#Anyways that's why he's so sleep and touch deprived

[mads-hemmo]

It’s Nice to Have a Friend - Jschlatt

Part 5

Masterlist

Reader has been lonely their whole life. They have never been in a relationship. They don’t understand why no one will love them but their best friend, Schlatt has always been in love with them.

Schlatt sends you a text telling you that Aztro and Mika have invited you to join them all for a night at a karaoke bar. They were performing in New York, but coming a day early to hang out. You were excited to not only meet the Sleep Deprived crew, but also go out. It had been a while since you went to a bar and got drunk. Maybe you would meet someone. Maybe your soulmate would be there watching you sing.

All of these thoughts are the reason you spent hours getting ready. Your apartment looked like a mess from the amount of times you changed your outfit. You also spent what felt like hours perfecting your makeup and hair. You finally decide on a tried and true going out outfit of yours. One that makes you feel good in your own skin. You take a look in your full length mirror, actually liking what you see.

You hear your doorbell ring and make your way over to it. You open the door to see Schlatt. He has dressed up himself wearing a tan corduroy jacket over his signature black shirt along with a pair of nice blue jeans. “You clean up nice,” you tell him.

Schlatt looks up at you and he just stares for a minute. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Are you ready to go? I ordered an Uber,” he finally lets out.

You follow him out into the cold New York air, waiting for the Uber to arrive. “Have you got your songs planned for tonight?” You ask him.

“I’m not singing,” he says.

You look at him in disbelief. “We are going to a karaoke bar. You are singing. I know you can sing, so don’t be worried about that.”

He gives you a soft smile. “I’ll think about it, but I’m going to need a lot of liquor before I do any karaoke.”

“Deal,” you tell him as the Uber pulls up. You both hop in the back seat.

Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long. The Uber pulls in front of the bar and you both step out. As you walk in, Astrid and Mika walk over to you. “You must be (Y/N), I’m Astrid and this is Mika. We have heard so much about you,” Astrid introduces.

“Nice to meet you both. You are all a lot taller than I was expecting,” you tell them, feeling a bit tiny. Schlatt was still the tallest out of all of them.

“We were going to take some shots. Do you want to join us?” Mika asks.

You nod, making your way to the bar. Schlatt follows closely behind you. “What’s your shot of choice?” Astrid asks you.

“The strongest tequila they have,” you tell them. “Schlatt will want whiskey.”

Schlatt nods. “Also I’m not telling you what to do, but please be careful with tequila. Last time you had tequila you were dancing on tables.”

“Shut up. I was only 21. My brain has fully developed now.”

“I’ll take tequila shots with you (Y/N),” Astrid says.

After about two shots, you are starting to feel tipsy. “I’m going to pick a song,” you tell Schlatt. He throws back his third shot of whiskey.

“What song are you going to sing?” He asks you.

“It’s a surprise,” you whisper to him. The reality is you weren’t sure what song you wanted to sing. You were just going to look at the list and see what song pops out at you.

You walk over to the book to look at the list of songs they have. You choose to look at the Taylor Swift list of songs first. You’re surprised by the selection they have, including some from The Tortured Poets Department. You ultimately find the right song. You sign your name to go next along with your song choice.

They call your name to go up and you hear Schlatt, Mika, and Astrid all cheering for you. You wait for the words to start before singing,

Summer went away, still, the yearning stays. I play it cool with the best of them. I wait patiently, he's gonna notice me. It's okay, we're the best of friends. Anyway.

I hear it in your voice, you're smoking with your boys. I touch my phone as if it's your face. I didn't choose this town, I dream of getting out. There's just one who could make me stay. All my days.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes. I waited ages to see you there. I search the party of better bodies. Just to learn that you never cared.

You're on your own, kid. You always have been.

Schlatt’s eyes don’t leave yours as you sing. He continues to focus on you as he takes more shots.

I see the great escape, so long, Daisy May. I picked the petals, he loves me not. Something different bloomed, writing in my room. I play my songs in the parking lot. I'll run away.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes. I called a taxi to take me there. I search the party of better bodies. Just to learn that my dreams aren't rare.

You're on your own, kid. You always have been.

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes. I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this. I hosted parties and starved my body. Like I'd be saved by a perfect kiss. The jokes weren't funny, I took the money. My friends from home don't know what to say. I looked around in a blood-soaked gown. And I saw something they can't take away.

'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned. Everything you lose is a step you take. So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it. You've got no reason to be afraid.

You're on your own, kid (ah).

Yeah, you can face this (ah).

You're on your own, kid.

You always have been.

As the song ends, you bow and walk back over to the table. “That was really good. You went basic with Taylor, but it was good,” Astrid tells you.

“Thank you,” you say, taking a shot of tequila to calm your nerves.

“You did amazing, Toots. You’re so talented, but why that song?” Schlatt asks you.

“It’s a song I relate to a lot. You know being on your own and all. I saw it on the list and knew I should sing it.”

He nods. He gives you a hug and you tense up a bit. He must be really drunk to have hugged you. He pulls away from you. “You know I’ll never let you be fully alone right?”

You give him a sad smile. “I know. Thank you,” you sigh. “Anyway, no more sappy shit. Are you drunk enough to go sing?”

“Might need some more.”

“You stay here, I’ll go to the bar and get us some,” you tell him, getting up from the table. Mika and Astrid are at the karaoke book finding a song.

You make your way to the bar. “Can I get two shots of Fireball and a tequila sunrise?” You ask the bartender, handing them your card.

“You can put that on my tab,” you hear a voice say beside you. You turn to see a blonde man beside you. “It’s under Fletcher.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can pay for it myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. Add a corona to that as well,” Fletcher says, turning to face you. “I’m Max Fletcher. You sounded amazing up there. I’m a bit of a swiftie myself.”

“I’m (Y/N). Thank you for the compliment and the drinks.

The bartender hands you the shots and your drink. “No judgement at all, but are all those drinks for you,” Max asks, accepting his corona.

You let out a small laugh. “No, the shots are for my friend.” You look over to the table expecting to see Schlatt, but he’s not there. You look over at the stage and see him making his way up as his name is called. “Actually he’s going up to sing.��

“Oh that’s cool. So he’s only a friend right, not a boyfriend?”

“Just a friend,” you tell him as you start to hear the beginning of the song, Creep.

“Well if that’s the case, here’s my number,” Max says handing it to you.

“This song is for a friend of mine,” Schlatt says, before the song starts.

“Thanks,” you tell Max before taking the drinks back to your table. Your eyes meet Schlatt’s as he sings.

You wonder what friend he is talking about. Maybe Astrid? Maybe Mika? You weren’t sure.

When you were here before

Couldn't look you in the eye

You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

I wish I was special

You're so fucking special

But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here

I don't care if it hurts

I want to have control

I want a perfect body

I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice

When I'm not around

You're so fucking special

I wish I was special

But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doing here?

I don't belong here

Oh, oh

She's running out again

She's running out

She run, run, run, run

Run

Whatever makes you happy

Whatever you want

You're so fucking special

I wish I was special

But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doing here?

I don't belong here

I don't belong here

You feel your heart swell as he sings. It’s just a song right? He doesn’t really feel that way about himself. You still don’t know who he’s singing to until you realize his eyes have not left you the entire song. It’s probably because he’s most comfortable with you. Nothing else.

Schlatt makes his way back to the table and shoots both of the shots. “You were amazing. Your voice is perfect for that song,” you praise him.

He smiles at you. “Thank you. Did you hear the beginning?”

“Yeah I did and if Astrid doesn’t feel the same, that’s her loss,” you tell him.

“Astrid? It wasn’t about her,” Schlatt says, worry covering his face.

“Oh who were you singing about then?”

“It was,” he starts, but stops himself. “Never mind. It was just a song. I thought it would sound good with my voice too.”

You smile at him. “Shocked you didn’t sing Sinatra, but Radiohead works well too.” You take a sip of your drink.

“Who was that guy talking to you earlier?”

“Some guy named Max. He gave me his number. I’m not sure why though,” you admit. You thought maybe it was for Schlatt when he realized you weren’t dating him.

Schlatt gives you a look. “(Y/N), please tell me you’re joking right?”

“What?” You ask, raising your eyebrow.

“He obviously gave it to you because he thought you were cute,” Schlatt says, muttering something under his breath.

“Wait really? Oh I didn’t realize that,” you laugh at yourself.

Schlatt laughs a bit too. “I’m going to grab more shots. I’m not drunk enough. You just sit here and watch the people sing.”

Schlatt returns after a while. You’re not sure where Mika and Astrid had ran off to, but at least your best friend was still here. You and Schlatt are so drunk you know you’ll both feel it in the morning. After a few shots, the two of you are a giggling mess.

“You know my friend (Y/N)?” Schlatt asks, obviously very drunk.

You let out a giggle. “Yeah I know them, they are pretty cool,” you say.

“Yeah they are cool. They are also so intelligent and so funny and so goddamn talented in everything they do.”

“That’s so sweet. I’ll let them know.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers to you.

“Of course,” you whisper back.

“I’m in love with them.”

“What?” You ask not sure if you heard him right. You obviously misheard him.

“(Y/N), I’m in love with them. And you want to know the most pathetic thing? They will never love me back. No matter what I do, they will never love me the way I love them. Sometimes I imagine us together in a house with the cats just loving each other. Maybe raising kids. We’d get married in a catholic cathedral like they have always wanted. I would do anything to make them happy and they will never feel the same.”

Tears start feeling up your eyes. “Jay,” you let out. You don’t know what to say. You’re at a loss for words. Everything is starting to make sense. The cuddling, the kiss on the forehead, his wariness about Ted, the way he always does whatever you ask, and even his freaking boner. He didn’t sing Creep for no reason, he sang it for you. You take a look at him and you start crying.

“Are you okay?” Schlatt asks, still very drunk. His calloused thumbs wipe a stray tear from your face.

“I’m fine. I think it’s time for us to call an Uber,” you tell him, trying to wipe away your tears.

You walk outside, carrying behind a drunk Schlatt. You see Mika and Astrid sharing a joint. “Are you going home already?” Astrid asks you.

“Yeah. Schlatt almost passed out at the table,” you tell them.

“Have you been crying?” Mika asks, accidentally blowing smoke in your face.

“No, this happens when I drink a lot,” you lie.

They both nod. “Do you need help with him?” Mika asks.

“No, I got him. It was nice to meet you both. Enjoy the rest of your night.” The uber pulls up and Schlatt sleepily follows you.

As soon as you both get in, Schlatt’s head finds your shoulder. It takes everything in you to not cry more. “Are you able to take me home after I drop him off? I’ll pay you extra,” you ask the driver.

“Just put your address in the app and I’ll pick it up. No extra charge,” the driver tells you.

“Thank you.” You hear Schlatt lightly snoring on you. You smile at him. You’re so conflicted in your thoughts. Obviously you love Schlatt, but do you love him the way he apparently loves you? You’re not sure. You’ve never thought about him that way. He’s always been your best friend, just out of reach. He was never someone you would consider.

The Uber arrives in front of Schlatt’s apartment. “C’mon Big Guy,” you wake him up. Schlatt follows you out of the car. “I’ll be right back out. I just need to put him to bed.”

The driver nods at you as you drag Schlatt to his bed. “(Y/N)!” He cheers, when he realizes you are the one carrying him along. “Are you staying?”

“Not tonight. I have work in the morning,” you tell him.

He pouts slightly at you as he gets in his bed. As he pulls his shirt off, he gets under the covers. You tuck him in and place everything on the nightstand that he will need in the morning. “Night, Bub. Get home safe.”

“I will. Good night, Jay,” you tell him. You go downstairs and thankfully the Uber is still there. You thank the driver as he drives you home.

When you finally arrive, you make sure to tip the driver well. You quickly rush upstairs to your apartment. When you get inside, the tears start flowing. You go to your bathroom and wipe off your makeup. Once you get in bed, you think about the future of you and Schlatt. What does his confession mean for your friendship? Do you feel the same way? Why did he have to tell you when he was drunk off his ass? You go to sleep knowing that tomorrow an important conversation needs to happen.

A/N: ahh this one makes me so sad!! Sorry I live for Angst. I already have most of the next part planned as well. Thank you for all the support and as always hope you enjoyed!!

[goldemas1244]

Kaloshta (Father) - A Mobile Legends Fanfic

Necessary content warnings:

Contains mentions and themes of:

(Blood, injury, death, gore, passing out, Asian parenting / tough love (which may include themes similar to but may or may not be: physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, degradation, abandonment, trauma, yelling, not knowing whether the question is literal or rhetorical, hurting for the sake of love and survivability, etc.), depression, graphic depictions of inner monologues, loss of self-worth, freezing to death, bleeding to death, character death in general, resurrection, and anything you'd expect from a 50/50 stereotypical Asian household)

Bonus note: NOT ALL OF OUR FAMILIES TREAT OUR KIDS THIS WAY. MINE DOES THOUGH. My dad has yet to rip out my antennae but that's because I don't have any-. He doesn't like my sitting position and my incompetence though.

Necessary writer's note:

{FINALLY we've gotten the tags out of the way.

So to clarify this was made on a whim. I obviously do not condone any of the content in this and urge you to raise your offspring like you mean it. This is but a reflection of the (50/50 stereotypical) Asian household. Not all of us treat our kids this way. Not all of us believe that tough love is required for better young. But hey, it's culture.

But it's mostly a reflection of my life so far. Hey, you make a few mistakes and suddenly you're very numb in the cheek and probably concussed. And you get very weird kinks. Most of the stuff in this is just stuff I've actually experienced. And of course I turn it into gut-wrenching angst.

Note: I am fine. I am alright. I am not hurt (yet). My father DOES scare me still but I blame it on the telly. He watches too much Netflix. He humours me on my monster/alienfucking expeditions. He shows me Transformers clips because he knows I find robot aliens hot as fuck.

Note 2: Understandably, this is a very sensitive topic to write about. Forgive me if you feel offended or uncomfortable reading this. Just know that I do not write for content, rather I write to satiate my inner desire to write. And sometimes that means refractions.

Having said that, enjoy the read!}

%%%

Blood. Short for haemolymph actually. In a blizzard and the icy snow.

He had just barely made it out alive. He had run away, clinging onto the last few breaths he had. So far he could hope nothing was chasing him. If there was, it would catch him soon.

His claws plunged through deep snow and he felt himself falling. Yet he stood back up, and reached out to thin air, desperately trying to pull himself further away. Further away from where, he couldn't say. All that remained of his thoughts had slipped away. Only instinct remained.

And it told him to keep going.

Footfalls scarred through the blizzard as the burning ache in his body began to throb. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't remember how to. All he could do was escape.

Only but a few minutes ago, he was in his element. A battle was raging, his nightmaric spawns were decimating, and his aim was steady. Before him were two lovers, and they were both primed to strike.

He had taken them down, but not with minor losses.

Soon there was nothing left on the battlefield save the husks of two colliding armies. Brave souls giving up their lives for a cause. One to protect, one to survive.

And the three of them were still left. Zhask, Aurora, and Tobias.

Tobias was on his knees. Zhask had done enough to him. His last breaths were well-spent, but not to Zhask. No, to Aurora.

He'd told her they'd attack together. He burst through whatever remained of the swarm Zhask could summon. He made sure Aurora could reach the source-

And the pain....

The sharp shooting pain coursed through his chest into his brain. It felt as if all his blood had been frozen, yet it drained from him in thick amounts, warmer than ever.

He took a few steps back. Aurora had pierced him in a critical spot with her own arm, frozen into the shape of a sword. It had severed itself from her body, leaving a gaping wound where it once was and a bloodied trail leading back to its socket. Jagged spikes of ice ripped through the soft flesh inside of him, tearing him apart from within.

It was cold, far too cold.

As the blizzard swooped all around them, he took one last glance at them. Tobias was dead. Aurora was in agony, but still alive. And Zhask himself was losing his energy all too fast. His swarm was rapidly dying out and the weather was against him.

So he went against the weather.

Zhask ran away. As he always did. As he never should have done.

And now here he was, miles away from any civilization, acres away from salvation, and half buried in snow and ice.

His legs shook. The pain was unbearable.

He reached for the frozen sword and arm of Aurora. No blood leaked from the severed limb now, rather it had become one with the ice. He grasped it tightly with his free hand, and with a hiss, pulled it sharply and threw it aside to be consumed by the storm.

Rookie mistake.

If it was unbearable then, then it was deathly now. Haemolymph flowed out in bursts from the open gash, half-frozen. The jagged edges of the sword had sliced through tender muscle tissue on its way out, more than it initially had prior. His frozen claws clutched at the wound and he chittered in utter agony, doubling over as they instinctively curled around it as one does to their chest during a heart attack.

He couldn't let go. Despite all his conscious thoughts and efforts he just couldn't let go. All his muscles were telling him to stop the bleeding no matter how.

But no matter how hard his instincts betrayed him, he couldn't cover the thick shell good enough. His magic was useless. He was weak and so was it. Domorey was exhausted herself. There was no way to heal.

He couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop the numbing pain. He couldn't stop the thick blood pouring out in waves. He couldn't stop the racing thoughts in his mind.

He couldn't.

He just couldn't.

His muscles tensed and he fell to his knees. Domorey fell with as he used her to brace himself. His eyes watered dryly as the pain only doubled from the momentum. He wanted to vomit, but all that came out was more blood.

The blizzard stung him where he hadn't been stung before and he lowered his head in defeat. So this is how Zhask dies for the upteenth time. Alone, in a temperature he never could fathom, with a wound he couldn't close. With no magic, buried in the cold embrace of despair.

He wasn't ready to accept that. Not his soul. Not with what's coming for him. But his body begged to differ.

"Sh-... Shaloshta...."

With one last attempt to stand and walk onwards, Zhask fell back onto the cold hard snow. His ears rang. His vision began to blur, his hands were losing their grip. He couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't even muster enough energy to keep his heart pumping. And within a moment, all was black.

%%%

He awoke to white noise and darkness. He could see himself clearly however, clean yet scarred fresh. Domorey was gone. Balling his hands into fists he began to push himself up.

There was still some pain but it was numbed by some otherworldly force. He brought his hand to where the stab wound was and found out that it had somewhat healed.

Here in the void. Again.

"Disappointing!"

His eyes widened and his head jerked up violently. He'd know that voice from anywhere.

"Ka... Kaloshta?" he silently whimpered, yet much to his dismay he'd forgotten how acute his father's hearing was compared to his.

Heavy steps sounded themselves and Zhask desperately tried to crawl backwards, inching away, retreating as best as he could. But to no avail. His back hit an invisible wall violently and his antennae raised themselves up to protest.

"I told you not to use those with me."

Zhask screamed as he felt all four of them being pushed violently upwards against the wall. It felt as if they were going to break off from him at any moment, much so with the force of gravity pulling his body downwards. He struggled against the chokehold, gasping, desperate to escape the grasp but it raised him up higher, earning him a grinding noise as they were pushed harder against the wall like nails on a chalkboard.

It wasn't long before his eyes could finally focus on his own flesh and blood, yet only stared forwards as the familiar figure came into view.

"Zhask!"

A green husk hunched over him, eyes glowing brightly in the faux blackness of their surroundings. They burned into the air like sulphur. A ferocity bloomed in them like none other.

"You dare disobey your Kaloshta?"

A large clawed hand, larger than Zhask's own face, cupped his chin and forced his head violently upwards. Zhask could see his antennae clearly now, held up by his father's other hand. The horns on his head scraped against the wall. One of them even broke off at the tip.

To a vertebrate, it would've snapped their neck. But for Zhask, this was a familiar feeling.

It felt like home, it felt like family, it felt... painful.

"Your antennae show off too much emotion," his father growled. "It's one of the things I hate about you." He lifted his claws off of his son's chin and grabbed his shoulder. "It shows how afraid you are."

Held in place by some mental force, Zhask couldn't move his head nor his arms and legs which dangled like a stringless puppet. All he could do was freeze himself. Take it all in like how he used to. Not that he was used to it as much as the occasional slap, but he was used to it. Every time he'd failed practice he'd get himself hurt. His fault of course. As always.

He missed his father. He loved him, he genuinely did. But this? He didn't miss this. Not for his entire life.

"Please, Kaloshta I'm sorry!" he begged as his voice cracked with pain and his body curled up into itself despite the... gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry! I won't use them ever again just please Kaloshta let me go!"

"You disgust me. How dare you talk back to me!" With one harsh pull, his father tore shell from membrane, muscle from vessel. Zhask's eyes widened and he could only gasp as he was thrown to the ground now with nothing on his back.

He felt so ashamed of himself, didn't he? Oh yes, the price for disobedience and stupidity. You lose what you love. And what Zhask loved was his antennae. It made him comfortable, it helped him regulate his body temperature, it helped him smell, it helped him sense, it helped him to express his emotions, and it helped out with so many more things. Not to mention his father too. Oh, but now-

Now they're gone. Replaced only by a stuffy feeling and his haemolymph flowing out of his back. At least he couldn't smell the blood now.

"Always wanted to do that," mumbled his father as Zhask desperately tried to stifle his tears and stand up again. "But your mother, she coddled you. I'd always believed she was too soft, but I couldn't do a thing about it." His steps began again, and Zhask could hear a clinking sound as those vital parts of his body were oh so carelessly thrown away.

His father loves him. He really does. Zhask remembers how he used to take him outside and play with him when he was younger. How he'd begrudgingly read him bedtime stories. How he'd rarely but truly said sorry, how he'd always hugged him, how he'd never once forgotten how much he loved his son.

But when DID that all change, really? When did this start happening to Zhask, Prince of the Kastiyans? When did his father become a monster? What happened? Was it because the prince grew up? Was it because he was immature? Because he was older, that he didn't deserve as much love as he used to?

