#I love it and at the same time it frustrates me

[pathologicalreid]

that gold mine changed you | s.r.

in which Spencer won't open up to you following his release from prison and you've reached your breaking point

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warning: post prison/prison arc, lack of communication, chemist!reader, slightly proofread word count: 2.13k a/n: love this song. both the original and the phoebe bridgers cover.

i don’t wanna be here anymore; it all tastes like poison

You rifled through the dish that you kept on the entryway console, looking for your car keys so that you could get out. It was hard to describe the way you felt like a spinning top, not dizzy but out of control. Everything felt so out of control.

How could you let it get this bad? You breathed heavily as you fished your keys from the pottery and looped your finger through the key ring. Wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, your eyes caught onto some movement in your periphery.

“You’re leaving?” Spencer asked from down the hallway; his work clothes were rumpled and creased like he’d fallen asleep in them.

You had hoped that he would have the ability to ease himself back into society after three months of prison, and you always took the time to assure him that you would be there for him. Desperately, you tried to be a pillar of support, but you had reached your breaking point.

He’d been given six weeks to readjust. When that didn’t seem to be working, you thought maybe he needed to find his rhythm again, but going back to work at the BAU didn’t seem to help him either. It wasn’t until his first sabbatical hit that you finally considered the fact that things would never be the same between the two of you again.

When you didn’t answer, Spencer put his foot out but hesitated to take a step toward you. “Are you going to come back?”

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at the keys in your hand, “I don’t know.” You eyed the key to your lab, the one place you could always go to escape when you needed to, but you never imagined needing to escape from Spencer.

You weren’t even sure he had been sleeping in the same bed as you, and if he was, he was getting in after you and getting up before you. There was once a moment when you and Spencer shared every minute detail of your lives with each other, at least the parts you weren’t together for, but now you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what he was teaching in his lectures, and he couldn’t guess which projects you were working on.

When Spencer was in prison, you thought that was the loneliest you would ever be, but now you were living with the ghost of the man who you once loved, and you had never felt more alone.

Last week, you had practically begged him, very nearly gotten on your knees and pled with him to have a substantial conversation with you. He didn’t seem interested.

you believe that you love me

Looking back up, your eyes widened at the revelation that Spencer had made his way to you in complete silence; he was standing in front of you, “You’re sneaking out?”

Your nostrils flared in frustration; you were sneaking out of your own apartment, a space that you and Spencer were supposed to share, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. “Did I do something wrong?” You asked him, studying his brown eyes as they appeared until the cool light of the moon.

He set both of his hands on your upper arms, and you pulled away from his touch. Spencer flinched back as surely as if you’d struck him. If you pulling away from him hurt, then he wouldn’t be able to fathom how you were feeling right now—how you had been feeling for the last seven months.

“Is it because of your mom?” You tried again, silver lining your eyes as you looked up at him, mercurial tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for an answer. “I was at work when she was abducted,” you reminded him, having thrown yourself into work while Spencer was in prison. “Is it because I didn’t help her?”

Spencer’s lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you blamed yourself for that.” His arms hung limply by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching in an attempt to release nervous energy.

Blinking tears from your eyes, your shoulders slouched at what felt like a rejection, “How would you? You don’t talk to me,” you told him, your tone wholly accusatory.

“We talk every day,” he rebutted, the energy in your conversation veering toward hostility. That’s not what you wanted; you just wanted to feel at peace.

Three months in prison, six weeks of mandatory leave, one hundred days with the team, twenty days into his first sabbatical, and Spencer was refusing to face what you had already run into headfirst. “We haven’t had a real conversation since February, Spencer. It’s September.”

His eyebrows pinched together as he studied your body language, profiling you to deduce what you wanted from him instead of just asking you. “What do you mean ‘a real conversation?’”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, and you searched every part of your brain for something to say that wouldn’t contribute to taking your life apart brick by brick. You couldn’t. The words simply weren’t there anymore. Maybe you had left them behind months ago, but right now, you shrugged helplessly, “You’re different, Spence.”

He peered down at you as if you had offended him, “Did you expect me to stay the same?”

It was pathetic. You felt pathetic. Staying in your entryway and begging for someone who previously kissed the ground you walked on for a reason to stay. You never had to ask him before. “I’ve never expected anything but love from you, and you know that,” you told him, pulling the truth from the depths of your soul and putting it on display for him.

Spencer took a step back, stumbling as if his legs were threatening to give out beneath him. “You don’t think I love you anymore?” His own tears welled in his eyes, glittering saline along his lash line that made your chest ache.

You blinked, letting more tears fall down your cheeks. You heard the droplets as they fell on the vinyl decal of your sweatshirt, the only noise in the midst of an otherwise deathly silence. “You have given me no reason to believe that you do,” you admitted, your voice tight with emotion.

so, lose your faith in me

“Don’t leave,” he gasped, struggling through his tears. He held a hand out to you, too hesitant to touch you because of the way you reacted earlier.

You felt like you were tearing your own heart from your chest. You held the organ in your hands, blood dripping to the floor and seeping within the woodgrain, and you asked him to put it back where it belonged. “I can’t do this anymore,” you told him.

He set a hand on the side of your neck, and this time, you didn’t pull away from him. Instead, you savored his touch, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin as the two of you waited for something to give. Three months in prison had been a test of your relationship; you had very little contact with each other. Nothing face-to-face, and after a while, Spencer’s mail started to go missing—interference by a prison guard who had it out for him. You thought that getting him back would fix everything.

Spencer was exactly the same, but somehow, he was completely different after his release. You couldn’t fault him for what he had gone through in prison, but you refused to continue your pattern of dancing around each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice so faint that you would’ve missed it had you not been searching for it. His breaths were quickening, and if it weren’t so dark, you’d be sure that his pupils were dilated in fear.

You pursed your lips, “Say it again.” You wanted to hear him. You needed to hear him. You so desperately wanted to hear him repeat himself so that you could throw your arms around him and let him know that everything was perfectly fine.

He panted, “I love you,” he echoed. “Please,” his voice broke, “I love you so much.”

“I want to believe you,” you breathed, looking back down at the keys that remained in your hand. As far as you were concerned, Spencer was the Patron Saint of Liars. He had the intelligence and the experience to become a master manipulator. He’d lied to you before. What was stopping him from doing it again? He knew that I love you was what you wanted to hear. When faced with telling a lie and losing you, the choice was laid out in front of him.

He nodded as if he understood, but you weren’t convinced that he possessed the bandwidth to fully comprehend why you were so unhappy. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he whispered.

You lost your balance, your back slammed against the wall, and your eyes widened as a result of his apology, “Why?”

Spencer’s brown eyes widened as you slid down the wall, waiting until you were sat on the floor to speak again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mexico.”

“You could’ve told me,” you told him, “I could’ve helped you, Spencer. Then we could… Then maybe…” your voice trailed off, lost in a sea of hiccuping sobs.

Gingerly, Spencer lowered himself to the ground and took a seat next to you, “Maybe I wouldn’t have gone to jail. You’re right,” he admitted, “but maybe they would’ve killed you too. Maybe there would have been the same outcome as the one we got, or maybe it would have been much worse.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “Lorenz,” you murmured, closing your eyes to relieve some of the burning.

“The Butterfly Effect,” Spencer commented, “Small changes can have large consequences. I made a decision that had massive ramifications and negatively impacted you, and I haven’t been doing enough to fix it.”

You sighed, “You can’t fix it, Spence. It’s like a band-aid over a bullet hole.” You thumbed the hem of your sweatpants, opening your eyes just to stare straight ahead at the wall.

He hummed in what you sincerely hoped was understanding, “I took six years of building trust with you and destroyed it, and now when I tell you I love you, you don’t believe me.”

“You told me you were going to Houston,” you whispered.

“I told everyone I was going to Houston,” he said softly.

Your head snapped in his direction, “I deserved more than what everyone else got. I deserved an explanation, and instead, you lied to me. You lied to me, and then you wouldn’t even let me see you while you were in prison.”

The corners of his mouth downturned, “I didn’t want you to see me in there, and I didn’t want anyone else to see you in there.” You’d heard second hand from JJ that the men at Millburn had ogled her the entire time she was visiting Spencer, and maybe he had explained himself in one of the missing letters, but he hadn’t mentioned it since coming home.

“Spencer, I just want to talk with you,” you whispered. “I want to have a conversation with my boyfriend that doesn’t end with him creating some arbitrary mental block because he doesn’t think I can handle it.”

There was a moment where you thought he was just going to let you go, but Spencer Reid liked to keep the things he cared about close. “It’s not because you can’t handle it, it’s because I can’t handle it,” he admitted.

You turned your body to face him, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to tell you about prison,” he clarified. “I barely want to tell my therapist about prison, but you—” his voice broke, and your heart went with it. “If I tell you everything I’ve done, you wouldn’t want to be with me anyway.”

You frowned, “Try me.” Your heart was racing; this bit here was decisive. His response would either mean letting go or moving forward.

He looked down at his lap, “Come to therapy with me tomorrow. It’s… there’s something about the leather couch that turns me into an open book.” He told you, nervously running his palms up and down his cloth-covered thighs. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed his hands, putting a stop to his compulsive movements. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, “Please don’t leave.”

Shaking your head, you sniffled through your tears. If you’d had more energy, maybe you would’ve given him a soft smile, but for now, you answered him, “I won’t.”

[murdrdocs]

a slow life with lucius; fluffy smut; mating press; lowk breeding kink MDNI 18+

thinking about living a life with lucius, or hanno as you know him.

spending your days living a mundane life. tending to the farm, living amongst chickens and goats, making a simple living for yourselves while keeping food on the table. there's not much excitement here, but this beats what else the two of you could be doing. when you see the marred skin of his and remember the feeling of aches that will likely never truly subside, you know what else you could be doing.

you pray to your god that when that day comes—because you both know the day will come, rome is ambitious and she will not be stopped before reaching your home—may the victory be swift or may the death be merciful.

but you don't have to think of these things when you're scolding hanno for being too rough with the crops. he'll tell you it is impossible to be too rough with crops, their deaths rarely come at the hand of the farmer and are usually caused by neglect. and while he is right in his own regard, you'll still send him a pointed look that makes him smile.

there is much time in your day for basking in the glory of the other. under the roof of your home, behind closed doors to keep your neighbors away, you stand in the center of the room, his arms over your shoulders and your arms around his waist. you've been together for some time now, you've done this with each other often, but it truly never gets old. you never get tired of hanno taking his time with you, cherishing every single patch of your skin as they all come together to make the person he loves most.

he doesn't tell you much about his past, but he tells you that you're all he has. it's the two of you, and hopefully eventually a few little others who can live in a humane world, god willing. but for now, it's just the two of you.

yet, the things hanno does to you makes it seem like he wants to increase the population of your home sooner rather than later. the way he bends you body with the weight of his own, pushing your thighs to your chest and hooking your calves over the corded muscle of his shoulders. the way he stares deep into your eyes as he gives you even deeper strokes, pushing his cock further into you time and time again until you're so sure you're going to have to start breathing for him, even when he's taking your breath away from you with each draw back.

"you're okay, yeah?" he always asks you, although in different variations. your favorite will always be the confident way he asks you, when the corner of his lip pulls up and he says, "you like this? do you enjoy what i do to you?". it's simply the way he says it, deep timber of his voice twisting the tone of the syllables until it sounds like he already knows the answer.

you cannot see how he wouldn't—with your cunt leaking around him and your moans filling up the room.

still, you always make an effort to answer him, no matter the strength of the spell he has put you under that time.

he's always so pretty above you, whether it be when the sun slips through the window and illuminates a blue iris, painting the replica color of a sea you know so well, or when the white light of the moon slips through and highlights the evidence that the sun has made on his skin.

big hands touching you everywhere, lips doing the same, but sometimes, you'll only let him get so far. at times when his hands slip down your body, heading towards a spot he has not left alone after the initial discovery, you'll have to swat them away. he's grown to expect it now, rolling his eyes half heartedly and fighting off a grin as he raises his eyebrows in an expression of insincere frustration.

