not to engage.

The slow burn continues.

Word Count: 4,427

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, blood, violence, death (not main characters), Soap is still mean, angst

A/N: This seems to be doing fairly well on here, so I’m going to post a few more chapters that are out currently on Wattpad. If it gets a big enough following, I’ll keep updating. Just a reminder my Wattpad username is Emily7love, and you can find Bitter Allies there as well!

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Bitter Allies • Part 2

The rifle kicked back hard against your shoulder as the first bullet excited the barrel of the gun. The silencer on the end did its job at making sure the discharge was hardly heard. However, it became obvious very quickly to the group of four men that they were under attack. As soon as the first man had been shot, they were all alerted.

The first shot you fired was a direct hit to the man's head, and he went down quick. You quickly snapped over to the guy standing on the left, also hitting that target successfully. Already you'd proved Soap wrong. However, this was where things got difficult.

In any kind of armed combat, seconds greatly mattered. Eliminating two targets was easy as long as you could land the shots. By the time the second guy realized something was up, only one second has passed, and by then he was mostly likely already gone. The third guy, however, had a lot more time to react, and the fourth even more so.

Two clean head shots, but by then, the other two had reacted. One was moving to cover and the other stood his ground, weapon raised right at you. A trigger pull away from death, but in this profession, that was always the case.

Their movement disrupted the zig-zag pattern you had hoped on making, forcing you to take additional seconds when aiming at the third guy. You originally had gone for the one running for cover to stop him from alerting other troops, but then your attention shifted to the guy who was looking at you from down his own barrel. That now became your top priority and costed you even more seconds due to switching targets.

You were pretty lucky. You managed to fire before the guy's finger could put enough pressure on the trigger. The shots were sloppy, but three clean hits to the torso did the job.

Once he was downed, you did a quick scan of the area, looking for the fourth guy. He'd no doubt already contacted someone else, blowing your cover. Your heart had already been hammering away in your chest but now it seemed to thump even harder at the realization you'd just completely screwed up this mission.

You keep your weapon raised in a firing position but allow your head to hang down, eyes squeezed shut. Your grip on your gun tightens, prepared any second now to hear the alarms go off, signaling something was wrong. The mission would just have to go on though. Albeit much more dangerous now, but it still needed to continue.

"Fuck, (y/n)..." You mutter to yourself. "Just find Soap and get to cover... You've survived worse-"

Not even ten seconds after you dumped the third target, you heard a soft thump and saw the fourth target laying dead up ahead. A knife was embedded into his neck, blood pooling rapidly in the dirt. A split second later, Soap emerged from behind the cover, ripping his knife from the target's throat with a swift, practiced motion. His icy gaze locked onto you, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent a spray of blood across the dirt. He sheathed his knife and strode toward you, each step radiating fury.

Before you knew it, he was grabbing a fist full of your uniform and slamming you back against the vehicle you'd been using for cover. You hoped the sound of your back hitting the metal door didn't attract any attention.

"What the fuck was that, States?!" He yelled at you as loudly as he dared given your current location. "The fucking hell were you thinking?? You nearly just blew our damn cover! Are you that much of a pure hackit that you can't follow fucking orders?!" He was seething mad, his accent noticeable thicker. This is probably the worst you've ever seen him, and you've seen Soap mad a lot. Still, you had some venom of your own.

"You are not my superior. You can't give me orders." You growl, hands coming up to grip his as they kept you pinned. You kept your eyes on his, refusing to break eye contact with him.

"Oh, can't I? Last I checked you weren't even a permanent member of this team." He smirks back, voice quieter now, but still just as dangerous.

"Still a member of this team, dumbass."

"You think you will be after this?"

His words hung heavy with you. Would Price really kicked you off the team for this? Nothing happened, you and Soap were alive, and the mission hadn't been compromised. Still, taking on four men by yourself when your field partner didn't want to wasn't exactly working as a team. Then again the same could be said for Soap not being willing to go with your plan.

"Nothing happened. I landed two perfect headshots and took down the third all by myself. We were fine." You try to defend yourself, foolishly getting caught up in trying to prove Soap wrong and forgetting about the fourth guy.

"Doesn't matter if you landed three perfect fucking head shots if the fourth one fucks us over, now does it!? What about the fourth guy, huh? What about him, States?! He was a second away from radioing for help. You almost cost us the entire mission and put us both at risk! You're up a pure dafty." He was still gripping your vest tightly, keeping you pressed back against the vehicle.

"Well that wouldn't have been a problem if you had just trusted me, and if we took them out together like I wanted to." You bite back. "And you were wrong. You said I couldn't land those headshots, and I did."

"You still on about that? So you got lucky! You're still bloody inconsistent. You make one half decent shot and then fuck up the next ten. Just like you did on that third and fourth target."

"Well that's what I have a teammate for! To help me take down targets! And you got him, so what's the big deal?"

Soap laughs at you then, a stressed and angry laugh. His head tips back slightly, and he shakes it. "That's your idea of teamwork?" He laughs, meeting your eyes again. "Forcing me to have to rush into a kill? How the hell did someone like you ever pass selection? You are horrible at this job, States. Just pack up and go home before you get actual good soldiers killed." With that, he finally releases you, roughly letting go of your vest but still remaining in front of you.

His words hurt. They made you tremble with rage. Your hands were balled up into fists at your side as you held back the urge to punch him. "You'd like that very much, wouldn't you?" You growl back to him, standing your ground as Soap takes two steps closer to you, his face practically inches from your own.

"Very much so." He nods, a little intimidating as he looked down at you.

"Well it's not going to happen. You are never going to make me leave. So get used to me being around, you hackit." You weren't even really sure what that word meant, but if Soap called you it, you knew it probably wasn't a nice thing to say.

Soap scoffs at you as you say the Scottish word. "You are the most stubborn and-"

"Bravo 7-1, Bravo 7-4, this is Bravo 0-7, give me sit rep." Ghost's voice crackled in your ear, and Soap's as well, cutting him off. You'd been quiet for too long.

Right as you brought a hand up to your radio to answer Ghost, Soap grabbed your wrist. "This isn't over, States." He warns, his voice filled with promise as he pushed your hand away from your radio. He then brought his free hand to his radio and answered Ghost.

"Ran into some trouble thanks to States. We're clear now. Still need to make entry."

"Copy," Ghost answers. "Got word there's some Russian vehicles about ten clicks out. We've got about fifteen minutes before we need to get off the mark."

"Shite." Soap curves. That wasn't going to be enough time. You still needed to make entry and disable their security. Even if you and Soap were quick and ran into no problems, that didn't leave enough time for the Alpha teams to come in, secure General Azamat, and leave before those Russian vehicles showed up.

"Ghost, that's not gonna be enough time." Soap tells him, backing away from you and pacing a little. His face was concentrated, forgetting about everything that happened earlier and focusing on the mission now.

"If we pull out now, we miss our chance," Ghost warns, his voice low and steady. "They'll know someone messed with their generators, and security will tighten up. Next time will be a hell of a lot harder."

"Then what's the plan?" Soap asks, sounding frustrated. This mission was going belly up very quickly.

Then you got an idea. "Ghost, send Alpha team to the front to draw their attention. That will pull most of the men in the camp to that area. Meanwhile, Soap and I will infiltrate the building, disable security, and secure General Azamat. You mentioned he'd most likely be inside this building, right? Once we have him, we'll need an exfil ready at the back of the camp. Disabling the main building's systems should open the back gate. Once we're out, Alpha team can pull back."

Without even giving Soap the opportunity to input his feedback, Ghost approved your plan. "Solid Plan B. Sending in Alpha Team now. Russian vehicles are nine clicks out. Move fast."

"Copy." You nod, glancing up at Soap. He still looked at you like how he always did, but something was different. You didn't know if it was a good or bad different though. It only lasted a few seconds before his usually hard and familiar expression returned.

"This doesn't change anything." He growls, as gunfire can be heard behind you, near the front of the camp.

Instantly, shouts can be heard from the West Building, and the quiet camp became alive. The area with all the tents where Soap wanted to cut through earlier start to rustle as men wake up to join the fight. In an effort not to get caught, Soap quickly runs over to one of the parked vehicles and pulls the door open.

"Inside! Now!" He hurriedly tells you, standing out of the way so you could get in first. Moving fast, you jump inside, feeling Soap give up a push to help boost you into the vehicle before getting in himself and closing the door. He pulls out his pistol, and you do the same, making sure to cock it.

"Get behind the driver's side seat and stay low." He tells you, wiggling a bit to try and fit himself into the same position behind the passenger's side. Him being bigger and more bulkier than you made it a lot harder for him to wedge in there comfortably.

A few seconds later, two men are getting into the vehicle from the driver and passenger side. You and Soap both duck down further once you hear the car door's open. The second they shut, you're moving. Like you'd been fighting together for years, you both wordlessly spring up and shoot the men in the side of the head.

From inside the vehicle, you can see and hear the others driving off, as well as see the area clearing out. You try to wait it out for as long as you can until the door by Soap open up. Another solider just thinking the vehicle was waiting for more passengers and trying to get in. He lets out a surprised yell at seeing Soap there, but is quickly silenced. Soap shoots him, shoves the dead body back, and then closes the door.

"Out your side!" He says, knowing that was going to attract a lot of attention from the few stragglers still trying to wake up and join the action. You quickly do as he says, pushing the door open and tumbling out with Soap right behind you. Without looking back to see how many enemies are in pursuit, you sprint for the West Building, focusing solely on reaching cover. Though how much safety and cover you'd find in that building, you didn't bank on it being much.

Surprisingly, there aren't any bullets being fired towards you as you run. Either the men hadn't seen you somehow, or they thought you were on the same side. Regardless, you weren't going to question it as you burst through the door with Soap, weapons raised.

The hallways were empty aside from two men, which Soap quickly took out. Once somewhat safe, you radioed in to Ghost. "Bravo 7-1 and 4 inside now. Heading to main security room to disable it."

"Copy. Seven clicks." Ghost updates. "Give 5 minutes for exil."

"Roger," Soap confirms before moving to the stairs. "Behind me. I'll take point." He tells you, starting up the steps with his weapon raised. You follow behind him closely, watching your six and trusting Soap to guide you up. The security panel you needed to access was on the top floor of the building, which was the third floor.

The stairs were clear, which made sense. Most of the men were probably filing down the stairs near the front since that's where all the action was. The security room, however, was not empty. As you approached the door, you could hear voices speaking Russian on the other side.

"I hear at least five." You say, making Soap give you a look as he position himself on the other side of the doorframe.

"There's no fucking way you can count how many there are based on voices." He claims, pulling out one of his flashbang grenades. "Flash out." He opens the door a crack and tosses it inside, waiting for the loud bang. As soon as it goes off, he kicks the door open and pushes in. He takes on the targets more directly in front and left while you focus on the ones to the right and to the far side of the room.

The room was clear in seconds. "Clear." Soap confirms, lowering his gun and making his way quickly to the panel. "There were more than five." He mutters, pulling out some bombs and securing them to different places on the panel.

"I said at least five." You point out with an eye roll, keeping your attention on the door that lead into the room.

"That just sounds like a lucky guess then." He claims, backing away from the panel. "Clear out. Charges are set." He tells you, pulling your attention over to the flashing red lights of the bombs he's just placed. You were about to do what he told you before your attention was pulled to the screen.

"Wait. Look." You tell him, walking over to the screen and pointing to it. "This is a map of the building. Look at this room down here. It's a bunker. I bet that's where our General is." You say. "Bet it's locked up. Hold off on blowing the charges until we're down there. Once the power goes out, the doors should open and we can take him by surprise."

Soap is hesitant, his jaw tight before he finally mutters a, "fine." Then instead of talking to you further, he radios in to Ghost. "Bravo 0-7, charges are set. We suspect Azamat's holed up in a bunker in this building. Moving to position by the bunker doors and then we'll blow the charge."

"Roger. Five clicks."

With that, you and Soap quickly make your way back down to the first floor to locate the bunker. Time was not on your side, so you needed to move fast. You of course ran into more resistance along the way. That was to be expected. Soap though, ever true to his callsign, breezed through it like it was nothing. It was like he'd gotten to practice and memorized the course ahead of time. He looked so in his element, almost like he was having fun. It was a nice change from the usual sour attitude he had around you. And for once, you were actually sort of working with him like you would Ghost or Gaz. Given the chaotic nature of the mission probably had a lot to do with that, but you hoped this would finally mark a breakthrough point with the Scot.

Once you'd gotten to the room where the bunker was supposed to be, all you needed to do was find it, blow the charges, and get the General. To your utter joy, the bunker was the most obvious thing in the room. A big metal door with a flashing red light above it. You took up the same positions you did last time at the security room as Soap pulled out the detonator.

"Bravo 0-7, we are outside the bunker and getting ready to blow the charges. Send in exfil." Soap updates Ghost.

"Done. Take the General the alive. Three and a half clicks."

Soap looks to you then. "When I blow this, all the lights are going to go out. Once I get the door open, throw a flash in. And for the love of sweet Jesus, do not kill Azamat."

You scowl at him, irritated that he was talking to you still like you were some lousy, trigger happy marine. Guess things haven't changed too much. "Yeah. I went to all the mission briefs and literally heard Ghost say that three seconds ago. I haven't forgotten."

"So she does listen. Shocker." As he speaks, he holds the detonator up and then presses the button, not giving you the chance to reply. There's a loud explosion upstairs, one that makes the building shake a little bit. The lights immediately power off, and you lower the night vision goggles attached to your helmet.

The red light above the door flickers a few times before going out, and the locks click loudly as they release. There's shouting heard from inside as the people in there start to panic. You ready a flashbang as Soap heaves the door open, and once there's a crack big enough for the flashbang, you toss it inside. There's a loud pop as it goes out and a bright flash of light. It causes the people inside to scream and spew out what you can only assume are curses in Russian.

As Soap finishes pushing the door open, you take point, able to see the room and the people inside thanks to the night vision goggles. You identify General Azamat instantly and work on taking out anyone in the room who posed a threat.

You aim at the heads of the men inside, but they were wearing helmets, making it more difficult to land decent shots. The flashbang had made them all very disoriented, buying you more time to actually line up the shots.

Soon, all the guards around General Azamat were downed, and Soap charged the General, who was pulling a pistol from his holster. You hear the grunt from Soap as he rams the General against the wall. There's a struggle as Soap forces the gun to point upwards and six bullets are rapidly discharged from the pistol. Once the gun is only making clicking sounds, signaling an empty clip, Soap punches the General, sending him to the ground.

"Stay the fuck down!" He growls at the General as he goes to restrict his hands behind his back. The voice he was using sounded familiar to the one he used with you when you argued.

The General curses Soap out in Russian, and you go to help him secure the target. Right as you kneel down to help though, Soap pushes you away.

"Cover the door in case-"

The room is filled with the sound of gunfire, and bright flashes come from the doorway. Soap gets hit and falls back, gasping, as you quickly raise your gun and return fire. The guy shooting hadn't been wearing any chest plates and went down with a few shots. As soon as it was clear again, you grab at the General, who was trying to get up now that Soap wasn't holding him down.

"Soap! Oh my God, are you ok?!" You ask, wanting to check on him, but you couldn't let go of the general. You see him from the corner of your eye, lying back, and can hear him gasping still. You worried his injuries were fatal. Sure, you couldn't stand Soap, but you didn't want him to die either.

Then, he leans forward and grabs at General Azamat. "Hit... the plate.." He gasps out, getting his breath back slowly. A second later, he'd pushed through the pain and pressed his pistol into Azamat's head.

"Stop moving, fucker! Get up!" He commands, hooking his free arm around his restrained ones and hauling him to his feet. "Walk!" He shouts once the General is up, giving him a harsh push and keeping the gun aimed at him.

"Who are you?" The General asks, his accent heavy as Soap pushes him out of the bunker. You take point, still a bit shaken up from Soap being shot.

"Shut the hell up and walk!" He growls, opting to grab a handful of the back of the General's suit and push him along instead. It was faster that way. While you make your way out of the West Building back the way you came, you radio to Ghost.

"Bravo 0-7, this is Bravo 7-4. Target secure. Repeat, target is secure. Heading to exfil now."

"Ah. An American." You hear Azamat say, earning a rough shove from Soap.

"I said shut up!”

"Copy that 7-4," Ghost replies. "Exfil in two minutes. Russians are one click out. Move it. Alpha team is pulling back."

"This is gonna be close." Soap mutters under his breath. He begins to pick up the pace a bit, or as much as he can while dragging along a General who didn't want to go with you.

Once outside, you're practically running to the gates, shooting at anyone you can. There was hardly any cover and more and more men seemed to be popping up. About halfway to the exit, you can see bullets hitting the dirt by your feet and hear them wizz past you. This was definitely the most dangerous position you'd been in during your whole career. At least in the other firefights you'd been in, you had your entire squad behind you. This time, it was just you and Soap.

A gargling yelling sound makes you look back, and you see the General is hunched over and falling to his knees. Soap is trying to get him back up, but he's not moving.

"Fuck! He's been shot." Soap notices, seeing red begin to stain his tan uniform. "States, keep moving!" He shouts over the gunfire, hoisting the General over his shoulder and continuing the run.

Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears, adrenaline the only thing keeping your legs moving. Before you know it though, you're through the gate, and you can see your exfil vehicle ahead.

"There it is!" You shout to Soap. "Almost there!" You push harder, your lungs burning. Someone from the passenger side of your exfil vehicle jumps out and opens your door. You pile in first and then help drag the General in as Soap gets him in the car. As bullets start to spray against the side of the vehicle, Soap jumps in. He is practically on top of the General, and slams his door shut.

"Go, go, go!!" Soap yells to the driver. You hear bullets showering the side of the vehicle, and the driver floors it, making you grip tightly onto the handle on the ceiling.

Once you can't hear the bullets hitting the metal doors of the vehicle anymore, you sigh a breath of relief. This mission had been a lot harder than you thought it was going to be. And it wasn't even over yet.

"States, help me sit him up." Soap says, getting your attention and pulling you out of your daze. You do as he asks, moving Azamat out from under Soap to the seat in the middle. Once he's sitting up, you can see his face has paled significantly and there was blood all over the seat and his suit.

"Shite.." Soap cures as you instantly start to apply pressure to the man's stomach. "Ghost, we have General Azamat and are on our way to the rendezvous. He's been shot though and is losing a lot of blood."

"Copy that. Keep him breathing. I'll have medical on standby. What about you and States?"

"We're good." He answers, turning his attention on the man's wound now. "Aside from feeling like I took a bullet to my chest. Oh wait, that did happen." Soap mutters, looking at you angrily.

You look up from where your hands are currently placed on the General's side, blood gushing out from between your fingers. You meet Soap's gaze and glower at him.