He remembered when his toys were broken all because he wanted to play with them while another foreign prince wanted to intervene and he didn't want to share because he knew they'd ruin it. He remembered getting whipped because he was weak in his test scores. He remembered the sorries his father gave, he remembered the silence. The silence meant he wouldn't forgive him. And then, over tea, they'd get back together because he was the only son.

Hugs became fewer and farther between through the years, and so did the kisses. But despite his father's complaining Zhask knew he secretly enjoyed it. Annoying his father was a favourite pastime of his whenever he was available and was in a pleasurable mood.

He knows his father was trying his best. His best to protect Zhask, his best to ensure he survived throughout the conquests, his best to ensure he managed to live on to rule Kastiya. His slaps were a lesson to learn, his whips a delicate cruelty, all so he would act better in future. Even if they scarred him. Even if they gave him permanent damage.

But sometimes, as implied, his best hurt and he was a monster.

His mother was softer but she could be as harsh as he was. Not that it mattered to Zhask, she was always busy so it made sense if she never came to be well-moody. Yet she feared her husband for the obvious reason as well.

Zhask could never stifle his tears, even from youth. Usually when this happened he'd walk off to his room, pretending to yawn and rub his eyes as if he was tired. Then he'd go into the shower or wrap himself up in his bed. He never locked his door either because his father would break it down so his butler was always there to check on him. Not that he'd ever wanted him to. And if he did Prince Zhask would have to put on a genuine emotional mask in fear that his butler would slip the metaphorical beans.

But of course in these events there was no room to pace to.

The footsteps stopped. Silenced. And so was Zhask. Though one out of anger, and the other out of terror. Zhask desperately tried to hide his tears away but the pain was intense and he just couldn't help it.

Like with the bleeding....

"Your Shaloshta isn't here," his father quipped and Zhask could hear his armoured plates creaking with age as he knelt. "Neither is your Heria. So I'll tell you this right here."

"Look at me."

Zhask turned to face him. Proportionally, so did his father's backhand and he fell back on his elbows.

"You are the reason Kastiya is lost!"

There it was. The guilt-tripping.

"Look at me!" Zhask hesitated, and had his horns pulled up so he could face his father. "Because of your recklessness, The Astrowardens have DESTROYED Kastiya! One of them is hunting you down, and here you are, dead as a star because of your own foolish mistakes! What have I raised you for?!"

Zhask only could stare. Was it a rhetorical question? But it sounded so genuine he should-

"ANSWER ME."

Genuine it is then.

"You... you raised me to lead Kastiya," Zhask began, stutteringly repeating the words his father used to swear. "You raised me so I could protect Kastiya, to keep its glory. You raised me so Kastiya could prosper. So that we could rule supreme. You raised me so... I'd have a home?"

"TALKING BACK TO YOUR ELDERS," he yelled out, despite having asked the question initially. "You are a disappointment. You have disappointed me, you have disappointed Kastiya, you have disappointed your subjects. As if there are any because they're all dead! And I should know because that's your doing too!"

He released his grip on Zhask. Zhask could only stare into space, fixed in the position. He didn't even turn to look at his father, now retreating back into the darkness.

"You are the reason I died, Zhask. Remember that. You are nothing. A pig-child. Wasted filth."

Footsteps receding.

"You are not my son."

Pain slowly enveloped Zhask's body once more. Not the pain of what had happened to him, but the pain of coming back.

Good. He never wanted to stay anyway.

%%%

"Ow...."

Zhask awakens once more, this time back in the snow. He instantly shoots up, but winces at the pain. His chest is still bloodied and he still has scars, but they seems to have healed slightly. The short death-rest has given Domorey enough mana to regenerate himself, thankfully.

He hears a little chirp infront of him. Before him is his passive spawn, the backup guard for his body. It moves towards him, albeit a little shakily from the cold. It nuzzles him and Zhask can feel its warm laser heating up.

He looks around him. Behind Domorey, there is a calm, serene white. The blizzard has stopped. He looks back and sees that his antennae are still there. They're only frozen from the exposure. He sighs in thankfulness.

The little spawn hops onto Zhask's arm, latching onto it. It camouflages itself on his glove. He pets its little head and grabs Domorey.

He is capable of standing on his own two feet. And so he does, leaning onto Domorey for balance. He tests his footing on the icy floor beneath him and realises it's created a nice little step-path. His feet don't sink in, rather the snow has solidified enough to stand on.

Slowly but surely, Zhask begins to walk forwards, limping through the snow. He remembers his past, he acknowledges the present, and he looks out for the future.

But his heart sinks.

He will never forget what his Kaloshta had done to him. He's still shaken by that death-dream he had, the only flaw to his immortality. He's depressed but he brushes it off.

They love each other, don't they? This is what your parents do to help you grow stronger, right? He deserves it for his failure, doesn't he?

Zhask's first death was to save him and his revival was met with a slight scolding and a warm hug. The rest were merely trivial, but he got scolded more and more often as time went on and the hugs became less and less often. In the end, it's all just a forgettable memory when he wakes up. This wasn't even the worst he's had. The worst was that one time he drank himself to death over a lost love. He got a real beating for that.

But he WILL prove he can live up to his father's wishes. That he's not what his father claims him to be. That he can still feel his father embrace him lovingly again, even for just a few short moments. That he's not a failure, nor a pig-child, nor whatever else he says.

And maybe this time, he'll try not to die again.

Or even sleep for that matter. Just in case.

[kitten4sannie]

trendsetter

reach for my goals, hit it dead center

pairing: idol ex! mingi x fem! reader

genre: an actual idol au omg, smut

summary: mingi reminds you why he was so hard to leave in the first place, well, the first few times, anyway.

w.c: 3.3k

bc i’m bigger, better

warnings: brief weed use/shotgunning (mingi’s a plug in another life btw <3), mingi’s kinda a dickhead and a master manipulator (damn double homicide), dom! mingi, subby! reader, mingi’s got a big cawk, glove ? kink? idk bro, exhibitionism, teasing, praise/degradation, pet names galore/name calling, tit play, spit, fingering, finger sucking (leads to some gagging), oral (giving), deep-throating, cum eating, grinding, kissing, size kink, breeding kink, mingi fucks reader raw on the hood of her own car hallelujahhhh

a/n: don’t blame me for this btw,, blame mingi mango and the things he’s been posting on ig 😮‍💨 this man makes me delirious istg. also i wrote this while incredibly sleep deprived just so yk !! there might be some grammar and spelling errors (as well as a general sense of lunacy ✨) regardless i hope you enjoy and please do let me know if you liked it bc feedback is like a treat for me and im a treat hungry lil goblin uwu <3

song recs: so damn into you by vlad holiday - come 2 me by johnny goth - liquid by boston manor

Mingi barely made it two steps past one of the various emergency exit doors of the booming, hectic arena, dropping his lighter on the ground when his favorite ex suddenly came waltzing back into his life again after just swiftly exiting it for the nth time.

“Where are my car keys? I know you have them,” you abruptly confronted him, snatching the lighter from the ground before he could grab it and sliding it inside your tank top, right in between your tits.

“Why would I have your car keys, sugar?” Mingi sighed exasperatedly, walking in your direction until he towered over you, gently clasping his calloused hands around your upper arms so he could rub them up and down in an effort to calm you, gently turning you around until your back pressed into the cool metal of the emergency door. “Can you use that pretty little head of yours for me, Y/N? I just performed right now. I was busy rehearsing before that. Do you really think I would take your keys from you just to keep you from leaving?”

“Yes, I do. You always do some fuck shit like this when I try to leave. Every time, Mingi.” Despite the furrow of your brow and the contempt present within your words, you couldn’t help but watch as Mingi’s thumbs began to press into the sides of your tits. When you didn’t say anything, he began to press the rest of his gloved fingers into the softness of your chest.

“Some fuck shit like this?” Mingi asked under his breath, studying your flushed face to gauge your reaction as he squeezed your tits against the palms of his rough hands, rubbing his thumbs teasingly against the thin material of your sports bra until he felt your nipples harden. “You aren’t tell me to stop, baby. Cat got your tongue?”

“I hate you…” you whispered softly, not understanding why you never had the strength to deny him, even in a public, though empty alleyway, even after you just broke up with him only a little while ago.

“You don’t seem to hate this…Your body’s responding to me…” Mingi suddenly pinched your nipples through your sports bra, chuckling at the gasp you let out. He leaned down, bringing his lips to your ear to whisper, “I bet you don’t hate how wet I’m making you right now, either. Is your cunt throbbing for me already, Y/N?”

“N-no…” You bit into your bottom lip when your ex let out a disapproving ‘uh-uh’ as you turned your head to look away from him, squeezing your thighs together, hoping your arousal wouldn’t drip past your short skirt.

With one hand still clasped around your tit to play with it, Mingi brought the other up to grasp your chin, making you face him again, so close that you were breathing in each other’s air, your parted lips almost touching. “You’ll let me check to see if you’re lying, won’t you, sugar? Can I see how many fingers I can fit inside your tight little cunt?”

You hated how much your body and soul still burned for your lecherous ex, hated how desperate you suddenly were for him to have his way with you, but what you hated most of all was the way you whimpered out, “Please, Minnie.”

Mingi groaned softly at the use of his pet name, feeling most of his blood began to head below the belt, letting go of your chin, the both of you watching as his hand disappeared underneath your skirt. He instantly slipped two thick fingers inside you up to the knuckles, despite wearing a pair of thick leather gloves, the both of you moaning at the squelching sound your bare, wet cunt made. “That’s my girl. You wore this slutty little skirt and no panties just for me, didn’t you? You don’t even care about getting out of here with your keys. You just wanted me to put my hands all over you one last time, yeah?”

Just as you were about to respond, Mingi suddenly stuffed his leather-bound fingers into your mouth, making you taste your own warm wetness. “A-aaahn,” you moaned around his moving digits, feeling them slip along your hot tongue, looking up at your ex’s intensely dark gaze.

“Suck,” he simply requested, smiling fondly at the sight of your plush lips closing around his fingers, pushing them further and further back until he made you gag around them, his cock throbbing at the sight of your teary doe eyes. “Oh, baby, if you’re going to be looking at me like that and making those pretty noises, I’m gonna lose it…but, you can take it, right? My fingers in your throat?”

You whined softly, trying your best not to gag more around his moving fingers, relaxing your throat enough so that the only sound that could be heard was your moans and the abundance of saliva in your mouth.

“Good girl.” Mingi slipped his fingers out of your mouth and pressed his lips onto your cheek, whispering, “Can you take my cock down your throat next, pretty girl? I worked so hard to perform tonight, you know. Don’t you think I deserve head from my favorite ex?”

“Uh-huh,” you found yourself agreeing, your head still fuzzy from having his fingers inside your mouth, desperate to have something else warm and thick on your tongue, thankful for the heavy hand that began to push your head down until your bare knees were resting against the cold concrete below.

“Say ‘aaah’,” Mingi cooed darkly from above, expertly undoing his thick belt buckle and lowering his pants until his stiff, reddened cock smacked up into his abdomen. It was then that his hands were drawn to either side of your head, barely giving you enough time to open your mouth before he thrusted forward, the tip of his cock instantly hitting the back of your throat. “Fuckkkk, that’s a good slut. You don’t have to be my girlfriend to be my fuck toy, huh, baby?”

Your moans of approval were instantly muffled by the massive cock that was being stuffed inside your throat by your eager ex, as you reached up to grasp at his hips, the shiny lighter that was still sitting in between your tits starting to jostle around due to Mingi’s rough movements.

Suddenly reminded of his post-concert ritual, Mingi reached into his back pocket and placed a joint between his lips, then fished the lighter out from between your tits, but not before he squished one of them for the hell of it. He rolled the dial on the lighter a few times before a flame sparked, bringing it up and lighting the tip of his joint.

The strong aroma of Mingi’s flower reached you in an instant, having to blink your many tears away to watch him take a deep puff of it and blow it out into your face. Your lips tingling from the immense stretch, you sputtered around his pulsing cock, suddenly pulling away, letting your spit laced lips rest against his leaking tip, weakly licking at the pre-cum that spilled from it. “M-minnie…”

“Why’d you stop?” Mingi grunted, biting on the tip of the joint to keep it from falling from his lips, looking down at you with his sharp, slightly red eyes. Using his free hand to jerk himself off with his cockhead pressed to your lips and smearing his pre-cum over them just for his own enjoyment, he slowly realized what was up. “Oh, you want a hit? Aren’t you precious? Come here.”

Mingi slowly lowered himself down into a crouching position, letting go of his cock to grab your chin with his arousal coated fingers, taking in a deeper inhale, the majority of the joint turning to ash, just as he flicked it away into the gutter. He pressed his lips onto yours in an open-mouthed kiss, neither of you bothering to close your eyes as he slowly filled your lungs with smoke.

Just as you began to choke while trying to exhale all the smoke, Mingi dragged his tongue across your own and over your top set of teeth just because he felt like it, before standing back up. “I bet you’re feeling real good now, baby. That was top shelf.” He spat into the palm of his hand and lubed up his cock, before patting your cheek and sliding himself back into the hot haven that was your throat, not wasting a single second to begin pumping himself inside it again, almost like he had never stopped.

Now that both your body and brain were delightfully clouded with a heavy, lustful high, you felt like you could cum just from getting ruthlessly throat-fucked alone, your nails digging into Mingi’s bare hips, more and more tears and saliva dripping along your flushed skin the longer he abused your tiny throat with his oversized length.

“Fuck, I can’t handle it when you cry and drool like that just from sucking my cock, baby. I’m gonna fucking cum,” Mingi groaned deeply from above you, rested his forearms against the emergency door, thrusting sloppily into your mouth. He let out a few short, whiny moans once he began to shudder, plunging his throbbing cock deep inside your throat and staying still. “Oh, shit, I’m cumming. Take my load, princess, ohh my god, that’s it.”

You swallowed the warm, salty liquid as it shot down your throat, only to open your mouth and present your tongue when Mingi pulled out and began to slowly milk his cock, taking the rest of his load on your tongue, not swallowing and simply letting it drip down, a few drops spilling down your chin and getting onto your tits.

“Mm, that’s my messy girl. You’re waiting for me to feed it to you, huh?” Mingi licked at his plush lips from witnessing your obedient nod, pushing his soft cock back into his pants and waiting for you to stand up so that he could collect some of the cum that had escaped your mouth and pushed it back into your mouth. “That’s right, babygirl, clean it all up for me. Mm-hmm, just like that.”

Once you slurped the rest of his load off of his fingers, you wrapped your arms around Mingi’s neck, pressing your heated body into his. “Mingiiii, please fuck me, I can’t take it,” you begged him underneath your breath, pressing your lips onto his neck up to his tense jawline.

“Oh, yeah? You can’t live without this dick, can you?” he questioned you huskily, bringing his wrists up to his mouth one by one to pull his gloves off with his teeth, before reaching past your waist to roughly squeeze his warm hands into your ass. When you grimaced up at him, he tugged your skirt up and spread your ass open to run his fingers down your wet slit from behind, making you whimper. “Admit it, and i’ll fuck you stupid, princess.”

Swallowing down any remaining dignity you had along with the remnants of your ex’s load, you lifted one leg up to hook it around his slim waist, allowing him easier access to you wet cunt, shuddering at the sensation of him shallowly slipping his fingers into and out of you just to tease you. “I can’t live without your cock, Mingi, okay? No one fucks me like you do, so please, make me yours.”

Mingi rubbed the abundant wetness around your cunt, licking his lips hungrily, staring down at you past his dark shades. “Right here? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“What if someone sees, princess?”

“I don’t give a fuck if someone sees, just fuck me, please!”

Mingi grinned crookedly, finding deep amusement in your desperation, considering how you were acting just a little while ago. “Where’s your car, baby?”

You pointed down the dark alleyway. “It’s just around the corner over there.”

Mingi looked over his shoulder, then picked you up from the ground, hooking both of your thighs around his waist and carrying you over to your car, massaging his hands into your thighs on the way. “I don’t have any condoms, you know.”

When Mingi laid you down on the hood of your car, the cool metal sending goosebumps up and down your exposed, heated skin, you shook your head and smiled softly. “When has that ever stopped you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love when I fuck you raw, and leave you stuffed full of my cum…” Still in between your legs, Mingi bent down to leave kisses, licks, and bites along your neck and collarbone, lowering his pants down just enough to free his length, his slick cock growing hard and heavy against your bare cunt. “Fuck, and when I use my fingers to shove my nut back inside your cunt after…mm, I’m honestly surprised you’re not knocked up for me already…”

“Mingi,” you whined disapprovingly, despite the fresh wave of slick coating your ex’s cock as it repeatedly rubbed back and forth along your cunt.

“What, I thought you liked being my cumslut…my little breeding bitch…my pump n’ dump princess…” Mingi recited playfully, teasing your fluttering hole with the tip of his cockhead, just about driving you to the brink of insanity withi his teasing.

“Shut up, Min, oh my god…”

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” he suggested, hovering close enough to your face for you to pull him in for a desperate kiss that consisted mainly of tongue and teeth, your mouths occasionally making contact in between tongue swipes and lip bites, the both of you panting all the while.

Growing impatient, you slipped your fingers into his choppy hair, tugging his head back until your lips parted, a few strands of saliva still connecting them. “If you don’t put your cock inside me in the next two seconds, I’m going to bite it off. You hear me, Song Mingi?”

Groaning breathily when you tugged at his hair again, Mingi let out a few soft chuckles, taking his shades off and setting them down on the corner of the hood. “Using my government name like that….I must’ve teased you too much. My poor angel, so desperate for cock. I’ll fuck you good, baby. I’ll make it up to you,” he sighed, as he wrapped his fingers around his length, guiding the tip to your entrance and sliding all the way in with ease, the both of you letting out obscene moans. Without any hesitation, Mingi began to buck his hips wildly, his metal belt banging against the hood of your car with each thrust. “Oh, fuck. You feel that? Is it good for you?”

“Yes…!” you cried out, barely about to speak, let alone function, now that your beloved ex was rearranging your guts with his colossal cock.

Huffing, Mingi threw your legs up over his shoulders and laid his body weight on you, essentially folding you in half. He ran his tongue along your jaw, before nipping at it, whispering, “God, you’re always so fucking tight, princess. Gonna milk me for all I’ve got, huh? Cuz’ you’re my good little slut, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh, just for you, Minnie…”

“Mm-hmm, that’s why you’re still here even after you broke up with me earlier, baby…why you’re taking my cock on the hood of your car where anyone can see you…” Mingi continued, squeezing his hands into the plumpness of your thighs, getting a good grip on them, so that he could drive himself into you as hard as he possibly could, punching short, breathy moans out of you. “You sound so pretty for me, baby, and fuck, you’re so wet right now….You’re gonna cream all over my cock, aren’t you?”

As soon as it felt like Mingi’s oversized cock had slammed directly into your cervix, you let out an abrupt yell, an overwhelming amount of pleasure suddenly shooting through your body like lightning. “Fuck…! I’m cumming, Minnie, it’s so– oh my god.” You were gonna start whimpering and crying when Mingi gently placed his warm hand over your mouth, watching him nod his head knowingly at you, his suddenly softened gaze never leaving yours.

“That’s a good girl, such a good girl for me, Y/N,” Mingi sighed against your ear, the hot, wet sounds of your bodies colliding together and the ringing inside your ears almost too loud for you to hear him properly. Feeling your wetness pour out onto his cock, Mingi let go of your mouth and cradled your face instead, pressing slow, meaningful kisses onto your lips, a few drops of sweat dripping along the shaved sections of his hair just as your trembling fingers drifted along it. “Want it inside, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you whispered against his moving lips, not even realizing when you were clutching him impossibly close to you.

“That’s my baby…” Mingi pulled all the way out, your mixed arousal forming a milky foam around the base of his cock, before he slowly pushed all the way back in, just in time for him to paint your insides white with his seemingly endless load. He hugged you close to him all the while, pressing kiss and kiss onto your lips, face, and neck, knowing that your turbulent time together was about to come to an end, and wishing he could turn the clock back to spend another second with you.

Once your highs began to fade, you cleared your throat and slowly sat up, the both of you silently fixing your disheveled clothes and hair in a poor attempt to look presentable in the case of a random passerby.

“So…since you don’t have my keys, I’m not sure how I’m gonna get out of here,” you sighed, about to push yourself off of the hood of your car when Mingi helped you off instead, annoyed that he was suddenly acting gentlemanly when he had shown you nothing of the sort beforehand.

Smiling apologetically, Mingi fished around in one of his pockets and held your keys up to you. “I took them out of your purse before the show started.” Seeing the anger blossom on your pretty, flushed face, he continued, “Listen, I just wanted you to hear me out before you left and never came back to me, baby. I love you.”

You snatched the keys out of his hand and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back to sit on the hood of your car, keeping your thighs pressed together to keep everything from leaking out of you. “You don’t get to say that after you just made me your ‘pump n’ dump princess’, you idiot.”

“But I didn’t dump you, Y/N. You’re the one who dumped me!” Mingi whined, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, his brown eyes growing wide and puppy-like.

You couldn’t help but begin to laugh, not only at the ludicrous situation you were both in, but at the truth of his statement. Wiping a tear from your eye, you clicked your keys to unlock your car and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Where are you going? Are you leaving me?”

“No, we’re going to the store to get Plan B, dummy. I’m not about to let Mingi Jr. run around and terrorize the city,” you replied, gazing at your ex, the sight of his childlike amusement making you feel a bit soft towards him.

“I call shotgun!” Mingi called, eagerly heading to the passenger door, practically bouncing on his heels.

“There’s only two of us,” you giggled, sitting down in the car with him.