"covered in dirt," you'll explain, knowing what will come next.

the way he bends down, tip of his nose brushing against yours as he tells you, "as is the rest of me ... and yet."

and he's always right. there seems to be a certain amount of the earth that both you and hanno will forever carry with you. a mark of the life you're so privileged to currently live, therefore more of a beautiful reminder than a nuisance.

so, as you let his fingers slip down to the most delicate parts of you, happily settling into the feeling of multiplied pleasure, you grin at him and echo his words.

"and yet."

[milktiicup]

need more of ur scarletella dear lord…. i love how u write mc too <3 could i perhaps request some fluff w our dear mr scarletella? maybe him teaching u words and like. making u say ‘me like you’ or smth HAHAH i feel like he would

probably not the best teacher...!

He places his hand over his heart and says, “Me like you.” You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Wait, hold on- are you just sneaking in compliments now?”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ probably not my best work ;;w;; sorry about that

warnings. nooooone at all!

You furrow your brows, and point to the chair. “Table,” you grumble. Mr. Scarletella stares, and stares, and stares. Your mouth tugs into a frown. “Chair…?”

He smiles. You breathe a sigh through your nose. This language learning business was hard… considering it wasn’t even a human language, you’d think you’re doing at least a little okay. 

Probably a little below average, realistically. 

Mr. Scarletella tilts his head, his dull eyes hinting at the amusement he feels. You scowl. He steps closer, umbrella hanging loosely in one hand, the other gesturing toward the chair. “Chair,” he repeats slowly, his voice deep and deliberate, as if coaxing a child.

You sigh, crossing your arms. “That’s what I said! Chair.”

“Not ‘table.’”

Your frown deepens, and you can feel the embarrassment heat up your neck. “I know, I know! It’s just- you could cut me some slack, you know. Your language isn’t exactly easy.”

Mr. Scarletella crouches slightly, bringing himself eye level with you, his expression softening as his gaze lingers into yours. It took all of your will to not look away. What an intense gaze. Jesus… “You try,” he says simply, the words low and soothing. “Good.”

Your frustration melts, and your shoulders untense. You exhale through your nose- what were you even so worked up for? Mr. Scarletella is the most patient person- monster?- you know at the moment, but he isn’t exactly the best teacher… Mr. Silvair was probably better, and yet, Mr. Scarletella insisted he teach you instead.

And by insisted, he just appeared before any time you were walking into Mr. Silvair’s room and whisked you away. Maybe teleported is a better word.

“Let’s try again,” you decide. You point. “Chair. Table. Wall. Ceiling. Floor… Uhm… lamp? Light…” You frown, but Mr. Scarletella doesn’t interrupt you. You suppose they mean the same thing. You’re not too fussed about that. 

Your teacher points to himself. “Me,” he says. He points again. “You.”

You huff. “Me. You. I know that already… Do you think I’m that stupid, huh?”  

He hums thoughtfully, a sound that resonates in his chest more than his throat. Mr. Scarletella stands to his full height, looking down upon you with those dull eyes, then with a deliberate slowness, he points to his chest once more. “Me.”

“Yes, I know, ‘me,’” you repeat, mimicking his motion half-heartedly.

He moves his hand, hovering just shy of your chest. “You.”

“Yeah, I get it- ‘you.’ This is basic stuff.” You cross your arms. “What’s the point of this?”

He places his hand over his heart and says, “Me like you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Wait, hold on- are you just sneaking in compliments now?” Mr. Scarletella is silent, and points to you again, as if silently saying ‘Your turn.’ You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “This feels so weird,” you mumble. You mirror him, pointing to your chest awkwardly. “Me…”

He nods approvingly, his umbrella twitching slightly almost as if he can’t possibly wait for those words to come out of your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek. “…like you,” you finish, the words feeling clunky on your tongue.

Mr. Scarletella’s smiles, his features softening in a way you rarely see. It isn’t one of those creepy smiles that you’re used to seeing- it’s a small smile, a soft one. It’s subtle but unmistakable- an expression of quiet pride. He leans forward slightly, his umbrella tilting to rest against your shoulder and covering you, as if he was caging you in, as if he wouldn’t possibly let you away from this moment. His unblinking gaze meets yours once again.

“Good,” he says, voice as steady and low as ever, but there’s an unspoken warmth in it. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t break the intensity of his focus. If you weren’t in some different world right now, this would totally be the type of moment where people would kiss.

You swallow. Your heart is thudding almost uncomfortably in your chest. “We’re supposed to be practising your language,” you grumble. 

“Practice good,” he counters.

You roll your eyes, though it’s mostly to distract yourself from the way your stomach twists at his words. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

His umbrella is back over his head again. He steps closer again, waaaay to close in your personal space- but you don’t think you’re complaining about that, not right now, anyway… Mr. Scarletella’s hand hovers near your cheek, but never quite touching. You can feel how cold his skin is, even without the skin-to-skin contact. “Again,” he says.

“Again?” you reply, feigning cluelessness. The way his lips tug up at the corner makes it clear he knows you’re just stalling.

“Me,” he begins, his hand briefly pressing to his chest before extending toward you, “like you.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re relentless.”

“Say,” he insists softly, his voice coaxing.

Your breath catches. It’s hard to say no when he looks at you like that- calm and unwavering, with just enough patience to make you feel like maybe this whole thing isn’t as ridiculous as it seems. You sigh, your resolve crumbling. “Me… like you,” you mutter again, the words barely above a whisper.

Mr. Scarletella’s reaction is immediate. His dark eyes light up in a way that’s barely perceptible but undeniably there. He steps even closer, his hand finally brushing against your cheek, the coolness of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good,” he says simply, the word carrying more weight than it should.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your ears. “Okay, so we’ve established that I like you and you like me. Can we move on now?”

His thumb grazes your cheek, the faintest of movements. “Not move,” he replies. “Stay.”

You narrow your eyes at him, half-annoyed, half-flustered. “Stay where?”

“Here. With me.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, turning away to hide your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mr. Scarletella hums a noise in agreement, completely unbothered. Before you can respond, he takes your hand gently, his grip firm, and tugs you toward him. You stumble slightly, but he steadies you with an ease that makes your heart skip.

“Again,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a tone so soft it feels almost intimate. “Want again.”

You look up at him, and the sincerity in his gaze makes it impossible to argue. With a resigned sigh, you let your hand rest against your chest and repeat, “Me… like you.”

“Good,” he says again, pulling you just a little closer. “Now… stay.”

[woncon]

➳ sick duty.

➶ poly!ateez x gn!reader (yungisang focus) ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ Yunho is sick, and you and Yeosang are on sick duty. When the others still haven't arrived with jelly, you decide to go to the nearest shop in the raging storm and buy some, because Yunho really wants them.

➴ genre: slice of life, sickfic, estabilished relationship, polyamory, non-idol!au

: ̗̀➛ warnings: poor yunho has a fever, one sexually suggestive offer, petnames, nudity

⌨ :: 3.5K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ This idea came to me when I saw a double rainbow in early June while listening to Golden Hour Pt1. It was supposed to play in the summer, but I never got to the end. Now autumn came and I decided to write it. But in this rainy, gloomy weather it seemed better to set it in a more autumnal setting. That changed my basic idea a lot, but I'm happy with it as it is.

⁀➷ My lovely @wonsheep, I'm still sorry the rain poured on you so heavily on Wednesday. :( But it was very motivating, as you can see. Many thanks for reading through the story and founding my silly mistakes!

➳ mlist

I'm hot.

I want tea.

I'm cold.

The sickly season of the autumn-winter months spares no one. Yunho, who is hard to dislodge from whatever well-endowed giraffe's legs he has, is now curled up in the middle of the bed, disconsolate because he didn't pull on a thick enough scarf, or was carelessly underdressed in the living room, or simply spent too much time around a co-worker who has been lurking with some virus. Whichever the case, the poor guy is in a terrible mood.

"I want medicine," he whispers his next wish.

You look at your watch.

“One more hour before you can take the next one,” you say, brushing his hair away to touch his sweat beaded forehead. It's still as warm as underfloor heating.

Frustrated, he rolls to the side and buries his head fully into the pillow. You drop your hands back into your lap, helpless. It's simply exasperating to watch him suffer, to listen to his snotty, ragged breathing mix with the rain beating against the window.

“Do you want something to help?” you ask, when he turns to you again and raises his feverish eyes to you. The skin around his nose is flushed from all the blowing.

“Jelly.”

Yunho is convinced that jelly sweets can help him. Or at least when he's sick, he likes to eat sweets. Other times, not so much. Unfortunately, you guys weren't prepared for Yunho being sick in the near future. Plus, there's a storm brewing, the kind you haven't seen in a long time. It's been raining steadily for a week now, sometimes more, sometimes less. The others went to do the shopping with the car, leaving Yunho behind with the promise to bring him some jelly. He responded with a small, grateful smile.

Now, looking at his tortured expression, you would give a lot to see that smile again, the hope in his eyes. You reach out and take his hand. You sigh. Gently, slowly, you caress the back of his hand, knowing how sensitive he is to touch when he has a fever. You don't want to overdo it and hurt him, but at the same time you want to let him know physically that you're there for him.

"It's on the way." You really hope it is. The last time Jongho called, they were already at the checkout. Your youngest friend boasted that they were bringing five full bags of jelly beans. That was about twenty minutes ago. No news since then. It bothers you that you can't offer an immediate solution to Yunho's every wish.

Before Yunho can ask any more questions, the door opens. Yeosang arrives with a tray holding a steaming mug and something wrapped in napkins that you can't identify yet. With cautious steps, he moves to the other side of the bed among some discarded clothes - because Yunho didn't want to shower this morning, just threw everything off the bed he'd chosen as his regular place - and then takes a seat, placing the tray safely on the bedside table, gently moving Seonghwa's half-finished book.

“I've brought the tea," he says to Yunho. "And I found some biscuits to go with it."

Interested, the patient moves up on the pillow, but still looks vulnerable. Yeosang holds the cup in his hand and gives the man small sips. Meanwhile, you get up and gather up the laundry strewn around the bed and take it to the bathroom. On the way, you hear a conversation emanating from the kitchen, from which you hear the word 'jelly bean' clearly spoken at one point. So after throwing the laundry in the hamper, you go to the kitchen instead of the bedroom. The room is filled with the smell of hot water and tea leaves. Mingi is putting away the tea ingredients. The call is already finished, his phone is on the counter.

Originally, Mingi wouldn’t be on sick duty today. Today's subordinates are you and Yeosang, Mingi just didn't want to leave the apartment in this crazy weather and he’s helping you instead. It's not like this sick duty thing is strict in your relationship, and it's set in stone that Mingi can only nurse Yunho on Mondays and Fridays and holidays or anything. That said, there are rules. For example, Mingi usually only needs one nurse when he gets a cold or something more serious, but at such times it is Yunho for most of the time. Then there's Jongho, who, if he falls ill, no matter what the schedule, has all eight of you at his disposal twenty-four hours a day. Or, again, there's Seonghwa, who hides the fact that he's sick until it's too obvious, and you're all freaking out as to why he won't let you take care of him.

Yunho usually hardly gets sick. When he does, even a mild cold will get him down. And when he is ill, he's even fussier than the sick Wooyoung, and only one lover has a hard time coping with his demands. Usually two people are enough to care for him if there are jelly beans nearby. Which, for now, there aren’t.

“Are they on their way home?” you ask Mingi, who's packing honey. 

"It's worse downtown than here," he says. "The traffic's bad. They're just moving towards home inch by inch."

You both look out of the window, and the tapping of the rain remains as unrelenting as the fever that plagues Yunho.

“Is the tea to his liking?”

“I'm sure of it,” you smile at him. Mingi is usually insecure when it comes to Yunho's well-being. You suspect that the boy's illness was a more significant reason for Mingi to stay home than his desire not to get wet. “But you can ask him.”

You return to the bedroom with Mingi at your side. You remind yourself that this room now functions as a ward. The patient is huddled near the edge of the bed, munching on biscuits soaked in tea, so that they don't scratch his throat.

“It's not jelly,” he mutters, then pulls away from Yeosang and lies back on the upholstered cushions.

You look at Yeosang. Your theory is that you're thinking the exact same thing. If jelly beans are the only thing that helps your boyfriend, you'll do anything to get them. You're even willing to go to the convenience store in the pouring rain, because when you are on sick duty, Yunho mustn't lack anything.