"Seriously? You're going to blame me for you getting shot in the plate?" Though of course he was going to blame that on you. Cause why wouldn't he?

"It's one hundred percent your fault! Someone needed to cover the door!" Soap was grabbing a med kit from under the seat and violently opening it to get some medical supplies.

"Are you fucking- you know what? No. I'm not doing this with you right now. This dude is bleeding out, and I'm not going to have you distract me and then blame this dude dying on me! Give me those fucking bandages!" You rip them from his hand and start stuffing the wound, making the General moan in protest.

"Whatever, States. Fuck you too."

You don't say a word to each other after that. The only words spoken are by you trying to keep the General awake, Soap talking to Ghost over the comms, or the occasion word or two from the guys in the front seats, talking to the other teams.

You couldn't wait to get to the helo, hand General Azamat off to the medical staff, and then get away from Soap.

[bumblebeehug]

Home

Summary: Natsu has found his home. Notes: At the end. Ao3

***

By the first week into October, Natsu had managed to change his temper completely. Lucy wasn’t surprised – she had seen it before, after all. But it happened, and she was as impressed as she had been the first time she saw it. Natsu was the most energetic, crazy and loving person she knew. He ran around going on missions, planning elaborate pranks, he talked loudly, and he fought at every change – and he always dragged Lucy along to play. She loved this side of him. He gave her energy, his happiness spread to her like wildfire – ironic, considering that he’s a fire mage. 

So, when the leaves on the trees became orange, red and yellow, she was surprised every time she saw his energy mellow out slightly. He still acted roughly the same, and he did what he usually did: missions, pranks, fights and hanging out with Lucy, but now with less of that extra stuff – shaking his legs, poking her thighs under the table to annoy her, carelessly interrupting people when they were speaking. She notices him taking the occasional pause whenever they’re outside, to take in the rapidly changing view and to take deep, calming breaths of the smell of rain and decaying leaves. It was clear as day: he really liked autumn. 

“Whatcha doing?” Natsu was surprised to see Lucy digging around in the flowerpots at her apartment complex’s entrance.

“Huh?” Lucy looked up. She hadn’t been expecting him to arrive just yet. They agreed earlier today to hang out, but since Natsu had to stop by the tailor she thought she would have time to prepare the flower pots for winter. She usually did this early in the morning, so Natsu didn’t know she was the one fixing the nice flower beds every spring, or that she was the one who cleared them when they died. 

“Oh I’m just doing some chores, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable inside,” Lucy encouraged, waving her tiny shovel. Natsu squatted down beside her, still visibly confused.

“Why are you digging everythin’ out?” Lucy was taken slightly off guard with this unexpected interest. After all, she was only digging dirt in a pot, nothing he would be interested in normally. But then again, he was quite on theme with his newfound tranquillity.

“I’m really only making space for new things to grow, I was thinking that I’d like to plant azaleas next year,” she told him.

“Are azaleas flowers?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you a picture when we go inside – I’m almost done anyway.”

Natsu waited patiently. He couldn’t help but wonder how those flowers would look – would they be some sort of flamey variant, or would they be cute and fluffy? Or maybe those were the wrong sort of words to use to describe flowers. Round or sharp petals? Thorns or no thorns? And then which colour? Could they pick and decide that themselves? Or had Lucy already picked? He was surprisingly interested – uncharacteristically so, even he was aware of that.

Lucy almost worked up a sweat, Natsu observed, taking his time to soak up the details. Her hair looked soft and light from the sunny summer, but her tan had started to fade. She was wearing gloves, the ones with a little pink detail, and her jacket was on the thicker side. Maybe that’s why she was getting hot. She didn’t wear any makeup today, he noticed. He liked it when she wore her face bare – not that she didn’t look good all dolled up as well, but he just appreciated the way she looked when she was just being her. She didn’t try to look like anyone else, like Cana with her dark eyelashes or Mira with her fair skin – she just looked like herself, light eyelashes and some freckles scattered across her cheeks.

It didn’t take long for Lucy to give up her efforts. The weather was getting worse by the second, and the warmth she initially worked up was gone as soon as the wind picked up. Feeling goosebumps up her arms and her neck, she soon turned back to Natsu, who was still keeping his eyes glued on her.

“Maybe I’ll leave it here for today, it feels like it’s going to rain,” she said, putting her tools away. “Do you want some tea?”

Natsu nodded, not really feeling bothered by the change in weather. Though, he didn’t exactly love seeing Lucy shiver. And he really liked the way she made tea – she always added a splash of milk and a lemon slice or cinnamon stick, depending on the flavour.

As they entered Lucy’s apartment, Natsu took a deep breath. It smelled like freshly baked bread, cinnamon and smoke from the fire she made when he wasn’t around. Underneath those tones, there was this homey scent of Lucy. The mixture of her hygiene products, her fabric softener, the subtle tones of wood and leather from different pieces of furniture, and then there was her scent. He had never found any other way to describe it. It wasn’t like normal body odour, like sweat or skin, it was something else completely. Like he could smell her DNA, or her very soul perhaps.   Well, whatever the scent was, he loved it. For him, being in Lucy’s apartment was equivalent to therapy. He didn’t even like his own home as much as he did hers – it didn’t have her flair.

Lucy broke their silence.

“Will Happy be coming over later? I got a new board game, I thought we could try it together.” She took off the boiling hot kettle from the stove. Natsu had taken a seat on the couch, still lost in thoughts.

“Yeah, he’ll drop in in time for dinner,” he told her. “He’s been at the river tryna catch tiger trouts all morning. He’s just been gettin’ carps though.” A low chuckle escaped his lips.

“Well, at least he’s got a food supply!” She chirped from the kitchen. “Look what I bought at the market yesterday.”

Lucy was balancing a wooden tray, filled with all kinds of snacks, plus some of that bread that had been cooling off. Some snacks looked like glistering jewels, others looked like they could be cursed meat disguised as small, wrinkly sausages. She put the tray down onto the coffee table. Just as Natsu had predicted, the two mugs each had a cinnamon stick in them. Natsu leaned over in intrigue as Lucy plopped down beside him.

“I couldn’t identify half of this stuff at gunpoint,” he mumbled. As he got a whiff of the smell coming from the mixed assortments, his nose scrunched. “Smells weird.”

“I’ll tell you what it is! First we got our drinks…”

She handed Natsu his cup, a dark murky orange one, rough and handmade, with little yellow flames painted in the glaze. He’d gotten it from Lucy a Christmas a couple of years ago, and ever since then it had been his designated one. As he held it he smelled a mix of spices from the steam.

“It’s a masala chai, it originated in Bellum over a thousand years ago! This mix is made with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, nutmeg, black pepper, cloves and black tea leaves from the area, but the seller told me that the recipe can vary. Then there’s just some milk and sugar as well, but I thought you might like it.” As Natsu listened to her listing up the ingredients, he finally found some sense in the jumbled combination of mixed spices. It made the drink feel more appetising. 

“Taste it!” She urged, Natsu seeing an intense glimpse in her eyes.

“Kay… You better not have put somethin’ weird into it…” he warned her before putting his cup against his lips, taking a small mouthful of the lightly tanned liquid into his mouth. Before Lucy could counter his rude claim, Natsu lit up. “Hey, that’s actually good!”

“Is it?” Lucy excitedly turned to her own cup, the one she had bought from the same pottery artist as she got Natsu’s. Dark blue with yellow stars painted where Natsu’s cup had flames. A matching pair, despite the themes being completely different. He liked the way it contrasted her pale hands, and he liked how she held it delicately with both hands so she wouldn’t drop it. “It really is!”

She turned to smile at him proudly, not containing her joy in the slightest. He could always tell when her happiness came from her heart – it showed in her eyes, in the fact that they squinted so hard that her eyes looked like two slits, resting on her pillowy cheeks. If he didn’t have his hands full, he would have reached out and pinched them. Test if they were as soft and plush as they looked.

“Right, so that’s the tea,” Lucy continued, not paying any attention to the intense stare that was coming from the mage beside her. “Then there’s this, it just looks like normal candy cane pieces to me, but the woman who sold it said that the people in the northern parts of Seven eat it traditionally towards winter.” The hard candies in the bowl made a jingling sound as Lucy picked it up. As she said, they tasted pretty much like normal candy canes. Natsu didn’t care for it all that much – the minty flavour left a cold feeling in his mouth, and he didn’t love to be reminded of a grumpy stripper every time he had a sweet. Still, they seemed delightfully handmade, and Lucy mentioned something about them being called polka pigs in a rough translation of their native language, and Natsu loved pork, so he took another piece in solidarity to its name.

As the two of them continued to taste test the different snacks from around the world, Natsu noticed Lucy edging closer. It seemed she hadn’t realised it herself, as she still was talking about the long, complicated production of those sausage-things that tasted much better than they looked (apparently there was beer involved? He didn’t really follow). Her position had changed from sitting on the opposite side of the couch to now sitting shoulder against shoulder. Every now and then she would lean closer, like she was searching his touch as much as he always searched for hers.

“Oh that’s right!” She exclaimed, suddenly diving under her coffee table. Natsu didn’t hide the confused look on his face when he hunched down with her.

“What?” He asked, trying to figure out what she was rummaging for.

“The flowers! Azaleas, I was going to show you a picture.” She crawled up into the couch again, her hair slightly messy this time, holding a small book. A Flower Encyclopedia was written on it, and she immediately started browsing the chapter index.

Struggling to see the contents inside the book, Natsu hoisted Lucy into his arms so he was looking over her shoulder. She seemed unfazed by his action, but her accelerated heartbeat begged to differ. Natsu couldn’t help but smile at her from behind. Her feelings could be so transparent.

“There it is,” Lucy mumbled, very aware of the blush on her cheeks. The page she held open showed a plethora of deep, pink flowers, sitting against a dark greenery. Natsu leaned a bit forward so he could see the book closer, letting his chin rest on her shoulder.

“They look kinda nice.” He tilted his head against hers, their cheeks squishing together with the motion.

“I thought you’d like them,” she whispered.

Natsu dug his face into the crook of her neck and took a deep breath. He couldn’t help it when the source of the smell he loved more than anything was right under his nose.

“Read to me,” he begged, hugging her closer. As his mouth was pressed against Lucy’s shoulder, she immediately felt his hot breath against her skin, earning a shiver. Still, she complied. Reading the pages went quickly as there were mostly pictures, but she knew he didn’t ask her to read in order to hear about flowers. She knew that he just wanted to hear her voice, so when she finished the thin book, she started talking about anything that came to her mind. Dreams, memories and things she had to do the upcoming week.

Natsu had dozed off after just ten minutes of reading. His soul felt fulfilled as he laid there, breathing Lucy’s air, hearing her calm voice, feeling her body heat pressed against him as they cuddled together. The tranquil air around the two of them acted as a perfectly curated space – he swore he could feel their heartbeats match up.

Life felt perfect. Soon Happy would arrive, and the three of them would share a delicious hot meal, listening to the cat’s fishing adventures – not before said cat teased the pair a little for acting all cuddly of course. Then they would take turns to wash up before playing that new board game long into the night.

But right here, right now, there was only Natsu and Lucy, and a comfortable couch in a warming embrace. The rain that Lucy had predicted earlier that day was smattering against her window, and before she drifted to sleep herself, she remembered thinking that this was what life was about.

_______________________

oops. i became possessed by a fic-writing fairy? so here's another fic lol. since it's the season and all. also i put in a surprising amount of research into this fic, looking at fairy tail maps (Bellum is basically the equivalent to India, Seven is north of Fiore - the candy cane stuff being called polka pigs is basically just a nod at the swedish "polkagris", same with the sausage - "ölkorv" or beer-sausage) hope you enjoyed this fluffy stuff! next on the agenda is angst! as always, thanks for reading<333 xx

[venerawrites]

i loved the sasuke before and after the war headcanons!! so i read them and i started thinking what would it be like with naruto?

so, if you’re not too busy, i would like to ask for something similar but with a twist 🥺 headcanons for naruto before/after the war but with a s/o that used to be part of akatsuki (for x reason lmao) and, before they departed the village, used to be really close friends with naruto.

thank you and sorry for my english, it is not my first language!

author's note: I am a SUCKER for Naruto x rogue ninja (if you have been here for a while, you definitely know that one post) so I can't even pretend I didn't scream a bit when I got your request! I've been thinking of writing short Naruto x rogue ninja mini series for a long, long time, so I am happy to finally get to explore this dynamic a bit more. Thank you for sending me the idea and I really hope you like it! <3

BEFORE THE WAR

Naruto always thought he can face anything - after all he somehow managed to keep his good heart and remain hopeful for a brighter future, despite facing loneliness and hatred so early in life. Even when his teammate, and who he also thought to be his best friend, left his home in order to pursue more power, the Uzumaki never allowed his spirit to go down.

But there was a first time for everything and Naruto was about to learn that the hard way.

He met his s/o shortly after he started the academy. They were a transfer student from one of the small distant villages and just like him, they found themselves labelled as an 'outsider' pretty quickly by the other kids.

Naturally, being the only two "rejects" brought them together and it didn’t take long for them to become inseparable .

Naruto was a loud, bright and confident. His s/o, on the other hand, was shy, insecure and often, pessimistic. Yet, their opposites balanced each other so well, that soon they were spending every single day together.

But when Naruto left to train with Jiraiya, their friendship really started to crack. Despite the first few months of exchanging letters, the bond they once shared started to rapidly weaken and it didn't take long for it to crumble altogether. One day all the letters just stopped and all that was left was silence.

The moment he walked through the village doors, 3 years later, his first thought was to see his s/o. But when he stood in front of the place, where their house once was, watching the ruins, he thought he was trapped in a nightmare. One which got worse once Kakashi and Sakura told him that his s/o left the village a few months after him and has joined the Akatsuki.

At the beginning, he couldn't believe it. This had to be either a misunderstanding or very, very tasteless prank, because the person he knew and loved would NEVER do that.

After the shock, came a storm of emotions. The first one was anger - how could they do something like this? And why?

The second one was disappointment. For a second time Naruto was abandoned by someone close to him, but this time it hurt more. He spend weeks on end locked in his house, without eating or showering, just staring at the ceiling while he wondered what went wrong. Could it be different if he never left? Was this somehow his fault?

After many long talks with Kakashi, Sakura and Shikamaru, who all visited him quite often to bring groceries and force him to take care of himself, came the determination. He had to bring them back, no matter what it was going to cost him.

He would take mission after mission in hope to cross paths with his s/o. It didn't help that he was still actively pursuing Sasuke as well, resulting in him being away for months with barely any rest between his travels.

Their first encounter finally came during Gaara's rescue. And if it wasn't for Kakashi, Naruto would've probably lost his life because of it.

Naruto may resort to violence sometimes, especially when trying to knock some sense into Sasuke's head, but when it comes to his s/o, he can't even lift a finger in their direction. So the whole time during their fight, he kept a defensive position, using the brief moments of rest to try and talk to his s/o and convince them to come back with him to Konoha.

Unfortunately for him, however, they were not the shy and insecure person anymore. Each one of his pleads was met with brutal attack, aiming to get him to stop talking and finally fight them.

Having the person you love most in the world turn against you without an obvious reason hurt. A LOT.

When he finally get the chance to get close to his s/o, he would block their attack before gripping their arms and pressing their thrashing body against his in almost a suffocating hug. He would cry and plead for them to stop, to just come back with him and that he would protect them no matter what.

That moment of vulnerability almost costed his life, as he failed to notice his s/o grabbing a kunai from inside their cloak and swinging it behind his back. Luckily, Kakashi saw it and pulled him away before the weapon can touch him.

Despite seeing how changed his s/o is and how much resentment they held for him now, he wouldn't give up. Just like with Sasuke, he would continue to relentlessly pursue them, trying his best to convince them to come back.

In front of the others he would try to maintain his usual cheerful and carefree persona, but all the people around him would notice the subtle changes - the way he seems to avoid human interaction unless having a mission; the amount of weight he lost; the way his smile never seem to reach his eyes anymore.

Only he would know through how much pain he was going during his private moments - he would often sit in the shower till the water runs cold, replaying all the memories he had made with his s/o; he would sleep less and less, wondering what went wrong and what did he do to deserve their hate. He would often cry, letting out all the emotions he couldn't share in front of others.

Would probably meet his s/o only a handful of times before the war - and each time it would finish the same way their first one did. He would plead with them, they would charge at him, a third person would have to intervene before things get out of control.

I definitely see a final battle (almost like a final showdown) during the war, the ONE which would finally put a stop to this circle of unresolved feelings, heartache and hatred. And while Naruto would initially be reluctant to fight against them, seeing them taking the side of the enemy, he knows he has no choice but to put the duty toward the village before his heart's wishes.

AFTER THE WAR

I mentioned this when I wrote the headcanons for Sasuke, but I really want to emphasize that I've never seen Boruto, but from what I heard and read about it, I don't really like the OG characters development. So this is just my interpretation of what type of partner Naruto would be...

I imagine that during the final battle his s/o would finally open up about the reason they joined Akatsuki and how Naruto leaving played a big part into it. And while the battlefield is obviously not the best place to have THIS talk, he would make sure to corner his s/o afterwards.

As they will be imprisoned (at least for a while) after the war, Naruto would pretty much corner them into talking it out - he would visit them every single day and push for answers.

At first, he would be frustrated. He understands his s/o's reasons for leaving, but at the same time in his mind he would never, ever do something like this.

It would take a few days of long talks till he finally grasp what they must be feeling after he left and while he is not really the one to blame, he would feel extremely guilty. He would still visit his s/o every day, bringing them books, sometimes fruits and sweets, before leaving almost at night.

Needless to say he will be the BIGGEST advocate for their release at their trial.

Do I think Naruto would still pursue his dream to be a Hokage? Absolutely!

HOWEVER, I don't think it would last very long - not only because it involves a lot of administrative work (which Naruto finds very boring and in no way I can imagine him actually doing it), but also because at this time his relationship with his s/o, who would be a already free, would start to blossom again.

I imagine his s/o would like to travel - not so much for redemption, but to discover themselves - and I think Naruto would like to join at least for some of the journeys. After so many years apart, he doesn't want to face the risk of his s/o disappearing from his life once again.

As he is very passionate and emotional guy, I think he would forgive and forget pretty easily and fast. It would take more time for his s/o to accept their mistakes and their past, before feeling ready for a real relationship.

