#a bit of a departure from Choose Me

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Riffing on one of my Mobius theories (fic)

Spoilers for Loki (both seasons) and Where Mischief Lies. I think this probably theoretically takes place after season 2, with all the major conflicts resolved, but also I'm writing this between episodes 2x02 and 2x03 so it's like if episode 2 happened, everything got resolved, and Sylvie decided to join them on some (undisclosed) mission. I don't set up a whole lot of background for why they're all suddenly together and not freaking out about major plot points, so end-ish of the season as if nothing bad happens after ep 2 (we can only hope, lol). Okay, that's enough (vague, unhelpful) context.

They've barely walked through the Time Door and into mid-1800s England before Loki loses concentration. Sylvie is with them this time, so he's actually focused on their mission when they pass through time. No, the distraction comes after they arrive.

"All right," Mobius says, glancing around. "Here's the plan. Loki--" he turns to the others, and sees only Sylvie is behind him. "Loki?"

Sylvie points down the alleyway. Loki stands at the end of the alley, just out of sight of the street, peering out.

Mobius looks questioningly back at Sylvie, who shrugs. They move down the damp concrete toward him. Mobius peeks around Loki and follows his gaze. Ah. The entire 1860s to land in, the whole of the sprawling metropolis that is Victorian London, and somehow Loki has managed to find Theo Bell already.

Mobius looks at the hand Loki has pressed absently to the grimy wall beside him; it's trembling slightly.

"Loki," Mobius says softly. Loki doesn't look away from Theo, who stands outside a doorway down the street.

"It's--"

"I know who it is." Mobius has the sudden, selfish desire for Loki to look at him, to stop staring at the man he left two hundred years ago and return to that undivided attention he's been paying Mobius lately. But Mobius knows who it is, and what Theo means to Loki. Leaving this man in an uncoupled train car is one of Loki's deepest regrets.

I don't like hurting people.

Loki looks away finally, for just a moment, to look at Mobius. But then he glances at Sylvie, too, and then returns his gaze to the man he once knew. The eye contact is long enough for Mobius to see the pained look on his face. Loki takes a shuddering breath.

"You can't let him see you." Mobius tells him, gently.

"I know." Loki's voice is steady, but the rough exhale and the way he squeezes his eyes closed tell Mobius how much Loki hates it.

"Who is it?" Sylvie asks.

"Theo." Loki gasps, eyes still on the man down the road. "Theo Bell." He swallows, then looks at her briefly. "Not a prince," he tells her, in a tone that makes Mobius suspect he's referencing a previous conversation. "But real."

Mobius looks at Sylvie as Loki turns away again and sees understanding in her eyes.

"Your postman," she says, which makes even less sense to Mobius.

"My postman," Loki confirms, and now Mobius is jealous of two people here. He's not sure which is worse, that one of them knows he's jealous of her, or that the other doesn't even know he exists.

---

The universe-- or multiverse, or whatever-- as it so often does, seems to have other ideas, in the end. They are careful, very careful, even with Loki out of commission and spying on a man he still loves, for the entirety of what little they are able to accomplish here.

And still, in the end, Theo Bell catches sight of him.

"Loki?"

Mobius and Sylvie manage to slip back, unseen, but of course, Loki is rooted to the spot at the sound of the man he's missed for centuries saying his name. Mobius watches him turn to meet Theo's gaze, and those teeth of jealousy haven't torn at Mobius's insides quite so aggressively since he rescued Loki and Sylvie from Lamentis.

But he knows Loki needs this, knows Loki knows he cannot take Theo with them, so he lets Loki further this not-exactly-protocol interaction. Loki has needed this conversation for two hundred years.

"I thought you said they couldn't interact," Sylvie murmurs.

Mobius shrugs. "They shouldn't. But the timeline's already fragmented, and he's held onto his guilt over their parting for way too long."

"When are you going to stop standing by, Mobius?"

Mobius looks at her, startled. "What do you mean?"

She frowns at him. "You know what I mean. When are you going to stop making assumptions about what's best for him and just tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

Sylvie scoffs and rolls her eyes, returning her gaze to the two before them. "Forget it."

---

Loki has been talking to Theo Bell for some time now. Sylvie squints at the man in front of Loki, who's speaking to him in a low voice and gently holding his hands. There's something about his expression that gives her pause. He shifts his weight at the same time the man beside her does the same thing, and out of the corner of her eye, the gesture looks nearly identical.

She glances back at Mobius, takes in the way he's also staring at Loki like his entire world revolves around the god, and wonders why she's only just noticing the similarities. They're vague: Theo's nose only slightly crooked, the way they hold themselves even though Mobius doesn't walk with a limp, that look in their eyes when they gaze at Loki. A thought is starting to take root in Sylvie's mind.

"He told you you're a variant, right?" She asks Mobius. Mobius breaks his gaze from the two in front of them to glance at Sylvie.

"Yeah," he says, "I know. He told us awhile ago."

"Did you get your memories back?"

"No, no," Mobius chuckles in a way that tells Sylvie he's trying for nonchalance but failing.

"Why not?"

Mobius glances back at Loki before returning his gaze to her. "I'm content with my life."

Yeah, I'd believe that if you weren't staring at him like a puppy, she thinks. She glances at Theo Bell and back at Mobius one more time before making her decision.

"Sorry, but I think it'll be worth it," she says, and presses her hand to his upper arm.

The dingy, rain-soaked Victorian street fades away to reveal, in Mobius's long-locked-away, distant memories-- a dingy, rain-soaked Victorian street. Which would be rather anti-climactic if the implications weren't so earth-shattering.

He walks with a limp, a cane in his hand, beside a tall man and an older woman. They enter the front doors of a museum, and confidently make their way into the storeroom. The tall man opens a wooden coffin and tips it open, and Loki falls out, looking much younger than he is now. The image changes...

The memories flow through him, from his first meeting with Loki to the morning he watched Loki hurtling away from him on the Bifrost, flanked by train cars filled with the living dead. And his life after, until he was picked up by the TVA.

Mobius is overwhelmed by a strange cocktail of joy and pain and hope. Loki loves him, or at least who he was. Loki saw some version of him, past or future or variant, barely ten seconds out of the Time Door, and lost all focus on the mission. Even knowing he couldn't make contact with Theo (before circumstances out of their control changed that), he could think of nothing else, couldn't stop watching Mobius's past unfold before them, rather than move on.

But even knowing his past at last, Mobius is the same person he's always been. Loki is in love with a man who hasn't existed in Time knows how long. Will he be disappointed if Mobius is nothing like Theo?

Mobius slowly becomes aware that he is no longer inside his own head, inside the memories. (The setting being nearly identical makes it difficult to tell.) He's crouched down against the pavement, tears streaming down his face.

From what seems like far away, he hears Loki's voice. "Mobius? What's happened?"

"I gave him his memories," Sylvie replies.

Mobius feels hands on his arms and looks up into Loki's wide, green eyes. His cheeks are still stained with tears, and it makes Mobius's heart ache. He loves Mobius's past self this deeply; how could he ever feel anything but disappointment about Mobius as he is?

"Are you all right?" he whispers, though, and the concern in his voice is still for Mobius alone. It warms Mobius a little. Mobius gestures in a strange, noncommittal mix between a nod, head shake, and shrug.

Loki frowns. "Was it good?" He asks, an echo of their conversation in the automat.

Mobius does shrug this time, tears still streaming down his face. "A little bit, I think."

Loki's frown deepens. "Was it bad?"

Mobius's voice shakes when he replies, thinking of how different he is than Loki remembers, how breaking the memories free hasn't changed him back into the man he was when the TVA picked him up. "I don't know."

Loki searches his face, then opens his mouth to respond. Mobius can't take it anymore, this not knowing. "Just look, Loki."

"Yeah, that's gonna have to wait till we get back, boys. We have to go." Sylvie says.

Loki helps Mobius to his feet as Sylvie enters the TVA into the TemPad. Loki keeps glancing at Mobius, brow furrowed with worry, his centuries-overdue closure with Theo forgotten for the moment. Mobius has an odd feeling, like he's smug for beating his past self at something, as if earning Loki's attention is something he's still competing for when Theo Bell is also him.

When they return to the TVA, Sylvie volunteers to update B-15 for them.

"Gently," she tells Loki. "I already unlocked the memories, and you're only reading them. If you go in with the same force we used on Alioth, you'll hurt him."

Loki nods, and when Sylvie heads off toward Analysis, he takes Mobius's hand. Mobius turns to look at him, startled, but Loki just nods in the other direction, still looking worried. He seems too distracted about making sure Mobius is okay to realize what he's doing. Mobius allows him to lead him through the halls, until they emerge into the automat, and Mobius finds he can finally breathe again. And isn't that interesting.

Loki leads him to a chair. "Are you sure you want me to see?" he asks. "A little while ago you didn't even want to know."

Mobius nods. "I want you to know. I think you should know." Loki frowns again, but Mobius rushes on. "And I don't think I would know how to explain."

Loki watches him for a moment, then reaches out with both hands to wipe away the tears with his thumbs. He still hesitates. He seems to be distracted by Mobius's tears.

"Mobius--" he murmurs.

"Honestly, Loki, this is mostly from relief," Mobius says, gesturing at the tears, taking a risk and hoping Loki's distracted enough that he can lie to him again.

"Mobius, you're shaking." Loki says, tone skeptical and telling Mobius he's not entirely successful this time.

Mobius huffs a mirthless laugh. "Well, I did say mostly." he says, then sighs. "Just look, Loki. Please."

Loki nods, and then surprises Mobius when he doesn't just touch his hand to Mobius's shoulder or his fingertips to Mobius's temple, but keeps his hands cupped against Mobius's cheeks and brings their foreheads together. Loki closes his eyes and Mobius follows suit.

Mobius lets him see, shows him his childhood and arrest, his imprisonment and meeting Mrs. S. He replays their history from his perspective: a young, beautiful, short-tempered god tumbling from a casket and turning Mobius-as-Theo's life upside-down; the mission; watching Loki sleep on that dirty mattress, his heart swelling in a wonderfully painful way in his chest as Loki breathed slowly and his pale eyelids fluttered; Loki's slow, surprised smile when he realized he was being teased, realized he enjoyed it; kissing him for the first time on that speeding train full of the dead and the living and the living dead, Loki's promise echoing in his head, yet knowing already they were empty words; watching Loki's retreating form as it rode the Bifrost home, as Loki turned his head for one final glance back at the man he was abandoning; and all that came after.

Loki pulls back, inhaling sharply as if emerging from a pool of water, and Mobius opens his eyes to a sheen of fresh tears.

"How can this be?" Loki asks shakily.

"I don't know."

"No, I mean..." Loki moves back into his space, taking his face in his hands again, and it's too much. It's too much. "We just saw you. How could we have been where you still were without causing a, a paradox, or something? Isn't that what happens?"

He's stuck on the wrong part, but Mobius supposes there's a lot to unpack. "Well, we weren't there long. And I did not see or speak to myself. I don't think my past self would have recognized me as me, anyway."

Loki stares at him for a long moment, and then lets out a sob, and it breaks Mobius into pieces.

"I...I..." Loki starts. Mobius takes pity on him; it's been a very long day for the god's heart.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything." He says, mostly trying to reassure Loki. Only partly to save his own heart the inevitable pain.

"Yes, I do." He says. "I should have already. I should have before I... before you..." he sniffs and swipes at his eyes before continuing. "I've loved you for a long, long time. And I didn't think I'd ever love anyone again, not after Theo Bell."

There it is. The words that make Mobius's heart soar at the same time it shatters into a million, tiny pieces. Because he will never be Theo Bell again. He's been Mobius M. Mobius for far too long. And Theo and Mobius both love Loki, but Loki has only ever loved Theo.

"I'm not as I was," Mobius whispers, looking away. "I'm different." It's an apology, a wish in the pit of his chest that he could return to that man that he was, but a truth that must be stated. He'd never be able to pretend he was still that boy, and it would not be fair to Loki to make him believe Mobius could be.

"I know." Loki says. Mobius listens for regret, for disappointment, but cannot hear it. He meets Loki's eyes again; Loki is already watching him intently. "I said I didn't think I could ever love anyone again, but then I was taken as a prisoner of time and dragged here and coerced into working as a consultant, with another man who's too smart for his own good, another man who can see through my lies, another man who knows my story before I know he even exists." Loki's eyes soften. "Another man who sees the good in me, even when I can't. Who trusts me, and believes in me, and lets me use my talents to help him, instead of condemning them as tools for evil."

Leaving one hand to still cup his face, Loki brings his other hand down to clasp Mobius's. He brings it to his lips and tenderly kisses each knuckle, gazing at Mobius the entire time. Mobius can't breathe, can't move, can't look anywhere but into those emerald irises he's loved since well before he was an agent.

"Another man I fell deeply in love with far too quickly."

Mobius stares, trying to wrap his head around what Loki is saying. Loki loves him? Him? Mobius? Before he learned he was Theo, too; separate from how he still loves Theo?

Mobius swallows once, twice. Realizes Loki deserves a response to that admission. "We have that in common," he murmurs. "Falling in love too quickly."

Loki smiles, and it's like the sun emerging from the heavy, London clouds. Mobius has a sneaking suspicion he's compared Loki's smile to the sun before, as a different man. It really is accurate, though: bright and incandescent and practically warms Mobius's skin, nearly turning the tears still resting on his face to water vapor in its intensity.

"Kiss me." Mobius says, before he can think better of it.

And Loki doesn't hesitate, merely acts. He kisses him, and it's like that kiss all those years ago in the steam engine, yet also so different. The press of Loki's lips against his own are nearly as desperate and insistent, the result of centuries of waiting for Theo's lips and who knows how long of staring at Mobius's. But the movement that follows is slower, unhurried, without the treat of Amora and the hordes of the undead bearing down on them.

It occurs to Mobius that Loki is a different person, too, that perhaps that was what he'd discussed with Mobius's other in the rain, or at least the realization he'd come away from the conversation with. After all, there'd been tears drying on his cheeks, but none in his eyes, and his full attention had been on Mobius the moment he returned to his side. He may remember the god he was then more clearly than Mobius remembers being Theo, but he had still changed in the intervening years. Mobius can account for it; he's watched Loki's tapes over and over, he's seen the changes in the god just in the time he's known Loki.

The boy Theo Bell who loved the young God of Mischief may be mostly gone, but as Mobius weaves his fingers into raven hair and pulls away long enough to inhale and whisper his beloved's name, he aches with a love Theo did not know. Because Mobius M. Mobius gets to love the Loki Who Remains.

[prael]

Day 4: A Two-step Problem

Nmixx Sullyoon & Kiss of Life Belle x male reader smut

words: 9,667 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"She's coming here? This weekend? To this house?" The concoction of shock and confusion, topped with a little bit of annoyance, is in both Sullyoon's tone and expression. "This house!? This same exact house that I am sitting in!?"

Her outburst quickly settles into a sulk as she slouches in her dining chair. Her father turns to your mother for help that she doesn't offer. He's on his own with this one.

"Look," he starts gently. "She's my daughter too and I want to get to know her. I haven't seen her in years."

"You barely talk about her." Sullyoon counters, arms folded defensively across her chest. Her tone is laced with accusation. "I don't know anything about her."

Your mother shoots Sullyoon a glare, one that causes Sullyoon to step well over the line.

"Why are you okay with this? Another daughter that's not even yours coming into our home?"

You stare at your food, praying for the ordeal to be over.

"Stop being silly," your mother reprimands. "You are my daughter, and I'll treat Belle as my own too."

Sullyoon gives you a side-eye, and while she doesn't say anything else, you can see how desperate she is for you to take issue with it too. While you may not be as opposed as Sullyoon, you do have a reservation. "Where will she sleep?" You finally speak up, looking at your mother.

"Sullyoon, can she stay in your room?" she asks.

"No!" Sullyoon snaps. It's clear that she's still processing her frustration.

"It's fine." You turn to your mother. "She can take my room, I'll take the couch."

Sullyoon goes quiet for a moment, her mouth falling open in shock. She looks almost offended that you're not fighting by her side. Then she asks, "What's wrong with you?" and rolls her eyes when your answer comes in the form of an innocent shrug.

"Thank you," your stepfather says, shooting you an appreciative smile. Sullyoon's chair scrapes the floor as she stands up abruptly.

"I'm done." After a curt announcement of departure, she's already headed to her room.

Her father sighs. "Let her go," your mother advises. "She'll come around."

-

A few hours have passed since the revelation and you're in your room. Soft pillows beneath your lower back and slouched against the wall. The soft tones of music from the speaker across the room fill the air.

"Can you believe that shit?" Sullyoon curses the whole idea. "Belle, my long-lost sister, is coming to live here. What are we, some kind of 90s sitcom?"