“For now.” Mingi wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You turned the ignition on, shaking your head, the corners of your lips hurting from how long you had been smiling. “Never say that shit again.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[jeonstudios]

fontana di trevi | 02

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 9k

warnings: same as last time basically: blood, needles, suicidal thoughts and intentions

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 2/2

<previous | next>

© between takes is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

“Thanks,” you smile politely as you close the car door, hearing the Uber drive off behind you. The walk up to the house is no different than last time, yet it definitely feels different. Both because of what happened almost a week ago, but also since you’re hoping this will be the last time.

What certainly is different is the surprised look on the vampire’s face as he opens the door to see you standing there with your hands in the pockets of your winter coat.

He himself is wearing a black hoodie, and once again, black shorts. His hair looks a little messier than how you’re used to seeing it. Almost like he’s been sleeping. Vampires don’t sleep, though, do they?

“I… didn’t think you’d show,” he admits honestly, nonetheless opening the door wider for you, and as you enter, you can’t help but think that he looks… almost cuddly.

Of course, he still gives off the usual intimidating aura, and he should probably be even scarier to you considering what happened last time you met him, but… you don’t know. Perhaps you’re just so deprived of human touch that a bloodthirsty vampire’s cold embrace seems inviting.

This time, he waits in the hallway while you step out of your shoes and remove your coat. 

“Yeah, I still want this. I just�� wasn’t prepared,” you explain rather vaguely, knowing that he understands exactly what you’re getting at anyway. You want to die but on your terms.

“It wasn’t my intention. To do what I did.”

You meet his eyes. It’s not an outright apology, but it feels eerily close to one.

“You were there to… feed, weren’t you?”

He nods. “Didn’t get the chance to on Thursday or Friday.”

It’s your turn to nod in understanding. For a short moment, you stand there, looking at each other. 

Until you break the silence. “So, can we start?”

“Sure,” he agrees, turning around to head toward the kitchen.

Like the first time you showed up to his house when he didn’t think you were going to, he has to bring the supplies from wherever he keeps them. You take your spot at the table, slip off your cardigan, and wait.

The vampire returns with his hands full, placing the stuff down on the table before he pulls out another chair and positions it the same way as always. But his focus lies on your skin.

“These are new bruises?” he asks, carefully grasping your hand and very gently lifting it to better inspect the yellowing marks covering your skin. “You always bruise like this after?”

You follow his gaze. There are currently three bruises on your right arm, none the same as the night he almost killed you. Two are yellow and from when you bumped into a dresser at home a few days ago. The third is purple but smaller and its origin a mystery. If he wanted to see bruises, he should’ve seen the ones on your legs after you fell when he attacked you.

“Not the first time, but yeah. Usually just from the needle site, but lately, it’s all over. I guess I’m a little deficient in something,” you joke quietly, but the vampire doesn't laugh. 

“Why does it interest you so much? Do you have some kind of medical degree?” you ask, thinking back to when he first asked you why you didn’t wonder about his apparent knowledge.

“Not officially, but being dependent on humans like we are to some extent, you tend to pick up on stuff, and having been around as long as I have, it’s even more unavoidable. But I’ve never seen bruising this severe from blood loss.”

Fair enough. Your body should definitely try to keep the little blood remaining inside your veins, where it belongs. 

He starts prepping your arm, but instead of looking away, you close your eyes. Are you imagining things or has he been… softer lately? Making sure you got home safely instead of leaving you to your fate, almost worrying about your bruises, and being gentler in the way he attaches the needle? Then again, he’s only making sure you can give him as much blood as possible, and he also would’ve probably killed you if he’d gotten ahold of you last week.

“I take it you’ve killed before?” 

There’s a few seconds of silence, but then he answers, and there’s nothing hidden in his words or voice that reveals something more.

“I have.”

“How do you…,” you start, unsure of how to phrase your question. “I mean, what do you do… after?”

“Are you asking…?”

“How do you… dispose of them? And… I guess, how will you dispose of… me?”

It’s not really a sensitive question for you, so you’re not sure for whose sake you’re so careful. You doubt the vampire really cares.

You hear him exhale. “I guess it depends on the circumstances. I haven’t planned anything.”

You wince when he sticks you, more painful this time for some reason. The ball is placed in your hand like always, and you start to squeeze it.

Your curiosity isn’t that dire, so you’re not disappointed by his answer. Maybe he’s not even being honest, and it’s for your sake? Which brings you back to why he’s being extra gentle. The only other explanation you can think of is that he feels sorry for you. Maybe he just truly wants to spare you unnecessary pain and worry in the last moments of your pathetic life? Because this is it. With how shitty you’ve been feeling these last couple of weeks and especially since last time, you know it won’t be long. Today’s the day.

One bag. He can take one bag and after that he’ll have to end it. That way, you don’t have to bleed out, and he’ll get as much blood as possible. If he takes your advice about how to drain the rest, well, that’s up to him.

You’re startled by the sound of knocking, opening your eyes to see the vampire rise from his chair, seemingly sharing your surprise. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Nodding, you close your eyes again, getting as comfortable as you can in the chair while wondering who’s at the door. A vampire friend? A vampire partner? Surely, he doesn’t hang out with humans on the regular? You always got the impression, both from him and vampires in pop culture, that they don’t really care for humans. In fact, a dirty human only pesters a vampire’s environment unless they’re actively dying.

Your heart hurts. It’s beating heavily inside your chest, a feeling you’ve grown somewhat used to over the weeks, but it feels undeniably worse. Like every beat is a painful and exhausting accomplishment. Your breaths grow heavier too. 

Surely, it’s been more than a minute. Is he on his way back? If he were a human, chatting with another human at the front door, maybe you would’ve heard them, but you can’t discern anything. 

It feels a little like your head’s in the clouds, and you’re not sure if your eyes are still closed or if they’re open and you just can’t see anything. You have a feeling that not only can’t you hear the vampire, you can’t hear anything anymore.

Realizing that this is it, you try to call for him quietly to tell him so, but although you’re pretty certain you’re dying, for some reason, you don’t want to interrupt whatever he’s doing with his visitor.

“Fine, alright, I’ll talk to him, but please, this is not a good time.”

“But he’s being an ass, and you were the last person he spoke to before he left for fucking Iceland.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at his friend, Yuqi. With how much she and Taehyung love each other, there’s a surprising amount of drama. 

“I don’t wanna get involved. I’ll call him later.”

“Fine, get back to me after. If he doesn’t answer, I’m taking the first flight.”

“Vampire?”

Yuqi, who was just about to turn around to leave, stops in her tracks.

“What… was that?” she asks, standing still before discreetly scenting the air. “Is that… blood?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. He’s used to smelling blood whenever you’re there to leave it, but not this much. Quickly, and without regard to Yuqi, he turns to rush back into his kitchen, eyes going even wider at the vision in front of him.

“Vampire?” you call out quietly again from the chair, eyes closed and unknowing of his return. You seem out of it, bordering on unconscious, and it’s not without reason. Jeongguk curses himself for not double checking the blood bag when he knows that brand is prone to ripping because the bag isn’t full; it’s broken, and your blood is dripping into a big puddle of red on the floor.

You think… you’re being… carried? By someone firm and… warm. You like that.

“I’m not warm," a low voice comments. "At least I’m not supposed to be.”

“I’m dying… right?” you mumble, feeling how the vampire puts you down on something soft.

“Probably, yeah.”

He does something to your arms, and you can’t figure out what, but you realize it has something to do with collecting the remaining blood when you’re gone.

There’s another voice.

Next time you open your eyes, you feel… different. And upset. You’re not as dizzy as you’ve become accustomed to, and the room doesn’t spin when you sit up on the bed. Your body hurts, but it feels more like you’re simply tired and beat than extremely weak. Most importantly, you feel, which means you’re not dead.

As if he could sense your awakening—or just possesses superhuman hearing—a door opens to reveal the vampire. He's wearing other clothes, grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and his face doesn't give you anything.

“What happened?” you question, looking around the room that’s clearly a bedroom. “And where am I?”

“You passed out. There was a hole in the bag, so the blood was just leaking onto the floor. I had my friend steal some from the hospital, and I gave you a transfusion. Yuqi also brought some clothes and stuff for you, so you’re staying here at least until tomorrow. Then you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

“I… don’t understand. Why would you—why not just let me go then?”

“I changed my mind.”

You look at him, bewildered and trying to find the words. “What do you mean you changed your mind? We had an agreement?”

“I know, but I changed my mind. I’m not doing it. If the blood matters to you, the bags are in the freezer.”

“Why–what would I do with blood?” you question in frustration. Is he offering it back in case you want to drink it? Try to put it back inside your veins? Apparently, you’ve already had transfusions, so you have exactly zero use for frozen bags of blood. “Why can’t you just get on with it? Why not let me die?”

“I do not. Want. To,” he hisses.

You stare at him in silence, feeling confused and betrayed. He looks away but doesn't seem affected. No shame, no regret, no anything but a moment of frustration to breach otherwise calm determination.

“Here’s the stuff,” he gestures toward a duffel bag by the foot of the bed. “You have a bathroom right outside, and I’m gonna order some food for you. You should take it easy; I wasn’t able to give you as much blood as you really need, and unfortunately, what I’ve previously collected isn’t fit to give back. Since it’s been frozen and stored improperly for that kind of purpose, there would be a risk of clotting.”

You look at him from where you’re sitting on his bed, and he looks back at you. The irritation you feel grows beyond what you’re capable of conveying, and so it turns into defeat. It makes you angry, how he managed to back out of giving you what you wanted at the very last second. You spent months upholding your end of the deal, and when it finally came time for him to do the same, he didn’t. 

“Don’t bother,” you lie down slowly, your back facing him where he stands at the door. Silently, you curse your body for feeling so tired; ideally, you’d stomp out of there, slamming the door behind you. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Your own clothes are still wearable. The few stains of blood are relatively small and dried, and the vampire already placed you on his bed, so you don’t feel like you’ll do any more damage by sleeping in them. The house is quiet, but you don’t think he’s left it, which begs the question of where he is. And also if he sleeps and if he does, then… where? He never gave you a tour or anything, so you have no idea what the rest of his house looks like. Whatever; you don’t care, anyway.

His sheets smell clean, though, and it doesn’t take you long to pass out, truly exhausted.

When you wake up, you can’t find your phone, and without any other time measuring device, you don’t know what time it is. It appears like the sun rose not too long ago so that narrows your guess a little bit at least.

Sitting up slowly, you take a deep breath. You feel… okay. A bit sore almost, but more energetic than you have in a while. Unfortunately, it’s not necessarily a good thing in your book.

Sighing, you put your feet to the hardwood floor. They carry you with only a little dizziness, and you set your sight on the bedroom door. It opens smoothly, and you peer out, looking for the bathroom the vampire mentioned. There’s a door immediately to your left which you guess must be it, and so you head toward it. 

After successfully finding the bathroom and using it, you decide to continue the search for your phone. Since you thought last night would be your last and therefore arrived by Uber rather than driving, it means that without your phone, you have no way home.

You make your way down some stairs, recognizing the hallway as the one the vampire has led you through what feels like countless times. Last time you remember having your phone was in the kitchen, so that’s where you steer your steps.

As luck would have it, the kitchen is also where the vampire happens to be. Upon your entrance, your eyes immediately fall on the tall man where he stands, leaning back against the counter. Although he surely heard you approaching a long time ago, he only turns his head slowly toward you when you’re well into the room. He’s hard to read; doesn’t offer much.

“Do you know where my phone is?”

The vampire twists his body to look at the counter behind him, sliding something toward you. You take a step closer, inspecting the device when it’s in your hands. Three percent.

“Do you have a charger I can borrow?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a nod and pushes off the counter, leaving the kitchen. You wait, quietly wondering what exactly goes on inside his head. He seems unfazed by the whole ordeal, which doesn’t necessarily surprise you. But what you still don’t quite understand is why he claimed to have changed his mind. Could it be that he just didn’t want to deal with your body? 

The vampire returns with a white charger in his hand, his skin cold against yours when you accept it from him. Finding a fitting outlet near the table, you plug the charger in and sit down, gazing out through the window while you wait for the phone to charge enough for the trip home. The vampire has gone back to leaning wordlessly against the counter, and you ignore him.

Opening your phone, you find that the only unread notification you have is a spam email. Why are you surprised? With a small sigh, you lock the device again, hoping it’ll charge faster if you don’t use it. Forty percent should be enough.

It’s snowing outside, and you watch the big snowflakes fall slowly and silently to the already white ground. Waiting like this gives you time to go over all the things you’ve done wrong in your life.

Next time you unlock your phone, the battery has reached thirty-seven percent. You open the Uber app to see that a car can arrive in ten minutes. You confirm it, noting the time as eleven twenty-three. You’ll wait five more minutes before you start getting ready, which honestly is just putting your shoes and coat on. 

The seconds pass slowly one after the other. You wonder briefly how long it took the vampire to clean because, although you didn’t notice the blood dripping to the floor while it was happening, you understood that there was a lot of it. Must suck for him to have it wasted like that. The question is also why he would waste even more blood by giving you a transfusion? If he went through the pain of acquiring bagged blood, why not just drink that?

At eleven twenty-nine, your phone’s battery is at fifty-two percent. You unplug the charger from the wall, and as you stand, you place it on the table with a quiet ‘thanks.’

“Going home?” the vampire wonders, black eyes watching you. He looks casual, but there’s that hint of softness shining through again. 

You pass him on your way to the front door. “Yeah.”

“Reconsider,” he encourages, and you know he’s not talking about your journey home. 

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Yes,” he follows. “Whatever’s troubling you doesn’t matter. There’s so much for you to see and do, so many places to visit and people to meet. Your life is so incredibly short, and you won’t have time to see even a fraction of the world as is.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you say, bending down to put your boots on.

“Have you even been outside of this town?”

Why is he trying to control you? He doesn’t know you; he doesn’t care. It’s not like you’ll magically be fine after his ‘cheer up, pal,’ and ending your life is not a decision you have taken hastily or easily.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to see what’s out there?”

“Of course. But it’s not…” you straighten up to look at him, frustration dripping from your words. “Don’t you see that I’m all alone? I don’t have anybody, no one to experience things with, and much less the money to just up and leave. Sure, maybe I could get a loan and travel through Italy for two weeks, but then what? I’ll be miserable and in debt.”

The vampire tilts his head, looking at you with his black eyes but not saying anything. He just doesn't understand. You put your other foot into your boot and reach for your coat before he can try to persuade you again for whatever reason.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “I’ll be going.”

He doesn’t stop you from opening the door, and he doesn’t follow you when you leave, one boot undone and with your coat held to your chest. Irritation turns to sadness and defeat as you wait for the Uber to arrive, taking the opportunity to actually put your coat on and tie your laces properly. Snow falls around you, and when you're done, you stand there, waiting pathetically by the side of the road in the cold. You’re back at square one.

Despite having slept for countless hours at the vampire’s house, you head straight for your bed the moment you return home. For another few hours, you sleep, and then you spend a few more lying there in the dark, thinking. 

It’s seven p.m. on a Saturday. You’ve wasted a lot of time, months even, waiting for the vampire to get what he wanted and follow through on his part. But that’s over now, so what are you waiting for right now? 

Two and a half hours later, you put your boots back on and throw a lighter jacket over your shoulders, one that allows easier access to your neck.

Still not feeling your best, it takes you fifteen minutes to walk what the vampire did in six, carrying you on his back. You don’t understand him. He acted like he didn’t want you to die, but if he cared about you at all, he would’ve backed out earlier and not waited until his actions brought you within an inch of your life for what, the third time? Was he hoping you’d stay alive so that you’d hopefully continue donating your blood, even if less frequently? 

Although nearing his feeding grounds, you’re hoping not to run into him. He did state that he changed his feeding days to Thursdays, and last week, when you did run into him, it seemed like a coincidence. Besides, this place is your best bet tonight; even the vampire admitted that there were others there last time. Surely, they’re around here somewhere tonight as well. 

Since you assume vampires don’t want unnecessary attention, you stake out near the same club as last week, but this time, you hide in the shadows around a corner. Then, you wait for a victim.

Thirty minutes to midnight, a woman stumbles out through the door, a bouncer holding it open for her. She’s obviously had a bit to drink, and as she clumsily fixes her little cross body bag and sets off along the street, you look around from your hiding spot.

But you don’t see or hear anything; not a dark figure moving nor the sound of footsteps. Still, you follow her, hoping for the best. Wanting to keep your distance, you instead find it hard to keep up with her, which is saying something about your current health.

About two hundred meters from the club, she suddenly slows down, her attention seemingly drawn to something in an alleyway. You weren’t sure exactly how the vampires hunt, but by how the woman begins to slowly drift inside the dark alleyway of her own accord, you guess they do have some kind of pull. Most women, even when slightly drunk, typically try not to do… that.

You quicken your steps as much as possible without breaking into a sprint. Not only do you want to speak to a vampire; if you can take that woman’s place and leave her unscathed, it’s an added bonus. Before you’ve caught up, the woman slowly and quietly disappears, and when you turn the corner with your phone in hand and flashlight turned on, you spot a man holding her to his body. 

Evidently hearing you approaching, the man has placed them against the wall, halfway obscured by a dumpster and hoping you’d walk past them, which you would have if you weren’t so focused on the woman and your mission.

The man squints in the light, and you very clearly discern long fangs. You take another step into the alleyway, but what you didn’t expect was to be grabbed from another direction. 

Gasping, you feel strong arms hold your back against someone’s chest, effortlessly keeping you immobile. 

“What can we offer? Though you smell like vampire already?” The man who holds you says, sounding surprised, and your phone is taken from your hand and the flashlight turned off. 

Obviously, they assume you’re one of the freaky ones looking for vampires because any normal person would run. Your reason for wanting to find one is different, though. 

“I have a proposition,” you stutter, not too scared but uncomfortable with how the man noses at your neck. Despite knowing that if the vampire bites, it’ll most likely be your neck, you can’t help trying to pull away. It’s just another bodily reaction. 

Your words intrigue him, and he moves, creating just a tad bit more space between your bodies and looking down at you with a curious smirk.

“A proposition, you say?”

“You can have my blood—all of it—if you take it right here and now.”

“What’s the catch?” he asks, raising an eyebrow much like a certain vampire you know. “What’s in it for you?”

“There is no catch. I want to die.”

The other vampire, curiously listening to your conversation, whispers something in the other woman’s ear, and lets her go. She stumbles away from him and then casually leaves the alleyway, turning the corner calmly as if nothing happened. 

You meet the vampire’s puzzled yet curious eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my blood if you think I’m trying to trick you into something. Except that it’s apparently B positive which I understand is not that desirable, but—”

“You’re Jeon’s human?”

“Uh—what? Who?” you ask, confused but slowly putting two and two together.

“Fuck, should we?” the other vampire questions quietly.

“Jeon,” the closest one to you starts, “is the vampire you smell of. He’s been very persistent no one touches his human.”

“Yeah. Can’t blame him. If I was lucky enough to have someone offer to be a walking blood bag, I wouldn’t let them outside at all.”

“I’m not… I’m not anyone’s, and I’m not a walking blood bag,” you explain, feeling belittled. “He made me a promise that he broke. He was going to help me die in exchange for my blood, but he just used me to collect blood, and then he didn’t deliver.”

The two vampires look at each other, and you feel like they didn’t really pay attention to anything you just said.

“I don’t know, man. I’m not sure I wanna get on his bad side.”

“But he’s too arrogant,” the first one complains. “If I want something, why should he prevent me from getting it? He doesn’t own the supply here. I’m a thousand years old; I shouldn’t need to ask for permission.”

“Dude’s like three thousand years old, though? You don’t need to ask permission; you can literally choose anyone. Except this one, for some reason. I don’t think I would if I were you.”

“Our agreement is over,” you try to enter the conversation the two vampires are holding over your head.

“Well,” the one holding your arms peers down at you, “He said that under no circumstances is anyone allowed to touch you.”

You scoff, growing irritated again, “Okay, well, are there any vampires around that aren’t such wimps? If I can’t find anyone to just snap my neck, I’m going to the train tracks and then my blood will be wasted.”

That’s a lie, of course. There’s a reason you picked death by vampire; you’re too scared to do it any other way, and no matter how much you want to die, you can’t subject anyone else—like a poor train driver—to it. Vampires are cold and heartless. They don’t care.

“Hold on. Wait,” the vampire holds you tighter when you haphazardly try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Look,” he says to the other, “He can’t tell us what to do. Besides, if he gets angry, we can just say that she said their agreement was over, and we did her a favor out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“You don’t have a heart; you just want to annoy him.”

The vampire grins. At first, it’s a boyish smile directed at his friend, but when he slowly tilts his head down to look at you, it turns almost sinister. “I think I’m gonna do it.”

You gulp. No matter how much this is what you want, it does scare you. Mostly because you’re afraid it will be painful.

“Is there a way you can kill me first? I don’t want it to hurt.”

The smiling vampire shakes his head. 

“No.”

You thought death was supposed to be a void. A void of darkness, devoid of physical matter, emotions, and thoughts. But it hurts. It hurts so much. 

Then, a void does take over.

Jeongguk knew you’d try again. If he wouldn’t kill you, you were going to find someone who would. And despite hoping that you would’ve changed your mind, he was unfortunately right. He spent an hour roaming the dark streets around the town’s attempt at a nightlife, but he didn’t come across you. Not until he visits the same place where you first found him, a place he wouldn’t take as your first choice since you ran into him there a week earlier. 