"We'll go and get jelly beans," you say. Yeosang nods his head in commitment.

“We'll go?” Mingi looks terrified. “All of us?”

You can't leave Yunho alone in this state. It's a good thing that Mingi is here, in addition to Yeosang and you, ready for action, and not stuck in traffic with the others downtown. 

“No. You stay here with Yunho and look after him.”

Mingi continues to blink. 

“We'll be quick, don't worry, you don't have to multitask. Yuyu will probably fall asleep soon.”

"It's not me I'm worried about," he protests, "You'll get wet and cold."

"The store is not far away. We won't have enough time in the rain to freeze to death."

Yeosang wraps Yunho in a blanket and kisses him on the head.

"Mingi?" The man folded in a burrito addresses the worried individual.

“Yes?”

“Gimme a hug.”

Mingi doesn't resist, but climbs onto the bed, swapping places with Yeosang, who pats his shoulder as he passes. Before you even leave the room, you hear Mingi apologize and ask for Yunho's forgiveness.

Yeosang sticks the umbrella out the door. Just a little to test how much it rains. There's really barely any surface out, but the wind immediately grabs it and tugs it further. He pulls it back in time before the umbrella swings out or the wind wins, and you close the door with a great struggle, which also wants to jump off its hinges from the violent gusts of wind.

“I think this will stay here,” Yeosang says, and then drops the solid black umbrella behind you.

You zip up your raincoat. It occurs to you that maybe Mingi is right, and you're so wet you'll get stuck in a puddle of icy water. Yet the idea doesn't discourage you, doesn't make you stay, because Yunho needs the jellies.

Yeosang adjusts his hood, then holds out his hand. You embrace him tightly. You check your wallet stashed in the waterproof pocket one last time and place your hand on the doorknob. Then you push it down. The door swings open, and you let it drag you along with it. The back of your coat gets soaked immediately. The rain doesn't fall, it instead pours down from behind in a wave with the wind. Clinging on to Yeosang in vain, it's hard to keep up your own pace and not lurch forward like a rag doll. It's a wonder your boyfriend can close the door.

Although the shop is indeed a block away, at this time it feels like you're wandering for eternity. For one thing, the scenery is completely different in the rain, it's harder to navigate, especially in the raging, commanding wind. Around one corner, Yeosang has to pull you in, because out of nowhere a car appears, its wheels gallantly splashing a full puddle onto the pavement.

Somehow, you do reach the store. As soon as the automatic door closes behind you, the storm is out of the way. Inside, the weather is pleasant. Only the clothes clinging to your skin and the small puddles and mud stains on the floor left by other shoppers are reminders of what a doomsday is happening outside.

“Huh,” you sigh in relief. The first game of the war against weather is over. You only have one more to go to succeed in the jelly bean mission.

“We're crazy," Yeosang shakes his head in disbelief. Then he smiles up at you, sweetly and lovingly, because he's proud you're crazy. You return it.

Insanity is part of sick duty to some extent. Last time San must have used up thirty tissues a day, and ran out in the middle of the week. Hongjoong ran so fast to replace the used-up packets that he was almost hit by a truck. And when you were sick and craving nothing but a mug of hot tomato soup when all the shops were closed and there were no tomatoes at home, only ketchup... Well, Jongho tried.

You purposefully seek out sweets. Luckily, you don't have to wander around and scout the place, you'll often find yourself here. You take off two bags of Yunho's favourite flavour, sour apple. You remember again how pitiful your otherwise healthy and cheerful boyfriend looks.

“This will help him,” Yeosang says encouragingly, as if he's reading your mind.

You nod, then head for the cashier. You get in line. From here, you can see the window and the rain pouring down.

For the first time since the jelly bean plan was born, you have time to think about Mingi's excuse when he cuddled up to Yunho. It's my fault. I'm sorry. But how could it be his fault that Yunho caught a cold?

You're rewinding the previous two weeks. Yunho was in home office the whole time. He really enjoyed it, and when he wasn't working, he was playing video games. He didn't put his foot out until one time when he had to pop down to the shop for something. It didn't rain so heavily that day, just a gentle drizzle. Maybe Mingi had taken off Yunho's blanket one night? It couldn't be, either, because they'd been sleeping far apart lately.

It's your turn, so you suspend your musings. When you get back, you'll ask Mingi and hope it's not too embarrassing for him not to tell you. If he feels guilty, you could help him and reassure him that it's not his fault.

You and Yeosang pay. You put the bags in your coat pockets. You pull the hood up, not that it matters. You cling together again, then step out onto the soggy pavement. 

The way back is harder. This time the wind brings the rain from the front. Each blast smacks you in the face. Neither of your hoods can stay up. Your hair gets wet, the rain drips under your coat. You successfully step into a puddle, literally splashing in the muddy water, and the inside of your boots get soaked. You're wet everywhere, from your elbows to your toes. It's really annoying, but you don't falter, clutching Yeosang's arm until you reach the sheltering door of your home to drop in like two wet rags on the threshold and with a combined effort you shut out the cold, ominous wind. Yeosang slides along the door, his hair leaving a wet streak on the wooden panel.

“We did it,” he sighs, and proudly rattles one of the jelly beans he pulls out of his pocket. The bag is intact, of course.

“We did,” you agree, and pull him up off the ground.

Suddenly you're faced with the problem of not knowing what to take off first because everything is equally soaked. It's almost as if your clothes are the cool part of your skin, plus outer layers. Finally, following your boyfriend's example, you throw your coat on the floor first, then your shoes on the doormat, and socks after.

Before you reach for the next layer of clothing, there is the sound of footsteps. You think Mingi is coming, but when he sighs, you realize it's not your tall lover.

“You guys are adorable and dedicated, but silly at the same time," says Hongjoong with crossed arms.

“But at least Yunho’s jellies will hold out until he heals,” answers Yeosang, taking off his shirt.

“When did you arrive?” you ask.

“About a minute ago. But we'll talk later. Now go take a shower before you too end up feverishly next to Yunho,” Hongjoong advises, then retreats and San steps forward. He unconcealedly runs his eyes over Yeosang's naked torso, and yours, which still has your shirt stuck to it, rather tightly, so it might even be useless.

“If you get sick, I'll be on sick duty every day. The thing is, the adorable, dedicated, silly people are just my type” he winks.

“Move over, Sanie," Wooyoung appears and nudges the other one in the side, "You promised to help hyung pack up.”

San hums and walks away, but still smiles in your direction. You all love to oblige Hongjoong and Seonghwa, and that goes for when there's an opportunity to flirt as well.

“You two are sexy, all wet,” Wooyoung admits. “If you need help with the shower, let me know. I'll be within earshot.”

“We'll consider it,” you promise. Wooyoung nods with a grin, and he also retreats to the kitchen.

You pass through the hallway, but before you can go to the bathroom, Jongho stands in front of you with a plate of jelly beans. “Here. I thought you should be the ones to give it to him. You made a greater sacrifice, and most of us stayed dry. Except for Hwa hyung, who opened the door and held the umbrella.”

“Thank you,” you say at the same time. While Yeosang takes the bowl, you press a kiss on Jongho's cheek.

When you retire to the bedroom, the scene is quite cozy. Yunho is in bed, hugging Mingi, craving jelly beans, and you offer him what he craves most, and what you fought Mother Nature for.

“We got it,” you report.

Yunho snaps his head up. The mere hope brings life to his sick features. You stand by the bed, careful not to get rainwater on it.

“Here, hyung," Yeosang hands the bowl to him in a soft whisper.

“I hope you weren’t too desperate, baby. We hurried as much as we could.”

“You're the best," says Yunho, touched, between bites. “I love you.”

“We love you too, giant baby. Very much,” you assure him.

And he smiles up at you. The mission is a complete success. Whether all that time and getting soaked was enough to put you to bed remains to be seen. In the meantime, you bask in success.

Mingi sneezes. Then he reaches under the pillow and takes out a handkerchief. “My throat may be a tiny bit scratchy.”

“Should we set up someone on sick duty for you too?” Yeosang offers readily.

“Our poor boyfriends,” you sigh, watching them. Yunho in the midst of illness, Mingi as he probably slips into a state of flux.

“I deserve it,” murmurs Mingi, looking ruefully at Yunho.

“Why do you think so?” you ask the question that has been nagging at you for a good twenty minutes.

“When we ran out of milk last week, Yunho and I went to the grocery store... I offered to make out with him in the rain. It didn't rain much, and there was no wind. Still, that's how Yunho got cold.”

"Come on," the other protests hoarsely. He sucks on a jelly bean with great enthusiasm. You wouldn't believe he can taste it. “You offered, I agreed, I could have said no, but I didn't. All in all, it was worth it.”

“Worth it?” Yeosang raises his eyebrows. “You were dying before the jelly arrived.”

"If you haven't kissed Mingi in the rain, you won't understand," he declares, then turns to Mingi. “Want a jelly, princess?

Yeosang and you leave them alone, let them romance each other in the infirmary. Barefoot, you stomp off to the bathroom. You open the door, and a thick, fragrant steam rises from the room. A pleasant warm breeze reminds you how cold you are. You hurry inside. Yeosang closes the door to keep the comforting steam from escaping.

Seonghwa is already drying his hair and got dressed. You look at him expectantly, ready to be reprimanded. But he has no such plans. He takes your face with one hand and Yeosang's with the other. “I am proud of you. Take a bath, then we can watch a movie. We made a whole list while we were stuck in traffic.”

Yeosang hums, you nod in response. Good idea. At this time of year, there's no point in doing anything other than curling up on the sofa together.

You bask in Seonghwa's soft touch until the last moment, and the knowledge that he's proud of you. It's really enjoyable to play good cop, bad cop with Hongjoong, and they don’t scold you twice. Regardless, you need to figure out a way to cheer up that boyfriend of yours who called you adorable, dedicated, and silly all at the same time. 

“So he probably caught it while kissing,” you acknowledge what you've heard by tugging your trousers down after Seonghwa has left you alone.

“Interesting.”

“And understandable. Sounds romantic.”

“Do you want to go back?” Yeosang glances up at you as he pulls towels out of the closet. The look in his eyes is willing. It embarrasses you to know that he would take a single word from you and go back with you into the pouring rain to fulfill that desire.

“I wouldn’t do it in this weather. But, for example, standing in a cool summer drizzle, refreshing after the heat. When me and my partner won’t be so likely to have a fever for a week.”

“Last summer Woo did it with someone. I think it was with Sanie, but I'm not sure. Maybe he caught Hongjoong hyung in a moment of weakness.”

“Really? Is it fashionable to kiss in the rain in our relationship?”

“A bit.” Yeosang undresses completely. 

Your hand is over the laundry basket, you've dropped the last of your clothes in it, yet you don't move. You’re looking at Yeosang. At his naked back, how rainwater is dripping from his hair, onto his delicate muscles. The line of his shoulder blades as his back narrows, ending in the lovely hips you'd hold in your hands for days. And of course you can't neglect his ass or his thighs or his whole being, because once you start looking at him, one part of him is not enough, and the whole of him is overwhelmingly wonderful.

He turns back to you. “Are you coming?”

“Sure.” You follow him into the bath. You take his face in the palm of your hand and kiss him on the lips. “Wooyoung was right.” 

“About what?”

"You're sexy when you're wet," you explain, and at the same time you probably reveal that you were just staring at him.

"He didn't just say that to me, love," he replies, pulling you close. Then he opens the water. The warm, soothing drops fall on your head and drip down your chilled skin. Like rain.

“I have an idea. Let's kiss here like it's raining.”

“Oh,” Yeosang smiles sweetly. His thumb caresses your cheek. “Okay.”

And you shower until the hot water runs out.

[kingkaizen]

𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼

∘ desc: months after divorcing your ex-husband, you must both be on your best behavior for your daughter's birthday party. will seeing each other again bring up old feelings that you tried so hard to bury?

∘ ft: ex-husband!geto

∘ word count & a/n: 3.8k | this has been in my wips forever and im so happy to finally get this out, i hope you all enjoy reading <3

∘ includes: angst, cunnilingus, edging, missionary, praise, smug geto

The sound of children’s laughter filled the air, blending in with the bass of the party music. The backyard was completely decorated with balloons and streamers, colors representing your daughter’s favorites. As much as you adore your little girl, you can confidently say that you’ve been dreading this day. Not the celebration part of course, but the person that you would be forced to run into. 