"Can we not do this right now?" You respond, struggling to focus on both her and her words at one time.

"I thought you were on my side." She pauses for a moment and lets out a soft sigh. "You didn't even argue it."

"It's not that deep, Sullyoon," you grunt out the words, as her hot breath hits your face.

"Yeah well..." She falters. "...It is to me." You feel her fingers thread through your hair before finding a handful of the short strands at the base of your skull. You hiss, feeling her pull on them lightly, but you don't fight back. "Do you think she'll be annoying? And say loads of weird American things?"

"I don't care," you dismiss, putting your hand on her thigh and holding the flesh tight.

"Oh." She clears her throat and adjusts her position. "Well, I do care."

"You might get along." Your tone lacks commitment. It's almost impossible to focus with the smell of her perfume filling your nostrils. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. "You smell so good."

"I bet she thinks she's better than us."

"Sullyoon!" you snap. "For fuck sake!" You put your hand on her waist and lift her off your lap, letting her naked form fall lazily onto the bed beside you. "Conversation or sex, choose one."

"Hey!" She exclaims, annoyed about being pulled free from your cock.

Your irritation quickly fades away as you turn your head to look at her. Her dark hair spills out beneath her, messy, wavy and soft. Her smile is mischievous while her dark eyes sparkle with humour and intrigue. A million thoughts cross your mind but none of them can beat out the singular reminder that she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Her features are uniquely hers and yet, they seem perfectly matched to your taste.

"Okay, I'll stop talking about her then."

There is a shift in the energy of the room. She turns away from you, positioning herself on her knees and resting her cheek against the pillow below. There she lies in wait, ass on display for only you. You bite down on your bottom lip as you clamber behind her.

You reach out and wrap your hands around her hips, squeezing her flesh in between your fingertips. "Sullyoon." The syllables roll off your tongue. "Sometimes, things are hard." You press your cock, still coated in her slick juices, against her waiting cunt. "But you have to just take it."

You push into her pussy from behind. You watch the way the hole expands and stretches around you. The soft, pink walls give in to your intrusion. You hear the little gasp and moan that Sullyoon releases upon feeling you enter her again. You keep going until her round little ass is flush against your hips and the full length of your cock is buried inside her pussy.

From this angle, Sullyoon can do little more than submit. And so she does, allowing you to hold her by the hips, dragging her body back and forth until it moves in line with your rhythm.

"See?" you tease. "Feels better this way, doesn't it?"

"Fuck..." Sullyoon whines. "I hate when you do that."

"What?" You chuckle and spank her across the ass before grabbing a handful of her flesh once again. "When I talk down to you like that or when I make you feel like a little slut?"

"Yes." She squeezes her eyes shut. You listen to every pant and every moan. You feel her thighs shake and tremble against your skin. You know she loves this; there's no other reason why else she would allow you to take over her body and treat her this way. The two of you may bicker and argue and fight, but none of that matters when you're alone together in your bedroom, exploring one another. For all your arguments, you know there isn't another person in the world that feels as perfect wrapped in your arms.

As taboo as it may be.

She looks at you over her shoulder through misty brown eyes with pouted lips, looking all too delicious to touch. "Please," she begs in a small voice that sends a chill up your spine. "Harder. Faster."

"Good girl." The words flow seamlessly from your lips. You hold tighter onto her ass, for fear of the pleasure making her collapse against the bed. You start pounding into her from behind. Each slap of your hips connecting against her ass rings out against the silence of the room.

Sullyoon's hand grips the pillow beneath her head, squeezing it tight as her outlet for her building pleasure. It becomes too much, and she lets out a long moan. You're quick to lean in, take hold of her head and bury her face against the pillow.

"Quiet," you scold. You slide your fingers into her mouth and let them rest against her tongue. She welcomes you in, letting her lips seal around your digits. Her tongue runs laps across the tips of your fingers and the sensation causes an involuntary twitch of your hips.

"There we go," you coo. You can tell by the way she squeezes down on your length that she likes it when you praise her. She might try to play tough and cold, but you've learnt exactly what buttons to push to get her melting at your touch.

You can feel yourself edging closer, and so you reach down further. Sullyoon's clit is sensitive when you press your finger against it, judging by the way she bites down on your fingers. It takes only a few gentle rubs to bring her to the same point as you.

She whimpers softly against your fingers. You can almost feel the muffled cries vibrating against your skin as the knot of pleasure in her tummy begins to unravel. "That's it," you whisper. "Be a good sister and cum with me."

Sullyoon bucks and thrashes in pleasure. She reaches her orgasm at the same time as you and the two of you ride out the waves together. With each throb, you fill her up until she's practically overflowing. Finally, she collapses against the bed and you follow her shortly after. Her chest heaves against the bedsheets, tired and worn, and finally satisfied.

"You can't call me that," she complains, voice strained. "It's not cute, it's gross."

"And yet every time I do, you seem to cum harder," you respond simply. She rolls her eyes and scoffs, before shuffling into your embrace and resting her head against your chest. You both lay in silence, spent bodies wrapped up in each other's warmth. You absent-mindedly draw circles along her bare arm while she draws in deep breaths against your chest.

"I'm serious about this Belle thing." She breaks the quietude, her voice soft. You sigh heavily. "I don't want her here."

-

And yet, Saturday comes around just like clockwork.

The five of you sit awkwardly in the living room. A tray of drinks rests on the coffee table, untouched, and Sullyoon keeps shooting you pointed glares. The situation could be cut with a knife.

"It's such a long journey," Belle explains, talking fast and with a certain chirp in her voice. "We had to leave at five AM for the airport. It was still dark!"

"Oh my!" Your mother gushes. "So you must be tired." Sullyoon rolls her eyes hard.

"A little," Belle admits. "But I slept most of the flight so it's okay."

"Don't worry," you add politely. "It's a quiet area, you'll be able to sleep in tomorrow." She has only been here an hours but it's impossible to deny how charming Belle is. She's got a wide smile and sweet expressions—just a natural aura about her that makes her easy to speak to. It doesn't hurt that she's pretty, with large, dewy brown eyes, and soft hair resting on her shoulders. She wears a pair of jeans that hug her legs tightly and a top that's tied above her belly button.

She gives you this wide smile, that she's already given countless times, and thanks you, adding, "That sounds like heaven." Sullyoon's scoff catches everyone's attention. Four pairs of eyes fall on her and she squirms, hating the spotlight.

"Something wrong, dear?" your mom asks. Sullyoon shakes her head and reaches forward to grab her glass of lemonade. You can't help but let out a tiny laugh. Your mother shoots you both a suspicious glare but doesn't say anything.

You hadn't even noticed that Belle had been looking at you, but when you turn to meet her gaze you feel your stomach flip upside down. It could just be your overactive imagination but something in the look she's giving you has you flustered. Then she laughs too, albeit nervously. Your cheeks warm up and suddenly you have to look away.

"It's almost lunch, how about you help us in the kitchen, Sullyoon." Then your mother looks at you, "and you can show Belle where she'll be sleeping."

"Uh, sure," you reply, your words being met by Sullyoon shooting daggers with her eyes. Once your parents and your stepsister are out of sight, you gesture to Belle and she stands.

"The house is huge," she remarks, following you out of the room. "My old place was basically a box compared to this."

"Well, we live in the suburbs." You shrug. "I can show you around town later if you want." The two of you head up the staircase to where the bedrooms reside.

"You'd do that for me? Really?"

"Of course," you chuckle. Her giggles send goosebumps across your flesh. You pause for a moment and point down the hallway, "Mine is this way."

"This is so cool," Belle whispers. Really? A house is cool? "I always lived in this little studio apartment. My bed was right next to my kitchen."

Her casual remarks about her life, however mundane they are, are captivating. It's nice to meet someone so different from your usual friend group. "What was it like in the city?"

"Different from here," Belle responds. "It's loud all the time and the streets are busy, no matter the time or day." You push open the door to your bedroom and she follows in while she continues, "It was exciting but also way too much, you know? The parties were crazy—like movie-level crazy."

You gently nod as her thoughts trail off and she starts looking around the room. You watch as she takes it all in. Having made at least half an effort to clear some space for her, it looked kind of bare, compared to usual anyway. "Here," you offer, leading her over to your wardrobe. You slide open a couple of doors and explain, "This section is empty and you can hang your clothes up here."

"You didn't have to. I've lived out of my suitcase before when I travelled."

"No bother. You're a guest, make yourself comfortable." You gesture around the room. "I cleared the desk in case you need it and the sheets are fresh." (Which is good, after what you and Sullyoon had been doing the night before.)

"Thank you. This is already better than I could have ever hoped." When Belle smiles again, you feel a little flutter in your tummy. "Sorry about earlier," she adds. "Was your sister mad because of me?"

"She'll come around." You give a half-hearted assurance. Sullyoon's feelings aren't yours to share, but Belle does deserve some peace of mind. "Don't worry about her."

"I always wanted a sister, I hope she likes me." Belle nods gently, a faint expression of disappointment flashing across her face before fading back to neutral. She pauses and purses her lips together for a second. "And...you? Are you happy I'm here?"

"I've had to put up with one annoying step-sister for a long time, a second can't be much worse," you joke. A laugh leaves her lips and the tension dissolves instantly. The two of you stay silent for a few moments before you notice Belle starting to squint. "What's wrong?"

"It's really hot in here." She places her hand on her forehead as if checking her temperature. The thick beams of sunlight that are streaming in through the open curtains highlight her point. Sweat has started to gather on her neck and brow.

"Lemme fix that." You push open a window and draw a blind down. Belle waits patiently behind you as the bright morning sun vanishes into a muted grey. "There we go," you announce, turning around—and coming face-to-face with her. You freeze as if trapped by her intense gaze.

Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is hot. Beads of sweat shimmer in the sunlight. She stares at you, silently saying something that you can't quite decode. She smells sweet, like vanilla.

"Thanks." Her voice is soft, almost as delicate as the moment itself.

"You're welcome..." You say back, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

"Uh, how about the rest of the house?"

"What about it?"

"Aren't you supposed to be showing me around?" She laughs and her soft tone breaks the tension. You shake the daze out of your mind and clear your throat.

"Of course. Let's go."

You point out the rest of the rooms, and then show her the bathroom, explaining, "My parents have their own so this is basically ours." As you head downstairs, you let her know, "Just try not to take the world's longest showers like Sullyoon." Belle laughs, which gives you the chance to admire how cute she looks when she's smiling.

-

It's been a low-key couple of days. Belle spent the whole time fawning over how cool it was to live out in the suburbs and subtly cursing how she had grown tired of the city—though half it felt like a sly brag. You had taken her into town the day before last, and while you're sure she would have been fine going back alone, she's asking you to take her.

Much to the annoyance of a certain someone.

"But Sunday is movie night," Sullyoon complains, lying on her bed. You're standing in the doorway, arms folded, telling her about your plan to accompany Belle.

"I'll be back in time and we can watch whatever movie you pick this week," you dismiss, already knowing she isn't going to listen to any attempt of yours to compromise. "Also, you could come with us."

"If I did come, then I would be hanging out with her, and I don't want to hang out with her." Sullyoon states blankly.

A quick glance to your side and you see Belle, standing in the hallway, hearing everything that Sullyoon is saying. There's a small pout that forms on her lips. A glimmer of sadness in her eyes. You feel a pang of sympathy. While Belle tries to smile as if it's nothing, you see right through the facade.

"Don't worry," she says. "I can go on my own." And with that, she heads off downstairs. You turn to your stepsister and shoot her a harsh glare.

"C'mon! Don't give me that look." Sullyoon pouts dramatically. "She's a big girl, she's used to being independent."

"Would it kill you to at least get to know her?"

"You're busy doing that for the both of us." She shoots an accusatory look. "Is one step-sister not enough?" Her words drip with insinuation, and you feel your face flush at what she's implying. You roll your eyes and curse at her, which makes her stand and walk towards you. Before she speaks, she pulls you by the arms and closes her door. "Oh come on! Admit it," she presses. "You think she's cute, huh?"

"So what?" You shrug and avert your gaze, cheeks red.

Sullyoon pauses, processing your answer. "Do you wanna fuck her?"

"Sullyoon!" You snap, feeling the blood rush to your head.

Her grin is devious, "You want her to replace me? Huh?" She teases. "Get a brand new stepsister who sucks your dick extra well?"

"You're sick."

"Oh, please. I've seen the way you two look at each other. Don't be surprised if she offers to top and tail with you tonight." Sullyoon smirks, "The couch must be so uncomfortable." Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

-

She said it was just going to be for essentials. A few shops to pick up items that didn't fit in her bags for the plane trip over. Yet, somehow, you find yourself browsing designer dresses for sale.

"It's my first weekend in a new country," she explains, pulling a silk purple dress free and pressing it up against her body. "Don't I deserve to treat myself?"

"I guess, but dresses like this? When are you planning on wearing them?"

"To dinners. To a club. On a date?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Who knows?"

"Wouldn't it be better to make the plans and then buy the dress?" You suggest with a laugh. Though you hate to admit it, the sleek material would look great on her.

"You hungry?" she asks. "How about dinner?"

"We should wait until we're home. Mum is expecting us both."

"Do you always do what you're told?" Belle pries.

"No...I—" You hesitate. She tilts her head to the side and flashes you a mischievous grin.

"Great. I'll get changed into this, we can dump the bags in the car and find a nice restaurant." She declares decisively. After rummaging around her bag for her wallet, she turns to face you. "Wish me luck, it's probably expensive."

"Wait—"

She's walking away before you can protest. You watch as she goes up to the woman running the place and pays for the dress. After that, Belle disappears behind a dressing screen. All the while, you're standing there, holding bags and looking confused.

There are a few silent moments. Ones where you try to formulate an excuse to turn her down; but just as quickly as they appear, the arguments vanish. In reality, the idea of a nice meal with Belle isn't exactly unappealing.

The curtain is drawn back, and she appears.

Wow.

It takes less than a second for your eyes to land on her waist. How the deep purple fabric hugs her figure so nicely, wrapping tight around her curves and squeezing her form. It's strapless and plunges into a v-neck that shows off so much skin. The hem stops mid-thigh and swishes with the movement of her hips.

"So? How do I look?"

You swallow, clearing a lump in your throat. "Incredible."

"That means you're paying for dinner then."

"Hey!" You start to protest. But it's no use, she's already laughing, slipping on a pair of white heels that pull the outfit together perfectly.

The restaurant she chose is tucked away from the main street. The soft yellow light glows through a window pane, casting a warm haze onto the sidewalk below. She holds your arm as she walks, using you for balance. The smell of her perfume hits you just as hard as her outfit does, sweet like vanilla.

"This place looks pretty fancy, right?" she asks with a cheeky smile. "You won't mind treating me, will you? After all, I have moved halfway around the world."

You roll your eyes and follow her in. A waiter welcomes you both, and seats you at a small booth in the corner of the dining room. A candle flickers in the centre, between glasses and cutlery. Belle scans the menu and occasionally takes sneaky glances across the table.

"So, how often do you take girls on dates?" she pries. "Not counting me."

"It's not that often, really."

"Then I must be special," she remarks playfully. "But don't worry, you're pretty cute too."

"Oh yeah?" You decide to play along. "Enough for a second date?"

"Hmm... maybe." The conversation is light and easy and just seems to flow naturally without needing any prompts or effort from either end.

Once you've ordered, Belle sips on a glass of wine, staring at you intently, her gaze unwavering, "I wish Sullyoon liked me as much as you do." Her statement catches you off-guard.

"I'm sorry for the way she's acting," you apologise. "She's probably fearing being replaced. She has always been a bit of a daddy's girl."

"I guess I can understand where she's coming from," Belle concedes, swirling the drink in her glass, watching as the crimson liquid swirls around gracefully. "I would be hesitant too. Change can suck sometimes, especially when it's unexpected." She takes a sip and then continues, "I was talking to my dad for a while, about coming over. And you know what he would talk to me about, every time?"

"Sullyoon."

Belle chuckles lightly and puts down her drink. "Yeah. He couldn't help himself. Always talking about the things she was doing. The friends she had. All those clubs she took part in. Made me so excited to meet her."

"Oh..." Now you understand.

"When I got here and realised that I wasn't gonna get a warm reception, it kinda hurt."

"Yeah. I know she can be...stubborn. Sometimes." You sigh. "Don't give up though, I know you'll get to know each other eventually."

She looks at you with hopeful eyes. "You really think so?"

"She warmed up to me eventually." You shrug and take a bite from your food.

"And how long did that take?" Belle asks, her tone playful once more.

"A couple of years."

She laughs again. "Ah, shit." She sits back in her seat, and then looks at you, intrigued. "What changed?"