He’s spent hours and hours these last weeks with you on his mind; the little human who wants to die so badly. It’s just something about you and your willingness to die that doesn’t sit right with him, and you won’t leave his thoughts. It’s not his business, he told himself as he saw you curled up and unconscious in your car. Who is he to tell someone what they should do with their life? If anything, respecting your wishes and consuming freely donated blood is easier and more ethical than taking it from plastered people who aren’t really sure what’s going on, right?

The scenes replaying the most in his head are more recent. It’s the way you suggested he kill and butcher your body, saying no one would look for you anyway, and how you called for him, unknowing that your blood was dripping to the floor but still trying your hardest to squeeze that ball for him. Your fingers were barely moving, but you tried since he wanted that blood. 

He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, trying to convince you to live, but he guesses that he simply needs to know that you experienced some good things in life too. He can’t let you end it this way, as a lifeless body, discarded somewhere where no one will find you.

Anger, frustration, and an odd feeling of helplessness flood him as he takes in the sight of the vampire in the process of draining you dry. He rushes into the dark alleyway, the vampire looking up from your neck just as Jeongguk strikes. There’s not much of a fight after that. The first vampire stumbles backward, and Jeongguk grabs your lifeless body from him as the second vampire approaches, eyes wide and with his hands raised shoulder height.

“Easy, man.”

“I fucking told you to leave her alone.”

The dazed vampire grumbles something, but Jeongguk doesn’t pay him any attention. He places your body down on the snow-covered ground and looks at your pale face while searching for a pulse right under your jaw. 

“She wanted to die.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jeongguk growls. “How much did you take?”

There is no pulse.

“At least three fourths. Possibly more.”

Jeongguk shuts his eyes. There’s no coming back from that.

You’ve lost and regained consciousness due to blood loss one too many times by now, but this time, it really feels different. Opening your eyes, the sunlight filling the room irritates your eyes, forcing you to squint for a few seconds. 

Without moving, you focus on something. The vampire. Jeon, was it? You watch as he rummages through his closet, practically soundlessly, taking out a few items and looking them over before settling on what looks like two black shirts, one long-sleeve and one short-sleeve. Then he digs out a pair of shorts and another pair of sweatpants. 

You’re not used to seeing him in direct sunlight, but now, the rays filtering through the half-opened blinds paint him in a new light, and you let your eyes linger on his arms as he folds the clothes. The green t-shirt he wears is doing a great job at highlighting his veiny, muscular forearms as they work. Light and shadows play along those very defined muscles, accentuating them further.

Your first impression of him was a cold one, one that slowly warmed a little over time both physically and mentally. But in this light? Without even touching him, he looks… warmer to you. Inviting, almost like when he wore that black hoodie. 

You sigh quietly and pull the blanket that’s thrown over you closer. The vampire hears and turns around, placing the clothes at the foot of his large bed.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to consider his question. Though you’ve certainly felt better in a lot of ways, you don’t feel the way you’ve come to associate with severe blood loss. 

“Cold. And tired, but in a weird way.”

Weird is probably the best way to describe how you’re feeling in general. You feel light, but not weak. Tired, but not sleepy. 

He nods understandingly, “It’ll pass.”

You catch his gaze, holding it for a quiet moment. “You changed me, didn’t you?”

It’s the only explanation you can come up with. That vampire was hungry, and you remember slowly losing control in his grasp, both over your body and consciousness. With how many near-death experiences your body has endured in the last weeks—all blood loss related—there just wasn’t any chance you’d survive another draining.

“Yeah.” He looks away, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t…”

You think you understand well enough what he’s trying to say, although you’re not too sure of his reasons or how to feel about it. He couldn’t let you die. In a way, you’re disappointed because you were finally getting what you wanted, and dying has proved itself to be surprisingly difficult for you. 

But you’re not angry; not like you were after the vampire saved you the first time. He mentioned once that not even vampires are immortal, so at least you know that you’re not doomed to an eternal life in suffering; you can always try again if you want. However, you’d be back at square one when it comes to options, but you don’t really feel the urgency anymore. At least not at the moment.

He turns his head toward you, meeting your eyes with his deep, dark ones. “Let me show the world to you.”

Surprised to say the least, you mumble a quiet “What?”

He angles his body further toward you, and you see that despite the softer look on his face, he’s certain. “I want to show you everything the world has to offer. All the good things; the magical places and people.”

Not sure what to say, you just stare at him.

“Vampires are not immortal,” he continues. “If you really don’t want this, I’ll help you die. I promised. But please, think about it. No catch, no expectations.”

“But why… Why would you want that?” 

You’ve been alone for so long, unable to keep people around and interested, so why would this being be?

“Because I found that I really didn’t enjoy draining you of your life, especially when you were already so low to begin with. I want you to get the chance to experience the good things life has to offer, and I can’t help but want to be around when you do.”

“You don’t know me though.”

“I kinda want to,” he says, standing up with the cheekiest smile you’ve ever seen on him. “Think about it, okay? I’m not expecting anything from you other than that you consider.”

Still very much processing his words, you feel a cold shiver wreck your body, something the vampire notices.

“I’ll get you another blanket. Your body is still in the process of changing, and with that comes a decrease in temperature. It’s normal to feel cold.”

He’s about to leave when you call for him.

“Wait. What… What's your name? Your given name?”

He stops, and he smiles again. “Jeongguk. And I know yours already; it was on your door.”

You sleep for a little while longer, but when you start to feel better, you also start to think. You’ve been so certain for so long, and you still are—you think—but… either way, you’d like some answers; a clearer view of the whole picture.

“Jeongguk?” you call, unsure how loud you need to be. It feels strange to use a name for the vampire.

It doesn’t take long before the door opens. “Yeah?”

“I have some… questions.”

He nods, stepping into the darkness that is his bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

“Light sensitive?” he nods toward the window, where you’ve pulled the curtains closed over the blinds.

“Yeah… Is that normal?”

“It is. So is feeling sensitive to sound, touch, smell; basically all the senses. But it will pass pretty quickly.”

“Okay. Well, can you… tell me everything about being a vampire? I didn’t think you slept, but you do? Or why do I still sleep?”

He rounds the bed to sit next to you, and you feel it sink as he gets comfortable. Slowly, you turn to face him, watching him lean back against the headboard.

“So, basically, we can do all the things humans do. For instance, you’re still programmed to breathe, but it’s more of a habit and a way to smell than a means of survival.”

While he speaks, you try it. It’s strange, holding your breath and not feeling that strong, strong urge to take in air after a while.

“You can eat human food, but it’s not what sustains you, so most vampires don’t. It gets kinda boring after a while; you’ll see what I mean. Most also don’t sleep as they consider it a waste of time, but you can if you want to. I do pretty regularly. I find it… peaceful, and when you get older, it can be nice, getting a break between days.”

Hearing him talk so casually and almost… softly has you smiling slightly, unable to help it. So he had been sleeping when you knocked on the door, and his hair was all messy, and he looked so cuddly? You don’t know why, but you like that thought.

“You can exist in sunlight, you can consume garlic. Mirrors work for us as well. We don’t age like humans, but we can die if we’re pierced through the heart by something wooden—”

“—You mean staked?”

He looks at your wide, amused eyes and rolls his. “Yeah. Staked. Anyway, you’ll notice that your senses are heightened, and you’ll become stronger too. Not stronger than me, though,” he grins. “As for the blood, you can survive on any.”

“Any?”

What does he mean by that? Human and animal?

“Human, animal, vampire,” he says, the last one surprising you.

You blink, taken aback. “Vampires drink from other vampires?”

“We can. It’s not as common as feeding on humans as it’s mostly… a pretty intimate thing to do.”

“Oh, okay.” 

Thinking about it, you guess you can see why. Having someone so close, feeding on you without the power imbalance of prey versus predator that feeding on humans entails, must feel… intimate. More of a give and take. 

“You’ll need to feed in about a day or two, so you can choose. I have more human blood than just yours as it might be weird to drink your own blood, and I can get animal blood if that feels easier. Or… if you want to, you can drink from me.”

You look at him questioningly. “Didn’t you just say that it’s an intimate thing?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but if it would make for an easier transition for you, I don’t mind. I’ve taken a lot of blood from you, after all.”

“Okay,” you nod, briefly biting your lip. “I’ll think about it. About all of… this.”

Is death the thing you wanted above all else, or was it to get out of the life you were living? Now that your old life is, in a way, over, you’re not sure. Regardless, there are other worries still plaguing you. You look—almost stare—at his pretty face. 

“What?”

You bite your lip nervously again. “What if you change your mind? I’m assuming this was quite a rushed decision on your part. What if I don’t live up to your expectations? I barely knew how to navigate this world as a human, there’s no way I could… manage on my own as… as a vampire.”

Say you decide to give it a shot; what do you do if he grows tired of you?

“Changing someone is not something we take lightly. We don’t…” he looks around, seemingly searching for the right words. “We don’t change anyone if we’re not prepared to guide them, at least through the first years. Usually, vampires only end up turning their romantic partners, so for most, it means staying together for life. Regardless, it’s a big decision.”

Noticing your wide eyes, Jeongguk smiles and chuckles. “I’m not saying you have to hang around me for the rest of your life, and I won’t ask you to play my wife or anything, but I won’t abandon you.”

It’s surprising enough to hear that vampires not only regularly fall in love with humans but take changing someone so seriously. But you’re even more surprised to hear him use the word ‘wife.’

“Your wife?” you ask, truly bewildered that word was even in his thoughts. “You said vampirism doesn't make you much prettier?”

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “It doesn’t. But you didn’t need to become prettier anyway.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m telling the truth? Don’t you remember what I told you when I carried you home that night?”

‘You’re a pretty girl, you know?’

Of course you remember, but it doesn’t mean it was true.

You roll your eyes. “You were feeling bad for me.”

“Hm,” Jeongguk looks away, thinking. “Okay, do you remember the very first thing I said to you?”

“That you weren’t going to turn me?”

“For sex, yeah. But I said I’d still fuck you.”

The smile he gives you reminds you more of the vampire that took your blood once every fortnight than the one who saved you. You don’t know what to say, and he seems to realize that, his smile turning softer.

“Like I said, I would’ve fucked you because you were pretty even as a human. Also, about luring said humans in? You will not have a problem with that if that’s something you’re interested in. I kinda want to see you do that, actually,” he grins, sending a shiver down your spine. “Hot.”

Jeongguk is sitting spread out on the rented apartment’s low couch, reading the back of a bottle of red wine when you pass him. It’s hot—a lot warmer than what you’re used to from your little hometown—and you sigh as you open the door to the balconet wider and fresh air starts to play with your dress. The weather doesn’t affect you like it used to, but some aspects are still more enjoyable than others. 

“I think I like Rome,” you place your hands on the railing, looking down at the scene two stories below you. It’s just after ten p.m., and people are dining outside the restaurant below you, their happy chatter accompanied by the romantic sound of street musicians. The air is humid, and besides the moonlight, the street is mainly illuminated by lights from the restaurant and surrounding shops.

You hear Jeongguk put the bottle down on the glass coffee table and stand up, something your human ears wouldn’t have picked up.

“We can stay longer if you want,” he offers quietly from right behind you.

Turning around, you let your gaze travel over his white dress shirt, held together by two single buttons—the rest lazily unbuttoned—and exposing most of his drool-worthy chest. He smirks, looking down at you, and you’re hit by how he hasn’t changed that much since you first met him in that alley. You’ve just gotten to see more sides of him.

You hold your breath, carefully reaching your hand out to pinch the fabric of his shirt between your thumb and index finger, pulling a little on it and nodding.

“Then we’ll stay,” he smiles, slowly stepping back and taking your hand softly in his. His skin feels warm against yours, and it’s almost like some sort of electric current courses through you. You grin as he pulls you toward him, moving to the slow and sensual music drifting up from outside.

Jeongguk lifts your hand above your head and twirls you. It makes you smile even wider, and you decide to place your arms loosely around his neck. He doesn’t object, just looks down at you, still smiling. 

One thing you'll never get used to is how handsome he is. Soft, black hair parted across his forehead, dark eyebrows and eyes, and a dimple that pops out when he smiles. One day, you’ll kiss his nose, you promise yourself. He looks so carefree, peering down at you like nothing else really matters; a mindset not too difficult to follow with him.

“How come everything is so… easy?”

He tilts his head, trying to make sense of your words as he places his hands on your waist. “Well… do you feel cared for?”

You think about it. All the new people—vampires—you’ve met so far are very funny and kind. They see you, and they listen to you. Especially Jeongguk’s friends, and even more so, Jeongguk. He’s easy to be around, and he’s been incredibly sweet to you, understanding that you’re going through a big change and that your previous life wasn’t all that great.

So you nod.

“Do you have anything that worries you?” He continues. “A looming anxiety regarding something?”

“No.” Turns out that Jeongguk and all his friends are filthy rich and also very generous, which means that you have no rent to pay, no stuff to buy, or bills to pay. Nor do you have people to impress or time-sensitive achievements to stress over.

Jeongguk’s smile turns extra cheeky. “Do you perhaps… also care a little bit for someone?”

You’d blush if that was something you could do. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

He chuckles before he turns a little more serious. “Jokes aside, there could be many reasons. Like I said, not feeling lonely or overly anxious surely helps a lot, but also stuff like… the change of scenery and seasons. But also…”

“Also…?”

He looks at you with a searching gaze, as if he’s trying to figure something out. “Tell me, did you ever see someone about how you felt?”

You shake your head.

“So you never got a diagnosis or medication?”

“No.”

“Then, maybe… you weren’t ‘only’ sad, and vampirism corrected some chemical imbalance in your brain. It could also explain why things are easier.”

Maybe. You thought that your mother dying was the catalyst for your sadness, and without seeing the point of the world, you got “weirder,” and the few people in your life withdrew. Then it was just you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t connect with people anymore. But maybe, like he said, it wasn’t ‘only’ feelings. A small part of you wishes you would’ve tried to get help, but a bigger part—although sad for the years you spent suffering—thinks this ending might be better.

He continues to sway your bodies, and you rest your head against his chest. When you left with him three months ago, one month after he changed you, you weren’t entirely certain where things would lead, because despite definitely feeling attracted to him, you didn’t really know him. But as the days pass, you don’t regret it, and you’re pretty sure you’re more than halfway to head over heels. You can’t deny that he gives you butterflies.

Sighing, you catch the scent of his naked skin against your cheek, reminded of something.

“You smell good. I remember thinking that you didn’t smell like anything?”

He laughs as you move your face slowly over his chest and up to his neck, smelling him.

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathing him in and closing your eyes. There’s the same notes of laundry detergent, soap, and cologne, but also something unique to him. He doesn’t smell like a human, but… almost. It draws you in, that’s for certain.

“Are you hungry?” he wonders quietly. 

“Not sure,” you answer honestly. It’s turned out to be harder to tell than you imagined.

“Well, if you want it… go for it.”

“Like this?” you ask, pushing on his chest with a smile. He lets you walk him slowly back toward the couch, and when the back of his knees hit the edge, he sinks down onto it. 

“Mhm,” he hums happily.

High on the vampire equivalent of adrenaline, you straddle his lap, only to be caught off guard by his scent again. “No, but really, you smell so good.”

He chuckles. “Vampires who are more… compatible tend to smell good to each other.”

His revelation has you sitting back, curious but almost a little worried. Despite the details of your relationship being... a bit unclear—mostly due to his unwillingness to pressure you, you think—you can't help but want him to like you. “Does that mean that I smell good to you as well then? I mean, I remember that you didn’t like my blood?”

“You smell incredible to me. Almost addictive,” he reveals quietly, softly, resting his hands on your thighs, and you think your human heart would’ve raced. “And about your blood… I lied.”

Though grinning happily, there’s at least a trace of regret in his eyes.

“You lied? About not liking my blood?”

“Yeah. B is actually one of the more highly regarded blood types. I’m also B, but negative.”

You shake your head at him before carefully leaning in. With a soft touch of your lips, you locate the pulsating artery in his neck, gently angling his head away with your hands. Then, as you’ve done regularly for the last months, you pierce his skin with your fangs.

“I’m kinda surprised you still believed I didn’t like your blood,” he continues, though it sounds a little strained, like he’s trying to keep still. “If I didn’t like your blood, I wouldn’t have needed to change my feeding days to the day before you came. Nor would I have tried to attack you.”

You listen to his words, but you’ll have to process them better later because his blood is pretty much the only thing on your mind. His blood and his body. It took you a few times to get over the mental association with blood and drinking it, but now, it’s not something bad. It tastes and feels good, energizing you in a way food just doesn’t anymore. And it’s a chance to bond, making you feel closer to him. 

He likes it too, if his body language is anything to go by. You know he tries to stay still to give you the best chance to get what you need without distractions, but the little… almost purring sound that reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest is hard to miss. As is the way his hips shift almost unnoticeably, but you haven’t spoken about that.

Being smaller and recently changed, you don’t require nearly as much blood as he does, and as soon as you feel the urge filled, you run your tongue over the wound to close it, just like he’s taught you to.

“Good?” he asks when you pull back, and you nod, licking your lips. 

You keep your eyes on his skin, knowing that it only takes a second for the wound to heal but up to two weeks for the scar from another vampire's teeth to fade to nothing. 

“All of the vampires we’ve met, they’ve looked so… amused when they understand I drink from you. Why is that? I get that it’s ‘intimate’ but they were pretty much all couples, weren’t they? Not that we’re… you know…”

You haven’t spoken about that, either, really.

It confused you, more so since you last week stumbled across a local couple smiling very cheekily when they saw the scar on Jeongguk’s neck that he’d made absolutely no effort to conceal.

He laughs. “It’s because only I have marks.”

You look puzzled. Yeah, sure, but you don’t understand why that would be amusing.

He looks at your confused face and continues. “The fact that you drink from me but not I from you usually means that I’ve submitted to you. That I belong to you. Which is not very common when I’m so much older than you. It’s usually the other way around if anything.”

“Oh,” you exclaim quietly, lifting your hand to your neck. “Should I…? Do you… want to feed from me? Cause I’m not sure that I…”

You don’t like the idea of losing blood. You know that Jeongguk has said that as a vampire, you quite literally can’t run out, but you don’t like it. Thinking about someone biting your neck has images from the night you died flashing before your eyes. You don’t remember much,  but you remember being scared and how much it hurt. Surely, it would be different to let him bite you, but… you don’t know. You can’t help but feel like maybe you should? Don’t you kind of owe it to him?

“I want to, of course I do, but not that badly. I get that it’s an uncomfortable concept for you, so that’s why I haven’t brought it up. If you ever feel comfortable enough, we can try, because it’s very hot, but otherwise, it doesn’t matter.”

You lower your hand, smiling carefully down at him. He runs his hands over your thighs softly.

“So, you’re really just… ancient?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah? You’re literally older than Jesus?”

He rolls his eyes, still smiling.

“Jokes aside, doesn’t it get boring? You were kinda grumpy when I first met you.”

“Truth be told, it does. I’ve seen everything, mostly even many times over. But getting to see everything with you is like getting to experience it for the first time all over again.”

“That’s kinda… cheesy,” you chuckle, but you can’t deny that it makes you feel warm inside. “Yuqi said you probably needed a change of scenery as well.”

“So what if it’s cheesy? It’s true," he grins, and it's your turn to roll your eyes. "And, yeah, she might’ve been right. I guess vampires get lonely too sometimes.���

Although he's still smiling, you can't help but hurt a little, thinking about him feeling lonely too.

“So then, what’s next?" you ask. "When do we leave for Portugal?”

“Depends on when you want to. I’ll just tell Taehyung we’ll meet them later. As for now, you know Fontana di Trevi?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna take a dip?”

“What? Isn’t it pretty shallow? And probably… illegal?”

“What are they gonna do? Stop us?” He smiles a wide, happy smile, his white fangs almost glimmering in the romantically dimmed light.

<previous | next> author's note: i hope you liked it!! please reblog if you did <3<3<3

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

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Next part

[cythiraeth]

beneath soft pillows and wool pt. I - i.e. you are struggling to sleep but your genshin lover is there for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x al-haitham, lyney, neuvilette (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: while you are having troubles with sleeping, your lover tries to find a way to comfort you! let's find out what would they do, if they found you not sleeping late into the night

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, reader overworking themselves

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: i'm back to life! the christmas mood really got me into working - on the contorary to the reader who finally gets some sleep in this one, i certainly did not get any for the two previous nights while i was finishing this up lolol anyway, enjoy! and remember that my requests are open, so feel free to messege me!

ps. i have already prepared the second part of this 'series' so it will be posted soon c;

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1.5 k in total

they would give you a lecture about why sleeping at night is essential for your health, but then still put you back to sleep — al-haitham, lyney

al-haitham

the moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the bustling streets of the sumeru city. you, however, were not admiring the night's beauty. you were hunched over your desk, a mountain of scrolls and research papers threatening to topple over. 

the faint scent of jasmine tea, long since chilled, lingered in the air. you had been at it for hours, absorbed in deciphering the intricate workings of a newly discovered artefact. suddenly a tall shadow fell over your work. you looked up in alarm to see al-haitham standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of annoyance and concern.

"you should be asleep by now," he said, his voice a low rumble. you sighed, pushing a stray strand of hair back from your face. "i’m almost done," you murmured, your eyes glued to the complex diagrams before you.

"you've been saying that for the last three hours," he countered, his gaze unwavering. "you know that chronic sleep deprivation can lead to a wide range of health problems, from reduced cognitive function to an increased risk of chronic disease." you rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. he could talk for hours about the importance of a good night's sleep, citing scientific studies and ancient wisdom with equal fervor.

"i know, i know," you admitted, finally putting down your quill. "but this artefact is so fascinating, i just couldn't put it down."

al-haitham shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "you're impossible," he murmured, but his voice was soft, almost tender. "come, i'll put you to bed." 

