#I probably won't stop writing these self as fuck indulgent fics

[burningcheese-merchant]

BurningCheese/GoldenSpice Playlist

Ok, time to stop being a bitch and post the ship playlist I keep harping on about already.

Gonna mark each song with an emoji to signify if it's meant to either be Burning Spice's POV (🔺) or Golden Cheese's (🧀). It's also going to be band/singer name first, song name second, for ease of understanding

Thank you to everyone who's reached out to me, both on here and on AO3, with song suggestions! A good chunk of these came from me myself, but a lot of people introduced me to plenty more songs that I loved and agreed suited these two perfectly. It's been fun putting a playlist together with this help, it feels like a fun group project now lol. (Hell, you guys are actually helping me think of new writing material. Music is a huge source of inspiration and creativity for me, as I'm sure you've noticed. In a way, you're all indirectly making fic requests lol)

You're all still more than welcome to keep shooting me song ideas to add, the playlist is ever-expanding! I'll just come back to this post and edit any new additions in. (This playlist is 3x longer than my PitayaFire one. I need you all to understand how big of a deal that is for me personally. I never thought I'd be this down bad for a ship besides that one. It's fucking surreal)

Some of it is meant to sound one-sided, others like it's a mutual love/relationship. I'll let you guess which is which lol. Now rock out to Evil Spice Man x Pretty Cheese Lady with me 🤘🤘🤘

Mindless Self Indulgence - Shut Me Up🔺

Fall Out Boy - I Don't Care🔺(with the Wild Spice crew as the backup singers!!!)

Mariah Carey - Obsessed 🧀

Three Days Grace - I Hate Everything About You🔺🧀

Lady Gaga - Bad Romance🔺🧀

Dead or Alive - You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)🔺

Mindless Self Indulgence - What Do They Know?🔺

Britney Spears - Toxic 🧀

Fish in a Birdcage - Rule #34🔺(this is also a great PureShadow song ngl. It's how it was first introduced to me, even lol)

Shayfer James - Filthy Habit🔺

King Gnu - SPECIALZ🔺🧀 (look up the English version of the lyrics. Very BurningCheese-core imo)

Mindless Self Indulgence - This Hurts🔺

Jack Black - Peaches🔺(shout out to the anon in my inbox who suggested this. Joke's on them, I had this on the playlist right from the start lolololololol)

Arctic Monkeys - R U Mine?🔺

Lady Gaga - Poker Face 🧀

Olly Murs (feat. Flo Rida) - Troublemaker 🧀

Rihanna - Where Have You Been🔺(fun fact: I had this playing on a loop as I wrote "Our Little Dance" to get into the Yandere Spice mindset lol)

Lady Gaga - Judas 🧀

Miike Snow - Genghis Khan🔺

The Orion Experience - Obsessed With You🔺(this song is just really funny. You can probably apply it to all Beast x Ancient ships tbh)

Nine Inch Nails - Closer🔺

Mindless Self Indulgence - 5TR82HE11🔺

Air Traffic Controller - This Is Love🔺

Bad Omens - THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND🔺🧀

Isabel LaRosa - favorite 🧀

Bloodhound Gang - The Bad Touch🔺(listen I imagined Spice singing this to Golden and just started howling with laughter, it's fucking hysterical ok)

ENHYPEN - Bite Me🔺

Scissor Sisters - I Can't Decide🔺(GC would sing a few parts tho)

5 Seconds of Summer - Teeth🔺🧀 (mostly Spice though)

Buerak - Культ Тела 🔺(look up English lyrics, very Yandere Spice coded. Thank you to the anon who suggested it)

Tom Lehrer - The Masochism Tango🔺

Lady Gaga - Disease 🧀

G-Eazy (with Halsey) - Him & I🔺🧀

Britney Spears - ...Baby One More Time🔺(imagine Spice singing this while stuck in prison. Please. He's singing and the other Beasts want to off themselves because it's so annoying and he won't stop. Please it is so funny. I have so much fun imagining this freak acting stupid-)

[sdaomine]

'til death do us part... or 'til i kill you first

Things take a sharp turn when Marius and Vyn discover each other's secret identities. Filing a divorce is on the table, but Vyn takes matters into his own hands—after all, he'd rather end the marriage here than in court.

A/N: Finally, FINALLY done with this fic that has long been rotting in my drafts! I've been wanting to write a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU for my favorite gay ship but lacked the time to actually finish it (but here we are!). I wrote this in 2022 but only concluded it today, AMIDST my many, many university backlogs <3 Anyway, I know some stuff here won't make sense but this is a self-indulgent fic so... yeah.

wc: 13.8k words.

==

Six years in.

Six years of a wonderful marriage. Six years of black tea and chocolate drink during early mornings. Six years of intoxicating kisses, sweet and zealous; six years of what the youngest von Hagen called the best fuck he’d ever get in his lifetime.

You see, when you marry the love of your life and spend wild, beautiful years with them, you start to think you are building your relationship’s mighty foundation—that sooner or later, the two of you would be able to finally lower those invisible walls which had always separated you, because admit it or not, there is no marriage built without deep, dark secrets.

But six years in and Marius von Hagen finds himself holding tightly onto his gun—a pretty sleek silencer he so cherished, a gift from his brother—his back pressed hard against the wall just beside the stairs, waiting.

“Hah—shit. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his chest heavy, almost suffocating. Marius pressed one hand against his heart, feeling its erratic pace and, at this very moment, he was all but trying to calm his rapid breathing.

But then there was a quiet creak on the wooden stairs.

Marius’ eyes screwed shut. Fuck fuck fuck—

Marius threw himself to the side, hiding further beneath the wall, just in time—just in time before a series of raining bullets holed through the wooden wall and the staircase banister, which was soon followed by another round of rapid firing. Marius shook his head as he waited for it to stop.

With one arm protecting his head, Marius leaned slightly against the safer side of the house. Deep down he cursed and cursed the sheer agony of having to prop himself like that against the wall, right after he had dived into the floor like it was some massive pool of water. “Goddamn,” he cursed quietly, and however could he not? His once neatly painted Victorian walls that probably cost some other person’s soul were now ripped into shreds, the wood falling off, their deadly splinters scattered around. There were holes all over, both small and wide, and Marius took a little peek.

There he is.

Vyn Richter, Stellis’ most esteemed psychiatrist: well-mannered, elegant, so fucking pretty. Marius was in awe even when the doctor, who still wore his pearl, white coat, carried two massive rifles in both of his hands. Fucking assault rifles. Just where the fuck did you keep those in our fucking house, Vyn?

A sly smirk curved the doctor’s lips. Vyn caught a glimpse of his husband peeking through the small holes and asked, a little too seductively for Marius’ taste, “Darling, you are still alive?”

Dammit!

Vyn held back a scowl when he heard nothing. Marius used to surprise Vyn whenever he came home from work, so it was not impossible the young CEO had already switched hiding places. And so Vyn, as silently as he could, made his way down the stairs—

“Still am, baby.”

Vyn dived down the stairs instinctively,  hissing out small, foreign curses as he landed—crashed—on the floor. He helped himself up with animalistic speed and grabbed his weapons, dashing towards the room opposite the wall where Marius continued to fire his silencer gun.

The doctor clutched his side and winced. Two minutes in and he already got himself a bruise.

“Stupid brat,” he muttered sharply as he reloaded his rifle. “Whatever crossed my mind? I should have killed him that fucking night.”

==

Two nights ago.

Vyn—in his white Mercedes—took a sharp turn round the bend of his English garden, leading out of the mansion gates. He was running, no, driving away from Marius. Why? Nothing much, really. Just that after six years of marriage Marius found out that aside from being a psychiatrist, his dear husband actually worked as an assassin. Learned that Vyn was a killer from another agency, which unfortunately for Marius was PAX’s worst rival with… well, dirty work.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Marius was an experienced killer, too, a secret even the best psychiatrist in the country must have somehow missed.

So… shit.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date. Vyn came home earlier than usual (he had to call off his assassination schedule that night) so he could cook his husband’s favorite dinner. The ever-so-loving Vyn Richter even lit candles on the table, did some last-minute flower arrangements, all so they’d have a good time (He even had half a mind to light candles and scatter rose petals across their bedroom, for a change). It had been a while since the last time he’d eaten a proper meal with Marius, anyway.

But there was something amiss, and Vyn was upset. Upset with the fact that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Or what could possibly go wrong.

Although he was quite certain it involved his husband. And involved he was indeed because Marius was all but suspicious that whole evening, asking this and that, inquiries Vyn himself often utilized whenever he questioned a target or a client. And he wouldn’t have been a renowned psychiatrist if his husband’s dubious actions went unnoticed. Marius. I did not know he would be this daft.

Until the bottle of wine Marius was holding suddenly slipped from his grasp, and Vyn—who was seated, his back turned away, his attention wholly fixated on anything other than Marius and his wine—caught the bottle swiftly with one hand.

It was then he realized he’d made a grave mistake, because if anything his husband’s grip was always firm, and not in this life would Marius von Hagen let a million-stellin wine slip from his hands.

Marius let it slip on purpose.

And now Vyn drove his Mercedes the way a lunatic would their car, ramming on the trash bins and fences and even some of the patches of roses from his beloved garden, all to escape from his husband. Because apparently, his dirty secret’s out, and Marius is out to get him (perhaps).

The car screeched as he took a sharp turn, finally out from their mansion. Was he a free man, now? Not exactly—Marius von Hagen suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, running. Vyn muttered under his breath. Goddammit. He took the shortcut. I forgot about the shortcut—

A bang sounded, and the next thing Vyn knew, there was a crack on the windshield. The car halted abruptly.

Vyn scrutinized the crack. A bullet.

“Did…” he mused—hissed, rather—as his eyes trailed to where Marius was knelt on the ground, slowly helping himself up. “Did this bastard just try to shoot me?”

Marius almost flinched when Vyn, just a meter or two from him, slammed his hands on the car horn repeatedly. If it wasn’t his pretty little husband Marius would’ve just shot the car until the tires go off and the driver dead; but then again it was Vyn inside that car, and—

And the windshield… has a crack. And I have a gun. And I…

Marius swallowed. And he must’ve accidentally pulled the trigger when he hopped out of the bushes from the sidewalk and tripped. And now Vyn thinks he tried to shoot him.

“Baby, accident.” Marius now stood in front of the car, and the sight of his husband—who looked angry as hell—could be seen clearly from his line of vision. He hoisted both arms, the way a cornered, guilty criminal would, and repeated his words gently, “Baby, accident. Accident.”

Marius gestured to his gun. “I tripped. Accident,” he shouted. Marius didn’t really give a damn anymore whether or not the neighbors would hear him. “Baby, accident—no, stop!”

Marius inhaled sharply as he heard the engine rev—and it revved loud, as if a warning, more than enough to tell Marius if he didn’t step out of the way at that very moment Vyn would drag him to death by way of a hit and run.

And he did not hesitate.

“No, stop! Wait!” Marius waved his arms frantically, almost throwing away his gun just so he could show Vyn he wouldn’t dare hurt him. However it was his mistake that he pondered it at all, because Vyn Richter was the pettiest man alive, petty enough to actually hit the gas and hurl the vehicle towards Marius.

Oh, shit. Is this my end?

The car steered forward, its speed almost inescapable (for anyone in Marius’ situation). Marius gathered all his weight and lunged at the car, and Vyn then piloted the steering wheel in a rapid pace, left and right, in an attempt to haul his husband—probably ex-husband soon—out of the car, but to no avail. “Get off my fucking car!” he yelled irritably. “Marius von Hagen!”

Marius even managed to smirk as he held onto the side of the car (for dear life). “Stop the car—” he shouted back, his face almost hitting the windshield. “Vilhelm von Hagen!”

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

“Saturday, if I have not killed you yet by then.”

“Sweet.” Marius took advantage of Vyn getting carried away by their banter—Vyn could only hiss out in frustration as Marius broke the passenger seat window with the handle of his gun. It didn’t take long before he was halfway inside the vehicle, and Vyn was fumbling with his seatbelt.

But Marius was a second too late. The moment he’d gotten inside entirely, Vyn had already thrown himself out of the vehicle, and the Mercedes, along with Marius, was heading straight to the dark woods.

“Fuck you,” Vyn spat, still lying on the asphalt, catching his breath. He had wounds and scratches all over his skin—so much for all his skin routines—but that did not matter at the time. He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Good evening,” he greeted rather blandly. “Yes. Please fetch me, and bring something sweet. I need my sugar levels to spiral.”

==

Present times.

And so they are here, trying to shoot one another’s head. Marius had initially come to gather his hidden weapons, only to find them gone. Vyn must’ve found out. The psychiatrist, on the other hand, returned home and got his guns ready. Heck, Marius even considered the great possibility of his husband setting up traps within the house.

Now we can tell who loves who more.

Yeah. That would be me, Marius would say. I love this sick fuck more than he loves me.

He peeked at the stairs. Marius caught Vyn claiming the opposite wall as his barricade, swore to god heard his muse wince at what could’ve been new bruises. He chewed on his lower lip as he crouched and stalked along the hallway with confident precision—he moved the way shadows would devour the night, utterly soundless as he coursed towards their dining area, which was also a connecting room to their massive kitchen.

To Vyn’s kitchen, his mind noted, almost like an instinct. His beloved had always been the one to cook all their meals, bake mouthwatering desserts and mix their cocktails and most times they’d end up hot that Vyn would find himself bent over the counter with Marius railing him from behind. Sometimes atop that long table, where Marius would feast on his husband the way he would his favorite meal; in return, Vyn knelt on the carpet under the table and sucked Marius’ hard cock until he moaned and screamed his name and squirted his cum on Vyn’s crystalline smooth face.

Marius was never in the kitchen, that sacred place. Sacred to his husband, at least, but when he did go there, it was always to admire Vyn while he prepped their meals.

He let out a bitter chuckle as he entered the dimmed space. Good old days.

Marius scanned the room, one he was most familiar with, before he proceeded to check under the table and chairs, ran his hands along the wall, removed the exquisitely-framed portraits hanging on them as a precaution. He knew Vyn couldn’t have been here for long; he wouldn’t have ample enough time to set up his baits within the house, but just in case.

He’d learned well not to underestimate Vyn. Vyn Richter, of all people.

Keeping his steady stance, Marius trod towards the high archway that led to the kitchen hall. He moved with a spy’s practiced grace and quiet, walking about the area as he quickly drafted a plan in his head. It was safer here, he thought, for almost little to no lights were switched on, and none of them would dare, since the lights could only be opened with two claps or a snap. Even without Marius’ careful movements, Vyn won’t be able to locate him that quickly. Especially since their house was a goddamn mansion.

No, screw that. A goddamn castle. If Vyn had not declined his husband’s initial offer with regard to housing, their residence would have looked like Buckingham Palace, except it was in Stellis.

Well great. How nice would it be to reminisce while your husband’s lurking in the same house, trying to kill you? Marius blew a sigh through his nose, frustrated. Couldn’t this be resolved with yet another delftware imported from France—

Marius went cold. “Fuck.”

He went cold because somehow, he’d forgotten that he didn’t really own this kitchen. That even though he’d been here a lot of times to fuck his husband on that table and over that counter, he wasn’t there enough to fully know and memorize each tile, each wall, each delftware that perched on display. Because somehow, Marius had focused on the possible threats that he’d missed the most unsuspecting yet lethal ones: Vyn’s decorative collection of teacups and teapots and plates.

And perhaps the odds were not in his favor tonight, because Marius accidentally bumped into one, and the teapot—even though he had caught it with his hand at first—proceeded to take its fall and break itself into hundreds of tiny shards. Marius stilled, his blood thrumming in alarm.

At first, there was silence. The eerie kind.

And then rained a series of bullets from the dining room entrance.

“Fuck fuck fuck—”

Marius dived into floor, clutching his silencer. He crawled swiftly under the long table until he reached the archway to the kitchen. He stood on his feet and snatched his other pistol from its belt holster, scanning the kitchen—a fucking enormous kitchen—for efficient shields, weapons, or if the heavens somehow favored him again, a possible way out. An escape from his deranged husband.

He’s too beautiful for someone demented, though.

He heard footsteps. Slow and steady, its familiar, elegant cadence enough a warning for Marius to keep his guard, his guns hoisted and at the ready. In one stride, he took refuge beside the fridge, the opposite side of it facing the entrance.

And then there was a distant, honeyed voice. “You dare break my delftware.”

“You fired because of a fucking teapot?” Marius sneered, but cackled all the same. “You’re crazy.”

“Your fault for marrying me.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

Vyn pulled the trigger and fired, the bullet merely grazing past the fridge. A warning. “I gathered. Seeing how you are out almost every other night, only to a foolish spouse will that go unnoticed,” Vyn uttered, his voice laced with venom—bitterness. “Tell me, darling. How many ladies have you fucked while you were gone?”

Marius resisted the urge to step out of his hiding spot and confront his husband head-on. “Fucking stop it, Vyn. Are you serious? This again?” he complained, the grip around his silencer tightening in his simmering anger. “I never cheated on you, godammit. I told you—I was out for business. How many times do I have to drill that into your head?”

“Ah, yes. Business. And what exactly is your business, Marius?”

Marius chuckled. “I could ask you the same, baby,” he said in his smoothest, sweetest voice, then strode out from his refuge, aiming his silencer at Vyn. In those few, shared seconds of conversation he’d noted where his husband stood, where he was facing, the appliances which surrounded them—Vyn won’t be able to duck anywhere, and could not possibly sprint too fast to shield himself from Marius’ attack.

But then again—he shouldn’t have underestimated.

Because when he’d stepped out, Vyn was not there.

He was already behind him.

“Shit—”

He did the most possible, most horrible thing he could think of: as he swiveled round to Vyn’s direction, Marius hooked his fingers under the fridge’s recessed handle, pulled it open, then slammed its massive steal door against Vyn.

“Scheisse.” The fridge door rammed against him face-first—Vyn’s nose throbbed with a nasty pain, and he sensed hot liquid leaking from it, tasted the coppery tang of blood when it drifted further into his mouth. “Fucking. Swine.”

He knew the fridge door would be a serviceable shield, knew the bullets he’d fire would protect Marius no matter what and doing so would only be a disadvantage. However Vyn blasted back that instinct, that knowledge, and proceeded to rain yet another series of bullets towards Marius (or the fridge, actually), all because of sheer aggravation. How dare he slam that door into his face—was he not his muse, his darling? Was he not this ethereal man Marius had always drawn and sketched and painted on his canvases for he wished to preserve his beauty?

Goddammit—the curse looped inside Vyn’s head, his nose flaring with rage. His nose fucking hurt.

And Vyn screamed along his firing, both weapons aimed toward the fridge. The kitchen was dimmed, with no lights on and so all he could see were the blazing yellows and oranges and reds, could only hear the all-too-familiar bangs and booms as the shots blasted through the metal.

He stopped attacking. Vyn wept the blood from his face with the sleeve of his once immaculate, white coat, wincing as he did. His nose stung so much and it rendered him so very, very furious. “Marius von Hagen,” he said. Hissed.

A low chuckle. “Vilhelm von Hagen. Or would your surname be back to Richter now?”

And there was silence, utter silence, before Vyn’s life flashed before his eyes.

The psychiatrist could only slide back as the fridge—which was a whole lot bigger than him in all aspects possible, completely towering over him—started slanting from above and down to crush him. It was too swift that he could only clumsily stumble back, almost slipping on the tiles and making a fool out of himself.

Marius heard Vyn curse in a vague, foreign language—German, no, Svartian, probably—as he scurried to save himself and dodge his husband’s pretty little trick. Actually, screw that, Marius thought. Pushing this goddamn fridge might very well be his disadvantage: one, it was too heavy it took a lot of effort and energy, and two—the kitchen was a spacious room and he threw his only barricade away.

No matter. He will just have to remedy that, in whatever way he can.

Like taking advantage of his disoriented, recuperating rose by means of taking their electric stove and throwing it in Vyn’s direction.

He’d turned away before that stove hit his husband.

No. He didn’t want to see that.

Didn’t want to see his husband hurt.

He released a sharp breath and looked skyward, then blinked his eyes repeatedly, well-aware of the stinging tears threatening to flow. He ran to the exit all the same, his only goal to escape—he didn’t wish a violent shoot-out with his love, inside their home, no less, but he needed to return the act lest he got killed.

All this—the thought of killing Vyn would kill Marius just the same, anyway.

Heh. He didn’t seem to hesitate shooting me, was what roved in his mind as he made his quick escape. God. That hurt. That fucking hurts.

And he was now well on his way out, finally, with only a step before the archway when Marius peered over his shoulder—then regretted it shortly after.

A kitchen knife had grazed past his ear, the tip of its blade hitting the wall with a dull, slicing thud.

Marius stood there for a while, utterly shocked. Vyn hurled the blade too skillfully that blood trickled down his ear—only a slight brush with the knife, truly, and there was only a minor sting—and Marius recalled it again and again, the way that knife went past him so swiftly, almost like a soft winter’s breeze.

Maybe he deserved it. He’d broken not only Vyn’s delftware but his nose, too.

“Just to remind you, my darling.” Vyn stood steady far across him, his gun hanging by his side, his other arm still held forth after throwing the knife like a sports dart. He was bleeding, his nose and his arm, yet his poise was much like a prince’s, still, as if he hadn’t partaken in this chaos of an indoor shoot-out.

Oh and despite himself, Marius swooned when Vyn had addressed him darling.

“That you destroyed my fridge.” He leveled his gun, his aim at Marius’ direction. “And inside that fridge were all the pastries I had worked so hard for this goddamn week—more particularly that matcha cake.”

Ah, Marius thought, almost nodding unconsciously. I’m thoroughly fucked, then.

The psychiatrist fired another time, only once, but close enough to shoot off Marius’ ear.

Thoroughly, completely, perfectly fucked.

If that bullet blasted a few inches down Marius was sure he’d only have one serviceable ear left. Fuck it. Vyn’s aim was as good as his so thank the heavens the odds somehow favored him tonight because if they didn’t, his head would be pounding with a static burn at this very moment for he got his ear blown off to oblivion.

Marius sprinted. Not out, because the hallway was narrow and with how accurate Vyn’s aim is, he was certain he’d get shot at some point. So instead he darted to the side at lightspeed. “Goddammit, Vyn!” he shouted as Vyn fired constantly, following his every stride; thank goodness there were no kitchen lights and Vyn couldn’t see clearly even with those ugly glasses. “You’re really going to blow off my ear? How am I to hear your needy moans then?”

“You will not hear them again.”

“Not of pleasure,” said Marius as he slid behind the mid counter, hiding away from Vyn. He tugged open the small cabinet and swiftly made a slice on the gas hose before he slithered away like a madman and out to the archway. It would be nasty with that leaking gas and Vyn’s shotgun.

Wow, thank god we weren’t all into electric shit.

When Vyn fired, the kitchen exploded in flames.

Vyn threw himself back, and he crashed into the wooden floor, breaking his glasses in the process. Every part of him ached, and his head pounded; his vision was obscured without his glasses, the narrow hallway a distant horizon he was not sure he’d reach because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—

His thighs burned, a hot, searing pain pulsating within his loins, and it was only then that he realized he was on fire. Like it was his second nature the doctor halted thrashing and crawled to the nearest open space, that area near the archway, and rolled himself across, exhausting the flames on his person.

He wouldn’t dare glance at his burns. He couldn’t stomach them for sure.

Not because they were gruesome, no, but because he cared greatly for his vanity, and now his efforts had been all in vain. So much for face and body value.

He snatched his gun, then, and hastened out of the burning kitchen and into the dining area.

Vyn didn’t mind the burn, the throbbing, the pain that wished to devour him. Not when his adrenaline was spiraling and begging to be put to fucking use. His instinct—an assassin’s or a husband’s, he couldn’t discern—led him out and around the lobby, up the stairs, to that one, distinctive chamber his husband treasured most.

The Atelier.

The memories rushed in with each step, every soundless stride. He’d designed that room with Marius, had decorated it day and night with him. Had baked cookies and delivered them there, so Marius would have something to eat as he worked on his new opuses; had stayed by his side as he recounted stories with his paint.

Had taken off his silken robe as he perched on the chaise, naked, looking so ethereal as Marius painted him, brought his beauty to canvas.

The reward? Marius had fucked him silly all through the night, on that very same couch.

Vyn took deep breaths. He acknowledged those memories, accepted them. Then locked them all away.

He hoisted his gun, and tiptoed close, closer. No signs told him Marius was inside, but Vyn steered forward, trusting his gut as it churned at his intuition—he is here. I do not know why, but I know he is here.