"Maybe we realised we have stuff in common, or that we were more similar than we thought."

Belle tilts her head to the side, seemingly mulling over what you said. She purses her lips and squints her eyes like she's trying to connect invisible dots. She stabs at her pasta and silently returns to her food.

"What was that?" you ask.

"Nothing," she dismisses. "So, I heard you mentioning a movie night."

"Yeah," you reply. "It's kind of a tradition. We pick a shitty movie, order some pizza, and make fun of it."

"Guess I'm ruining that now?" she suggests.

"It's just one time, we've missed it before and I'm sure we'll miss it again."

"Maybe next week I can join you?"

You think about how movie nights usually end. Sullyoon, spread across a bed, with your head between her legs. You remember the feeling of her soft skin and warmth, the sound of her moans filling the air. And now that memory includes Belle sitting beside you both.

You choke on your drink slightly.

"Oh God." Belle gasps. "What did I say?"

"Nothing, drink just went to the wrong place is all." You cough. "Yeah, sure, you can join us."

Time passes so easily. The conversation is nice, and she's such an interesting woman. She talks about her life, the places she has been and the people she has known. And you reciprocate. By the time the check arrives, you feel like you've known each other for much longer than four days.

"You know, my dad talked about helping me find my own place. I can't keep your room forever," she admits as she's finishing up her last drink.

"That's fine, I can survive on the sofa."

Belle chuckles at that. "I feel bad for putting you out like this." Her fingers reach out to brush yours, lingering there momentarily before retracting. The contact sends a shiver up your spine. "How about we share the bed?"

"Excuse me?" you say in shock. She laughs again.

"Not in that way. I mean, we can put pillows between us or something. It wouldn't be weird, just two siblings sleeping in the same room." She pauses and chuckles. "Unless you snore."

"I don't!"

"Well, I guess we'll find out."

-

When you finally return home, the house is eerily quiet. Both your parents' cars are missing and Sullyoon has retired to her room. Belle carries her purchases while you follow close behind.

As you step onto the landing, Sullyoon's bedroom door opens. She's dressed in one of your shirts. The light that floods out highlights how long her legs are, with her toned thighs in full view. She stands and watches Belle walk into your shared bedroom, before turning her attention to you. "So?" She asks, arms folding.

"So, what?" you counter.

"You going to apologise for ruining my weekend?" she huffs, arms crossing defensively. Her pouty expression almost tempts you to bite back.

"You were invited."

Sullyoon scoffs. "Oh yeah. So that I could third-wheel. No thanks."

You pause and chew your bottom lip. "Did you get to watch the movie at least?"

"Yes, alone." Her frown intensifies. You try not to laugh at how adorable she looks. "Goodnight."

She stomps back into her room and closes the door behind herself. You bite back an amused smirk. Sullyoon has the tendency to be petty, but you never seem to realise how far she'll go until she does it. Still, you decide not to dwell on it, knowing that Sullyoon would rather ignore the problem than confront it directly. She'll forgive you when she decides to.

You round the corner into your room, bags in hand, and that's when you see her, pulling down the zipper that runs along her spine. The fabric falls in ripples and reveals her back. From the arch between her shoulders down to the dimples in her lower back, the milky skin is exposed. Your throat dries up instantly.

"How am I supposed to feel about you ogling me like that?" Belle jokes, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyes shimmer with intrigue.

"Sorry." You quickly spit and then turn around. She doesn't say anything but you hear her light steps over the carpet as she rounds you and closes the bedroom door.

"I was joking," she says while facing you. Her hair falls over her shoulders and ends right above the cup of her bra. She looks like a model straight out of the pages of some lingerie catalogue. You struggle to stay composed.

"So was I," you reply, pretending to be cool while you turn away again to set the bags down in the corner of the room. Belle laughs under her breath.

"I've gotten used to living alone. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put something on, but I'm used to sleeping in nothing but the covers." she offers. "But I don't mind, honestly."

The silence settles between you two and becomes deafening. You let out a nervous sigh. "It's okay," you finally state, grabbing shorts and a shirt and heading to the bathroom to change. "Just give me a moment." Once inside, you strip yourself of your clothes and run the water from the tap. You cup your hands together and fill them before splashing the cold water onto your face. You stare at yourself in the mirror.

This isn't a big deal. It doesn't have to be. You're going to be cool about the whole thing. You can handle having another gorgeous stepsister lying beside you in bed. It won't be hard at all.

You put your clothes on and march out of the bathroom. Belle has made herself comfortable in your bed, laying back against the pillow with her phone in hand. Her eyelids are half-open as she scrolls through social media apps lazily. The bedsheets cover her up to her shoulders.

"I've always slept on the left," she states absently, eyes still glued to her phone screen. You gulp. She pats the empty space beside her, invitingly. "That means you're on the right."

She turns off her phone as you enter the bed. As you slide under the covers, she turns and slides away to give you room. Your legs brush against hers by accident. Her smooth calves rub against yours and you freeze up. Then you feel her hand reaching out, touching your arm gently before drawing away again.

"Are you shy?" she asks with a tiny giggle.

"No," you lie, hoping that your cheeks aren't too flushed from embarrassment. The room goes pitch black when she flicks off the lamp. Only the distant glow of a street light shines through the curtains. Your eyes adjust and you make out her silhouette against the bedsheets.

"Just relax." Her voice echoes softly in the dark. She places her hand atop yours and squeezes firmly. She brushes her fingertips up along your forearm, stopping briefly near your elbow before trailing them back down again. Each stroke sends little shivers shooting up and down your spine. The effect of her touch is hypnotising; a powerful yet delicate combination of warmth and tenderness.

The movements continue for a while, in silence, as your eyes grow heavy.

"Sweet dreams," she whispers.

"Night Belle," you manage to mutter. Before you know it, you drift off to sleep.

-

At first, you don't even register the sensation, as if you are in a dream. First, it's the tickling of her hair in your face, followed by the feeling of her soft skin in your hand. Then it's the warmth, all along the front of your body. Belle is pressed against you tightly and your arm is around her. Holding her as the little spoon.

Your eyes flicker open.

You lay there in shock, unsure what to do, but also unwilling to move. The warmth radiates off of her, soothing every inch of you that she touches. Her breathing rises and falls slowly, as though she hasn't stirred yet. Her fragrance surrounds you, intoxicatingly sweet, leaving you lightheaded.

You try to adjust the arm that's trapped under her but she threatens to stir awake, mumbling unintelligibly against the pillow, as she shuffles around to get comfortable against you again. She moves her body against yours and presses harder.

Suddenly, you become very aware of exactly which parts of your bodies are making contact. Her ass grinds up against your crotch and the sensation causes a wave of heat to course throughout your entire core. Panic kicks in as you will your morning wood to retreat as quickly as possible. Yet no amount of willpower can stop the natural reaction to her plush butt cheeks.

You focus your attention elsewhere, trying to distract yourself by thinking of mundane tasks to pass the time—anything to prevent yourself from acknowledging your growing arousal. You count the speckles on the ceiling and list off ingredients of your favourite foods.

It doesn't work.

You have to get out. You start by pulling away your body, minimising the contact and creating separation. But then there's your arm, still stuck under her. Gently, ever so gently, you lift yourself away, trying to drag your limb free.

"Leaving already?" comes Belle's question. Her tone drips with mock offence.

"What? Uhhh.." you stutter. Shit. Not good.

Belle flips around to face you. In the morning glow, she's positively radiant. A beautiful angel bathed in warm sunlight. Her silky hair flows delicately as she turns. She flashes a devilish smile and says, "Look at that, our first night sharing a bed and you're already cuddling with me."

You're speechless. Blood rushes to your cheeks and you feel your heart beat faster in your chest.

"It was nice," she smiles. "Even if you were poking me in the ass."

Your jaw drops. Shame bubbles in the pit of your stomach and causes your skin to prickle. She laughs and pushes the sheets down to your waists. She's fucking topless. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of her breasts, perfect teardrops that hang deliciously against her chest, crowned by erect pink nipples. The sight sends you reeling into total disarray.

"You can't help it, I know." Her voice cuts through your dazed thoughts like a blade slicing through butter. "All guys wake up horny." She shuffles a little closer. "I can help it, though." Her hand snakes down beneath the sheet, into your shorts, and suddenly there's the unmistakable sensation of her fingers wrapped around your cock.

"Belle—" Her name leaves your throat weak and cracked. Heat envelops you and your brain goes into overdrive. No way is this real.

"Shhh," she whispers, leaning in until her lips are hovering close to yours. "I want to help," she says with a mischievous smirk.

She starts slowly stroking your dick. At first, it feels strange and foreign, but gradually melts into pleasure as the friction increases. Belle continues to stare, watching as the corners of your mouth twitch and twist, as if studying her own effect on you. Every time your breath hitches she seems to gain more confidence. She grips tighter and works her wrist faster, building up a steady rhythm.

"See, we can share this room." She keeps moving her hand up and down in perfect strokes, varying the pace every few seconds. Sometimes fast and firm, then slow and gentle. It's enough to drive anyone mad. "Isn't it great?"

"This is so messed up," you manage to groan out as your hips lift involuntarily.

"Is it?" She kisses the corner of your mouth. "Doesn't seem that bad to me."

She's right. It feels incredible. Despite everything, you don't want her to stop. You lean into her, desperate for her to kiss you, but instead, she pulls away, giggling softly. That only serves to frustrate you further, which seems to encourage her even more. She quickens her pace and leans closer to you again, stopping inches away from kissing distance once more.

Your eyes grow heavy again, but this time it's not sleep that overtakes you. Instead, it's bliss.

"Belle, what the fuck..." you whisper. Pleasure is burning hot in the base of your gut. Her wrist rolls as she jerks you off harder. "Why..."

She lets you go, hand slipping out of your shorts as quickly as it entered. "Here." She cups your hand in her own and pulls it towards her chest. "Feel free to touch." You know what happens when you allow temptation to guide your actions. Sullyoon is a case and point.

Despite that, you're unable to resist.

Her breast fits perfectly in your palm. So soft. Your fingers graze over the sensitive nipple. The moans that follow sound heavenly, even more so when accompanied by her coy smile. Without warning, her lips press against yours, sealing off any sort of protest. Her tongue dances across your bottom lip and into your mouth. Soft. Wet. Hot.

Heat pools between your legs. Her hand returns to its former place around your cock. She's so slow now, achingly deliberate. Your mind spins endlessly; overwhelmed by desire.

When you pull back, she gives a sly wink, "Tell me what you think, hm?"

"It feels so fucking good," you sigh. She responds with another kiss. The room fades to silence beyond your muffled moaning and wet kissing sounds. Time itself seems to grind to a halt.

"I knew you'd enjoy it," she murmurs into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before continuing, "Now...how about you return the favour?" Her words trail off as she lifts one of your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue twirls around it for a moment and then releases it with a wet pop.

"Sure," you mutter, too distracted to care about anything else. You slip your hand beneath the duvet and then push at her hip, turning her onto her back. You admire her upper body. From her chest to the curve of her hips, to the dip of her waist, she looks divine. Belle lies back and spreads her legs. And when your hand snakes between her thighs, she raises her arms above her head and grips the pillow tight.

"Fuck," she gasps as your fingertips run along her slit gently, enjoying how she bucks upwards to meet your digits.

"You're soaked," you marvel.

Belle grins wickedly and exhales slowly. "Mhm," she agrees. "And who's fault is that?"

"Me," you respond quickly.

You brush up and down her pussy with agonising slowness, revelling in how her slick fluids cling to your fingers, and coat them in their essence. After a few seconds of exploration, you circle her clit slowly with two fingertips. Her eyes snap shut instantly and she whimpers softly under her breath. It's mesmerising. She squirms wildly, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her squeals of ecstasy.

Then she lets out this long drawn-out moan while she squeezes the pillow tight against the back of her head. "Fuck," she curses.

Your finger sinks inside of her effortlessly.

"T-that feels..." she whimpers between staggered breaths. You pump in and out of her, curling upwards against her walls every single time. Her hips sway to meet your thrusts, matching them perfectly. The sight drives you insane.

You withdraw your finger from her depths and circle it across her folds. Her legs tremble in anticipation.

"Please," she begs. Your cock throbs painfully.

She tilts her head backwards, baring the pale skin of her neck to you. An offering. One you take happily.

You press your lips against her soft flesh, savouring her taste. Her scent overwhelms you. You can feel her pulse thrumming frantically just beneath the surface of her skin. There's something intensely primal about being able to feel someone else's heartbeat racing against your own.

Your teeth clamp down on the area between her jaw and collarbone, holding her securely as you explore every inch of her sex with newfound fervour.

It isn't long until she writhes beneath you, panting heavily while clinging desperately to the bedsheets around her. Your movements grow faster, more frantic. Hungry even.

She threatens to get loud, and you know how bad that could be. There's a reason Sullyoon always comes into your room, it's the furthest from your parents, and even then you find yourself putting a palm over her mouth. Now it's just one thin wall. One thin wall separates Belle's moans from Sullyoon's ears.

So you shut her up the best way you know how.

She seems surprised when your mouth crashes against hers, silencing her squeals with your tongue, but the feeling is fleeting. Her arms wrap around the back of your neck, pulling her closer towards you. She tastes like strawberries and smells faintly of vanilla.

You absorb her moans into your mouth as she cums on your hand.

Her thighs tighten around you, locking your fingers deep within her core. She shudders violently as waves of pleasure wrack through her frame. Slowly but surely she relaxes again, letting out contented sighs mixed with tiny giggles of delight. When she opens her eyes again, her pupils are dilated and wide, shining brightly. She stares up at you dreamily. Her cheeks flushed red. Lips plump from kisses.

"Holy shit." Belle exhales hard before speaking again. Her voice still shakes with euphoria. "Good morning indeed."

"Yeah," you chuckle, rolling back to give her space.

"No," she stops you by placing a hand on your stomach. "We haven't finished."

"We haven't?"

"You haven't." She runs a hand down your body until it's back to how all this started. This time, she pushes your shorts clear of your hips and lets your erection spring free. She's climbing up and over you as she speaks, "Let me return the favour. We're family now."

Then she takes you into her mouth. Your thoughts blur together into a haze of lust and arousal, blinding your vision temporarily. Everything else fades away except for this girl who sucks your dick like she needs it to survive. Her tongue swirls around the crown of your tip teasingly while she bobs back and forth steadily. She hums around you, sending vibrations reverberating throughout your entire length, sending tingles shooting up and down your spine.

As her effort rises, so does she. Onto all fours and swinging a leg over yours. She's giving you this look—this hungry stare. You're hers now. Totally at her mercy. She keeps eye contact as she sucks you deeper than before. Then, without warning, her head lifts away from your cock completely, leaving behind a slick trail of spittle dripping down her chin. She wipes it away with her knuckles nonchalantly. Still wearing that predatory expression. Something about the action, the confidence of it, it makes you shiver.

She starts to stroke you, right before she dips her pretty face down to place her lips on your balls. Then it's her tongue, warm and wet against the sensitive skin. She alternates between tender kisses and loving licks all while staring up past your cock to meet your gaze. It's unbelievably hot.

"Don't cum yet," she whispers sweetly before returning her mouth around your length again.

"Can't promise anything," you groan back.

"Cute," she murmurs around your shaft.

Belle works you for a while. Those smokey eyes watch your every involuntary reaction while she worships your cock. Every twitch gets a quiet giggle. Every choked moan is met with a little lick across the tip.

It doesn't take long until the fire in your belly begins to spread.

"Belle," you strain, barely keeping a hold of your composure. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

"Not yet," she says with a smirk. "Here."

She shifts ever so slightly again, pushing her chest towards her pumping hand. She presses your tip against the hard nipple and jerks you off, alternating between the stiff buds. All you can do is watch, totally transfixed by what's happening before you. Her movements grow quicker and more frantic. Until it becomes almost too much.

You let it out, right onto her pretty little tits. Thick ropes across her flawless skin, painting her while she smiles. Even after you've been spent, she keeps working your shaft until it becomes painful. Oversensitivity has never felt sweeter.

"Oh god." Belle looks down at the mess you've made on her chest. Her grin is devious. She slips off the bed, taking a spare towel from underneath it and wiping at her chest and your crotch. Once you're both clean, she tucks you back in and crawls onto your torso. With a small bounce, she nestles down and lays on top of you. Her chest presses against yours.

"So," she coos, resting her chin on your sternum. "That happened."

You laugh and she quickly joins you. There's a feeling of shared exhilaration hanging between you both. A giddiness that comes from knowing you have just crossed an invisible boundary together.

"That was so fucking hot." Belle brings her palm up to cradle the side of your head affectionately. Her thumb brushes small circles against your temple, tracing patterns along the outline of your cheekbones. After a few seconds, her smile starts to fade. "Do you hate me?"