"oh?" you let out a small sigh of surprise, for it wasn't often that he made such offers.

"just so i know you have finally fallen asleep," he quickly explained himself. he reached out and gently took your hand, leading you out of the study and down the hallway. you allowed him to lead you, your body tired from lack of sleep, but your mind still buzzing with excitement over the artefact.

as he tucked you into bed, you felt a wave of drowsiness wash over you. the warmth of his touch, the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he sat beside you all conspired to lull you into a state of peaceful slumber.

"rest," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "you deserve it."

you closed your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips. al-haitham's lectures might be long and detailed, but his concern for you was undeniable. even if he didn't want to admit it out loud…

lyney

the soft glow of the moon painted the room silver, illuminating the piles of books and papers scattered across your desk. you were lost in a world of lore and legends, your fingers tracing the intricate script of a forgotten text. the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ancient magic, and you were lost in the story unfolding before you.

suddenly, a playful voice broke your concentration, "ahh, my dear, still up at this ungodly hour?" you looked up to see lyney leaning against the door, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"just finishing some research," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"research? at this hour? you'll burn yourself out, my dear. fascinating as it is," he arched his brow, flipping the book in his hands to examine the cover "it won't be half as interesting if you're too tired to remember any of it tomorrow," he chided, his voice laced with concern. "don't you know that sleep is the key to unlocking the full potential of your magical abilities? i once stayed up all night trying to master a new illusion and the results were disastrous! i ended up turning myself into a giant purple squirrel." he chuckled, and you couldn't help but smile despite his theatrics.

“picture, or it didn’t happen…” you murmured quietly under your breath, so he wouldn't hear what you just said

“see? you’re too tired to even talk! you must go to bed immediately!” he chuckled, theatrically rushing you with his hand.

you opened your mouth to protest, but lyney raised a gloved finger to silence you, his expression softening as he bent down to meet your gaze. "listen," he began, "i know how tempting it is to squeeze every moment out of the night, but it's not worth sacrificing your health. sleep is not just for rest - it's when your mind processes everything. all those tricks you've seen me do? they wouldn't be half as good if i didn't get enough sleep to sharpen my focus."

"alright, alright, i get it," you said, putting down your quill. "i'll try to get some rest."

lyney raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "try? my dear, you don't try, you just do. come, i’ll put you to bed. i promise the book will still be here tomorrow."

he held out his hand, his fingers brushing yours, and you reluctantly put yours in his. he pulled you up with a flourish, like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. "there you go. now let's make this a little more magical."

with a flick of his wrist, lyney conjured a small flurry of glittering lights that floated around you like fireflies. "a little enchantment to light the way," he said, his voice soft.

"oh, lyney, they are so beautiful!" you whispered, seeing the reflections of those lights in his shining eyes.

without realising it, the weight of his lecture and the soothing glow of his conjured lights had lulled you into a haze of drowsiness, so that when he tucked you in to sleep in your room, your eyes were already closing

"sleep well, my dear," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "and remember, a well-rested mind is a powerful mind."

they would be very concerned and would come to the bed with you — neuvilette

neuvilette

the moonlight streamed into your shared bedroom, painting the walls a silvery hue. the clock ticked softly, a persistent reminder that the hour was far past for reasonable wakefulness. you sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest as you stared out the window, the world outside quiet, but your mind anything but. the nightmares had come again - visceral, inescapable shadows that lingered even in wakefulness.

you hadn't intended to wake him. neuvillette deserved his rest, especially with the burdens he carried as fontaine's chief justice. but despite your quiet movements, the subtle change in the rhythm of your breathing must have alerted him. his voice, low and concerned, broke the silence. "why are you awake, mon trésor?” you jumped slightly as you turned to find his pale lavender eyes soft with concern. he was already sitting up, his silken hair falling in gentle waves over his shoulders, illuminated by the moonlight.

"it's nothing," you murmured, trying to sound reassuring. "go back to sleep, neuvillette."

but he wasn't convinced. you should have known better; neuvillette had always been perceptive, especially when it came to you. he moved closer, his hands reaching out to gently cradle yours. his touch was warm, grounding.

"you have been troubled for several nights now," he said, his voice a soothing rumble. "and now you won't even try to rest. please, tell me what's wrong.”

you hesitated, the words caught in your throat. it felt silly, almost childish, to admit that nightmares had kept you awake, but the intensity in his gaze told you he wouldn't let it go. finally you whispered, "the nightmares... i keep seeing things i can't escape. and when i wake up, it feels like they're still there."

his expression softened further, and without a word, he pulled you into his arms. you melted into his embrace, his steady heartbeat a balm to your frayed nerves. "you should have told me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "you don't have to bear this alone."

neuvillette rose from the bed and gently guided you to lie down. he slid under the covers with you, making sure you were wrapped in warmth. his arms circled around you tightly, and he rested his chin lightly on your head.

"close your eyes," he said softly. "i will stay with you until you fall asleep. should the nightmares return, i will chase them away."

"but you need to rest too," you protested weakly, though the comfort of his presence was already easing the tension in your body.

"i rest best when you are at peace," he replied, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "so let me be here for you.”

with neuvillette's steady presence and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath, the grip of the nightmares began to loosen. for the first time in days, you felt the edges of sleep pull you under - not with fear, but with a sense of safety. and as your eyelids grew heavy, you thought you heard him whisper:

"i will always be here to protect you, no matter the hour.”

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 25.12.2024. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[celenawrites]

Why do I wanna write roommate Simon/Ghost??

Roommate Simon who's gone for months at time, but always brings you sweets and trinkets from wherever he's been stationed while he's deployed. He looks at little souvenirs or remembers the dishes he's tried and he takes a mental note to get you something similar before he boards the plane to go back.

Roommate Simon who barely keeps in touch but is worried sick about you. Did you eat? Are you sleeping okay? Does your car need fixing again? Are you safe? Are you still getting nightmares? God, he wishes he was there to hold you while he eases you back into sleeping again.

Roommate Simon who encourages you to text him anyway, despite being busy on the job and unable to text/call you back. But the moment he's on leave, he takes his sweet time scrolling down his phone. You tell him about your day, you text him about your hardass professor, send him videos of you being horrendous at darts at the bar you and him usually go to whenever he's back from duty, show him pictures of all the cute puppies and kittens you find while you're out on a walk and beg him if he'd be amenable to getting a furry friend for the both of you. (Truth be told, if it's you who's asking, he'd pretty much lay down the entire world at your feet.)

Roommate Simon who comes back home to the smell of good food being cooked and you running up to him but stopping short a few feet away from him - hesitant to touch him, only for him to engulf you in a bone-crushing hug as he breathes you in. You smell safe. You smell clean.

You smell like home. Maybe you are his home.

He doesn't have a penchant for physical touch - recoils from anything that intimate faster than the guns he uses on the battlefield, but god forbid, he deprives himself from holding you. For this instant, when you're alive and safe (and still so lovely), and you breathe enough life in him for him to feel like Simon again and not just Ghost, he'd like to hold you in his arms for now.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | mature | 1.5k | tags: friends with benefits, Eddie Munson is bad at feelings, but Steve makes him talk about them anyway, at least in metaphors, emotional hurt/comfort | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is letting yourself be loved by @quinns-shadowy-arts | AO3)

"Mm, where you goin'?”

Eddie winces at the sound of Steve's groggy voice calling to him from where he's still buried under sheets that smell of them. Of what they did between them just a few hours ago.

He didn't mean to fall asleep, but it was impossible not to with the comforting weight of Steve on top of him, wrapped in soft blankets and Steve's warmth and musky smell.

"Home. Go back to sleep." Eddie whispers softly, as if Steve will forget he's here if he's just quiet enough.

No such luck, for Steve Harrington is nothing if not persistent.

Strong hands that Eddie had just felt on his body earlier that night, their shape as familiar to him as his own, lift the blanket to reveal Steve's naked body. "Come back to bed, Eddie."

They don't do this.

Well, Eddie doesn't.

He's not the type to overstay his welcome, he'd rather leave by choice than be asked to.

Steve never asked him to leave, but he doesn't ask Eddie to stay either. At least not as bluntly as now. He usually approaches Eddie cautiously, like a feral dog you find chained to a fence. Feeding it scraps so it won't bite when you get close.

Steve has been feeding him scraps of warmth, of gentle touch and tenderness, of affection, for months.

And like a dog chained to a fence, Eddie is helpless but to take them. He's starving for it, deprived for so long that the mere promise makes him salivate. Willing to take whatever morsels of love and care Steve is willing to offer him, but never asking for more. Never trusting for more.

Never inviting Steve closer for fear that one day he'll bite. Not because he wants to, but because that's all he's learned.

Because it's the only way he's learned to survive.

"Steve," he begins, not knowing what to say next. Don't ask me that. Don't want me to stay. Don't want me.

Don't love me.

The room is dark because Eddie didn't turn on the light when he slid out of bed looking for his clothes. The only light is the moon shining through Steve's window, but it's enough to illuminate Steve's face.

He doesn't look dejected at Eddie's rejection, doesn't look angry or sad or irritated.

The look on his face is painfully soft, not pity, but understanding and sorrow.

Steve throws the blanket completely off his body and climbs out of bed as well, his movements slow but determined. Eddie could just turn and walk away and Steve would let him. Probably would not even mention it again.

He never does. He never asks Eddie why he always leaves right after, the sweat on their bodies still warm on their heated skin and the marks of eager hands and mouths still to be seen.

Eddie doesn't know why, but today is different. Maybe it is because they fell asleep together for the first time, Steve's face buried in his neck and his soft hair tickling Eddie's nose. Their limbs intertwined, their skin fused by sweat and cum and a magnetic pull Eddie doesn't want to name.

A warm hand reaches for his own, cold from standing naked in Steve's room in the middle of the night. Steve reaches for his other hand, too, and warms it between his, like when they were out at the quarry and Eddie forgot his jacket again.

"Why do you keep running away from me?" Steve asks, his voice as soft as his face. Eddie knows Steve isn't asking to hurt him.

It still hurts. It reminds him that he's a coward who keeps running away. Steve may have been changed by all that Upside Down crap, but not Eddie, oh no.

Eddie Munson was still a coward. Running away and hurting anyone who dared care about him, just like his father.

Searching for words, but for once at a loss for them, he looks at Steve helplessly. A pit forms in his stomach, telling him that if he doesn't get this right, he might lose Steve. At least the Steve who kisses him softly and holds him like he's precious while he falls apart in his arms, gasping and moaning and shaking because nothing can feel this good and yet it does. Every. Single. Time.

He can't even fathom the thought, the idea of a life without Steve in it.

"'m sorry," he mutters, defeated.

He's pulled in by Steve's hands until they're so close their chests almost touch, Steve's face inches from his. So close, he can see the moonlight in his eyes and the hickey Eddie carelessly left on his neck, right above his favorite twin moles.

"Don't be. Just... tell me what you're so afraid of? Because every time I think... every time I let myself think that maybe you want this, too, you pull away. Even further away than you were before. I feel like if I let you walk out that door right now, I won't see you for a week, won't be able to touch you the way I want to, need to, for a month."

It's hard to hold Steve's gaze, but Eddie thinks he wouldn't be able to look away if a portal to the Upside Down opened right next to them.

"If you don't want me, or if you," a deep breath, as if the next part is going to hurt, "if you can't love me, then that's okay. It's okay, Eddie, I promise. You can tell me."

The way Steve's voice wavers at those words tells a different story, but he holds Eddie's gaze with the same kind of stubborn bravery with which he faced down monsters.

And that's the last straw for Eddie. To know that Steve thinks he's the problem. Acting like not loving him was ever an option for Eddie.

"Ever hear of the butterfly effect?"

Steve shakes his head, his eyebrows knitted together in an adorable expression of confusion.

"It basically says that something as small as the flap of a butterfly's wings can potentially set off a chain of events that could lead to a major change in the weather and create a hurricane, for example."

When Steve still looks like he has no idea why Eddie is telling him this, Eddie takes Steve's face in his hands and with the same courage he used to face a swarm of demonic bats, Eddie tells him, "When you came into my life, that was my butterfly effect. It changed everything. For the better. You are my butterfly, Steve Harrington, the flap of your wings changed the trajectory of my life."

"But why -"

"You're my butterfly, but I'm afraid I'm your hurricane."

The words are between them now, out in the open, his mouth giving birth to his fears.

Steve keeps looking at him, though, his expression thoughtful, processing everything Eddie just said. It's fascinating to watch a myriad of emotions wash over his beautiful face until, after a long moment, it settles on a smile that looks dangerously like hope.

"Me being in your life means that much to you?" Steve asks and Eddie decides that Steve deserves to know without the slightest doubt.

"It means everything."

"But you're afraid that... if you let me in, you'll hurt me?"

"That's what I do."

Steve hums as he processes this.

"Have you ever thought that maybe the butterfly needs the hurricane to fly because it needs the wind under its wings?"

He beams at Eddie after saying this, as if he has cracked the case, and his hands settle over Eddie's, still cupping his face. Eddie wants to argue with him, but the more he thinks about it, the more he starts to think that Steve is right.

"You changed my life too. Without you, I might never have kissed a boy. Without you, I might be working meaningless jobs until I retire instead of finally doing what I wanted to do in life and applying to community college to become a teacher. Without you, I might still be living under my parents' thumb, never standing up for myself."

"They kicked you out, you had to couch hop for months," Eddie argues, but it only makes Steve smile brighter, his thumbs rubbing soothingly along the back of Eddie's hand.

"Yes, I have, but Eddie, don't you see? You help me fly! You make it easy to fly because your wind carries me."

And Eddie never looked at it that way. Maybe he has to start.

He'll have to think about it without Steve's beautiful face in front of him and his warm, tempting body inches from his own. But he already feels something loosening in his chest, his heart lighter than before.

Kissing Steve gently, as gently as a summer breeze, he links their hands and pulls Steve back to the bed. They slide under the covers, the hurricane enveloping the butterfly in it's warm embrace.

Maybe the hurricane can be loved by the butterfly, Eddie thinks as he drifts off, wrapped around Steve.

Stranger things have happened.

[hotnbloodied]

Yan!Loser X Reader

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

TW: kidnapping, drugging, non-con kissing and touching, stalking, mentions of axe body spray.

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

Pt. 2

It was around lunch time and you were on your way to your university’s canteen. You normally had lunch a little later to avoid the crowds but today you couldn’t hold your hunger in at all and you needed to get something to eat. In doing so the canteen was packed and by the time you had gotten some food all the tables seemed full. You scanned around for a little bit before noticing a small table that only had one person sitting at it. A guy with a small frame and black baggy clothes with messy unkempt hair. Without thinking too much about it you walked over. “Hey sorry to bother, would you mind if I could just sit here and eat?” You asked.

He looked like he jolted a little and looked at you like he'd seen a ghost. “Y-yeah…” Not much of a response, but that didn’t stop you from going ahead and sitting down to start devouring your food. After you were finally satiated you looked over cause you felt like someone was watching you and needless to say, his eyes were glued on you.

“Uh, do I have something on my face?” You asked him. His face whipped away. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” You laughed and told him it wasn’t a big deal. “What’s your name anyway? I’m (y/n), majoring in (major).” He raised his head to look at you again. “I’m Lester, I’m a biology major…” “That’s awesome!” You look at the time. “I should probably head out, my next class starts soon. See you around though!” Little did you know that your small act of kindness would come back to haunt you.

A couple of weeks pass and you seem to be seeing Lester more and more around campus. (Totally not because he’s trying to learn your schedule at all.) You don’t pay too much mind to it though considering a new friend is always nice. (As if he’d allow you to just be friends with him.) The two of you exchanged social messaging information which turned into an easy way for Lester to keep tabs on you. (You really should be careful about how you share your information.) You didn’t notice the increase of interaction from Lester, you were too sleep deprived and worried about school to notice which he’s grateful for since it’ll make it easier to make plans. Lester was a patient man, he knows how to make a pay off extra sweet.

You learn a bit more about Lester, even though he has a messy appearance he actually is a relatively neat person. He seemed to shower regularly and his clothes weren’t being reworn, but he only chooses to use axe body spray at his age for some reason. He doesn’t seem to have many friends cause, shocker, he’s an extreme introvert; Which makes you pity him which he fully knows and uses to play into to get your trust. With that trust he invites you over to his house, apparently his parents are in the science field as well and as long as Lester keeps his grades up they’d let him do whatever. The two of you would hang out and study at his place.

Six months had passed in a blink of an eye and the two of you were watching a movie together, it wasn’t that late but you felt extremely sleepy for some reason. The two of you just ate dinner that Lester cooked. “Hm? What’s wrong (y/n)? Are you tired?” “Haha, yeah I don’t know why. Maybe I was more tuckered out with finals than I thought.” “Why don’t you stay over? You’re more than welcome to spend the night.” You didn’t reply to Lester, it was because the sleeping pills he slipped into your drink worked like wonders and you were out like a light. Lester slowly dragged your body to his room and laid you on his bed. Chains were ready for you as he securely bound you to them. He loomed over your sleeping body in his bed, he couldn’t keep the excitement in his pants at bay. He took advantage of your lips and dry humped your leg, imagining what it would be like to finally be able to become one with you. Oh if only you knew how love sickness ran in his family. How that’s how his mom ensnared his dad and how having his ground and alibi covered was a learned family skill. No one will find you and you two will live happily together, forever. <3

Pt. 2

Lester <3

[letsgoletsgetit08]

...they were roommates

summary: Hongjoong is at his wit's end with his new roommate. His new roommate, whom he finds out has a surprising way of making money.

warnings/tags: mdni, 18+, explicit smut, spanking, counting, safe/sane/consensual, light dom/sub, jung wooyoung likes being told what to do

pairings: dom!kim hongjoong x sub!jung wooyoung, cam boy!jung wooyoung

author's note: This is loosely based on canon events of Wooyoung admitting he liked it when Hongjoong bossed him around.

word count: 3,246

ao3 link: ...they were roommates

...they were roommates

Hongjoong didn’t know how much longer he could take it. He had thought it was fiscally responsible to sublet his spare bedroom for the school year, but he was quickly realizing there’s a reason people warn you about strangers on the internet. He knew that Wooyoung had been listening intently when he explained the house rules. He even repeated them back to him. 

So why was he so blatantly determined to ignore every single last one?

It was almost like he was doing it on purpose! 

The rules weren’t anything crazy either:

1) Keep the kitchen clean, wash your dishes after using them

2) I keep odd hours so I would appreciate it if you warned me if you have someone/are bringing someone over

3) Common areas are off limits for sex

4) Pay your rent on time

But Hongjoong could almost predict as he walked into the kitchen, there would be a coffee mug, a bowl, and chopsticks in the kitchen sink. 

Usually he loved being right. 

But after pulling an all-nighter, getting less than glowing reviews from his music production studio professor that morning, and to top it all off, the muted noises of sex obviously coming from the younger’s bedroom, this was the last straw. 

Hongjoong was not a prude. He felt that was worth noting. And don’t get him wrong, he definitely expected someone bright and handsome with siren eyes and an addictively animated laugh like Wooyoung to bring home sexual partners, but he never expected it to be so often. It seemed like every other day he was subjected to toe-curling noises from the man’s room. And yes, although he would never admit it to Wooyoung, due to his own schedule being crazy and having zero spare time to date around, sometimes Hongjoong touched himself to the noises, making up his own scenario in his head. But he would never ever admit that. 

He knew he was probably about to walk in on a sight that would be burned into his brain forever, but he had to admit, Wooyoung was full of surprises.

He barged into Wooyoung’s room unannounced, ready to tell him off, and was met with the sight of the man alone, spread out on his bed, completely naked, with ring lights, his phone on a tripod, and a second camera set up filming from a different angle, lubed up, fully hard cock being stroked in his hand. And he didn’t stop when Hongjoong walked in. Which was maybe the most surprising part. 

Hongjoong was too sleep-deprived and annoyed to not shake out of it and deliver his message anyway, ignoring the drool pooling in his mouth at the sight. He was so touch-starved, and he was just being hit with how badly he missed it. “Wooyoung,” he said, sternly, “Do you remember the rules you agreed to when you moved in?”

Wooyoung’s eyelids fluttered, his hand slowed slightly, surprised at the other’s tone of voice, “Yes, I do.” He said breathlessly.

“Good. Then you’ll take care of the dishes in the sink before I wake up in the morning.” Hongjoong couldn’t help but notice that his authoritative presence seemed to be… turning Wooyoung on?

The younger dared to smirk, hand picking up the pace, bratty as ever, “Or what?”

His own dick was filling in as he watched the man get closer to the brink of release, “Or what? You don’t want to know, Wooyoung. But be sure that I will figure out a way to punish you for your behavior. Show me that you understand.”

Wooyoung’s breath became shaky and he held Hongjoong’s eye contact as he said, “Yes sir.” In a strained voice.

“Good boy.” Hongjoong said, which was followed by Wooyoung releasing all over his own hand and stomach, head thrown back, his open mouth slowly turning into a smile as he came down. 

Hongjoong turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him, making quick work of his pants on his walk to his own bedroom, barely having to touch himself as the image of Wooyoung getting off was burned so vividly onto the backs of his eyelids, hips bucking as he found his own release. 

What the fuck just happened. 

They did not speak about what happened. 

But the dishes were clean and put away the next morning. And it was okay with Hongjoong that they didn't talk about it. 

But as the days went on, Wooyoung seemed to crave his attention more and more, coming by his room to ask him questions he definitely knew the answer to, appearing in the kitchen when he heard Hongjoong in there, happening to leave his room (shirtless) when he predicted Hongjoong would be in a common area. It all culminated a few days later when Hongjoong was working on his laptop in the living room and Wooyoung walked through right as Hongjoong’s stomach let out a loud growl, obviously hungry. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. 