To sum it up... FRIENDS to ENEMIES to FRIENDS to LOVERS... but isn't that the perfect romance trope? 👀

cc artwork: Kleiner Hai

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒲𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒲𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒

Featuring: Jason Voorhees

Word Count: 1.4k 

Warnings: horror content, canon-typical violence, swearing, mean friends are mean, edited but i make mistakes

-

You never should have trusted your so-called friends when they suggested sneaking up to Camp Crystal Lake. It was a stupid, stupid, stupid idea. But you could never find the courage to stick up for yourself, and thus were always involved, and mostly blamed for, any chaos the group of rowdy 20-somethings got up to. You were barely old enough to drink and hated the taste anyway, which led you to be the only one not hollering drunkenly as you sat in the back of the crowded Jeep. Your friend raced down the dirt roads, tires squealing as mud flung everywhere. It looked like it was about to storm, but obviously the group didn’t care.

By the time the car stopped right next to the batterted sign, you were aching to get out and stretch your legs, even for a moment.

You quickly popped open the door, hopping out. 

“What’re you doing?” one of your friends called. “Tryna go for a swim?”

“I just wanted to stretch, is all. . .” you began, but of course someone cut you off. 

“Ha! Wait, baby (Y/N) wants to hang out in the big bad woods all night? I dunno, sounds awful dangerous. . .”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, watching as someone shut the door, leaving you outside in the dirt. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Go and face your fears,” one called. “C’mon. Everyone knows you’re a total pussy. We’ll pick you up in the morning!”

“Don’t leave me here!” you cried, suddenly realizing what they intended to do. You pulled uselessly on the locked door. “Guys, seriously! This isn’t funny!” 

“See ya tomorrow!” 

The tires spun rapidly, flinging dirt onto your bare legs. You flinched, letting go of the handle as the group drove off, still hooting and hollering as they snickered. 

You let out a sigh, trying your best not to fall to your knees and cry. You looked up, watching as the rumbling clouds began to precipitate. A drop landed on your head. Your shoulder. Your nose. More and more came down, and before long you were soaked to the bone and freezing. 

You couldn’t just stand here all night. At this rate you’d get hypothermia.

You grit your teeth, hands gripping your arms as you cautiously began your trek into the woods of the camp. You just hoped those stupid rumors you kept hearing about weren’t true.

By the time you spotted your first cabin, you were shivering and wobbly as you walked. The rain had gotten progressively worse the more the day wore on, and now it was almost dark and you felt like a kicked puppy. 

You reached the front porch of the small place, placing a shaking hand on the handle before opening it. You noted the puddles of water everywhere, but a leaky roof was better than no roof. 

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you to block out the storm.

It was dark, and you fumbled around before feeling a lantern. It took a few minutes of struggling, but you managed to light it, and let out a sigh of relief when you could finally see again.

It wasn’t much—one room with a few bunk beds, couch, and a kitchenette, but you were thankful for anything. You placed the lantern on a hook jutting out of the wall, lighting up the space. 

You spotted a towel thrown haphazardly on one of the bed posts and grabbed it, drying yourself off as best as you could. 

You paused in your actions when you heard something from outside. It sounded almost like footsteps. Did your friends come back?

Not wasting a second, you scurried back to the door, flinging it open.

No. It wasn’t your friends. It was a man. A giant, hulking mass of a man with sopping wet clothes and a machete bigger than your arm. He donned a white hockey mask, weathered and worn like it had been attached to him for years.

He stood just a few feet away, watching.

You let out a scream, scrambling out the door and shooting towards the woods. Your shoes splashed in the muddied puddles, leaving your body slick with rain, sweat, and mud as you ran. 

You didn’t dare look back. You just kept running, hoping to make it back to the road. Or to anything besides more dense forest.

You could barely move, and brambles scraped against your flesh. Your whole body stung, small rivulets of blood pooling out of every small nick and scratch.

It didn’t stop you. You had to keep going. Keep running. Running away from—

Your foot caught in a root, and with a sickening crack you collapsed to the forest floor, screaming. Your foot erupted in pain, and you stared at your ankle, bile rising in your throat as you saw the odd angle it stuck out at. 

You clambered backwards on your hands, pressing yourself against a particularly large tree trunk. You cried softly as you forced your broken ankle to move, pulling your knees against your chest.

Everything was wet and dirty and dark around you. Everything looked the same, and even if you could still run, you had no idea where to go.

So you sat. Waiting. Sobbing. Trying your best to stay quiet despite your throbbing ankle.

“I don’t wanna be here,” you whimpered to yourself. “I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home.” You were pleading to nobody, childish cries leaving your lips. “Please. I want my mom and my dad and my bed and I wanna leave here.” 

You suddenly fell silent at the snap of a twig nearby. You shoved a hand over your mouth, stifling your heavy breaths and cries. Is this it? How you died? All because you were too cowardly to stand up to your friends.

Your eyes darted around, trying desperately to spot your pursuer. He was close. But where?

You finally spotted him, walking swiftly towards you, his blade still clutched firmly in his hands. He walked like nothing stood between the two of you. Like nothing else mattered but seeing your head on a stick.

“No,” you begged, pulling yourself away from the tree and crawling desperately away from him. “Please, no. Don’t kill me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” 

You’d only made it a few pathetic feet before he stood right next to you, heavy boots sunken into the muddy ground. You fell onto your back, tears streaming down your face. You shook your head, holding your hands out in a useless attempt to shield yourself. “I didn’t do anything!” you shouted. “I don’t wanna be here! Please! I just wanna go home!” 

He didn’t raise his blade. He didn’t move at all. He just stared down at you, eyes behind the mask analyzing your injured form. He listened as you pleaded. You begged for your life. That was nothing new. Jason had heard those words many times before. But what did you mean when you said you didn’t want to be here? He saw you at the sign. He saw your friends. Your broken expression as they left you. He saw the way your lip quivered as you stood there. It had been a long time since he felt anything but rage. But looking down at you. Your twisted ankle. Your dirtied clothes and scratched flesh. He only saw himself. That same expression of terror as nobody came to his side. His throat burning as he tried to gasp for air. 

A voice whispered to him. A soft, familiar voice. ‘Keep her, Jason.’

You let out a hoarse scream when he finally moved, bending down to stare into your petrified eyes. He tucked his blade into a pocket, both hands now shuffling underneath your body. You shook your head violently. “No, no, no, no,” you repeated, trying to stop him as he lifted you up and pressed you against him. 

He walked back through the woods, you still floundering in his arms. You punched your fists against his chest, but he didn’t even pause in his gait. He was something else. Unhuman. His skin was an unnatural greenish-pale color, like a dead frog sat out in the sun. His mask dug into his skin so deep it looked like part of his very being. His hands were cold against your flesh, and inside his chest you heard no beating heart. Just heavy breathing.

You let out a whimper. What was going to happen to you? 

[melleonis]

list of worm characters and how good they would be at force fem

beware spoilers

UNDERSIDERS Taylor (Skitter): unless there's an estrogen spider somewhere in the world, no shot Taylor (Khepri): unfortunately, unlimited power comes at the cost of a rapidly-dwindling understanding of gender Grue: lacks both the ability and the inclination. his fragile masculinity makes him a fine target, however. Tattletale: you'd think she'd be good at it, or at the very least sufficiently-advanced egg detection, but she also believes everyone on the team is straight, so this is gonna be a blind spot for her. Bitch: shockingly good at it if the end goal is puppygirl, stone useless otherwise. Regent: i mean. he could, but what's in it for him? easily bored, no patience for process. at best he could manage getting someone into a tutu for a lark before losing interest. Imp: gaslight girlboss of course she's gonna be great at this. what's this? all the contents of your underwear drawer replaced? you didn't do that... did you? who else could have? so you must have wanted this...right? Parian: if you will not wear the dress, the dress will have to come to you. Foil: nah

EVERYONE ELSE Accord: ugh who wants a tidy feminization? Bakuda: hey maybe you'll get hit with the fem grenade! probably you'll just die, or worse. Bonesaw: oh now we're talkin. unparalleled biomech horror force fem game. the mechanical spider tapped into your spinal column decides when it's time to get you prettied up for a tea party. Canary: shania twain karaoke incident feminizes twelve, birdcage for sure. Cherish: trivially easy to set up an emotional conditioning system. wearing skirt? dopamine hit! wearing pants? kill yourself - whoops. well, she'll have a lot of time at the bottom of the ocean to figure out correct feedback intensities. Clockblocker: in theory one should be able to get up to some mischief while someone is frozen in time, but i'm not sure dennis has the ability to freeze someone without also freezing their clothes, which means this has limited utility. could play a support role for someone else. Contessa: effortlessly trips you into a chain reaction that completely reshapes your life as part of a twelve-thousand step plan to improve humanity's long-term odds of survival by a fraction of a percent. thank you for your service. Echidna: all your evil monster clones are girls for some reason. whether this works depends entirely on how you respond to awkward post-incident questions your friends have about it. Eidolon: yeah i mean he could. but it doesn't make him feel globally, historically important so he's not gonna. Gallant: is "feminine" an emotion he can inflict? girl feelings beam attack? shame we'll never know, RIP. Gregor the Snail: nothing in canon says he can't secrete a mildly acidic ooze that turns you into a slime girl. Jack Slash: broadcast shard should in theory mean he can easily manipulate other capes into getting feminized, but that's less time spent on self-aggrandizing mass murder, so. Marquis: bone structure matters less than you'd think in the grand scheme of things, but yes he can reshape your jawline and cheek bones, give you those child-bearing hips. pros: he doesn't kill women, so you're that much safer. cons: it is going to hurt like a motherfucker. Number Man: oh no your company has fallen on hard times and you've been laid off! and how peculiar that the only business hiring anywhere near you is the maid cafe. it says they're very strict about their dress code but that's probably fine. and food's gotten so expensive but wait these odd imported protein shakes are absurdly cheap... Panacea: you know what the joke is already, come on. Scion: has Path to Victory and would never in a billion years think of using it for anything fun.

and finally,

the Simurgh: best in show. sure, it'll take four years for the triggers and conditioning to work their way through your subconscious but when they do...

BONUS Simurgh/Dragon double-team: Defiant probably never spent enough time close to the Simurgh to get affected, plus he had those high-tech earplugs he designed himself, so surely he's fine. nevertheless, his focus wanders during a critical moment while editing Dragon's source code, and now she's bossier, maybe even a little meaner, and the prosthetic parts she's making for colin's cyborg body are... different. curvier, softer. and every time he tries to find the problem in her code he gets distracted, and she gets more and more imperious. can he find a way out of the Simurgh's conditioning and his AI lover's domination? will he have to seek help from Saint - or worse, Teacher? surely they wouldn't take advantage of him in his vulnerable cyberdoll state?

[yeetus-feetus]

👀 hey uh, fic idea from my bestie for anyone who's interested.

We've had an ongoing discussion about how Tim would usually be on blockers that cover his scent (and considerably dulls his heat to easily managed tummy cramps). Anyways because Robin has to be an alpha (because the prev robins were alphas).

Heads up, most of the bats know. Jason doesn't because he was dead, and when he came back he's only ever known Tim as the alpha who replaced him and stole his territory. (He's been working on it tho, he knows Tim isn't a threat now. It's been a very long time since the Titans Tower Incident™.)

But Tim somehow gets hit by an airborne toxin from some villain (because it's Gotham) that has a side effect of cancelling out his blockers and stops them from working. Except, Tim doesn't know this because it's a delayed effect.

So Tim is taking his blocker meds everyday, unbeknownst to the fact they're no longer working and his scent is coming through more and more everyday. Thing is, nobody's really noticed, Bruce and Alfred are betas (can only smell the much stronger A/O scents), Dick's in Blüdhaven, and Tim's been too busy to catch up with the girls or visit his old YJ buddies. And, well, Jason can't smell anything- not that anyone else other than Dick and Cassandra actually know that (Dick because he found out on a team-up where there was a glass leak, and Cassandra because, well y'know).

Fast-forward maybe 4 or 5 days and the side effects of his blockers not working finally catch up to him. (Just so you know going off your blockers cold turkey without very slowly easing off triggers a really intense heat- or rut, that lasts longer than usual because of hormone imbalance. Basically the whole body is going "what the fuck!?" and needs to catch up to restabilize).

Tim wakes up with tummy cramps, a little more intense than usual, but still manageable. He goes on patrol, but the cramping gets worse and worse, his forehead feels hot, and he thinks he must be coming down with something until the smell hits him-- suddenly it clicks and he realizes he's in pre-heat, rapidly approaching a full heat way too soon.

He can feel the sweat beginning to build up and trickle down his neck, the cramps are making him want to curl in on himself. Except he's on rooftop, alone, in the middle of Gotham. So he can't exactly do that right now. The only hideout close enough is 10 minutes away, but last he's heard, Jason had started crashing there.

Tim thinks fuck it and decides that's his best bet, definitely because he knows Bruce is busy with a case on the other side of the city, and not because he knows Jason smells like freshly-washed warm blankets and a gentle pinewood fire; both things he knows will make his cramps feel better. Warm. Warm things always ease the cramps away.

Tim is only just now realising how cold it is outside, and he shivers in spite of the sweat beading on his skin and clinging to his hair.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Anyways Tim goes to Jason, finds out Jay can't smell him. ("You can't smell that?" "No? What is it? It's not another gas leak situation again is it?" "What?... No it's- ..." "It's what?" "You stink, have you showered recently?")

Basically Tim finds out Jason can't smell anything and lies to Jason, telling him he has a fever and must be coming down with something. Jay makes Tim warm suit and lets him borrow some clothes, letting him sleep on the couch for the night.

But Jason wakes up cold to find Tim stole all his blankets and burried into his side, fast asleep with his face nuzzled into the soft fabric of his hoodie, curled up and making small, quiet sounds of pain.

Jason is confused, but feels his forehead with a frown. Tim is burning up. Whatever but he's caught that's causing this fever must be serious. He gets up carefully, careful not to disturb him or wake the poor guy up.

He goes into the kitchen to get some ibuprofen, heat up some soup, and get a pot of coffee ready. Depending on how Tim is when he wakes up, Jason is considering calling Alfred. He's not about to babysit a sick Robin for the Bat and risk catching whatever he's got too.

But then he hears loud whining coming from the bedroom, a muffled "Jason!". It sounds like Tim's in pain, like he might even start crying, and Jason rushes back to the room. Only to freeze in the doorway.

Tim has untangled from all the blankets and somehow lost his clothes, rolled into the warm spot where he was laying before Jason got up, nuzzled into his pillow and is squirming against the sheets. Next to him, where he had been laying before Jason left, is a wet patch that looks...

"Tim, what-?"

"Jason! Need you!" Tim whines. "Please it's too hot, it hurts, Jason", he sobs as he calls his name.

"shit Tim is this- are you? You're an omega!?" Jason feels like his worldview just got tipped upsidedown.

Tim whines again and lifts his ass into the air, face down in the pillows that smell like alpha. Warm. Safe. Jason. "Yeah. Yes. Catch up already." Another whimper of pain. "In heat. Need your knot. Now. Please. Jason!"

"fuck, Tim I don't-"

"please. Need you. Promise I'm in a- shit- right enough mind to consent. Please, Jason", Tim pleads.

Jason takes two steps forward then swallows. "Are- are you sure Tim? I don't want to hurt you-"

"oh for fucks sake! Jason please. Knot me, don't make me beg for it even more. If you could smell me right now you'd already be inside m- oh fuck. Alpha please, I need it!"

"shit babybird, I don't need to smell you". Jason leans over the bed and gets up behind him, getting a better view of his needy hole and glistening slick-wet thighs. "Just look at you", he rumbles, low in his chest.

It makes Tim shiver, another gush of slick slides down his thighs. Jason runs his hands through the slick and let's himself growl at the sight, a sound that makes Tim heat up from the inside out, like his gut is pooling with hot magma ready to erupt. Or maybe he'll just explode, because Jason still isn't inside him yet.

_-_-_-_-_-_

to be continued ( I guess. Idk if I'll actually come back to this or fix it up to be a proper fic. Me and my bestie will just keep daydreaming about it lol)

[just-a-strange-boy]

experimenting for friends

part 2 - hair-pulling

part 1

Sherlock Holmes is a man prone to addiction. In means of trying to finally set an end to his substance abuse by finding something equally stimulating, he is eager to do his share of research - and of course, it's your help he's requesting. Another experiment entails.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader (GN)

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), mentions of drug abuse/addiction, mentions of relapse, penetrative sex, mentions inexperienced/virgin Sherlock, questionable sexual favours, fwb (?)

A/N: this is definitely not how you (should) treat substance abuse, but hey... it's Sherlock

"I have a request."

You were just sorting through some paperwork, a whole clutter of important documents you figured he should keep, neatly organizing them in binders and folders, something Sherlock thought was too mundane and boring to do, when the detective came to approach you, downright startling you with one of his spontaneous verbal outbursts.

"Fire away", you had said, looking up from the piles of paper to find him standing in the doorway, hoping that he wasn't just going to ask for another walk so he could have yet another cigarette. You'd managed to get him down to three a day, which was a huge success, considering he had only relapsed recently, heavily abusing substances far worse than nicotine. It had been your agreement from the get go – you'd turn a blind eye to Sherlock smoking a limited amount of cigarettes as long as he stopped using otherwise.

However, it wasn't a cigarette he was asking for.

"Obviously my desire for substances mostly stems from how they affect the release of chemicals within my brain, chemicals that stimulate and influence the way I process my thoughts. They minimize the often overwhelming sensations I experience and are inhibiting my natural urge to deduce everything. They manage to calm my mind, a rather positive effect, which is why I have always relied on getting high if I needed a moment of peace. Can you follow me?"

Sherlock was speaking as rapidly as you were used to, not even allowing you the slightest opportunity of uttering a single word, "Of course you can follow me. You're not an idiot. I know you've done your research and I explained it to you plenty. My point is that I have been researching with the intention of finding something that will have a similar positive effect, in order to...not having to use."

"Let me guess", you replied with a sigh, processing what he was telling you, figuring quickly why he came forward with a request, "You're suggesting another experiment that I will have to be part of? To research and find out whether any theory you have might be correct?"

The detective nodded, striding over until he was standing next to the table, gaze drifting over what you were currently sorting, before giving it a dismissive look and focusing back on you.

"Yes. Exactly. I knew you would get it. I have... reconsidered that time when we... um...uh", he began almost awkwardly, all the sudden stuttering in a way very unlike him, "...when you touched me and when we were close... I felt good. In a way that might be comparable to a high. But I need to figure out what kind of effects it has on me from an analytical point of view to make sure I am right about my assumption."

So very clearly, Sherlock was suggesting you gave him another sexual favour – like once before in an experimental setting, needing to gather 'information' before he could confirm his assumption.

You had no doubt that a sexual high could be comparable to a drug high in some way – you wouldn't know though – and you would have liked to help him, but also considered it risky.

As much as you would have wanted him to find something, anything, to stop him from using ever again, you didn't know whether that would be the right way.

Leading Sherlock to another kind of addiction was risky, considering he was definitely prone to developing them, may it be his evident addiction to the thrill of his work, trying to keep up with and challenge the dangerous minds of criminals, or the substance abuse itself.