"Why would I?" You ask sincerely.

"I don't know. You're my step-brother. And I just..."

Her tone makes your heart ache ever so slightly, causing you to reach out for her face and cup her cheek in your palm. "If you hadn't made a move, I would have anyway," you confess.

"You're as messed up as me, then."

She has no idea.

-

Towel and a change of clothes in hand, you start to open the bathroom door when you hear your name. Sullyoon's distinct voice. You hesitate, halfway through the threshold, and turn back to see her walking down the corridor. "So, what, you don't like me anymore?"

"What are you talking about?" You retort defensively.

She puts on this mocking voice. "'Yes Belle, I'll take you to town.' 'Yes Belle, I'll take you to dinner and stand up the sister I actually know.' You've known her for two minutes! Two!"

You feel shame rising inside your chest. It's a weird feeling that just trying to be a good brother (or a bad one) has driven some divide between you and Sullyoon. You try to explain, "She's flown to a whole new country. It's difficult. We have to welcome her. If I didn't have to do it alone then we could see each other more." You sigh, "She really wants to hang out with you, you know."

Sullyoon crosses her arms, looking smug, "Oh, I bet."

"She does," you insist, trying your best not to appear too frustrated with her. "She was excited about movie night and she wants to join us next week." To this, Sullyoon simply scoffs.

"Yeah, right."

There's a pause where neither of you knows what to say. Eventually, it is broken by your stepsister's words.

"Doesn't change the fact that you left me alone on our night." She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip sticking out adorably. You roll your eyes at her antics. Sometimes, her stubbornness can border upon childishness.

"Sullyoon," you say flatly. "Come on. That's not fair."

She shrugs dismissively, clearly unconvinced. "What's not fair is that we haven't done it in almost a week."

You drop your towel and clothes on the bathroom floor and step out quickly towards her. You quickly hold your palm against her plump lips to silence her. "Not so loud."

She grabs your wrist, pulling her mouth free. "Our parents are out, calm down." But then she uses the leverage to yank you forward, right into her arms. "Maybe you should make it up to me."

"Sullyoon." You chastise. Boundaries exist for a reason, and doing this out here in the hallway is not what you agreed. You pry her away and walk back into the bathroom.

She follows each step, and as soon as you turn back to close the door, she's already slipping through and closing it herself. Before you have a chance to protest, Sullyoon's hands grab your face and bring you into a fierce kiss. She wastes no time sliding her tongue between your lips, demanding entry. You resist for only half a second before giving in fully, allowing yourself to become consumed by her passionate embrace. Her fingers grasp tufts of your hair tightly, tugging at the strands gently enough that it sends pleasant shivers running down your spine instead of hurting.

"The hell are you doing?" You eventually ask when she breaks away from your mouth, albeit reluctantly.

"Making up for lost time," she whispers as she slips down to her knees, grabbing the sides of your shorts.

You panic. "Hey, hey—" you exclaim as you stop her. She looks at you confused as to why you aren't happy with getting blown. She furrows her brows and then forcefully tugs them down. Your soft cock springs free, hanging mere inches from her waiting lips. Sullyoon licks them in anticipation while keeping her eyes trained solely upon yours.

But that's when she notices something.

There's a brief moment where the two of you lock gazes; where there should be nothing but lust swimming amidst those hazel irises, there is concern. She inhales sharply, catching a scent which throws her into alert mode. You can practically see the gears turning within her brain.

She stands up immediately, stares you dead in the eyes and says, "What the fuck is that?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, dumbass. You smell like sex and there's lipstick on your cock."

Shit.

"Belle!" Sullyoon calls as she marches back down the hall, bursting into your bedroom. You almost stumble over your shorts and rush to pull them back up to your waist. You dash behind her, terrified at what will happen next.

You round the corner into your room and Sullyoon is standing at the foot of your bed. Belle has her phone in hand, still lying in bed, with the covers up to her chest.

"Slut!" Sullyoon snaps.

"Excuse me?" Belle sits up straight, clutching the duvet to cover herself up properly, glaring back at your sister angrily.

"You heard me. Stay the fuck away from him. He's mine. My brother."

You wince in the silence. Belle just stares at the furious Sullyoon while the gears turn in her mind. Glancing back and forth between the two of you, she's clearly piecing it together. She smirks and then chuckles. "Oh my god! You're fucking him!"

"That's none of your business." Sullyoon retorts sharply.

"Now it all makes sense," she says while pointing her finger and waggling it between you and Sullyoon. "Do I threaten you?"

"No." Sullyoon lies, rather poorly.

"That's cute," Belle laughs. "So, what, you're in love with your brother?"

"No!" Sullyoon snaps, more assured of herself that time. "That's gross."

Belle gives you a look. "So it's just about the sex? What's the big deal?" She asks bluntly. "Clearly he has a type." She gestures to you and smirks again. "There's enough of him to share."

Sullyoon scoffs at her proposal. "Share?" she repeats incredulously. She glances back at you and you offer nothing but a shrug in reply. "Absolutely not," Sullyoon responds firmly.

"Why?" Belle questions innocently.

"I don't wanna."

"Come on," Belle whines, letting her frustration show for once. She throws up her hands dramatically as she argues passionately, "Look, I understand wanting to keep him all to yourself, believe me! He's adorable." As she speaks, her eyes rake up and down your body appreciatively, making heat rise to your face rapidly. "I'm not trying to steal him or anything. Actually, we might just have more in common than you think."

Sullyoon rolls her eyes. "Unbelievable," she sighs.

"Just picture it," Belle insists. "The three of us, here, together."

"What are you suggesting, exactly?" Sullyoon crosses her arms. She isn't going anywhere.

"A threesome."

"Belle..." you caution, but it goes unheard.

"You can even go first," Belle offers casually.

This is ridiculous. Completely absurd. You watch the scene unfold in disbelief. Sullyoon appears to mull the proposition over, her foot tapping impatiently against the carpet as she thinks. There's no way she will agree. Not in a million years would she even consider such a thing... Right?

Sullyoon closes her eyes briefly and inhales deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly. She looks between both of you several times until she finally meets your gaze again and nods decisively. "Fine. Let's do this. Right here, right now." Her tone has turned resolute, decisive, confident, and bordering on cocky.

Your mouth falls agape. Is this really happening?

"Wait. Really?" Belle seems equally shocked by this sudden change. Apparently neither one of you expected her acquiescence quite this quickly or easily.

You look between the two girls. Back and forth. They're doing the same. It's this strange triangle of hesitancy and confusion.

"So how do we...?" Sullyoon trails off, obviously unsure as to how things work from this point forward. She's used to your shared normal, your routine; just the two of you having sex. Spontaneity demands creativity.

"I don't know. It's kinda..." You chime in but don't know how to explain it.

Belle rolls her eyes at the two of you. "Oh my god. Come on." She scoots closer toward the edge of the bed, pulling the duvet away. It slides off her shoulders revealing the perfect curve of her bare breasts. It's not like you've forgotten the sight of them not long ago (nothing about Belle is forgettable) but it sure does hit differently under the context of the situation. She gestures to the bed behind her. "If you two want to fuck, just fuck."

Sullyoon shoots daggers at Belle but still decides to approach regardless. When she reaches you, she grabs your hand roughly and drags you onto the mattress with her. It's all so easy, so natural, falling into a tangle of limbs with her. Even if Belle is watching, even if she's sitting right there. None of that matters anymore because once your mouths collide, everything else fades into insignificance.

You taste the sweetness of her saliva. Feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Smell her familiar perfume, lavender and honey. She's all around you, encasing you completely and enveloping you entirely until all that remains is her. The kiss grows more intense, tongues wrestling as she straddles your lap and grinds her crotch down onto yours eagerly. Desperately seeking relief from the throbbing between her legs.

Then her fingers snake beneath your shirt and lift it over your head, breaking contact. She flings the clothing across the room carelessly before returning the attention to your lips once more. As she leans in for another embrace, you remember exactly where you are, who's there with you, and why they're here.

"Belle—" you start, breaking away mid-kiss. You gesture to her awkwardly as Sullyoon starts mouthing at your neck.

"Mmm?" She answers as she crawls towards your outstretched hand.

"Are you okay with this?"

She takes it upon herself to grab hold of your wrist and guide your palm right onto her naked breast, guiding it around with her own grip. She holds you there until you get the memo, massaging it gently between your digits whilst rubbing her fingertip atop your finger delicately, coaxing you to tweak her erect nipple. "Very," she finally replies.

"This is so weird," Sullyoon remarks, lifting away from your shoulder as Belle moves to her side and perches on her knees.

"It was already weird before I got involved," Belle jokes back, giving you a mischievous grin. She brings her free hand up to cup Sullyoon's cheek.

Sullyoon shies away, "I won't kiss you."

"I wouldn't expect it."

They look at each other for a moment, as if silently coming to some kind of understanding that transcends verbal language altogether. After a few more seconds pass by without further incident, you see them exchange conspiratorial smirks, as though they were sharing some hilarious joke at your expense.

Sullyoon pulls her top over her head, while Belle makes a move at your shorts. For the second time this morning, she's pulling your cock free from them, only this time, she's presenting it to Sullyoon. Her hand wraps around the shaft and starts to jerk it up and down, eliciting a low moan out of you which catches their collective attention. Belle smiles slyly.

In her delicate lace bra, Sullyoon lowers her head, opens her mouth and presents her tongue. Belle presses your tip onto her tongue and Sullyoon is quick to lap at it hungrily. She slides her hands up along your thighs, gripping firmly as she takes you deeper.

"That's hot," Belle murmurs softly, still pumping you.

All you can do is bite your lip and watch as your stepsisters service your length together, competing for its pleasure and attention. They swap turns, passing you back and forth while occasionally meeting in the middle, sucking along either side. It's a little awkward, the way they get in each other's way, but somehow that makes it hotter. Seeing their cheeks squish together, heads bump and lips brush accidentally while fighting for dominance over your dick.

At one point, when Sullyoon has sucked you all the way to the hilt, you notice Belle burying her fingers into Sullyoon's hair. Then the hand slides further, until it cups the back of your sister's head. Then she pushes, holding her in place while she swallows your entire length. Sullyoon panics at first, spluttering slightly against your shaft before she relaxes, settling into the gag, taking it for a bit longer before Belle releases her.

"Fuck!" Sullyoon gasps once she has the freedom to breathe. Strings of spittle connecting her open mouth to the tip of your cock. "Why?"

"Because it's hot," Belle shrugs.

"She's right," you manage to groan out. "Very hot."

"See?" Belle states triumphantly. She places her hand behind your sister's head again, "So do it again."

Sullyoon doesn't put up any resistance. Belle pushes her down, holding her down again as you enter deep into the wet confines of her throat. Sullyoon grips tightly at the flesh of your thighs and tries to relax her body. Despite the initial discomfort, there's no denying that having someone else dictate the terms of her oral servitude adds another layer of eroticism to the whole affair. Belle lets her resurface with a deep gasp for air, spit smeared across her chin, a thin strand dangling precariously between the underside of your erection and the tip of her tongue.

"Look at how pretty you are like that," Belle coos condescendingly while stroking Sullyoon's hair affectionately, almost lovingly even. In spite of everything else, the humiliation of being reduced to such an object, you catch Sullyoon blushing at the praise. Even more shocking, Sullyoon seems to lean into her caresses willingly.

"You've made her blush, Belle." You joke lightly, breaking some tension. It earns a glare from Sullyoon. The humour is short-lived.

After another couple of rounds, during which you have to fight every instinct within yourself not to cum in either of their mouths, Belle asks, "Can I see you ride him?"

One thing is becoming clear: Belle loves to watch.

Sullyoon sits up and wipes the excess saliva from her jawline with the back of her wrist, still panting slightly from being choked so thoroughly. After regaining some composure, she merely nods her consent. There's an underlying tension, however subtle, woven throughout their interaction now but a hint of mutual respect borne from seeing the other's ability to please you so well.

As Sullyoon stands, Belle seems to ponder. On her knees, staring at her sister's body, as if admiring every aspect of her figure; slender legs, tight waist, and cute ass. You get it. You've been there. Gawking at Sullyoon from afar, stealing glances while nobody notices, fantasising about those very curves. And yet it's surreal seeing somebody else experiencing it in front of you.

When Belle speaks up, she points to Sullyoon's shorts. "May I?"

"Go ahead," Sullyoon mutters nonchalantly, almost absentmindedly. Her full focus seems to revolve around climbing onto your lap. Meanwhile, Belle carefully peels away the fabric that clings to Sullyoon's lower body, easing her out of them until her legs come free. In a series of graceful motions, Belle has exposed Sullyoon down to nothing—helped because Sullyoon never wears underwear in the house.

As Sullyoon settles over your hips, resting on her knees, Belle crawls up next to you, positioning herself comfortably alongside your body. She props herself upright, leaning sideways against your torso for support. With a finger, she traces shapes across your chest, drawing abstract patterns into your skin idly while keeping her eyes locked exclusively forward, entranced by Sullyoon above you.

She takes hold of your dick at its base. Taking her time to drag both it and herself against each other, exchanging spit and slick fluids that coat them. There's a little sway and rotation to her hips, teasing incessantly until the anticipation threatens to drive you mad. The soft skin of her tummy looks so tasty from here, rising and falling slowly as she breathes and moving as she rolls her body.

There comes a point where enough is enough.

Just as you reach to grab yourself and guide it inside of her, Belle stretches her hand down between Sullyoon's legs and takes hold of your cock instead. She slaps your tip against your sister's swollen clit. Up and down, hitting the sensitive button repeatedly. All it takes is one errant flick downwards, however accidental (or not), and now your cockhead is nestled snugly into Sullyoon's entrance.

Belle draws her palm back up over your body. "Sorry, my bad," she giggles. Except you know better, seeing the smug twinkle that sparkles behind her irises. Before you can say anything more, Sullyoon succumbs to gravity and the pleasure it brings. Her hips sink down. Accepting inch after inch of you inside of her welcoming pussy until every last bit fits snuggly within her walls. She groans quietly.

It's all so familiar—the sensation of being enveloped by her velvety folds—but still wonderful nonetheless.

The shift of pressure when she begins to grind on top of you reminds you of those many times in the evening darkness, those instances when all that mattered was staying silent. Now you have an audience. Somebody watching intently from your side.

Belle watches the action unfold, a gasp here and giggle there. Sullyoon's body arches back subtly whilst she rocks her pelvis back and forth rhythmically atop yours. Her eyelids droop heavily as ecstasy surges through her veins, causing goosebumps to prickle over her smooth flesh as she rides.

"You like riding your brother's dick?"

"Y-Yes," Sullyoon stutters out, too preoccupied to register fully what she said. This sets off the deviant in Belle. You sense her growing bolder, more confident with her lecherous remarks knowing they'll be met with little to no resistance.

"You gonna cum on it?"

"Yes!" Sullyoon cries. Every downward motion presses her clit against your pubic bone, sending waves rippling through her petite frame. You grip her waist firmly, helping her. Her ass collides loudly against your thighs when she bottoms out each time. There's hardly any need for you to buck your hips and meet her.

"Yeah, you love fucking your stepbrother, don't you?"

Sullyoon only whimpers. Whatever argument or shame she might muster has fallen prey to her own desires. Now that she's been given permission—to indulge these fantasies openly with others—it appears as though she'll never go back. How can anyone turn away from such bliss?

And to your own amazement, neither of you seems fazed by the fact Belle bears witness to everything transpiring before her eyes.

"So dirty. Such a bad girl." Belle's tone is sultry sweet like honey dripping off a spoon. She leans closer and plants her lips against yours softly. It takes a second, a single heartbeat passing in silence where your tongue darts forward to greet hers. Suddenly the kiss has become something fierce and passionate—an exchange filled entirely with unbridled hunger that knows nothing besides passion itself. Nothing exists beyond its carnal needs right now except for maybe one thing...

An explosion erupts deep within Sullyoon; an eruption so violent that it causes her entire form to shake uncontrollably atop you. Her moans fill your bedroom, and her whole body draws tense before collapsing limply upon you like a marionette whose strings had just been cut loose by some unseen force. She quivers and writhes atop your throbbing shaft.

"Must be one hell of a ride," Belle comments through laboured breaths.

"Find out for yourself," you respond, matching her energy.

"Mmmm," she purrs thoughtfully whilst absentmindedly tracing circles across Sullyoon's exposed backside. "Let's switch, 'kay?"

You're quick to respond. Grabbing onto Sullyoon's ass cheeks, digging your fingertips firmly into each supple mound as you hoist her upwards. Your cock slips effortlessly free, causing a shudder to run through you both simultaneously before pulling apart completely. A mixture of sexual fluids oozes messily down her thighs when you set her aside on the mattress.