He ticked that box with a check.

As he entered the room a silencer shot, hitting just behind him. Marius stood by the opened windows, his weapon in hand; a thick cable wrapped around the atelier’s metal handle and it fell outside, down to Vyn’s precious garden. He was escaping.

“Heh.” Vyn aimed his gun at Marius, the smirk on his face menacing. “Planning for escape?”

Marius threw him an annoyed glance. “You put the house on a fucking lockdown.”

Vyn shrugged his shoulders. “You were able to open that window,” he said. “Whatever happened to the alarms?”

“Switched them off first.”

“And the window?” No one was supposed to open any part of the house when it is on lockdown.

“I know shit on this house that you don’t know of.”

“Ah. Well, that does not matter.” Vyn trod forward, careful. The weapons were still aimed at one another as he neared a small, circular table where Marius’ rarest pigments sat in glass bell jars. “What matters is… oh, look. These are your pigments.”

“Vyn.”

“Such rare pigments,” mused Vyn, eyeing the expensive, imported, rare set of paints atop the table.

Marius took a cautionary step forward. His hand reached towards his husband, the gesture as if attempting to halt whatever deranged thing Vyn framed out to do. “Vyn—”

“Imported from Italy, yes?” The older man trailed, his finger brushing against the glass. “Ah. And this one was from our Grand Tour—France, if I remember correctly. From Louvre.”

“Don’t shoot it.” Marius’ voice shook. “Don’t fucking shoot it.”

Vyn stopped. He chuckled—then looked up at Marius. “All right,” he said with an innocent smile, “I won’t.”

Then struck the table’s legs so it tumbled down, onto the floor, the special paints now mere, vibrant stains that tarnished the wooden tiles.

Vyn sneered at Marius. “Screw you.”

And proceeded to fire not to his husband, but everything inside the atelier: the canvases, both empty and brimming with colors, the vases and the chairs and stools, the portraits on the wall, the unfinished sketches and all the works in progress—the Seti Falls among other brilliant landscapes of their travels in Skadi, in and around Stellis, all the way to Europe.

Marius seethed, and one may even argue he was about to breathe out flames. “You fucking fiend—”

Vyn halted his advances when his aim pointed to an unfinished portrait of him.

Gods, he looked beautiful in it. Like the image of a prince, one of which a hopeful maiden would see only in the fairytales she reads, wondering if she’d ever snag a man as handsome as him. His lips were curved into a half-smile, all so lucious, and Vyn felt that familiar, rancid guilt tug at him—only a little, he wanted to deny it—as he wondered the many hours Marius had worked to capture him as beautifully as he could. Not that it was a hard task, for Vyn had always been a most spectacular muse, but still…

He lowered his gun and spared that portrait from his rage—saved himself from his own, unfettered violence.

But soon enough, Dr. Richter would realize that only portrait Vyn had been granted salvation.

Vyn nonchalantly aimed at his husband another time, did not hesitate, even a sliver, as he pulled the trigger toward Marius. But Marius dodged and rolled to his back, deftly until he tumbled against the wall under the window, and with a terrifyingly calm expression poised himself to kneel on the tiles.

Vyn reloaded his gun. “What are you doing, kneeling there?” he seethed. “Have you given up, darling?”

“No,” said Marius, a chuckle rumbling down his body. His amethyst eyes had darkened, and Vyn tensed, feeling gooseflesh all over his skin as Marius took something out of his person—a hand grenade.

“You know what,” the young von Hagen began, his voice low and cold, “I shouldn’t have tended your garden during the days you weren’t here.”

“You are to stop this instant.”

“What do you say? Fuck off and say adiós to your precious little garden.” It only took a split of a second as Marius pulled the pin with his mouth, and tossed it behind him, the grenade hurtling over his husband’s precious sanctuary of roses and lilies.

Only a split second before Vyn Richter’s garden exploded into a thousand, splendid fireworks.

And if it weren’t for his unmitigated, passionate fury thrumming with each breath, each step, and every thunder of his heart transcending over the harrowing, golden flames burning in the dead of night, of which singed the beloved flowers he’d tended to for years, Vyn would’ve fallen to his knees onto the wooden tiles, and cried his heart out in heavy grief.

But Vyn stood there, not moving an inch, as he watched the scorching fire. The flares flickered in his eyes, round and round the deepest trenches of those golden hues, until all he could see and feel was…

Well, nothing. As if unbothered.

However his mind, his brilliant mind toiled clearly—too vivid, the thoughts smooth-sailing in his ocean of schemes.

“Dieser verdammte Marius,” he muttered—that goddamn Marius—as he strode near the doorway, opened an emergency cabinet, and pulled the heavy, metal handle, activating the manor’s fire sprinklers.

Wet chemicals erupted from the ceilings, all over the house. Vyn navigated the halls and the rooms with precision, checking the bedroom, the lounge, the bar, in a search for a certain von Hagen.

He hoisted his gun as he trod to each chamber, each corridor. Vyn went down the stairs and proceeded, with much caution, to the main living room—

When a click sounded behind him.

“Let’s stop this now, Vyn,” Marius said quietly as he drew closer, his silencer only a meter or two away from his husband’s back.

“Unlock the house, and we can separate in peace—”

Vyn swung around, pivoting on his heel, and knocked Marius’ weapon out of his grasp.

Marius stumbled to the side, but maintained his balance almost as instantly. “What the—”

“You are naive to think that after all this, I would let you out.” Now it was his time to brandish his gun, leveling the weapon slowly to Marius, who now had both hands raised in surrender. He was on the farthest corner of the room, trapped; his only escape was the very path Vyn stood on, getting in his way out, deliberately so. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“Your loving husband.”

Vyn’s brow raised, and his features scrunched into disdain. “I would not say that—”

He was cut off by Marius pouncing onto him with all his weight, Marius’ hands wrapped around his own, restricting him and the gun. And before Vyn could even try to get away Marius sent him to the ground—Marius had forcefully slid his leg against Vyn’s, and when his husband lost his balance, the two of them plunged into the floor.

At the impact, Vyn’s grip loosened, and Marius kicked the gun away from them as he helped himself up.

Oh, zounds. Why did I kick it away? I should’ve taken it—

A flower vase came hurtling toward him, and Marius shielded his face from the glass, letting it break into tiny shards as it fell to the floor. And his jaw might’ve been broken, too, for Vyn had suddenly appeared in front of him, and threw Marius the best jaw-breaking punch he had ever received.

“Fuck—”

It was painful, to be sure, but he had no time for such. He caught Vyn rushing to the doorway.

What’s he doing?

Marius’ face scrunched and he winced, the pain in his jaw utterly excruciating.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s going for the gun.

“No way in hell.”

Marius the nearest object he could find—a mini coffee table—and hurled it in Vyn’s direction.

He stood on his feet and sprinted to the doorway. The table had hit Vyn’s torso, the impact heavy on his waist, and he dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

But before Marius could reach for the gun himself, Vyn held him by the leg.

He landed face-forward. His arms, thank goodness, saved him from rendering his handsome face wretched. Marius rolled onto his back, only for Vyn to lunge at him.

Vyn first threw a punch to his jaw yet again, but Marius caught his wrists. With a mighty force Marius was able to toss Vyn to the side—he was the stronger one, after all—and Vyn ended up with his back against the couch.

Vyn was still recuperating when Marius came to wrap his hands around Vyn’s neck, restricting his breathing. His hands went instinctively around Marius’, punching and pulling and desperate to get away. At last Vyn gathered enough strength to move away from the chaise and to the side, bringing Marius with him; Marius who, despite his strength, admitted to struggling with Vyn’s futile attempts to escape.

But the next thing Marius knew, he was throwing his husband across the room.

Vyn flew directly to the massive grandfather’s clock, the glass shattering and raining over him.

Blood now stained the doctor’s face, his body. But at that very minute he wouldn’t feel any wound, any injury. Just the unfaltering will to fight to death with his husband.

He felt betrayed.

He was scared. He was so scared he would lose him—to a woman, to PAX, to this. Add the five consecutive nights he’d prepared dinner for them and Marius never came home.

He’d rather end the marriage here than in court.

Marius dashed towards him, ready to pounce. Vyn caught sight of the expensive wine bottles on the table beside him.

And so he snatched two of the wine bottles and smashed them on either side of Marius’ head. The bottles crashed, and Marius bellowed in pain. Crimson leaked in his skin, his clothes—was it the wine? His blood? Vyn swallowed as took in the sight of his husband, hands on his head, moaning in deep pain; he looked away immediately and strode out from Marius’ reach.

Marius chuckled. “Of course you’ll go for the gun.”

“Do you not think it the easiest way out?” Vyn merely said, his voice higher, obviously vexed. Yet the way he spat those words was honeyed, still. “I shoot you, I win.”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Marius staggered, but pressed onward. “Then you’re not getting that gun.”

In quick strides Marius threw himself at Vyn, but the older man rolled himself easily over the couch. Marius pushed the chaise to the side with one swift move, and only the oval glass-lined coffee table separated them.

Like that table’s gonna do shit.

And it all began with footwork. In his fighting stance, Marius assessed his husband, the two of them circling around the table slowly, vigilantly. Waiting for the other to hint at their weakness, to give away their hidden cards—neither knew the other’s tricks, having only found out their secret careers this evening.

But goddammit, Marius cursed inwardly as he observed his muse with that perfect sparring form, however his bearing elegant, still. The lock of his shoulders, the way his forearms were bent to his elbows, his knees curved just right; that determined face, his brimming confidence—goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Perfect.

He’s perfect.

I love him.

“Well fuck me. You always made me carry your heavy stuff, but now you look like you’re ready to carry me to my grave.”

Vyn smirked—then pushed the table with his foot.

The force was too strong that Marius knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it on his own, and that he’d only hurt whatever part of him that met the table’s edge. The table slid forward, launching straight at Marius, and all he could do was leap on top of the table.

It was small, that table. Marius lost his balance and fell face-forward to the marble tiles.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, his elbows stinging. “I fucking hate you—”

Vyn gripped his shoulder and swung him around, his back now on the floor. “Hello, my love,” he purred as he pinned both Marius’ hands atop his head, then straddled him. “Do you like this?”

Marius smirked. “You on top? Hell yeah.”

Vyn’s fist went flying to his face.

“FUCK—” Marius groaned, his nose stinging. He could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your shit around when you can punch this hard.”

“You betrayed me.” Vyn landed another punch. “You are a liar! You lied to me!”

“Look who’s fucking talking!”

“Go to hell.”

With his weakening grip on Marius, the young von Hagen was able to snatch his arms and finally turn the goddamn tables. He wrapped his legs around Vyn’s torso and flung themselves to the side.

Vyn gasped. Marius now sat on top of him, towering over him. His grip on Vyn’s wrists was too tight they could’ve been red with the mark of his fingers, or a nasty purple because of bruising—god, they could’ve been a pale blue for that grip might as well halt the blood from coursing through.

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Marius pinned his lover’s wrists on the floor. He noted the slightly frantic tussling, Vyn’s… sexy labored breathing. “I think I like this better,” he whispered. “Me on top of you.”

And Vyn could only gasp as Marius grappled his throat. Not to kill him—to weaken him, somehow. To make him lose consciousness. And then he’ll decide from there.

“Hck—” Vyn’s choking filled his ears and, even when he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. “M-Marius—”

Stop it. You’re hurting him.

His grip did not weaken.

“Hck… P-Please—”

Don’t say it. Don’t.

Say it. Vyn hurt you. You’re just returning the favor.

I can’t...

“Look at you. I love choking you like this,” Marius spat, his eyes dark and wicked. I’m going to hell for this��I’m sure of it. “If only this were a different circumstance.”

He caught Vyn’s arm flailing to his sides, and Marius wondered why he’d suddenly stopped grasping the hands that throttled him—until Vyn seized something and smashed it to his head, sending him backward.

A lampshade this time. From yet another small desk drawer just beside them.

Well, Marius thought. I should’ve seen that coming.

Vyn was, however, still frail from Marius’ attempt to strangle him. His breathing was strained, his face breaking out in cold sweat.

And hot tears rolled down his pale, bloodied cheeks.

However his adrenaline pumped again, and again, and even when his head pounded a fire burned from within, and he tried to go on all fours, a futile attempt to stand.

Marius now stood, albeit unsteadily due to the impact of the lampshade on his temple. “Come on, honey,” he managed to say despite himself, imitating a sparring stance, “come to daddy.”

Vyn inhaled a sharp breath.

He turned on his back, then, and used all his remaining strength to kick his husband’s groin.

“Fucking fiend—” Marius moaned in agony as he fell to his knees.

“Heh,” Vyn chuckled darkly. “Who’s your daddy now?”

“Ahahaha,” Marius managed a laugh. For some reason, it did not sound even the least sarcastic. In fact, it sounded so… genuine. “That’d still be me, Vyn,” he breathed, “still me.”

Then he rolled to the side, Vyn the other way around.

When they got up to their feet, nimble as men who were yet to be injured and beaten up, Vyn and Marius found themselves in a rather precarious situation:

Their guns on each other’s heads.

Blood coated their faces. Some trickled down, some already dried from earlier’s violence, the crimson-brown marking their skin as if pinpointing just where they had tried to inflict pain on one another. Desperate breaths filled the thrashed room, heaving in attempts to ease the thumping hearts, seemingly beating for something other than the desire to kill—perhaps beating for love, still.

The room had now quieted. No more crashing and shattering and heavy thuds brought about by relentless kicking and punching and hurling. The once catastrophic space was now but a peaceful one, at least in terms of sound and every other external force of nature.

“Let us end this here.”

Vyn’s tone never wavered. It was still as honeyed, elegant. But neither had the strength to actually ask, is that what you really want?

“Baby.”

“Stop,” he said, or rather breathed, as if Vyn had drained all capacity to speak, and Marius almost didn’t hear it, but he did. He always did. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Okay.” Marius nodded. His gaze remained fixated on Vyn, who so determinedly held out his gun, although Marius wondered why his finger was a little far off from the trigger. He took that as a good sign—something to hold onto. “So,” he began, his silencer still aimed towards his husband, “what now?”

I do not know, he had the urge to say. But he wouldn’t say it. Not in this life.

“Are we to stay like this the entire night, Vyn?”

“No, of course not.”

“Should I worry now?”

“As you should.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Vyn’s eyes snapped to him, meeting those eyes of dark amethyst, and Vyn realized he hadn’t been looking at Marius this whole time, only to a random part of his face so it would seem like he was strong enough to take this head-on. But when their eyes met he felt his breath catch, and gods did Vyn want to whip everything back in time just so this didn’t happen. Just so he would have him back.

It is still him, he told himself. This youthful man, so willingly returning his gaze even though Vyn bore some brutal promise, always the man who could see him, who chooses to see through him and accepts what sought refuge beneath the facade—still Marius.

My Marius.

Vyn gasped, more loudly than he’d intended, when the silencer dropped to the floor.

His line of sight panned up to Marius. “What are you doing?” he hissed with unmistakable, rising fury. “Pick it up.”

Marius raised his arms, slowly, in surrender. “I don’t want to.”

“Pick up the gun.”

“I can’t.”

He inhaled sharply that the air could cut his throat, which was painfully drying, his heartbeat starting to race another time as he attempted to persuade him, “Pick it up, Marius! Pick the fucking gun—”

“No,” Marius said, shaking his head in regret.

“FIGHT. FAIR. THIS IS NOT FAIR.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Believe me.”

He was pleading, and Vyn knew that. Not pleading for his life, but pleading his love.

Until Vyn asked, “Why did you do it?”

His eyes lit up. It didn’t matter whether Vyn would accept his answer, he didn’t even care if he would believe him, but he was so damn happy Vyn was at least interested to know. And he deserved the truth—he ought to grant his husband that.

“I’m…” He breathed in, his line of sight entirely on the floor, trying to find the perfect explanation. “I don’t know. I guess I just love—”

“Killing other people?”

He looked up at Vyn. “Bloodlust—that’s it, yeah?”

Vyn scoffed. “Bloodlust. Are you kidding me?”

“I had killed someone for Giann. Accidentally,” he began, “an act of self-defense, to save myself and him. He was drugged and unconscious and we were alone, and we were kids.

“And I felt like a different person, you know? Stabbing that man to death. Torturing him until he begged that I end his suffering. Instead I got a blunt knife…” He trailed, his voice now dripping with that familiar longing, that familiar tone of satisfaction Vyn so knew about him, “started carving the family insignia deep into his skin while I listened to his pleas, his screaming, and watched the way his blood leaked from his cuts…

“It was, to say the least, a feast to my senses.” Marius chuckled, his voice dark, almost evil. As if Vyn’s kind, youthful husband had gone, had turned into someone unspeakable, someone he didn’t know. Or perhaps, a Marius he has yet to meet. “That was when I realized I let another me live within. He’s someone who loved drawing blood, someone who craved for violence. All of this, Vyn—I do it all for fun. I couldn’t get it out of my system. So, yeah.”

“You could have told me,” whispered Vyn. Marius wanted to believe he saw those golden irises soften, even only for a passing beat. “You could have trusted me.”

“I trust you, baby. But no,” he said resolutely, “I love you, so damn much, and I wanted to be perfect for you.”

Marius took a step forward. Vyn’s grasp tightened around the gun.

But Marius pressed forth. Arms falling heavy on either side he took yet another step, his mouth curving on a slight, sad smile as he walked closer, and closer, dangerously closer to the beautiful man who carried such a hideous promise.

“I want to be the perfect man…” Marius halted, just a few breaths away from the gun aimed directly at him. He crouched a little, leaned forward—

Vyn gasped. His whole body tremored, a sudden chill running all over his skin.

Marius wrapped his long fingers around the gun’s barrel, tugging it towards himself, pressing his chest against the hot muzzle. “The perfect husband for you.”

He observed as Vyn continued to nibble on his lower lip, biting it hard that it reddened with the threat of blood, and Marius’ chest tightened as he saw those golden hues now glossy with emerging tears. Vyn’s breathing had gone from composed to ragged, and soon the hand which held the gun started to shake.

“Vyn,” his husband called softly, “I love you, okay?”

He was surprised to feel hot tears filling his eyes, a stray of it rolling past his bloodied cheek. “Marius…”

“Vyn?”

“I…” he paused, grasping for words, suddenly losing all the vigor to fight. His heart shattered at this, at everything—at himself for being such a petty husband who never truly gave Marius the chance to prove himself, all because of some missed dinners. Who never gave Marius the benefit of the doubt even when Vyn saw in his eyes a flicker of hope.

He was so lost swimming in his ocean of thoughts that he never noticed Marius, who started easing away the gun ever so calmly, and Vyn—exhausted and drained out of his wits—allowed him his weapon to make its descent, down until he himself decided to drop it to the floor.

And he seemed to be in a daze indeed as Marius pressing closer to him went unnoticed, until Vyn realized, only after almost a minute, that Marius had gotten their bodies closer, almost skin to skin…

Marius knew he was quite awake now—from all his little reveries—and while he expected Vyn to land another blow or finish him once and for all, he was surprised when his husband’s gaze flitted from his lips before it settled up to his eyes, his pale, slender hands sliding to his chest as he whispered, “I love you too, Marius.”

Then Vyn was pushed onto the couch.

The doctor gasped, too surprised that it was a pitch higher than usual, and for a moment he was afraid that Marius had gotten the upper hand with his trick and now he ought to strangle him, but his gut believed otherwise, and his gut turned out to be right because Marius leaned down to kiss him—rough and wet, hungry as his tongue lapped in his mouth, a quiet sentiment of how Marius would rather kiss and touch and fuck him instead of sending blazing bullets all over their house.

“Mm—oh, Marius…” he whined as Marius pressed against him, almost straddling him, his hands relishing the softness of Vyn’s face and disregarding the feel of dried blood there, and now making their way towards the back of Vyn’s head, fingers brushing, tangling, pulling on those silver locks.

He felt his pants tighten at the sound of Vyn’s moans, and he grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back, suddenly feeling the lust of tasting Vyn’s exposed neck. Marius leaned down, his mouth pressed against his neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along soft skin, tasting blood and hot sweat. He bit lightly at the hollow of his shoulder—

“Ah!” Vyn cried in perhaps both pleasure and pain, his fingers clutching desperately on Marius’ sleeves—sleeves that were rolled all the way up near his elbows and it was so sexy Vyn almost wanted to wave the white flag, in the middle of their shoot-out, just so he could fuck him. So he could kiss him, kneel in front of him, fulfilling his husbandly duty of sucking his cock. “Marius…”

“We literally just started,” Marius said as he looked up to meet Vyn’s eyes, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

“Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m about to.”

“Well why don’t you get on with it? Or would you rather waste my—oh, fuck—Marius!”

Vyn could only screw his eyes shut, and Marius could only let out a satisfied groan as he ground his hips against Vyn’s, biting his lip as he felt that hard erection, the proof of his husband’s growing need and oh, how he’d love to satisfy him. “What was that?”

“Will you ever stop talking—”

Marius shut him up with another kiss on the mouth. Vyn tasted sweet, as usual, however Marius made out the metallic flavor of blood, but it’s not like he would mind. It’s his husband’s blood, anyway, and he’d be most willing to take a sip of it, drink it, chug it until it sank down his throat the way he would his chocolate drink.

Ah, but Marius loved it more when it was Vyn who did that with his cum.

As he kissed Vyn he continued moving, grinding his hips until all he could hear were the melodies of Vyn’s whines and sighs, and gods was he so distracted Marius failed to notice Vyn already taking the matter into his own hands unbuttoning Marius’ shirt, and with fervent speed at that.

He suppressed a laugh as he bowed his head, watching in awe as Vyn fumbled with the buttons of his black shirt, breathing so hard and sensually as if he could wait no longer. In fact it felt like Vyn would be very much happy to just tear his shirt apart—not that his husband would mind, either.

“You were so determined to kill me earlier,” Marius said as Vyn unbuttoned the very last one, “but now you’re so hot and horny for me. I told you I did like your mood swings—hmph!”

He was cut off by Vyn’s mouth claiming his own—much to his delight—and soon he found himself hooking his arms under Vyn’s spine and the back of his legs, his feet then making way to their bedroom on the second floor. Vyn wrapped his arms around Marius’ neck instinctively, even pulling him closer as if he needed more, plenty more of him, and Marius loved the way his husband craved for his kisses that it must have given him some omniscient power to navigate the halls and the stairs in the dark so precisely.

In a minute a heavy thud reverberated, echoing across the massive bedroom as Marius opened the door—or rather twisted the knob then kicked the door—and went towards the bed with much haste. He’d licked, bitten, lapped at Vyn’s mouth one last time before he dropped him to the king-sized bed, covered in midnight-lacquered sheets, and proceeded to take off his shirt—

“Wait,” Vyn protested, but before his husband could respond he hooked his two fingers round the belt loop of Marius’ pants, and tugged him closer. It was so damn hot Marius’ cock twitched.

Suddenly he wanted to grab a fistful of Vyn’s hair and make him suck his dick. He’d fuck Vyn’s mouth so well with his hard cock the man would be a beautiful, crying mess the moment he swallowed his cum.

“I…” Vyn turned a little red. “I want to suck you.”

Marius swallowed as he hurried to comply, feeling a certain heat within him intensify. Vyn was already kneeling on the bed, making quick work unbuckling Marius’ belt and letting his cock spring free and fuck, Marius’ cock was heavy and warm and slick with precum, and Vyn felt his own twitch against the fabric of his pants.

He did not waste time. Vyn wrapped his long, slender fingers around his husband’s cock, feeling Marius throb against his palm, his cold fingers. He had sucked Marius dry since god knows when, but suddenly he felt like this was all new, that he was nervous and shy again, and it was as if he was taken back to their first night as two married men. That first night after Vyn said Yes, I do, I shall marry you, and Marius beamed and Vyn thought his husband could rival the sun. Funny what some husband quarrel and house violence could do to you—

“Just so you know, Vyn.” A low, impatient voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m this close to shoving your face down my cock, if you don’t mind.”

Vyn bit his lip as he saw yet again that massive, hard cock staring right in front of him, waiting to be devoured. God, his husband’s cock was so beautiful, thick and velvety soft that his breath caught. And realizing once again that someone was getting impatient, Vyn leaned in and licked gently under the crown of Marius’ dick.