Glancing around the yard, you feel your heart skip for a second as you spotted him–Suguru. He had a huge smile on his face, crouching down to give his daughter a kiss on her forehead. You could tell how happy she is to see him, watching her jump up and down at the excitement of just seeing her father. Even now, after everything that’s happened, he was still undeniably him. The quiet confidence and the beaming smile. It was frustrating how attractive he still was, especially considering how you’ve spent the last year trying to forget it. 

His gaze flickers to yours, catching you staring. He held your eyes in his, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turned back to your daughter. You break eye-contact at the same time, your fingers tightening around your drink. It was the first time that you’ve both been in the same space for more than five minutes since the divorce, the tension between you bubbling up.

“Mommy!” your daughter’s voice broke your trance, and you turned to see her running toward you, her tiny hands clutching box. “Daddy said that you can help me open this!”

You smiled, but your chest tightened as Suguru approached behind her, his presence looming larger than life. For her sake, you kept the smile on your face, even as your pulse quickened with every step he took.

“Of course, birthday girl,” you said, setting your drink down to take the wrapped box from her hands. You knelt down to her level, plastering on your best smile, even as you felt Suguru’s presence settle beside you.

“Here,” Suguru said, his voice low as he handed you a pair of scissors from the nearby table. You flinched slightly at how close he’d gotten, his arm brushing yours as he crouched beside you. You hated how good that one second of touch felt. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as you carefully opened her gift.

Your daughter squealed with delight as you revealed a plush animal inside, her little hands grabbing it before you could fully pull it out. She hugged it tightly, looking up at both of you with a beaming smile.

“I love it daddy, you’re the best!” she declared, skipping off to show her friends.

Left alone, you stood up quickly, awkwardly brushing imaginary dust from your hands. Suguru rose too, his movements slower, more deliberate.

“You didn’t have to get that,” you said, your tone abrupt.

“She wanted it,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes were on you, and for a moment, you felt pinned under the weight of his gaze, unable to escape.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a group of kids ran between you, cutting off whatever sharp remark you were about to make. Suguru chuckled softly, the sound pulling your focus back to him.

“She’s happy,” he said, nodding toward your daughter, who was now showing off her new toy. “That’s all that matters, right?” He tilted his head at you, his face unreadable.

You hated how easily he could shift the conversation, deflecting any tension with his calm demeanor. You hated even more how your chest tightened at the sight of him being so effortlessly good with her.

“Right,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

The rest of the party passed in a blur of small talk, laughter, and the occasional shared glance that lingered a second too long. You tried to avoid him as much as possible, but Suguru seemed to always be nearby—helping you cut the cake, handing out goodie bags, and playing games with your daughter.

It was infuriating how natural he made it all look, like he hadn’t made the choice to leave this life behind. Like he hadn’t left you.

By the time the party wound down and the last of the guests had said their goodbyes, the house was quiet again, like it usually is with just you and your daughter. She was upstairs, tucked into bed after an exhausting but joy-filled day with her family and friends. You stood in the kitchen, trying to clean up the remnants of the cake, when you felt him enter the room.

“You don’t have to stay, I can clean up on my own” you said without turning around.

“I know,” Suguru said, his voice soft but steady. He grabs a garbage bag and begins to help you out anyways, taking down some balloons and other decorations. “You look good today.”

You turned to face him, your hands clutching a dishrag. “Why are you even here?”

His dark eyes met yours, and for the first time in this entire day, the mask he’d been wearing began to crack. There was something raw in his gaze—regret, longing, something you didn’t want to name, fearing that you would only begin to crack too. 

“Because I can’t keep pretending,” he said, taking a step closer. “Not after today. Not after seeing you like this.”

“Seeing me like what?,” you throw the rag down, completely exasperated. “Seeing me continue to be a good mom despite all of the shit you put me through? Seeing how happy she still is, despite the fact that you don’t make the effort?” 

Suguru flinched at your words, his expression tightening. He looked down for a moment, his jaw clenching before he met your eyes again, the softness in them now sharpened by frustration.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly, but there was a weight to his voice that made you pause. “You don’t think that I care? As if it doesn’t kill me to be apart from you both?”

“You left, Suguru!” Your voice cracked, the emotions you’d been bottling up all day finally breaking free. “You decided this wasn’t what you wanted anymore. You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the one hurting, you weren’t fair to us the moment you walked out that door for good.”

He took another step closer, the distance between you shrinking as the tension swirled like a storm between you both. “You think this was easy for me?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back. “I made mistakes, I know that. But don’t for a second think I stopped loving her, or stopped loving you.”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you like a brick. “Don’t,�� you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t say things like that just because you feel guilty. How could you stand there and say that, after everything?”

“It’s not guilt,” he said firmly, his hand twitching at his side, longing to reach for you but knowing that he shouldn’t. “It’s the truth.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and the weight of everything unsaid between you threatened to crush you both.

“Then why did you leave?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident all over his face. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do. For you, for her, for everyone. But I was wrong. I just wish that I realized that before...”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Your hands were trembling, and you didn’t know if it was from anger, sadness, or the way he was looking at you now—like he was desperate, like he was afraid you might slip away for good. At this point, you didn’t even know what you truly wanted.

“Don’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t make me feel like this again.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “I just... I need you to know that I still love you. That I never stopped. And today—seeing you, seeing her—it made me realize how much I want this back.” He was so close to you at this point, his face mere inches away from your own. His hand reluctantly reached for your chin, and you allowed him to tilt your head up to fully face him. His words began to sink in, tugging at your heart. Before you could even wrap your head around it, he speaks up again.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Tell me I haven’t lost you completely.”

Your breath hitched, the room closing in around you as the weight of his confession hung in the air. Your head is telling you to take a step back and let him go for good. Nevertheless, the choice was yours now—to let the past consume you both, or to take the first step toward something neither of you could fully let go of.

Wordlessly, you closed the small distance between you, your hand reaching up to grip the front of his shirt. The fabric bunched beneath your fingers as you looked up at him, the storm of emotions in your chest threatening to spill over, just like the tears filling your lash line.

Suguru froze, his breath catching as his eyes searched yours for a sign, any indication of what you were about to do.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “You don’t get to walk back in and say things like that—make me feel like this again.”

“I know,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested against his chest. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not when I still—”

You didn’t let him finish, some part of you doesn’t think that you’d be able to handle what he was going to say next. Before he could say anything else, you pulled him down, capturing his lips with yours. It was a kiss full of longing with a faint sign of anger, and Suguru responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as if he was afraid you might slip away if he let go again.

The kiss deepened, months of hurt and unspoken feelings pouring out between you. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, the familiar feeling softening your heart as the walls you built around it began to crumble. When you finally pulled back, breathless and shaken, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed as if he was afraid that you wouldn’t be there when he opened them.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I��ll walk away. I’ll let you go.”

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your body betraying the answer your mind hadn’t fully caught up to yet. “I hate you for making me feel this way,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I can’t lie to you. I still—”

Suguru’s lips were on yours again before you could finish, cutting off your words with a kiss that left no room for doubt. Whatever you had both tried to bury between you was rising to the surface now, unstoppable and undeniable. There was no question how you felt about one another, and you both made it your mission to prove it.

His hands began to explore your body, feeling hot to the touch as they rested beneath your thighs. He lifts you up as you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. He pulls away to chuckle against your lips.

“You always know exactly what I want you to do, huh?” Suguru teased, his voice a low murmur as he carried you effortlessly toward the once-shared bedroom. His smirk sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of frustration and desire building in your chest.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the breathless edge to your voice betrayed you.

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his lips to the column of your neck. “Oh, I’m not. But I remember how you used to look at me like this… how you’d crave it when I took control.”

You bit back a retort as he kicked the bedroom door open with ease, the familiar space pulling memories you’d worked so hard to suppress back into focus. He set you down on the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as you laid back, his body moving to hover over yours.

His eyes found yours, darker than you remembered, the heat in his gaze setting your nerves off. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his hands sliding up just enough to make your breath hitch, his fingers hooking underneath the waistband of your pants. “And I will.”

Instead of answering, you pulled him down, crashing your lips against his again. It was messy and heated as his weight pressed you back against the mattress. His hands were everywhere, exploring like he was trying to memorize every inch of you all over again, and you let him.

“God, I missed this,” he muttered against your skin, his teeth grazing your collarbone before his lips soothed the spot with a kiss. “Missed you.”

The confession made your heart clench, but there was no time to linger on it. Not when his hands were slipping beneath your shirt, his touch electrifying as he pushed the fabric up and over your head.

“Prove it,” you challenged, your voice steady despite the way your body trembled under his touch. You made quick work of his belt, tugging on his waistband as best as you could.

Suguru’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice dripping with certainty. He helped you completely take off his pants before he slipped off yours, his knees hitting the carpet of your room so that he was eye-level with your cunt. Only one thin piece of fabric was left between him and you, his intense gaze making you want to run away and hide. He wouldn’t let you though, hands gripping your thighs to keep them from closing.

“Don’t hide from me, beautiful,” he finally pulls the fabric completely off, kissing up the side of your thighs. His thumbs pull your folds apart, a groan leaving his lips at the sight of you. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.” He wastes no time, his tongue poking out to prod at your slick folds. Your fingers dug into his hair, locking onto the dark strands as you used what little strength you had to tug. He continues on, stroking firmly at your clit, looking up at you to watch your face contorted in pleasure. He loves making you feel good, he craves your moans and soft gasps as the overwhelming feeling of his tongue washes over your body. 

“God, you taste even better than what I remembered, baby,” you gushed around his tongue, not being able to respond as your brain fogged over. “What’s the matter sweetheart, can’t even respond to me anymore?” He loved pissing you off, even in a moment like this. You want so badly to respond to him and wipe that stupid smirk off of his face. Before you could do that, he slips two fingers inside, his lips wrapping firmly around your clit as he begins to steadily move them inside of you. 

The combination of his tongue and fingers was too much, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. His fingers worked inside you with deliberate precision, curling just right to press against that spot that made your breath hitch every time.

“Look at you,” he rasped against your clit, his breath hot and teasing. “So perfect for me. Taking everything I give you like you were made for it.” His voice was laced with pride, the smugness in his tone only making your desire burn hotter.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a feeble attempt to pull him closer or maybe to anchor yourself as your body threatened to unravel. He chuckled, low and rough, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Suguru,” you finally managed to gasp out, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his free hand sliding up to grip your hip, holding you steady as you squirmed under his touch. “Say my name, princess. Let me hear you.”

Every word, every flick of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your thighs quivered around his head, the heat coiling in your belly threatening to snap. He could feel it, too, the way your body clenched around his fingers, your breaths coming quicker, more erratic. Before you could reach your peak, he abruptly stopped his movements, completely ruining your high. 

A frustrated whine escaped your lips, your body twitching in protest at the sudden loss of stimulation. Your eyes flew open, locking onto Suguru’s face, which was now hovering just above yours. The smug grin plastered across his face made your frustration burn hotter.

“What the hell, Suguru?” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and annoyance.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence, his eyes never leaving yours. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone eerily calm. “I didn’t say I was done with you.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm yet teasing. He pressed his body against yours, pinning you beneath him, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’re going to come when I say, and not a second before. Understood?”

The heat pooling in your belly flared again at his words, even as you glared up at him. You wanted to defy him, to push back against the control he always seemed to wield so effortlessly, but the intensity in his eyes left you speechless.

“Say it,” he pressed, his voice dangerously low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he praised, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt about who was in control.

This time, he wrapped his hand around himself, giving his raging hard-on some much needed attention. He took his time, covering his cock with your juices, looking at you with such a stare that made you want to crawl away and hide from his gaze forever. Continuing to hover over you, he hooked one leg up with his arm, his other hand guiding himself to your entrance.