Now it's Belle's turn.

The atmosphere shifts drastically as she straddles you. Where previously things had taken on this languid dreamlike state—with Sullyoon's gentle undulations atop your cock, punctuated by moans echoing throughout the room—now the urgency returns anew.

Once Belle has mounted you correctly, sinking down until she reaches hilt-deep within herself, then she starts gyrating wildly. Hips rolling furiously fast and grinding her sex hard against yours, driving you deeper than ever before.

Her tits bounce deliciously from the impacts and her lips purse prettily with exertion. From nothing to everything in the blink of an eye. She's leaning over you, pressing her forehead against yours and staring right into your soul as she rides your cock mercilessly. And those eyes—those beautifully smokey eyes—are burning with lustful fervour.

Belle's hot breath mingles sweetly together amidst the haze surrounding you two. Then her lips crash against yours in a searing kiss that steals away whatever remaining oxygen you have left within your lungs. Tongues dance between teeth, entwining passionately against one another until you're forced apart by necessity.

"How is he?" Sullyoon speaks up. She sounds remarkably coherent despite appearing like a spent mess lying sprawled out beside you two.

"Fucking huge," Belle gasps in response without breaking stride. Her pace doesn't slow at all, if anything she speeds up even more in defiance to accommodate your size better. Her voice wavers slightly when she speaks again. "He feels so good," she murmurs softly against your earlobe.

"Give me his face," Sullyoon demands, crawling closer to you, propping her body upright next to your head. Once her hands cup your cheeks and tilt your face up, she swings a leg over your head and positions her snatch directly above your mouth. Then she descends downwards gently, pressing herself flush against your lips.

As soon as contact occurs between tongue and slit, Sullyoon jolts upright suddenly as bolts shoot straight towards her core. Eagerly lapping away at her glistening cunt causes a ripple effect throughout her whole physique, making her hips gyrate involuntarily against your open mouth.

Belle continues slamming herself down hard atop you, rocking your entire foundation relentlessly. She throws her head backwards as the momentum builds steadily higher and higher. Unrestrained groans spill freely from her throat unchecked as pleasure overwhelms every other rational thought inside her brain. Meanwhile, you feast on the nectar that flows forth copiously from your step-sister's pussy, savouring the ambrosia coating thickly around your tongue as you slurp it greedily down.

Time loses meaning while submerged beneath the sea of sensations cascading over you ceaselessly—nothing existing beyond the confines of flesh pounding against flesh nor the taste saturating every inch of your being.

You claw for some sort of respite, finding your fingers digging into Sullyoon's ass as a makeshift warning of the feeling in your body. You're close but they won't stop, in fact, Belle works harder.

Everything escalates tenfold. Everything gets faster; harder; wilder.

It drives you absolutely insane.

Your cock spasms violently inside of Belle's convulsing sex. Simultaneously, she's screaming something incomprehensible—not quite words necessarily but definitely conveying something meaningful nonetheless. The surge of euphoria crashes through you like waves crashing upon the shore during a stormy night—ferociously crashing through every fibre of your being with unrestrained vigour. Cum floods her depths in hot thick spurts and her body tenses rigidly, shaking fiercely whilst gripping tightly onto you for stability. Sullyoon trembles too, twitching sporadically and squealing loudly through clenched teeth before eventually slumping forward once again, collapsing heavily upon your face while riding out her orgasmic peak alongside yours.

Seconds feel like minutes, minutes seem like hours.

Eventually, the intensity fades, replaced instead by gentle numbness which fills the void afterwards. You lay there, breathing raggedly—heart hammering heavily within ribcage and sweat trickling down skin dampened thoroughly, amongst bodily fluids staining sheets soaked in evidence of prior debauchery. Eventually, your sisters roll off of you.

Silence prevails for several long moments afterwards. No sound penetrates beyond shallow breaths. Nobody says anything; no words need be uttered aloud to express emotions present right now anyway.

***

Three days later, you wake up in bed, sandwiched between your sisters. Legs intertwined, warm skin brushing against one another and soft chests pillowing against your sides. Asleep.

This isn't unusual—not anymore. How quickly it has all become routine to sleep squished between them.

It's also not weird or uncomfortable. At least, you try to convince yourself of that. Because otherwise...well...

You decide not to finish the thought. Instead, you opt to focus solely on enjoying the sensation of having both beautiful girls wrapped snugly around you. Revel in their warmth and breathe deeply their scent. Cherish this dirty, taboo arrangement for all it's worth. There will surely come a day when everything falls apart; when reality inevitably comes knocking at the door. But until then, why not indulge? 

[starmapz]

what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety (attacks). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.

“So? How did it go?”

Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.

As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.

And then there’s the case of Sukuna.

Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:02 PM home?

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids

You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.

More encouraging still, was his follow up email.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial

You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.

But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.

It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.

Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”

“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.

You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”

As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is… a lot. 

With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.

–

Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.

And thank god for that.

After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.

Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.

Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.

How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.

The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.

Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.

Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.

The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.

In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.

At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.

The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.

“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.

With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.

Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.

“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.

Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.

His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.

It’s drawn in marker.

Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.

You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.

The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.

The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.

“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”

His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.

With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.

“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.

Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.

Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle. 

Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.

You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.

“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.

“Tuesday next week.”

“Excited?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but… yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.

The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”

Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”

Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.

The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.

“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.

“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”

“I think so! What about you?

His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”

“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.

Shit.

That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.

Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”

“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”

“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.

“Is history not good enough now, princess?”

You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.

But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.

With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.

You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.

One step forward… two steps back.

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.

To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.

With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”

Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”

It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”

Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.

–

The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.

He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.

His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”

You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?

“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”

He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”

Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”

It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.

But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.

Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.

You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.

“You’re mean.”

Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”

Choso stands his ground, not moving.

God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?

Is he really?

He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.

This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?

You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.

He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.

“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.

“Sorry.”

You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”

“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”

You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”

“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”

“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”

Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.

You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”

“You are helping me,” he points out.

“I’m helping the kids.”

“That helps me.”

Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.

“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.

Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.

“You should check your engine.”

You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.

“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.

Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.

“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”

Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.

“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”

It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.

“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”

Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.

You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”

“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”

Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”

His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.

“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”

“More?”

The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”

“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”

“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.

He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but…” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.

“You need help?”

He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”

Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Where? Your schedule is full.”

“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”

“You could always ask Toj-”

“No.”

You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.

“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.

Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.

“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.

To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.

“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.

His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.

Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.

–

Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.

With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two… Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?

The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.

“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”

“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”

“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).

At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.

“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”

Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.

“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”

“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.

“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”

“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.”

“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”

“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.

Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.

It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.

Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.

Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.

“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.

“My second what?”

Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.

Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?

Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.

“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.

Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”

With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”

Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.

“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”

“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”

“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”

Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”

“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”

“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.

She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.

Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”

“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.

“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”

“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”

Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.

“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”

“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.

“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn��t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.

“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.

Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”

Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”

Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”

“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.

“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.

“That was a long time ago-”

Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”

Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).

You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.

–

After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.

His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.

When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.

The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.

The latter… That was something you would unpack later.

As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.

Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.

Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.

Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.

Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.

“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.

“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?” 

“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.

You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s… Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-

There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”

“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”

Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.

“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.

“... I live here.”

Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.

“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.

Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.

“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.

With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.

“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.

You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.

“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.

Sukuna looks… well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.

“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.

Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“My ass. Your phone’s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.

Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.

As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.

“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.

“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.

“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.

Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.

As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.

You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.

But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.

Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.

Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.

But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.

Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.

“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”

Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.

Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.

“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.

Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”

Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.

“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.

“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”

Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”

Turns out she’s your guardian angel.

To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.

You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

Of course he would have heard everything.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.

“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”

He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.

“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?” 

Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.

“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.

“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.

Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”

“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”

Choso nods.

“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.

“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”

You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”

Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.

“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”

Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”

Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.

Choso nods.

“Why?”

“They wanted to see a scary movie.”

“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.

“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”

“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”

Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.

“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.

As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.

Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.

“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“I don’t need help!”

Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”

His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.

“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”

“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”

Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”

“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.

Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.

“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”

Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.

“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.

Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.

Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.

Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.

“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”

You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.

“Why?”

Frowning, you contemplate his query.

You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.

“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”

“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.

Fuuuuuu-

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.

Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.

Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.

“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”

He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.

Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.

“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”

You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you… a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“Being friends with Toji.”

Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.

Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”

Choso nods.

Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.

“Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.

Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.

“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.

“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”

“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.

“- five thousand words, by the way.”

“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.

“Charles Dickens.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”

Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.

“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.

You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.

Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.

“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.

“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”

“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”

“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.

“You know, Choso sent me in here.”

“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”

“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.

“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.

“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”

Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.

He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.

Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”

Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”

Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.

“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”

If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”

Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.

“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.

Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.

“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”

“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.

Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.

“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.

“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.

You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.

“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”

“No.” He gruffs firmly.

It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.

Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well… Just remember what Choso said.”

“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”

“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.

Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.

Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.

It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.

Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.

Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.

“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”

Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.

“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”

“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”

With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.

With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.

Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.

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❦ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33

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[hellishjoel]

talk me down

3.7k / therapist!joel x f!reader

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Summary: You’re finally ready to sit down and discuss your obvious daddy issues. Your therapist, Joel, has his methods. 

Warnings/Information/Heads-Up: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, abuse of position (therapist!joel), discussions of parental divorce, daddy issues, praise kink, daddy kink, pet names, cursing/swearing, age gap, handjob (for a lil bit?) unprotected p in v, cockwarming (if you squint?), breathplay (I’m running out of breath typing all this are we good to go?) 

A/N: this is my first fic wow how exciting, I can’t thank my new friends enough for the brainstorming and helping make it to tumblr so let’s just get on with it yeah? tell me if you want more, my requests are open x

“Oooh, fuck,” you gasp, your head coming back up to watch as his hand disappeared under the drape of your skirt. Suddenly you felt him cup your aching mound, taking in a short breath at the feeling of finally getting some much-desired pressure down there.   “So fuckin’ wet… were you this wet during our whole session, kitten?” He asked. It was sick and twisted, you knew it was. That’s why you let out a shameful little nod, your legs wanting to clench around his hand there.  He let out a disgusted scoff, you deserved it. You wanted to fuck your therapist. 

“So what brings you here today?”

Your eyes shyly evade his, instead choosing to graze over the belongings of your new therapist’s office. It looked like a small library the way books were lined up and stacked on the shelves. The desk behind him was a dark oak, and everything had its place, not a pen out of line. After you deliberately ignore his question, he probes you again.

“It says on your intake form that you have... A distant relationship with your father due to your parents' divorce. Is that something you want to talk about with me today?”

His voice is sweet like honey, but you’re the only one dripping. You failed during your extended research on therapists to check his picture because you had no idea you signed up for someone so fucking handsome.

Your jaw was tight as you clamped your legs tighter together one draped over the other, trying to conceal your growing arousal. Talk, or he’ll think you’re mute!

“Yes.” You say, clearing your throat as you readjust your skirt over your lap, tugging at the hem.

You confide in Joel about the hardships of your parents growing up. The house was never quiet, always fighting, tearing each other down, and it just wasn’t healthy. You thought you’d thank the lord the day they filed for a divorce. You didn’t expect to lose the relationship you had with your father in the midst of it all.

You were still young, trying to grow up and learn, his absence mattered to you, even if it didn’t to your mother. He came around a lot at first. He’d pick you up from school and steal you away for a few hours, getting ice cream to celebrate your reunion with him.

But then, he got a new girlfriend. You weren’t sure how she managed to replace both you and your mother, but she did. You saw him less, he started not meeting your expectations. Soon, he became a weird distant memory. Now, as a young adult, you combat all the unjust things the wake of his departure caused. You couldn’t bear the thought of dating someone your age. Everyone was young and immature, asking for nudes over text after the first date if they even got your phone number at all. Now it was all just over social media or dating apps.

“Older men are just more... Refined. They have their priorities and goals, and they’re like... Actually accomplishing shit. Guys my age are just..” You paused, your eyes meeting his own to fill in the gaps.

“.. Not meeting your expectations?” Joel asked, his pen clutched in his hand as he scribbled something in his notepad.

“Right.” You let out breathily, your eyes falling to the chest hair you could see exposed by his button-up shirt.

This was a perfect example because look at Dr. Joel Miller! His Ph.D. decorated the wall with numerous other accolades on his shelves, so you knew he was smart. Being a therapist made him a good listener, you’d never have to feel like you were the therapist to a frat guy again.

You let out an involuntary whimper, a white-hot flash soaring through the pit of your stomach. You were dripping for him, and you could feel it against your clenched thighs.

“I know talking about these topics is difficult, but you’re doing a good job.” He praised you as you felt your chest and cheeks flush red with his attention.

Your breathing was staggered, you needed to release the tension between your legs desperately.

“You-- uhm, you think I’m doing a good job?”

His eyes flashed up to you with the question, something dark and tantalizing about the way he looked over you now. It was like a predator meeting prey the way his eyes began to rake over you.

Your arousal was obvious in the way your knee anxiously bounced up and down, continuing to readjust in your seat, begging for him to tell you that your time with him was up so you could go home and use your vibrator on your clit, thinking about Dr. Joel Miller between your legs.

You watched as he stood up from his chair across from you, your eyes tracking him as he nodded slowly. He clasped his hands behind his back, his strong biceps fighting the material of his shirt for dominance. The hand closest to you came down and did a delicate sweep around the rim of the chair you were sitting in.

“You’re doing great, baby girl.” He praised again, stopping to stand next to you. You were eye-level to his waist, your lips parting at the sight of the bulge in his pants. Oh, fuck me, so that’s what he’s been hiding behind his notepad.

His hand gently reached out to you, two straight fingers under your chin as he tilted you up to look at him. Your long eyelashes batted at him, teeth piercing down into your bottom lip. You let out an involuntary sigh as his hand moved up your cheek, bringing you in to rest against his thigh.

He was warm, and he smelled like Old Spice, god, you could swear it was the same one your dad used to use. You whimper at the thought, digging your face gently further into his protection. You felt his hand gently caress the back of your head, stroking back your hair from your face.

You wanted him, your pussy wanted him, and the throbbing need for his attention and affection was incurable. You began to press kisses into the material of his pants, losing all pride as you fell to your knees in front of him and palmed your hand over his growing erection.

You braved looking up at him, his face watching you in adoration, like he was proud of you.

“Is this what you want? I’ll do whatever you want.” You say meekly, desperate to please.

“You know what I think you need?” He asks, his voice dropped an octave, and it was making you purr. He was more sultry now, his hands finding yours and guiding you up off of the floor. You finally shake your head, your hands gently moving up his chest and feeling his toned pecs and broad shoulders.

Seeing him this close made your heart flutter. He was so handsome, so grown. His wispy curls were adorning the same salt and pepper as his beard. He had worn lines by his eyes and on his forehead, his curious mind must always be causing his brows to furrow. He had you breathless at the mouth and achingly wet down below.

“I think you need me to take care of you. Is that what you want, baby? Someone to show you how much they care about you? Someone to be where you need them most?” His strong hand is traveling down your front now, Joel’s pointer finger curling into the front of your skirt. Your lips part as he tugs so hard that you’re falling into him, your small hands clutching the landscape of his biceps.

“Yes-- fuck, please Joel, yes.” You nearly beg. Be there for me, be inside me.

He let out a heavy grunt of satisfaction, closing the distance between you as he cradled your face in his big hands and connected your lips. You felt safe, letting your walls fall down as he took care of you.

You melted in his hold, Joel’s tongue carefully gliding over your bottom one in a request for you to part yours for him. You followed his lead, a whimpering moan leaving you as you felt his tongue invade your mouth. He was moving you backward methodically until the back of your thighs hit the desk you previously admired. Your hips shook the frame, hearing pens and some papers clatter to the floor.

You felt overwhelmingly hot, you needed to shed some layers. Like the mind reader he was, Joel’s hands moved down to the hem of your top, breaking your heated kiss to discard the material in his way.

He generously cupped your breasts held away by your bra, another desperate moan leaving you as you watched him through hooded eyes admire your body. His hands were quick to settle on your hips, fingertips burning into your skin as he lifted you up onto the desk with ease. Fuck, he had the kind of strength that looked effortless.

Joel was taking charge, and it was so nice, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and you didn’t have to worry about anything. His legs nudged your own open, cool air finally greeting your needy pussy. The sensation had your head falling back, accidentally breaking your kiss once more.

“Oooh, fuck,” you gasp, your head coming back up to watch as his hand disappeared under the drape of your skirt. Suddenly you felt him cup your aching mound, taking in a short breath at the feeling of finally getting some much-desired pressure down there.

“So fuckin’ wet… were you this wet during our whole session, kitten?” He asked. It was sick and twisted, you knew it was. That’s why you let out a shameful little nod, your legs wanting to clench around his hand there.

He let out a disgusted scoff, you deserved it. You wanted to fuck your therapist.