“Fuck.” Marius’ head dipped back, feeling his cock twitch against Vyn’s tongue. “Please—”

He rasped as Vyn complied, letting his mouth close around the head of his husband’s rock-hard cock—

“Fffuck,” Marius breathed, panting as Vyn made swirling motions with his tongue as he slid halfway down his length, “Fuck, Vyn!”

His eyes screwed shut, his hands clutching onto Vyn’s silver locks, and moaned out a broken cry as Vyn sucked his whole length, deep throating him, his wet, warm lips touching his Marius’ hot skin. “Fuck, Jesus.”

Vyn moaned around his cock, and as Marius felt it vibrate around him he dipped his head back again, seeing the goddamn stars. Vyn’s moaning didn’t stop even as he sucked his husband’s dick, Marius’ cock moving in and out of his mouth. Marius tasted so good. Every time Vyn sucked him it seemed he tasted even better and better, as if there were new flavours to his taste of clean sweat, of salty skin, and god even his precum seemed heavenly to Vyn’s tongue, melting like chocolate. His eyes fluttered shut as he sucked. God, he would suck this man’s cock forever.

Until Marius tugged Vyn’s head back, “Fuck, wait.” He panted heavily, and as he saw Vyn lick his lips—still glistening wet from his own saliva and Marius’ precum—Marius wanted to plug that pretty little mouth with his dick again. But he held himself together and said, “Wait. I’m… I was about to…”

“I’d swallow everything, Marius.”

“Fuck, stop it. Stop it or you’ll have to choke on my dick the rest of the evening.”

“What is the matter?”

Marius’ cheeks tinged a bit pink. He looked much like a teenager who wanted to try sex with his crush. “I want to… I—”

“Too good?” Vyn smirked.

“Fuck you.” A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. Marius caressed Vyn’s hair, as softly as he could. “I want to come inside you.”

Vyn swallowed, his mind once again drawn to their little memories of fucking every night until both their legs had given in, and Marius thought the same. God, he  couldn’t stop staring at his husband. Vyn looked ethereal bathed in the bedroom’s soft orange glow…

However this time it was Marius who was stripped—so quickly—from his reveries as he was pulled, thrown to the bed, with Vyn taking off his shirt, leaving his necktie around. His shirt was hauled off to the floor in a second, and now Vyn looked like some fallen angel as he straddled Marius, untying the silken tie with deft fingers, his wet lips parted in awe…

“What are you gonna do with that, huh?” Marius’ hand slipped round his husband’s waist. We’ve been married for years but goddammit, your waist is so fucking small.

“You’re gonna use that on me?” he added, whispering against the shell of Vyn’s ear, making his husband shudder. God, he loved it when Vyn did that. Loved it when his ministrations, even the smallest ones, had a great effect on him. “And look at you, don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed for the occasion?”

“I—ah—”

His cock twitched again that it almost hurt, as if begging to be hilted inside Vyn’s ass. Vyn had the sexy habit of whining and making those kinds of sounds whenever he’s surprised or caught unawares, like that very moment when Marius stripped him off his vest with one go, the buttons clinking on the floor in unison. Marius didn’t waste a second and gripped the sleeves of his doctor’s coat, tugging it off him.

Until Vyn caught his wrists and said, “Let me.”

The muse started taking off his vest—slowly, tantalizingly. He knew all too well this act was a feast for his husband’s eyes, for his cock. The slutty bottom that he was, Vyn removed his clothing alongside his heavy, sexy breathing, his mouth slightly ajar, with some stray, silver strands falling over his eyes.

The vest went abandoned. Thrown to the floor just like all else. The shirt followed, Vyn making sure the sounds he made were heard, acknowledged—oh acknowledged indeed, what with his husband’s erection poking against his leg—and he couldn’t help but suppress a smile knowing Marius was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

When everything was unbuttoned, Vyn let the right sleeve slide down his arm, revealing some skin on his chest, his collarbone, his shoulder. Marius had seen it all, but still he thought he looked so ethereal, and so hot all the same that he was torn between treating him right—sweetly, gently—and fucking him so rough and so hard he won’t be able to walk the next day.

By instinct, Marius looked away. He bit his lip as he did, setting his sights away as he was suddenly so overwhelmed, so doubtful—do I even deserve this, he asked himself, realizing that it had been his fault why the shoot-out occurred in the first place: he missed a lot of dinners with Vyn. He was always out for his business of killing other people. He hurt him in all ways possible, especially tonight.

But then, “Marius.”

His gaze returned to Vyn. “Darling?”

“Do not look away.” Vyn’s hands, soft and cold, reached to caress his face. “Just look at me,” he said, his voice like that of an angel’s, “this is all yours—all of me. I am yours.”

Marius made sure that shirt was off his husband immediately.

He’d kissed him again, a mix of love and dominance, of lust and longing. Arms tight around Vyn’s waist he pulled his muse close to him, skin to skin, but he wanted them to be closer. He wanted to be inside him—to own him, body and soul.

He loved Vyn. Marius wouldn’t know who he is without him.

“I love you,” he grunted as Vyn ground against his erection, “I love you.” His hands wandered up his spine and down his ass, squeezing it, eliciting a moan from Vyn. “I love you.”

But it wasn’t long until Marius took his black, silken tie, staring intently, lustfully at Vyn before he hoisted it in between them, “May I?”

Vyn raised his wrists in answer. “And my tie?”

“For your eyes,” Marius said, his eyes darkening. “I was thinking your mouth, but I love hearing your noises.

“I love hearing your moans. Your whines. I love it when you scream my name.”

Marius licked his lips, and his chest swelled with triumph as he saw Vyn shiver again, turned on by a few words. Vyn gasped in surprise as Marius finished tying his wrists, pulling on the knot a bit harshly than he’d intended.

“Now,” Marius said as he worked on Vyn’s red tie, “you love the dark, don’t you darling?”

A whine escaped his lips as he was pushed to the bed. He couldn’t even recall how Marius looped and that red, silken tie around his eyes. All he knew now was he’s on the bed, on his back, his hands tied in front of him. “Ah, Marius…”

“What was that?”

Vyn could only nibble on his lower lip. “Please… oh!”

He moaned as he felt his husband’s mouth, warm and wet, close around his nipple. His toes curled at the sensation, especially at how Marius knew just how to kiss, lick, and suck his nipple and make him cry and moan so loud. His body moved frantically, the pleasure almost maddening now that his vision was obscured, and not knowing what Marius was gonna do next was killing him.

However soon he felt large hands grip his thighs, hoisting them, and Vyn most willingly submitted by wrapping his legs around Marius’ hips. He was now on top of him, could feel his hot, ragged breaths against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” Marius whispered as he kissed Vyn’s beauty mark, that one on his collarbone, “I just love fucking you so much,” he said, before unbuttoning Vyn’s pants and sliding his hand down under, wrapping his fingers around Vyn’s length.

“Oh! Marius, ah—”

“Yes, just like that…”

“Please!”

“You like that? Damn, you’re actually making this harder for me… let me just…”

Marius stopped, his hurrying hands fumbling on Vyn’s pants, in much haste to get inside him. Oh how badly he wanted to fuck his husband when he all but looked like a willing captive, writhing underneath him—he let his fingers travel down under, lingering on Vyn’s back, then trailing further south, massaging his arse, lifting Vyn a little in the process.

Marius did not waste any more time and took the head of his own cock, moving his hard-on closer until it rubbed softly, carefully over Vyn’s hole. He rasped as he did a little push inside. “Shit.”

“M-Marius…”

Marius took that as his signal to push further, letting out a small grunt as he moved another inch, then another, and he took satisfaction witnessing Vyn’s mouth parting as he whined, silver brows furrowed in pleasure. “Ohh, Marius—”

Marius gripped on his husband’s waist and hilted his entire cock inside him.

Vyn whined again, so loud Marius wondered if his voice reached the outside, even with their windows closed. Vyn cried as Marius moved inside him, his thick, warm cock fitting perfectly in his ass, hilting deeper and deeper with each thrust that Vyn couldn’t stop muttering curses and Marius, Marius didn’t have any words for it—just sounds, low and needy. Just grunts, and moans, and whines and cries.

Marius thrust again. Harder, deeper—

“Ohh, just like that!”

“Yeah?”

“Mm—ohh, f-faster please—!”

Marius nodded frantically, and he thought how much Vyn had an effect on him that, despite Vyn being the one tied up and writhing underneath him, Marius was actually the one in his mercy.

Good. Deservedly so. Vyn Richter was his Saving Grace and he’d worship the man forever.

“Ah—fuck! Marius…!” moaned the older man, biting his lip as he welcomed the familiar pain—and pleasure—down his nether part. It was only then Marius realized he had been too excited to claim Vyn that the thought of using a lubricant or even covering his dick with saliva never crossed his mind.

“Fuck, Vyn. Does it hurt?” he asked, but never stopped moving, pulling and pushing back in.

“N-no! It feels good. You feel good…” he moaned as he shook his head, “I’d rather you—ah!—fucked me hard.”

And it was enough to make Marius pin his husband’s hands atop his head, cursing as he thrust in, and out, so hard and so deep tears started rolling down Vyn’s pale cheeks. “Faster?”

“Y-yes!”

Marius gripped hard around Vyn’s wrists, railing the man as hard as he could, making Vyn cry with each powerful thrust. The sounds of wet, forceful squelching echoed across the room and, partnered with Vyn Richter’s needy moans, Marius thought damn, I should’ve brought a recorder.

Well, it’s not like he couldn’t do that soon. Pretty sure Vyn would be most willing to film all their blasphemous activities together. “I’m close.”

“M-me too…” Vyn bit his lip, his back arching in ecstasy brought about by their bodies, skin to skin. Marius pounded faster. It felt like fire, really, and he felt his stomach surging and ebbing and surging again and again with pleasure. They moved in sync now, Vyn’s hips thrusting to match his husband’s pace, and he knew he was close when he felt that electric sensation zipping through his veins, his loins, his cock. “M-Marius…!”

His balls drew up tight as Marius slammed into him, again and again. Vyn could only let out a broken cry as he sensed Marius’ hand grasping his cock, jerking it as fast and as hard, perfectly matched with the way Marius pumped his dick inside him in a relentless rhythm.

Vyn came. Loud, majestic, his hot cum spurting on Marius’ stomach and making a beautiful mess there, much like the way he was one. His head was fucking spinning and he thanked Marius for it. And he kept on crying out even as Marius came, his fresh seed filling Vyn up like he was always meant to.

He kept on going. Grinding in him so deep, so sensual, thrusting again and again and letting his very hard cock feel inside Vyn, helping both of them through the very last of their orgasms. Again, then again. One last time, until Vyn croaked weakly, and Marius grunted as he fell on the empty space on the bed, beside his husband.

Despite the exhaustion, he shifted to his side. Took the blindfold off his husband. Vyn’s eyes fluttered open immediately, albeit blearily, the fringe of his long, silver lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He gave Marius a weak smile. “That was…”

Marius let out a soft laugh, feeling the last bits of his energy dripping away. “I want to fuck you again.” He relaxed, but felt himself stiffen at the sight of his husband: ethereal. Beautiful with his cheeks flushed and mouth parted, his neck and chest gleaming in sweat. Vyn Richter, once again, in the afterglow of mindblowing sex.

“I love you,” he whispered, though he was not sure if Vyn heard. His eyes were already closed, and he looked like he was fast asleep. Marius smiled and snuggled close to him, with Vyn’s soft breathing lulling him to slumber.

==

Sometime around his dream, if he ever truly dreamed, he heard a silken voice say, “I love you, too.” Felt a gentle kiss on his forehead once, twice. Then another, “I will love you forever.”

When he awoke in the middle of the night, the quiet surrounding them, he saw Vyn was sound asleep. He rested his head against the hollow of Vyn’s neck, inhaling his sweet scent, and wrapped his arms around him. “Vyn,” he whispered, “I’ll love you forever, too,” before he kissed him on the cheek.

Somehow, Marius knew he hadn’t dreamt it.

==

Vyn awoke three hours earlier than usual, his eyes bleary, almost blind as he stared at the digital clock which blinked 5:58 AM. He wouldn’t be up this early, but his phone rang so alarmingly in the distance—atop that couch beside their bed where Marius fucked him the whole night—and with a ringtone he wouldn’t dare not pick up, lest he received yet another lecture. An hour or two of it, even if that lecture came from his, well… not his superior, because he was the superior.

He sighed—it was his junior calling. “Good morning, my rose.”

“DON’T ‘MY ROSE’ ME, RICHTER-VON HAGEN!” came his beloved junior’s rather sweet response, and Vyn instinctively pulled his phone away from his ear, unless he wanted his hearing damaged forever. “WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO YOU?”

“Language, beloved.”

“VYN!” Ah, there it was. He knew she was suppressing those sobs. It was conspicuous she had been pulling back tears the moment Vyn answered the call, the moment she’d heard his voice and confirmed he was alive, although not much well. “I was so, so worried about you… I thought… I thought you were—” she paused to take a light sniff, “dead. The squad is on their way. What happened?”

“I… I cannot tell you right now. I am sorry, dear,” he said, his gaze drifting to his husband who was still snoring in his sleep, and gods did Vyn thought Marius looked ethereal even during his most vulnerable moments. He fucked me so well last night…

“And please, Rosa,” he said, “tell the squad to halt their mission. I am all right—harmed, but I am faring well. And so is my husband.”

“Oh, my god. Mr. von Hagen was a witness?”

“Sort of. I shall tell you all about it when we meet.”

“Which is when, exactly?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, his fingers running across the bare skin of his chest, wincing at the hurt from where Marius bit him. “You are in charge for now. Make certain the HQ is still up and about,” he said, “you are my second-in-command, so do what you must in my stead. Meet me tomorrow, same place.”

“Oh, uh—tomorrow, you said?”

“Yes. Is something the matter, dear?”

“Er, well…” she trailed, and Vyn’s brow arched in curiosity. He tried to rewind their past conversations, see if she’d mentioned anything she ought to accomplish tomorrow. There was nothing in particular, and Vyn was about to tell her twice until she cleared her throat and answered, “I actually… have a date tomorrow, Vyn.”

Ah. Understandable.

However, “I have taught you of the risks which comes along with our line of work. I hope you do keep your emotions out of your job—”

“What a hypocrite,” Marius muttered beside him. Was this idiot fake-sleeping the whole time?

“Never you mind. I am not against your relationships. I will meet you in two days, then,” Vyn continued—not without glaring at his husband first and foremost in the morning—and added, “but of course, what is this lucky lad’s name? Age, hair colour—”

“Luke Pearce, thirty years old. Coral eyes, chestnut blonde, and very cute.”

“Make certain you put up his records in the office. That aside—please enjoy your date, Rosa.”

Vyn pressed on the end button. He was thinking whether to check up on his husband or do a background check on Luke Pearce first, but he heard another phone call—this time from Marius’ phone—and even though he never truly meant to listen… well, however could he not?

“Hey, Luke?”

Vyn’s ears perked at the sound of his name. Luke.

“Yeah, sure. Wait, you can’t tomorrow?” Marius asked through the phone, his voice getting inaudible as he yawned, “oh, man. Congrats on bagging your first date—oh, wait a minute. Is this girl Rosa you’re going out with?”

“Who is that?” Vyn mouthed to him with those piercing golden eyes. My junior, his husband mouthed back, shrugging his shoulders. It’s not like I can hide it anymore from you.

Well, Luke was not his junior since Luke was older by a few years, but Marius had been an assassin earlier than him. And, well… he was Luke’s boss.

Vyn didn’t need to do a background check. He’d have to pester Marius for it. Just great, what are the odds that their juniors were going on a date?

The first thing Marius did when he ended the phone call was tackle Vyn into a hug, which the older man reciprocated much lovingly (despite his grumpy morning face). He was still scowling, but it was a contrast to the warmth which he gave Marius in return, and the eagerness emanating from him as he pressed closer against Marius’ exposed chest. It wasn’t very soon that Vyn had started nuzzling his face against his husband’s cheeks, like a cat trying to be sweet.

“Vyn.”

“I thought you addressed me as darling or love or baby, but I suppose we—”

“Really, Vyn? This early in the morning?” Marius laughed as he cuddled him more. “You know, I was just gonna ask you something…”

“You want to fuck me again?”

And there it was, that familiar pout and puppy eyes, all too powerful even for Vyn that he knew immediately he wouldn’t be able to deny him. Well, it’s not like he’d decline some more good fucking. “Don’t you want me to?” Marius said, his pout much guilt-enducing now.

But not until Vyn pushed the sheets down until it reached his thighs, revealing his now bulging erection, his sudden craving for Marius. “Whatever are you waiting for?”

“Fuck. You sure know how to—”

Another phone call.

Vyn sighed and took the phone. His eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, upon seeing the caller ID.

“Please tell me you’ll ignore that.”

“Unfortunately for us—” he slid a finger down the green button, “we cannot decline this one.

“Good morning, Captain Morgan.”

“This is Artem,” came that deep, familiar baritone, and Vyn felt himself shiver from the way Artem sounded in the mornings. The senior lawyer had always been a morning person, but there were times too wherein he was too lazy to get up for work—can you actually believe that?—so Vyn had to do all sorts of things to get him moving. His voice during those moments hadn’t changed at all: deep and husky, almost seductive.

“Artem,” he repeated, and the name seemed to capture Marius’ attention, too. “Good morning. Why are you calling this early in the morning? And why are you using Captain Morgan’s phone?”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “Darius forgot to bring his phone,” he answered. “I called to let you know he’s coming, along with his squad. Too many noise complaints last night. They’re going to investigate.”

“Just so you know, Wing—my house is an estate. I am quite certain no one was bound to hear us…” Oh, shit. Marius threw a grenade in my garden.

He shot Marius a glare before he returned, “Tell Captain Morgan to go home.”

“I kept telling him that,” he replied, quite vexed now. “It was supposed to be our day off, Vyn. Our only day off, and you just had to ruin it.”

“It is not my fault you cannot persuade your boyfriend to stay in bed with you.”

“Are we—”

“Hello there, Artem.” Marius had snagged the phone away from Vyn, having felt that impending argument that would probably last hours—he wouldn’t admit that he was only jealous because Artem was Vyn’s only ex-boyfriend, almost husband—and had taken matters into his own hands. “We’ll meet Captain Morgan when he gets here, all right? I’ll tell him to go home, so let’s have peace, yeah? Bye!”

“I could have handled that, Marius,” Vyn spat, but not before Marius hopped out of bed and went to browse through his cabinet. He got himself a clean set of sleepwear in pastel green, Vyn’s most adored colour, and threw the shirt in Vyn’s direction. “Give me the pants as well.”

“No,” said Marius, already in the process of wearing it, “you take the shirt, I take the pants. It’s too long for you, anyway.”

Vyn crossed his legs, folded his arms. “What are you planning?”

“We’re gonna give ‘em a show.”

==

When Vyn opened the front door to their house, he was met with the rather hot welcome of flashing lights, towering video cameras, fully-dressed reporters and papparazzis in all black. He could make out the faint sirens coming from the police cars parked outside the estate, and he only hoped no one was able to round the bend leading to his recently-bombed garden.

“Vyn Richter, is it true there was a shoot-out here last night?”

“Vyn, did you have a quarrel with Mr. von Hagen?”

“Vyn, the people are curious—is divorce on the table yet?”

“Are you and Mr. von Hagen are going to be available in the marriage market again?”

“Vyn, rumors say that you and Mr. von Hagen are involved in matters of Mafia and secret services. Is that true?”

“Vyn, are you pregnant?”

His eyed widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“VYN!”

If he really ought to be true to his role of being a… babygirl who would pretend to be lightheaded or unwell after coming across crazy reporters with no sense of privacy, he would’ve done it after a few more moments or so. However Vyn truly was made unwell by said blinding lights and mad interviewers, and by instinct he pressed a palm against his temple and leaned against the doorframe, suddenly dizzy at the commotion. “Please…”

“Give him space, everyone. Move, move!”

Oh, dear. Thank goodness for Captain Morgan, he thought as Darius practically shoved the reporters out of the way as he reached for Vyn. A strong hand gripped him by the arm, enough to steady his slowly unstable body. “You okay, Richter?”

“von Hagen,” he corrected. “And not quite, Captain.”

“You can hold onto me,” he said, then faced the crowd of reporters again, “stop it with the cameras. If I see another shot I’ll have you all arrested—”

“You better listen to him.” Marius stepped beside Vyn, and in a heartbeat slipped his arm around his huband’s slender waist. Vyn felt his cheeks grow warm at the feeling of Marius’ hand holding him around the waist, in front of all these people—not to mention he was only wearing a green button top and Marius only in his pajamas. Thank god the cameras had stopped—courtesy by Darius who threatened an arrest—because those dark red hickeys and bite marks were clearer than the clearest of blue skies.

This man, Vyn thought as he leaned against Marius’ chest, he really likes to show off, doesn’t he?

He tried to hide a chuckle. It was true Marius loved to show off, but he loved it most when Marius showed him off for everyone to see, for everyone to know who owned him. At this moment, the message was pretty clear. Even the most senseless person would make sense what Marius wanted to say—that Vyn was his, and Marius was Vyn’s. It was written all over the young von Hagen: from the smirk on his lips, the red marks on his exposed chest. The top which covered Vyn’s probably hickey-filled body.

And so Vyn acted the part, pretending to be nauseous as he rested his head against his husband’s shoulder this time, and hooking his arm around Marius’. “I am not feeling very well…”

Marius squeezed his waist gently. “I’ll get you inside,” he said, and Vyn nodded faintly. Marius then turned to Captain Morgan, who was staring at them rather incredulously. It was conspicuous he never wanted to be here, to witness all this—he’d rather spend the day fucking Artem. “Sorry, Cap. I’ll give you a call and help you fix our mess. For now…” he paused and gestured to an exhausted Vyn, “my husband needs rest. You’ll handle this for now, yeah?”

Darius sighed, massaging his temples. “Yes. I’ll also let Artem know.”

“You better go home to him. He was pretty pissed with us this morning.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. von Hagen?”

“Ehh ~” Marius pouted, but before he could say another word Darius asked, “What am I going to report? There were a lot of noise complaints. Some said it sounded like a grenade.”

“The answer is right in front of you.” Marius winked. “You see, this is what happens when you’re away for work too long. You tend to really, really miss your husband…”

Darius wanted to roll his eyes—no, he wanted to punch Marius. Does this brat really expect me to write ‘very loud, earth-shattering sex’ as the reason for those noise complaints?

Whatever could he do, though? He couldn’t possibly deny the Marius von Hagen of all people. Besides, he was not anointed as the newest NXX member for him to report Marius and Vyn just like that. Fine—he was going to write that unreasonable reason.

Marius seemed to know Darius was not going to deny him, and so the captain was met with the von Hagen’s signature, youthful grin that seemed to say: Hehe, you can’t deny me, can you?

Darius eyed Vyn one more time. He didn’t seem as sick as he appeared, but Darius knew he was indeed exhausted. However he wondered, as he waved the couple goodbye and ordered the reporters and paparazzis to keep out lest they get arrested, how can Richter—er, von Hagen—be this radiant after that violent shoot-out?

The moment Marius closed the door, Vyn muttered:

“Tell Vincent to arrange you an appointment with me,” he said, almost half-moaned, “based on my findings last evening, you need psychiatric help.”

… This hypocrite!

[beelsbignaturals]

Dead is the New Alive

A/N: Happy birthday to me!!! To celebrate being a dramatic pisces, I've decided to finally post this super self-indulgent self insert MC fic! It's definitely a work in progress but the intended audience is literally me and whoever is unfortunate enough to stumble across this. Big thank you to Aki for helping with literally everything ily homie! Yes the first scene is low-key a songfic. The song is What Will I Remember by Emilie Autumn if you want to give it a listen. Title is also an Emilie Autumn song. Guess what album I listened to while writing lmao. Anyways enjoy!

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Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, character death (ish), teeth, strong language

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What will I remember?

"Does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I'm sure it must be very unpleasant." The sadistic ass was taunting me. Quite literally adding insult to injury

What will I forget?

I did all this because I saw how much this family was hurting and this is the thanks I get?Someone laughing over me as the life drains from my eyes? After I go through all of this bullshit some stupid demon thinks he has every right in the world to end my life?

Honestly, if I didn't have claws tearing into my throat while this asshole is crushing my windpipe, I'd probably be tempted to smack that stupid grin off his face. Unfortunately, I'm in survival mode.

When this life is ending and gone

Fine. You want to kill me? I came into the world screaming and covered in someone else's blood. I plan on leaving the same way. It's game time, bitch.

What will I regret?