Wooyoung plopped himself down on the couch next to him, reaching up to pull his headphone gently off of his ear, a bright smile on his face as he leaned in to ask, “Anything I can do to help with that?”

Hongjoong huffed through his nose, “You could be useful for once and cook us dinner.” He said, cocking an eyebrow, challenging. 

He could almost swear he saw Wooyoung shiver at the instruction, “If I cook for us, you have to take a break and eat with me.” He poked his bottom lip out, pouting. 

“If I take a break with you to eat, you have to clean up the kitchen afterwards.” Hongjoong shot back. 

“No fair!” Wooyoung whined. 

“I didn’t say I was fair,” Hongjoong grabbed Wooyoung’s wrist, pulling his hand off his headphone, daring to stroke it gently with his thumb before placing it gently onto the younger’s lap, “What are you waiting for?” He asked as he turned back to his laptop, putting his headphone in place once more. 

Maybe he was cracking the code on this whole roommate situation. 

And he was good to his word, he pointedly picked up his laptop and deposited it onto his desk in his bedroom, closing the door behind him after Wooyoung came by to tell him dinner was ready. Wooyoung was a good cook, and he told him as much, delighting as he watched the man preen with the praise. 

“I want to play a game,” Wooyoung announced as he all but pranced over to the table with a chilled, unopened bottle of soju in one hand, a pair of shot glasses in another. 

“A game?” Hongjoong’s curiosity was piqued, he couldn’t deny it. 

“Mhm,” Wooyoung nodded as he poured two shots, “It’s Friday night, Hongjoong. Can your project wait until tomorrow? You deserve to let loose and have fun occasionally, you know.”

Hongjoong sighed, thinking about it. Really he did have plenty of time to finish his assignment over the weekend, even if he spent half of tomorrow hungover. And really, truthfully, he was becoming increasingly curious about Wooyoung. He would like to see where this was going. “Okay. Fine. You got me. What game do you want to play, Woo?”

Wooyoung blushed at the shortening of his name, “I want to know more about you. It’s been almost two months and we barely have spoken to each other. So I want to take turns asking each other questions. If we don’t want to answer, take a shot.” He smiled smugly. Pleased with his own genius idea.

“Seems fair enough to me,” Hongjoong concluded, “But let’s move to the couch, these chairs suck.” And I don’t want a hunk of wood separating us, he thought to himself as they relocated. 

Wooyoung sat next to him on the couch, cross-legged, so they could face each other. 

“You can start.” He offered to the younger. 

“Okay. When was the last time you had sex?” Wooyoung gave him an impish grin after asking.

“Oh, look! Soju!” Hongjoong said as he grabbed his shot glass off the coffee table and threw it back. 

“Aw boo, you're no fun!” Wooyoung whined. 

Hongjoong ignored him, “Did you post the video with my voice in the background?” He asked as he felt the warmth from the alcohol move through his body. 

“No way,” Wooyoung looked offended, “I would never post anything with you in it, at least not without your consent first.” 

Hongjoong didn't know why he was surprised but he was glad that Wooyoung seemed to be considerate, have some sort of decorum, moral code, “Okay, good. Thank you.” 

Wooyoung reached over and squeezed his knee, “Of course. Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum. My turn!” He pretended to think about it, “Did you get off?” His voice had turned husky, “After you walked in the other day?”

Hongjoong felt heat swirl in his abdomen, blood rush to his cheeks, “Was I that obvious?” He met Wooyoung’s eyes sheepishly, the other’s were half-lidded, hungry. They both were subconsciously sipping on their soju in between questions, probably out of nervous habit.

“Is that your question?” He asked. 

“Is that yours?” He replied. 

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“Yes, you were that obvious. Ask me if I thought it was hot.” Wooyoung was leaning in now.

He felt himself swallow, “Did you think it was hot?”

Wooyoung winked and took a shot.

“You brat!” Hongjoong accosted him. 

“You like it,” Wooyoung simpered as he refilled his glass.

“Maybe.” He leaned in as well, “You like being told what to do, don't you?”

Wooyoung’s eyelids fluttered slightly, “Yes. And you like being in charge?”

“Definitely. How do you feel about being spanked?”

A blush crept up Wooyoung’s neck, “Mmh, good. Definitely good. You know I'll need aftercare, right?”

“Absolutely. Safe word?”

“Chrysanthemum.”

“Um, bless you?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “It's my birth month flower.”

“My room or yours?” Hongjoong asked as he reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind the younger’s ear, noting how he leaned into the touch.

“It's my turn!” Wooyoung was more busy staring through Hongjoong's eyes straight into his soul than he was actually protesting. 

“Jagi,” Hongjoong's hand traced down the other’s face, thumb landing on his bottom lip, “I really don't care.” 

He closed the gap between their mouths, earning a squeak of surprise that quickly turned into a moan from the younger. 

Hongjoong had missed this, he hated to admit to himself. It had been far too long. 

Their lips slotted together like they had done this a thousand times before, soft, exploratory kisses quickly turning hungry, needy. Hongjoong grabbed Wooyoung’s chin, turning their heads to the side as he licked into the other’s mouth, greedily sucking on his tongue, pulling another delicious moan from his mouth.

Wooyoung pulled back, “Oppa,” he panted, “I'm not doing those dishes.” 

“I know.” He kissed down his jawline, “But you're going to make it up to me. You'll be good for me, won't you, baby?” 

A sharp intake of breath as he nipped as his earlobe, “Yes. Yes sir.” 

“Mmh,” Hongjoong attached his lips to the sensitive spot behind his ear, marking him, “So sensitive.”

He didn't give Wooyoung a chance to react, instead opting to reach down and start pulling the his shirt off, following with his own, before standing up and offering him his hand, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He led them into Wooyoung’s bedroom, knowing his roommate had condoms and lube (and probably plenty of other things) unlike himself, who was on at least a year long dry spell. Wooyoung didn't question it, just did as he was told. 

They shed their clothes quickly, Wooyoung gasping as he finally was able to see Hongjoong fully naked, “I've literally never seen you go to the gym or work out, how the fuck do you look so good?” 

Hongjoong blushed, “Shut up.”

“Make me.” Wooyoung challenged. 

“Hands and knees on the bed.” He said, kissing him lewdly before shoving him backwards onto mattress. 

He watched as the younger complied, feeling his dick fully harden at the sight of Wooyoung presenting himself, pretty cock hanging uselessly, already dripping precum. 

“Supplies are in the bedside table.” Wooyoung informed him as he made his way around the edge of the bed, “Perfect.”

He pulled out a condom and lube, put them within reachable distance on the bed, then climbed up behind the miles of velvety smooth honey skin waiting for him. 

Hongjoong grasped one of his ass cheeks, rubbing it gently, “You understand why I have to do this right, Youngie?”

“Yes sir,” He replied, breathless.

“Good,” he drew back his hand and landed the first spank, earning a startled gasp, followed by a whine as he soothed the sting with his hand, “Count for me, darling.” 

“One,” Wooyoung whimpered. 

Hongjoong barely let him get the word out before landing the next slap to his other ass cheek this time. 

“Two!” He exclaimed instinctively, nearly in shock.

“Mmh, very good, what a quick learner you are.” Hongjoong praised, as he reached for the lube, applying it to his fingers before starting to slowly circle the tight rim that was being presented to him. He drew his other hand back and landed the third strike, this one slightly harder. 

Wooyoung gasped, “Fuck. Three.” 

Hongjoong slipped his first finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, enjoying how he was being drawn in. He struck again. 

“Four.” He whined, but his hips moved greedily towards Hongjoong, obviously enjoying himself. 

“You like this, don't you baby?” Hongjoong teased as he added a second finger, letting the other adjust to it before spanking him again. Wooyoung gasped but couldn’t seemed to get words out. “Use your words, love.” Hongjoong instructed. 

“Yes,” His hips bucked as Hongjoong curled his fingers, finding his prostate, “Yes I like it.”

“What else?”

“Oh,” He was already so fucked out and they had barely started, “Five.”

Hongjoong smiled, said, “Good boy,” before landing the next one. 

“Six!” Wooyoung panted.

“I bet you could get off just like this, couldn't you?” Hongjoong stroked his ass cheek as he added a third finger. 

“Probably.” 

“Do you think you can cum twice, jagi?” Hongjoong whispered, scissoring his fingers, landing another slap. 

“Seven. Yes. Please. God yes, I'm so close already.” He sounded so desperate. It was hot. 

Hongjoong was steadily hitting his prostate, “Okay, good. You can cum on ten.” He spanked him again. 

“Eight” 

Another.

“Nine!”

Finally.

“Ten!” And he was pouring out onto the bed as Hongjoong coaxed him through it, slowing the pace of his fingers as he clenched around them. 

“Oh, what a good boy,” He removed his fingers, guiding the younger onto his back so as to avoid landing in the mess he had just made. 

Wooyoung was sweating, panting, he looked so fucking good, Hongjoong thought he might eat him for dessert. 

He kissed the inside of Wooyoung’s knee, working up his thigh, letting the other catch his breath for a minute as he kissed and sucked, feeling almost painfully hard at the idea that he would be covered in marks. Claimed. 

He was surprised at how fast the man was filling back up with arousal. Soon, he was begging, “Fuck, Hongjoong, please.”

“Please what, darling?” 

“Please, I need you inside of me.” 

“Mmh.” He pulled back to quickly roll the condom on, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

He applied more lube, then positioned himself between Wooyoung’s legs, teasing him by dragging his cock everywhere except for where he wanted him. 

Wooyoung arched off the bed, trying to find friction, grabbing for Hongjoong's hips. 

“No, no, baby.” He grabbed his hands and pinned them over his head as he finally lined himself up, starting to push in, “Hands to yourself.”

Wooyoung felt incredible, greedily sucking him in. So wet, hot, tight. 

Incredible. 

Fucking incredible. 

He took his time pressing in for as long as he could stand it, before finally burying himself to the hilt, Wooyoung’s legs wrapping around his waist. 

He paused to let the other adjust before finally landing his first thrust. Slow. Languid. Almost lazy. 

Wooyoung’s hips bucked, he whined, needy. 

Hongjoong took pity, started fucking him for real, leaning forward to graze his teeth lightly over the younger’s nipple, earning a gutteral moan in response. 

“So reactive, jagiya. You're so much fun.” He didn't wait for a response, just attached his lips to his nipple, sucking as he set a steady rhythm. 

It was probably stupid to fuck him missionary. He feared he would catch feelings. 

He feared he already had started to, position of choice be damned. 

“M so close, Joongie. Fuck. Feel so good.”

He pulled back, kissing his way up the younger's chest, up his neck, “Go ahead, gorgeous. You can let go.”

He really followed instructions so well. Hongjoong followed closely behind, feeling a little bad that he was probably overstimulating him, but by the look on his face, and the way his legs latched tight around his hips, he liked that, too. 

He collapsed on Wooyoung’s chest, both of them spent, laying panting together before he finally pulled out, discarded the condom. He returned to the bed quickly, pulling Wooyoung to his chest, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead, praising him, “You did so well, baby. You were so good. It wasn't too much, was it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, “No way. It was perfect. Thank you.” 

Hongjoong smiled into his sweaty hair, “No, thank you.” 

They showered together, Hongjoong carefully washing Wooyoung’s hair, being gentle with him, making sure he knew how cared for he was. Aftercare, yes, but Hongjoong felt there was more behind it. It was totally possible he was developing feelings for his roommate. 

“Um, Joong?” Wooyoung asked carefully as they toweled off together. 

“What's up?” 

“Can we… well. I really do better being held afterwards. It doesn't have to be all night!-”

Hongjoong cut him off, “Sleep in my bed, jagi. I'm more than happy to have you.”

Hongjoong fell asleep easily with Wooyoung tucked into his chest, his rhythmic heartbeat, his steady breath, his weight and warmth. 

He woke up to an empty bed, hearing a clattering in the kitchen, Wooyoung's voice as he was singing to himself carried to his bedroom. 

He was doing the dishes. 

Hongjoong came up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist, making the other jump at the contact before relaxing into it once he realized what was happening. He laid kisses down his neck in greeting, meeting Wooyoung’s lips as he turned his head, asking for it. The angle was weird but they made it work. 

And that's how Hongjoong ended up giving Wooyoung head in their kitchen. 

The next few weeks went just about like that, in fact, if you asked him, Hongjoong wasn't sure there was a surface in their apartment that they hadn't had sex on at this point. It wasn't until Hongjoong woke up in Wooyoung’s bed for the third night in a row when they hadn't even had sex the night before to warrant it, that they ever breached the subject of what they were. 

“Youngie?” He pulled him close to his chest, “Be my boyfriend?”

Wooyoung giggled, “I've been yours since the first day when you walked in on me, Joong.” 

And that was that. 

The first video they posted together on Only Fans was Wooyoung's most popular to date. 

Maybe they had truly figured out this whole roommate situation.

[remushrts]

Hi! I saw u were askimg for requests and I was wondering if you could write something for remus x reader about like the reader finding out her mom has cancer and remus just kinda comforting her or reader having to be a caretaker for her mom and her family in general and remus helping her take a break?

yours to keep

— pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

— a/n: thank you so much for the request and for your patience <3 i hope you enjoy it, i loved working on this. pls feel free to reach out if you want another or to change anything, i hope you're well angel!!

— warnings: nothing, this is pure fluff

"Sweetheart." Remus' voice come in a sweet, caring tone, but you couldn't miss the look on his face even if you tried to. You know the reason, he's worried about you. You know exactly what's about to come next. "I think you need to sleep."

His hand cups at your cheek, his thumb easing at your cheekbone, tracing the eye bags that are blooming in purple just above it. His touch is gentle, warm, and you lean against it without even realizing you're doing so.

"I know..." You admit in the same small, soft voice, as if you're afraid that the moment will break. He pulls you closer and place an even gentler kiss against your forehead. "It's just..." You purse your lips, Remus nods before you even finish the sentence. You've had this talk a million times before, but somehow, he doesn't seem to get tired of it.

You catch your lower lip between your teeth and Remus immediately realizes it, pulling it out with his thumb. He only hums in acknowledgement, tilting your head to kiss your lips soothingly. You have no idea how he does it, and you hope you never find out so it keeps feeling like magic every time. You smile as he presses his lips against yours. "Can't take care of anybody if you're exhausted, okay lovely girl?"

You sigh, you know he's right, that you sometimes push yourself too hard for your family, but how could you not? You don't know the answer, and anyhow, Remus never asks. He takes you in anyway, exhausted or sleep deprived or running frenetically to suply them, his appartment quickly becoming yours too as it was closer to your family's home than your own. Plus, it had his company, in long sleepless nights when the worries kept you awake, or whenever you needed a shoulder to cry. And right now, when it seems to be a combination of both, there he was, ready to take you in as always.

"Why don't you go take a shower, and I'll make you tea, uhm? Sounds good? You've barely eaten today, dove." Of course he notices, but his offer sounds way too delightful to deny. You nod, pulling away from him gently, almost reluctant, as you get your things from his guest room and walk to the bathroom.

His house is as always, your sanctuary. Your things were slowly, but surely, moving into his space, your pijamas were washed among his own, the smell of his fabric softener on all of your favourite shirts, your shampoo next to his in the shelf and your lilac toothbrush matching his blue one. You never questioned when it would end, part of you hoping it never would, hoping someday this would be your everyday. Remus doesn't push, doesn't ask you to move in officially, but there's an unspoken ease in settling with him that you wouldn't let go of so soon, a warmth spreading to your bones.

Your head is still buzzing with the built-up stress as you exit the shower, though not as much. You pick one of his sweaters, pulling it over your head, his smell inebriating your senses for a moment. Remus calls from the kitchen as you sit down on his couch. "Honey?"

You don't even question the nickname, your answer soft and immediate calling back. "I'm here."

Remus chuckles, showing you your favourite mug with a bag of tea, an amused, lovelorn look on his face as his head peek from the kitchen. "On the tea, dove?"

"Oh, yes, please." You smile, and a heartbeat passes before he comes to you, handing you your mug and resting his on the coffee table, a plate of the biscuits Lily brought you right next to it.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, almost into his lap, but he stops there, fixing a strand of your hair behind your hear. "So, how's she?" You pause before you speak.

There would be days when you wouldn't share your mom's state with him, days where you couldn't bring yourself to speak, but only sob as Remus' arms wrapped around you. You know what he's doing now, kind of testing the waters before taking a dive, but it doesn't botter you, not when it came so lovely, not when it was him asking. So you tell him, between sips of tea and bites of the biscuits, and he listens to all of it. Slowly, your head, resting on his shoulder, falls inch my inch to his bicep, your eyes struggling to keep themselves open. He nests your head against his chest without a word, letting you continue until your words begin to slur together.

"Are you sleeping on me now?" His tone has a light tease to it, but his hands are gentle as they take the mug from you, setting it side by side with his. His hands card through your hair, pushing it away from your face. "Come on, baby, let's get you to bed."

[pinkxpantha]

New Years Resolutions

-Lyney x GN!Reader

#: synopsis- Lyney has a massive crush on you, and decides he needs you by his side before the year ends

#: cw- 1.9k words, you/they pronouns, lyney is kinda oblivious, kiss scene (brief) Lynette and Freminet mentioned, confession, ect ect I'm so tired 😭

Lyney is confident, charismatic and so many other positive adjectives according to himself and others. Yet why does it feel as though none of that matters when it comes to you?

You weren't some important figure, realistically, you didn't stand out from most crowds.

But why do you have to be so.. you?? Lyney isn't the type to get so overwhelmed when he sees someone smile that his heart stills in his chest. So unusually that the first time it happened he thought he was on death's doorstep.

And of course, it just had to be you to cause this feeling in him.

"ney--"

You always sparked such an unfamiliar experience in him. The novelties of life always had a touch of 'you' in them.

"Lyne--"

How could he ever dare to dream of a new day without you in it?

"Lyney, wake up."

"[Name]--" He quickly cut himself off at the sight of his sister deadpanning. She looked so done with him, and that was kind of warranted.

He cleared his throat, "Er-- Lynette." Lyney rubbed the sleep off his eyes as he looked up at her.

"This is starting to get concerning." She spoke, her voice as monotonous as always. He didn't miss the edge of worry in her tone.

His hands kneaded into the plush of the couch that he somehow fell asleep on.

"Lynette, that's a stretch. I know calling you-" "And freminet." "... and freminet by the wrong name on accident is annoying but it's nothing to be concerned about." He waved his hand in a placating gesture.

"I still recognize my wonderful sister and enthusiastic brother." Lyney nodded.

"Enthusiastic?" Lynette echoed, her arms folded into each other.

"You should see him ramble about some of the things he's found on his diving trips."

Lynette nodded in thought, "I see it, but that's not what i'm talking about."

What? That's the only unusual thing he's done recently. What is she talking about?

"--your painful crush on [Name]."

Oh.

That... makes a lot more sense.

"I know i'm not the best person to give you advice on this manner-- but you need to do something about it. We can see how much it's been affecting you--"

"Lynette, I appreciate your concern but i'm fine." He assured. It wasn't like Lyney was steeped in longing. You were just--- ugh. So many things reminded him of you. Could you really blame him when your absence felt like his oxygen was being deprived?

"You say that but how much longer are you going to wait?" Lynette said, her words pointedly accusing.

"..?"

"Are you going to wait for them to make the first move or until these feelings of yours bubble over?"

Lyney hesitated. Lynette's words seemed so direct, as though she was confronting a part of himself he hid under layers and layers of facades and empty promises.

"What are you so scared of?"

He doesn't want to lose you. A world where everything reminds him of a faded memory-- one he could never hope to experience again would feel like torture.

But this anemoia of what it feels like to wrap his hand around yours could become something real if he just made a move.

Lyney didn't need to say anything for his sister to understand what he was thinking. As if each thought was paved into the muscles of his forehead, and his act of stoicism only made the words more legible for her to read off him.

"Reach out, Lyney." She advised.

Lyney was many things, a fool might be one of them. He had a golden opportunity, and he'd be an absolute moron to ignore it.

Lyney has scrolled through way to many websites in the past twelve hours. He hopes nobody finds his search history in the moments of desperation he held.

Wikihow articles be damned--- he was going into the new years with you by his side.

How many romance related searches has he looked for? Good question, anyways. He would have to put is faith in those cookie-filled sites even as desperate as he was he wouldn't put any faith into Instagram, TikTok or god forbid Reddit.

Not to mention the hour he spent just rewriting one text.

'hey [name] r you doing anything for new years?'

'wanna celebrate new years w/ us?'

'pls come over I cant do this anhmore'

'are you doing anything? I want to spend new years with you'

Shit, he didn't mean to press send. He quickly went to delete the message only to see you just happened to read it at the same time.

So the world really does hate me.

'a and with freminet and Lynette too of course!! 11!'

Lyney quickly typed out that second message. He groaned, flinging his phone onto his bed, his head now stuffed in between the pillows cushioning the head.

Even as he felt the vibration of his phone from his embarrassed position on the bed, he made no movement to check.

Fear of rejection? No, this would kill him.

Maybe he was being dramatic-- yet he typed each letter with the yearning of a thousand starving lions, and like felt you would see how down bad he was through the screen.

Though when he eventually had to check his phone (because unfortunately he can't ignore everything) his siblings heard his cry of joy.

You agreed!

A few more texts were sent coordinating where you were going to meet up.

So there he was, right at the shore of one of the nearby beaches.

The dusky night made the sand look dark, almost muddy if not for the faint illumination of the stars. His siblings were already with him. Lynette preferring to rest by the car as to not feel the grains of sand somehow slipping under her feet. Freminet moving just where the sand and water met, his ankles getting splashed occasionally.