Besides that, you didn't want to put your friendship at risk and you were also not going to be some object for Sherlock to figure out whether sex could make him feel similar as a high on drugs.

The man sensed your initial reluctance, continuing his lengthy explanations, so typically like him, so casually like only Sherlock could as he seemed to have found his grip again.

"But at the same time I know it wouldn't be fair of me to continue requesting those things for my own gain. You are your own person and I would never try to guilt-trip you into something that could possibly set an end to my habitual substance abuse. I am very aware that I am the one owing you a favour for your help in the first place. I do not want to further strain our friendship with my demands, but I need you to know that... if I can share and research this with anyone, I would want it to be you."

You sighed. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous that you were even considering this in the first place.

Could you have refused Sherlock? Possibly. That's what you should have done anyway.

Did you want to refuse him? Certainly not.

Last time you had decided to work on an experiment with him, you had gotten to see a very different side of Sherlock, soft and submissive and gorgeous. You had kissed him, touched him, not to mention you had absolutely jerked him off too. You had praised and cherished him. Sherlock had sounded wonderful, looked beautiful, so raw and open and honest – you had definitely not forgotten the sight. And yes, you might have masturbated to the memory itself too.

The instance had been hard to forget.

But ever since then nothing else had happened between you two. For good reasons.

Sure, you had sought out his presence like you usually did. You were friends, comfortable around each other, spend time with one another, though Sherlock wasn't necessarily an affectionate person. He didn't hug, didn't cuddle. He certainly wasn't interested in being anything but friends.

So you had figured that first time was just going to be a one time thing, just an experiment for research, and tried your hardest to get over the fact that Sherlock didn't harvest feelings for you other than appreciation for the friendship you offered. Romantic and sexual attraction were a rarity for him, so you knew, and you had never pretended you might be the exception.

Nevertheless you couldn't help your own feelings. You liked Sherlock a lot.

It pained you to see the detective on edge and all sombre, to see him lost in drug addiction and throwing himself into dangerous case work, just to escape from his own mind for a moment. You hated to see him hurt and so bloody lonely.

Of course it also made your heart ache to know you were nothing more than a friend to Sherlock, so you should have been wiser, refusing to partake in the experiment, because you indeed weren't some test subject and this was a recipe for disaster, something that would likely hurt you and potentially harm him in the end – which you did not want.

But the idea of being close to him again, of being able to potentially help Sherlock get his mind off the drugs, to ensure he would be feeling good and okay, even if just for a little while. You couldn't quite escape your own track of thoughts, your own wants, your own conviction that you might the person meant to save Sherlock Holmes from himself.

"Do you want me to... uhh... you know?", you asked, followed by a very specific hand gesture, unable to ignore the certain awkwardness, you sitting there, Sherlock standing there, a mess of case and paper work all around, as you kept looking at each other.

There was no distinct expression on the detective's face save for slight expectation and a bit of redness on his cheeks, blushing as you suggested giving him another handjob.

"I have not determined any specifics", Sherlock admitted to you, though not in refusing, "Meaning... I don't know what I would want, what would work. The things you offered me last time have had a positive effect on me. I know that I want to be close to you. I don't know what would suffice."

You contemplated, gnawing on your lips like you always did when you were a bit nervous, breaking his gaze for a moment as your glance fleeted over the table, even though your head was undeniably full of Sherlock.

You were both only human. While the detective craved something to ease his mind, you craved the physical intimacy and emotional connection to him. Neither of you should have taken use of the other, but since you were both consenting adults, you allowed yourself to be weak and stupid.

"We'll try to figure it out then", you agreed, "Let me finish this first?"

"Of course", Sherlock nodded, "Don't be too long, Mrs Hudson has invited us downstairs for dinner and I was suggesting we watch an episode of that ridiculous show you like afterwards. Before we... um... do anything?"

Evident surprise must have crossed your face and for a moment you had a hard time searching for the right words, not knowing what to think. It was kind of him to suggest, almost domestic.

Of course, having dinner at Mrs Hudson's wouldn't be like dinner at an actual restaurant, but Sherlock didn't want to go anywhere public in his current state of body and mind, so soon after his relapse. His landlady made impeccable food and she was even went out of her way to make it for the two of you, so you were amenable.

"Yes to dinner. We don't have to necessarily watch the show though", was all you replied, "You'd never be able to shut your mouth during the episode anyway, making comments about it the entire time. That's why we never watch TV together, Sherlock.”

"I comment on everything and you usually don't seem to mind", Sherlock stated and the slightest sign of a smile snook onto his lips.

And you smiled right back at him, not needing to have the last word and returning to your paperwork, while Sherlock continued his usual pacing and casework.

Needless to say, any attempt of continuing this work was useless anyway, since you were entirely incapable of focusing on the stack of files before you, unable to shrug off your nervousness as your thoughts went spiralling about what you had just agreed on.

You eventually came to the conclusion, while you were brooding over payment checks from clients, this might actually make for a nice time together.

Having dinner with Mrs Hudson was nothing unusual for you two and always made for an enjoyable time. Sharing a bed wouldn't be weird, as you had done so before, if only for a couple of danger nights, with a distance appropriate for friends between you.

What was appropriate for friends by definition anyway? Hadn't that line already been crossed by the one sexual favour you had given him? If you followed through with this today, closing that distance between you once again and going even further than last time, every possible line you could think of was going to be blurred forever.

It was very hard to not think about the possibilities, not the consequences, but how far Sherlock would be willing to go with you, what he would allow and ask for.

You wondered whether Sherlock would want to kiss you again, whether he would want to give as much as receive, whether you would actually have sex and how it was going to be, whether he would ask you to stay afterwards and share the bed with you.

Even thinking about what your evening would entail made you a little nervous.

Thus you were more than grateful for having dinner beforehand, considering it was so much easier to keep your doubts at bay and just stop thinking so damn much as Mrs Hudson was bustling around the two of you. She was as chatty as always, kept you entertained with stories from her past and her good food was a welcome distraction. Once again, she expressed her gratitude over you getting Sherlock back on his feet and voiced how glad she was that her tenant was doing much better with your assistance, going on about how happy she was he had found an actual friend, even though she still heavily insinuated your romantic involvement with each other.

You neither denied nor confirmed the idea in the moment, finding it rather amusing how flustered Sherlock got at the mention, though not bothering to say a word about it either, and after helping Mrs Hudson with the dishes, the two of you eventually headed upstairs together again.

It was fair that she had her suspicions. Probably many people had.

After that last experiment and tonight, rightfully so.

You ended up taking turns in the bathroom.

Admittedly, you were more anxious than expected while in the shower, scrubbing yourself clean everywhere, not knowing what to expect, what you were going to do, if Sherlock would even want to touch your body or if he just required you to touch him – and you were just as nervous while Sherlock was in the shower, sitting on the bed, fidgeting with your glasses, scrolling mindlessly through your phone as you kept thinking about what you wanted the man to do to you and more so how you were planning on bringing him pleasure.

If he'd let you.

You had dressed down to what you usually wore to bed, a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, being so bold as to forgo underwear altogether, curious how Sherlock would react to such a clear proposal, if he took note of it at all. Glasses still perched atop your nose, you turned your head when you heard the door to the bathroom open again, eyes following Sherlock as he came back out to join you on the bed, shrugging off his housecoat to reveal his choice of pyjamas, not so different from what you had decided on wearing.

"So, what did you have on your mind?", you dared to ask again, courageously, placing your phone on the bedside table, before turning further to Sherlock, who was now just sitting there, right next to you, neither seeming expectant nor nervous by any means, "I know you said specifics weren't clear, but I'm sure you have a fair amount of imagination."

"That is correct", the detective agreed, "I came to the conclusion that perhaps it would be wise to... begin like we did last time."

You shot him a smile. "So, you'd like to kiss me?", you asked, arching your eyebrows at him, hoping that Sherlock would take the bait and just go for it. There was nothing he could've done wrong. The thought of getting to kiss him again made you awfully excited.

"I'd like you to kiss me, yes." Though seeming slightly reluctant and reserved, his words were clear. He wanted you to kiss him.

And you definitely were going to kiss him, but most importantly you wanted to give it time. There was no need to rush and hopefully, neither of you were going anywhere any time soon.

So you reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Instead of climbing him like a tree and slipping onto his lap right away, kissing him like your life depended on it, you were deciding for the two of you to take this slow, beginning with something as simple and innocent as touch.

Perhaps this would allow Sherlock to gather information better, how he responded to affection, how he responded to you initiating, how the simplest things would influence him or perhaps how they wouldn't. Whether it would leave him hungry for more, driving him mad with anticipation, or whether it wouldn't do anything for him at all.

This was an experiment after all. Might as well just do some experimenting.

You slotted your fingers together, marvelling how your hand fit into his so smoothly, so perfectly, and pulled them apart again, letting your fingertips dance over the expanse of his hand, tracing those long, skilled fingers with simple fascination. Fingers you had watched so often, whether it was them dancing over the fret of his violin, preparing samples for his microscope, picking up evidence at a crime scene. Wonderful and careful hands.

Eventually linking them into one another again, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze and looked at him, finding him glancing back at you. Of course you tried to read Sherlock's expression right away. There was some curiosity, he seemed attentive and receptive, the grip of his hand tightening instinctively, a response. He was just looking at you, observing, perhaps contemplating.

Your own heart was beating a little faster, sensations heightened by the sheer intimacy of the moment, time seemingly standing still all around you, so you couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment when you decided to move further. Perhaps it was the synapses in your brain finally snapping, perhaps it was just the need to break the tension that had come up between the two of you, perhaps it was a mutual silent agreement to do this all of the sudden.

Whatever it was, you leant into Sherlock, who met you halfway, pressing your lips together, responding to one another immediately.

As your mouths slotted together, a rather gentle brush of lips at first, you could feel how the grip on your hand was instinctively tightening, holding onto you more, in fear you might be slipping away any second again. But you certainly did not, would not, wrapped up in Sherlock's taste and warmth and his smell, licking along the seam of his lips, sliding your tongues together as he let you claim his mouth, as you let him explore.

You didn't know what had gotten you so hungry all of the sudden, but you knew you needed more of Sherlock. Speaking of addiction. So you decided to get more of him, who seemed compliant to your every move, absorbing every little bit, every touch, you allowed him.

Even those moments apart, when both of you had to catch your breaths, small gasps of air between you, he was quiet and observant. He let you shift around, slipping onto his lap again, greeting you with another sweet kiss after having you perched on his thighs.

Reaching up, you gently cupped Sherlock's face in your hands, tracing his jawline, those high cheekbones, before sliding them all the way up into his dark curls, tugging on his hair.

The reaction was imminent, the kiss broken immediately, a groan slipping from Sherlock's mouth, leaving the two of you a bit startled at the sudden response.

"I need you to do the exact thing again", the detective requested then, his tone demanding and firm, before smacking your mouths together again, a kiss hot and downright desperate for more, and you gladly obliged, fingers tangled in his locks, giving them another pull, which caused a reaction not so different from the first time.

Apparently praising wasn't the only thing that got Sherlock going.

So you continued your eager advances, seeing how far you could take this, brushing through his curls before gently tugging on them again, letting Sherlock's moan break the kiss, tilting his head back by his hair and baring his throat.

"How are you doing this?", the man groaned, almost hissed when you began mouthing at his neck, "I don't understand how you can have this effect on me."

But there was no explanation you could have possibly given him. Perhaps you just clicked with Sherlock and that was why.

You only knew how addicted you already were, how you couldn't get enough of the man's taste, the warmth of his body, the sweet noises from his throat and the thought that perhaps he really wanted you too.

Making sure to not bruise the skin, you kept nipping at the expanse of his throat, pulling on his hair times and times again, dragging more moans out of him. Your name passed his lips after a while, the softest sound, then a "Can we stop for a moment?"

Raising you head again to look at Sherlock – a delectable sight, slight blush on his cheek, lips swollen red from kissing, pupils dilated with need, a dreamy expression on his face – and waited for however long was necessary.

"Are you okay, Sherl?", you asked immediately, hoping you hadn't made him uncomfortable.

Apparently he just wanted to elaborate though.

"I am more than okay. I just need to tell you something", Sherlock replied, holding onto you by your hips, a steady grip, "As you have... um... figured, I respond quite heavily to your advances. I am puzzled by the effect you have on me, because I was always very convinced that I simply was not interested in things of a more physical nature. But you keep kissing and touching me and I'm not entirely sure what it means that my body reacts like this."

Quite passively, you continued to stroke the back of his head, listening to him as attentively as you could, trying to ignore your own arousal. You were going to work through this with Sherlock, not questioning his worries or uncertainty for a single moment, allowing him to take the time he needed in order to understand himself and what he wanted and most of all, why he did.

Of course, you had wondered before and you were still asking yourself the same question now. Had Sherlock even had sex with anyone ever? Everything about his words and his behaviour was indicating he hadn't. But he didn't seem to be all too nervous, instead content and collected.

Maybe you were even more nervous than him.

"You're turned on, if I had to guess. Which I find really flattering. And it's more than okay that you're feeling like this. I want you to enjoy this experience, so please don't let the unknown hold you back", you advised with a soft smile, "I like you, Sherlock. I enjoy being around you and doing this with you... it turns me on too."

"You know I don't experience and approach things like most would do. Sex has never been the focus of my interest, so I... I have never done this. I have done research, but I'm not going to know exactly what to do", Sherlock admitted, eyes flicking over your face, the look of consideration, as if he were searching for the right words, "You're... absolutely endearing. It's nice to have you around and I trust you. And I want to do this with you."

"So do I", you responded, unable to stop the smile slipping to your lips, thinking it was lovely how Sherlock entrusted you with his mind and body, how he wanted to share this moment with you and no one else. "We can sure figure out what you like best", you added, "Would you want me to take the lead?"

The man seemed to consider your question, although you were partially convinced that he was more so enjoying the quiet of the moment, your fingers brushing over his scalp, basking in the closeness, though simple affection usually was something Sherlock didn't like. Not with anyone other than you apparently.

"Would you want to participate in penetration? If so, I suppose I have no clear knowledge of which position would serve best, but I am interested in learning. Since you are the one with more experience, I find it only logical you are the leading part", he spoke up eventually.

"Fine with me", you hummed, "I have no preference either, but I find it quite comfortable on your lap, so perhaps we can work around that?"

Admittedly, your wet dreams always tended to drift in a direction similar to this. There was something submissive about Sherlock, something that made you want to take him apart, lay him out on the bed, mount him and fuck him silly until he was a desperate mess begging to come, and you were sure it would have been a beautiful sight to have him this way.

Since you were already sitting on his lap, your crotches pressed together, hands tangled in his hair, seconds away from bringing your lips to his throat again, you wouldn't mind it sweet and gentle either, letting him explore all you had, letting him consume all you offered, letting him take his time to harvest the information he needed.

Maybe one day he would like to take the reins, but you couldn't really imagine him as the dominant part just yet.

You knew exactly how you would take the lead, how you would ride Sherlock all the way to ecstasy, until the brilliant and smart detective would fail to find the proper words and fall apart under you. Oh, how you wanted to hold him close, wanted your bodies entangled and conjoined, wanted to be able to sense and enjoy all of him.

It was a silent and natural agreement between you, so you figured as Sherlock's skilled hands sought out the hem of your shirt.

"I'm afraid you have to stop touching me for a moment", he mused and went on to gently pry the thin shirt off your body as you complied. After all you had been together for all kinds of weird occasions and sharing rooms, you had been close to him before but never quite so exposed, not in a way like this. Never undressed for him to see or touch.

In comparison, you had seen Sherlock bare plenty of times before, naked and vulnerable, so stripping him out of his shirt in return was by no means unfamiliar. There was something about this level of intimacy though, the sensuality of his touch on your skin that already made you shudder with need, winding you up with anticipation.

It was Sherlock then, who so carefully let his lips ghost over the expanse of your neck, exploring bit by bit, spreading gentle kisses, teeth grazing the skin and you supposed he was not entirely distracted from making deductions just yet – how else would he have possibly figured how to strike a nerve within you?

Your hands wound up in the dark curls again, playing with strands of hair, tugging on them, using them to pull Sherlock's head backwards as the advances on your sensitive skin were too much to handle. You too were soon moaning, panting hard, a pretty rosy colour to your cheeks.

"I find it very enjoyable when you pull on my hair", Sherlock admitted to you and while he had previously held his hands very still, he couldn't continue to resist and began touching you more, exploring your body with diligence. He had never touched you or potentially any other person like this, so excessively. If you thought about it, no one ever really had been so thorough as him, trying to map out every inch, every crease, every little mark. It was as if he was memorizing you, cataloguing. Careful with you. Mesmerized by you.

You didn't mind his advances, had never been on the self-conscious side but under the impression you weren't really sporting an exceptionally beauty. If anything you were ordinary, and still... this man looked at you, touched you with utmost adoration, curiosity, interest. Like he couldn't simply get enough from you. Like he didn't want to ever stop again.

"I find most of you very enjoyable", he added.

"Likewise", you smiled at him, hands busy stroking his nape, his upper back, pale shoulders, skin flush with heat under your touch, "I suppose you figured out what's getting me going."

"I think it's fascinating", Sherlock mused, "Because I could feel your pulse quickening and your body tensing up when I began kissing your neck. I imagine these are the exact responses you could notice on me when you tug on my hair. It's fascinating how our bodies respond so impulsively to a variety of triggers in such different ways and..."

Not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to let Sherlock ramble about the creation of personal preferences, you quickly shut him up with another kiss, sealing your lips together promptly, giving a sharp tug to his curls. It certainly earned you a moan of surprise and Sherlock seemed not entirely displeased about your decision, hands returning to your waist to keep you steady, maybe wanting to prevent you from slipping away, afraid of losing what he was just learning to enjoy, kissing hungrily and with the kind of fervour one didn't really expect him to have, every bit of what he had wanted to say forgotten.

Your mind ran quite blank too. You knew that you wanted and desired Sherlock, pressing further up to him, could feel heat pooling in your groin and knew that you were already aching for him within the restraints of your sweatpants, becoming painfully very aware of how you had decided to forego underwear altogether, meaning it was just a bit of fabric between you.

Starting to rock your hips atop Sherlock's lap, because you couldn't hold yourself back anymore, you figured you weren't the only one getting aroused, feeling his hardness trapped beneath the remaining clothing, soft groans leaving both your mouths as you ground down on his bulge, creating a friction that left neither of you unaffected.