The next few moments are a blur of flailing limbs. One particularly well-timed kick sends me falling to the floor. Not risking it, l don't bother to catch my breath. Breathing is secondary. I need to run.

If tomorrow I don't wake up, what happens?

Moonlight shines through a nearby window like a beacon. Here goes nothing.

My sunrise, or sunset?

One foot in front of the other. Just keep running. He's behind you. Keep going. Almost there..

If I never were born

Fuck. Strong arms grab me, stopping any chance of escape. No. It's not over. I'm so close. I sink my teeth into the nearest thing I can find. Not letting go until I hear a sickening crunch followed by a string of curses. Name another human who took a chunk of flesh out of a demon's hand. I'll wait.

If I never died

Last shot. Come on. Somehow, I find the strength to launch myself out the window. Glass tears my arms to ribbons, but l'm flying and l'm free. Eat your heart out, Sally Hardesty.

Would it even matter at all?

All too soon, I collide with the pavement, knocking what little air I had left out of my lungs. I drag my bloodied body along, rocks and broken glass digging into my palms. I keep going until I physically can't move.

What should I decide?

Hopefully this will buy me enough time for someone to realize what happened. I mean. They wouldn't let me die, right? If even Belphegor was right and they didn't give a shit about me.. at the very least Lucifer wouldn't want the exchange program to be a failure. It would mess with Diavolo's plans. I'm not dying.

I always imagined I'd mean something to

someone

At least that's what I try to convince myself. The blood loss would beg to differ. But. I'll be okay. I'm sure magic will fix me up in no time. Just stay awake until help arrives. I try to focus on all the things I'll miss if I fall asleep. Late night nacho shenanigans with Beel. Watching Legally Blonde with Asmo. Helping Mammon hide from Lucifer. Kicking Levi's ass at DevilKart. All these precious moments that I'd hate to never experience again.

If I won't, 'least I tried

I'm fading in and out of consciousness. Time feels funny. Everything is in brief snippets. After what could have been hours or minutes. I register someone speaking. It doesn't sound familiar. Pressure on my chest. Sharp pain in my neck. Belphegor must've caught up with me. I wait for more torture but it doesn't come. Just a strange numbness. Decorating cakes with Luke. Feeding stray cats with Satan.

When my body suffers

So much yelling. It's too loud. I think I'm being moved? That's Mammon's voice! I did it. I'm safe. Why is he crying? They can fix me, right? It's too cold. Maybe not.

When to breath is pain

Levi is here, too! Maybe.. no. He's crying too. Oh. I guess this is it. At least I'm not alone.

Is it really madness to think

I try to reach for the nearest person. Maybe I can will someone hold my hand? No, that just made them move more. Don't leave me! Please.

Think of breaking this chain?

"Lucifer, get yer ass out here," He's staying. Thank fuck.

Is the future mine?

"Alaura, can you hear me?" After a failed attempt at nodding my head, which honestly just hurts way too much, I opt to try again to find Mammon's hand. This time, I'm actually successful.

It's kind of funny how, despite the fact I lay here dying, this is the most alive and real I've felt in a long time. These last few months have been spent on autopilot. Honestly, I didn't really believe any of it was real. I suppose death has a sobering effect.

God knows I have a past

So much commotion. So many voices. Not like I can understand much of what they are saying. Not when it all blurs together. I hold onto Mammon like a lifeline. Which, I suppose he is.

Where's my second chapter?

It seems they decide it is in everyone's best interest to not leave me lying on the ground in the middle of the night. That would be great if not for the fact they have to move me.

Or will the first also be my last?

The gaping throat wound is, understandably, not fucking pleasant. When strong arms lift me off the pavement, I struggle with energy I didn't know I had left. Kicking and screaming until it feels like my vocal cords are fried.

Is my story over if I fall asleep?

"I know, I'm sorry." The second born whispers, rings digging into my skin. Or maybe that's more glass. Regardless, he cradles my head against his chest, minimizing any movement that would further irritate my injuries.

Would anybody find me?

Crashing can be heard throughout the house. Part of me hopes Belphegor falls through a window too. Just for a small taste of his own medicine.

And would anybody weep?

With that pleasant thought, sleep takes over

I can't even pretend I care

But songs I'll never sing

Well, that means something

Yes, that means something

The next few days are spent in relative darkness. I can't see but I hear everything. It's like a strangely pleasant sleep paralysis. Plus I'm never alone for long. Asmo sits beside me, gently plucking glass from my skin, cleaning wounds of any dirt, and using a cloth to wet my lips and prevent dehydration. I get a whole manicure while he tells me about how I "got Belphie good". Apparently the majority of the dried blood stuck under my nails isn't even mine.

If it's not Asmo, it's Mammon. Half of the time he's moaning about how stupid I am. The rest is spent begging me to wake up. I try to find a way to tell him I'm right here. I'm awake. But I'm frozen in place. I don't think I've ever heard him cry this much.

Occasionally, Satan will pay a visit. Reading the Odyssey to keep me entertained. He's also the only one to update me on what's actually going on. From his visits, I can gather that I had a second attacker, not just Belphegor. The plot thickens. I barely have time to process that before learning said bitch was a vampire. This whole paralysis was just the beginning of my transformation.

Yeah, that's a hard pill to swallow.

I'm not left to think on it long. It turns out that one of the only two humans in the Devildom disappearing off the face of the earth does not go unnoticed. Doubly so when it comes to the resident angels.

With that in mind, I suppose it's not really a surprise that Luke all but breaks into the House of Lamentation, demanding to know what those horrible demons have done.

It'd be sweet if not for the little fact the second he got within ten feet of me, it feels like my bones are melting. You could tell me the air has turned to boiling water and I'd believe you.

His tiny body rushes into the room, grabbing my arm. "Oh, Alaura! Don't worry, I'll save you!"

I can only scream in agony as my flesh sizzles in his grasp. Shocked, Luke grabs my face before he gets a fucking clue. Cute kid, not the sharpest crayon in the box.

The pain of it all causes my eyes to open for the first time in days. I can hardly register the blinding light coming from the hallway. Just that this poor kid, who is, granted, older than I will ever be, starts sobbing out apologies as he stumbles backwards.

Smoke comes off my skin in waves, right where the tiny handprints sit. What is happening?

Poor Luke is dragged away, crying while half a dozen demons pour into my room.

Were they always this loud? I can't process the million different voices all speaking at once. It feels like all the small noises are worming their way into my head and eating my brain from the inside out. Footsteps sound like gunshots. The sound of fabric rustling makes me want to rip my hair out. It's too fucking loud.

Eventually catching on, Lucifer orders everyone to let me rest. He carefully applies some sort of ointment to my injuries before following suit. Alone in the dark I can finally begin to piece together what happened.

Belphegor killed me. Or tried to. Someone else swooped in to finish the job. But that's besides the point. Belphegor tried to kill me. It seems the others don't hate me enough to want me dead. Or at the very least are keeping up appearances. I'm not sure where my attempted killer is but I haven't seen or heard about them since that night.

Right... how long has it even been? I'll have to ask when someone comes around again. Knowing my housemates it won't be long before someone sneaks back into my room. Lucifer be damned.

Next order of business... apparently I'm a vampire? Not the most outlandish thing I've seen during my time in the Devildom but it's certainly up there. All I really know is from what Satan's told me and whatever I can find in my notes on Devildom history. Based on what the textbooks say, vampires are extinct in Hell. So how did this happen?

Only one way to find out and I need the facts before I let myself have a crisis. I guess the textbooks are a good starting point. Ignoring my protesting muscles, I drag myself out of bed to find any information I can.

Blah blah due to the vampire population rising at unprecedented rates and the threat to lower level demons, the King called upon the royal army to deal with the infestation.

Infestation? So I'm vermin now?

Startled by sudden pain in my jaw, my mouth opens in a silent gasp. Crimson blood drips onto the page. Just a few specks at first, but before long, I'm nearly choking as the liquid spills from my mouth.

Frantic, I run through the halls. Not particularly caring about the trail of blood I leave in my wake. Thank fuck no one is in the bathroom.

I lock the door behind me. Muscle memory. Before dashing to the mirror.

Holy shit. Maybe I'm not dead but I sure as hell look it. My body is littered with healing cuts, not to mention the two angry handprints that scorched my skin. Then there's my throat. It's healed somewhat but the mangled flesh has barely begun to scar. Honestly, it doesn't look like something I should've survived.

Fuck. The dull throbbing in my mouth turned sharp once again. Mouth opened as wide as I can manage, I try to inspect the affected area, but God, there's so much blood - I hear the small clink of something hitting the ceramic.

Holy shit. No. This isn't... this can't be happening. I'm hyperventilating as I force myself to look down. There's no way that...nope my entire tooth is sitting in the sink. Cool.... this is just great. I'm. I'm just hallucinating. Or something. That's the only explanation. Maybe I ate Solomon's cooking. That could be it. Food poisoning. Really bad food poisoning.

"Alaura?" A low voice interrupts my manic train of thought. "Alaura, please... open the door."

I don't even bother trying. I can hardly hold myself upright. Who's laughing? Is that my voice? Shit. I'm on the floor. When did that happen? The edges of my vision are fuzzy and dark. When I close my eyes, all I can see is a startling picture of my tooth. A small amount of gum is still hanging on for dear life. Much more blood than what could be considered healthy framing it like some grotesque work of art. Shit. My head hits the cold tile, and I'm watching as the door shakes on its hinges. Maybe I should've locked it.

Once again I wake up, tucked snugly in my bed. This time, however, I can spot a certain white-haired demon curled up on my floor, snoring softly. Cute but there is no way that's comfortable. I can see the dark circles and irritated skin, most likely raw from crying.

For a moment I'm transported back to simpler times. Mammon breaking into my room after a night at the casino, ranting about how "shits rigged", before passing out. Usually I'd shove a pillow under his head and throw a blanket over him before going to bed myself. Maybe even play with his hair. It's soft as hell but I know he'd complain if I did it while he was awake. I even got a beanbag chair at one point so his spine doesn't riot. With such a mundane scene, I can almost pretend things are normal.

Almost. When I poke at the tooth causing me grief earlier, I find it is longer and sharper than I remember. No. No. No. No.

"Mammon," I hiss. "Mammon wake up."

He wakes with a start, rubbing sleep from his eyes before jumping into action.

"You're up!"

I nod slowly. Knees hugged to my chest. "Is this real?"

With a sigh he plops down on my bed, walking me through complex math problems until I know without a doubt my subconscious could never make that up.

Teary-eyed, I stare at Mammon before I finally speak again. Talking feels strange with a killer toothache and one fang.

"What now?"

[naromoreau]

Crime Does Pay

A Far Cry 5 fic Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/ Female Deputy Rating: Explicit Words: 5121 Also on AO3 Note:  Another super self indulgent oneshot of my now fave pair, because I have no life. Also big thanks to @shelbypnw (love you sweetheart!) and to the Awesome Far Cry Discord (YOINK you guys!) for pushing me to post this long ass thing. 

============== Summary:  In the aftermath of Faith's demise, the Resistance has a bit of solace and Rook is finally confronted with her feelings for the pyromaniac.

art by @colonelrogers

“So, honey, care to tell me when are you jumpin’ those bones?” Adelaide took a sip from her beer, sitting cross legged on the stool at the bar, while Mary May chuckled, cleaning a jug absentmindedly.

Rook flushed up to her ears, green eyes open wide and mouth hanging. “I-I dunno what you mean Addie,” she stuttered flashing glances to Mary May as if she was looking for a savior. Her pulse quickened slightly as she fiddled with the glass in her hand.

“O’cmon Dep, you ain’t that dense,” Mary May intervened, lips curled in a crooked smile. “Girl, you have it bad.”

She flicked her tongue across her lips, to gain some time, brow furrowed and boot tapping against the wooden panel of the bar. “Seriously you guys, I have no idea what you’re--” she was almost slurring, and she knew it. Damn .

“Stop that love,” Adelaide cut her words, waving a manicured hand in front of her, “I’m old enough to know you want to drag that pretty mouth of yours all over my idiot of a nephew.”

Rook spilled her drink gracelessly, eeking a faint yelp followed by a grunt as she hid her beet red face on her arms. “Oh for fucks sake, Adelaide!” she whispered agitatedly, lifting her head slightly, catching a glimpse of Sharky and Hurk standing by the pool table.

“Nah, honey, you no need to worry,” Adelaide said patting her head with one hand and taking a sip with the other. “I’m just sayin’ I don't get why you’re still here and he’s there, like don't you want to be spanked or somethin’?”

Rook grunted, straightening on her seat, trying not to shrink before Adelaide and Mary May intense gazes. “It’s not that simple,” she said taking a gulp of stale air, diverting her eyes to the dance floor, where Kim and Nick swirled at the rhythm of an upbeat tune. “I’m his best bud, and I can't do this to him, I mean -- I don't think he sees me like that--”

For the second time her words were cut short, but this time by the ringing laughter of Adelaide and Mary May combined.

“Oh hon, you’re a good deputy, but you’ve no idea ‘bout this,” Adelaide said bumping her shoulder with her own, “you should trust me and put to good use that cute outfit of yours.”

“I don’t see how--” Rook felt all the blood on her body pooling on her now scorching cheeks. She was completely sure she’d kept her crush for the pyromaniac in check, even if half the time her eyes swept his ass or the front of his pants, gaze cautiously hidden behind her sunglasses. God bless sunglasses. She would’ve known if what they said was truth, but in fact all his comments lead to believe that thought was a very far fetched scenario. “I don’t wanna embarrass myself,” she said taking a swig of her drink, putting it back on the counter with excessive force, the glass hitting wood with a hard click, “he’s definitely not into me.” Oh damn, was she bitter?

“Okay now,” Mary May chimed in, “that’s where you’re wrong. Haven’t you seen his goo-goo eyes whenever you’re around? He checks your ass at least four times each hour, and it’s a non-stop screwball when he talks to you.”

“And Mary here hasn’t been around us on the field, sweetheart,” Adelaide offered, with a wicked smile, “that’s just pathetic to see-- I mean, Charlemagne is not the most subtle individual around so I think even Hurk Jr. knows by now. Seriously honey, we all could be dead tomorrow, or-- are you waiting your chance with Johnny Boy?”

Rook cackled at the last sentence but it didn’t deter her mouth of going dry, the tip of her fingers numbed by a sudden rush of adrenaline. She shot a glance towards the pool table, eyes fixed on the familiar green hoodie for a second. Oh, she wanted him bad . A hot curl uncoiled between her thighs, her heart thumping under every inch of her skin.

“So?” Mary May said, elbows on the counter, staring at her with an amused expression, “what you waiting for?”

Rook cleared her throat. Fuck, just do it.

“Can I have some liquid courage first, Miss Fairgrave?” Rook asked, offering her empty beer mug to Mary May, but she took it, putting it aside and offering her two shots of tequila in return. No salt. No lime.

“Trust me dear, this is better.”

It was now or never. The semi-unplanned gathering was the perfect frame to get rid of that thorn on her side. She gulped the shots, one after the other, furrowing her brows and squinting. “‘Kay. I’m all geed up so bring it.”

She stood up, adjusting her black skirt that seemed determined to roll up her thighs. She heard Adelaide and Mary May laughing and clapping at her back, like fucking teenagers. Really . Nevermind. No one would notice. The music was loud and the alcohol had everybody focused on their own stuff.

She gave slow steps towards her target, where Sharky was apparently arguing with Hurk. It’d been a matter of events, one intertwined after the other and she couldn’t help to fall for him. He had the most beautiful smile she’d seen, and he was always so keen to follow her without question, it was heartwarming. And when he held his flamethrower bustling around her, laughing and yelling at the rhythm of peggie bullets, it made her feel alive. And, was she about to spill all those things in front of him? Her breath was shallow, and she felt sweat breaking on her palms. It was stupid really, now that she thought about it. What if Addie and May were wrong? But the rational part of her brain that screamed to back off, was muffled by alcohol and blood buzzing in her veins.

She was thinking that maybe it was just better to take her own ass back to where it came from, when Hurk lifted his face from his drink. She didn’t fail to notice how he digged Sharky in the ribs before she stepped in front of them, trying to pull her no bullshit facade out her ass.

“‘Sup Dep?” Hurk scratched his forehead beneath his banana, looking a bit high, “so are you sure Faith’s dead huh?”

“Pretty much Hurk, why?”

“I dunno, I was just thinkin’- it’s sad man, ‘cause she had this potential to be Mrs. Hurk Drubman Jr. y’know?, what a cute little thing she was,” Hurk said taking a long swig from his drink.

“I don’t think your mom would’ve approved that, Hurkie,” she said snorting, and quickly added, “maybe you should go there and ask her what she thinks, and bring me a beer on your way back, ‘kay?”

Hurk blinked for a second before perking up again. “‘Aight Dep, sure, sure, I got you babe, you gotta celebrate your victories!”

When he was gone, she closed the inches away from Sharky, ignoring the whirring sound in her ears, and her skin tingling, every breath more heavy than the last.

“Man I love Hurk but his screws are way loose,” she said, standing next to him, hopping on the pool table.

“None of that Shorty, he’s a fucking genius!,” he said as he took his beer bottle to his lips, and her hands tugged at the hem of her flannel to draw away her need to reach a hand and touch him. “‘Cuz’s been around a lot, and he kicks ass, he’s like-- like a one man army. Damn I wish I was more like him y’know?”

“What you talking about Boshaw? Your scrawny ass is the cornerstone of the resistance, man.” She chuckled, breathing in, breathing out, trying to quell her nervousness. “And by the way, never thanked you for saving my head from being blown up by peggies today, that was a swell move, man.”

“I got you shorty, I’m like--- I’m smooth like a ninja,” he said turning slightly with the same smirk he flashed everytime they blew up some outpost and it caused breath catch in her throat. “Gotta be your protector ‘cause your reflexes ain’t that good, but don’t feel bad, not everyone is like me y’know? I’m like-- I’m like the lovechild of Bruce Lee and James fucking Bond.”

Rook almost bent over with laughter. Damn she loved this man. Wait, what? She kicked the thought to the back of her mind. That path was just trouble and then some.

“Woah, woah easy there, you heathen,” she said hopping down the table with a fake scowl on her face. “My reflexes are much better than yours-- I’m a fucking officer with training and I’m gonna fucking prove it to you.”

Without giving it much thought and before her words could sink in his inebriated brain, she stood on her tiptoes and swooped his hat from his head, grasping it far behind her back.

“Hey! That ain’t fair, give it back, that’s theft!”

He extended a hand but she swatted it away, like if it was a pestering mosquito.

“Uh huh, you want it, you gotta take it from me,” she said shaking a dainty finger at him, leaning forward with a mischievous grin.

“Oh yeah? Well, bring it on chica.”

He tried to pounce at her by her right side, but she dodged him, giving a few steps back, away from the pool table. She giggled as he strode in her direction trying to clasp her arms, but she swirled around a table, bumping into a chair.

“You ain’t going free amigo! Hey Joey, handcuff the Dep!” He yelled in Hudson’s direction, but Joey rolled her eyes and shook her head, continuing her conversation with Pastor Jerome, unbothered.

“No one can help you, Boshaw,” she said with a smug grin, retreating into a small corridor out of everyone’s sight. She almost lost her footing, skirting around. Damn, the alcohol was kicking in.

He followed her close behind, but she didn’t relent. She jumped back when he tread to her, a half smile on his face. When her butt hit the wall, she understood her mistake.

“Got ya!” Sharky leaned forward, extending a hand in her direction. “Give it back, shorty, crime don’t pay.”

She exhaled a shuddery breath. He was so close her cheeks were flushed, heat that she didn’t know if came from the situation or the booze in her system, pooled in her belly.

“I said, you gotta take it from me,” she dared, boldly.

A question popped in his eyes, and she held up the cap and glasses in her hand. When he leaped forward, she swiftly hid her hand again. He slanted pressing both palms against the wall for support, her body now bracketed between his arms.

She was already dizzy from his scent, leathery and musky, a tinge of sandalwood and propane climbing up her nostrils. She moved a leg slightly upwards, to brush his inner thigh.

“Ah, Dep? You okay?” He wetted his lips, his words hiding an undeniable tremor.

She put his hat on her head, tilting her head up. Even with her high heeled boots she barely reached his chin. “More than fine,” she said placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Shit, I-- I think no more drinks for you tonight,” Sharky said, but his voice was lower and huskier that she’d ever heard before. He dipped his head an inch and stopped, lips slightly parted.

His breath was hot and moist, and she could feel it puffing against her lips. She flicked her tongue out, sweeping her lips, locking eyes with him. The dark hue of his usually bright blue eyes sent a shiver down her spine, a curl of need drifting down her groin, as his gaze fleeted from her lips, down her neck, up her eyes again.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you think Shark,” she said whispering practically into his lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he went down the last stretch, pressing his thin lips against her full ones. It was a timid kiss, nothing more than a chaste peck, before he pulled back.

“Jesus fuck Dep, you sure ‘bout this?” He asked, fanning her face with breathed words. “‘Cause I’m totally into this, but you’re like, you’re-- you’re ten football stadiums outta my league and I’ve been wantin’ to-- been wantin’ to do this from since fuck knows when.”

She gave him a lopsided smirk, and caught his lips with hers, sucking and nipping at his bottom one, pushing her tongue into his mouth, earning a soft groan from him. She felt him loosening up, his right hand now holding her tight at the small of her back, pulling her flushed up with him with an eagerness that made her moan. Wetness spread on her panties at the feel of his erection rubbing against her stomach, trembling as she thought of his calloused hands grazing her over sensitive skin, dipping into her. Fuck.

She felt her knees buckling and held onto the hard line of his shoulders as his tongue circled and pressed against every corner of her mouth, his ‘stache and beard tickling her chin and jaw.

“Ain’t you gonna bust our asses for public indecency po-po?” He said between gasps, his lips nibbling the rim of her jaw, sucking on the soft skin of her neck.

She smiled, lost in the tingling sensation of his tongue against her skin, craning her neck to allow him better access. And boy, oh boy, as much as she liked to be fucked against the wall by the pyromaniac of her dreams, they definitely needed a better spot.

“Mary’s office is-- is just right there,” she managed to stutter between sharp gasps, signaling to the door at their right.

He said nothing, pulling her into a tight embrace, ushering her inside the dark room. When the door closed behind them, he crashed her mouth with his and picked her up from the floor sliding his hands down to cup her ass. He squeezed gently making her gasp into his mouth as she felt each one of his fingers digging into her skin. Her parted thighs closed around his hips, skirt rolling up, as he moved her to the sturdy desk in the corner, placing her on top. His hard on rubbed against her panties and she grinded her hips, coaxing a growl from him that she swallowed eagerly, tongues tangled in a wet mess. He rolled his hips in response, cajoling a loud moan from her.

“All good Dep?” He smirked breaking an inch apart, his pupils blown wide with hunger of her, flaring up her own desire.

She didn’t remember to have wanted anyone as she wanted him, in that knee-weakening, panty-drenching, make-you-shiver all around kind of way.

“You ass.”

He gave her an eyebrow waggle that elicited a chuckle from deep within her belly. God, she was screwed. She fucking loved this idiot and he--. Don’t go there .  She finally surrendered her trophy, taking his cap off and her fingers skidded under his hoodie, digging into the lean muscles of his shoulders, licking his jaw, and pressing flat kisses in every inch of exposed flesh she could reach. She couldn’t believe how wet she was already, a sodden patch on her undies that was probably soaking the front of his pants as well. A pink flush bloomed on her cheeks at the thought. He unbuttoned her flannel, slowly, taking his time as he sucked her earlobe without stopping the infuriating roll of his hips. It was something she wasn’t expecting. Sharky jumping her bones like a rabbit in heat? Yeah. Sharky being all smooth and devouring her one course at a time? Definitely not.

“Fuck, Sharky,” she said huffing a moan and tugging at his chestnut hair, while he finally opened her shirt and unclipped her bra, stripping them off her.

He traced the rose tattoo on her upper left breast with flitting kisses, his beard adding to the pleasure of it. “Shit babe, you’re beautiful.” His raspy voice scrapped across her skin, flaring goosebumps all over her, and she tilted her head back, mewling when he closed his mouth around one nipple.

Her fingers carded in his hair as he sucked, tongue circling and lapping at it, while his hand groped her other breast, kneading it gently as his thumb rolled over her nipple. The pace of his tongue had her rolling her eyes, as he licked the valley between her breasts, mouth now moving and closing around her other hard nipple.