You nearly sobbed with relief at the feeling of his tip prodding at you. He slowly begins to fill you up, enjoying the way your walls seem to perfectly take every inch of him, even though so much time has passed. “Feel s' good,” he murmured, his voice rough as he began to pick up on a steady rhythm. “Let me take care of you properly.” You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or your cunt, but you didn’t care as his movements began to pick up even more. Every pump inside of you felt deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against your ass, showing you no mercy. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes scrunched closed as he felt you squeeze around him. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against you, hips beginning to stutter from the feeling of your pussy choking him for everything that he has. “Pussy trying to milk me huh?” His movements were driving you relentlessly toward the edge. Pressing his lips against yours, he kissed you through it all, swallowing every noise that left your lips. Your body trembled beneath him, legs shaking against his body.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, beautiful.”

And with a cry that was equal parts his name and a broken gasp, you did, the tension in your body releasing in a wave of euphoria. Suguru didn’t stop, riding out every tremor with you, his own high coming shortly after yours as his dick twitched inside of you, spurts of cum filling you up quickly. His name fell from your lips like a prayer as you held each other through every wave of pleasure. 

When you finally came down, your chest heaving and your limbs trembling, he looked at you, a stupid smirk plastered on his face that you can’t help but giggle at. As your laughter faded into the quiet hum of the room, Suguru brushed a strand of hair from your damp forehead, his touch tender. Something so raw in his eyes struck you harder than any words in this moment could.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your mingled breaths. For once, there was no smugness in his expression, only sincerity that matched the ache in your own heart.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything between you settling in again. “This doesn’t fix anything, Suguru,” you said softly, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his chest. “There’s still so much—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone serious now. “I know I can’t erase my mistakes and what I did to you and our family. But this, tonight, can be a fresh start, if you’ll allow it to be.” You studied him for a long moment, searching for any hint of doubt or deceit, but all you saw was the man you once fell in love with some time ago, laying his heart on the table for you. Slowly, you nodded, though your heart still felt guarded. “I don’t know if I can forgive you completely. At least, not right now.

He smiled softly, a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’m not asking for that right now. Just allow me to spend every single day making it up to you, and every day after that.”

As he pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest. You allowed your eyes to close, letting your brain imagine what life might look like in the next years to come. Old wounds may never heal, but maybe it was time to let him back in again. If not for your own heart, but for your daughter who so desperately craves the equal attention of both of her parents that love her more than they do anything else. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep, the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat bringing you comfort that you thought you’d never be able to feel again. 

For a moment, you’re able to forget the pain and anger that once filled your heart, and replace it with the newfound hope of making something whole out of the broken pieces left behind.

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[archangeldyke-all]

just finished act 3 and I need more Sevika to cope with my emotions about it :’)

can we get some mundane ways Sevika is obsessed with us? like I gotta believe the tiniest things the reader does make her sit there and gaze and think about how in love she is (as well as probably make her horny). I firmly believe this woman would watch you brush your teeth and be enamored and turned on at the same time 😮‍💨

(your writings been keeping me sane all throughout arcane btw 🫶)

hehehehe yes

men and minors dni

watching you struggle to clasp your bra in the early morning is one of the strangest things that sevika adores watching you do.

it's by no means attractive. you're still half asleep, contorting your body as you try to get the clasps to align properly and make sure there are no twists in the straps-- but sevika's fucking enamored. she loves the frustrated, sleepy look on your face, she loves the way that you never manage to line the clasps up properly.

she'll usually reach out to help you in your struggle, kissing your shoulders as you sigh and thank her.

"'y need the kind that clasp in the front, love." she chuckles.

"then you wouldn't get your little show every morning." you point out. sevika grins.

"good point."

sevika loves it when you make a mess while eating food.

she loves looking up across the table and finding you grinning, your cheeks puffed out with food, a bit of sauce on your chin or shirt.

she loves pulling you in with an exasperated little chuckle, licking her thumb and cleaning up your mess. "you missed your mouth." she teases. you smile up at her as her thumb's rubbing turns into gentle sweeps across your cheekbone. "you're a mess." she sighs dreamily.

you reach out and dip your finger in the sauce of your dinner, swiping it over your lips. "whoops!" you giggle. sevika grins. "better lick me clean, sev."

she leans in and does just that.

in the mornings, you'll apply sevika's lipstick for her, holding her chin gently between your fingers while you swipe her favorite color over her plush lips.

sevika's favorite part of this whole process isn't the gentle way you hold her, or the soft puffs of your breath on her face. it isn't even the smile and smooch you place on her lips when you're finished to blot them.

her favorite part of this little ritual is the subconscious way you pucker your lips as you trace hers, like you're copying her facial expression.

she thinks it's your way of non-verbally telling her to pucker her own lips, but you never put your lips back once she does, holding your kissy face the entire time you paint her lips, before smiling at your work and actually kissing her.

it drives her fucking crazy.

one night, sevika comes home to find you cooking dinner wearing a big pair of sunglasses. she frowns at you. "'re you hungover or something?" she asks.

"huh?" you ask from where you're stirring the veggies. sevika gently taps the glasses and you giggle, pulling them off your face. "oh, shit! i forgot i was wearing these, i can see so much better now!" you laugh.

sevika grins. "why were you wearing sunglasses inside?" she asks.

"i was chopping onions, i didn't wanna cry." you say with a shrug.

she doesn't know how or why, but your answer makes sevika impossibly horny for you. "oh, fuck, i love you so bad." she groans, pulling you in for a long, sloppy kiss.

you gasp against her lips, only to melt against her, letting her pin you to the counter top and kiss the breath out of you.

by the time sevika pulls away, your stirfry's burnt.

you don't mind, though.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[octahyde]

Ok actually one thing that really really bothers me about how widespread people are negatively reacting to the anime just for the fact that anime onlys are going to be in the fandom is like

This is going to make TWST so much more accessible

Like… not everyone can sit down for several hours and read a visual novel. It’s very time and focus intensive. Not everyone can read logs of the dialogue on wikis, either. There are several people who are unable to enjoy this story based solely on medium. A good example is my qpp; he loves TWST. He loves the story. He loves the characters. But he can’t get past Book 3 because the format is completely inaccessible to him. He’s tried. I’ve tried with him. He just… cannot do it. The novels are a godsend because it’s a way he can finally read the story in a format that works for him. The anime will also help a lot because he’ll be able to hear the voice acting, which is a very important part of TWST’s story telling.

Or even just in general, I don’t think I need to post about how I Like Horror, but I am unable to read anything longer than a short story. In particular, I am almost fully unable to read King because of how incompatible his writing style is- despite really wanting to. I have tried and failed to read Pet Sematery more times than I can count. The 80’s movie, though? I love it. It lets me experience a very important work to the genre in ways I would otherwise be completely unable to. Same with Misery.

Like… it’s super frustrating to see people advocate for story accessibility in things like video games, only to turn around and say “except for things I LIKE, they’ll get my favs wrong!!!” Especially when it’s in a fairly inaccessible medium.

I especially have a bone to pick with Idia fans I see on Twitter doing this. There’s a lot of fear “normies” will be ableist about their favorite cartoon character, while… in the process being extremely ableist to actual human beings. It’s extremely frustrating and upsetting to see people prioritize their (heavily mentally disabled, I might add) favorite fictional character over actual irl disabled people. I don’t think people, especially autistic people who can’t do VNs, should be limited from a beautiful story just because other people you can block Might Make Incel Jokes.

(My qpp? He’s autistic. And schizophrenic. And has CPTSD. He relates a LOT to Idia just from what I’ve told him about her and her arc.)

Like… get your fucking priorities straight. I was hyperfixated on Danganronpa when the DR1 anime came out. I was hyperfixated on Persona 4 when the P4 anime came out. Ace Attorney has been one of my absolute favorite series since middle school, and I was going through my obligatory hyperfixation phase I have every few years when the AA anime came out. I massively prefer the YuGiOh manga to the DM anime.

Anime onlys are EXTREMELY easy to avoid and are not the fucking end of the world.

Especially in a fandom with so many autistic people. Have some empathy for disabled people who have different symptoms than you do.

[childrenofcain-if]

How would W react to an MC who is obsessed with them? Like they need help with a small thing? MC drop everything and run to the rescue. W doesn’t take care of themselves? Why bother when MC takes care of them.

W’s presence wasn’t always loud, but it was startling, an emotional thunderhead that you could feel rumbling in your ribs before it even fully cracked.

when the call came, their voice tried to sound casual but failed miserably. “i, uh, could use a hand with something.”

it didn’t matter what it was—something about a deadline they’d forgotten or a lamp they’d broken while pacing in frustration. you didn’t even ask. you dropped your coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, grabbed your jacket, and bolted out the door without thinking twice.

the quick walk to their suite was a blur and when you arrived, W was sitting cross-legged on the couch, their thin frame curled in on itself. they were wearing a mismatched pair of socks, one of them being yours—the blue one with the tiny stars that you’d lost weeks ago—and it was enough to make your heart ache.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, dropping your jacket at the door and crossing the room in three long strides.

W didn’t answer right away. their fingers were busy tracing invisible patterns on the edge of their sweater, which was so oversized it might as well have been a blanket. their silence stretched like a taut wire, and then, finally, they said, “i forgot to eat again.”

your chest tightened. not with anger, not even with frustration, but with the unbearable weight of love for someone who couldn’t always love themself. you didn’t say anything. you just walked into their kitchenette and started rummaging through cabinets and the refridgerator.

there wasn’t much to work with—a box of crackers, a bruised apple, a carton of almond milk. it didn’t matter. you threw together something small and easy and brought it back to W, sitting beside them on the couch.

they looked at the plate like it was a challenge, their fingers twitching toward it but never quite making contact.

“i’m sorry,” they murmured, their voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “you don’t have to apologize.”

“i do,” they insisted, their voice cracking. “you shouldn’t have to—”

“W,” you interrupted, your tone firmer than before. “i’m here because i want to be. because i love you. that’s it. that’s all there is to it.”

they looked at you then, their sapphire blue eyes watery and wide, and for a moment, you thought they might cry. instead, they reached for the plate and took a small bite of the apple. it wasn’t much, but it was definitely a start.

that night, after they’d eaten what they could and you’d cleaned up the remnants, you found yourself sitting together on the couch. W was curled against your side, their head resting on your shoulder, their fingers absently tracing shapes on your arm.

“you’re warm,” they murmured, their voice soft and sleepy. “and you smell nice. like fresh laundry.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to their temple. “and you’re wearing my missing sock.”

“it’s a good sock,” they said with a tired chuckle, tugging at the hem of it. “better than the pairs i own.”

“you could’ve just asked for it,” you said.

they tilted their head to look up at you, their expression caught somewhere between a smirk and a fond smile. “and where’s the fun in that?”

***

later, as the night deepened, W began to fidget. their fingers, which had been drawing lazy circles on your arm, began to scratch at their own thigh, leaving faint red marks in their wake.

“stop,” you said gently, catching their hand in yours.

they flinched but didn’t pull away. “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” you said, your voice kind. “just… tell me what’s wrong.”

they hesitated, their gaze fixed on the floor.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” they admitted. “like i’m… too much. or not enough. or both at the same time.”

your heart broke for the hundredth time that day. you pulled them closer, wrapping your arms around them like you could shield them from the weight of their own thoughts.

“you’re not too much,” you said. “and you’re not not enough. you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

they didn’t respond, but their body relaxed slightly against yours. after a moment, they said, “i love you so much, i can’t bear the pain.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them, but when they sank in, they hit you like a freight train. you tightened your hold on them, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head.

“i love you so much, i’ll bear it for you,” you whispered.

W looked up at you then, their eyes soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“you mean that?” they asked tentatively.

“every word,” you replied, leaving no room for doubt. W said nothing but their smile was brighter than the lights in the room.

after a while, W whispered in latin, “te amabo aeternum.”

you recognized the words instantly, even though W’s accent was softer, less confident. i will love you forever.

“amabo te in aeternum,” you corrected gently, your voice warm and teasing. the structure mattered less than the sentiment, but you couldn’t help it. W’s latin was too endearing to leave unpolished.

“of course you’d fix that,” they muttered with a faint smile, their tone holding no actual irritation. “you always seem to know everything, don’t you?”

“not everything,” you said, smiling softly as you ran your thumb along the back of their hand. “just the important parts. like how much you mean to me.”

W looked up at you then, their blue eyes catching the light and you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against theirs.

“et ego te amo.” and i love you, you said, soft but firm, as if the words themselves could shield them from everything clawing at their mind.

they sighed, a sound that carried equal parts relief and exhaustion, and melted against you. “thank you for everything, mein stern.”