"I need you, Sherl", you moaned against his lips, throwing the decision to take this slow out the window, too far gone at this point, wanting nothing more than to feel the man inside of you and ride him to the breaking point. You were so horny you almost whined as you moved atop of him and your obvious neediness seemed to render Sherlock speechless altogether, his gaze just as clouded with lust as he simply stared at you and you lost yourselves into each other, chests heaving hard, bodies melting together.

All he gave was a nod of consent and you started beaming with unrestrained joy, slipping off Sherlock's lap to come kneel on the bed, hands drifting up to the waistband of his pants. "Are you sure this is okay with you?", you still decided to ask. Even though the man had seemed consenting before, you'd rather have him be comfortable too.

Whereas you would have expected a snappy comment or an entire mass of words breaking loose over you, Sherlock remained rather quiet, nodding, the smallest 'Yes' slipping past his lips.

He seemed entirely enticed and you made sure to keep on looking at him, pulling the soft material down by the waistband and stripping him bare, carelessly throwing the clothing aside, once you had wrestled it down his legs.

To have him so exposed and naked before you was a sight to take in, letting yourself simply look at him for just a moment, your hands rubbing over those lean thighs.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous", you uttered, fingers gliding along the inner sides, brushing over wisps of hair, all the way up to his crotch, the hardening cock, taking the member into your hand, watching him twitch and grow in size. You would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about his cock after the first time, never been able to forget the sight, wishing to feel all of him inside.

"I...um... how do we do this?", Sherlock quietly asked, redness burning on his cheeks as his eyes were fixed on the sight before him, "How would you want me?"

"You lay down on your back, get comfortable and let me do the work", you advised and gave him a quick wink, watching Sherlock settle down almost immediately after your advise, more than eager. And wasn't it just the most perfect sight, his lean body atop the sheets, skin reddened with small blotches, traces of his arousal, his cock raging hard in the grasp of your hand, dark curls bedded on the pillow, dreamy look in his eyes as you looked at one another.

"There's... uh... lube and condoms in the bedside drawer", Sherlock muttered, like he didn't quite want to admit to it.

You shot him a pleased, but surprised expression. "Did you plan for this?", you wondered, reaching over to fetch anything you'd need from the drawer, "Or do you just keep them in your bedroom all the time?"

"I was certain that I had at least a seventy-eight percent chance you wouldn't refuse and since I have considered all possibilities that almost meant including the accomplishment of a sexual encounter, I thought it was best to be prepared just in case. As I have however opened up to you that I have no experience with sexual interactions, so no, I don't keep them here all the time, I've purchased them for this purpose... recently", Sherlock answered, his nervousness evidently easing again as he managed to speak mostly unaffected as he always did, the kind of rationality not unusual by any means.

"78 percent? You did the math and all, didn't you?", you grinned, using the moment to slide your own sweatpants off your hips, revealing your full nakedness to the man, whose eyes remained on you, widening, darkening, looking up and down your body, trying to seemingly capture every single little detail of you, lips parted and his pink tongue slipping through as he admired you.

At a lack for words, Sherlock just nodded, watching you return to him and slump down atop his lap again. You gave him a reassuring smile, reaching for those fine and skilled hands, placing them on your body as Sherlock remained a little taken aback, probably slightly overwhelmed with the sight and sensations alone. Though once he dared to begin touching you again, he got this look of fascination on his face, a spark in his eyes, tender touches on your thighs.

"Would you like to help me prepare?", you asked, knowing full well that with a curiosity like Sherlock's he would likely not refuse.

"I understand that it will make this more pleasurable for you, so yes, I think I'd like to", he agreed and you canted your hips forward, towards him, allowing Sherlock to reach out to you, trailing his fingers down your body, lower, across the expanse of your belly before slipping between your thighs, no doubt finding what they were searching for.

A heavy shudder surged through your body when he did, breath hitching in your throat as you felt fingertips circle your entrance. You knew the breach would initially feel unusual, not having had a partner in a long time and not being an avid user of sex toys either, but god, how you ached for him to touch you, how you wanted to just feel him. After adjusting his hand into a comfortable position for the both of you and slicking fingers up with lube, Sherlock slid one into you so easily that all worries were just leaving you at once.

You couldn't stop a moan from leaving your lips, even just one finger in, and wondered how much research Sherlock had actually done as you found yourself arching into his touch. It wasn't clumsy by any means, if a little more careful.

There was a pleasant tingle pooling low in your stomach, your arousal rising to indescribable heights in thorough interest of getting fucked, and your mind went blank when he pushed another finger into you, gently spreading you open with a passion.

"Fuck, Sherl, feels so good", you groaned, looking down at the man, who so gently and kindly fingered you open, like he wasn't doing this for the first time, like he wasn't a stranger to this at all, "Can't wait to have your cock inside of me."

While Sherlock did not seem to be one for dirty talk, remaining mostly quiet and fixed on you, he definitely seemed pleased with your reaction, urged on to continue his advances, fingers already sinking in deep and lord, he had these long and wonderfully skilled fingers that were certainly capable of finding the sweet spot. If you let him continue, he was no doubt going to make you cum like this. You were so obsessed with the feel of him already, bloody hell, his fingers alone, pressing further into his touch and technically begging to be fucked.

Trying to keep your right mind though, you thought it was best to request Sherlock to stop, knowing that as soon as you were going to ride his dick, it would all be over for you anyway.

The small break did you well as he withdrew his fingers again, not leaving you out of his sight for a moment. You shuffled back down on the man's lap, making sure to prepare Sherlock just as much, rolling a condom over his raging arousal, before drizzling a bit of lube on him, coaxing another grunt from him as you rubbed him up and down.

You weren't sure who was more gone on the other – yourself, cock-hungry and needy, positioning the tip of his hardness against your hole, already going crazy at the slightest nudge, or Sherlock, watching you with a dreamy and blissful look on his face, blushing hard, lips parted and breath stuck in his throat in anticipation as you eventually sank down on his cock, taking him all in, slowly.

Bodies combined, becoming one, groans and panting immediately merged into one as well.

"God, Sherl...", you mewled, filled out so sweetly. It felt just right. You began moving once used to the stretch of his length, fully sheathed within you, and tried to keep your gazes locked, save for taking in the entire sight of Sherlock once in a while – skin flush from arousal and the heat of the moment, his eyes attentive and almost adoring, full blown with desire, his chest heaving and sinking hard, hands almost trembling as he let them skim over your waist, your thighs and all he could reach.

"This feels very good", the detective acknowledged, only occasionally and shyly rocking his hips in time with your movements, seeming unsure and perhaps a bit overwhelmed with the sensations, "You feel very good."

You couldn't quite respond anything that would make sense and at a loss for words simply continued to move atop him, supporting your slow motions with hands perched flat against the man's stomach.

There was no need to talk about what was going on, neither for you nor for Sherlock, as unspoken truths were shared between you two, how well your bodies fit together, how good you felt and how much admiration you had for each other. You hadn't expected it to be like that, so intimate and fulfilling – to be honest, you hadn't even had expectations when it came to Sherlock anymore.

There was always this element of surprise about him, something unpredictable, and fairly said you hadn't even expected to get into this situation with him in the first place.

But there was this amount of comfort and trust that exuded Sherlock in the moment, being vulnerable with you, submitting to you, an unusual innocence sticking to him. It made you feel possessive of him and even more so, protective.

Though he never failed to surprise you.

While he had previously held back moving too much under you or daring to explore your body with more bold touches, he seemed to warm up to the idea of intimacy and sex, for that matter. Astonished by the suddenness of his motion, you couldn't hold back a gasp when Sherlock pushed himself into a seating position, sliding his arms around your waist to keep you steady on his lap, his cerulean eyes fixed onto you with curiosity as he observed your reaction, as you continued to ride him with long and deep strokes, one hand shooting up to support yourself on Sherlock's shoulder, the other drifting into his hair.

You swore you could hear him cuss under his breath, once tugging on his dark curls again, but since you were entirely overcome with a mass of different sensations and emotions, it really could have been anything he muttered. And all the same, you found it didn't matter.

Your mouths slid together again, tongues finding each other once more, and you rocked even harder into him, pulling on his hair over and over, wanting to elicit more sweet sounds from him, being rewarded with the most desperate whimper.

You were completely lost in one another, something you hadn't quite awaited, but very well welcomed. That was the thing about Sherlock, always seeming so put together, so closed off and shielded from the outside world, so focused on facts and information and logic - and yet he was far from all that. You only knew all that because he let you see.

Sherlock was sensitive, could be pried apart as easily as made whole again, he lost himself in the smallest things so quickly, searching for things to ease his thoughts and mind, prone to getting addicted to them. Emotions overwhelmed him and that's why he refused most human interaction.

But he wasn't refusing this, wasn't refusing you, because there was an unspoken trust between you. You didn't know where that trust stemmed from or how Sherlock truly felt about you, but this wouldn't be happening if he weren't convinced of you being trustworthy.

On the cusp of pleasure, you were both entirely gone, and all that mattered were the raw sensations, bodies sliding together, obvious heightened emotions pouring out between you.

Head buried in the crook of your neck, Sherlock was breathing hard, moaning into you skin, shaking in your hold as you continued to tug on his hair, causing him to twitch and whine and crumble apart under you.

You spoke the sweetest praises, words mangled with your own moans, your thighs trembling but still riding him with fervour, though you could sense your stamina failing you, could feel yourself being so close to the edge by the way your nerves tingled within your core, the way pleasure heightened immensely with each thrust, something building up, and yet you were only able to let go as Sherlock himself toppled over.

His entire body went tense, not to say rigid, tightening his hold on you like he was afraid of losing you altogether, a moaning and twitching mess as he was overcome by his own pleasure.

"You're doing so good, Sherl, so good for me", you found yourself whispering and it must have been a combination of all things going on, Sherlock falling apart and pulsating inside of you, keeping you seated on his cock with a tight hold, and being on the absolute verge of sexual excitement, that made your own orgasm hit, causing you take him exceptionally deep with one last thrust, rocking out waves of pleasure and arousal.

"Oh, Sherl, my Sherlock", you let out a heavy sigh, coming back to your senses fast, while the man still seemed a little absent, clutching onto you tightly, face pressed to your shoulder, where you could feel laboured breathing and an unexpected wetness against his skin.

You knew they were tears, but didn't mention it, stroking the back of his head with the comfort that Sherlock just needed, comfort that he often refused or wouldn't allow himself to get. Perhaps it wasn't even sadness, but relief washing over him, the sudden overwhelming feel of orgasming.

While his previous responsiveness to affections and especially praising had fired up a curiosity within you, it was this specific moment, just holding Sherlock so close and having him so vulnerable after just having sex with him, that caused your heart to swell as well as ache, mind heavy and clouded with so many thoughts and sensations rushing in.

You couldn't help but feel for him. For his sadness and loneliness and desperation, all things Sherlock would never admit to having, but all deeply rooted within him.

And you couldn't help but feel love. A love that shouldn't be, because that was not what you were to Sherlock. It was not the point of your care for Sherlock, it was not what his older brother was paying you for. It should not be the reason behind your thorough protectiveness of the man, behind you caring, behind... this and all you did for him. But it was. You couldn't shut it off.

Yes, you were Sherlock's caretaker and this shouldn't be happening.

You had already crossed the line of sentimentality and any professionalism by becoming his friend so early on. Any decision you had ever made for Sherlock's sake was painted by your friendship to him and therefore not logical but emotional.

It would be surprising to none that you had developed this love for the man and everything he was. Feelings couldn't be helped, of course not, and you doubted people close to the two of you were unaware of how much you actually liked him.

In the end, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Sherlock didn't feel and love like most people did, not to say that he couldn't, but the way he was and would always be simply differed from the mass – so it would be wise of you to expect nothing and accept things as they were.

And whether Sherlock Holmes could ever feel the same or something similar as you did for him, would perhaps forever remain a question unanswered.

[love-minor-poltergeist]

Could I please request headcannons on The Devil from Cuphead? Specifically, his cat-like habits🤣 For some reason, I can see Dice having a bottle labeled Holy Water(It’s just tap water actually😆) to spray Devil with when he gets unreasonably hissy.🤣🤣🤣

A/N: Once again, another dated request given how the Cuphead Show had the very same idea (ノ_<。). Nevertheless, we love a giant housecat from Hell. I hope you enjoy this batch, anon! Do reach out if you want me to adjust anything!!

Hell’s Top Cat, AKA The Devil:

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Long before the fall, one could argue the Devil already exhibited certain… feline habits. The silent, judgemental stares he’d doled out to his brothers and puny mortals, rising at god-forsaken hours early in the morning to expend whatever energy he’s pent up from being stuck behind a desk all day, a weird habit of chewing on anything non-edible— the list could go on. Of course, the Devil has long denied such behavior back then, and still does to this day. 

After the fall and surrounded by wild-eyed, bordering feral beasts within Hell’s landscapes, not to mention going through a bestial transformation himself, said habits have only grown more apparent. 

The Devil could be hard to read at certain times. However, certain business partners and the imps under his command have learned to pay close attention to his body language. Loathe as he is to admit it, he’s quite expressive with his tail and ears. Ears pointed straight up? The demon’s heard something and is straining to hear it, or you’ve caught his attention. Tail wagging and ears rapidly twitching? You got an angry demon on your hands and you better tread carefully. Ears wiggling as he’s eating? Oh golly, looks like he’s enjoying whatever he’s eating! 

His eyes were already unnerving back when he was an angel. Now they can glow in the dark? There may have been numerous times where King Dice nearly pissed himself when he stumbled upon his boss in the dark, nothing but the unnerving, inhumane glow of his eyes indicating the demon was even there. 

Thanks to his shapeshifting abilities, the Devil is able to comfortably fit in whatever confined space he sees fit. Truly the ultimate form of “If I fits, I sits”. Not to mention that it gives him an edge on spying on any employees that’re slacking off or sneaking up on any potential victims. 

Back in heaven, his pica-like habits were at least managed by his brothers and the Devil fussing over his public image. However, not that dear old dad isn’t around and he’s the King of Hell, he can do whatever he wants– so said habits have gotten worse. Numerous pens, clothed furniture, and a few telephone wires have fallen victim to the demon’s teeth. It’s gotten to the point where King Dice is considering spraying bitter apple spray on everything in the casino just so he didn't have to replace everything. 

The Devil usually has a nail file on hand to maintain his claws. He considers sharpening them on anything else to be beneath him. However, when he’s in a particularly bad mood or feeling territorial, he’ll tear up anything he could get his hands on. Couches, wallpaper, desks, people– it’s best to stay out of the way until he calms down. 

Sheds more than a tree in fall. There’s so much of his loose fur on his bedsheets, his balcony chair, and his office furniture that if you sneeze, it’ll trigger an explosion of hair everywhere. No, he refuses to acknowledge it. Shut up. 

That being said, he absolutely adores it when he’s brushed. It’s like a pleasant massage for him, scratching particularly pleasantly at an itch he didn’t even know he had. Of course, it’s a sobering experience for him when he’s presented with enough hair to make a life-sized replica of himself after a brushing session. 

┕━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┙

[mychlapci]

mertwins again!!

As far as Prowl's concerned, he's had a breakthrough. As far as management is concerned, he has violated multiple guidelines, health and safety rules, and has put his spark on the line one too many times. He is barred from entering the facility until he is fully repaired, which Prowl knows will take far too long. Those mers are suffering and now he knows why. But no one will listen to him

The cycle following his latest run in with the twins... well... their behaviour is even worse than before

Sideswipe, still struggling with the sedatives in his system, spends the time clutching the datapad and wailing. The staff have very little record of these sorts of cries from mers in general. They have never had evidence of the emotional capacity of mers, and certainly have not had one display what seems to be longing and grief. They do not know if he is crying or calling out for something

Sunstreaker looks like he's driving himself crazy in his tank. Before it was just aggression. Threats. But this is a panic. He darts back and forth in the tank, scratching at every surface, like he's looking for something, or looking for a way out. He even goes to the glass, where no one is currently, and bangs on it, as if trying to summon someone to him. Considering how little the mers, especially this one, have wanted to initiate any communication thus far, this is definitely fascinating to the staff

The twins dont know whats happening. Sideswipe's processor is sluggish and all he knows is that his brother is somewhere. That white and black land mech knows him. He needs to find that mech again. But he's so tired. His tail feels like its made of lead but he tries to swim up to the tank opening every so often, begging for any information on his brother to be there. He refuses to eat. He's too tired. He just. He wants to see Sunny again

Sunstreaker has never been one for worry. If he has a problem, he gets rid of it. He either beats it up until it leaves, or he rips it to shreds. This isn't a problem he can destroy. It feels like its eating his spark hollow. It's like a searing pain under his chestplate and yet he feels so empty at the same time. What are they doing to his brother. Why would that mech show that to him and then disappear. Where is he. Where is everyone. Where is Sideswipe. He curls up on himself as he holds his helm in his servos and screams. He's so useless. There's nothing he can do. He doesn't even know if his brother is alive

Prowl is basically locked out of the system. His physical access to the facility has been revoked and all his comm lines to them blocked. He's being forced to take medical leave and this is the only way they know he will take it

But he does have... friends. If anyone would even consider him a friend. Well. He knows them at least. Or. He knows him. He knows Jazz will help him if he asks. He knows Jazz loves the mers enough to risk it

Jazz is one of the more senior caretakers at the facility. He tends to have to work with Prowl quite a bit to coordinate the care of the mers. They don't always see optic to optic when it comes to how the care should be done, but they are... Friendly. At least Prowl thinks so. He doesn't want to assume, considering his Reputation amongst the staff. Not everyone likes to deal with Prowl.

Lucky for him, turns out Jazz is so down to hack Prowl into the comm lines for some reason. The idea that they get to sneak around and help the mers apparently is exactly what Jazz thinks is good fun. And he keeps jabbing at Prowl like heheh yeah ol Prowl finally doing something fun lets go

With updates from Jazz and his new comms line in, Prowl finds out that what he predicted was true- leaving the two mers after what he did that night has made things worse. Their health is declining rapidly and the staff clearly don't know what to do. Prowl had tried to tell them that the two mers needed to be put together but no one would listen. Well now look where that's gotten them

Jazz hacks them into the facility's database as well, allowing access to the logistics and resource management of the place. That's how the two of them plan to sneak in. It may just be an overspec'd aquarium in a way, but security is tight. Too many mechs out there want to get their servos on rare creatures like mers.

So they sneak in. They have very little time before security will be triggered because of what they are going to do. Prowl knows they have very little time for precaution and knows he is going to get hurt.

As far as they know, both mers are currently off sedatives. The mers' health had already deteriorated so far that the staff could not further risk it with the side effects of the drugs. They may be weak, but they have enough teeth and claws to still do damage to any mech who is within range

The two of them split up. Prowl rushes to the staff access to the tanks, stopping at the yellow mer's tank first. He needs its attention. He needs to know the mer is awake. He uses some stray equipment to disturb the water's surface again. Despite the mer supposedly being in a weakened state, the stick in the water is snapped up almost immediately. Prowl barely lets go in time as he is dragged and falls to the floor, watching the mer, just under the water's surface, grab the stick and break it in half with its jaws.