“Jesus fuck, shorty, you got such a nice pair,” he said squeezing both in his hands, before giving two hard sucks to her pert peaks, “could eat them all day long.”

“Ah! Glad you-- like them,” she whimpered.

He pulled back, taking off his shirt and hoodie, and she admired his flame tattoo going up his arm, joining to a skull on his right pec. She propped up on her elbows, humming when her fingers grazed the toned lines of his abs and chest, not too buffed but just enough. Just right .

He rolled up her skirt, bunching it up at her waist and hooked his thumbs at the sides of her black panties. Her cunt was already throbbing in anticipation and she bit her lip watching him getting rid off her underwear.

“Grab onto some shit babe,” he said kneeling in front of her, grinning with teeth at her, “Imma give you the Boshaw special.”

She barely had time to brace herself before he hoisted her legs up on his shoulders and his lips skimmed along her inner thighs, fingers stroking her damped folds, sliding along her slit.  

“Fuck Dep, you’re so fucking wet.” He was almost purring, one hand now palming on her mound to squeeze gently while the other spread her open, two fingers slipping easily inside her.

She shivered, spilling broken words, digging nails in his scalp and her thighs tensing around his head. He started thrusting his fingers in and out of her, controlled and steady movements building up her orgasm, lips and tongue teasing her vulva, nuzzling the patch of wiry hair.

“Man, look at ya, you’re perfect y’know?,” he said planting fat kisses along her inner thighs, lazily pumping his fingers into her, his other hand grabbing her hip, thumb drawing circles on her skin.

She grunted as any response. Her whole body was on fire, every last nerve raw and feeling his every move. He started scissoring as her breathing became ragged, chest going up and down as he now sucked on her labia. He stopped suddenly and she mewled in disappointment, before she felt his tongue at her entrance. He gave big, broad strokes along her slit, finally pushing his tongue all the way in, curling it, following the angle of her walls.

“Holy shit-- shit, man, ah!” She yelled and her voice sounded like a screech in her own ears. He was tearing her apart, one thrust at a time, her throat unable to emit more than cracked moans and whimpers. She writhed on the desk, her body now covered by a thin sheet of sweat.

She groped and squeezed her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples, her hips bucking instinctively into his mouth.

“Holy fuck shorty, you put my porn collection to shame,” he said with a hoarse voice glancing at her, eyes fixed on her fingers teasing her nipples, his gaze almost searing her through and through.  

His cheeks were flushed as he finally closed his lips around her clit, making her holler louder than before. Fuck! His fingers filled her again, before her walls complained at the loss of his tongue, and he let out a moan that pulsated on her clit wrecking her completely.

Her head was spinning, heart thrumming in her ears as he sucked the nub, adding his tongue to the mix, alternating between light flicks and steady strokes. She was positively thrusting her hips forward. Her stomach tightened, the ache in her core now a pulsing beat she was closer to topple.

“Ah-- shit Shark, you’re amazing, ah, shit!”

She entwined tense fingers on his hair, pulling his face closer as his rhythm quickened, licking and sucking her more frantically. His teeth raked at the bundle of nerves, then sucking again and his fingers curled inside her hitting against that sweet spot. Her vision blurred and with a loud, keen cry she finally came on his face, gushing out all over him. When he stood up, licking his lips and cleaning his mouth with the heel of his hand and a cocky smile plastered on his face, she knew she needed him. All of him.

“Jesus Shark, I-- that was some good shit ,” she panted, the quivers still raking over her body, her legs feeling like jello.

“Told ya I wasn’t kidding, babe.” The look on his eyes was feral as he pulled her up, kissing her roughly, biting her lower lip, and pushing his tongue inside her mouth. She melted in his embrace, tasting her own salty tinge in his lips.

His bulging cock still trapped in his jeans rasped her over sensitive skin and she arched in his arms.

“Can you-- can you fuck me now?” she almost begged when they broke apart.

“Don’t need to tell me that twice, shorty.”

He unbuckled and unzipped his pants as fast as he could, and his cock sprang free in no time. Her walls clenched at the sight. It was thick and longer than she’d thought, the perfect curve at the tip sending a bolt of lust to her cunt.

He pressed his body against hers, rubbing his tip along her entrance, coating himself in her wetness. They kissed slow and thoroughly, his hands clasping her waist.

“Can we change scenery?” she whispered a scant inch away from his ear eliciting a gulp from him.

“What you got in mind?”

She guided him to sit in a padded chair, and he flopped down with a thud, his pants pooling at his ankles. She shimmied her hips, shucking off her creased skirt, bending over before him with her back turned.

“Now that's just cruel Dep,” he drawled.

She faced him, giggling as she straddled him, sitting high on his thighs, his hard dick pressed between them, his tip brushing below her navel.

“That's better,” Sharky said and she hummed in approval.

He cradled the nape of her neck, pulling her down for another kiss, as his other hand crept up her thigh grabbing a handful of her ass.

She closed her hand around his cock, her thumb smearing down the pre-cum beads from his tip. His tongue glided across her lips as she pumped him slowly, gulping down his moans and throaty grunts.

When she lifted her body off him supporting with a hand on his shoulder, he looked at her almost in awe and a tide of prideful lust beamed inside her. Yes, he wanted her, maybe as much as she wanted him. He lined him up to her entrance until his tip grazed her folds. Sharky bit his lower lip, his fingernails now almost scratching her skin. She sank down slowly, both staring down at his cock disappearing inside her to the hilt.

He let out a strangled moan, tilting his head back. “Oh shit.”

“Damn, Shark,” she whimpered.

He filled her just right, the stretch stinging slightly but not painful. She moaned rolling her hips, adjusting at his size.

“You okay babe?,” he asked between a low moan and a heavy grunt, clasping her hips and steadying her on his lap.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, closing her eyes for a second, reveling in the sensation of his erection throbbing inside her.

She started bouncing with a slow rhythm, savoring how he spread her wide every time she dropped down on his cock. Her toes curled, and a myriad of small gasps whiffed against his neck as she buried her face into his maddening scent. He shifted his position a little to angle into her, meeting her thrust for thrust, rocking his hips upwards.

“Oh, fuck Dep, you’re so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ tight--,” he said brushing her ear shell with moistened lips, “best fuck I’ve had, shit!”

“You’re- ah, you're not so bad yourself,” she said with a smirk, feeling the layers of his control tattering with every clench of her cunt around his cock.

He shot her a wolfish smile, a hand sliding to cup her breast, taking it to his mouth. She cried out when he sucked hard, his teeth grazing her nipple, and fingers massaging the surrounding swell.

Damn, he was good. With a strong hand on her ass cheek he guided her movements as she kept plunging onto him harder and faster. She arched into his touch when he snapped at her breasts and then anchored his hands at her bottom.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!,” she yelped almost singing her curses when he grounded her down on his lap, licking and sucking at her collarbone.

“Shit Dep,” he moaned between airy grunts, “wanna-- wanna fuck you forever babe, you’re fucking delicious.”

She was barely listening at this point. The way he angled his hips to ram into her, knowing exactly where to hit was making her vision bleed to white, her cries probably loud enough to let anyone outside know what was going on there. His mouth seeked hers, kissing her softly, almost sweetly, in complete contradiction to their hard fucking. When they broke apart, foreheads touching, he looked at her breathless and longing. Her heart flitted in her chest, getting all fuzzy but she stomped the feeling down. Live the moment . And so she did, closing her eyes focusing in the rippling pleasure bursting inside her in wild flames.

“Look at me Dep,” he begged her, pressing his thumb flat against her clit, and she cooed while his hips jerked against hers. “Wanna see you come on me, shit- you’re more than beautiful.”

He circled her nub with steady movements and she leaned back supporting on his thighs for more leverage, pushing down harder and faster until it was too much.

“Oh, shit, shit, fuck Shark, holy shit! ” She crumbled forward, scratching his shoulders, walls clamping down on him and boy had he been right all along, she was hollering her lungs off.

He kissed her, pounding steadily still, whispering words she was too far gone to catch and held her tight as she rode the waves of her orgasm, her skin prickling with random bursts of pleasure flooding her like a tidal wave. His fingers now threaded in her hair, another hand spread wide on her back as he chased his own release, mouth wide open against her neck.

“Fuck babe, I’m close,-” he grunted.

Shit . Her mouth watered at the thought of having him all over her, so she rotated her hips when he wanted to stop, lifting her ass and dropping down, still managing to fuck him how she wanted.

“Please, Dep, I can’t--” he begged digging his fingers in the plump flesh of her hips.

When she felt the tremor in his body, she pulled off of him as he growled, letting him pump out his load, hot and thick, on her breasts.

He looked at her slack jawed, almost awestruck, as she slid a finger through his cum, tasting him with a moan. “Fuck shorty, you’re amazing,” he panted, milking the last spurts of his throbbing dick onto her. “I fucking love you-- shit, fucking love you.”

She felt her cheeks burning, as her brain fumbled with dignified responses for that scenario. It was probably just the afterglow talking, she decided, so she tried to compose herself and smiled at him.

“I love you too Shark,” she said, standing up and kissing his forehead, amicably enough she thought.

She quickly searched for her flannel and something to clean with, to try and make a hasty retreat, but she found nothing. She picked up his cap from the floor and grunted, making short use of her shirt, not yet deciding if framing it or burning it later.  

She heard the ruffle of his jeans and the clicking of his belt at her back, so she quickened her movements, putting on her panties and skirt.

“You mean it?” He grabbed her hips, turning her to face him.

If she could, she would’ve melted in a puddle of goo under his bright eyes, but she spur herself to not let her knees betray her. She placed the hat on him and rehearsed a confident smirk, one that she was far to feel as she stood in front of him, shirtless and emotionally wrecked.  

“Yeah, hon, best pals, right?” She gave a gentle tug to the bill of his cap, but he didn’t relent.

“C’mon Dep, y’know what I’m talking ‘bout,” he said and she trembled feeling his thumbs drawing circles on her hip bones, “‘cause I was dead serious.”

She gaped at him, as he towered over her and-- Maybe she didn’t get that right.

“I don’t understand Shark,” she said blinking as if she had been staring at the sun for too long.

“Jesus fuck Dep,” he bristled, “I’m tryna telling ya I love you!”

She blinked again, frozen in place and she felt his hands sliding off her. No, no don’t go.

“Wait, Shark!” She reached to hold his hand, and took his fingers to her mouth, kissing them softly. “I do-- fuck, by now saying I love you it’s an understatement.”

An all teeth smile broke on his face. “Shit, for real?”

“Real deal,” she said, tenderly caressing his face as she had dreamed so many times before. Fuck, it was finally true.

He smiled at her with unbridled love and kissed her, slowly, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb.

“So, what now?” She asked looking around, when they parted, “I can’t leave in a jizz-covered shirt.”

“It’s cool, babe. I got you.”

He reached for his shirt and hoodie, giving her the latter. When she put it on, it almost covered the hem of her skirt.

“It looks like a fucking dress on me,” she complained.

“Nah, you look fine as hell, Mrs. Baeshaw.” He slid a hand around her waist, nuzzling her ear, unable to erase the foolish smile from his face.

She gave a short laugh. ”Pet names and all uh? You look awfully pleased with yourself Boshaw,” she said quirking a brow.

He chuckled, hugging her tightly. “Hell yeah, finally nailed it babe, you’re the fucking jackpot.”

[xjoonchildx]

close call | myg x reader

🎵 summary: burying your head in the sand won't change the fact that the man you love walks a thin line between life and death. and sometimes you can't outrun your worst fears.

🎵 pairing: reader x mafia!yoongi

🎵 rating: mature, 18+, a wee bit self-indulgent

🎵 genre: smut, mafia AU, guarded AU drabble though it can be read as a standalone story

🎵 warnings: smut with feelings (of course) angst, a lot of angst, super angsty you have been warned this is a veritable angst buffet

🎵 word count: 4.5K

🎵 notes: so, uh...long time no see? phew fam, these past 4-5 months have been really tough for me from a writing standpoint. i've probably written and deleted hundreds of thousands of words and just felt really out of touch with my writing voice. why am i telling you this? because therapy is expensive and because even though i struggled, i did manage to push through it and that makes me feel really hopeful about a light at the end of the tunnel where this writing block is concerned. i'd love to hear from you if you like this and thank you guys always for hanging with me 💕

i borrowed these people's beautiful eyeballs and brains on this fic and i owe them all a debt of gratitude: @hobi-gif @thatlongspringnight @illneverrecover @miscelunaaa thank you all for being rad people and writers.

You hear music the moment you step off the elevator.

The sound drifts down the long stretch of hallway before you, echoing off the walls and then diffusing into the soft carpet beneath your feet. It gets louder with each step you take towards the apartment, swelling higher as you near the heavy steel door.

The sound makes you frown.

It’s dark and melancholic. The cadence is sloppy and the notes bleed into one another like muddled watercolor paints. There is no real melody to speak of, no cohesive thought binding the chords together. They hang in the air overhead like a line of mismatched laundry.

It doesn’t sound anything like the beautiful music Yoongi makes when he sits down at his piano. The lovely, lilting melodies he pulls from the instrument after you’ve both slept in and made love on Sunday afternoons.

That observation alone is enough to give you pause about what awaits you on the other side of that steel door. Never mind that it’s three o’clock in the fucking morning.

You take a deep breath and slide your key into the lock.

Behind the heavy door, your apartment is shrouded in blackness.

In the dark, the couches and lamps and artwork are reduced to rudimentary shapes and outlines. You drop your bag and coat on the table in the foyer, peering into nothingness until your eyes slowly adjust.

Until the man you love finally takes shape.

Yoongi is hunched over his piano, dark hair falling into his face as one hand pounds carelessly away at the keys. The instrument produces a series of sounds so mournful they make goosebumps bloom up the line of your back. Slivers of moonlight slip between the gaps in the curtains, casting shadows across his silhouette.

You take a few cautious steps closer and the finer details start to come into focus.

The rocks glass gripped tight in his free hand. The papers strewn haphazardly across the piano’s lid. All around him the air seems unsettled, crackling with a dangerous energy that makes the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Then music comes to an abrupt stop.

“I waited up for you.”

He speaks without so much as a glance in your direction, the sound of his voice strangely foreign. There’s a hollow quality to it you haven’t heard before, some peculiar disconnect between the words and the man speaking them.

“I see that,” you say slowly, stepping closer. “Did you want the neighbors to wait up for me, too?”

Yoongi doesn’t laugh at your jab. Doesn’t do or say anything at all, just continues staring down at the keys.

Your heart starts to pound a bit faster.

You close the distance that remains and slide into the empty space beside him, close enough now to breathe him in. Close enough to make out the scent of his damp hair, the spice of the aftershave clinging to his skin. Close enough to smell the whiskey he exhales with every heavy breath.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Guess I’m a little fucked up.”

Guess so. You could count the number of times you’ve seen Yoongi drunk on one hand and you’ve never seen him drunk like this. Like he’s trying to drink himself numb. Like he’s trying to drink himself to blackout.

“It’s okay,” you lie, as if anything about this scene you’ve walked into is okay. “Happens to the best of us sometimes.” You reach a hand out to brush the hair away from his eyes, breath catching in your throat when he turns to face you.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back tonight.

Eyes haunted and skin pallid but for the ruddy whiskey flush across his nose and cheeks. He holds your gaze for only a few heartbeats before looking away. Like he’s embarrassed to be in this state. Like he’s embarrassed for you to see him this way.

Worry immediately climbs up your throat and threatens to claw its way out of your mouth, but you take a deep breath and force it back down. You stroke your fingers across Yoongi’s brow, sweep them over the curve of his jaw. He leans into the touch and catches your hand with his, turning his face to press a soft kiss to your fingertips.

“Yoongi, did – did something happen to you tonight?”

Your stomach twists at the pained expression that comes over him, at the way his eyes fall shut like he’s trying to push away a terrible thought. His grip on your hand tightens and so does your chest.

“Yoongi?”

“Listen, Doc,” he breathes, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

That awful twisting in your stomach sharpens. If you hadn’t known something was wrong – horribly wrong – before this very moment, you certainly know it now. You watch with your heart in your throat as Yoongi sets his whiskey down to reach for the papers strewn across the top of the piano. He presses them into your hands and you stare down at them, afraid to look too closely at the fine print.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly, and you immediately snap your eyes up to meet his. “This is important. This is everything. My accounts, the investments. This apartment and two properties in Daegu. It’s all here.”

The room goes quiet as Yoongi gives you a moment to absorb his words. As the meaning in them slowly begins to crystallize inside your brain. He watches the realization wash over you with a troubling calm, completely composed as you begin to stare back at him in wide-eyed horror.

“If anything happens to me, you take this money and you get the hell out of Seoul,” he continues evenly, as though the two of you are discussing dinner plans or something equally as innocuous. “You buy a house on Jeju and you spend the rest of your life working on your tan. Do whatever you want with it. But it’s all yours.”

Now you think you might be sick.

“Tell me what is going on.” Your voice comes out brittle as spun sugar, barely audible over the heartbeat now pounding violently in your ears. “You can’t just come home and say – ”

“The first thing you do is go to Namjoon. He can walk you through everything. He has copies of –”

“Yoongi, please –”

“Hoseok has copies, too. Just as a backup,” he keeps talking like he can’t hear you at all, undeterred by your rising panic. “They can have cash to you that same day if you’re strapped. Plus the rentals in Daegu have –”

“Yoongi, listen to me – ”

“So it’s not like it’s a finite amount of money. There will be more coming in every –”

“Stop!” You’re shouting now, barely able to think around the noise in your head. “What – what the hell is wrong with you?”

You stare at him in utter disbelief at how easily these words seem to come to him. By how unaffected he seems to be while speaking your worst fears out loud. It has to be the whiskey that’s making him like this. It has to be the reason he can sit here and calmly lay out a blueprint for his death while you’re falling apart in slow-motion.

But he’s not calm anymore, is he? Not now. Not if the spark of anger that lights behind his eyes is any indication. Your outburst seems to have jarred Yoongi out of whatever bizarre state you found him in. Now the set of his jaw is hard. Now his dark eyes bore into yours, the intensity in them unnerving.

“Let’s just talk about this in the morning.” You swallow thickly and add,“You’re drunk and I’m exhausted and – ”

“We’re going to talk about this now,” Yoongi interrupts, in a tone so cold and flat it makes you shiver. “We’re done tiptoeing around the shit that makes us uncomfortable, Doc. We’re not doing that anymore.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m done letting you pretend that this situation is normal. Because it isn’t. You need to get it through your head that every single time I walk out that door there’s a good chance I might not come back.”

He could have slapped you and it would hurt less.

It doesn’t matter that he’s right – about the way you lie to yourself about the risks he’s taking. About the way you don’t allow your mind to dwell on what he’s doing when you wake up and he’s not there. It doesn’t matter that he’s right about the hundreds of ways you’ve come up with to avoid the uncomfortable truth. It still hurts like hell to hear him spell it out so plainly.

“This money – ” Yoongi pauses to drag a hand over his face, “ – This money is the one fucking thing I can do for you if I’m not here, Doc.”

You let your eyes fall to the papers in your hands, the fine print you’d barely been able to see just a few minutes before now painfully clear. Line after line after line of numbers – numbers so long you’re afraid to acknowledge where they begin and where they end. Numbers so long they seem ludicrous. You don’t even know where to begin wrapping your mind around this kind of wealth.

And it means nothing to you. Not without him.

Tears start to fall against your will. Angry tears you try to hide but Yoongi sees them anyway. He reaches for you, tipping your chin up with his fingers and swiping at your cheeks with one calloused thumb.

You sit there with watery eyes and a battered heart and watch as the change comes over him. As the fire in him dies out and the frustration slowly drains from his features. He strokes your face until the storm behind his eyes ebbs away completely, leaving only remorse. Regret.

“God, I’m sorry, Doc,” he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.” He presses kisses to the bridge of your nose, your wet lashes, your hair. “I’m such an asshole, God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything. Not until you’re sure you’re not crying anymore, not trembling anymore. You wait until you feel strong enough to use your voice without falling apart all over again and then pull away to look him in the eye.

“Why are you so angry, Yoongi?” You dab at your damp cheeks with one sleeve and straighten your spine, lift your chin. “Why are you so angry with me?”

Yoongi exhales deeply as he takes the papers out of your hands and wraps his arms around you. He pulls you in close, close enough to feel the way his heart is hammering inside his chest. Close enough to feel the way his throat works as he swallows over and over and over again before he speaks.

“I’m not angry, Doc,” he says after a while, voice thick with emotion. “I’m afraid.”

He’s passed out by the time you get out of the shower, face pressed deep into his pillow.

You dig in his drawer until you find his oldest, softest t-shirt – the one with the hole in the neck – and then you slip it on. You slide beneath the covers and press yourself to him; bury your face into his back. He doesn’t stir.

I’m afraid.

Yoongi’s words echo in your mind as you lie there in the dark praying for sleep to take you. You think about all of the horrible shit he’s confessed to you after a hard night, all the truly terrifying shit you’d only gotten wind of after a night of beers with one of the loose-lipped maknaes. Not once has Yoongi ever uttered those words to you.

Not once has he ever admitted to being afraid.

You lie there in the dark and try not to think about what that means. Try not to run down the list of terrible possibilities, one by one. You lie there for what feels like forever, certain that sleep will never come.

But eventually, it does.

You wake to the sound of the shower running.

A quick pass of your palm over the sheets beside you finds them still warm, so you slide over a bit – burrowing into that part of the bed that still smells like him. You lie there and listen to the water fall until you can finally summon the will to move.

Your hair is wild this morning on account of sleeping on it wet. It mocks you from the mirror as you brush your teeth, as you comb through it with your fingers, trying to tame the flyaway strands. Yoongi’s worn t-shirt skims the tops of your legs, the soft, tattered edges brushing against your thighs.

This is how he finds you when he opens the bathroom door – dressed in his ragged hand-me-downs, hair chaotic, a mouthful of fluoride foam. He stops to lean in the threshold and your eyes rake over the beads of water still clinging to his skin, the towel slung perilously low on his lean hips.

“Hey.”

Steam billows out from the open bathroom door and Yoongi shoves a hand into his wet hair, brushing back the curtain of dark strands that fall into his eyes. They tumble right back into place, disobedient. You spit and rinse.

“Hey yourself,” you reply slowly, unsure of where he’s landed this morning after all the emotion of last night. Probably a bit unsure of where you’ve landed, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as bad as I probably should,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.

He steps closer and you force yourself not to look down, not to be distracted in any way by the dusting of hair that starts low on his abdomen and disappears beneath the terry cloth knot. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, but fight the instinct to curl into it.

“I’m sorry about last night, Doc,” he says quietly. His eyes are clearer this morning, but the sadness still lingers. “I was way out of line.”

You shrug, toeing at a non-existent spot on the gleaming marble. “Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a long time and – I think I just kind of lost my shit. I should have done better.”

He cups your face in his hand and tilts your chin up, compelling you to look him in the eye.You find his gaze turbulent – some strange mix of contrition, arousal. Fear.

“Last night – ” he stops to blow out a heavy breath, “ – Was a shitshow, Doc. Hoseok was two steps away from taking a slug straight to the head. Everyone was shooting. It was fucking chaos.”

Suddenly it feels as though you’ve swallowed a spoonful of sand.

“But he’s, okay? Right? He’s not – ”

“No, he’s not,” Yoongi breaks in, saving you from having to voice the rest of that thought out loud. He drags the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “He’s okay.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re okay, too.”

“What about you?”

Yoongi’s entire body tenses at that question. His hand drops away from your face and the muscles in his shoulders and arms stiffen as he takes a half-step back. He sucks in a breath so sharp you nearly hold your own in response.

“I’m not going to push you,” you explain, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, you’re not ready. But if you tell me you’re afraid, then I’m going to ask you why, Yoongi. You have to know that.”

Yoongi drags a hand down his face, the tips of his ears pinking as a flush branches across his chest, his neck. You can’t help but feel like you’ve embarrassed him and the guilt is instantaneous, sinking in your stomach like a stone.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Really. We don’t have to do this right now. I can give you some space.”

You turn to make good on your promise, but you don’t get far. Yoongi catches your wrist with one hand, pulling you back to him with a firm grasp. “Don’t go,” he insists, dark eyes pleading.

“Then I won’t,” you promise. “Tell me what you need and I will do it, Yoongi. I swear it.”

He nods slowly, chest rising and falling with the series of steadying breaths he takes before he speaks.

“I went a really long time without anything to lose,” he starts. “It never mattered if I was out in the streets taking stupid risks every night because the only person who ever counted on me is me. Now all I can think about is you. What’s going to happen to you if I fuck up out there and get myself killed.”