***

as the night wore on, W continued murmuring fragments of latin into the quiet—“es somnium meum,” they said at one point, and it took you a moment to piece it together. you are my dream.

you tightened your hold on them. “tibi in somniis et re in aeternum pertinebo,” you whispered back. i will belong to you in your dreams and reality forever.

that earned a smile from W, small but real, and when they finally closed their eyes, you stayed awake, holding them close. you whispered one final phrase into the night, one you weren’t even sure they’d catch:

“in saecula saeculorum.” forever and ever.

they didn’t respond, but their breathing slowed, steady and even, their body curled against yours with all the trust and affection that they could ever afford to give back.

[moutainrusing]

love letters

786 words, @pandalilymicrofics

“Barty, I swear on my dad’s dead corpse, if you carry on simping over my brother, I will stab this pencil through your eye,” Pandora threatened, emphatically raising the fist clenched around her pencil.

“But Evan—”

“Do not. Say his name. Anymore,” Pandora shook the pencil, and Barty sighed wistfully. Fed up with this, Pandora suggested, “Why don’t you write him a love letter?”

“A love letter?” Barty pulled a face. “Ew?”

“How is a love letter more disgusting to you than the way you wax poetic about Evan out loud, to me?” Pandora bared her teeth in frustration. “It’s expressing the exact same thing that you already do in paper format and sending it to the actual recipient, instead of his sibling. Because in case you’ve forgotten, I’m related to Evan, and I don’t want to hear what you think about his mouth!”

Barty rolled his eyes, as if what Pandora was saying made no sense at all. “If I write this… love letter… you must give me something in return. After all, friendship is a business transaction.”

Pandora rolled her eyes. Sometimes, Barty made no sense at all.

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Barty finally decided, “I’ll write him love letters instead of gushing to you all the time if you buy me lunch everyday.”

“Deal,” Pandora shook his hand. She also poked her pencil into his palm while doing so. The jury would be forever out on whether or not that was purposeful.

- - -

Dear the love of my life (Pandora: “Why are you calling him the love of your life?” Barty: “‘Cause this is a love letter? You basically told me to do that?”)

I am in love with you. (Pandora: “That’s unnecessary. It was stated in the first line.” Barty: “Was it though? Do you think your brother’s smart enough to understand if I don’t clarify?” Pandora: “…You make a good point.”)

Love from the love of your life (Pandora: “You’ve written ‘love’ way too many times.” Barty: “It’s a love letter!”)

- - -

“Now slip it through his locker,” Pandora advised.

“Where’s his locker?”

She shrugged, “Dunno.”

“You don’t know where your brother’s locker is?” Barty asked incredulously.

Haughtily, Pandora sniffed, “Stop acting like it’s an expectation of sibling relationships to know everything about each other.”

“It kinda is—”

“I think that’s his locker,” Pandora interrupted, pointing to a locker graffitied with ‘EVANS’ in bright red capital letters. Again, she sniffed disdainfully, “He’s the type to graffiti his locker. And miss out the apostrophe in Evan’s. It’s probably Evan’s locker,” she nodded. “It’s been branded Evan’s at least. Without the apostrophe. ‘Cause he’s a degenerate vandal.”

Bary side-eyed her, “I’ll never understand sibling rivalry…” He slid the folded paper through the frame, before the two of them shoved each other past the crowd of students, positioning themselves behind a vending machine to watch Evan’s supposed locker for any action.

But instead of Evan, a person who Pandora recognised very well, with the green eyes she’d dream about and the red hair she’d see while gazing at the person’s back during class, walked up to the locker. Oh. Evans. Lily Evans.

Suddenly, vandalism seemed very cool. And the graffiti was actually grammatically correct, so Pandora could let it slide. Plus, red was an ingenious colour choice, Lily’s taste was exquisite, Pandora was mesmerised by the sheer talent of it, the way the letters were perfectly positioned to spell out the surname of the love of her life. When Lily stood in front of her locker, rivulets of her red hair cascaded beside the graffiti, creating a remarkable gradient, perfectly blending orange into red like the sunset over a beach in the hot, humid summer—

Barty nudged her, probably to say that the mission had been a failure, except Pandora wasn’t really concentrating, so she stumbled out from behind the vending machine, winding up in the middle of the corridor and hovering there aimlessly.

Having read the letter, Lily looked around curiously, and Pandora was just there, staring at her. Eventually, Lily’s eyes landed on Pandora like darts pinning a dartboard, rendering her frozen in place, just looking at each other for an extended period of time, seconds which had slowed to hours, too long, this was dumb, Pandora should move, what was she doing? Then Lily smiled at her, hands fiddling with the corner of the letter.

She made her way towards Pandora, and they were both standing in the middle of the corridor, and Pandora’s heart was a drum beating inside her throat, reverberating through her body, echoing within her bones, loud, aggressive, but it calmed to the sound of waves in a conch shell when Lily said quietly, “Hi, love of my life.”

[badler1]

I'm not a Sainz hater. I don't hate any of them because they are just people doing their jobs and they are so far removed from me and all of us (everything F1 shows us is a PR stunt). But I really do love a lot of them, even if a lot of what we are shown of these drivers is filtered. I love Verstappen, I love Colapinto, I love Russell. And my favorite has always, always been LeClerc because I think he is a brilliant driver. He has been a solid driver since he started at Ferrari, even when he's been given a shit car and even shittier strategy. He is fighting for the vice championship right now and WCC, and honestly? If I was in his shoes I'd be pissed as hell too. He had an AMAZING start at yesterday's race and had the chance to make poll but because of his team and teammate's actions he couldn't make it. What Sainz did makes sense for him, yes, maybe, because he's leaving Ferrari. But he's still at Ferrari now. The opportunity for LeClerc to get second in the WDC (which is a pretty fucking big deal) would be amazing for Ferrari and for all those involved, including Sainz. Yes, he's leaving the team. But wouldn't it be better to go out with his team on a high? I think the switching opinions and everything makes this sport really complicated and the online community really shit sometimes. People hated Verstappen for the exact. same. thing. Leclerc did last night: calling out his teammates, calling out the team, calling out the car, being a PR nightmare...and now all those people are posting "M4x" and saying he's the next GOAT. All I'm saying is that I think that Charles didn't do anything that we haven't seen of drivers before. All these guys have an attitude (save for Piastri, maybe, that guy has a cool head on him). All of them want to do their best and get frustrated when they get undermined in doing that. LeClerc has been Ferrari's golden boy for years, championing the team time and time again even when they continually screw him over. Everyone has a breaking point. And if I was jet lagged, adrenaline high, tired, had not gained any positions, narrowly missed poll, suffered through bad Ferrari strategy all year, AND had my teammate ignore team orders when I was the one fighting for vice championship, not him? Yeah. I'd snap too. Honestly, maybe it was time. Maybe Charles anger towards Ferrari is not as misplaced as it seems---I mean, Sainz got screwed over by them too, did he not?

Also, I'm sorry. But the whole debate about the "Tell him in Spanish" thing everywhere is absolutely ridiculous. Carlos Sainz is from Spain and speaks Spanish and is also white. That was not racist; it was just fucking hilarious. Like the level of bitchiness LeClerc has is what I aspire to have. No one has any problems with people making fun of Charles for his English or for derogatory comments about the French. So just. Take it for what it is: a twenty-seven year old being a diva, and enjoy the drama.

so let me this straight, charles leclerc cannot, absolutely, for no reason, lash out ONE time at his team after being constantly screwed over by them, but another driver’s family member can like a degrading tweets about him and it’s all fine? we’re all supposed to forget about that and act like it never happened? fuck that honestly.

charles has always played the team game, always. singapore, australia, mexico, hell even japan because he’s supposed to have faith that the team and his teammate will follow through on what they discussed before hand. they are fighting for a wcc, personal results (getting one over on your teammate) matter less than team results. what was a potential p2-p3 for the team was ruined by a single decision one person made. he made the overtake, overtook verstappen but then couldn’t break the drs train and fucked over the teams overall results.

every single time charles has had the opportunity to fight against his teammate for the win THIS SEASON he’s been told to hold back. there were actual complaints in mexico from his teammate when there was a NINE SECOND gap. there was an agreement this weekend that the team came to that BOTH drivers were aware of. one driver was going to, assumably charles, get priority, over his teammate and his teammate disobeyed those orders. this isn’t the first time it’s happened, but it probably is the last considering his teammate is leaving at the end of the season. one can hope that after today charles won’t take anymore of this bullshit.

it’s hypocrisy, plain and simple. it’s hypocrisy from sainz and it’s hypocrisy from his teammates fans. mind you these are the same fans who threw a tantrum over arthur leclerc ALLEGEDLY driving car 55 in abu dhabi for fp1. they were calling it nepotism as if the call isn’t coming from inside the house. the constant hypocrisy from the other driver and his fans is what makes me glad he’s leaving the team. good fucking riddance.

if you ever, and i mean ever want to question why mercedes or red bull didn’t sign sainz it’s because of this. his actions today, and through out the season alone, have showed that no, he is NOT a team player despite whatever narrative he tried to push. he is only a team player when it is convenient to him, and even then he still find some shit to complain about.

[f1amour]

Hi!!! Could i request a 🍮 with verstappen that have “don’t you care about me at all?” Like angst but with a happy ending. Thank you!!!

❝ don’t you care about me at all? ❞ — max verstappen

pairing | max verstappen x reader

content warnings | angst, comfort, happy ending

★ join my short n sweet friendsgiving!

─────────────────────────

you watch him sleep peacefully while your mind is filled with negative thoughts; did he love you? why was he pushing you away? had you done something? it hadn’t been the best season only the first half was great then the car started having problems and then battling for the championship with lando it wasn’t easy. so you understand the stress he had and tried your best to be there for him but he’d push you away everytime.

he had a rough race? you’d be there ready to give him your supportive words and touch he used to love but it’s now turned into quick side hugs and kisses on the cheek. from flying to most of the races with him turned into staying at home taking care of jimmy and sassy and watching the race on the tv screen.

you put your slippers on and walked off onto your balcony as the sun was rising. you didn’t realize how much time passed as max walks out in his workout clothes saying he would be going to the gym with his trainer, “okay,” you mutter, your eyes still set on the view avoiding his eyes as best as you can. going to the gym when you have a home gym right here? but the words never come out and he leaves.

“she didn’t even look at me just said okay and that’s all. she’s always up early make breakfast and my smoothie always ready but i woke up to an empty bed. thought she wanted to spend the break together as much as we can.” max tells his trainer as they finished up their workout. max left the apartment confused from the cold shoulder you’d given him, “i mean, you haven’t let her join you the last few races you’ve had. it could be that? or the fact she’s always checking up on your through the team because you never tell her anything other than fine everytime she asks how you are doing and the car.” his trainer knocks him out of this trance he’s had for months now as he realizes what he had been doing.

that’s why he stands in the kitchen with your favorite flowers on the counter and take out food ready to talk and apologize but you don’t come after he calls for your name. he walks to your bedroom and you are nowhere to be seen until he reaches the balcony and he realizes you’ve been sitting in your same spot you were on when he had left. “schatje? why are you still out here? it’s freezing—.”

“don’t you care about me at all?” you finally look at him, your eyes red and swollen after crying for hours and in that moment his heart breaks because he was breaking yours. “seriously max, what am i to you? it feels like we’re just roommates who sleep in the same bed and that’s all. i tried. i tried to be the supportive girlfriend but you…you push me away. you talk to everyone but me. i care about you, so why don’t you care about me?”

max sits besides you and wipes your tears away before he kisses your head but you just push him away, “i deserve that. i deserve whatever anger you feel towards me right now. i do care about you. i may not have shown it recently and i am sorry for that, baby. i’ve been so frustrated with the car and with myself that i couldn’t bare for you to see me like this. you’ve been there since my first championship and now that it could be in jeopardy…i don’t you to see me fail,” he whispers, his feelings valid but it leaves you confused why he couldn’t tell you all this.

“so why push me away like that, max? i supported you at your best and at your worst. with or without a championship i’m gonna be by your side always. but you need to let me in all the way. you have you talk to me when you feel this way and i should have done the same—.”