And then he saw you, dressed a lot warmer than he was, a scarf wrapped around your neck. Even in the shroud of darkness the first thing he saw were your eyes. The starlight glimmer made them shine so beautifully.

"You look like you're going to freeze."

A voice he recognized so well, too familiar to his heart.

"Hey [Nam]--" He cut himself off, fabric swiftly wrapped around his neck. He didn't even notice how cold it was until you made him feel so much warmer.

"There, you should stop shivering soon." You were so close to him-- he realized you were right, his hands were trembling at his sides.

Thank archons it's nighttime. He would hate to have you see how flustered he was, he could feel his face grow hot, and not from the scarf.

Get a grip!

He tried not to focus on the proximity of your faces, but he couldn't help it. You backed away from him with a chuckle, your head turned towards the ocean stretched out ahead.

"Thanks," he said, his gaze completely locked onto you. "I wasn't that cold." The breeze of night brushed against your face.

You turned back to face him.

"Hah, sure. I'll agree with that for now." You grinned

He blinked.

Why were you smiling like that? Your lips stretched to the risen corners of your mouth, the corners of your eyes crinkled just the slightest.

Curse all those sources saying to "Be confident" that might work for him if it was anybody else he was talking to.

"Are you cold?" Good save, Lyney. good save.

You shrugged, "I'll be fine."

"We could start a fire or something." He offered, only partially joking.

You let out a few breathy laughs, "once a pyromaniac, always a pyromaniac."

You both kept talking, walking along the beach, right next to each other. If you bothered to pay attention, you might've seen freminet and Lynette distance themselves as the clock ticked closer to twelve.

It wasn't long before you both were secluded, the only other person was each other.

Lyney checked his phone, '11:55' it read.

"Only five more minutes before the new years." He smiled as he spoke, his steps halting in the sand. The footprints you and he made all lead up to this right?

"You excited?"

He nodded, "I guess." Lyney took a deep breath, his priorities solely focused on you. You stopped next to him, moving in front just so you could see his face.

"What's on your new years resolution?" He asked. His hands stuffed in his pocket. His fingers traces barely around the edge of the paper.

"Probably just the usual, I haven't given much thought to it." You said, your hands rubbed against one another. "You?"

He hesitated-- no, he didn't have time to hesitate.

"I want to spend more time with my family,"

Freminet and Lynette came to mind, their faces were plastered all over his life, he'd be damned if they weren't there.

"I want to experience new things."

He thought of you, the warmth you brought into his life. His instincts craved the comforting heat of safety, of home. Each new thing he could cup in his hands always had that warmth since you taught him to appreciate these minuscule things.

"And.. I want to be with you."

He confessed, as soon as the words escaped his mind and into the atmosphere around you, he couldn't stop.

"[Name], you're too good to me. Each second I'm near you, I swear you've changed something fundamental in me. Even though it feels like I can't breathe, I've never felt more alive in those moments."

He looked up to face you, your eyes wide and gaping at him. His blonde hair messily fell down the side of his face as he looked up at you-- just you.

He grabbed your hands in his, raising your knuckles up to his lips, letting his warm breath sooth the cold that nipped at your fingers.

Even with the fireworks booming off in the distant areas. you were the only thing he focused on. You consumed all of his senses.

"I want to be yours this year." He said, his voice a mere whisper in the grand scheme of things.

But you weren't the type to look at a wide picture. Those small details, each individual brush stroke mattered to you. The sincerity of those words took you off guard.

His eyes were locked onto your face, his heart thrumming in his chest. Then you moved.

Your fingers slipped from his palm, cupping the sides of his face instead. The cold still clung to the tips of your fingers, but he didn't mind. He realized what was going to happen.

You leaned in, and so did he. Your lips slotting together in a mix of warmth and chill. He wasn't prepared for this, and he thought you weren't either.

Expecting the unexpected is a part of life though.

So even as your lips parted he swore he could still feel them on his, the warmth lingering.

"Happy new years." You said, your chest heaving with each breath you took.

Lyney was still in the past, hung up on the feeling of you.

"W-wait," He covered his mouth and nose with his hands, the tips of his fingers pressed against each other.

"You look flustered." You hummed, the circles of your cheeks risen in a smile.

"A-ah.. yeah." He only said in response.

Lyney was confident, and charismatic. When it came to you, he poured his confidence into his actions, his words left behind. He was charismatic, his words, although delayed, carried such sincerity. He acts complex.

"Could I kiss you?"

But he is a simple person.

[demonsslayersstuff]

Late Night Talks (Levi x Reader)

A/N: Another Levi Drabble cause I cannot stop thinking about this man lol. Anyway just a late night talk with Levi about his lack of sleep. Mostly fluff, a small amount of angst, but that’s about it. Gender Neutral reader. Probably gonna take a break from writing for a bit after this, anyway thanks for all the support! Enjoy! ☺️

You sigh as you feel the coldness coming from his side of the bed, though you were not surprised. Levi rarely, if he ever slept through the night, slept undisturbed. You rub your eyes before glancing at the bedside clock reading the time; 2:00am.

You throw the covers off and pad out of the bedroom, knowing where your sleep deprived partner was. You don’t even knock as you reach his office, it was much too late for formalities. Levi glances up as you softly close the door, taking in your clearly grumpy appearance.

“Why are you here?”, he asks placing the paper he was holding down. “I could ask you the same question, we talked about this Levi”, you reply, crossing your arms. Levi rolls his eyes and you feel the beginning of another late night argument forming. “Levi please”, you tell him as you walk towards him.

You skirt around the edge of his desk before you come to perch on it, next to him. You wait for him to yell at you for sitting on his neatly organized desk, but Levi says nothing, continuing to look at you. “I don’t want to fight love”, you say after a couple minutes of silence. Levi’s eyes flash to your eyes for a moment, still not used to the term of endearment. You reach out and softly brush his cheek with your thumb, attempting to break through his thick emotional wall.

Levi sighs with your touch, “I didn’t want to wake you, it’s not your job to deal with my nightmares”, he finally tells you. You look at him softly before, slipping off his desk, careful to not disturb the paperwork. “May I?”, you ask him, indicating that you wanted to sit on his lap. “It’s too early for anyone to come in”, you continue as he looks unsure of how to respond. “Very well”, he replies. You smile as he straighten ups, and you move to straddle his waist, making him gasp. “You brat”, he mumbles as you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him into tight hug.

“I promise, no ulterior motives, I just wanted to hold you love”, you whisper into his neck. You hear his familiar “Tch”, but also feel his arms wrap around your sides, holding you close to him. “Levi you’re human, I don’t expect you to always been the epitome of humanities strongest”, you tell him, leaning back to look into his dark grey eyes. You move your fingers to lightly trace the dark bags under his eyes, “But what good are you to anyone here if you continue this? You need to sleep”, you continue, this time softer.

“I know, I know”, Levi says, turning his face into your palm, gently nipping your inner wrist before sighing. “It’s just hard for me, to…get it out of my head”, he tells you. You can hear from his tone he feels uncomfortable admitting this, but you knew it would never be easily for Levi to open up about his inner demons. “If you ever want to, I’m a great listener. You know it will stay between the two of us”, you say to him. His face is apprehensive at your words. “Or you can just wake me up and hold me, whatever helps you sleep better”, you continue.

Levi grabs both of your hands and squeezes them. “Would you be ok with…that?”, he asks quietly. You lean your forehead against his, “Of course, I’m here for you, always”, you murmur. Levi doesn’t respond, he just quietly shakes his head, his silent way of agreeing with you.

“I love you”, you whisper before leaning down to kiss him gently. You feel Levi move his hands to your back. Hands pressing you closer to him as you open your mouth, deepening the kiss. Kissing Levi was always intoxicating, you never wanted it to end, you wanted to taste him forever. However it was late, and you knew that the both of you needed sleep.

So you sigh, disconnecting the kiss. “Let’s go back to bed yeah?”, you ask before detaching yourself from his body. “Let me finish this one report, I’ll be right behind you”, Levi says. “Levi”, you say tone serious. “What did we just talk about?”, you continue. You hold out your hand for a moment before Levi takes it, accepting his defeat. He turns out the lamp before following you out the door leaving the moonlight to shine on his pile of unfinished paper work. Which thankfully stays that way the rest of the night.

[scrollonso]

I'll Miss You — Chestappen

When Checo comes back home, the lights are turned on, and his welcome mat has been turned upside down. Checo doesn't try to unlock the door; he already knows the lock has been picked. 

He valses in, slams it open to make his presence known, and hangs his coat over the staircase railing. A faint creaking noise reaches him. It's coming straight from the bedroom. Checo feels like an idiot, a little lost and a lot more annoyed — Max knows what happened.

Checo kicks off his shoes and turns on the lights. He climbs the stairs. Sure enough, the infinitely quiet whisper of a breath can be heard through the walls. 

"Why are you here," Checo asks as he walks into his bedroom, because it's mid December in Puerto Vallarta and seeing Max laying flat on his bed was not what he expected though he was glad it was Carola's weekend with the kids.

"I thought I'd pay you a visit," Max replies with the slightest slur — of course he was drunk. "Can I not visit my favourite teammate?"

Checo looks him up and down. Max's wearing his usual clothes, minus his sneakers — he knows how Checo feels about wearing shoes upstairs — and his hair looks unkept. Overgrown brown hair sticks to his neck and temples, damp; he must've come out of Checo's shower a mere moment ago. 

"Get out of my bed. Your clothes are dirty."

Max tilts his head at a weird angle. He eyes Checo from behind his shoulder, too awkward to be coy, and purses his lips. 

"I was going to leave anyway. Your bed is too small for me. I guess it's only fit for such a tiny man."

Checo has been letting the news of Liam replacing him marinate inside since Qatar and has no energy to argue with a Max that's half-drunk and bratty. He shrugs, leaning onto the doorframe.

"Whatever. The door is open."

Their eyes meet. Checo isn't fazed by the blank canvas that is Max's expression; he can see his eyes flicker from one eye to another, tracing his mouth, lowering to his neck — his adams apple, raising back up. Max is thinking. Contemplating whether to actually leave or to stay, most likely. Wondering which option would piss Checo off the most. Debating what kind of reaction would be more entertaining to witness.

Checo doesn't give Max a single clue. He gets started with his morning routine instead. He unbuttons his coat — his Red Bull branded coat — slides it off his chest, and throws it into the laundry basket next to the bathroom door. His button-up shirt takes more time: the buttons are smaller, and Checo's light-headed due to sleep deprivation.

He doesn't need to watch Max's eyes to know he's staring. And Checo could put on a show, flex his muscles, arch his head back, but ultimately, he's trying not to sway Max one way or another. Whether Max decides to slip under the covers or slip out of his house will forever remain his own decision. Checo's never been into the idea of making that choice for him.

He slides off his pants. It's clinical, mechanical; the sound of Max swallowing is loud in the silence, but so is the rustle of fabric, and that makes it easier to ignore. He slips off his socks, his wedding band he's yet to get rid of. 

Standing in his underwear in front of Max Verstappen will never not be nerve-wracking. No matter how many times he's been looked at, clawed at, touched, caressed, grabbed, bruised, punched, Max's presence feels brand new each and every time. It's familiar, still. Checo knows what makes him tick. What living under a gaze like Max has does to a person. And though Checo does not shiver, his arms are covered in goosebumps, and he doubts it escapes Max's notice. 

When Checo pushes the bathroom door open, Max clears his throat. He sounds rough, like he's been screaming. Or— well.

"What if I don't want to take off my clothes?" he asks, pointedly. It's not a genuine question. He's testing him, like he's never been naked in front of Checo before, like he doesn't know how Checo will respond.

"Your pyjamas are in the bottom left drawer."

"I know that."

"Of course you do. Shut up, then."

Max snorts. He rises from the bed. Checo turns to look at him. Much like Checo a second ago, Max undresses in short, blunt movements. First the coat, then the button up, and finally the pants. He leaves the socks on, his watch. But that doesn't come off as much of a surprise anyway. All the while, Max holds Checo's gaze. It holds weight. Some heat, some triumph, some fear. There's always some fear in Max's eyes. It was there, too, the day they met, when Max got much too close for comfort and told him in that sunny-bright voice that he loved him. 

Checo does not think that there is a single emotion Max knows quite as well as fear.

"There. I'm naked. What now?" 

Checo lets out an involuntary, brief chuckle. "You sound annoyed about it."

"That's because I am annoyed about it."

"Why did you get naked, then?"

Max eyes flicker away for a finite second. "Well, Checo did. I wouldn't want to make him feel stupid, you see."

"How gracious of you," Checo says, and beckons him near with a twirl of the fingers.

Like gravity is pushing him, Max goes — he's never this obedient, that's how Checo knows he's aware of his Red Bull situation. His step is hesitant. He stumbles around Checo's bed and stops just shy of Checo's hand. He could almost pass for embarrassed, if Max knew such a thing as shame. His eyes zero on Checo's fingers. The rough, tan, freckled skin.

Max has filled out with the years. His cheeks are slimmer, eyes less sunken in, lips a shade or two darker than his skin. He blushes, now, it seems. Checo stares at the pink flush dusting his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and tries to cope with the knowledge that Max Verstappen blushes the same colour as his nipples.

He must do a bad job at stifling his laughter. Max's eyes narrow, the picture of defensiveness, and he pouts. 

"What is it?"

"I'm not mocking you," Checo attempts to soothe.

"I never said you were!" Max barks back, flushing darker and prettier. He shifts away. Takes a step back. 

Checo loses all mirth at once. He'd almost forgotten how porcelain-fragile Max could be — even when Checo is the one who should be hurt right now — beneath all that bravado and taunts. Checo leans against the wall behind him and taps his thigh with the hand that isn't brushing Max's chin. It's a bit of a gamble. A shot in the dark. He isn't sure if Max would recognise the command, or even respond to it, but he won't lose anything by trying. It might help dislodging the stick out of Max's ass, at the very least.

Max's pupils dilate. His body tenses, nostrils flaring. When he drops to his knees, it's so loud and sudden that even Checo flinches. Checo can't stifle the deep exhale of relief that comes then. Max is looking up at him with the same expecting eyes as when Checo joined the team — when they fucked for the first time. But the same way he was trembling, hesitant, and pure four year ago, now there's something cheeky about his air, the way he eyes Checo through his lashes.

Checo rests his palm under Max's chin. Max leans into his touch, warm, affectionate. Checo bites back a wave of pink-gold feelings that he'd rather not confront sober at one thirty in the morning. 

"And you call me the dog," Checo says, fully knowing he shouldn't, when Max nuzzles his thigh.

Max blushes all the way down to his neck, and he stops moving. Checo tucks a lock of brown — realistically, dirty blonde — hair behind his ear. Something vicious inside his heart relishes in seeing Max in a vulnerable position again. Not in pain, not risking death, not stressed out of his wits — but genuinely and wholly vulnerable. Here, Checo could reach and squeeze his throat, and Max would let him. Here, Checo could call him a dog, and Max would blush and like it.

"Still into it?" he says, low in his throat. "The name-calling."

Max shakes his head, cheek pressed against Checo knee. "I was never into it to begin with. That was all just wishful thinking on your part, stupid."

"Yeah, don't even try. I haven't forgotten the time you came just from being called a slut."

"That was years ago!" Max protests.

"So?"

"So it's irrelevant."

"Mh. Sure."

Checo traces Max's jaw with the tip of his fingers. He thanks God — if God exists, but now isn't the time for existential thoughts — for making the angel on his knees in front of him the last person he's had the pleasure to drive alongside before having to retire. He doesn't tremble, when Max's mouth kisses his palm, though the tremor in his heart is so powerful he fears Max might hear it.

"You're staying."

"Is that a question?" Max huffs.

"Does it need to be?" 

"I'm staying."

"I know." Checo swipes his thumb right under his eye. The skin is soft, giving. If he applied just enough pressure…

Max whines, "Stop thinking about gouging my eyes out, will you?"

Checo startles. Almost. "How did you know?"

"Puh. Because I've thought about the same thing a million and a half times, of course. You're not very original." 

Max blinks up at him. He grins, more smirk than smile, and nibbles at Checo's fingers. Checo pushes them further into Max's mouth in retaliation. Max makes a half-muffled noise of surprise — or annoyance — and takes it in stride. Checo presses the pads of his index and middle fingers against Max's tongue. It's plush. Wet. Wriggling against him.

"You're disgusting," Checo comments.

Max bites down, gentler than he most likely could've. It barely even hurts. Checo smirks. He takes out his fingers, and with nowhere to wipe them, licks them clean. Max stares at his tongue intently. 

Oh, yes. He's staying alright.

"Get on the bed," Checo tells him.

Max, for a moment, stays transfixed on his mouth. Then, "And what if I don't?"

"Leave my house in your socks and panties, for all I care. See if the winter breeze treats you better than I can."

Max glares, indignant, but obeys and climbs into the queen-sized bed. It's all awkwardly long limbs and pale skin. There's no grace to his movements, no thought behind what he does. Max sinks into the plush mattress and stares off into the void. Checo wonders if he's the only one who gets to see him like this. If others get to fuck the Max that's charismatic, polished, sexy — the Max that Checo's never met and never wishes to meet. If he is the only person in this world that gets to see Max without pretences. If Kelly, the woman carrying his child, gets to see him like this.

Checo sits in between his legs, criss-crossed. He's slouching and the angle probably gives him a double chin: Max looks at him like he's holding the stars between his teeth. That's something he's come to learn about the driver laid so softly against his maroon sheets. No matter how much Max claims to care about no one but himself, claims to be ruthless and unforgiving, there is not a single being on Earth that has looked at Checo with as much adoration as he.

"I don't want to have sex," Max says.

Checo looks at him, his expression softening. "Okay?"

"Maybe I just wanted to talk."

"Talk?" Checo echoes, his tone neutral but curious as he waits for Max to continue.

Max shifts, sitting up and unintentionally moving closer to Checo. Their faces are so close that their breaths mingle, and Max hesitates for a moment, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I'm sorry."

Checo raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Sorry for what?"

Max takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "About... about what happened with your seat. About Liam." He pauses, his gaze dropping to his lap. "It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. You’ve done so much for the team, for everyone, and they just—" He cuts himself off, he seemed more upset about the whole ordeal than Checo did.

Checo watches him for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Max," he says softly, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "you don’t have to apologize for something that wasn’t your fault."

"I know, but—" Max looks up, his expression filled with guilt and frustration. "I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything. I should’ve stood up for you, Checo. You deserved better than that."

Checo smiles faintly, though there’s a sadness in it. "It’s Formula 1, Max. It’s not always fair. And you? You’ve got enough on your plate without trying to fight my battles too."

"But you’re my teammate—" Max’s voice wavers, and he quickly corrects himself. "You were my teammate. And more than that, you’re my friend. I should’ve done more."

Checo’s hand squeezes his bare shoulder gently. "You’ve always supported me in your own way, Max. And I appreciate that. But this... this is just how it goes sometimes. Liam’s an alright kid, and I’ll find my place again. I always do."

Max swallows hard, his chest tightening. "It still doesn’t feel right."

Checo’s smile grows a little, the warmth in it reassuring. "It doesn’t have to. What matters is that we both gave everything we had while we were teammates. I’ll always be proud of that. And you should be too."

Max nods slowly, but the weight in his chest doesn’t quite lift. "I just— I hope you know how much you mean to me. Not just as a driver, but as a person."

Checo’s eyes soften, and he pulls Max into a brief but firm hug. "I know, Max. And you mean a lot to me too. Now, stop beating yourself up about it, okay?"

Max doesn’t respond immediately, but as he leans into the embrace, he feels a flicker of comfort, even if the guilt hasn’t entirely faded. For now, it’s enough.

There's a moment of silence. Max's breathing is heavier, of course, and his arms come to circle Checo's chest in a mimic of a hug. Checo presses his teeth to the arteries. It's gentle. Max hisses low and soft in his throat.

"You're warm," Checo tells him. It's true; it's worth saying because Max used to be as cold as the dead of night. He's never felt as alive as now.

Max nods, his nose brushing Checo's jaw. He inhales. It's shaky. "I could almost pass for a real human being, now. Right?"

"I wouldn't know." Checo presses an open-mouthed kiss to his clavicle. They don't look like they could pierce the skin anymore. There's flesh, now, filling out the dips. Checo likes seeing it.

It stings, much more than he'd like to admit, to know that Max was hurting at the thought of having to drive alongside someone other than Checo.

Max’s gaze flickers with something fragile, a desperate attempt to mask the sadness threatening to consume him. He leans in closer, his lips brushing Checo’s cheek. “Did you miss me?” he murmurs, but his voice lacks its usual confidence, trembling under the weight of everything left unsaid.

“No,” Checo replies, forcing the word out like it doesn’t choke him. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Rude,” Max mutters, though the tease feels hollow. Something flickers in his eyes—fear, maybe, or regret. His lips press into a thin line before he asks, “Did you find someone else?” The question hangs heavy in the air, but what he really wants to ask remains unspoken: Is that why you’re leaving me, leaving Red Bull?

Checo bites down, mean and sharp, and ignores the needy gasp that he hears. “Don’t give me that shit. Fuck, Max.” His voice cracks, betraying him as he shakes his head, his breath hitching. “How could I find anyone else after knowing what it’s like to love you?” He looks away, his jaw clenched tightly, his own emotions clawing their way to the surface.

Max blinks, stunned by the confession, and his facade crumbles. “Then why are you doing this?” His voice is quiet, shaky, and it shatters the fragile calm between them. “Why are you leaving, Checo? I don’t understand.”