“Then don’t get yourself killed.”

The words come out strained, despite your best attempt to make them sound lighthearted.

“It’s more than just that, Doc,” he persists, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. “Sometimes I worry that there will come a day when you wake up and decide this is too much for you. That it’s not what you signed up for.”

Your heart seizes painfully inside your chest. “No.” You shake your head vehemently, rejecting the notion with your entire body. “I won’t. I couldn’t.”

“The truth is that I can’t remember how I used to process all this bullshit before you. Now I think I have no idea how to do it without you. And that’s – ” He trails off, letting the thought hang in the air.

“Scary,” you murmur.

“Terrifying,” he corrects.

“Look at me, Yoongi,” you insist, stopping to swallow past the tightness in your throat. “I know what I signed up for. I know who you are. And I don’t want anyone or anything else. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes you off balance with his kiss. It’s frantic, frenzied – tongue in your mouth, lips at your ear, teeth at your pulse point. You gasp when he crushes his towel-clad hips to yours, the swollen outline of his cock already growing against your belly.

“I love you so fucking much, Doc.”

Yoongi growls the words into your mouth, blunt fingertips digging into the rounded curves of your ass. You free your hands long enough to tug at the towel around his hips until it falls away, snaking your fingers between your bodies to seek him out. Yoongi hisses when you wrap your warm palm around his cock, grip tight as you stroke him from base to tip.

“I need you, Yoongi. Right now.” You whisper the admission against the corner of his mouth, one hand guiding his cock to the juncture of your thighs. He shudders when he realizes you’re bare beneath his old, thin t-shirt, as you slide the length of him against the slippery heat that’s already pooling between your legs.

“So fucking wet already,” he gasps, the muscles of his stomach straining when you rock against him, slicking him with the moisture between your thighs. He shoves impatiently at the hem of your t-shirt, swearing under his breath as he tears it over your head without a single care for its fragile state. Then he tongues at both your nipples, gets them messy and wet before taking one of them between his teeth.

You whine at the drag of his tongue, at the rough way he toys with it until the peak is stiff and throbbing in his mouth. His hips rock faster against yours, cock now gliding easily through your wetness. Your inner thighs are slick with it and when Yoongi takes your other nipple into his mouth you can feel yourself grow even wetter.

You dig your hands into his damp hair.

“Yoongi, oh god, yes – ” you gasp, when he adjusts the angle of his slide so that he’s stroking against your clit. He likes the praise, he always has – and he drives closer, harder, just to hear you gasp again.

“I gotta get inside of you,” he mutters, cock twitching when your hands find and squeeze the muscles of his lean ass. “Right now, before I come like this.”

You release him from the vice grip of your thighs and turn around for him, pressing your palms flat to the counter. In the mirror, you watch as he runs one appreciative hand down the slope of your back. His fingers linger on the curve of your ass for a moment before he slides them lower, slipping two fingers inside of you.

Your hips jolt at the friction and Yoongi swears under his breath again.

In front of you, Yoongi’s reflection looks serious, brows knit in concentration as he slowly fucks you with his fingers. A flush spreads across his chest and up his neck as he works you, one hand pressed into the small of your back while his other hand stays buried inside your cunt.

“Yoongi,” you beg, arching your back to push harder against the heel of his hand, “Please just fuck me already.”

He chuckles darkly, slipping his fingers out of you. Then the slick sounds begin. You watch him in the mirror as he strokes his cock, jerking roughly at the blunt head before he’s pressing it to your entrance.

Then he’s pushing forward, sinking that first thick inch and your body gives way with little resistance. You’re so wet he buries himself to the hilt with one fluid thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, pulling out all the way to the tip and burying himself again. “Shit, that’s so fucking good.”

He experiments with that same stroke a few times, reveling in the way your whimper each time he bottoms out. But he needs more, you need more, and after a while he abandons the slow, torturous pace and sets to fucking you with determination.

Your fingertips go as white as the bathroom counter.

He knows your body well by now, can bring you to the brink and back with just a few expert touches. The force of his thrusts makes you fold over and he uses the angle to his advantage, one hand gripping your ass tight as he fucks you and the other reaching for your clit. The combination of both touches has your legs shaking, the sound of his ragged panting sending a sharp spike of arousal directly to your core.

“Come for me,” he says from between clenched teeth. “You’re right there. I can feel it.”

He bends down to scrape his teeth against the back of your neck, his strokes becoming more erratic with each thrust. And you arch harder into the press of his fingers. Then you are coming, so damn hard your arms give out and you collapse against the counter, body pliant and weak.

Yoongi rides out his own release only a heartbeat later. Between his heavy breaths, you hear him say your name.

Your real name.

The human body is a remarkable thing.

It’s incredibly resilient; capable of withstanding terrible trauma. Designed to mend muscle, seal skin and fuse bone.

The scar that sits just below Yoongi’s clavicle is well-healed by now, barely visible at a distance. But you can feel it – what little evidence remains of both crisis and cure. You run a fingertip over the raised skin and marvel at the tiny dips and dents that live just above and just below the surface. Perfect in its imperfection.

Yoongi cracks one eye open to steal a look at you, quiet as he watches you absentmindedly map the faint line of his scar. The shower steam has evaporated now, leaving a chill lingering in the air. He draws the sheets draped around you both a bit tighter.

“This give you any trouble lately?” you ask.

“Nah. I noticed it a bit last week when it rained, but it hasn’t bothered me much since then.”

That’s another thing about the body. It forgives, but it doesn’t always forget. Pain can simmer just beneath the surface for a lifetime following an injury and some people even feel pain in limbs they no longer have. All it takes is the right trigger and all that hurt can feel fresh again.

Perhaps that’s true for more than just the body.

“You were right last night,” you admit, burying your face into the crook of his arm. “Sometimes it scares me so much to think about what you’re up against out there that it’s just easier to pretend it’s not real.”

Yoongi pulls you a bit tighter into his side, turns his head to press a kiss to the wild mass of your hair.

“Right or not, it was still a pretty fucked up way to go about talking to you about it,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you walking around every day waiting to get a call. That’s no way to live.”

Sometimes you don’t know how he does it. How he can leave this bubble of contentment the two of you have created together to go out there and walk a thin line between life and death. Sometimes you don’t know how he manages to keep one foot in that world and one foot in yours without fracturing in two.

The comfortable space you’ve settled into against him shifts as he takes a deep breath.

“You’re not going to fight me on this thing with the money, right?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’m not going to fight you about the money. I know why you did what you did.”

“Good.”

“But if I’d known you were sitting on that much money, we would have had that argument on a yacht instead of in this apartment.”

Your smart mouth earns you a pinch to the side and you yelp, pinned in place by Yoongi’s iron grip.

“That hurt.”

“It was supposed to hurt.”

Yoongi’s mouth curves into a lazy grin as you glare at him.

“Funny. Anyway if I were you, I’d be sleeping with one eye open, Min. I might off you myself and get a beach house and a pool boy.”

“I would haunt that motherfucker.”

The two of you share a laugh at that – a good one, the kind of laugh you feel from your scalp all the way to the tips of your toes. But after a while the laughter subsides. The humor slowly seeps out of Yoongi’s face. His dark eyes go serious.

“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your face in one hand. He looks down at you with such sincerity that your heart trips inside your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that right?”

It’s not a lie. Not really. He means it when he says it, though both of you know it’s a promise he’s not in any position to make. But you’ll believe it, for him. For you, too.

You close your eyes and press your cheek to his chest; allow yourself to savor the feel of his solid warmth.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know.”

hi i actually wrote something and i'm feeling very happy about this. thank you for reading i hope you find an extra $20 in your pocket 💕

[mkfluffluv]

That's Aces!!

STEVEN GRANT X GN ASEXUAL READER

i said i was going to write my own asexual reader fic if no one did so i did just that.

feel free to request more fics, but just know that i won't write any smut

also english is not my first language, and i write my fics all in lower case and then try to add proper capitalization after but usually fail so. um. look out for those

likes and reblogs appreciated!!!

prompt : steven asks you out on a date. you blurt out that you're asexual. he's totally chill with it. plus a fluffy ending bc im a sucker for cheesy romance.

word count : 1,241

warnings : slight ooc maybe? this is literally just self indulgent fluff

masterlist

You and Steven were coworkers, both working together in the little gift shop in the British Museum.

You and him bonded over complaining about Donna's behavior and the giftshop's inaccuracies in merch, always laughing and snickering behind Donna's back whenever she was out of hearing range.

You grew to enjoy his company and also started to develop an embarrassing crush on him. and unbeknownst to you, Steven had felt the same.

After around 2 months of longing looks and heartfelt smiles, Steven had gathered enough courage to ask you out on a date to which of course, how could you not say yes?

So, now, here you are, on the date, enjoying yourself till you realized you'd forgotten an important detail about yourself that you're always sure to tell the people you date.

"I'm asexual." You randomly blurt out in the middle of Steven's rant about an Egyptian god.

Then, silence.

For a moment, you thought you had completely fucked everything up. Like, who comes out so suddenly like that in the middle of a seemingly normal conversation?! No one!

Well, no one but you that is.

'Ugh, gods, help your poor soul, and please have mercy. Let steven reject you gently.' You thought.

But of course, Steven is always full of surprises.

"That's aces!"

He stops and laughs nervously at his accidental pun.

Huh.

Well, that's certainly a first. You stare at Steven with what you could assume is a very flabbergasted expression on your face, fork still in hand and stopping mid-chew.

Steven misunderstands this expression and starts feeling around his face for any leftover crumbs of his vegan sandwich. "Do I have something on my face?" He asks.

This snaps you out of your thoughts and you slowly shake your head, still processing the situation before you. You continue to eat your food as an awkward and uncomfortable silence fills your and Steven's space.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You look up at Steven's sweet puppy dog eyes and you feel your heart clenching in your chest at how absolutely adorable his guilty face looked. It wasn't even that he offended you, of course not, if you weren't in so much shock right now by the way Steven reacted, you would've laughed at his silly accidental joke.

"No, Steven, it's okay. I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just," you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain how you were feeling at the moment. "Surprised is all. not many of my dates react this well after hearing I won't shag them." You silently cringe at your choice of wording but Steven only smiles and nods. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it once more and shaking his head, he mutters a quiet "I'm not gonna say that," to whoever it is he talks to. You're not one to judge.

"That's alright. I have more things to worry about than um," Steven pauses then, and you notice a faint pink starting to surface on his pretty cheeks. It's the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"You can say 'sex' around me Steven, I won't be offended." You let out an amused chuckle at the wide-eyed look that he gives you for your directness.

And then he smiles and goodness his smile could probably light up an infinite dark hole. You can't help but smile back and it seems Steven thinks the same of your smile.

The conversation flows smoothly after that, with Steven asking questions like where the line starts and ends when it comes to physical contact, and asking where you lie in the asexual spectrum. He genuinely just wants to know more about you and your sexuality and you answer his questions with a bright smile on your face. No one has ever bothered to ask you anything and this experience and Steven himself, you will promise to treasure for the rest of your life. His boyish charm reminds you of that of a golden retriever and the thought makes you smile wider if that was even possible.

After dinner, he offers to walk you home like the gentleman that he is and you refuse at first not wanting to be a bother just in case he was busy with anything and after a short pause in his step, he shakes his head and says that he doesn’t have much to do that night. So you accept his offer and start walking beside him, the back of your hands brushing against each other now and then. After a while, he offers his arm to you and you laugh at his formal gesture. You held out your hand for him to take and his brain short circuits for only a second before he takes your hand in his, his wide grin never leaving his face the whole way back to your apartment.

-

"Thank you for walking me home, Steven. You really didn't have to."

"Please, I offered. I wanted to spend at least a bit more time with you."

You feel a blush creeping up your face at his sweet words and let out a shy huff of amusement. This man is making it real hard to not fall for him. Though, you didn't seem to mind of course.

As you look into his eyes, you can't help but stare at the way he looks at you. The love and adoration contained in that gaze of his is making your heart feel so warm. It's so different than the looks that your other dates had given you. So, so very different and so, so accepting of who you are.

"I had fun," you say, not breaking eye contact. You would stare at those dark browns forever if you could.

Steven nods. "Me too."

You stop looking into his eyes and grab his hand. You then place a soft kiss to the back of it and grin triumphantly at the way Steven's face seems to turn slightly red at the gesture.

After a few more minutes of not really knowing how to say goodbye and even more eye contact, your neighbor's booming voice interrupts the wedding bells that were already ringing in your head.

"Get a room, you dorks." Janice from room 304 says, before slamming her front door closed. She had very loudly interrupted the comfortable silence that you and steven had surrounded yourselves in.

It starts with a huff of laughter from you, and one from him, and then continues to get more frantic and loud til you both were clutching at your stomach. You were laughing so noisily that you were sure Janice had come out to tell you both to shut up but you obviously wouldn't be able to hear her with how you were laughing so loud.

After maybe a few minutes, you both calmed down and what was left were only beaming smiles plastered on both your faces.

"I'll have to go back in now before Janice starts complaining again," you tell Steven, to which he reluctantly nods in understanding.

What you didn't expect him to do, however, was for him to take the palm of his hand from before and bring it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. An indirect kiss. This cheeky bastard.

He leaves then, leaving you standing there in front of your door with the tips of your ears red and a stupid grin on your face.

[kedreeva]

I feel like you might be the only person who might understand what the hell I'm talking about when it comes to what I've been struggling with. I can't write. Rather I can, but I have this crushing sense of guilt when I do. It started with fanfiction. Being too old to write fanfiction anymore and then even the little bits I managed to squeeze out getting stomped out by this gut clenching fear of writing for bad fiction. By that I mean media people absolutely despise. I have my own I stay away from, but it feels like I'm failing or disappointing my friends or even strangers because I want to write a silly fix it fic. It started with fanfics and now it's spread to my original writing. Now I feel like I'm failing and disappointing myself too. Sorry this is long. I just felt like I needed to say it to someone and you seemed like you'd understand.

In part, I understand the thought processes, and I think that it's more common than people let on, to be uncertain about creating stuff they think others won't like. It's hard to create against that when you care.

In practice, I stopped caring about what people thought of pretty much everything a long time ago. There are probably some things I would keep inside my friend circles for various reasons, but I have been incredibly self indulgent for YEARS. If I want to write it, I write it. Maybe I don't share it, or don't share it with many, but no one can stop me from creating the stuff I want to create. No one. And anyone telling me NOT to create something I want to create... well. spite is a powerful motivator for me. Strangers don't have the privilege of directing my behavior. My friends have earned the privilege of advising me because I trust them, and I adore them, but it's still not a right- and people thinking it IS a right, even when it comes to friendships, is a toxic way to consider interpersonal relationships and they wouldn't be good to be friends with at that point.

imo, write the damn fix it fic, and read the hell out of it yourself. I read my own fic all the time. I wrote it because I wanted to read it. I have stories I've never shared that sit in docs specifically for me to read, and no one else. It's so nice to have exactly what I want at my fingertips. it's nice to write without any pressure to share it with someone. and hell.... who's to judge it's silly in the first place.... if something brings happiness to even one person (and you count!!! you are a person!!) then... fuck it. who cares, it should exist. every small spark of happiness and light in this world is necessary and good, even if it's just your spark, even if no one but you notices it.

Also you're never to old to write fanfiction. Never. You're never, never, never too old to be so full of love for a thing that it overflows into words in a story. You're never too old to want to make something better with your own hands.

[wtf-amiru]

here you go

Okay you little shits I guess I'm posting my incredibly self indulgent little fic here now so here it is. It references a lot of other writing i've done for myself before this that i'm real hesitant to post bc it's just a lot of ancient smut, i'm not even sorry. This one's mostly fluff and I'm removing the smut from it bc it's so little, the other one is mostly smut with some fluff sprinkled through and i won't apologize for it lmao but i'm not going to post it either, just pretend you understand the references or ask if you really can't figure it out, I can quote most of the references made, but the majority is heckin PRIVATE lmao

also fair warning that this is fully not even what i would consider first draft material, this is rougher than rough draft lol there's a ton of repetition and the like.

Anyway, here you go, it starts after Elpis, rambles on and on and doesn't fucking end bc i'm actually the worst :)

Returning home after Elpis was harder than she expected, doubly so having to see the first final days and those friends she was instantly so close to ripped away. It left her with that familiar feeling of empty helplessness that had plagued her when she were in Ishgard, she knew this time she had people to help but that didn't stop the pain.

Being shipped off to Garlemald to help fight abominations was a welcome distraction but the flight home was too long and too quiet. Her hands start to shake and her jaw clenches, she just had to make it back to the annex she reminds herself.

G'raha's keen eye notices her shaking hands and stiff back, "hey, are you okay?" He whispers as he wraps an arm around her and pulls her close. She shifts so that her ear is pressed against his chest as she shakes her head; his heart beating loudly in her ear helped calm and ground her but did nothing to ease the pain in her heart. He kisses the top of her head and holds her close as he gently coos to her. He knew the middle of the airship with 25 loporrits and the rest of the scions was probably not the place to help her with whatever had her so rattled and instead just..."let me help.....hold your mess together" Hades' voice echoes through her head and knowing he ended that day not knowing who she even was felt like getting shot. Tears stream down her face as she tries to hold the tide back and G'raha gently rocks her.

Nearly despondent, she lets him lead her back to their room in the annex once they arrive in Old Sharlayan. He gingerly removes her winter clothes and armor and puts her in one of his bigger t-shirts as she sits and sobs in bed, finally letting herself feel all the things she had to witness on her way home through time. He gently crawls in behind her and pulls her into his chest as she chokes out the events of the last few days. All the bad stuff first, the last day, Hermes wiping their memories, the meteia twisting into creatures of nihility, having to see those people walk out of that building not knowing who she was in the slightest and everything she saw on her journey home. Hythlodaeus walking away from Hades for the final time looking so sad and resigned, a people scared and running, unable to accept or acknowledge the growing discontent they were feeding meteion, and Venat, strong and tall, trudging through time and hell to prove that mankind, despite all of his shortcomings and faults, deserved to live.

He blinks back the tears that well in his eyes as he holds her tight, it was so much more than he had expected. Knowing the truth of the final days and the truth of the villains they had faced since, the truth of the ascians and the truth of Emet-Selch. "You are not alone or helpless, you know that right?" His voice was gentle but grounded and firm, there was no wiggling out and trying to carry this alone despite that being her first reaction. She nods and tries to take a deep breath but it hitches and only serves to drag out another sob. "She loved them so much, it hurts so bad, it feels like Ishgard all over again" she pulls at G'raha, pulls him around her, letting his warmth and scent flood her senses and remind her that she's herself again as she tells him of the better things. Meeting Hythlodaeus and Hades, feeling that love so strongly for the first time, really feeling Azem show up as a separate and distinct set of feelings in that place and he's fascinated. The only person in the world right now with any knowledge of how it felt to have two souls who maybe had separate thought processes and urges. He's proud of her for letting herself follow Azem's instincts to the end, knowing it was quite literally the only chance she'd have to see those people again for some long while. She struggles to comprehend and reconcile all of her feelings for Hades and Hythlodaeus and words fail her for a moment as she slips into her head, but he catches her and pulls her back out, "you don't have to figure them out right now, you have time, you have time."

He gently rocks her like Thancred used to when she had the shakes so bad in Ishgard and she notices the similarity. "...have you been hanging out with Thancred?" She asks quietly and hears the soft burst of a laugh in response, "you're sharp, we got sent off to help Corvos together with Estinien". With everything out of her she felt empty, hollow, the storm having raged through her. "You said he and Estinien helped you the most during....my time away, so he's been filling in the gaps while you've been gone and we've been traveling. I hope that's alright," and she is quick to nod her assurances before he can continue, "of course it is." Thancred was probably the best source of information when it came to her, probably better than she was herself.

Time came and went as she laid there in G'raha's arms but the cold ache in her stomach didn't lessen and the gnawing at the back of her mind wouldn't stop. "I'll be right back, I need to talk to him." She finally says and pushes up off his chest, or tries to, but his arms push her back down "he can come here, you're not going anywhere right now." He touches his ear and says a few words and she has to just let him care for her this time. She'd gotten so used to caring for him in the first as his body slowly turned to crystal, and helping him recover once he was back in the source. More than a few times he'd had to remind her that he's fine here, that's not going to happen to him here.

There's a soft knock at the door and Thancred's head pops through. He seems surprised to see her looking so devastated and she remembers that he wasn't there on her flight home, this was the first time she'd seen him since she got back and he manages to gently stride over and crouch in front of her at the edge of the bed. "Hey, is everything okay? You look like shit." She snorts as G'raha lets her off his chest to hug Thancred and she explains the familiar creeping chill in her chest, that too familiar pain. "Okay, well no more drinking of course, we should all try to refrain. I'll let the others know. Thank you for being so quick to catch this, we'll see you get through this like always." His words are soft and gentle as he ruffles her hair and she closes her eyes a moment. He stands back up and she lets herself fall back onto G'raha again as Thancred gives him a nod and leaves again. 

Now she could actually relax, wrapped in G'raha's arms as a quiet purr shakes out of her intermittently. "He means a lot to you," she nods her head, he did. "He's known me since I was a ratty little teenager" and she feels G'raha's chest shake with laughter behind her head, "I'll have to ask him about that, I have a hard time imagining you as ratty ever" he says, "you should, I was a little shit head" she smiles thinking about the several times she had tried to take a swing at Thancred in anger and how when she was a teenager he could literally just palm her fist away.  "Do you love him?" The question was honest and not the least bit accusatory and the smile falls off her face as she's forced to actually contemplate it. The silence that falls over the room is one without pressure or expectation. "In a way, I think I do" it comes out of her as almost a question. She'd absolutely be lying if she said she didn't, of that she's sure.

It's quiet and she shifts to look up at G'raha to see him smirking, hand moving to his ear, "you owe me 20 Gil" he whispers quietly with growing concern and panic as her eyebrows furrow and her mouth falls open in shock. "Raha Tia of the Gryphon tribe, what is the meaning of this?!" She feigns anger and shock but it was nice to see him giggling in a fit if she was being completely honest, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Ah! Hey!" He laughs as she pushes him into the bed under her. "I told you we had been travelling together! I wanted to know more about Ishgard and the more he told me, the more he spoke in general honestly, the more I couldn't shake the feeling that you had to have some feelings for him, the way you trust him to know what's best. He insisted no, because of course he did, but I knew you wouldn't hide it from me if I just asked you." His eyes stare up at her in sincerity and she lets herself deflate onto his chest once again. Today had been a lot, but she couldn't deny she felt lighter for it. "I really have to stop thinking I can hide anything from anyone ever, even if I don't even know it yet." She hears a soft chuckle as G'raha's arms wrap tight around her, "you sure have gotten bad at it, that's for certain. I remember not knowing a damn thing that was going on in your head when we first met." She snorts and lets her face squish against his chest, "I was a different person back then," "we both were."

She thinks back to those crystal tower days, to being so frustrated by her distracting emerging feelings and taking it out on G'raha in response, to listening to him tell her tall tales of Allagan history, and to falling asleep against him in the ruins as he spoke. "G'raha?" She keeps her head down but feels his lift to look at her, "I'm hungry" she replies quietly and holds her laughter in until after G'raha had burst out laughing. "Fair enough, let's head over to the last stand then."  She whines at the thought of putting clothes on to go outside but pulls shorts and sandals on, keeping G'raha's soft t-shirt on; she wishes she had Thancred's jacket but she doesn't have it in her to figure out those feelings right in this moment, she just wanted something to eat and to rest.

Over their visit to the Last Stand both Urianger and Y'shtola stop by, to check on her she suspects; Urianger brings a thermos of tea and one of his worn cardigans, her favorite, and she slips into it immediately.  When they're done eating and visiting, G'raha walks back to the annex with her but sends her into their room alone, he was going to talk to Thancred, who they both agreed was probably loosing his mind after G'raha's cryptic message from earlier trying to figure out what it meant. She kisses him before he goes and retires into their room, flopping into bed and staring at the ceiling. A lot had happened in the handful of hours she had been back and she goes over it again in her head.

Thancred and her feelings for him. They're not the same as the feelings she has for G'raha. If G'raha was her calm point in the storm, Thancred was her mooring line keeping from straying too far into the storm. He reminded her of Hades that last morning she was in Elpis, strong walls to keep her safe.