He scrambles to his peds just as the mer lunges, claws swiping out of the water, very nearly catching him.

"Wait!" he tries, knowing the creature probably doesn't understand him anyway. "Wait. Please." He once again pulls out a datapad with an image of the red mer, and the yellow one snarls and lunges again. This time it swipes so far that it reaches its entire torso out of the water. "Wait." Prowl tries to demonstrate to the creature that it needs to wait with his servos. "Wait." He points to the image again. "I am going to get him. Please. Wait."

Prowl tries to look as non-threatening as possible, doorwings held low, as he slowly places the datapad on the ground and backs away. He has this one's attention now. Now he has to move on.

He rushes across the facility to where he knows the red mer is being held. Jazz is already there, waiting for him with a small portable tank they can use for transporting assets.

Despite having been attacked by this one twice, Prowl calculated a lower chance of fatal injury from this one. He has at least had physical contact with it. Maybe it will trust him just enough to spare his spark.

It's a coordinated effort this time. He has Jazz disrupt the water's surface as he crouches and waits... There is only a nano-klik between seeing a shape in the water and glowing optics, and the angry creature lunging out at the disturbance.

Prowl is ready though. The moment the mer is out of the water, he grabs it by the arms. It snarls and struggles as he hauls it up, claws digging into his arms once again. He vaguely registers Jazz swearing behind him before the other mech is helping, dragging the mer out of the water and wrestling it into the transport tank.

The tank is barely large enough to fit the whole mer and Prowl has to climb on top of it to keep the struggling creature down.

"Go! Go now!" He shouts above angry snarling, before crying out in pain himself when the mer bites down into his servo, threatening to rip it off entirely. Jazz nods and breaks out into a sprint, pushing the transport tank back towards the yellow mer.

They have very little time. The tanks are equipped with sensors and will set off the alarms when their contained specimens are removed. They have to hurry.

Realistically, the journey back to the first tank is short- but to Prowl it is unending agony. He does his best to keep the mer from escaping the tank without also losing his servo, or maybe his entire arm at this rate. The water sloshing around him is tainted with his energon and all that seems to do is add to the creature's aggression

But they do make it just as the alarms go off. They make it to the edge of the yellow mer's tank and Prowl shouts at Jazz above the chaos to throw them both in. They both knew it's crazy- But Prowl is banking on his predictions. If he is right, the moment they hit the water he should be free-

Being tipped into the tank is a shock to his system. His frame struggles, intakes and vents filling with water and forcing his movements to slow. The red mer that still has its claws on him now clearly has the upper hand. His one functional optic is knocked offline as he is slammed against the wall by the mer, claws truly sinking into his plating now, tearing through delicate protoform.

Prowl hears- no- feels the snarl and roar of the creature's engine that has him cornered.

But then he hears a quiet chirp. The snarling stops and the pressure on his wounds lets up.

Prowl gasps in relief and slowly tries to cycle his optic back online. His vision flickers back on just in time to see the red mer slowly turn around to look at the source of the chirp.

Everything seems to stop as the two mers meet each others optics. The red one chirps back, quietly, hopefully.

Then the yellow mer suddenly darts forward, slamming into the red one. For a moment Prowl panics- Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he has made a fatal error. If they kill each other-

He is snapped out of it by another chirp. This one soft, barely audible, from the yellow mer, firmly grasping the other. The red one responds with what almost sounds like a laugh, but its tired and broken. Prowl finally feels the tension ease from his frame seeing the mers press their foreheads together

The energon loss and pain start to catch up on him then and he barely registers his friend who dives into the tank and pulls him out.

As Prowl is dragged to the surface, he's coughing and spluttering water out of his intakes as security and other staff rush about him, checking over him, trying to stop the bleeding, asking him if he's okay- But he doesn't quite hear any of it before he slips offline

YES, go, finally got around to this, jesus. yessss Prowl and Jazz teaming up to reunite Sunny and Sides is so good. Oh man, what wouldn't Prowl do just to show all the other staff members that he's right.

The staff panic. They have Prowl, who is bleeding out, Jazz, who is absolutely getting disciplinary action later, and the two mers who should not have been put in the same tank because Primus, did Prowl not see how aggressive they are? They'll tear each other to shreds in there!

I mean, that's what the thought. They did not think they'd find the two curled around one another in the corner of the tank. No one could see it through the glass, since they no longer seemed to have the desire to snarl and snap their teeth at anyone passing by... they had to send in a drone that would swim up to one of the nests. The two were the calmest the staff has ever seen them.

Prowl has absolutely broken protocol and probably can't be let into the facility again... Unless, some bleeding spark, perhaps Jazz, if he'd managed to keep his job, can let Prowl visit after hours, cameras turned off. With a cast around his arm, discharged from the hospital sooner than he probably should have been, Prowl gets to see what he's done with his own optics... The red and yellow mer have stopped clawing at the glass, have stopped their odd behaviour and while territorial displays remain, they no longer seem particularly interested in the land mechs watching them through the glass.

But it would be very sweet if they recognized Prowl... perhaps they don't have the full picture of what happened outside of their tanks, but they're... grateful. They think.

[cinnamonest]

Yandere twst - Kalim Al-Asim

Taking this as an opportunity to talk about my BOY my LOVE my ANGEL

I'm making not quite a profile but more of a general HCs post? This is similar to the one I did for Floyd, will probably make more in the future

Also Prefect!Darling because it just makes sense here I suppose, but prior to book 5, and pretend Grim is just... off doing his own thing

For once I'm doing a dubcon/consensual/semi consensual up until a point because I like the dynamic of "I liked you initially and agreed to a consensual relationship at first but now you're going too far and freaking me out" which I feel is a dynamic I don't touch on often enough so I'm changing that  >:3

//dubcon, yandere, alcohol consumption/one-sided drunk sex, dark content, fem darling, impreg mentions

Also go follow @inkblot22 !!

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You can't really go a long time on campus without knowing of Kalim. Not necessarily knowing him personally, but knowing of him, seeing him, hearing people mention him, being generally aware of him. Even if it weren't for his housewarden status, his personality and outgoingness tends to make him a well-known individual. Not to mention the degree to which he goes out of his way to meet people. Every time he sees a person he doesn't know, he usually takes the time to engage with them, and will at least know their name and face by the time the conversation ends.

Said encounter can be jarring; after all, you'll just be minding your business when some stranger comes bounding over with a startlingly loud voice and bright eyes and more energy than a wind turbine. If you're not the sort to be inclined to conversation with people you barely know, it's that much worse, although he can really tire out even the most extroverted of people anyway.

But that's the sort of person he is, that's what everyone else says, that's what you witness early on, so, you wouldn't think much of it, give it no real thought.

Not that he's a particularly self-aware person himself. He's prone to following whims and impulses, not stopping to think about the implications and meanings nor the consequences nor the way his actions and words will be perceived.

Your reaction to his presence is like that of most people -- a little bit overwhelmed by his energy, but the fact that he's so sincere and warm-hearted makes it impossible to really dislike him.

However, very early on, you do end up having to deal with his energy quite a bit, after you manage to get assigned some sort of project together, one random day during class. But still, it's not something you think much of. If anything, you're mostly just glad that it's someone you've already met, and that you got put with a rather genial person, when it could have been an unpleasant person. He's already talking rapidly about his vision for said project by the time you leave that day, so you exchange numbers, agree to meet the next day, and return to your own dorm.

It's a small project. Doesn't take too long, you just meet after class two days in a row, but each time, you leave totally exhausted. He's just so loud and so high-energy, it drains you. Still, who are you to complain? He's too sweet to be upset about it. Besides, it's just for a few days. Although he's quite talkative in general, you seem to really trigger a positive reaction in him when you casually inquire about something he's wearing, which then turns into a few questions about his homeland, out of pure curiosity. His eyes seem to light up, and he gets very enthusiastic talking all about it, seemingly pleased that you would want to know. A fairly normal interaction, and you're glad it seemed to make him so happy.

He seems to bond with you over that event, even though you didn't think you really got to know each other that well or anything. Regardless, he now comes to sit beside you in that class each day. Not that you mind. Even if he has so much energy, he's forced to be fairly quiet and still during the class itself (although he still does try to talk to you, which has resulted in the professors having to tell him to be quiet on multiple occasions).

You don't mind, either, when he begins to seek you out for lunches, and after class.  In fact, he quickly endears himself to you. It just happens naturally, he's good at doing so without intending to. How could you not like him, really? Sure, he can be loud and a bit overbearing, but he's so sweet and friendly and genial. He makes for a good friend, and you're rather grateful to have another familiar face and someone to rely on in the enigma of a situation you've found yourself in with this whole place. He gets along well with pretty much anyone he talks to as well, so you don't have to worry about him not mingling well with whoever else you might have with you or be talking to.

All in all, you think very little of his presence. He doesn't stand out to you or hold any greater significance to you than any of the other people you've become acquainted with.

...But that gradually begins to change. Not by any will of your own, but rather, because he essentially forces his way into omnipresence in your life.

He nearly gives you a heart attack the first morning you groggily make your way out the front door of Ramshackle just to be met with him standing right there. Yawning and sleepy, but still smiling. His walk to class takes him right by here anyway, figured he should start waiting for you!

It's a bit too much for your comfort, but such a thing aligns with the person you've come to know him to be, and really, it's a very considerate and kind gesture, isn't it? It may be a bit overbearing, but he has such good intentions, and what kind of person would be ungrateful for someone's kindness like that? In fact, you're rather pleasantly surprised he would consider you to be on such a level of friendship despite not having known each other all that long. Thus, you do your best to smile back and thank him for the gesture. It's not like it's a long walk to class anyway.

It becomes a fast routine. He's there in the mornings. He's there when classes let out for the lunch period, he manages to find you in the halls and get a few minutes of conversation in during the time between classes whenever possible. He's there at the end of the day, usually he keeps inviting you to the pop music club (or rather, the chatting and hangout spot that takes place in what's supposed to be the pop music club). But once more, you're grateful for the company and opportunity to become acquainted with others, and it's not like it takes that much time. He always bids you farewell at the end of the club's designated time, so, you get to then go home to your more tranquil dorm environment. Tiring, yes, but you don't dislike the time you spend with them at all, they're very pleasant to be around.

Likewise, although you might have had a nice relaxing evening at home planned, you gladly accept the extension of hospitality and gesture of kindness by saying yes to the invitation to come by the Scarabia dorm. Apparently they all have big dorm-wide social events on Friday nights and Saturday nights where everyone sits around and eats and drinks and talks. It's very pleasant. Again, another very tiring ordeal, but everyone is so upbeat and friendly with you, and you do have fun each time you go. Which starts off being every now and then, and quickly becomes each week. Not that he keeps asking, but rather, he seems to start assuming you'll come, mentioning later tonight or when you get there in conversation and the like.

It's nice. It's a kind gesture. It's something you should be thankful for. But... it's just getting to be more than you can handle.

One Friday in particular, as you walk out of class and back towards the dorms, serves as a bit of a breaking point. You hate to hurt his feelings or anything, but you're utterly exhausted from a rather rough week. You feel a twinge of frustration when he starts talking about the upcoming night as per usual, which would now be in just a matter of a few hours.

You take a deep breath.

Actually, Kalim...

You tell him in the nicest way you can, that you're very, very tired, and don't think you have the energy to be interacting with a bunch of people, in those exact words. You brace yourself to feel a little guilty at his disappointment.

But no, he just smiles. That's fine! Don't worry. You go on ahead and go back to your dorm, and he'll be back in just a little while.

You nod. Oh, thank y--

Wait.

You pause, start to question, but when you tilt your head up, he's already run off, rushing back to his own dorm.

...'be back'?

You don't like the implications of that wording. Still, you groggily shuffle your way back to your dorm, not bothering to undress for the day, seeing as you have a feeling you won't be left alone... at least you get about half an hour of rest in before he comes barging into Ramshackle without so much as a warning knock.

Carrying what appears to be containers of food. Can't let you go hungry! Besides, you're tired, so you probably wouldn't have the energy to make any for yourself, so he just picked up some of the food that was being made for the event.

You stand quiet and still for a few moments, taking it all in, but manage to stutter out some thanks as you take it out of of his hands. Was he just coming to drop that off, or...?

Apparently not. As he wanders over and plops down on your couch (still talking, although you're too tired to even really process what he's saying), it becomes clear he's not going anywhere.

At first, you feel a bit of frustration, but then again, you do like him, he's fun to be around, and he went out of his way to be so helpful to you... when you think about it like that, you feel a bit guilty for even being frustrated in the first place. Besides, he's more calm and less loud when it's just the two of you, and not a full crowd, so it should be easier. You end up talking a while about nothing in particular, and at the end of the night (when after quite a few attempts to hint that you're very tired, he finally seems to get it and heads home), you find that you were glad he did that for you.

Yes, you're very grateful for the companionship. You become more and more used to him and his ways with time, anyway, as the days go on, as you spend more and more time together, and as he starts sitting next to you with each class.

He tends to invade your personal space a bit, but as with everything else, it's well-intentioned and you can't be too upset about it. He tends to forget his textbook as a regular occurrence, and so you end up sharing one, moving the chairs closer to meet in the middle so you can both look over it better. He's very upbeat and lively as always throughout the classes, especially at the 8 a.m. class, when you're really, really not quite mentally ready to deal with his energy just yet... but you manage.

He becomes more affectionate over time, too. Some of his affectionate intentions tend to backfire, though. Namely, gifts. It's a default way of his to try and earn people's favor, although that end is more subconscious -- he mostly just likes giving gifts because he likes getting praise and thanks and seeing people in awe and happy.

Kalim has very little concept of monetary value besides "more expensive = better = more affection points from recipient," so predictably, he just tends to think of gifts and then purchase the most expensive version of that thing that he can. Bonus points if it's truly a one-of-a-kind sort of thing -- no, this isn't just "a" gemstone, it's the only one specifically worn by this person or present at this historical event, and he just so happened to call home and convince his parents to have it extracted from the museum and turned into something for you instead! Neat, right?

He fails to realize that this might be more unpleasant for some people who might feel overwhelmed or guilty or pressured by such an act, as you quickly become. You can't even wear it all every day, seeing as you soon have three, four, five, and so on of the pieces he gives you, and you can only wear one at a time. And just the thought of having it makes you nervous... what are you supposed to do with a piece of jewelry that costs as much as a house? Obviously you wear it, but it almost feels wrong to just set it on the nightstand when you take it off... and what happens if you lose it? Ugh.

He's very touchy, too. The closer you get to him socially, the touchier he gets. It starts off as grabbing you by the wrist or an arm over your shoulder, but quickly progresses to leaning on you, wrapping arms around you, and so on, the more you get to know him. You grind your teeth and put up with it for a while, telling yourself it's not bad enough that it's worth the awkwardness of asking him to stop. Besides, he means well, you know that... and on top of that, maybe it's a cultural difference? You're not really familiar with Scalding Sands social and interpersonal norms or anything. Yeah, that's probably it.

All of it gradually manifests into a more pressing matter. The more attentive to you he becomes, the closer to you he gets, the more time you spend together -- it becomes more and more clear that he has feelings and intentions that venture beyond the platonic.

You suppose you should have prepared for that possibility, but still, you don't want to rush to conclusions or make assumptions, so at first, you take the small indicators into account, but give the benefit of the doubt. It becomes more difficult to do so, though, the more affectionate he becomes. You're pretty sure it's not very normal to give so many gifts, to spend so much time together, to be so touchy, if not for some deeper intention, conscious or not.

But that would be alright, wouldn't it? Maybe you should give it a chance. You can't see why not, can't think of any reason in particular it would be a bad idea or anything, other than maybe his high energy, which you're sure you could work with.

You never initiate or say anything about it, you decide to sort of leave the matter up in the air so to speak, but you don't resist or discourage him. You decide that the approach you'll take is that if something develops, that's fine, and if not, that's fine too. You just leave any initiative matters up to him.

As for him, despite his tendencies to be rather dense, he actually has no trouble recognizing the feeling he has for what it is, doesn't go through that stage that some equally dense individuals go through where they don't understand what they feel or why. Probably because his parents keep hounding him about getting married. People of his class standing tend to get married exceptionally young, you see. So he's been more or less raised to have that on his mind. Not to mention, he's not really easily embarrassed, so the natural shyness most people have on matters of that nature just doesn't come to him.

However, there's a distinct lack of a critical element found in virtually and literally anyone else: Kalim has no fear of rejection.

Not because he's overly-confident or has thought it through, but because the very concept does not occur to him.

It's one part of a much, much bigger, more significant issue, one that you haven't quite realized the severity of just yet. In fact, it's a major part of the reason he's always so good-natured, the reason you never see him mad. It's because, for most of his life, he has almost never, ever, been told one specific word.

'No.'

The thought of something not going the way he wants it to just... doesn't really cross his mind.

He's never really been told no on something he truly wants. Minor details have to be changed? Sure. Being made to compromise on insignificant things? Yeah, plenty of times. But there is a simple set of rules his parents and servants have always abided by. If he really wants something unrealistic, try and present alternatives or persuade him against it, sure, that's fine. But if he rejects both of those things, if he insists a third time that he wants something and will not take an alternative, it's easier to just let him have whatever he wants.

And if it is something one of its kind, an obtainable thing that can be had by only one, then he will be the one to have it. Simple as. And when it comes to being friends or people being around him or just being able to spend time with someone, he has almost never been told he can't have what he wants.

Consequently, on the rare occasion he's told "no," it just... goes in one ear and out the other. He doesn't get mad, no, it's like his brain simply refuses to process the word, the idea that he truly, absolutely cannot have what he wants. It's like a computer going to an error screen. His smile doesn't break for a second. He'll usually just misinterpret what the other party means, or assume it's due to a certain condition that must be met. Rarely does he ever have to hear a steadfast, resounding, firm "no."

Besides, as far as he's aware, you've shown no negative reactions towards anything he does, so he has no reason to think about that anyway.

It just all sort of lines up perfectly in his head. In fact, in his mind, he would already consider you to be "together" in an "official" sense, even if you've never actually spoken of it. After all, you've never turned him away, right? That's basically the same thing. Still, there's supposed to be like, steps to these sorts of things, you escalate various stages of relationships and all.

And that is about to open a world of problems.