“You want daddy to take care of that for you with his cock?” His foul words had you at a loss of your own, your jaw slack as he pressed his hips into yours and you could feel his dick pressed right up against your pussy.

“Take daddy’s belt off.” He grumbled his orders, a quick nod leaving you. You didn’t want to waste his time.

“Yes.” You whimpered.

“Yes, what?” His voice was stern and articulate, making you bend your will as his close proximity flooded your senses. You couldn’t find his belt soon enough. You popped the button of his jeans and nearly tore off the zipper at his ask.

“Yes, daddy.” You whimper, a greedy smile on your lips to see you earned his favor. He adoringly cupped one side of your cheek as both of your heads rested against one another’s to watch you pull down his dark briefs.

He let out a strained grunt at the release, his flesh going to slap against his tanned stomach. He was already unbuttoning his shirt as you made a fist around him, watching his face to see how he liked it. Too fast? A little slower? Too rough... You paused and spat down on him, your eyes darting back up to his as he let out a satisfied sigh. Let me do it perfectly for you, Joel.

“So good for me.” He purred, his thumb brushing down the slope of your nose and over your swollen bottom lip that you had bruised from biting down so hard on it. He pushed the tip of his thumb past your lips, the intrusion a surprise but you eagerly sucked to appease him. The action made him swell in your hand to fullness, even beginning to feel too heavy in your hand as you continued to work over him.

“Is this all for me?” You asked eagerly, a sweet smile gracing your face.

You watched as he leaned in, your eyelashes fluttering closed as he came to press his warm lips against the crown of your head. “All for you, baby girl.” He mumbled against your forehead.

“Oh,” you let out in a sweet surprised little moan, your hand working over him eagerly faster. You didn’t care if you got off at this point, as long as he did.

“Lie back, baby.” His voice was rocky like gravel, you could already see his chest heaving at the attention of your hands. You did as he asked, but not before he unclipped your bra so your tits were on full show for him.

You reached one of your hands back, already gripping the edge of the table as you braced yourself for him. He was so large, easily the largest you had ever been with. You wanted to feel every inch of man that he was inside of your throbbing cunt.

Your skirt was merely an obstacle in his way, watching him toss it up to show your lacey panties underneath. You bit down on your lip with a wide smirk on your face, he really liked the lace.

“So fuckin pretty,” he admired, your hands coming to rest over his own, your nails gently grazing down his forearms to his fingers. His pointer finger and thumb grazed over the soaked material, admiring how he could see your pretty pussy underneath it. The lace was so dainty and fragile in his hands, he could just--

You gasp as his large hands rip the delicate lace right open, a messy opening of broken threads but now, he had unlimited access to your sex. He was so strong, you hoped he would split you open the same way.

His hands took a grip on the tops of your parted thighs from the outside, taking one foul yank as you felt him press his cock between your wet folds. You were back to gripping and stroking over his forearms, your delicate hand coming up to feel his stubbled cheek.

“Joel please, I need you.” you whimpered out, his head nodding against yours as a few of the curlier strands on his head fell onto his forehead. He was so handsome when he was turned on.

Joel’s heavy huffs broke the eye contact of his cock gliding up and down your arousal, the slick lubing him perfectly. He was perfectly glazed over now, all because of you, his heavy thumb coming down to gently circle over your throbbing clit.

You let out a cry at the much-needed attention, your walls pulsing for him to fill you up.

“Joel!” You whined out in anticipation, your jaw dropping as he finally guided his tip to you without warning and slammed into your depths until he bottomed out in one thrust. His hand was quick to clamp over your mouth, stopping you from letting out a sobbing moan as tears started to swell at the brim of your eyes.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, princess,” His voice was broken by grunts and loose breaths, his palm swallowing your hot high pitched whines. “Or else we’ll have to stop.” You did not want him to stop!

You quickly shook your head and clasped your wrist around his which kept your mouth shut. I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you Joel. A tear slipped as you peppered apologetic kisses to the inside of his palm, your eyes desperately connecting with his in a silent ask for him to please continue fucking you.

Joel swiveled his hips back, his jeans clinging to his upper thighs as he rolled back into you. You couldn’t help but clench your eyes closed and let out a broken moan. He filled you up in all the best ways possible, he was perfect inside of you, every goddamn inch. You didn’t realize how loud you had gotten, his hand pushing your head down further into the desk and squeezing into your cheeks until you snapped out of it.

“What did fuckin’ tell you?” He punched out. God, you could feel him pulsating inside of your tight walls.

“God, this tight pussy feels so-- fuckin’ good.”

You moaned quietly at the compliment, a blissed-out smile on your lips still against his palm as he started a steady rhythm rocking into you.

You whimpered as the desk started to creak with each of his heavy thrusts, pinching your ass against the desk but he felt too good to complain. Sure, you’d have a red line imprinted on your cheeks, but hell, it was so worth it. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, little angel for me-- fuck,” he grunted as he used the hand wrapped around your mouth as leverage, holding your head down as his hips snapped into you mercilessly. You were crying out moans into his palm, but nothing loud ever left the room, just like he wanted.

Your hands are clenching at the desk now, desperate not to fly off. Through blurry eyes, you saw his face, tight and twisted as he admired the way your breasts bounced with each of his thrusts.

You bravely reached up to take his hand around your mouth, shifting it down to wrap around your windpipe. You gave him an angelic little smile, biting down on your lower lip to hold in your dirty moans.

Joel watched you in awe, nodding with his sick little half-smirk as he started to squeeze at the sides of your throat. Fuck, he’s done this before, he knows exactly what he’s doing. The heightened experience turns you on, he’s not some 20-something idiot who cares only about getting his dick wet. Joel wants you to cum.

“You look at me baby.. fuck--, don’t break eye contact until you wanna breathe, darlin’.” His accent drawled in your ear and made your pussy even wetter for him. One of his hands squeezed at the sides of your delicate windpipe, his other hand snaking between you two as his electric fingers found your buzzing clit.

The attention was a lot, but you were a whore for it.

His thrusts grew sloppier, but he was pacing himself, Joel wants you to cum first.

You whimper at the idea of him putting you ahead of his own interested and needs, your head growing foggy as your wrist wrapped around his own that held you down but you didn’t look away from his amber eyes. He licked his lips in desire watching you, your lips parting for air as you finally looked away.

He followed through on his promise, his strong hands going lax as your head fell to the side, eyes closing in bliss while your pussy fluttered around his dick.

“Fuck baby girl,” he panted through a mumble as his spare hand massaged over your breasts. “Got me losin’ my goddamn mind.” He moaned something that resembled your name, pinching at your sensitive peaks until he had you whimpering.

“Joel I- oh god,” your stomach dropped as the tip of his dick massaged at your sweet spot, a cry threatening to spill from your lips but you knew he didn’t like you being too loud in his office so you hold it in, your cheeks going hot red.

It was all too much. Your foggy head, his hands on your sensitive bits, his fucking dick slamming into you. You felt so small in his hold, his body shielding you from the outside world as he drove you face-first into your earth-shattering orgasm.

“Joel-Joel please, fuck, I’m gonna-,” Your chin tilted up and your back arched, his hand instantly moving back up to your throat so you could feel even more floated during the crash of your orgasm.

“Cum for me princess. Cum for me now.” He demanded in a mumble.

It coursed through your body like an electric current, your body short-circuiting from the amount of pleasure it was receiving all at once.

Your lips were parted, but nothing came out. You couldn’t hear a thing, only Joel, only him as he ruts himself against your core and you feel him spill his hot cum into the depths of your sex. You lazily smirked as you made your walls flutter around him, your core pulsing. Could almost feel him in your belly.

His breaths were heavy, heavenly. It made your skin clammy, the both of you so fucked up that you were stuck in place. You didn’t realize it, but you had reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently gliding down the curve of his crooked nose. Your lips gently came together as your head came up, kissing the tip of his nose before going to lay back down on his desk.

“Oh, baby girl,” Joel purred in adoration, his mouth coming down to greet yours in a delicate kiss. “Did such a good job.” Both of you were so drunk on your orgasms, everything was so perfect.

You lazily kissed him back, your arms wrapping around the tops of his shoulders with your fingers lightly fisting the hair at the nape of his neck to keep him close as he softened inside of you. You could stay here like this forever.

You glanced over just in time, seeing the last grain of sand fall down in his glass sand timer. Your session with Dr. Joel Miller was over.

He helped you hop off his desk, your wobbly legs needing to find their strength again. His cum was already meeting the tops of your inner thighs, your face blushing at the feeling. You were quite literally gaping for him.

Joel cleared his throat and easily pulled his jeans back up to the top of his hips at his waist, securing his belt and zipper before he fisted your discarded, ripped apart panties.

“Oh,” you whispered a bit embarrassed at the sight of them. You had just finished pulling your shirt back onto your torso, stuffing your bra inside your purse. No way you were going to try and put that thing back on. You reached out for him to hand them over, your eyes widening as he pulled his hand away and stuffed them into his pocket.

“For safe keeping…” He trailed off, his eyes still dark as they looked down at your wide ones. Well, you weren’t getting those back any time soon. They were his now, your torn to threads black lace panties. You nodded and weakly smiled, still trying to catch your breath.

Joel walked you out, tapping his absentminded secretary’s desk to tell her to find something in both of your calendars for a future date.

“I think I can really help you work this out.” He told you on your way out.

As you left his office, you felt like everyone knew what you had just done. But for now, it was just a secret for you and your therapist, Joel.

---------------- taglist: let's be fr lol If you liked talk me down, check out pretty little thing!

[kiwriteswords]

I am devouring your Hotch and shy!reader fics! Would it be okay to request a blurb/fic about Hotch asking reader to call him Aaron for the first time?

Call out my name when I kiss you so gently [Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sending this in xx!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, hinting to intimate moments, shy reader

It was an unusually quiet evening when Aaron Hotchner decided to break the formality that had subtly lingered between you. Though the hours were dwindling into night, his mind was nowhere near the looming shadows of criminal profiles and cold cases that typically occupied his thoughts. Instead, Aaron was wholly fixated on the woman sitting across from him at his dining table, your shy smile lit by the soft glow of the candle between you both.

The night had already gone a bit backwards, with certain…indulgences happening before dinner, but here you both were, sitting across from on another at his dining room table. 

You had met him with that same gentle smile several times outside the tense walls of the BAU, on quiet dates that Aaron had arranged to be as normal as possible—a stark contrast to the grim realities of both of your day jobs. Tonight marked another milestone; just hours ago, you and Aaron had crossed a line that had previously only been hinted at with coy glances and hesitant touches. Now, after experiencing a closeness that neither words nor time could adequately encapsulate, Aaron found himself grappling with a new kind of urgency.

As you laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear—a nervous habit he’d come to recognize and adore—Aaron watched the way the candlelight danced in your eyes--framed by thick lashes that fluttered like the wings of a nervous bird whenever his gaze lingered too long. Despite the warmth of the room, you hugged your arms around yourself, the sleeves of your oversized sweater slipping slightly to reveal the delicate skin beneath.

Aaron cleared his throat, shifting his focus from the flickering candle to your eyes. “You know,” he started, his voice softer than usual, “I’ve been thinking…”

You tilted your head, curiosity painting your features as you met his gaze. “About?”

“About us,” he replied, folding his hands on the table. “And how different this—what we have—is from everything else in my life.”

You nodded, encouraging him to continue, though your fingers fiddled with the edge of your napkin, betraying your nerves.

Aaron took a deep breath, choosing his words with the precision of a man who spent his life weaving through verbal minefields. “When we’re here, like this, it’s not about the job or the cases… It’s about you and me. And when you call me ‘Hotch,’ it feels like we’re still there, back at the office, not here.”

You paused, the napkin now still in your hands. “I didn’t realize… I’m sorry, I just thought—”

“It’s okay,” Aaron interrupted gently with a reassuring smile, reaching across the table to cover your hand with his. “It’s what everyone calls me there, and it makes sense. But here, with you, I’m just Aaron. And I’d like it if you called me that, especially when it’s just us.”

Your cheeks colored, and you looked away briefly before meeting his gaze again. “Aaron,” you tested the name, and his heart skipped at the sound. It wasn’t just the name, but the way you said it—softly, intimately—that marked a departure from the ‘Hotch’ he was to the rest of the world.

He smiled, his usual stoic expression softening in the candlelight. “Thank you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

There was a warmth in his chest, a lightness that Aaron seldom felt in the confines of his role at the BAU. Hearing his first name from your lips, not as a superior or as an abstract figure of authority, but as someone personal, someone separate from that life, grounded him in a reality he wanted more of. 

This was a world where he could be a man, not a unit chief, where he was defined not by his job but by these quieter, cherished moments.

The rest of the evening passed with a new, tender rhythm. Aaron listened intently as you shared stories of your childhood, your voice growing stronger with each memory. He noticed the way your body relaxed, the initial stiffness from your nerves dissolving into a comfortable ease around him. Every laugh, every candid confession, seemed to stitch a tighter bond between you, threading your lives together with each shared secret and smile.

Later, as you stood together in the quiet sanctuary of his living room, Aaron pulled you close, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m glad you’re here…with me,” he whispered, bending his head to catch your gaze. The proximity, the shared breaths, the way your eyes searched his—all of it felt profoundly right.

You smiled, your earlier shyness melting into a quiet confidence. “Me too, Aaron,” you replied, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was a simple act, yet it held layers of meaning. Each time you said his name, it reinforced the intimacy they were building, a stark contrast to the formal barriers that usually surrounded him.

In that moment, as the distance of formalities and last names faded into the background, Aaron felt a profound sense of peace. Here, in the quiet intimacy of his home with you, he was just Aaron—and that was more than enough. 

He cherished the way his name sounded coming from you, not just as a term of endearment but as a symbol of the unique place he occupied in your life, distinct from everyone else’s perceptions. 

This Aaron was someone only you knew, and as the night deepened, he realized just how much he had longed for someone to know this part of him.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

[nayziiz]

Comfort Person | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Attending the McLaren gala marked a significant step forward in their relationship. For a whole year, they had carefully cultivated their love away from the prying eyes of the public, choosing to keep their affection shielded from the spotlight. Their social media presence, though scant, hinted at a deeper connection, evident through the occasional birthday mentions and celebratory nods to his triumphs on the racetrack.

But this gala was different. It was a statement, a declaration of their commitment, and a subtle unveiling of their love to the world. While their relationship had been an open secret among close friends and those within the inner circle of the Formula 1 world, this event would bring it to a broader audience.

For her, agreeing to attend the gala was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Stepping into the glamorous world of Formula 1, filled with its high-profile personalities and dazzling events, was a departure from her usual realm. She had only dipped her toes into this world on three occasions, each time experiencing the thrill of the races in Monaco, Belgium, and Silverstone. Yet, despite her limited exposure to the paddock, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere and the magnetic pull of his passion for the sport.

Her demanding career imposed limitations on her ability to accompany him to every race and event, forcing her to carefully select which ones she could attend. Despite the constraints of her professional obligations, she was determined to be there for him in whatever capacity she could manage.

For him, her unwavering support transcended physical presence. Knowing that she would wake up in the early hours of the morning or stay up late into the night to watch his races brought him immense comfort and strength. Her dedication, even from afar, served as a source of motivation during the most gruelling moments on the track.

In the midst of the frenetic pace of the Formula 1 season, her steadfast encouragement provided him with a sense of grounding and reassurance. Whether she was cheering him on from the stands or sending him words of encouragement through late-night texts, her presence loomed large in his heart and mind.

Their relationship was built on a foundation of understanding and compromise, with each of them making sacrifices to support the other's dreams and aspirations. While her absence at certain events weighed heavily on her, she took solace in the knowledge that her love and support transcended geographical boundaries.

The day was a canvas of intimacy, each moment painted with tenderness and shared anticipation. As they lingered in her apartment, the world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them enveloped in a cocoon of affection.

Showering together was a dance of intimacy, the warm water cascading over their bodies like a gentle caress. He tenderly washed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp with care and devotion. In that shared moment of vulnerability, their connection deepened, each touch speaking volumes of their love for one another.

As she dried her hair, she watched him with a soft smile as he meticulously shaved away the stray stubble, his concentration mirrored in the steady strokes of his razor. Even the simplest of tasks became moments to be savoured in each other's presence, the ordinary transformed into something extraordinary by the power of their love.

For him, the mundane rituals of getting ready took on new significance with her by his side. Every glance exchanged, every shared laugh, was a reminder of the profound joy he felt in having her as his partner. Her presence infused even the simplest moments with an electric energy, sparking excitement in his heart and a smile on his lips.

As he stood poised with the razor in hand, ready to rid himself of the faint traces of stubble that adorned his face, she intervened, her voice soft but determined.