“no. that wasn’t your fault. i was a very shitty boyfriend so i understand why you felt you couldn’t talk to me. i’m so so sorry, my love. i promise from now on i’ll communicate more,” he promises and you raise your eyebrows expecting more, “and let me go to races again? cant believe you used jimmy and sassy as a pawn for me not going to any.” your pout that makes him chuckle has the mood feeling lighter now.

“i was fucking miserable without you. never again.” he mumbles against your neck as you wrap your arms around him. “i’ve got your favorite food and flowers waiting in the kitchen for you, i love you”

“i love you. you’re the bestest…next time though if you ever say i can’t go to a race i’ll show up with the mercedes team.” you threaten with a smile on your face.

“okay now that is mean.”

[mocultation]

                                 CHROMATIC                                  NANAMI KENTO

warnings: mature content. oral (f. receiving). odd descriptions of sex positions.

small note: it's great to finally get back to writing something. have fun reading! reblogs are highly appreciated.

what artist hasn’t lost their mind during the genesis of their chef-d'oeuvre?

it was far through the evening when you have begun making your ‘sketch’⸻your fingers tracing over the sharp lines of fair-skinned man that was pressing his lips against yours with a form of yearning that could only be described as sweltering while he brought you down onto the softness of the mattress. this little ‘association’ was something you hadn’t expected to flourish in such a matter, truly. it was just some mindless flirting at first! a little quip here and there! how were you supposed to know that it was going to drive the guy against the wall? that it was making his hands itch to pull all of those pesky clothes you had on your body and show off the smooth skin you had hidden beneath the cloth. to let his tongue and lips make their path on your figure for the umpteenth time.

 “what’s with the silence, huh? usually you love being a pain,（name）.” the warmth of his breath tickled your mouth, making the situation even more wonderfully frustrating. there was a subtle restraint lingering on his fingertips as he traced a path of fire onto the flesh of your body, causing you to arch into his touch. sparking every nerve and dragging out quiet gasps from deep within⸺resulting in you carving all the more of his temporary affection as the greedy person you knew you were. the kind of dame he reluctantly welcomes in his arms for a passionate dance beneath the sheets. just to move your separate ways once the sun makes its unveiling once again. a part of him secretly hoped that the cycle would never stop, that it would simply keep repeating itself. again and again and again and again. “tired of running your mouth?” “me? of all the times we've met, please don't tell me that it troubles you now.”

next was the ‘form’ of this masterpiece; as you were placed on your back, his hands gripped the flesh of your thighs and raised them up, and there was that tension in his eyes, and the damp patch on the thin fabric of your underwear got prominently bigger. while the heat in your belly increased, he leaned over to kiss you on the ankles, which was a little more chaste than the nature of this interaction. every one of his smooches had a certain intimacy to them, a delicate touch that relaxed and thrilled you at the same time, leaving you temporarily gasping for air as you enjoyed the delicacy of the moment. the trail of his kisses only lowered down as with his other hand he had pulled away the thin barrier that kept your cunt and him away from each other. the cold air caused it to soaken itself even more while your breath intake was shortening itself—not from fear but unadulterated exhilaration. “but i must say that you are quite the talented one with your—” yet your words had fallen flat on his ear once you felt his lips collide with your drenched folds in an instant. “fuck!” the variety of actions his tongue delivered against your clit and weeping folds were making you see all kinds of pleasant colors; the vibrations of his endeavors throughout his attempt made your toes curl with excitement. 

sweat droplets were collecting over your forehead with every lick he put on your cunt⸺withdrawing the sweetest melodies from your throat. he was making it obvious to you that he was ravenous for the depth that your pussy was generating; the intensity of your ambrosia was something he could grow addicted to. perhaps he already was. the juices were drooling down from his chin as he redoubled his efforts on pushing you off the edge you were dangling from: “oh god! i..i think i might—!” with a blurry vision, a certain ‘cord’ snapped. with that followed a moan from your lips⸺so loud and so overly hedonistic. it snapped him right out of his debauched actions, but only for a moment as he felt the success of his conduct gush down on his mouth, shamelessly, almost smugly taking it down his throat before he lifted his head from your crotch and made eye contact. “…is the idea of a second round off the table?” 

shading, giving a painting depth⸺blasé blasé. it was the coloring process that you were genuinely interested in. 

“fucking hell you are so soaked,” he moans against your neck as another burgundy-colored mark on your neck. it was the kind of paradise that only nanami could provide—the constant thrusting of his hips against your own. your inner walls had his cock on lock, melting due to the position you were in; from your legs positioned upward like a tower, the two of you were now spooning with him, and your leg bent over his thigh and your back facing his hard chest. his mushroom tip was bullying the depth of your cunt, whereas you proudly spread your legs apart to welcome its brute force. while he resumed an excellent pace, just to add on the anguish his fingers were making quite the mess on the sheets beneath your body. adding circular movements to your pulsing clit. the squelching sounds from your pussy reverberated off the wall, working overtime as it was coated with the creamy pre-cum on the outside. constructing an illicit portrayal.

his meaty dick sliding in and out of you with such fervour. “ngh—! don’t you dare stop now. mmpf!” his balls, drenched by your juices at this point, churned by your wanton demand. slapping over and over again onto your ass. by this time, both of your bodies are bathed in a sheen of sweat, and the bed's squeaking has been  reduced to plain white noise. he had you stretched all the way out to your limit, and in return, you were making sure that the man would prefer to never leave your sopping hole. “look at you. you love taking my dick so deep, don’t you?” each word gained emphasis by a deep thrust. “you’re going to be very good and finish with me, uh-huh?” nanami's ears began to race with blood as soon as he said those words. a snarl echoed at the back of his neck as he pressed your lips against his for an additional time. your breaths merged into one, your pants becoming heavier as the forceful gush of cum plunged straight down to the lowest point of your womb. as he overflows your cunt, his balls quiver and convulse to extract every last drop of his spunk. it resulted in you following soon with your own final act for the night. when your body finally decided it was time for a well-earned slumber, your eyes slowly rolled back to your head.

©mocultation

[amaru-love-writings]

Just dance

Sylus knew there would be trouble when he bought the damn console, but fights??

“Boss said it’s my turn!” said the man with the piercing on the right ear. When the other did not let go of the controller - the only one remaining, thanks, Mephisto - he accused “you’ve been dancing to Poker Face this entire time. Let. Me. Play. Kieran!” Luke shouted in a high-pitched tone; making Mephisto caw in disapproval.

Meanwhile, you just looked at the scene in front of you without really knowing what to do, “don’t you two know how to take turns?”

Both turned to you, and even behind the masks you could tell they were rolling their eyes in annoyance.

“Miss hunter, that’s what I’ve been telling Kieran; but the dumbass just won’t hear.” Luke’s fists were closed in frustration; while Sylus was making his move.

An eletronic dying sound echoed in the spacious room; and both heads shot to the source of the sound.

“Noo, boss. Why did you turn it off? I was on a streak!” Kieran complained, stomping his boots.

“Ugh, Kieran how old are you, five?” the one with the piercing on the right ear mocked loudly.

“If I’m five, so are you!” the sulking one snarled back.

“Oh, you...!” Luke was about to grab his twin by the ears, when your voice rang.

“Quit it, you two. Your dad- I mean, Sylus will decide when you guys can play again. In the meantime, you’ll learn how to take turns, am I clear?” she was playing no games; however, Kieran was about to make a fun retort when he noticed a very powerful energy coming from behind the hunter; Sylus was glaring at them.

“Y-yes, miss hunter!” both straightened up and said barely below a scream.

Sweat ran free across their backs as they perched themselves on their usual spots and waited for things to settle.

////

“Hmpf, I guess I have a very scary aura!” the girl said to herself in a singsong voice; not noticing the broad chest just a hair away from her, “oh, hey, Sylus... you were there all along?”

“Dad, huh?” he mused, hands on his hips.

“I-They- Well, yeah; you’re kinda like their dad!”

He laughed at her embarrassed antics.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m not a strict dad.” he assured her with a nod, “shall we go?”

“Where?” Her brow perked.

“Where do you wanna go?” he offered back, with a handsome smirk.

////

“Hey, dumbass, I’m sorry for calling you a dumbass.” Luke admitted while sitting on the table - a habit Sylus had tried to get rid of, but to no avail.

“And I’m sorry for not letting you play”, agreed the one with piercing on the left.

“D’ya think boss is too pissed to let us play again?” Luke asked anxiously.

“I mean... d’ya hear his bike... Hey, Luke, they’ re leaving.” the devilish aura was palpable, a sign of his intention “wanna play?”

With a snicker, both came back to the room and found the console in the same position.

////

When the couple arrived, a loud scream could be heard. And they rushed to the room, only to find the two energetic twins cheering.

“We did it!” they chanted all while hugging each other.

The couple exchanged a knowing look.

“You up for a match, sweetie?” Sylus wiggled his perfectly sculpted brows.

“Oh, you’re so losing this... DAD!” She teased back, with a cat smile.

//// (To anyone who stan these two amazing sidekicks!) (Sorry for any mistakes, I've just written this) A.N.: This is a fanfic for Love and Deepspace. All the rights are reserved to Infold. This is only meant for entertainment and appreciation for the world of Lnds. Please, do not repost, copy or translate. Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Enjoy.

[simpingforbots]

Hello! I'm kinda new here in your blog and I saw those "what if a human ended on Cybertron" and I just love those stories they're so good

No need to do it now cuz idk if you are taking requests but could you make More of them? A part 6 with souls prime and amalgamous prime

hello there! thanks for letting me know that you like my stories and i will try my best as i am sort of new to Transformers. i got in to transformers thanks to Bay movies, Transformers prime, transformers animated and now Transformers One. So please forgive me if i might be incorrect. i will do my best.

What if human ended up in Transformers one.

part 6 (requests)

Solus Prime

(reade in this situation are female)

Being the first fembot of Cybertron is nothing easy, especialy when you have this much weight on your shoulders. Even if she found joy in creating things, the constant need for weapons was becoming exhausting. thankfully Megatronus were there to comfort her, even if they had some fights here and there, it was something good. So when something small and week showed up on surface of Cybertron, being chased by Quintessons, the injustice towards such pathetic creature fired Solus right up and they took care of those pathetic, ugly, disgusting bug creatures. They smashed them all with their hammer, letting their fiery side out along with all the frustration, all while YOU scrambled for safety to let those huge creatures duke it out. Though you did not stayed hidden for long as you wanted. A servo reached in to the hiding spot you were in, apparently not small enough for them to reach in at all, easily puling them out. After expecting this small creature they were shocked to see that it was as same frame as her, meaning she must be not the only fembot, even if in weird fleshy body. A small creature with no clear way of defending them self against harsh environment of Cybertron. So she takes you with to Iacon to keep you safe from anything dangerous and started working on creating something to help communicate. it is a bit hard as your little chirps were hard to decipherer, but signs were easy to learn. And let's just say you were also subjected to her little experiments as now SHE had a whole new reason to create.

Amalgamous Prime

Being the most unserious of all thirteen, Amalgamous felt a bit out of place time to time. he just wanted others to be a bit more... unserious all the time, this constant monogamy of data pads, meetings and fighting was surreally exhaustion for every one. He did felt a bit jealouse a bit of Solus and Megatronus since they started seeing each other, even if it was "privet secret" between 13 primes, he still wanted something else. He would venture to surface time to time, just exploring away, watching strange deer creatures "graze". Or change in to something else and joing his "subject" and wonder around Iacon. he found you in one of dark markets that he knew was illegal, yet still something about you caught his single optic. Purchasing you along with some book about "hoomans" he returned to the palace, knowing that now he had something to break the rutine. At first it was hard as you most of time hid away, to scared, but overtime you grew used to this strange bot, snickering quietly at his "tricks". after some time you were comfortable enough to laugh along side him at his little pranks.