One of the major issues you encounter with Kalim is a lack of emotional, social maturity. He's not particularly considerate. Well, rather, he bounces back and forth. He'll be very considerate in the sense that he's always thinking of you, always getting things for you and trying to make you happy in various ways. However, when he wants something, he has a tendency to think of no one besides himself. He's not so much intentionally inconsiderate or anything, so much as he just... doesn't think. He wasn't raised to really ever consider other people. All those basic life lessons about sharing, compromising, doing what someone else wants to do even if you don't really want to because they're your friend, to consider what the other person might want or feel before acting, and so on that most people learn from their parents as kids? He never got any of that.

Similarly, he's never really been taught that sometimes, one must supress their own whims and feelings and desires in the moment, that sometimes it's best to do what someone else wants. Again, this isn't malicious; if anything it's done with good intentions and a happy heart. He just doesn't stop to consider anything other than what he wants, when he wants it, however inconvenient it may be for anyone or everyone else.

And most importantly, he's never been taught to stop and consider that just because he wants to do something with someone, the other person might not want to.

There's another issue, then, regarding that. See, he's also rarely been scolded or reprimanded for how he chooses to do things, how he goes about his decisions and actions. He's never really stopped to consider how things he does might harm other people. This all amounts to an issue, one that would perhaps shock people. His moral compass isn't... fully intact.

Not to be misunderstood -- he's naturally benevolent and sweet, yes, but he's also never really been in a position where he even wanted to do anything really bad. That is to say, he's naturally inclined to doing good, but people might be shocked to learn that if he wants something, he might -- without really even being aware of it -- take jarringly unethical measures to do so.

He just doesn't perceive it as selfish. Doesn't realize it might hurt someone. Again, he has the best of intentions, and he would hate to have learned he's done something that hurt someone, but he doesn't stop for a second to contemplate whether or not he should be acting on his impulses and urges and desires beforehand, he has no foresight.

He thinks about it very logically, though, on his end. Usually, people are hesitant to do things that might be embarrassing or that they may not be comfortable with yet. But he doesn't consider that roundabout ways of coercion to get someone to do something out of their current realm of comfort might be wrong -- no, he just sees it in a practical way.

So it's easy. He has a very helpful tool at his disposal.

You're well aware by now that every time the dorm gets together, they tend to drink. He's not a true alcoholic or anything, no, more like just the kind of kid that likes to party hard and black out on weekends. Scalding Sands has its own variants of strong liquors, and as with any country, there are certain regions of the nation known for being home to heavy drinkers. Yes, it's true you're not technically supposed to have alcohol on campus, but exceptions can be made for uh... cultural traditions. The administration just doesn't need to know about how those weekend night social events are also home to drinking competitions, and it'll be fine.

Alcohol is a very practical tool, in a social setting. It helps people loosen up, makes them less nervous. Lowers their inhibitions. Their "true" self often comes out. And most importantly, they're easily persuaded. This is frequently used, thus, to ensure transparency in gatherings between high-status individuals.

You've normally declined in the past, instead choosing to sit back and watch everyone else get wasted... but you just need encouragement. You notice, the next time you go over, just how heavily he's pushing it on you. You have to try this, it's the something-something or another, only available from this one particular small town in the middle of nowhere and takes a hundred years before it's served, etc etc, that sort of thing.

If you're too resistant, eventually he just ends up more or less forcing it on you, pushing it into your hands so you instinctively grasp so it won't fall and moving away before you can try and get him to take it back. And if that doesn't work, he can just get you other drinks that have alcohol very well-masked by other strong flavors and either hot or frozen to somewhat mask the burn, getting you to drink a large amount in a very short time. If all else fails, feeding you incredibly spicy food and ensuring the nearest available drink is high-content always works.

Even without inebriating substances involved, he's loud and sociable and bubbly and pushy — the former traits help him to exercise the last without consequence. When you're mean, of course, people will react negatively to being pushy, but when you're nice, when you're a sweet energetic person? They oblige more often. So when it's forced upon you, you eventually reluctantly agree. You're a bit confused by the sudden pushiness, but it will be alright... you imagine. You end up saying something about how you don't feel great, that your head hurts. You keep leaning over on him, resting your head on his shoulder. The other students are so loud and rambunctious. Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head as you ask if you can go find a quieter spot.

Oh, that works perfectly then. Don't even have to convince you to go.

Intentionally getting you intoxicated might sound bad, might seem like the sort of thing a scummy person would do... to a normal person. To him, though, it's just a very logical means to a well-thought-out plan. Even if, for a split second, the notion did strike him that it might not be the most ethical choice, he still won't think of it as that bad. If he really wants something, any means to obtain it will be rationalized as okay one way or another.

And if he can't justify it? He just ignores it. He is entirely capable of simply shutting his brain down and completely blocking out the realization of something being wrong. In fact, he essentially just does so automatically, so it's not really shutting his brain down, so much as just acting without taking into account any ethics in the first place, essentially never turning his brain on. It's not really even so much convincing himself, nor feigning ignorance, it's that he can quite literally close his mind to any thoughts of the deeper consequences and significance of anything he's doing. Not to mention, he's not entirely sober himself, so it's basically mutual inebriation.

Besides, you're really cute like this! Stumbling around and all, you keep asking where you're going. Thankfully it's easy to slip away unnoticed, and his room isn't that far either. You mumble some thanks for letting you lay down.

You curse yourself in your head for allowing yourself to get so bad. Your limbs feel all loosened up, you feel warm and somewhat tired. There's still perhaps some faint alarm bells going off in your head, that you probably shouldn't be doing this, and should probably ask to be taken back to Ramshackle instead, but that seems so far away, you don't want to take the effort.

You're jolted out of your spacey thoughts by the mattress shifting. When did you sit on the bed? Eh... no big deal.

But you're aware of the tension, even in your current state. Yeah, when you think about it, although it doesn't carry the sense of offense and disbelief you might have felt if in a clearer state of mind, you can put two and two together, you know exactly what he wants.

It does strike you as an immediate poor decision. You do like him, but you'd normally not rush into something like that, nor would doing it like this be the best idea.

But hey, maybe it will help? Or so says your compromised mind. He's a teenage boy and all, maybe if he gets what he wants he'll actually calm down a little. Maybe he'll lose part of his infatuation too. That's normal, isn't it? People really want to obtain some sort of "prize," but after obtaining it they stop being so pushy and obsessive to get it. He could stand to calm down a bit with how intense he is towards you.

And besides, maybe it's just the mood, maybe you did drink a bit too much, but it can't make things worse, right...?

Your mind seems to suspend the thought. You're not sure what conclusion you would come to, because the next thing you know, you're grimacing as the sunlight hits your eyes through the window quite unpleasantly.

Wait.

You piece things together. The arm looped around your body, pulling you close, the heavy, slow breathing in your ear. And the soreness speaks for itself.

You do remember things, as you start to try to recall. It was kind of like a puppy that's been made to sit and wait for a treat, finally getting the go-ahead to gobble it up. You don't remember too much of the event, but you do remember the entire bedframe rocking back and forth from the sheer force you were being jackhammered with.

You don't remember anything he might have said. You don't remember anything you might have said.

You spend a while laying in bed, contemplating your life choices... but you can smell alcohol on him too, so it's not like it was intentionally planned or anything. The very notion is immediately dismissed -- you're certain he wouldn't do that. Still, you'll have to just try and deal with the initial awkwardness and embarrassment that inherently comes when people sleep together and then have to acknowledge and address it the next morning, and move on from here. Not the best way to start a relationship, but not the worst. And you're certain it will work out alright.

It is awkward, at least for you. You get the sense he's quite happy, though, doesn't seem to have any negative reaction or even surprise when you nudge him awake. There is that sort of inherent embarrassing nature to the matter, some awkward chuckles and sheepishness from him, but you can tell he's content. You manage to muster out the uncomfortable question that you feel does need to be confirmed -- so... you're okay with this... continuing, right?

He seems almost perplexed by it, smile dropping to a look of mild confusion. Mm? Aren't you?

You just shake your head, smile, dismiss any concerns with something about how you just wanted to be sure. Yeah... this turned out to not be so bad. He'll probably calm down a lot now. And if it doesn't work out, you're sure you'll stay friends.

...

He does not, in fact, calm down.

If anything, he gets more intense. He still wants you to stay over the next night. You contemplate for a second maybe telling him that it was a bit rushed, maybe you're moving too fast and that maybe you should hold off before you do it again, but... ah, he's so eager, you'd feel bad for disappointing him... and thus, within a while, you find yourself with your thighs and arms wrapped around him again, trying to let go of any discomfort and just enjoy the moment. It's a bit more intimate and vulnerable and all when you have full mental clarity, but you suppose that makes it more endearing, too. Besides, he's so sweet and cuddly afterwards, which helps to alleviate your nerves.

And then, when the next class day rolls around, he wants to walk to class together, as usual... but this time, he grabs your hand, interlaces your fingers. Which is normal. You don't mind at all. Sitting next to each other, talking... all things you were doing already.

You can't help but feel, though, that the intensity has been turned up to some extent. Before, you would at least have a few moments to yourself, he would occasionally give you some semblance of space, would sometimes talk to other people on his own, would sometimes need to take care of something else before coming to talk to you... unlike now.

Now, rather than each of you heading back to your own dorms at the end of the day, he takes the turn to head back to Scarabia... still holding your hand, chattering away. You clear your throat, mention that your dorm is the other way.

Oh, did you need to grab something first?

...Well, spending another night in Scarabia won't hurt, even if it is a night you have school the next day. You just end up grabbing some clothes for the next day.

And then the next day, he does the same. You try to off-handedly mention again, that all your things are in the dorm.

Oh! Right, that. He's been meaning to ask about that! Good thing you brought it up. Your dorm is, you know, a bit dilapidated and all. There's plenty of spare rooms in Scarabia, though, you could just talk to the headmage and he'd probably let you do it!

Oh, aha... maybe....

You manage to change the subject. You're certainly not quite ready for that much just yet. At first, you figure it was just something he was saying as a vague notion, the sort of thing one might say would be nice but have no real intention of following through, or just said as a courtesy. He brings it up more and more often, though, and it soon becomes clear that he's serious, and actually quite adamant about it.

You keep coming up with excuses to get out of the matter. Oh, I went by his office and he wasn't there... Well, I'll have to ask Grim and see how he feels... so on and so on.

Most people might take the hint that you don't really want to and are just being polite... but not Kalim.

No, instead, he figures he might as well just take care of it for you! He has some free time while you're occupied, so, he'll just go to the headmage himself and get it worked out. It's not like he's going to tell him 'no,' right? Some people say the headmage can be a bit particular or stubborn on his decisions, but for him, he'd say that hasn't been his experience. That does tend to happen to him quite a bit, actually, he's pretty sure he just has a talent for making stubborn people more agreeable, for some reason. It's pretty rare for anyone to deny him a request.

You're caught quite off-guard, then, when you come slowly trudging back after a particularly exhausting day and --why are there people in my dorm.

A handful of scarlet-clad students, carrying boxes of your belongings out of the dorm. One very recognizable one in particular standing off to the side, seemingly directing the tasks. You slowly make your way over, slack-jawed and struck silent in bewilderment.

Oh, you're already here! Well, guess what? Crowley said it was fine! He got a quick moving crew together, thankfully didn't need too many people, since you don't have a whole lot of stuff. Wasn't it nice of them to volunteer? Anyway--

You stand there utterly flabbergasted, blinking, sputtering, stammering as you try to think of something to say. You weren't actually expecting him to be so bold as to do it himself... and it's all happening so fast, you end up more or less stiffly standing still and watching it all happen. They're already pretty much done, and carrying all your things back with them. These guys put in the effort to do this, and they're already walking off as you're trying to get out of your stupor, and your exhaustion isn't helping you form the right words.

You just get grabbed by the wrist as per usual before you even can say anything. Anything you might have started to say would be drowned out anyway, as you're now told in rapid speech about how there's already a spare room for you, it's actually next to his own, it's supposed to be for guests and stuff but they'll make a different room the designated guest room so that you can have the one close to him! Nice, right?

He keeps talking. You sputter and try to start speaking a few times, but words fail you. They've already taken everything out, it's too late to ask them to take it back... so, it seems you're stuck.

Well that's... that's....

Okay. That's alright. Maybe it's a bit too much, but... like always, he meant well, right? And this is normal, yeah, you're supposed to learn to tolerate and accept that your partner will sometimes create hassles and issues. So... you can accept this. It's such a nice gesture, it's only polite to accept, isn't it? Besides, you've already been spending most nights there anyway... you can get used to it, yeah.

There are a lot of perks. No ceiling leaks or drafts in the middle of the night. The furniture doesn't have years worth of layers of dust, there's other people around. In truth, it actually helps your mental state to have other people nearby in the evenings, so it's not always just the two of you for hours on end... not that you mind, of course, but sometimes it can get a little... suffocating, without other people.

Now, you can come by the public lounge of the dorm more often too, mingle with the other students in their lounge area. You often take the opportunity to sit and talk with them in the evenings. You start to find that you're somewhat glad you made the transition, as the whole spirit of camaraderie thing, having a small community to live with, is actually rather pleasant.

He thinks it's nice to see you get to interact with all the students in the dorm, too.

...It is nice, isn't it?

It should be. You enjoying yourself and meeting people who are nice to you naturally should induce a good feeling, he should be happy for you.

For some reason, though, it doesn't feel that way.

Instead, he starts to feel kind of sick, nauseous. And some sort of tight, constricting feeling to his chest. Like he can't breathe.

When he's irritated or frustrated, he might get whiny, but it's very easy to tell when he's deeply, truly upset by something: he gets quiet. It's so uncharacteristic that it's immediately noticeable, the lack of his voice and laughter, instead he just sits there, arms folded, eyebrows just barely furrowed as he looks towards the ground, as if perplexed. Still, he wouldn't want to ruin the mood. So even when you turn your head towards him, eyebrows raised as you ask if something is wrong, saying he's not saying much, he manages to smile anyway, say he's tired. Maybe that's true, too, maybe he needs to sleep the feeling off.

Well, if he could sleep in the first place. But instead, that night, he ends up flat on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Barely sleeps the whole night. Keeps looking over at you as you sleep, shifting and wrapping his arms around you tighter and tighter. The burning, gnawing, tight feeling persists. Maybe he ate too much.

But it continues to persist. Well into the next day. He's visibly tired, keeps nodding off in class, eyes slowly closing and head slowly drooping down until he snaps back awake, jerking his head back up, and repeat, over and over. You ask if something is wrong again. He just says he couldn't sleep for some reason, but still gives you a smile. And, of course, immediately takes the opportunity to ask what you want to do later today. No question of if you're free or if you're even up to it.

From that night you first noticed he was oddly quiet and onward, he seems to become more prone to wanting to spend time alone with you. Doesn't spend as much time in the club room, doesn't spend as much time in the lounge with the other students. Instead, you end up just in his room quite often... you get the sense that he's more at ease that way, seems less fidgety.

Besides, it's not as if he has too many moments where he doesn't have the reassurance of your presence. Outside of a few specific classes, you're with him pretty much all day, every day. His lack of consideration resurfaces. He'll drag you around to wherever he feels like going, often not asking before just grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you along. But you're fairly easygoing, and it's not like you don't usually end up enjoying however you spend your time, even if it is dictated to you without any consideration.

You don't have any excuse to go home in the evenings now though, since in his mind, apparently, you should now be spending your nights together. Every waking second. You didn't really think that having spent the night together once really meant you had to start it as a routine, but you don't want to hurt his feelings and all. He does tend to detract from the quality of your studying, though, seeing as he likes to talk quite a bit. Sure, you say you're studying, and he agrees to be quiet... for a few minutes. Then he seems to forget.

Or he might just get a little upset about it. It's rare to see him unhappy, but when he does get sort of frustrated, it manifests as being whiny, demanding your attention. He sighs and hangs his head, pouts if you continue to fail to give him attention.

Hey, come on... you've been going at that forever, I'm right here...

He drags his speech out and raises the pitch of his voice in a rather annoying whine. Not that "forever" is a very long time in reality, it usually only takes about five minutes of your attention not being focused on him that he gets visibly fidgety, and he'll start voicing his feelings regarding your cruel neglect after about ten minutes.

But he's very easy to placate. The moment you turn your attention back to him, give him some pats on the head or sit in his lap and hold him close, he goes back to content smiles and cheerfulness, like a child who finally got his way after being a brat until the parent gives in. At least that makes it easy to manage, so you tell yourself. A lot of your study sessions are now spent with your book on the bed, neck craned to read it as you let him keep a tight embrace around you, nuzzling you throughout the night. Your grades do decrease nonetheless.

In fact, at this point, he practically never takes his hands off of you. Constantly has his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to him. That same lack of concept of personal space he has, and general social obtuseness, also ties into another issue he has in which he has no shame over excessive PDA. That touchiness and physical clinginess has gotten bad enough that the teachers have had to tell him it's inappropriate for the school environment more than once now. He won't hesitate to hold his arms around you or lean up against you even while talking to others. It's a bit embarrassing, but it's also quite sweet, really. You don't mind, although you do have to tell him to hold back a little bit, if people are looking, or if he's at risk of getting reprimanded by a nearby faculty member again.

That being said... it's nothing compared to the touchiness whenever you're alone.

Kalim has all the sexual eagerness and energy you'd expect from a teenage boy and then some. It can be a bit overwhelming, even.

Granted, you did have to teach him quite a bit, he was rather clueless in the beginning, but he quickly gets over that learning curve.

You're convinced it's all the boy thinks about. Every single opportunity. Even with how physically affectionate he is, even if it starts in a wholesome way, you can always feel his hands wander across your body, just barely resting on the border of what would be completely socially inappropriate in front of others, and the moment everyone else clears out or you leave whatever public space you were in, he takes it like a green light to grope you further. And the moment you get to be truly alone and behind closed doors, you're practically pounced on... not that it's limited to being in the dorms. The club room also works just fine, every now and then when Cater and Lilia just so happen to both be busy with something else. There's still a risk of someone walking by, but he insists it's not that big of a deal.

Even at lunch, in any spare time, whenever they have some form of event or announcement requiring all students to congregate in one room, he's always pressed up to you, always tilts his gaze up and down your figure, always lets his hands brush against your sides or your thighs, like he's about to burst with the extent of urges and excitement he's just barely holding back -- all of which gets unleashed on you at once whenever you do get back to your room for the day. Several times in a row. You're always left sore and spent, gasping for breath, lying flat on your back, drenched in sweat, staring up at the ceiling wondering how on earth it is humanly possible for one boy to be that horny. Even if there's the slightest sliver of opportunity, he'll take it. Truly a one-track mind.

One particular occurrence that quickly becomes habit is how he'll pull you into his lap while sitting cross-legged on the floor and rut into you like that — of course, there's not really a lot of thrusting or in-and-out movement that way, it's more grinding than anything, but it's still good, far more than you'd admit, with the way it grinds the most sensitive spots of your body against his. Besides, having you just perfectly elevated above his own position like that gives the opportunity to suckle on your tits the whole time, too.