Checo exhales harshly, dragging a hand through his hair as if it might anchor him. “Because I have to,” he says, and the words sound more like he’s trying to convince himself than Max. “Because this team — it’s your world, Max, not mine. I’ve done my part. It’s time for me to move on.”

“But I’m still here,” Max says, his voice breaking on the last word. His hands tremble at his sides, helpless to stop Checo from slipping away. “I need you, Checo. You’ve been the only constant in all of this — the one person who’s ever really been there for me.”

Checo turns back to him, his expression softening for a moment before the pain returns, sharp and unforgiving. “Max, you’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I don’t care about being strong,” Max snaps, frustration and sorrow colliding in his chest. “I care about you. I don’t want to do this without you.”

Checo detaches himself from Max's neck. It glistens with spit and the pink imprints of Checo's teeth. He brushes the bite mark with the tip of his fingers, an odd satisfaction rising. Max chases his gaze, when his mouth chases after Checo's, it's easy to let their lips collide. 

Checo palms the back of his neck, pressing them together, and Max responds with familiar enthusiasm. The rhythm of his mouth, Chdco knows peculiarly well. The slow glide of his tongue. The hint of too-sharp teeth. He'd make a good vampire , Checo thinks, head in the clouds, as their lips slide against each other. 

His eyes fall shut. It's much too easy to lose himself in the cadence. Max kisses him, and if he was the type of man to like to pretend, Checo could almost make himself believe everything's normal. They aren't athletes, he isn't divorced, Max doesn't have a child on the way. Max's hand rises and cradles his cheek. There's an overwhelming amount of care in that simple gesture. Checo's heart beats with the strength of a hurricane. A finger toys with his earlobe. Another swipes right above his cheekbone. Checo has given up on this too long ago to feel at peace with finding it again, and he chokes on tears he will never shed.

"I missed you," Max rasps against him. His hips have started rocking on their own, a slow and gentle roll that makes Checo grit his teeth to stifle moans of his own. "I'll miss you."

"Did you?" he counters, out of breath, biting into the plushness of lips. "Weren't you too busy playing house with your Kelly to think about anything else?"

"Jealousy is a good look on you." 

Max licks into his mouth, the way he knows makes Checo's brain stutter. Checo's hands grab at his hips a little desperately. He pushes him down. The obvious hardness in Max's underwear only serves to spur him on. They grind together, gentle, sensual, Max's panting a melody in his ears. 

Checo's always been too vocal. He moans, effortlessly, watches as Max's eyes glaze over with want. Knowing that Max wants him, still, after so many years of the same thing, does odd things to his heart. He certainly should not feel so much elation — he certainly should not feel many, many things. But it's mid December, he hasn't slept in three days, and Maz is open and willing and warm on top of him: Checo yearns achingly so. 

"I'm not jealous," Checo has half the mind to reply.

"You are. Te extrañé, you know."

"I didn't."

Max kisses him softly, saccharine sweet. He's blushing all over, stomach trembling, and here's a neediness to him that does Checo in. He dips his fingers under Max's boxer briefs.

"I know why you left." 

"Hm. Do you?"

Checo looks into his eyes. A beat passes. Max raises his hips, allowing him to slide the fabric down his thighs. Checo does. He brushes his hands down his skin, teasing the inner thigh, watches as Max's breathing speeds up. There's nothing Checo hasn't seen before: fragile flesh, dark patches of hair, scars. None seem fresh. They are all months old, at least. Checo feels — strange, seeing this. He fears it might all be gone the next time he blinks. 

Max is all flushed, looking as content as a cat in the sunlight. He reaches for Checo's own underwear. Checo lifts his hip and Maz as consequence, amused by the way Max seems absolutely enamoured by his strength. His boxers are removed. Now that the nervousness is gone, Checo appreciates Max's eyes on him. They speak more sincerely than his mouth, most of the time.

Why didn't you ask me to come with you? Max wants to ask, though he knows it would be futile. He knows why. It was never about Checo in the first place. Sometimes, running away is all it is: running away. Sometimes, people go, and that is all there it is to it. Checo did not leave the team because it would break Max's heart.

It's a blur afterwards. Max knows where Checo hides his lube, apparently, because in just a few blinks, he's already squirting some into Checo's palm. Checo watches without hiding his amusement.

"Are you clean?"

Max pauses. He clears his throat. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand — gross . "You think I'm not?"

Checo considers him. He does not think Max would lie about this.

"I think I don't trust the woman carrying your child."

Checo rubs his fingers together to warm them. Max settles in his lap again, pressing their hips together — obviously not wanting to speak about the woman waiting at home for him. He's definitely worked up, flustered enough to fiddle and twitch. Checo wants to kiss him. He does. There's too much fondness and adoration in his heart to ignore. He doesn't know what to do with all of it. Restless, Max kisses back. 

"Maxie. Tell me if it starts to hurt."

Max gasps, nods, and buries his face in Checo's neck. A single finger eases in slow, easy. Checo knows Max's body like the back of his hand. He knows what he wants, knows how stubborn he can be. Knows that he likes gentleness no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Max shifts around. Checo kisses the crown of his neck. 

"Feels different," Max confesses, once Checo introduces a second finger. 

"Bad different?"

"Mmhh— no. Just, different. Kelly doesn't like touching me like you do."

Checo brushes a hand along Max's spine. Max shivers, moans and cuts himself off at once. Checo waits patiently for him to relax. His second finger is halfway there, and they have all the time in the world. It's winter break and Checo no longer has to spend half his time split between his kids and his job.

Max pants into his mouth, warm, and Checo immediately forgets about his children. "More?" he asks, softly.

"Yeah." Max sighs. 

Checo kisses his jaw, his cheek, his neck. There's so much skin to kiss. The clothes he wears to cover himself to purposely are long gone, leaving nothing but the marks left from years of hurt. Checo likes to trace them with his tongue. The scar tissue is interesting, the texture different, and much more sensitive than the rest of him.

Max trembles a bit. It's normal. Checo makes sure to move his hand gently, carefully, easing him into the sensation. Checo would rather keep this as slow and sweet as possible. A bead of sweat trickles down Max's temple. He's frowning, brows knit tightly together, and Checo smirks, because he knows that means Max's trying to keep it cool. 

Checo crooks his fingers the way he remembers it. Just a bit to the right, deeper than he'd think possible, he brushes a spot that has Max tense and hissing between his teeth, throwing his head down. He moans just as high-pitched as he did back when they came this close for the first time. Impossibly fond, Checo kisses his forehead. 

"Is it still good?"

Max glares, though it's ruined by his deep flush and his shaky breathing. "No, I hate this. I'm currently— mph, yeah, okay —really, not, really not into this."

"Just making sure," Checo shrugs, and presses into his prostate again. 

Max shakes all over. Their mouths meet again, as if guided by an invisible string, and they kiss deep and messy and wet. Max's lips are slick and bruised a deep pink. Checo stretches him diligently for a good two minutes before the first complaints reach him.

"H— fuck. Hey, 'm not, fragile, okay? You'd think you, out of all people, would know…"

"I do know."

"Then take your dumb fingers out!"

Checo raises an eyebrow. "Are you hurting?"

"No, obviously, I'm— ngh, ah, I'm— ready."

"Ready? For what?"

Max stares at him in obvious distress. He opens his mouth, probably to insult him, but Checo cuts him off with a twist of the wrist. The moan that follows is longer, sweeter than the others that preceded. Max pants, thighs trembling around Checo's arm.

"Come on, Maxie. You can say it."

"Don't call me— don't call me that."

Checo sighs, pressing down the arch of Checo's back. He goes, pliant and malleable, and Checo holds him close. He can pretend it's all for sex, at least, if Max asks why he's so touchy-feely. Though, to be fair, he probably is far more touch-starved than Checo ever was. Checo kisses him again; it's a thrill he can't get over yet.

Gently, he speaks. "Okay, tesoro, okay. What is it you want?"

Max nuzzles against him, hot and breathy and warm. "Fuck me?"

Shit.

"Yeah," Checo says, choked up by emotions he won't name. "Yeah, of course."

They breathe together, into each other, melting against skin and lips and curious fingers. It's gold-bright and hot, wet, and when Max moves and sinks into him, he worries he might burst into tears. Max's arms circle his neck. He holds onto him like a lifeline. Checo rests his hands against his hips, guiding him up and down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Max's sweat-slick chest. 

"Ah— Ah , Checo, this is…" Max trails off, muttering curses under his breath. He makes a lovely picture. His hair is damp, clinging to his face, even messier than it usually is. The scarlet-brown eyes that dig into Checo glisten slightly. It's a relief to know Checo isn't the only one being a crybaby here.

He presses a kiss to the hollow of Max's throat. His hips roll upwards. "How do you feel?"

"Nhhh, ah, good. Good."

"Just good?"

Max grinds down, a tad desperate, scrambling for purchase against Checo's chest. He bites at his lips viciously. Checo tastes blood. He likes it.

"Shit! No, yes, good. It's good," Max stammers, "Ah. More?"

"Anything— anything you want," Checo promises. 

He means it. If it denotes he can keep Maz like this, awkward in his sensuality, blushing red and furious, chasing after his own pleasure in Checo's lap, then he would give him anything. His palms brush against Max's waist, his belly, and then down. Max honest-to-god whines. 

"Fuck's sake," Checo rasps.

His hips snap forward, and Max seems to fold onto himself. He keeps the pace slow. At every thrust, he wonders just how deeply he can go, how much of Max he can reach. It's overwhelmingly good. The sounds of skin slapping skin would be embarrassing, if not for how little Checo cared to be embarrassed. Max's mouth had opened at some point to never close again. 

"S— Sergio . Close. 'M close." 

Checo kisses him as answer, a mess of spit and tongue and too much teeth. They roll their hips together, slow, slow, and every time, he hits the same spot that has Max writhing and twitching. His moans grow louder and whinier. His thighs tremble with the effort, but not a single moment does he stop moving. Checo's scalp tingles. He can feel it just under his skin, his release, knows he won't let himself come until Max has.

"H— Hey, Maxie, you know I— you know I did miss you, right?"

He doesn't know why he's saying this. He doesn't know where the words are even coming from.

Max's eyes soften. When they kiss, it's honey-sweet. "I know you did. You're a terrible liar."

"Just to you," Checo counters weakly. He shakes his head. Max breathes against his temple. "I can't lie to you."

"And do— ah, ah , do you know why that is?"

And for once, it's a sincere question. Maybe Max knows, but wants him to say it outright. Or maybe he truly has no idea. But it's a question, and it's genuine, and for once it doesn't sound like Max is playing him like a fiddle. 

"You know me too well…" 

"We're one in the same." Max's eyes close, lashes fanning across his cheeks prettily. Checo's hand works him up and down as they move. "We both share one — nhhh, I'm close — we both—" 

Max comes with a high-pitched noise and a single tear caught in the corner of his eye. Checo watches, fascinated, as his body tenses as tightly as a nocked arrow, and suddenly, release spills all over his fingers. It's quick. It looks intense. And as soon as it's over, Checo's body decides that's enough, and he comes much the same way. He throws his head back; the pleasure isn't something he can properly describe, but it's bone-deep, and it feels more emotional than physical.

Checo reaches up and brushes his thumb under Max's eye. He catches the tear there, and it disappears as moisture on their skin. Their shared breathing is shockingly loud, now that the heat of the moment has passed, and Checo's suddenly glad he lives in a secluded area. Gone are the times he had to live atop a store, now he has more than enough money to live in a house, alone, with walls thick enough to fuck his former teammate without being disturbed. 

"We both share one soul," Max murmurs then. Their eyes meet. 

Checo had never forgotten how beautiful Max could be. But it still hits him like a truck, right then and there, to realise that he is holding him in his arms. They've fucked before, but they've never made love. An itch in his brain he never realised he even possessed is satisfied, and Checo thinks he could sleep for a thousand years. 

He smiles. "I would have gone with you. I know it wasn't the point. I know you didn't think about me when you were told you were being dropped, and I'm not mad about it. But, I want you to know that I would come with you to the ends of the world."

Warm hands cradle his face. "I did think about you. Always, I do."

They shuffle around. Max slips under the grey blankets — Checo bites back a wave of satisfaction, but this is his bed, and Max is sleeping in his house, warm, safe, cared for, and it's all he has ever wanted — while Checo goes to retrieve baby wipes and towels.

When he comes back from the bathroom, Max's socks have been thrown onto the floor. Checo doesn't bother chastising him for it. Max meets his gaze with a grin. He stretches his entire body, arms thrown over his head, throat exposed and pink, and Checo wants. They sit together. Checo cleans him up. Max buries his face in his chest.

"D'you feel alright?" His voice is gentle enough to surprise even himself.

Max's arms squeeze him. His leg is thrown around Checo's waist. "Mh. I'm glad I didn't leave when I heard you come in."

Checo breathes in his scent. He thinks Max's shampoo might be a mix of almonds and something else.

"How did you even find my house?"

Max blinks slowly. "I have my ways." He wasn't going to tell Checo that he called Lance and begged him to send it.

Checo flicks his nose. "You're impossible. Fine. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Does that mean Checo is letting me hog his bed?"

"You sound so excited about it, I'd feel bad kicking you out."

"Hah! You love having me here." Max grins. His cheeks are still rose-tinted. It's impossible not to kiss him square on the mouth. 

Checo savours the taste of him, his smell, his presence. He hasn't felt this peaceful in a while.

"Stay for a while. Yeah?"

"I have work."

"It's the holidays."

"And after?"

Checo shrugs, holds him a little closer. "I have a spare bathroom and you have a plane."

"You should've just said so!" Max presses their foreheads together. The air between them mingles. "Okay. I'll stay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And sometimes, that's all there is to it.

[hanbinniesmango]

First Kiss with Nct Dream (hyung line)

kyy note//: im like sleep deprived rn, but let’s not stop the grind🤭💗 anyways hope ya like ittt

mark: you guys are watching a movie after a long day out, you guys been laughing at scenes, cringing, and almost crying, and when talking about crying, it’s mostly you. the movies been going on for a while now, you both have ate your snacks and are now practically cuddling up near each other with the soft blankets lay atop both of you. the movie isn’t rated r at all, it’s rather more on the emotional side. you guys are watching it happily until a kissing scene comes up. the kissing on the screen is pretty intimate. it’s not marks fault that thoughts of you and him recreating that scene bubble up in his little head. he shifts in his seat and blush starts to dust his cheeks, he starts biting his lip contemplating if he should ask you. he’s watching you watch the movie happily. it’s almost like he’s studying you. studying the way you also blush, the way you did your hair today, the way smile slightly at the certain parts, the way you turn to to look at him when you see him staring at you. snap out of it mark! ask her! “can i..” he glances down to your lips, you looking at his and back at his eyes. “can i kiss you?…please?” he finally says with an exhale. “i would really like that now.” you say with a smile before he dives into your lips, kissing them gently. then your arms are around his neck, and his caressing your face lovingly. something’s telling you both this won’t be only a one time thing.

renjun: you somehow end up asleep on his lap, your phone by your side and his in his hand. he’s now pausing the video he was on to look down at you. he’s smiling at the comfortable state you’re in, your soft breathing, your placid face, not to admit the way you hug up to him, the fact that you even feel comfortable doing stuff like this with him! he’s just renjun, just plain old renjun. wait. why is he thinking about this, you’re his best friend, why is he staring at you with such intent?? he tries to catch himself, but you seem to have other plans. “renjun?…” you open your eyes and say, eyes darting up to the ones staring back above you. you see the way he’s looking at you, it isn’t just aimless, it’s full of something, and you’re sure you’re starting to feel it too. you both look each other in the eyes, he gets closer to your face. should he do it? what if— you lean up and connect your lips with his. he pulls away. he then goes back in for another, then another, then— now you guys are making out. woohoo!

jeno: you guys are a new couple and have been dating for at least 2-3 weeks now, but you’ve wanted to take it slow and be careful with it. you didn’t want to move too fast and mess something up so that’s how it’s been for the past weeks. you guys are out on a date at the park, somewhere with a beautiful outside exterior. the sun is shining on you, the flowers are bloomed fully, the birds are singing out, and there are kids laughing and playing around in the distance. you both are sitting on a park bench watching some kids play tag in the area, before he gets up. he walks off and crouches down in front of a flower bed. you tilt your head at him, wondering what he could be possibly doing. “what are you doin, nono?” you say with a hint of confusion. he pulls something up and then comes back over to you with a sweet smile. he holds a colorful flower near your face, it’s so beautiful. “i wonder who the real flower is?” he says. you giggle, finding his cheesy line funny. he then puts the flower behind your ear and caresses your cheek gently whilst staring at you lovingly. you look back up at him, leaning into his touch. he smiles wide before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “you’re so beautiful, sweets.” he mumbles out. “thanks ba—“ he leans down to kiss you, you freezing but then you start moving your lips with him. both of your lips moving slowly together. what a beautiful day.

haechan: he’s over at your place and you both are just chatting it out as usual. just one of those hours of the day where you both gossip, rant, talk about old times, shows, humor it out. it started out with you both talking about some old memories that happened at your younger ages, that one time when you fell of your bike and cried until you felt like you couldn’t cry anymore. you actually don’t know why you cried, either because you scuffed your knee or because you failed at riding and haven’t touched a bike since then. don’t know though! he laughs with you, agreeing with your stories, maybe disagreeing because he feels as if you’re making fun of him at certain parts. such a baby. he starts telling the dumbest jokes, even worse, they’re dad jokes. you groan out at most of them, sometimes cringing, then also laughing because you find his corny little jokes humorous. you guys then start talking about your love life in the past and nowadays. you tell him about how you haven’t found your special person yet and you’re just waiting for them to fall out the sky. ‘what if your special person was right in front of you this whole time? what if you didn’t have to wait?’ he thought all of a sudden. his eyes start trailing down to your lips, him watching your plush lips move, imagining how it would feel on his. while he’s zoned out on your lips you start to notice he’s not paying attention to you talking. you’re about to clear your throat to gain back attention, but then you see what all his attention is going to. your lips. was he watching you talk, just to see the way your lips were moving? affirmative! “haechan?” you speak out, snapping him out of his trance. he sends you multiple apologies trying to cover up until you ask him, “do you wanna kiss me channie?” and suddenly it’s quiet. that doesn’t stop him from nodding his head though. with a smile and some pink, dusted cheeks you both kiss and to you guys surprise, you both like it. it won’t hurt to steal another right?

[aheckinmess]

Day Twenty-One: Kinktober 2024 - MHA Edition

Read on AO3.

Tags/Warnings: Hate Fuck, Female Reader, Fingering, Grinding, Hickeys, Biting, Degradation Kink - A Bit, Pro Hero Bakugo, Pro Hero Reader, Katsuki Bakugo, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, Dynamight, Bakugo Shits On Your Technique, You Don't Take It Lying Down, Both of You Turn Feral, Insert Markiplier Meme, "And if You EVER Come in Here Again With a Goddamn Opinion, I'll Shove It So Far Up Your Ass It'll Never See the Light of Day Again," Weather's Nice, Aged Up, Of Course, My Sleep Deprivation Demon Now Fears Me

Word Count: 550 words

Summary: You really, really hate Bakugo.

Day Twenty-One: Hate Fuck -> Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo is a bastard and he knows it.

Every hard stare, every grind of his teeth – he fucking pisses you off and even though he knows it, he’s still an asshole to you. Especially because he knows it.

“Your technique is sloppy, you damn extra!” He sneers. 

“Your attitude is sloppy, bitch.” You blow him a kiss. “Besides, if you’d moved faster, we might have caught the villain.”

“You were here before me, dumbass! If anyone needs to be faster it’s you!” He’s chest to chest with you, sweat glistening on his neck as he works himself up again.

“I don’t recall asking for your goddamn opinion anyway, Dynamight!” 

When he grabs you by the neck and kisses you, your entire body lurches. Your hormones beg to get closer, but on principle you rear back and deck him in the face.

In the next move, you grasp the collar of his costume and yank his bloody, smirking face forward to kiss him again. God, he might be an asshole but he exudes sex appeal.

He slams you back against the wall, his teeth digging into your flesh and leaving love marks there, despite the definitive lack of love between you two. You’re just aching to put him in his place. This is a challenge. A feral competition to force each other into a vulnerable position.

You want him to need you.

The only problem is that you need him, too. Your fingers claw at any bare skin you can find, lingering around his shoulders and along his neck. As your hips grind against his covered cock, his greedy hand rubs between your legs. The skin tight costume leaves little to the imagination as it allows you to experience his rough touch through the thin fabric.

However, the costume causes some difficulty when he goes to reach inside your bottoms. With a growl – Bakugo is never one to be shown up, after all – he forces his hand in until his fingers greet the wet puddle you’ve made for him.

“You like this, huh?”

“I don’t see why not. Your cock certainly seems to like it.” You grip his hair and pull back, exposing his throat to you while you grind against his hidden erection.

You work on sucking a hickey into his neck while his finger makes quick work of your sensitive nub. He starts slow and works up to teasing flicks until you’re squealing – you arch into the wall and leave scratch marks on his back as he nearly tips you over the edge.

When you finally shatter, he silences your loud shrieks with his free hand. His eyes never leave yours as you ride through an angry amalgamation of ardent hatred and underlying affection.

Dammit, you will not fall in love with this man!

You reach for his cock next, determined to return the favor and prove you’re more than capable of making him feel just as good…but he stops you.

“Meet me at my place tomorrow night.” He demands, holding out his hand for your phone and punching in the address before returning it. “And make sure your technique at sex is better than your technique at fighting villains.”

You watch him leave with a reminder flaring in your head.

Bakugo is a bastard and he knows it.

Continue with Day 22

Tag List: @loll82829, @enigma-and-oasis

Interested in JJK, too? Check out Day 21 with Geto.