She crosses her arms over her face and groans, the world was ending and she was wondering what it'd be like to kiss her friend. "Hey, none of that now." She hears G'raha's voice from the door and just groans louder, curling up on her side as he laughs at the spectacle. She peaks out from her crossed arms and checks the door, no Thancred; probably good, she just wanted to rest tonight, not sort the mess in her head. "He needed time to process, you do too. No thinking, the doctor is prescribing only rest." He kicks his pants off into the corner and slips out of his shirt before dimming the lights to only the lamps within reach of bed. He crawls into bed and pulls her with him, curling her into his arms. "I missed you," she says quietly into his chest and already her eyes felt heavy. She feels soft lips on her forehead and reaches up to sleepily kiss G'raha, hand on his cheek.

Kissing him was like following a path back to herself, reminded her that she was herself, not Azem; she was in control of this body and mind. She lingers in the kiss, lips barely touching as her eyes drift close. "Get some sleep A'miru, I'll be here when you wake." He whispers as he pulls her in. "Tell me stories, like you used to in The Find" She says quietly and hears the sound of a soft chuckle, "of course..."

Sleep takes her almost immediately as G'raha starts talking and as a mercy she doesn't dream at all that night. For once sleep is peaceful and restful. She wakes the next morning fully sprawled out across G'raha who's already awake but just barely. She loved seeing him sleepy, it was one of her favorite things, it was so cute but she was never up early enough to see it. She reaches up to touch his face and his hand holds hers against his cheek as he purrs under her. "Did you sleep well?" He croaks, voice thick with sleep still. She nods and gives him a small kiss before snuggling back into his chest, "hey now, no no no, we're waking up, not going back to sleep." He's laughing as she groans and wraps the blankets tight around herself, refusing to let go as he tries to uncover her. "Come on," he grunts as he pushes her up to sit and she lets out a huff as she admits defeat. "Fine..." She yawns, stretches and seriously gives thought to just laying back down now that he was up and out of bed. "Coffee and breakfast will be waiting in common room." He reminds and she perks up, "coffee...they didn't have coffee in Elpis" G'raha laughs, "that must've been rough."

He's already clothed with his hair combed and braided by the time she finally gets up off the bed, not bothering to get dressed before being half pushed out of the room in her pajamas by G'raha, his hand on the small of her back.

Breakfast that morning was just coffee, warm and creamy and sweet. She leaves the common room feeling more awake and mostly herself again. Back to work. Back to figuring out these feelings of hers. Speaking of, Thancred was suspiciously absent from breakfast and she wonders if he's ok or if yesterday really has him rattled today. She should check on him. She stares at his door just a few down from hers, building up the courage to go knock on it, what would she even say? She contemplates it as she stares at the door, which opens, snapping her out of her inner monologue. She groans maybe a little too loudly and rushes into her room as Thancred steps out of his. Stupid feelings making her stupid and spacy again, why couldn't she just say it? She never was good with words though, picking the right ones took more time than she'd like and it was frustrating.

Thancred stands in the hall just outside of his room slightly stunned and very confused. He could've sworn he just heard a cranky A'miru rush into her room as he stepped out and wonders what that might be about. He shrugs it off though and continues down the hallway and outside. Once outside he wanders off down the path to quietly figure out how he felt about the information G'raha had so casually given him.

He felt....conflicted in a way, caught between his feelings and his responsibilities in a way that was not unfamiliar to him.

He thinks back to when he first met her. "Met" wasn't exactly the right word, more like caught. A frantic chase through the streets of Ul'dah as she ran from him after pick-pocketing someone's coin purse right out from under their nose without anyone but him even noticing. He'd chased her into a corner in a back ally and grabbed her as she was attempting to literally climb up the side of the building onto the roof. Reminded him of himself.

He'd pushed her against the wall with one hand as he took the coin purse from her and she'd kicked and growled at him. He'd noticed how rail thin and dirty she'd been and unpocketed the coin purse, giving her a handful of coins from it. "Get something to eat, visit the baths and save the rest. I catch you doing this again and it's going to be bad for you, don't make me regret this." He'd growled at her before walking off again.

Except she did. More than a handful of times over the next few months he repeated much the same chase through the alleys of Ul'dah, each time getting longer and longer as she corrected her mistakes and found faster routes out of sight and up high. Until finally he caught her stealing the most garish hat and dragged her kicking and screaming to the rogue's guild leader in Limsa; that was not a fun flight. "Jacke, she's making my life hell but she's good. Please, for the sake of my sanity help me out here."

He wasn't sure it was an improvement but at least in the guild she was given a reason to use those skills, and it seemed to work. When she came back to Ul'dah he spent less time looking for that little shit head thief and more time spotting her actively at work.

The day he saw her hit the bricks because of the echo he was surprised and also not at all surprised; she'd had all that natural skill since day one, of course it was her.

And the rest was history, sort of. She became part of the scion family so to speak, never really attached to anyone closely, like this was just another job for her. And so that's how he treated her, like a new co-worker, showing her the ropes.

Thancred wanders aimlessly away from the annex vaguely towards Neumenon and finds himself on a bench under a tree overlooking Sharlayan's harbour, cool sea breeze on his face.

When did it start? If he could pinpoint when he started feeling the way he did about her he could figure out the why of it, or at least that's what he told himself. He pulls his hands over his face and groans, admitting that they'd festered there for too long to know. At some point she had attached herself to him so firmly, he was her best friend and she was his. He'd grown to know her so well as to be able to read her emotions and troubles from across the room.

He'd watched her fall in love for the first time with G'raha in Mor Dhona, proud that she had finally found her person. And he had watched her fall apart in Ishgard, helped her pull herself back from the depths of pain and heartbreak. Was that it? The adamant refusal to sit and let her wallow and stay in that place, the refusal to see her hurt that bad again. Was that when it started?

He sighs and looks up at boughs above him. It had hurt his heart so much last night to walk into that room and see her drifting back to that place; whatever she had seen in the first, or wherever she had gone this time, must've been bad if it sent her back there but he was glad G'raha was there to catch her.

But she called him. She had called for him as soon as she felt it creeping back in; it was him that she trusted her weaknesses with, to know what the right thing to do for her wellbeing was. That had to mean something; he had to admit the paths were there if he had a mind to look for them.

All the time he spent regretting staying behind so she could escape, leaving her lost and alone in Ishgard. What would have happened if he'd been there to help her and keep her out of the bottle? But then would she be here calling on him at the first sign of trouble, would she trust him as much as she does? Did she need to break to be the vibrant shock of life she is now?

The questions piled up in his mind under that tree until he heard footsteps approaching. Turning, he spots G'raha walking up, two to go cups in his hands. "In the famous words of...well you, you look like shit." G'raha sits next to him, handing him one of the cups. "Nice view," he comments taking in the view of the harbour. "I hadn't noticed" Thancred quietly replies as he leans forward , resting his elbows on his knees. G'raha sighs and takes a long sip of his coffee before speaking, "you're thinking about it too much." "That's rich coming from you" Thancred snorts in reply and G'raha laughs wholeheartedly. "Yeah, that's fair, but learn from my mistakes, don't make it complicated. If you love her, and she loves you that's all the information you need, isn't it? We can figure the rest out as we go." Thancred sits back on the bench and turns to G'raha, "how are you so blasé about this?"  G'raha laughs and looks into his coffee, "being over 300 years old and dating, well, a chaotic gremlin, I'm learning to roll with the punches." He contemplates for a second, eyes still down in his coffee, "plus it's not like you're hard on the eyes so what am I complaining about." He says it so calmly, you'd never know his stomach was doing summersaults. G'raha takes a drink of his coffee and stands before Thancred can say anything, "well, I'm off, think about it. Or rather don't, we don't know what we're doing either and it's not like we're going to be afforded a surplus of time these days ."

And off he walked, just like that. That hadn't helped at all, he thinks as he sinks down into the bench. He did make one good point though, with an event literally called the final days actually happening right now this may be one of the last few times they had the opportunity to admit their feelings. If not now, when?

Time and time again life had proven that good things do not always come to those who wait and wonder, they come to those who act.

Maybe just once, he could let himself have this one thing.

With quiet resignation and no small amount of fear and trepidation Thancred sighs and gets up from the bench. This was not going to be resolved by waxing poetic on a park bench, or over analyzing every tiny detail.

***

(PLEASE PRETEND THE ROOMS HAVE A SMALL BATH AND A LIL HEARTH PLEASE THANK YOU)

The door squeaks as G'raha pushes through it and slips in while she's in the bath, "oop, I'm so sorry! I'll give you the room." He still got flustered and panicked sometimes and it was very endearing. "Don't even think about it, I'm almost done anyway." She sinks down in the water as he comes to sit beside the tub. She was done and had been for a while now but the water was warm and quiet and still and helped her sort through your mind. "How are you feeling today?" His voice is quiet and soft like a cloud as he sits on the floor next to the tub and rests his head next to hers. "Good, tired but better. Like I poured my entire self out last night and am slowly filling back up. Still trying figure out what to say." She stares at a tiny spot on the ceiling, if she could figure out the right thing to say to Thancred she could relax and just tell him how she felt. But what were the right words, they never come to her like they do G'raha, they require careful planning. "God's you two are exactly the same. YOU taught me to follow my heart, to speak up and reach for the things I want, yet neither one of you can get out your head enough to do it yourself." She pouts and opens her mouth to protest "that's -" "RICH COMING FROM ME, I KNOW." He's almost shouting in frustration and something about it makes her smile. "I was going to say mean, but you're not wrong." She laughs and gives him a peck on his forehead.

"Do you remember back in the Find? All those times I'd have to leave to go be the champion of Eorzea" G'raha makes a face, like he doesn't understand what this has to do with anything. "Of course, you'd always come back grouchier than you left" he laughs, remembering all the harmless terror she had inflicted upon him those days. "I'd always come back after I had rationalized my feelings away, convinced myself that they were anomalous, or just plainly not real. I'd come back and all that work I spent convincing myself would shatter as soon as I was back and it pissed me off." She smiles, the memories were fond now, no longer painful reminders. "All of that to say you're right, I know, I should talk to him." His face is soft as he watches her blink up at the ceiling. "You always say choosing the right words is hard, but I think you are very good at communicating how you feel. You just did now, you did last night when you got home and when I called Thancred in for you. Why is it you can tell him about that cold clawing in your stomach but not the feelings in your heart?" She groans and lets herself slip below the water, he reminded her of Hythlodaeus that first day. "I wish to understand your hesitation" it echoes through her mind and stills her for a moment. Just be honest, like she had been in Elpis, like she had been last night and every other time she'd leaned on Thancred to stay okay, it didn't have to be any more complicated than that.

She bursts out of the water, startling G'raha, and only splashes a little bit of water on him as she leans over to kiss him quickly before grabbing her towel and standing, wrapping it around herself. "As usual, you're right, I should go talk to him. Thank you." She kisses him one more time before striding towards the door. "I don't think having that conversation naked is going to end the way you think it will," she hears from behind her and without breaking stride she wheels around back towards the bed; right, clothes first then courage. G'raha laughs from the table as she quickly dresses and throws on her boots before turning to look at him "go" he urges with a smile and shoos her out of the room.

She can't stop moving, if she stopped she'd never get herself going again. The problem was it was already mid-morning and she had exactly 0 idea where Thancred would be. She manages to ask Ojika if they've seen him on her way by and only gets that he'd left quite a bit earlier and hadn't been back since; must've been when she had seen him in the hallway. Well shit. She picks up the pace, jogging towards the door to swing it open. Except it's already moving and she slams into Thancred's chest as he walks in from outside. "I found Thancred," she hears Ojika announce with a laugh from behind her, "mhmm, thanks Ojika" she grumbles weakly as she peels herself off of Thancred's armor. "Looking for me?" He says with only about half of his usual cockiness. "Yeah, actually. Can we..." She points outside and he nods, "yeah" and follows her out.

He lets her lead him through town to a tiny ledge overlooking one of the rivers without question or hesitation and a silence falls over them as they sit listening to the water.  "I don't know how to start this," she whispers quietly in defeat and Thancred snorts, "don't look at me because I don't either." A soft chuckle escapes her, "at least we're on the same page there....are you okay?" She stares up at the one whisp of a cloud in the sky as it drifts, "Am I okay? Really? You just got back from time traveling and you're asking if I'm okay?" She laughs out loudly, point taken, "shut up and answer the question already." She pushes his shoulder and leans back against the cliff behind her. "Yes, yes, I'm okay if a little taken aback is all. I didn't believe G'raha when he posited the theory, I couldn't. But he was so calm and clinical about it, no jealousy or anger, just an astute observation in your pattern of behavior...he loves you a lot you know?" It wasn't often Thancred spoke like this, even to her so she stays quiet and listens, only blushing and nodding when he speaks of G'raha's love for her. She pulls her knees up to her chest and leans her head against them, looking at Thancred. "When? How?..Why?!" He's exasperated trying to figure it all out. "Thancred I just spent 5 days in a place where there are no rules around relationships because they lived so long. Azem had two partners there and I met them both, felt their love for her. That kind of carefree love that comes easy because there are no expectations. It kind of forces things into perspective when you leave that to return to something so finite and on the edge that you don't know if you'll even see tomorrow. These feelings had been there a while, I never thought to look for them until G'raha brought it up and I had to admit I'd be lying if I said no. When is the better time when time is not guaranteed?"

G'raha had pretty thoroughly gone over what she had been through in the first, in Elpis, last night but hearing her say it made it true, real. He wanted to kiss her so bad, to fold her into his arms and keep her safe. She did too much, gave too much too easily, but he swallows it down, tucks it away from sight like he was so used to doing with everything he wanted. "G'raha said much the same thing when I saw him this morning, and I can't deny the truth in it. Even now tomorrow is not guaranteed, we could wake up to the sky on fire." He's quiet, pensive, like he's arguing with himself and she's only seeing half of it. She reaches out and touches his wrist, gentle, like he'd do to her those nights she got so lost in herself, and his head snaps up to her. "It's okay to not know Thancred, there doesn't always have to be an answer to all the questions. I'm telling you, it's okay."

He turns to her, brows furrowed and eyes soft, and his hand touches her cheek, guides her up to him like he was finally going to kiss her but he pauses. He lingers there, breathing...thinking "Thancred...if you have feelings for me at all you better kiss me right now or I'm-" his lips press against hers tentatively and softly like he wasn't sure he was doing it correctly or...like it was important, like he didn't want to mess it up. It makes her smile, "I didn't expect you'd be so shy, mister ladies man." She smiles against his lips as he fully deflates in an instant. "Don't, I hate that coming from you" he groans and she laughs, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm going to be honest, I fully don't know what I'm doing." He leans back against the cliff, taking her with him. "I never know what I'm doing, especially when it comes to this stuff," she says quietly "I'm not sure that's a comfort." And she can finally hear him smile again as she gives him a shove and he lets out a small chuckle.  "I do know that I don't want to do this without you and G'raha with me, and I'm trying really hard not feel selfish." There's a beat of silence, "I think he called me hot this morning," Thancred says quietly and she bursts out laughing, "aww I'm so proud, he must've been dying inside." She'd spotted the affection in his words as he explained himself under her the night before and had wondered if maybe she'd had been imagining it. Guess not. "I don't know, he was pretty calm about it."

"did he leave immediately afterwards?"

"pretty much"

"dying inside"

Thancred finally let's himself laugh and she enjoys it, he needed to relax more. "It doesn't bother you?" She knew it didn't, she just wanted to hear him say it. "You know the answer to that already...in fact....didn't we talk about this one time after you first met him? When we were really drunk?" She snorts and laughs as she recalls the night in a Limsa pub he's talking about. Both trashed after a job and dishing on her new crush and how frustratingly attractive he was. She retreats into herself a moment and like a trained professional Thancred immediately spots it. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bringing that up right now" but she shakes her head, "no it's fine, it was just...it all seemed so big back then and now look at us. Literally at the end of things....with rabbits from the moon....", "I still can't believe it, especially the rabbits part." He wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer. "We can figure this out as we go..." he quietly confirms and she laces her fingers through his as they sit there listening to the water rushing below.

G'raha was off at the library today, in the parts she was not allowed to go and Krile had ensured that her schedule was remarkably empty so she 'settled' for following Thancred and Urianger around, sprinkled with intermittent naps against Thancred as he went about his day. Time travel really knocked it out of her, she hadn't felt this tired since she came back from the first, at least that's what she told herself. So she takes the time she's been given and lets herself rest while tagging along. It was nice to get out and also rest and also get to spend time with Thancred without any pressure.

By the end of the day she'd stolen Thancred's jacket and a cardigan from Urianger and was lounging around in her gown of warm comfort in the main hall of the annex. "You look comfy," G'raha was back from the library and she makes her way over to him. She wraps her arms around his waist and lets her forehead thud against his chest as Thancred watches from the other side of the room. "I'm so tired, never make me time travel again," and a laugh bubbles out of both G'raha and Thancred. "I wouldn't dare," he laughs and ruffles her hair. "Have you had dinner?" The question isn't directed at her, she looks up to see it's directed at Thancred and he shakes his head at the same time she does.

The decision is made to pick up food for dinner instead of going out and Urianger and Y'shtola decide to join, then the twins and Krile, and finally Alphinaud drags Estinien in against his will, making it a crowded and full night in with the scions in their room.  She falls asleep surrounded and comforted by her closest friends, against Estinien's arm as Y'shtola talks about something that she was researching. 

No one notices at first, she'd been quiet since she had gotten back and often was anyways. Estinien gently places her into bed and the rest of the scions finish their food a few decibels quieter and take their leave, leaving just G'raha and Thancred.

"I take it you talked finally?" G'raha was contented, if a bit worried at how tired and sleepy she appeared to be today. Thancred nods and glances at the sleeping body wrapped up in his coat, it'd been such a strange start to an otherwise normal day. So many things ran through his head, all of the information he'd processed today and it was actually allowing himself to have this thing he'd wanted for so long that rattled him so hard. He'd tucked those feelings away for so long he'd almost forgotten they existed.

Thancred blinks and pulls himself out of his own head to look at G'raha again, he notices the peaked furrowed brow and look of concern being cast toward her. "What's got you troubled?" He asks and G'raha glances back at him. "Should we be worried about how much she's sleeping? It seems an awful lot..." Thancred hadn't expected such an honest answer, though he wasn't sure why. "No..." He starts, he places a hand on G'raha's back, "it's how she processes grief," he feels G'raha's shoulders slump, "she would have been much worse had you not been there for her, G'raha. We can't protect her from feeling." It was a lesson he'd struggled to learn himself over the years and seemed pertinent now especially. "She'll be okay, just wait, she'll be kicking my ass soon enough." G'raha snorts. The words made sense in his head but he couldn't help but worry a small amount. He was glad Thancred had agreed to be pulled in to this, he knew so much about her, had known her so long that if he said she'd be okay G'raha could trust that. Thancred had been there before and while he had been away, he'd seen her at probably her worst. He was someone G'raha could trust to know when she was and wasn't okay and it was comforting to have him around since G'raha had to admit he was prone to worrying. "We should get her out of that coat..." And Thancred snorts, "honestly not sure how she's sleeping it, it's kind of a lot." Together they manage to get Thancred's coat off of her without waking her and decide she can keep the long cardigan from Urianger on.

G'raha's in bed before Thancred, leaving him to crawl in against the wall, almost feeling like an intruder. He lays there with his back against the wall looking at her barely lit by the moon through the open window, with G'raha's broad shoulders behind her and his arm over her waist. He had a certain...reputation, he'd earned it over the years and had never regretted any of his decisions but he'd developed certain habits; staying the night wasn't usually one of them, not sober at least. He didn't want this to be like that, she was important, he couldn't just run away from her in the middle of the night. "Thancred get out of your head and c'mere." Her eyes are still closed but her arms are outstretched towards him so he slides over, lets her pull him close and rest her head on his chest.  "We'll be here when you wake" he hears G'raha whisper quietly before a purr rumbles out of her followed shortly by a deeper rumble from behind her and together the white noise pulls Thancred to sleep as well as he contemplates how quickly all of this had happened.

When he wakes next the room is much lighter and G'raha is slipping out of bed, rolling A'miru onto him as he does. Thancred makes a sleepy, half awake noise as he pulls her closer and looks up at G'raha and he had to admit, Thancred was adorable when he was sleepy like this, "I'm just going for a shower, if someone's not here when she wakes she'll panic." Thancred nods and quickly goes back to sleep holding her close as G'raha slips out of the room.

Thancred is awoken again some time later by a stirring in his arms as A'miru barely wakes and pushes against his chest. "Mmmm, where's..." She groggily pushes away from him and looks around. "He went for a shower, he's fine," and he has to smile as she nods and is back to sleep before she's even laying down again. "Should be waking up," he coaxes and she whines into his chest her disagreement. He can't help it, he can't argue with her like this, sleepy and curled up and adorable. It was too new, too cute, it felt like a gift just for him, so he pulls her close and holds her tight as they drift back to sleep. For a moment at least, until he remembers that today the forum was finally taking them underground. He groans, they have to get up. "Hey, hey we have to get up" her face scrunches up and she pulls the blankets up around her. Thancred laughs and peels the blankets back off of her, "come on, they're taking us underground today, we can't be late." He pulls her face out from her arms, he wants to kiss her, slow and soft until she's awake, but he's not there yet, he's not used to letting himself have this thing he wanted yet. So he settles for kissing her forehead, having to push her bangs out of the way. "Your hair is....wild." he laughs and glances at the mess as she stirs, "oooh I fell asleep before I could braid it" she whines and finally blinks open her eyes to look at him. "Good morning," she smiles at him, smiles because of him, and doesn't hesitate as she pulls him in for a kiss and he follows her. Let's her lead him down that path before she pulls away, smiling with his face in her hands. "I could get used to this," he says quietly against her lips and she laughs. "Did you sleep okay?" She sits up, rubbing her eyes and stretches as he follows close behind, pulling himself to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, once you and G'raha were purring the drone knocked me right out." She rests her hand on his leg next to hers and Thancred rests his hand over top. "It's a lot for you isn't it," her words are quiet, almost ashamed. "Yes, it is" he admits and she looks up at him concerned. "but none of this is new to me," he smiles at her comfortingly and wraps an arm around her. "I am fine, I'll be fine. None of this is new, just unpracticed." He kisses the top of her head before getting up and finding his clothes.

Unabashedly, she watches him dress. This wasn't the first time she'd slept in the same bed with Thancred. During the dragonsong war and in Ishgard she used to slip into his bed in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. It kept her home, out of the pubs and taverns. She had needed another body to feel okay, someone to keep her accountable. It wasn't romantic, or sexual, she'd sneak into his bed so that he'd stop her from going out or when she hurt too much to sleep and needed to know she wasn't alone.

She's up on her feet, striding over to him before she knows it and is wrapping her arms around his waist. "Whoa, hey, hey...." Thancred softens as she hugs him with her head on his chest and he let's himself reciprocate. "Everything alright?" He chuckles down at her and she nods, "I'm really happy" she admits so plainly it almost catches him off guard and he lets himself smile, "hey," he hooks a finger under her chin and pulls her face to look at his, "I am too," he says quietly before kissing her.

Thinking of the actions was different than actually doing them himself. He'd spent the last day wanting to make the move to kiss her and hesitating, so used to not being allowed to act on those feelings that this one small kiss felt like a type of victory he'd yet to taste. It felt right.

"Well at least one of you is dressed," G'raha's in the door with damp hair and a tray of to go cups. "Coffeeeee" A'miru excitedly groans and hurries over as both Thancred and G'raha laugh. "Gmorning babe," she presses onto the balls of her feet to kiss G'raha's cheek as he hands her the coffee that likely has "too much cream and too much sugar" according to other people. "Sleep well?" He asks her as he hands Thancred the third cup, setting the tray down on the table, and she nods with a small "mhmm" into her coffee. "And you?" He looks to Thancred who seems only slightly surprised, "oh, yes" he nods as A'miru hurries off to get dressed and G'raha gives him a quick smile. 

"Sorry to leave you with the hardest job first thing in the morning," G'raha laughs as they move to sit down at the table and Thancred shakes his head. "Oh, she wasn't that bad this morning, really." There's laughter from behind the changing partition, "don't listen to him, if he hadn't remembered where we were going today we'd absolutely still be sleeping," Thancred slumps at the table with a sigh, "she's not wrong..." He admits and G'raha bursts out laughing. "Yes, that sounds about right." He agrees with a laugh as she emerges from behind the screen dragging a brush through her hair before tying it up.