And none of it is with asking you, or waiting for any signal of approval or anything. You imagine that, as with everything else, he doesn't consider that. He always seems happy though, always smiling and hugging you tight and talking about something or another while you lay in bed.

The daily cycle repeats and repeats. You do feel a bit more stressed than you used to, sort of... overwhelmed. Suffocated. You try to swallow it down.

Ultimately, this means that while your time is completely consumed by him, the inverse is true as well.

On that note, you do get the sense that Jamil quite appreciates you occupying so much of Kalim's time. The poor man hasn't had this much peace and tranquility in his life from the moment he was born. He certainly seems to encourage it from the beginning, even before you moved in, he would often not so subtly suggest you come by the dorm (please), Kalim really likes having you around, so you could occupy his time for a while (please), and, you know,  keep him out of any antics (PLEASE). He seems to mention it virtually every time you see him, like you're some kind of fallback system he's come to depend on, or how someone might keep a certain toy to give to a kid to keep it distracted and entertained for a while. He doesn't even seem to mind picking up some of the tasks Kalim would otherwise do himself -- you imagine that he can get it done faster and more efficiently on his own, whereas involving the often airheaded housewarden might just cause problems in and of itself. For the most part, he seems to stay out of your way... you imagine he's off enjoying his free time.

However, this does also mean that some of the housewarden duties that Kalim has to be the one to do are getting neglected. Jamil has to occasionally come knocking and tell him to do this or that, because he's been putting it off for days now and the headmage is going to find out and no one wants to have to sort through whatever mess will result if he doesn't get it done. You, of course, usually get dragged into helping with whatever the task at hand is. You've written more than one speech for him now. Admittedly, trying to get any actual work done with Kalim can be incredibly frustrating, as he's so easily distracted. You have to essentially corral him back into getting things done. Okay, we can look at that later, but we have to get this done first, remember? It feels like tutoring a rambunctious kid. Tasks that should reasonably take half an hour take several hours.

But still, with everything you two do together, it's getting more and more isolated, increasingly so. You can't help but notice. Even on the weekends, he often now brings food back to his room and eats with you, rather than going back out to where everyone else is. When you ask, he just says he's kind of tired tonight. Every now and then, he'll have turned his back on you because he was grabbing something or working with something, just for a few seconds, and when he turns around, you're talking to someone... he always comes walking up. Gets very close to you, tries to butt in on the conversation. He's cheery as always, but there's still some unnerving aura to it... or maybe you're just imagining it, so you tell yourself.

On and on it goes.

It's one of those situations that you're consciously aware of, that you know is increasing in intensity, but it does so in just a perfectly gradual way, so that you don't fully realize just how bad it's gotten or how abnormal it really is until it one day just suddenly dawns on you. Where you know you ought to do something, that you can't let this go on and that it can't last forever, but you keep pushing it away by telling yourself it's not that big of a deal and you can ignore it for now -- until you eventually realize that it now is that big of a deal and you can't keep ignoring it.

You're forced to realize it, after one particular occurrence. It's no big deal. Nothing of consequence. You forget to hand in a paper during class, and it thankfully occurs to you just as you're leaving and walking down the halls. Normally, for the very last class, Kalim just heads to the club room and waits for you to get there, since it's the room right next to where he is when classes end (the walk itself is a three-minute period you're quite grateful to have to yourself). So, you're still by yourself when you realize it, almost halfway down the stairs. You turn back, quickly make your way back to the classroom to catch the teacher before he leaves. You exchange a few brief words, just one of those small casual conversations where the teacher asks you if you need anything else, congratulates you on doing well on the last exam, briefly mentions something about an upcoming event day and asks about your plans for it. Small talk. Maybe ten minutes. You bid him farewell. Exit the room.

And are nearly tackled just a few steps out of the room.

There you are!

You lose your balance, would have fallen over if not for Kalim's arms clinging to your body.

Where were you? You didn't show up for a while, he was getting really concerned, and did you not check your phone because he sent you like ten texts the past few minutes and what were you busy with anyway and Lilia kept trying to tell him to stay and wait for you but he couldn't just do that so he came looking for you and found you and now here you are! Ah... don't worry him like that, okay?

You stand there, blinking, slackjawed. O-Okay... Sorry, I--I didn't...

Nah, don't worry, it's all good! He's back to smiling now. He was just super worried, but it's okay, you just forgot to tell him. He forgets stuff all the time, so he gets it. Anyway...

He changes the subject as he turns back to walk back to the club room -- but you can't help but notice the iron grip on your wrist is far tighter than normal, practically dragging you away. You don't really pay much attention to what he's saying. You feel a twisting, heavy sensation in your gut. That in and of itself wasn't particularly bad, but somehow, it seems to make it all come together, it all seems to sort of click with you all at once. Perhaps you were just giving him the benefit of the doubt because he's so sweet, or just ignoring it for the same reason, but you come to the unnerving realization of just how truly abnormal this is. You know it's not normal, and really, not acceptable, not healthy. You start thinking back to things in the past you've just let slide, realizing it probably wasn't the best idea.

You're so overwhelmed, it feels like you're going crazy. He's so nice, he really is, but you just can't take it. You even try saying something about how you need "space," but it goes in one ear and out the other -- he interprets that as not being quite as physically clingy for a few days before going right back to it.

It's from that resolution that, after one long night of sleeplessly mulling it over, you make a mistake: you start to try and avoid him.

Just a little. You figure it can't hurt, he won't notice. You just... try to get a bit of time to yourself. When you don't have a class with him, you rush out the door as soon as the class lets out rather than taking your time when packing up, to ensure he doesn't have time to get there before you exit the room. That way, you can take a few minutes to yourself, walk around campus or sit on a bench and enjoy not having someone breathing down your neck and looking over your shoulder the whole time.

Using the previous event that he got so worked up over as inspiration, you'll say you forgot to turn something in for a teacher and use the excuse to go run off and take a few minutes to sit in a room by yourself, sometimes intentionally "forgetting" to drop it off or turn it in so you can hold out the assignment in question to validate the excuse by him seeing it with his own eyes, avoiding suspicion. Whenever you get a spare moment where he's busy, you'll wander off somewhere he can't find you. Ignore his texts for a few minutes, claim you didn't see it because your phone was on silent for class earlier. Wait for him to come looking for you. Sometimes when the dorm students are all hanging out, you make some excuse to leave -- ah, my head hurts. Or I'm really exhausted. Or I'm not feeling so good. Soon followed, of course, with insistence on him staying. No, no, don't worry about me, I'm just going to lay down, I don't want to keep you from having fun... you can just come check on me later, right...? And he'll usually oblige after you insist a few times.

Not everyday, so as to not make it obvious, just every few days or so, you take the opportunities you get to catch some time to yourself. So on and so on. Surely he won't really notice. It's just a few minutes here and there. You're still spending the vast majority of every waking moment with him.

And at first, you're pretty sure he doesn't. Seems to accept the excuses, goes right back to his usual cheerfulness and cuddliness.

And then once becomes a few times, then ten, and so on. Something gradually begins to change. You sense an aura of worry from him, a nervous edge to his otherwise pleasant expression and tone of voice.

He's very well aware something is wrong. He's noticed your sudden aversions and seeming avoidance, even though he's normally too dense to pick up on such things, you've made it too obvious.

Did he do something wrong? Are you mad? You're not gonna break up with him, are you? You wouldn't do that to him, right? The very thought makes him feel sick. But... no, you wouldn't do that. You have no reason to. You're probably just being kind of moody or something. He remembers plenty of times how Jamil's sister would get upset at her brother for seemingly no reason, how he would occasionally sigh and make comments about how she's in one of her bad moods, can't be helped... maybe you have something like that too. That makes sense to him. But just in case, he's sure to buy you a bunch of extra expensive stuff over the course of the next week. Maybe it will cheer you up, too.

Yeah, you have no reason to be actually mad. Unless, of course, someone was influencing you somehow. Maybe someone else is saying things to you and making you so upset, or maybe someone might try and convince you to leave him or something. That happens, doesn't it? It happens in movies and stuff at least. That makes him feel sick all over again. But how would you be interacting with someone...?

Oh... well, you do have those weird gaps of time these days... a few minutes here or there where he can't find you. Maybe that's it. This is one of those "read between the lines" situations where what you say isn't really what you mean, even if you don't realize it. If he gives you "space," you'll just get attached to someone else.

While you're never aware of the thought process he has that day, you notice things getting worse. You pack up and run out of the classroom as fast as you can, but somehow he's already there. You say you need to drop something off, but he insists on going with you this time. Even if you keep saying you just want to go lay down and he should stay and keep talking with the other students, he just shakes his head, says something about how he can't just leave you alone.

His tone is sweet as always, but there's something to it that wasn't there before. Almost a sort of nervousness, an intensity, a forcefulness out of paranoia. You're not sure it's intentional, in fact, you're pretty certain he isn't at all self-aware of how pushy he is nor how he seems to be getting increasingly... anxious, really. Like there's a sort of worry in the back of his mind, that he's only aware of subconsciously, but acting upon nonetheless.

Even when you're walking around campus, his grip is tighter, and never lets up for even a second, like you're some dog on a leash that's going to bolt away the moment he relaxes his grip. You can't open your phone for a single second without him immediately peering over your shoulder to look.

He never says anything. He doesn't really act out of the ordinary. But there are those subtle, small signs. His grip is tighter, he sits closer than ever, he seems to keep his eyes on you more than he ever has. In particular, one blatantly noticeable change is that one night at random, he switches spots with you on the bed -- you used to be on the open side and him on the side against the wall, but now, without saying a word, he switches. Now you're against the wall side... you couldn't get up and out of bed and out the door without having to crawl over him, and inevitably wake him up. You try to tell yourself it wasn't intentional.

Apparently, though, whenever he can't find you, he doesn't hesitate to go to get others to help him. More than once, you've been stopped by Scarabia students in the halls -- oh, it's you, we all got a message saying you were lost or something... you try to avoid them when you see them.

Jamil doesn't exactly help, either. In fact, you tried to go to him once, mustered up the courage to try and ask him if he could help you maybe talk to Kalim or give you advice on how to handle it. But to your bewilderment, you're more or less gaslighted.

Really? It doesn't seem like you spend that much time together. You're probably just stressed from something else, and it's making you uneasy. Happens to everyone, don't worry.

You still try and reason with him, but he seems to shut you down, keeps repeating the same thing. Eventually you have to give up on trying to get any help from him. Although his words do make you feel rather neurotic for some time. That's not right, right? You're not making it up, it's not all in your head. You know what you've been experiencing... right? You have to shake the paranoia off. You're not sure why he would say such a thing though... none of it makes sense.

Jamil doesn't make things any easier for you either. Don't expect him not to very readily tell Kalim, whenever he's searching all around for you, that yes, you did come by here, you went in that direction, and you were probably headed for that specific location, so he should definitely go search there and spend time with you and not do literally anything else. Unlike the other Scarabia students, with Jamil it's not a matter of running into them directly -- you've had times where, after being found, Kalim makes some remark about oh, Jamil told me he saw you out the window, or otherwise vaguely made it clear who was the one to rat you out on your location, even though you never ran into him or even saw him. You begin to feel paranoid that you're being watched, any time you move around campus.

And each time, you get found faster and faster. Sometimes he finds you in minutes, before you can even try to find somewhere to rest. It's like he's developing some sixth sense, like he can somehow sense where you are.

...In fact, after a while, it reaches a level that it's unnatural. There's no way he's coincidentally finding you, or even relying on others.

One thought comes to mind. At first, you tell yourself you're being paranoid, that there's no way... but eventually you give into the paranoia, one day when you have just a few spare minutes in your room while he's right outside talking to some students, and you go searching through your bag. You're not hopeful, it's just a slight chance, but... yeah, no, there seems to be nothing there. You start to feel dumb for even considering--

Wait. There is something there. At the very, very bottom, underneath all the books. Some tiny, flat square shaped piece of hard plastic... barely the size of a bottlecap. You don't recognize it. There's nothing written on it. You start to feel a bit queasy.

You're still staring at it in your shaky hands when the door opens again. You swallow. Your voice comes out wavering. Hey, Kalim...?

Mm? He tilts his head, turning his attention towards you. You hold the object out.

What is this thing?

You were hoping for confusion, that he would have no idea, and even if not, you would expect some sheepishness, some sense of panic. But no. His expression doesn't even change.

Oh, that! I got that so I don't have to worry about losing track of you. Neat, isn't it?

Not even a hint of guilt or self-awareness. No, he just starts talking about how cool it is, it's technically military technology because it's so indestructible and will bypass metal detectors and wavelength sensors and stuff, it can track to any location in the world and it's technically not available to civilians, but his father has connections and all so he asked him to get one, and -- hey, is something wrong?

He finally seems to notice the wide-eyed look of distress on your face. You swallow.

O-oh... no, I just... you didn't... say any...

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. You say the first thing that comes to your impulse.

Hey, do you mind if I go take a walk? I just... need to clear my head a bit.

You start to move towards the door. You're stopped when he side-steps to block your path.

Eh? What's wrong?

You insist it's nothing. You say you just feel pent up. For once, you wish he was more dense than he is, because he certainly catches on to the wavering in your quiet, nervous voice.

Hey, you can tell me whatever it is. You look like you're really worried about something.

No, I just...

You take a few steps back. You find yourself stammering. You feel sick. Your heart is beating too fast. You try to make your way to the door slowly, casually, like you're relaxed, like you're not desperately trying to get away. You take a step to the side, start to walk in a circle as you try to distract him by saying something about how you've just been cooped up in the room for too long, and you'll only be gone a minute or so, and--

This time, in one swift movement, his hand lashes out and latches onto your arm. A grip so tight it's painful.

Hey, you're not going to go talk to someone else, right?

The words take you aback. Your eyes widen. You take a few moments to respond, it's such a random, unexpected question. It's so out of nowhere, the very notion seems like such a bizarre conclusion to draw. He doesn't say it angrily or anything, no, more like he's genuinely curious... but there's a clear note of worry to his voice.

Why did he come to that conclusion? You shake your head. No, I... I don't know why you'd think that, I...

He seems to notice the confusion and unease on your face. His own returns to that same smile as always. Ah, good. You had me worried. Haha...

Anyway... you should lay down. That will help you clear your head more than walking will. Besides, how is he supposed to know where you are if you're not carrying your bag? It's not like you get a choice -- it's not presented as a suggestion, he says it whilst simultaneously grabbing you by the waist and carrying you over to bed. He's pretty tired too! You can both rest for a while... you notice him grab the tracking chip off the bed where you set it down and loosely toss it back into your bag, before setting you down. Promptly jumping into bed as well. And his arms lock like a constrictor around your body, pulling your back up against his chest.

You can still feel your heart beating in your chest. The wrongness of the situation is setting in, every part of your brain is sounding alarm bells. That, with absolute certainty, you know is not normal, and more importantly, it's almost frightening. It feels like a weight compressing your chest as you realize just how deep of a hole you've dug yourself into, and you don't know how to safely get out. You can't even go talk to someone else, because he'll be right there. The more you think, the more nauseous you feel.

One other thing bothers you. He usually can fall asleep within a minute or two of laying down, and yet, you can still feel his hand stroking up and down your stomach. There's a heavy, silent tension. You keep trying to think of how to word what you want to say. After a few moments, though, he speaks before you can even summon the right words. His voice is unusually quiet.

Hey, you're not mad at me, right?

You stiffen.

I... no, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... come across that way....

Oh, good. You can feel him sigh. You seem kinda upset or something.

You stay quiet. Your mouth feels dry. You swallow. But you're given the opportunity, you can't just let it pass without finally getting out what you've been thinking.

...Listen.

He doesn't say anything, but you feel him shift his head. You're not sure if that's a good sign or not. Not being able to see his face makes it a bit easier, though, to get the words out.

I think... I think maybe we should, ah.... t-take... take a break.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you finish, clenching your jaw. Waiting for some kind of negative reaction. He sits upright.

But when you cautiously open your eyes, he looks... elated?

Oh! Like a vacation? That would be great! You should come back home with him! He's actually been thinking a lot about something like that. It's a good thing you mention it. He's mentioned you to his parents like ten times now, and they say they want to meet you, and you know there's that week you're all out of class coming up, and that would be a really good time to do it.

He keeps going on and on about it. It feels like some cruel joke from a higher power. You just sit there, staring forward with glazed-over eyes. Up until, that is, he says something about how he'll go call them, and be right back, and then leaps out of bed to go right outside for better service.

Hey, wait--Kalim--

You stumble over to the door in a panic, intending to try and stop him before he can. You reach out, grasp the handle, turn the knob.

It's... locked. From the outside.

...When did that get installed? You're certain no such mechanism was there before... when did...?

It's too much. You start to feel nauseous again. You're overwhelmed. You find yourself not even making it to the bed, instead laying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. It's not like you can leave... you'll just... well, you'll just have to wait for him to come back. As much as that thought makes you uneasy, as much as everything is setting off your panic, you have no other choice. You drape your forearm over your eyes.

God, what have I gotten myself into...

...

On the other end, though, he's actually really glad you expressed interest in coming home with him. Well, you didn't explicitly say that, but basically the same thing. In fact, he's been thinking about taking you home for quite some time!

His parents have always been very persuasive people, especially considering the money and power involved that they have at their disposal... he sort of associates them with things working out for him. The few times he's ever had any issues, usually one phone call home is all it takes, and his parents will resolve the issue. Maybe they can sort of push you along the right direction too... after all, they do want him to get married as soon as he graduates.

And even if they don't approve, which would be the worst case scenario, he's already been thinking about how to deal with that, too! He's actually pretty proud of himself for really planning ahead for once.

It's just like how he initially got you into his room. Doing something underhanded to ensure things work out for him doesn't strike him as wrong.

What was it his parents used to say, whenever he was first getting ready to go out into the world and all that? That he should enjoy himself and have fun and meet people, but to avoid one specific thing.

Have all the fun you want, but don't you dare get...

The reasoning was... ah, something something scandal and disgrace to the family and all that... he wasn't really listening. But he knows that whenever there's some big scandal in the world of high-power people, they rush to cover it up. So they would help him, right? They'd help ensure things worked out in his favor.

In fact, he's already been trying a little bit. Got one of those pins they use for the classroom corkboards and keeps poking holes in those condoms... and takes them off a lot when you're not looking... but nothing has come of that yet, he's sure, because you would have said something. Ah, well, it'll probably just take some time. Sure, his parents will be SO mad... but he can accept that, so long as they then help him work things out the way he's hoping for. It seems like a good plan... or rather, an impulsive idea he had that he just sort of went with. He's not really the type to think things through, you know.