“No, leave it. It looks hot, my love,” she said, her gaze lingering on him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He paused, caught off guard by her unexpected request.

“But I thought you hated facial hair,” he replied, a hint of confusion tingling his words. A playful smile curved her lips as she stepped closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. 

“I've grown to love it because it's on you,” she confessed, her eyes sparkling with affection. He couldn't help but chuckle at her response, his heart swelling with warmth at her words.

“You're special, you know that,” he murmured, his voice laced with genuine admiration.

“Uh, huh. That's why you keep me around,” A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she teased him. He pulled her into his arms, unable to resist the urge to shower her with kisses. 

Lando couldn't help but chuckle as he left her in the bathroom to put the finishing touches on her makeup. With a playful grin, he made his way to the kitchen to retrieve some snacks before the event.

After a few minutes, he heard the soft tapping of her heels against the hardwood floors, signalling her emergence from the bedroom. He turned, almost instinctively, his curiosity piqued by the sound of her approach.

His breath caught in his throat as she sauntered past him, the fabric of her dark orange dress flowing around her like molten lava, casting a mesmerising glow in the dim light of the apartment. She looked radiant, her beauty captivating him in a way that never failed to leave him breathless.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, he couldn't tear his gaze away, his jaw dropping slightly in awe. She was stunning, more breathtaking than he had ever seen her before.

When she finally turned to face him, their eyes locked in an unspoken exchange of admiration and affection. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary as the intensity of their connection spoke volumes, filling the space between them with an electric energy that crackled with anticipation.

“Are you just going to sit there and gawk at me?” She asked, her tone light but teasing.

“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze lingering on her with unapologetic admiration. A mock scowl crossed her features as she shook her head, a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Well, stop it. You look stupid. Go put on your suit before we're late,” she instructed, her voice tinged with playful admonishment.

After dutifully adhering to her request and donning his suit, Lando returned to the kitchen to find her engrossed in replying to a few messages. With a tender smile, he approached her from behind, his footsteps silent against the floor.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access.

In that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them cocooned in a bubble of affection. His touch was a soothing balm against the chaos of the day, grounding her in the present and reminding her of the love they shared. As he lingered against her, his arms holding her close, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. In his embrace, she found solace and reassurance

“I can't wait to do this with you for the rest of my life,” Lando whispered, his voice filled with sincerity as he gazed into her eyes. A soft smile graced her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper but resounding with a depth of emotion that echoed his own.

In that fleeting moment, the weight of their words hung in the air, binding them together in a promise of forever. It was a declaration of their love, a pledge to stand by each other through every twist and turn that life may bring.

[idleoblivion]

"Shopping Spree" Crewel x GN Reader

Synopsis: Your professor finally takes you on that shopping trip he promised, and you get more than just new clothes.

Part 1 Part 3

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: I can't explain why I am so down bad for this man but here I am with more smut of him. Let me know if I should make a part three, cause I'm definitely considering.

Warnings: Teacher/student relationship, gn reader, shy/nervous reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, overuse of the word 'puppy', oral sex (m!receiving), masturbation, praise kink

You sat completely rigid in the leather seat of his red sports car. You shifted a bit, not uncomfortable from the seat but from this trip already being such a large departure from what you’re used to. A part of you felt like you were sullying the whole car by even being inside it, looking very pedestrian compared to the driver next to you.

Crewel clearly preferred to dress formal and polished even on his days off. Over his outfit he still wore his signature coat, fluffy and luxurious as ever. When he picked you up, he had laid out the plans he had for you today. He was taking you to a luxury shopping mall, where you could buy almost anything you wanted. The only condition was that every outfit you tried on you had to show him for approval. His justification was that he couldn’t let you walk out of the store with something that didn’t flatter you..

“If you’re going to be my puppy, you’re going to have to dress the part.” He had said to you earlier.

He pulls into the parking lot and you’re immediately struck by the grandeur of the building. It looked even larger than the malls you were used to, and even from outside it radiated an air of expensiveness.

He opens the door for you once the car is parked, and puts his hand on your lower back as you walk beside him. He guides you towards the entrance of the mall and you step in together.

The inside of the mall was incredibly intimidating. Every store in sight has windows filled with products you couldn’t dream of affording. You repeat a question you had earlier to him, with newfound concern at your surroundings.

“You’re really sure I can get clothes here? I would’ve been happy with a regular mall too.” He tsks at you, “Yes, I am sure. In fact I insist, because I won’t have a puppy of mine running around in clothes unbefitting of them. And there will be no talk of the price either, that isn’t for you to worry about. No more yipping, follow me. We’ll try on some things in here first.” He pulls you into what would be the first of many stores, and you start browsing their selection with him.

---

You had been shopping for more than three hours now, and you were a bit overwhelmed with everything you had gotten. You left every store he brought you to with at least one bag of new clothes, which he carried for you. 

True to his word, he made you show him every outfit you wanted to buy. Almost all of them he approved, sometimes adding something or taking just one thing away, but he hadn’t outright refused anything you picked out. What caught you a bit off guard were all the outfits he picked. You knew he’d probably be giving you suggestions, but weren’t expecting him to pick whole ensembles that he demanded you try on. They were all very much his aesthetic, elegant black and white pieces with an occasional hint of red. He looked extra pleased after you would try those on, and ended up buying every single item he had picked out for you. It wasn’t a big deal, if letting him choose some things for you was the price for a whole new wardrobe, you didn’t mind at all.

You were finally at what he promised would be the last store. You actually didn’t see much that you liked, but he had found a few things he wanted to see you in again. The salesperson brought you both to a fitting room in the back and left you there. The room was decently large, with a few different places to hang your clothes and a stool. You resumed the pattern you had both established; He would hand you an outfit, you’d show him and he'd give his judgment, he'd hand you another, rinse and repeat until he was satisfied. 

You stepped out of the room to show him the latest choice. He pondered for a second before giving his thoughts.

“Hmm…It fits your body very nicely, and the colors look great on you. Yes, we’ll get this one too.”

You smile at his compliments. You go to reach for the next outfit he has in his hand, but he doesn’t give it to you. He steps past you and makes his way towards the fitting room.

“Um…what are you doing?” “I’m coming in with you. This one has clasps in the back you’ll probably need help with.” He pushes through the door and waits for you to follow. You hesitate, but after a pause you enter anyway.

He stands to the side and starts preparing the outfit for you. You wait for him to turn or face away from you, but instead he looks right at you expectantly.

“Well?”

Realizing what he means, you slowly start undressing yourself. You feel his eyes staring holes into you the entire time, watching every movement you made and looking your body up and down. Once you’re down to just your underwear, you nervously turn to face him again. You expect him to hand you the clothes to put on, only to find they’ve been unceremoniously tossed onto the stool. He steps toward you empty-handed, and you have to fight the urge to back up a little.

He places his hands on your sides and holds you in front of him. He leans down to kiss you, gently at first, but increasing in intensity very quickly. He bites your lip which makes you gasp, and uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands start sliding lower down your body, and you push at his shoulder to get him to break the kiss. He pulls back, looking somewhat confused.

“W-we, we can’t…there’s people here, and the worker might-” “The worker won’t bother us in here, and the only other customers were all up front. If anyone came back here, we’d hear them. Nothing bad’s going to happen, puppy, not when you’re with me.” He presses his lips to your neck and starts sucking lightly, then moving to kiss along your collarbone. His hand trails upwards to fondle your chest, and the heat in your body becomes unignorable. You stifle a moan as he leans to flick his tongue over your nipple.

“Professor…” you whine meekly. The sheepish tone in your voice makes him groan.

“Do you have any idea,” He starts between hot kisses to your skin, “What you’ve been doing to me all day? Looking so cute in everything I put you in, being so good for me…”

He stands straight again and eyes you hungrily. “You like being good for me, don’t you puppy?”

You nod rapidly, but he shakes his head back. “Words, puppy.” “Yes professor, I like being good for you.” Your face is burning, but you make yourself say it anyway.

He reaches for his belt and starts undoing it. “Then get on your knees.” You obey and sink to your knees in front of him. He grabs your chin and tilts it up towards him, smirking at your doe-eyed expression.

“Keep your hands on the floor, no touching. Do you understand?”

“Yes, professor.”

“Good. Stick out your tongue.” He holds your chin still while you put your tongue out. He frees his cock from his pants with his other hand and taps it on your tongue a few times. You don’t break eye contact, knowing you’d probably be scolded if you did.

“Now open that sweet little mouth for me, puppy.”

Again, you obey, and he slowly puts his cock in your mouth. You suppress the urge to gag as it reaches into your throat slightly and he holds you there. He curses at the sight of you taking him in all the way.

“Fuck puppy, you’re good, so good for me. You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face, right?”

You manage a small, choked “yes, professor” around his cock, which is all it takes for him to start fucking into your throat with fervor. Tears start welling up from his pace almost immediately. The fat tears rolling down your cheeks only make him rougher with you. You want to press your hands against his thighs, but you keep them on the ground like he instructed. He keeps praising you all through it, telling you how good you’re doing and how perfect you look like this. It makes you press your legs together and squirm a little on the floor, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Are you feeling needy, puppy?” He pants as he keeps thrusting into your mouth. “You can touch yourself if you need to, I give you permission.”

You take him up on that immediately, and reach down to play with yourself. The stimulation plus the almost feral look on his face has you moaning around his cock now, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Be good for me and swallow it puppy, and show me when you’re done. Fuck, that’s it puppy-” He continues to ramble as he approaches his high.

With a loud groan he finally cums in your mouth. He holds your head still while he does, and you do your best not to choke while you swallow everything he gives you. When he finally lets you go, you sputter for a second trying to catch your breath. Remembering his commands, you look back up at him and stick your tongue out again, showing you had left nothing.

“Good fucking puppy…” he pulls you up from the floor to kiss you again. He holds you close to him and you shakily grab him back. “Did so good for me, so good.” His praise again has you writhing in his grasp.

“Professor…” You start whining again with a slightly hoarse voice, “I-I, I need you…touch me, please?” “Hmm…no, I don’t think I will.” You look up at him wide-eyed. Was he seriously going to leave you so worked up like this? “B-but, you said I was good! I was good for you, right?”

He chuckles at your obvious desperation. “Yes, you were puppy. But I think we’ve spent too much time in this fitting room already. So we’ll pick up where we left off back at my house, alright?” That stops your thoughts in their tracks. “Your house?” “Did you think I was taking you back to that destitute dormitory of yours? Of course not, you’re spending the weekend with me and I’ll bring you back Monday. Plus there are a few…extra gifts I’d like to give you there.” His eyes turn a bit dangerous once again, and he smacks you lightly on the ass, making you yelp. He laughs and lets go of you, turning to exit the fitting room.

“Get changed, we’ll get something to eat and head there after.” Once he leaves, you stand still a bit in shock at your situation. The whole weekend, with him? If this is what he would do in a dressing room, what would he do when he had you alone at his place? The thought made heat start pooling in your stomach again.

Snapping out of it, you hurriedly get dressed again and make yourself presentable. You try to calm your nerves, reminding yourself that you still need to act natural while you’re at the register with him. After a few deep breaths and a final attempt to fix your hair, you meet him outside the room.

“Ready to go, puppy?”

“Yes, professor.”

[planetdream]

PLUTO !

CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]

GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.

SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.

WORDS ! 12.2k more or less

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Power™. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]

💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! 🥺 also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!

The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancé, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with. 

Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin. 

Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover. 

After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin. 

The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings. 

A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”

Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again. 

Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey. 

By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain. 

Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you. 

You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight. 

The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations. 

Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling. 

In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight. 

You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back. 

The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out. 

“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it. 

“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.” 

Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion. 

“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not. 

“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him. 

“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”

You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along. 

The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set. 

The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him. 

“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancé, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.” 

“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit…abnormal.”

“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.

“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.” 

Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness. 

The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh. 

There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak. 

Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”

The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancé of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”

The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.” 

The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin. 

“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.” 

Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”

The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts. 

Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine. 

Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”

You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look. 

“Not very much.” You admit. 

“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”

“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”

You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you. 

“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”

“Go On.”

You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes. 

“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”

The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him. 

“Continue.”

“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.” 

You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return. 

“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”

—

You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past. 

“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him. 

In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.

You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin. 

“My dearest heart, 

There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me. 

K.S”

Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve. 

You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. 

“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”

Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep. 

You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything. 

There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery. 

Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch. 

Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider. 

At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom. 

If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely. 

Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior. 

When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?

“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat. 

“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”

“You won’t be eating?” 

“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. “I had a big breakfast earlier.”

With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho. 

“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”

“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face. 

“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”

“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”

“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response. 

“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.” 

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Jisung nods. 

“What room did Seungmin stay in?”

“The room that you are staying in.”

The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin. 

You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle. 

The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly. 

Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies. 

You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you. 

You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you. 

The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.

A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping. 

“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell. 

When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. 

“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing. 

When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.” 

Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.

“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood. 

“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him. 

It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully. 

Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”

Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling. 

Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle. 

“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of. 

“What book?” He doesn’t follow. 

“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”

“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,” 

Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon. 

“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him. 

Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.  

You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?

Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening. 

Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him. 

“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown. 

Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it. 

You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”

“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could. 

When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt. 

“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you. 

Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.

His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices. 

Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth. 

Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in. 

Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob. 

There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying. 

Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light. 

Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene. 

“Help.. Me..” 

Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness. 

You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock. 

Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away. 

A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it. 

Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound. 

There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse. 

After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood. 

Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye. 

“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”

Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho. 

Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.  

“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move. 

“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts. 

Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”

“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”

“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”

“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”

You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”

“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”

“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancé was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”

Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply. 

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”

Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly. 

“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”

“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways. 

“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minho’s voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”

The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another. 

For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home. 

Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent. 

The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation. 

With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with. 

Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.

By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”

Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary. 

“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one. 

There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes. 

You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs? 

Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa. 

Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.” 

At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul. 

You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master. 

“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”

Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?” 

Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”

You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either. 

“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancé, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?” 

You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence. 

“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”

Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you. 

Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand. 

He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt. 

“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you. 

If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming? 

Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster. 

Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch. 

You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage.  Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums. 

The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust. 

“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh. 

You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit. 

You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste. 

From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed. 

Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.

You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you. 

“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head. 

How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul. 

And still. He holds the entire world in his hands. 

“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”

© PLANETDREAM 2024

[dany-is-my-queen]

A QUESTION OF LOYALTY XVIII

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best. Note: Nearing the finale!!!!

King’s Landing slept, but the castle itself seemed to breathe, its walls whispering secrets to those who dared to listen. The tension in the air pressed heavily against your chest, and you felt a storm brewing—one you had unknowingly stepped into.

A voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N,” came the cool, precise tone.

You turned to see her—Queen Alicent—standing at the end of the hallway. She looked every bit the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, her emerald gown shimmering in the dim light, her crown glinting atop her auburn curls. Her expression was unreadable.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, bowing your head out of respect.

“Out for a midnight stroll?” Alicent asked, her voice calm, but there was an edge to her words.

“I could ask the same of you, Your Grace,” you replied carefully.

A small, humorless smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve become quite the fixture here in King’s Landing, haven’t you?” she said, stepping closer. Her voice lowered, carrying the weight of a confession wrapped in accusation. “How bold of you, to linger so freely between us.”

You stiffened but kept your voice steady. “I have no intention of causing discord, Your Grace.”

“No intention?” Alicent repeated, her words sharp as glass. “And yet here you are, speaking to me in one breath and whispering to Rhaenyra in the next.”

“I never meant to come between you and her,” you said quickly, your voice firm but laden with regret. “Whatever exists between Rhaenyra and me… it was never about you. And certainly never about dividing what was once a friendship.”

At that, Alicent’s composure faltered. For a moment, the queen’s mask slipped, and the raw pain beneath was exposed.

“Friendship?” she said bitterly. “You speak of something long dead, something she killed with her lies and her disregard for everything we once held dear. And now, you, of all people, defend it?”

“I don’t defend anything,” you said softly. “But I see the pieces of what you once were to each other, and I cannot fathom why it must be this way.”

Alicent’s lips tightened. She turned away from you, her voice lowering. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand. Rhaenyra takes what she wants without a thought for the ruin she leaves behind. And you—you’re just another piece in her game.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, a spark of defiance creeping into your tone.

“Fair?” Alicent turned to you, her voice rising slightly. “Do you think life in this castle is fair? Do you think I chose this? Rhaenyra and I were once bound by sisterhood, by trust. And now? Now she mocks me, disregards her duties, and drags you into her chaos. And you let her.”

Her words struck a nerve, but before you could respond, Alicent straightened, her queenly composure snapping back into place. “If you truly wish to avoid discord, Y/N,” she said coldly, “then stay out of her bed. And stay out of mine.”