Zeta Prime

So much responsibly for one bot - having matrix of leadership, being leader of 13 Primes, taking care of entire civilization and defending them from quinteson will be a tool to any one, no mater if they were born to do this. at first Zeta refused to believe that HE - the matrix bearer - was tiered, but in the end no one can escape the truth. It did not helped that a suden raid on Quintessons ship brought a small flesh being in to his existence. so much needed to be done so taking care of something so small and fragile was really not in his plans. But he was sort of stuck with you and just kept you in a cage, for your own safety of course, he does not want any bot to step on you by excident. If you behaved and did not flipped him off or yell something in strange language - you would be reworded by being let out of the cage and let to wonder his table while he was buissy. He would drift away from data pads just to play with you, rolling pen between him and you, chuckling seeing how hard you had to push just to roll it towards him, or simply watch you doodle inside one of the pads he would push towards you, giving the smallest pen he could find to doodle in, finding that it was one of a few ways you can communicate with him through doodles. and apparently he has a new name - Crown, about which he did not complain about.

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5

[atangeledskein]

Ever since I watched Tennelle Flower's video analyzing Chikai and Don't Think Twice a few months ago, my mind felt like an egg that had been cracked open, leaking yolk all over my writing and my daily life. I'd heard these two songs through my Utada rotation on Spotify over the years, thought they were pretty, never thought to look up the Japanese lyrics, etc. I think even if I had, without the context of being songs written specifically for Kingdom Hearts, I would have remained blissfully ignorant, never knowing just how much they could inflame the torch I carried for SoRiku in my heart.

Link to the video, for reference -

All my thoughts after watching this video were stuck between two, major and immoveable truths -- one, that I 100% agreed that Chikai was from Riku's point of view (on top of the perfect lyrics, it played first the first time during his reveal trailer, after all), and two, that as much as I wanted to agree with Tennelle, I couldn't think of Don't Think Twice being from Sora's pov with the same conviction. I thought it could make a neat inspiration for fanfic, being so full of longing and portraying an unfulfilled connection between two people. It clearly expresses a desire for closeness, a gratitude for being a part of this other person's life. But underlying all of it is a bittersweet frustration that their feelings aren't being returned, that even after making promises to change they are practically begging for any hint of affection from the other person. It made no sense to have two people, mutually declaring their love and a desire to stay together, being framed in one of the songs as having unrequited feelings.

So I sat on it, listened to it, sang it, watched more videos, and finally came to a different realization. Don't Think Twice is from Kairi's point of view.

And all the puzzle pieces fell nicely into place.

How did I live in a kingdom of thieves And people who say things they don't really mean - Kairi's early life in Radiant Garden

You're only everything I ever dreamed Ever dreamed of - Kairi's desire for Sora in her life, his steadfast companionship, is a balm to her lonely soul

I want you for a lifetime So if you're gonna think twice, baby I don't wanna know - Sora's initial rejection and hesitance over sharing a paopu fruit with her; she doesn't want to know the real reason, or how he feels, she just needs him to take it and give her peace of mind

If you want to take it to an even higher level All you gotta do is say the word, you know I'll follow - She's still waiting, hopeful for some word of affection, some sign that Sora is willing to give her a chance and take the next step in their friendship If you want to make it happen, nothing's impossible All you gotta do is say the word, the walls will crumble If you want to make it happen, nothing's impossible - Kairi's unrequited longing is so clear here, how desperate she is for a chance to be what Sora wants, even though he is still giving her no sign that it's going to happen.

This block of lyrics is really where I started to doubt that this song was from Sora's point of view. The line "nothing's impossible" and all the sentiment around it feels really naive, like a schoolgirl with her first unrequited crush. A relationship of mutual affection isn't built on breaking the laws of reality, on forcing something that's impossible to become real. This struck me too heavily with a feeling of, "I'll change, I'll be anything you want, just say the word and I'll be everything you need, I promise." But why should there be a need to change in the first place, unless they know deep down that their feelings aren't returned?

I won't go deeply into Chikai's lyrics, since I think it's a given that it's from Riku's perspective. But I do want to point out the contrast between the two songs and how difficult it is to think that they're being offered as the sentiment of two people that have the same feelings for each other. Chikai is all about the awe and wonder of discovering that their secret feelings are actually mutual, that their self-perception of unworthiness hasn't chased away the other person or gotten them rejected. And from that point onwards it's nothing but pure conviction, an outpouring of their deepest feelings, and a declaration to keep their lover close for the rest of their lives. It's a vow of everlasting love.

And who has always been at the center of the love triangle between the Destiny Islands trio? Sora, of course.

So it makes sense to me that both of these songs are being sung TO Sora. One, wishing for more but knowing deep down that their romantic feelings are unrequited. The other, expressing their disbelief that they were chosen, and then charging full-speed ahead without hesitation (I love you too, I want you in my arms forever, let's get married).

And there's my analysis. SoRiku is endgame.

[As an aside, I have to thank the existence of MDZS for even more firmly cementing Chikai being from Riku's pov. I think I would have fallen into that uncertainty that our fandom is often plagued with otherwise, because SoRiku is built on context clues rather than explicit narrative, and we deal with a fan-majority that is indifferent to or outright hates any mention of homosexuality in the game. But if I had been presented Chikai without knowing it was from KH, and been asked to think of a character it could have been written for, I would immediately pin it on Lan Wangji and his feelings for Wei Wuxian. The instant change from, "Wait... you feel the same as me?" to "I love you too, I will promise you forever, let's go get hitched," is too on-the-nose to ignore. I wonder if Utada is a secret MXTX fan...]

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slenderman x Maid!Reader || Drabble

Plot: After Slender has been, well, himself; and frustrated the hell out of you one-too-many times in a day so you storm out of the mansion for a walk to clear your head. He comes after you asking where the hell his servant is going-

Just in time to find the bear staring you right in the face.

//

Or, everyone is annoyed. Including the bear.

(Inspired by videos of animals CLEARLY SEEING something demonic that we cant see.)

Same universe as This fic and This fic.

Warnings: A little bit of Slender being an ass, high-stress situation, Slender being unhelpful and then scaring/hurting a bear (Just making the static noise so the bears ears hurt), mind reading, Slender in a dissociative hunting state, etc.

Tagging: @microwavemadness , @miss-understood , and @yesthetrashbin .

NO BEARS WERE HURT IN THE MAKING OF THIS FIC. WE DO NOT SUPPORT HURTING BEARS HERE.

You storm out of the there as fast your legs will take you without actually running, slamming the door as hard as you can behind you. Maybe he owns you, maybe he's your 'boss', maybe you have to do what he says for the rest of your life- but if you leave without asking, then the bastard cant tell you no.

After walking at the same powerful pace fueled by the raging frustration roaring inside you for a good 7 seconds, just breeching the wall of trees that surround the clearing that the spooky old mansion exists in, you freeze in your tracks violently fast; eyes wide as dinner plates and suddenly wishing you'd stayed inside and put up with your ass of a master.

Because there's a bear. A fucking bear. Its the size of 3 men, its staring right at you, you're stuck staring directly into the terrifying creature's black eyes (The worst thing you could possibly do in this situation), and it looks i r r i t a t e d.

You must have startled it when you stormed into the tree line.

S h i t.

~

When Slender looks for you after you left his office a few moments later, searching for your very annoyed little form (So much anger for one so small) in his mansion, blinking from one room to another until he's checked everywhere- he cant find you. And that ignites a flicker of frustration in himself. Where the hell have you gone, now?? He needs his servant. He loves his peace and quiet, absolutely, but annoying you is a favourite pass time. You're almost as high-strung as he is, after all. And with everyone else gone from this place currently (His brothers, the pasta's, his other proxies), he has all the time in the world to enjoy the quiet. For now he's bored, and he wants to speak to you about your lacklustre method of organising the linen cabinet; just make your life a little hard.

So where the fuck, did you go?

Static fizzing in the air around him, he turns his search onto the woods. He appears right at the edge of the tree line, and immediately finds you in your predicament.

"... ah." Well thats not an ideal circumstance for little Y/N, is it?

As soon as you sense his presence a few feet behind you and hear his voice, you feel all your fear boil over and you want to run behind him. But you don't- you stay still. Slowly, you take a deep breath. You speak while moving your mouth as little as possible, especially when the bear grunts and roars. It seems to hate your voice, but is unbothered by Slender's. Like he's not even there. "... Slender, help me."

Slender does intend to help, truly. He cant be losing his servant. He will not allow a thing, to happen to you. ... But that doesn't mean he cant use this. A glimmer of amusement tickles at the old eldritch monsters cold, ancient heart at the terrible situation.

He was only looking to mess with you a bit, before... but this infinitely better.

"Why should I? You stormed out like a child- this simply appears to be karma, to me."

Oh for FUCKS SAKE- You want to whip around and glare at him, or kick everything on the forest floor at him, but moving might mean getting mauled by a bear right now so you're forced to stay still.

"... please, Slender." You grit your teeth together. Even when the bear grunts again, and stomps a paw down into the dirt. "I'm sorry."

Slender takes the tone of a teacher, as if this is some mental 'teaching moment'. Pretending to be sensible even though he's LITERALLY crazy- He drives you nuts. "Now, that doesn't sound very sincere Y/N. You can do better the that." Stupid, evil, obnoxious, insane creature- "Thats definitely not going to do it."

"I shouldn't- " When the bear lands both front paws down on the ground, prepared to lunge at you and take bite right out of your neck you flinch. Start again. "I shouldn't have y- yelled at you... left the mansion... I'm sorry. Okay???" The bear must hear the panic in your tone, or maybe smells the fear all around you, because it gives a few huffs, and paws dangerously at the ground. Bares its teeth at you.

"Hmm... you know Y/N, I think the bear can tell you're afraid of her. What do you think?"

Suddenly the bear jumps up onto its hind legs, roars and slams back down on the ground, coming forward towards your soft, weak little body, and you squeeze your eyes closed against the terror. "Slender please!- "

When you aren't torn apart by claws or teeth for a few moments, and the roar turns abruptly into a whimper and then heavy breathing- you force yourself to crack an eye open just in time to see the bear backing off again; retreating. You look up with both eyes open to see Slender, grossly tall and with his tentacles floating in the air threateningly around you both, directly behind you now- hanging over you, and although your ears and your head are clogged up with horrible grilling static, you've never been so glad to have him with you; The very visage of a creepy marionette doll or otherwise. Lowering your gaze back to the bear, which looks terrified all of a sudden at the creature behind you and rubbing its poor ears at the sound- you immediately feel awful.

"Slender." You say, cautioning. "Slender, stop."

He doesn't respond, focus trained entirely on the bear.

"Slender."

With a thud of your heart dropping in your chest, you realise this must be what he looks like when he's not at home, seeming almost human with a supernatural ability to annoy you; when he's hunting. And immediately your stomach turns over.

Turning around in place, you grip his old worn suit and tug at it. "Slender!! Stop now! You're finished, the bear will leave!" You make your voice as hard and bossy as you can muster it, trying to cut through whatever horrible old monster instincts are over-riding Slender's personality right now.

When you finally get through to him, yanking his jacket so ferociously that you actually budge him (Not by much; but enough to get his attention), the static cuts off like a switch. He lowers his faceless head to see you down below him, and it takes a little staring, but he comes back to himself. He rolls his shoulders, and you release a relieved breath.

"... you don't want me to kill the bear?" He asks, softly. Almost disbelieving. As if he didn't know that about you; like he was someone else for a minute there.

"No!"

.... With a tone just like an eyeroll, back to himself, Slender straightens up again. You let go of him. "Of course not."

Slender gives the bear a final Look, and the bear turns tail and retreats fully into the trees. You cant see her only hear her- then you cant hear her anymore, either. Gone.

After a few moments Slender turns his head to you again. "... So. Are we going back inside or are we going to stand out here like lemmings for the rest of the day?"

With that he turns immediately, disappears, and then reappears on the porch by the front door; waiting for you. Pretending like none of what just happened actually happened even though you're still in shock and confused. What the hell was that?? Did he just fly into a dissociative state? Are his instincts to protect you???

... is that because you're his proxy, or because you've been having sex? That might be the most important question. What does this mea-

"-What are you waiting for? I have some notes on your ability to put linen away appropriately. Come."

You squint at him; stare into that blank white face waiting for you. Is he listening to you think and distracting you or is he really just that indifferent??

... you cant tell. No surprise.

"I'm coming," You sigh, trudging back towards the mansion. You can think more about this later, maybe. Maybe not. You probably should, but... "but I don't want your notes- "

"Oh you're getting them. Now, about your folding technique- "

But that would mean facing which you want it to mean.