Seeing her emerge and grab her coffee, Thancred and G'raha open the door and head out. They make it a few steps before they notice that A'miru had stopped in the doorway, passing her coffee cup slowly from one hand to the other as her tail swishes back and forth quickly. "Miru?" G'raha calls and using her short name snaps her out of it but she looks concerned. "What's wrong?" Thancred's quick to follow up. She looks back down at her hands, and the others do as well. "I don't have enough.." she says quietly, staring into her coffee to hide the flush from her face and the two males look at each other in confusion, "enough what?" G'raha asks gently, moving to put a hand on her back but she just bristles and glares up at him, "I don't have enough hands!" She blurts out in frustration and it takes a second before Thancred bursts out laughing. "Can't hold your coffee and both of our hands, can you?" He's answered by a glare, which only makes him laugh harder as G'raha giggles and solves the problem by throwing his arm around her shoulders and Thancred grabs her free hand. "Problem solved." G'raha says and kisses the top of her head and she huffs as they make their way down the hallway and towards what was sure to be an exciting day of discovery down below the actual city.

And boy what a day was, when A'miru got back to the annex her whole body was tired and she was starving. "I need foooooood," she complains as she drags Thancred back out of the annex toward the Last Stand and he smiles.

Kokkol had kept G'raha fairly busy at the forge so he had decided to stay in a room down there so he could finish what he needed to quicker, the lifts did take a while to traverse. Normally she would have just stayed down there as well but G'raha had encouraged her to spend the night at home, he hadn't wanted to risk waking anyone with any odd hours, he wanted her to get good rest right now and after she had told him what Thancred had said that morning he figured it would be a good opportunity to have some quality time with him, make sure he was handling things okay and she'd agreed; he'd seemed overwhelmed.

At the last stand they find a quiet table in the back corner, order their food and, as always, Thancred is surprised at how much A'miru can pack away.

"Can we go for a walk or something? The sun is still out."  She's looking out over the water at the sun that's lazily making its way through the early evening sky and Thancred nods his head, "yeah, I've got an idea, come on." He says with a mischievous smile as she slips her hand into his on the way out.

He leads her away from the last stand and back towards the annex, past it towards Neumenon but past that too, to a fence.  With a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking he hops up and over the fence, "come on, before someone sees" he and with a grin she hops the fence, making it look easier than he had. "Where are we going?" She asks quietly as they walk away from the fence, "somewhere I used to sneak away to when I was younger," he smiles. A'miru had forgotten he had all but grown up here in Sharlayan, she'd met him in Ul'dah and found him again in Ul'dah when she'd returned from Limsa, he was so transitory and good at settling in she forgot he wasn't actually from Ul'dah at all.

Thancred leads her around some buildings, through an overgrown meadow and a ridge of trees to what looked like an abandoned yard. They jump over another fence, stone this time and wind their way back along the edge of what appeared to actually be some sort of abandoned park, or garden. She could see the vague outline of a fountain under all the brush and there were paving stones peaking out here and there. "Thancred, what is this place?" Her steps slow a moment as she takes in her surroundings. "It's an old public park that was closed...gods, a while before master Louisoix brought me back here. Someone purchased the land and closed it for work or something, but never did anything with it for whatever reason, but come, this isn't our destination." He cracks another mischievous smile before turning and pulling her along with him.

Finally, he pushes through a small opening in the brush and holds the branches out of the way so that she can follow. "Admittedly, it was a lot easier to get out here when I was smaller..." He trails off as he watches her emerge and take in her surroundings.

What A'miru sees is remarkable. Her mouth drops open slightly as she steps away from Thancred. "Thancred this is..." She hadn't realized how far up they had gone. Stepping out from the walls of the garden she had emerged next to a beautifully overgrown gazebo on a grassy cliff looking out over the ocean as the sun set. She couldn't see or hear the city anymore, only the wind and the ocean below.

"I used to come here when I was younger and needed to clear my head...which happened to be frequently." He chuckles softly as he follows her out into the sun again. He touches the small of her back and she turns to him, eyes wide like this had been a surprise he'd been planning for days. "It's beautiful..." She moves away from him, slipping her hand back into his and pulling him with her towards the vine covered gazebo with a broken roof.

"Here..." he lets go of her hand and slips his jacket off, placing it on the warm sunny patch of the gazebo floor before sitting down and pulling her with him. She settles in between his legs and leans back against him as he wraps his arms around her.

They sit in silence like that, watching the sun gradually dip in the sky before she speaks again, "I know I keep asking you this but," and Thancred exhales with a sigh, knowing what was coming, "are you actually okay?" She shifts to look up at him as he gazes out over the cliff. "I don't know how to explain my....apprehension isn't quite the right word...a good portion of my life has been spent around you." He glances down at her in his arms, kisses her forehead, "It's funny how you can have feelings for someone and not really realize it until someone asks you if they exist." "Tell me about it," she says with a wistful smile, intimately familiar with that feeling right now as well. "I'm okay, I promise you, I am. But you know me, you know I've not been one for real relationships for...well...not really ever." He glances down at her blinking up at him, no judgement or prejudice directed his way. "Never?" She asks quietly, "once, it didn't end well, it was my fault." Of course he'd say it was his fault, she thought to herself, he had always blamed everything on himself, too loyal to see fault in anyone else in those situations. She shifts and turns in his arms so she's facing his right and he doesn't even need to shift to support her back against his arm. "I'm not accustomed to..." He pauses trying to figure out the words but A'miru continues for him, "having what you want?" and the look that Thancred gives her is both confirmation and confusion, "I've known you for some few years too, Thancred. I've watched you do nothing but turn away from the things you actually want since I met you." Hearing someone he cared about point it out so plainly hurt, but in a way that almost felt good, like if he admitted it now he could finally move past it. He nods, "I had a job to do and relationships were...complicated, more complicated than I had the time for. No, than I would give time for. It was really easy to explain away at the time." He trails off as he stares at a slowly drifting cloud.

Thancred reminded A'miru of herself before she met G'raha. Before he broke away the exterior and found her, showed her passion for life and people. Except Thancred wasn't aloof and closed in like she had been, he was outgoing and had been with partners before, he wasn't shy about it either, she'd watched him wander off with tavern goers on several occasions. She'd watched him with Minfilia, unsure if there was love or obligation there, perhaps both. Whatever it was or wasn't she'd watched Thancred torture himself over it, even more so after she had gone and he was left to look after Ryne before she was Ryne in a completely different world.

They had both been very practiced at explaining away their feelings.

"I think at some point I just stopped trying, not sure you could say I ever was trying. It became too big a thing to consider, too much effort, so I just kept on doing what I knew and what was easy until that banquet in Ul'dah. That kind of..." He trails off as his eyes close and he exhales. "Yeah, I know" Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper as she rests her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. That night was bad for both of them, for all of them. The night Minfilia was truly plucked from them and scions were scattered to the winds. "I'm so sorry I sent you off on your own..." She's already shaking her head and pushing off his chest before he can finish, "Thancred don't. Don't you blame that on yourself, no one had a plan for that situation, no one knew the right thing to do. You don't get to put that on you. Hey," She touches the side of his face, directs it towards her so he has to look at her. "That wasn't your fault, you saved my life that day, and Alphinaud's. What happened after was not your doing." His eyes are sad as they look into hers, as she pulls him in to kiss him. "Please don't blame yourself for what happened to me, no one could have done any better." She lays back on his shoulder, one arm behind him. "I'm not proud of my actions in Ishgard, it's a mercy Estinien is as stoic as he is that he doesn't ever mention any of it. That being said, I'm glad, no, that time doesn't make me glad, but I'm not sure I could have survived the first if I hadn't gone through that. I knew that was G'raha as soon as I saw him, he's a really terrible liar." That makes Thancred chuckle, "He really is." "But watching him get shot, everything that came after, watching him turn to crystal, even the liberation before that, I don't think I could have done it had I not been through that shit in Ishgard with you guys. You saved my life so many times over that day." He holds her close and rocks her as the sun sets, setting the ocean on fire with yellow and orange reflections. "You saved my life in Ul'dah too. You've been saving my ass since day one." She lets out a laugh as she realizes the truth in her words. "You were a little shit in Ul'dah," He doesn't look at her but she can hear him smiling. "I know, G'raha doesn't believe me." He looks down at her, smiling, and she takes the opportunity to steal a kiss. "You made my life a living hell in Ul'dah you know." She laughs and looks at him sheepishly, "I did it on purpose so...yeah." Thancred can't help but laugh as he rolls his eyes, "of course you did, why am I even surprised." She giggles and cuddles into his chest. "You were the first person to show me any sort of kindness that first day you let me go and...I don't know how to explain it, I had to keep seeing if you'd keep doing it, if you'd keep letting me go or finally take me in....plus you were cute." He snorts, "Were? You wound me." And she can't help but laugh, there he was again, the Thancred she was used to. "Oh no, now you are very handsome, not cute at all." With a smile she reaches a hand up to pull him down to kiss her, long and slow.

When he finally pulls away, just barely, he's panting; he doesn't want to do this here, not yet. Not while he was still getting used to giving himself permission just to have her, it still felt like stealing. "Not now, I can't -" She presses her lips against his softly one last time before letting him go to look up at him. "Take the time you need, Thancred. I'm not going anywhere any time soon, unless you want me to?" His arms tighten around her and she smiles as she lays against his chest, "I'll take that as a no." She could hear his heart racing, could practically feel it against her arm, but it slows to it's regular pace over time as the moon rises behind them.

"We should head back," A'miru pipes up finally after almost nodding off while they pointed out made up constellations to each other, she'd forgotten how tired she still was. "Yeah, it's getting late, c'mon." He helps push her up onto her feet and stands up after her, slipping back into his coat.

Together they make their way back to town, only he leads her not to the annex but past it. "I-...but-....okay" She doesn't put much effort into her protest despite her growing exhaustion. He leads her through the dark town and to a building she'd never been in before. Warm, humid air hits her at the door, "Oh I am going to fall asleep in here, we should have come back way earlier for this." she smiles up at him. She was going to have a bath back in the annex, she needed one after today's busywork, but the baths there were admittedly very small. "At least try not to, we'd hate to lose the vaunted Warrior of Light to a bath incident"

The one attendant still working lets them through to the back change rooms with a look that clearly communicated that she didn't care who they were, there were to be no shenanigans in the baths. A'miru was too tired for any sort of shenanigans anyway. Thancred had to keep her from dozing off more than a couple of times before she got herself washed and rinsed, they really should have come back earlier he thinks. She swats at his hands as he catches her leaning a little too far to the side and he laughs, "I'm awake, stop it." He can't help but just watch her and smile, always so stubborn. "Are you going to be able to stay awake long enough to get yourself dressed?" He asks as she wraps her towel around herself and shoots him a glare, "I'll. Be. Fine." She declares before she stomps off into the changing rooms. A short while later they both emerge from the changerooms. She'd left her hair down, too tired to bother tying it up just to go home to bed.

He pulls her in under his arm and she slips hers under his coat as he practically has to guide her back to the annex and into her room. He offers a piggyback or to carry her but she insists she fine walking. Once inside she sleepily pulls a large t-shirt out and throws it past Thancred to the bed as he kicks his boots and pants off with a "Hey!" as the shirt whizzes past his head. On her way from the dresser to the bed she pulls her dirty clothes off, tossing them wherever they land, and pulls the t-shirt on before flopping nearly face first into the bed...sideways. Thancred's surprised laugh makes her smile, "That's not going to be comfortable for either of us, you're supposed to face the other way." At this she whines and flips onto her back, "Nope, not like that either, c'mon you." He laughs so genuine as he pulls her back up to her feet so he can slip in before her that it makes her stop for a fraction of a second, that was a nice sound. He holds the blanket back for her as she crawls in and then very quickly crawls out, runs to turn off the lights, and slips back in, only running into the table once in the dark.

"Oh your hair..." Thancred whispers, remembering her lamentations from the previous morning as his fingers get tangled in it, "roll" he whispers as he rolls her so that she's facing away from him and she whines. "Lift" she does as he says and he pulls her hair out from under her to quickly braid it, albeit a bit messily. "I didn't know you knew how to braid," her voice is already heavy and sleepy as she rolls back over. "Ryne," taught me, was what he had intended to say but she pulls him down and kisses him before he can finish. "Sorry, I just like kissing you," he can see her sleepy smile and her eyes blink so slow he's not sure they're going to open again as she drags a thumb across his bottom lip. "I'll stop...nope, one more," she kisses him again slower than before and he smiles against her lips. "Get some rest."

He remembers what G'raha had said when he'd told him he was staying down by the forge; "I think she sleeps better when I say it." He looks down at her head on his shoulder, tilted slightly up towards him. Her eyes were closed already but for reasons unknown he was hesitant; it wasn't any sort of declaration of love or anything big like that, but something about taking over this part of her routine felt important. Like it was another thing that grounded it reality; like he was fully and actually agreeing to this relationship, like this was the point of no return. If he said he'd be there when next she woke that was it, he'd be there when next she woke every day that he could be from then on. She shifts and curls into his side, arm across abdomen. "I'll be here when you wake," He finally says quietly, more to himself than to her. He was certain she was asleep already anyhow, but her soft purrs kicks up shortly after like it had the night before, and like the night before the white noise of it pulls him to sleep as well.

When he wakes next she's not in bed. The shutters had been closed when they went to bed but even without opening his eyes he could sense a light source in the room that shouldn't be there. His fingers curl around the small knife he'd stashed under the pillows against the head board as he slowly opens his eyes.

But all he sees is A'miru sitting on the floor in front of a small fire in the hearth. He furrows his brows, "A'miru?" He calls out quietly and her head snaps around to face him. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you." He slips out of bed to join her in front of the small fire and the kettle that hung over it. "Everything okay?" He asks wrapping an arm around her. She had on Urianger's cardigan, he noticed. "I'm okay, I'm just not used to...." She takes a deep, laboured breath before continuing. "I woke up and G'raha wasn't there and I didn't realize it was you quick enough to stop myself from getting freaked out." G'raha had told Thancred about the nightmares she'd had after he got back to the source as they had been travelling together. That she had been terrified she'd wake up and find it all a dream, that he wasn't really back and she'd dreamt it all. He rubs her back and pulls her against him. "I'm sorry," her voice is sad and he knows she's upset because he's there and she'd freaked out because G'raha wasn't, like she doesn't want him to think he's not enough.

Thancred shakes his head, "no need, I understand completely," he kisses the top of her head and smooths down her hair. "I just wanted some tea before I went back to bed," she sniffles, she'd been crying. "A'miru, you're allowed to wake me up when these things happen, I'm not going to be upset at the reasons. I know how important G'raha is to you. I know about your fears and nightmares. Hey," he pulls her chin to look up at him. "We're different people, G'raha and I, but we both care about you greatly, okay?" She nods, closes her eyes and leans into his palm.

"I guess I don't handle change all that well." She says quietly and Thancred fully laughs, "welcome to my world." She leans forward out of his arm and grabs the teapot out from the hearth but stops as she looks down at the one mug she had prepared, "I only have one mug..." Thancred snickers, "it's fine, I don't want any. Tea's not for me."

She pours herself a mug of tea and snuggles back against Thancred with it in her hands. "We okay now, though?" He asks folding her into him and she nods. "Yeah I'm okay now, it was just a momentary panic before I remembered what was real." She confirms as she sips at her tea. Thancred didn't get to see this part of her often anymore, not for a long time had he woken up to her distressed. He'd forgotten that she wasn't always okay, even with G'raha back. "If anything happens again and I don't wake up, can you please wake me?" He pulls her chin up to look at him again and she nods with watery eyes and peaked brows. "Hey, none of that, now." He wipes the tears that hadn't fallen yet from her eyes and kisses her forehead, and then her nose and he pauses for a split second before kissing her lips. This was allowed, he could let himself have this much. She follows this time as he kisses her softly, like his lips were a lantern in the dark leading her home, and she tasted like warm tea.

He pulls away slowly, reluctantly, and kisses her forehead before tucking her back into his arms while she finished her tea. The past three days had been chaotic to say the least, but when he got down to the bottom line of it all, it really wasn't much different than before. Except he was allowed to acknowledge those feelings and act on them. That was the biggest change, daily life wasn't much different than it had been before. His whole world felt like it had been flipped but in actuality it hadn't changed much, most of the change was mental. He could get used to this.

"c'mon you..." He says quietly, noticing her head start to droop. He slips an arm under her knees and picks her up as he stands. She doesn't squirm, or make any comments as he does, just leans against his chest quietly. "I'm just going to put the fire out," he whispers as he places her into bed, her hand reaches out for him as he turns away from the bed to douse the fire.

He returns and even in the dark he can see her open eyes as he slips in next to the wall. She rolls away from him and scoots back against him, pulling the arm slung over her waist up and hugging it to her chest like it was a stuffed animal. Except she doesn't like looking out over the dark room whenever her eyes open, despite the warmth behind her it made her feel alone. With a small whine she rolls back over and makes herself as small as she can as she buries herself in Thancred's chest. She can feel the quiet chuckle from him, "comfortable now?" And she nods, nearly fully under the blankets. "Goodnight" he hears from the small ball of a person in his arms and it feels like he has to go digging to find her chin and tilt her face up to him once more as he kisses her again, no hesitation this time. "Goodnight," he whispers as he pulls away and she snuggles back into his chest. "I'll be here when-" "did G'raha tell you to say that?" She interrupts looking up at him, "well, not in so many words. He just said you sleep better when he does." She nods, she did, it helped remind her he was real before she fell asleep which helped keep the nightmares at bay. "Do you not want me to?" She shakes her head and shrugs, "not that it's not comforting, but G'raha started saying it because I was scared I would wake up and he'd be gone, not left, but gone." Thancred nods and squeezes her tight, "I understand," he presses a kiss against her forehead, "I'll leave that for him."

There's a long silence before he hears "goodnight" again against his chest, much quieter and heavy with sleep this time. "Goodnight, I'm here, you're safe" he replies in a quiet whisper, testing out the words, and the purr that pours out of her is loud this time in it's approval.

She'd defeated gods and dragons, saved the world countless times but still needed to be reminded she was safe at home, maybe because she had defeated gods and dragons and had to save the world. It hurt his heart but it was a relief to know exactly what she needed from him, outside of just his love. G'raha had his own set of fears and worries to calm, Thancred could handle making her feel safe, that was well within his abilities and it relaxed him to know that. He holds her tight as he lets the loud drone of her purr pull him back to sleep.

HERE BE SMUT, but like, light, soft smut. Use your imagination, or don't and carry on, I'm not your mom.

"C'mere," she sits up and pulls him back into bed with her. "No, hey-" he fakes a scowl at her, "we should be getting up," but it dissolves into a smile as she laughs and curls up on his chest. "Did you sleep okay after you got back to sleep?" He asks as he pushes his fingers into her soft hair and gives her ear a rub. She nods and tilts her head into his hand, "like the dead, sorry again for waking you." At this he gives her ear a playful tug, "did I not specifically ask you to please wake me up next time? No apologies." "Ah! Hey!" She swats at his hand and laughs. "I wasn't aware you struggled with any of that still," he says softly letting her nuzzle into his hand and running a thumb across her cheek as she nods. "It's not as bad anymore, I can usually calm myself down if anything does happen. Routine helps a lot, which is...well-" "not your strong suit?" He interrupts with a knowing smile, she smirks and shakes her head, "never has been, no." "It'd be absolutely terrible if Alphinaud were to find out that's what helps..." The implication clear in his voice, "Don't you dare! He'll schedule my entire life!" She pushes up onto his chest to look at him, "Then you should probably get out of bed and get dressed," his eyebrows raise and he's unsure if she'll enact physical violence upon him for his threat as her face goes from pleading, to shocked, to glaring at him through squinted eyes. "You win this round, Mr Waters" she scowls at him through squinted eyes as she pushes up off his chest to sit up. He can't help but laugh as he follows behind her, pulls her chin up and kisses her again. "I thought you were trying to get me out of bed," she says breathlessly against his lips as he lingers in it just a little bit longer, "sorry, I just like kissing you," he repeats her words from the night before, a soft smirk on his lips as he finally pulls away.

Something had clicked for him last night. Their talk in the gazebo and in the middle of night had made him acknowledge some things he hadn't yet, and finding the words that put her at ease, his special words for her, had given him a sort of purpose he hadn't felt in a long time. He wouldn't be there every time she woke, he was often out on recon or stealth missions, being there and being real, calming those fears was for G'raha. Making her feel safe and protecting her when she wasn't protecting the world? Well, he'd been doing that for years already, he was old hand at that, that was easy. Everything else just kind of fell into place and clicked. Now he just wanted to kiss her all the time, wanted to have her on every flat surface he could find, wanted to make up for all his lost time holding back and denying his feelings. It didn't feel like stealing anymore, like he was taking something so big and important to the world for himself. She was still just his best friend, that little punk that'd made his life a nightmare before all this hero business had started. She could be his and they save the world, together, it didn't have to be one or the other.

They get dressed and ready for their day, albeit slower than usual since Thancred can't keep his hands to himself now that the pieces of the puzzle had clicked into place and he had reckoned with his own hesitation.

He presses her up against the door of the room before she can open it to leave as he kisses her again and she gropes behind herself for the handle. She finds it and they tumble out into the hall, almost taking out Y'shtola in the process  "You two sure are lively this morning," she comments on her way by without stopping. A'miru's face immediately turns red. She nods, smooths out her clothing and finds her composure, resisting the urge to devolve into giggles. "I can't believe you had the audacity to blackmail me out of bed this morning," she scolds Thancred under her breath as they follow a ways behind Y'shtola. "What happened between last night and this morning, hey!" She swats Thancred's more inappropriate touches away and gives him a look that says she'd gladly kick his ass right there in the hallway if he doesn't cut it out. He laughs and gives in, slipping his hand into hers instead of the cut out sides of her shirt like he had been thinking of doing. "Last night happened. You helped me figure some things out." He pulls her in under his arm and kisses her one last time, "thank you," he says quietly against her lips. "Oh, come on! Get a room!" They hear from behind them, "We just left our room!" Thancred shouts back without looking as Alisaie stomps past them, "then stop making out in the hallway!" The young Elezen is walking backwards as she continues walking so that she can scowl at Thancred, "honestly your going to ruin everyone's appetite before they even get to breakfast." She grumbles under her breath as she turns and continues down the hallway. A'miru and Thancred watch her go in silence before looking back at each other and bursting into laughter.

 They continue walking as she speaks again, "well good, I'm glad, I think" she shoots a look up at him, "G'raha was worried about you." They don't stop in the common room on their way out of the annex and A'miru was secretly glad for it, Y'shtola and Alisaie would have told everyone by now and neither would let her escape without a decent amount of teasing. "Yeah? Maybe I should talk to him today then."  They quickly pick up coffee for themselves and G'raha at the last stand before heading towards the lifts underground. "You should, I probably should too. Two partners in your first relationship is a lot." She's musing to herself mostly, thinking out loud, but Thancred almost spit takes into his coffee, "first?!"

If A'miru thought about it, she could see how no one else would have had that information about G'raha, but she'd honestly never thought too hard about it before.

She looks up at Thancred as they ride the slow lift down into the ground, "uh...yes?" She raises an apologetic eyebrow at him. "God's be good A'miru, that poor boy. You as his first girlfriend?" She slaps his stomach with a playful scowl, "hey!" and he laughs.

He and G'raha had spent no small amount of time together. Thancred had been the first one called to the first by him, and G'raha had approached Thancred on A'miru's advice after finding out about her struggle with alcoholism. He'd helped him set his guilt aside and stop blaming himself for it, A'miru had found this highly ironic since that was typically what Thancred did to himself. He'd helped him understand a lot of the things that had happened to her while he'd been gone, helped him take the information in without letting it hurt him and helped him learn how to best help A'miru when or if she stumbled while they were dispatched to Corvos most recently.

It was no secret they had grown close since G'raha had been back. Now it was Thancred who was worried for G'raha. Two partners in your first relationship was a lot. Rolling with the punches was one thing, not getting trampled by them was another.

"He handles you well for it being his first relationship,"   Thancred teases gently and A'miru can't even muster a scowl because he was right, he did. A'miru's own words from her time in Elpis echo in her head, "I am not easy to love...". She hadn't meant it in a self deprecating way, really, but her job as Warrior of Light alone made her life chaotic, let alone being prone to chaos on her own. Mix in all the trauma and nightmares and what have you and it was just a big job for anyone to handle and G'raha managed it with grace. "He was my first, too....back then." She leans her head against Thancred and feels his hand on her back. "I remember, you used to get so mad."