Her departure left you reeling, her words cutting deeper than you cared to admit.

When you arrived at Rhaenyra’s chambers, the air was thick with anticipation. You hesitated at the door, steeling yourself before stepping inside.

Rhaenyra was seated by the fire, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders in waves. She didn’t look up as you entered, but you could feel the tension radiating from her.

“Do you enjoy testing my patience, or does it come naturally to you?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.

“I’ve done nothing to provoke you, Princess,” you replied, closing the door behind you.

She turned to face you, her lilac eyes blazing with frustration. “You’ve been with her,” she accused. “The Queen. Do you think I don’t notice the way she watches you? The way she clings to the scraps of your attention, as if that will somehow fill the void in her?”

“She’s your stepmother,” you said firmly. “And once, she was your friend. This animosity between you two—it’s insane, Rhaenyra. I don’t understand why it must be this way.”

Rhaenyra laughed bitterly, rising to her feet. “You sound just like her,” she said, her tone mocking. “Do you honestly think that woman has ever cared about anything other than herself and her children? She would see me destroyed if it meant keeping her precious Aegon on the throne.” Alluding to the toddler.

“Is that what you truly believe?” you asked, stepping closer. “Because from where I stand, the two of you are doing everything in your power to destroy each other.”

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened. “Are you defending her now?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

“I’m not defending anyone,” you said.

“You think so little of me,” she said quietly.

“I think the world of you,” you said, your voice softening. “But this path you’re on—it terrifies me, Rhaenyra. And now? Now, you’re letting hatred consume you. It’s not who you are.”

“Who I am?” Rhaenyra repeated, her voice trembling. “Do you even know who I am anymore, Y/N? Because I barely do.”

The vulnerability in her words cut through you, and you felt your resolve weakening. But you forced yourself to hold firm.

“I never wanted to come between you and Alicent,” you said quietly. “I never wanted to be the reason for this… madness. But if you keep letting this consume you, Rhaenyra, it will destroy you.”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you love her?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, the weight of her question pressing down on you.

Rhaenyra’s lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she turned away, her shoulders trembling.

“Go,” she said finally, her voice breaking. “Before I say something I can’t take back.”

You hesitated, your heart aching at the sight of her pain. But in the end, you did as she asked, the door closing behind you with a heavy finality.

They demand loyalty, but neither of them see what this is doing to you.

But these conversations with them never actually took place, did they?

———

You awoke with a start, gasping for air, your chest heaving as though you had just surfaced from the depths of the ocean.

Your mind reeled, struggling to make sense of what you had seen—the faces, the voices, the impossible places. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. And yet, the weight of it all pressed down on you like a specter haunting your every breath.

Who was that woman? And what did she mean, “You cannot save them both”?

Shaking, you sat up, clutching your knees to your chest. The Targaryens had often spoken of dreams—visions of dragons, of fire, of doom. Had you inherited some fragment of this gift, or curse, through your bloodline? Or was this simply your mind fraying under the strain of war, grief, and guilt?

Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her gaze cold as a dragon’s stare.

“You’ve cost us a dragon,” she said, her tone sharp. “Do you understand what that means, Y/N? What you’ve done?”

Her words struck like a blow. You forced yourself to remain calm, though guilt burned in your chest. “I acted in defense of us, Your Grace,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing within you. “Aemond is dangerous. If I hadn’t—”

“You shouldn’t have acted at all!” she snapped, cutting you off. She stood abruptly, her fury spilling over. “Do you know what whispers are spreading now? That perhaps you still wear green beneath your black. That you’ve done this to weaken us!”

“That’s not true!” you protested, taking a step forward. “I’ve done nothing but serve you ever since you arrived. Make it up to you.”

“Have you?” Her voice was low now, but no less dangerous. “You’ve cost us more than a dragon, Y/N. You’ve cost us faith. Our allies question our strength. They wonder if we are too divided to win this war.”

Her words sank deep, but what hurt the most was the doubt in her eyes.

“You think I’ve betrayed you,” you said quietly.

“I don’t know what to think anymore, You’ve done this before, Y/N,” she said, her tone sharp and cutting. “Sworn yourself loyal to me, only to betray me when it suits you. “She admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “All I know is that your actions have jeopardized everything we’ve worked for.”

“I am loyal to you,” you insisted, though you could feel the ground slipping beneath your feet.

“And yet, I wonder,” she said, her gaze piercing. “You carry secrets, Y/N. I can feel them, even if I don’t know their shape. You keep part of yourself hidden. Do you still carry a banner for the Greens?”

“No!” you cried, the accusation cutting deep. “It wasn’t about them. It was about my mother. About Rhaenys.”

Rhaenyra’s fury faltered for a moment, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

“She taught me to act with honor,” you said, your voice breaking. “To protect those I love, no matter the cost. When I saw Aemond, I thought of everything he’s done—what he’ll do if left unchecked. I thought…”

Rhaenyra’s expression shifted, her anger mingling with something softer—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But it wasn’t enough to extinguish her bitterness.

“Rhaenys was a great woman,” she said coldly. “But she’s gone, Y/N. And you are here. You can’t hide behind her memory to justify your mistakes.”

“I’m not hiding,” you said, stepping closer. “I regret what I did, Rhaenyra. Truly. That’s not who I am—not who I want to be.”

Her gaze remained icy, her doubt a blade to your heart. “You’ve said that before. How can I believe you now?”

“Because I’m still here,” you said, desperation creeping into your voice. “I could have turned my back on you a hundred times. But I haven’t. I’ve stayed.“

Her shoulders slumped, the weight of the war and your betrayal pressing down on her. “Actions have consequences, Y/N. And yours have cost us dearly.”

One thing was clear: you had to find a way to earn back Rhaenyra’s trust, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

What awaited you there was no respite—only more pain.

Alicent stood in her chamber, her hands trembling as she gripped a letter. She was dressed in simple green robes, a shadow of the queen she once was. The years and the war had worn her down, stripping away the pride and power she once carried.

She turned to you, her expression filled with anger and disbelief. “Do you think I wouldn’t hear about it?” she demanded. “The attack on Aemond—your attack on my son!”

You swallowed hard. “Alicent, I—”

“Don’t you dare try to explain it away!” she interrupted, her voice trembling with fury. “Are you mad? He is my son, Y/N! My boy! How could you… how could you do this?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I acted out of anger, out of grief. I didn’t mean to—”

“To what?” she spat. “To harm him? To weaken him? To kill him!”

Her words struck like a whip, leaving you reeling.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But you did,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears filled her eyes, though she tried to blink them away. “You’ve hurt me more than anyone else ever could.”

You took a hesitant step toward her. “Alicent, please… I love you.”

She shook her head, her tears spilling over. “And I love you,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But love doesn’t undo the damage.”

You wanted to comfort her, to hold her and promise that things would get better, but you knew it was a lie.

“You’ve chosen your side,” she said finally, her voice cold now. “And I… I cannot follow you there.”

You stood in silence, watching as she turned away from you. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. The gulf between you had grown too wide to bridge, and all that remained was the ache of what could have been.

———

The war had taken a grim turn. News of the First Battle of Tumbleton reached King’s Landing like the toll of a funeral bell. Rhaenyra’s forces had not just been defeated—they had been betrayed. The Betrayer, Hugh Hammer, has switched sides mid-battle, leading to the sacking of Tumbleton. Refugees flooded into the capital with tales of fire and blood, of dragons turning on their own, and of the town reduced to ashes.

When the report reached the Black Council, Rhaenyra’s face turned ashen. She sat on the Iron Throne, her hand gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles whitened. “The gates of King’s Landing will remain closed and barred,” she ordered coldly, her voice trembling with restrained rage. “No one enters without my command.”

———

The city was restless, the tension palpable as the gates remained shut and whispers of betrayal spread through the streets. You found yourself wandering the Keep late one evening, seeking solace, when you stumbled upon Helaena. She sat alone in a dimly lit corridor, her hands busy weaving a garland of pale flowers.

“Helaena,” you said softly, and her head snapped up, startled.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, though her tone lacked any real malice.

“I needed a moment away from the madness,” you admitted, sitting beside her. “And you?”

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I’m always away from the madness. That’s my role, isn’t it? To sit and weave while the world burns around me.”

You hesitated before speaking again. “I never wanted this war, Helaena. And I never wanted you to be caught in it.”

She tilted her head, her gaze searching your face. “But you’ve made your sacrifices. And now… you live with them.”

For a moment, all you could do was nod.

“I wish there was a way to make it right,” you said.

“There isn’t,” she replied softly. “You can only choose to stop making it worse.”

———

The dungeon was dim, the air thick with the smell of damp stone. Corlys sat on the bench in his cell, his silver hair catching the faint torchlight. When he saw you approach, his lips pressed into a grim line.

“You’ve come to speak your piece, then?” Corlys asked, his voice edged with bitterness. “If you’re here to defend her actions, save your breath.”

“I’m not here to defend Rhaenyra,” you said softly, stepping closer to the bars. “I’m here because I owe you an apology—one long overdue. “I’ve made mistakes. I was blind to how far things had spiraled. And I regret it. But that’s not the only thing I regret. I regret letting my grief, my anger, and my confusion push you away after my mother’s death.”

Corlys froze, his expression softening slightly as your words sank in.

“When I learned the truth about my parentage, about my real father…” you continued, your voice wavering, “it was like my whole world had been torn apart. I didn’t know what to believe, who to trust. But you… you were always there for me. You were a father to me, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I was an idiot for not seeing that.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you. Then Corlys let out a long sigh, the chains on his wrists rattling as he leaned forward. “If I failed you, it wasn’t because I didn’t care—it was because I didn’t know how to reach you when you were hurting so deeply.”

“You didn’t fail me,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I failed you. I shut you out when I should have leaned on you. And now, after everything that’s happened—after Addam—I see how much I’ve let you down. I’m sorry, Corlys. Truly.”

Corlys sighed again, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his own regrets. “We’ve all let each other down, haven’t we? Addam, Rhaenyra, you, me… this war has stripped us of everything we once were.” He looked up at you, his eyes weary but still full of a quiet strength. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that regret alone changes nothing. If you want to make amends, you have to act—and you have to do it now, before there’s nothing left to salvage.”

“I’ll try,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll try to reach her, to help her see reason before it’s too late. But I don’t know if she’ll listen.”

Corlys gave a small, sad smile. “She may not. Rhaenyra’s fear has blinded her, and the walls she’s built around herself are taller than ever. But you have to try. Because if you don’t, Y/N, who will?”

His words lingered in the still air as you nodded, the weight of his wisdom settling over you.

“I’ll do what I can,” you promised, turning to leave.

As you walked away, Corlys’s voice called after you, softer now but no less firm. “And Y/N… no matter what happens, remember this: you were always my daughter. Blood or no blood. And that will never change.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t turn back.

———

The atmosphere in the hall outside Rhaenyra’s chamber was tense as you arrived. The guards stationed at her door exchanged uneasy glances when they saw you approach. They were hesitant, as if unsure whether to let you pass.

“I need to speak with Her Grace,” you stated firmly, your voice carrying the weight of urgency.

One of the guards stepped forward. “The Queen has asked not to be disturbed.”

“She is certainly not with the council” you asked, your brow furrowing.

The guard hesitated. “No, my lady.”

Something in his tone gave him away. Your eyes narrowed, and without waiting for permission, you pushed past him toward the door.

“Wait—” the other guard started, moving to intercept, but you had already opened the door wide enough to see inside.

The sight before you made your blood run cold. Mysaria was lounging in Rhaenyra’s bed, her bare back to you, the sheets tangled loosely around her waist. Her white hair spilled over her shoulders like silk, and her knowing eyes flicked toward you with a smugness that twisted your stomach.

Rhaenyra sat at the edge of the bed, pulling on a robe hastily. Her face flushed—not with guilt, but with frustration.

“Lady Y/N,” she said sharply, her tone carrying an edge of warning. “You have no right to barge in here.”

Your heart sank, the weight of everything crashing down as you stared at her. “I needed to speak with you. Clearly, I’ve interrupted… something.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her gaze hardening. “This is none of your concern. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Sleeping with a whore? You snapped. Have you truly stooped this low, Rhaenyra?”

At that, Mysaria smirked, seemingly unfazed by the insult. She leaned back against the pillows, her posture almost taunting.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger, her cheeks still flushed. “Careful with your words, Y/N. You’re hardly innocent. Or have you forgotten who you have bedded? Alicent Hightower, of all people.”

Her words hit you like a slap, but you refused to flinch. “Alicent is no prostitute,” you countered coldly. “She is nothing like this.” You gestured toward Mysaria, who raised a delicate brow but said nothing, content to watch the argument unfold.

Rhaenyra stood then, stepping closer to you, her voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to judge me. Not after everything. Not after you turned your back on me time and again. Do you think I care what you think of her—or of me? I don’t.”

The words stung, but it was the emptiness in her tone that broke something inside you. She wasn’t doing this because she loved Mysaria. It was a distraction—a way to drown her pain, her regret, her anger. And somehow, that made it hurt even more.

“Do you even hear yourself?” you asked, your voice trembling. “This… this isn’t you, Rhaenyra. This isn’t the woman I…” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “You’re letting yourself rot, and you’re dragging the realm down with you.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. For a moment, the two of you stood there, the tension between you suffocating.

Mysaria finally broke the silence, her voice smooth and mocking. “The Queen does not need your judgment, my lady. Perhaps it is time you left.”

You turned your glare on her, but you didn’t dignify her with a response. Instead, you looked back at Rhaenyra, your expression softening despite the anger coursing through you.

“I came here to warn you,” you said quietly, your voice laced with exhaustion. “But I see now that you won’t listen. You’ve surrounded yourself with people who feed your delusions instead of telling you the truth. And I can’t keep fighting for someone who refuses to fight for herself.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered, a brief crack in her façade, but she didn’t say anything. She simply stood there, silent and unyielding.

Without another word, you turned and walked out. The echo of it lingered in the hall, just like the ache in your chest.

———

The night felt colder than usual as you walked through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, your mind spinning from the confrontation with Rhaenyra. The anger had ebbed. You needed solace, a quiet reminder that not everything in this world had to be so broken.

You found yourself outside Alicent’s chambers before you even realized where your feet had carried you. The guards stationed outside her door gave you a glance but said nothing, stepping aside as you quietly entered the room.

The chamber was peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows. Alicent lay on her bed, her chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. She looked serene, her face untroubled by the weight of the day.

You hesitated at the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment. She was so different from Rhaenyra in this moment—so still, so calm. The storm that had been raging inside you began to quiet, replaced by a tender ache you couldn’t ignore.

Carefully, you sat on the edge of the bed, your fingers trembling as you reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Her skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and your touch lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek with the gentlest care.

Alicent stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips as her head tilted toward your hand. Though her eyes remained closed, her features softened, as if she recognized your touch even in sleep.

Your heart swelled, and without thinking, you took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. The fit was familiar, comforting, as if the world outside these walls didn’t exist. You brought her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before resting it against your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. “For everything.”

Alicent didn’t wake, but her fingers twitched slightly in yours, the smallest sign of acknowledgment.

You stayed there for a while, content to hold her hand and watch her sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel at peace, even if only for this fleeting moment.

-----------

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[lavendermin]

collar of thorns | blade

blade x reader, fem reader, bodyguard au

wc | 5.1k

genre | hurt and (a tiny bit of) comfort, nsfw, minors do not interact

warnings | implied toxic family dynamics, unhealthy dependency, brief previous torture mention, panic attacks, trauma, blood and brief violence, nudity, blade uses a shower head to get you off (if there’s a term for this lmk I’m drawing a blank rn)

note | mwah thank you to the bestest @nashusglasses for beta reading this 💗 this was supposed to be at most 2k but well… here we are ^^; love blade’s quiet but gentle girldad vibe with the stellaron hunters so this is a loose interpretation of that in a bodyguard au. very self indulgent with a sprinkle of comfort and mostly exploring their dynamics of an evolving relationship

His calculated actions are a conversation—one you have learned to follow, though not without a learning curve. Even in silence there’s more he tells you with a glance alone than words ever could.

It’s experience that Blade has accumulated as your bodyguard for quite a few years. No stranger to your mannerisms and higher quality of life coming from a family with powerful connections and flaunted status.

He knows you well, in his opinion. Head held high but a frail little thing weak in the knees from utter fear and paranoia. Pitiful, he thinks. Like a field mouse braving the jaws of a beast.

Despite being the black sheep of a renowned family, you’re no less a target as a vessel of valuable knowledge— information that some would go to great lengths to gain. No cost is too great, risk and reward leading many astray. Ultimately, it pulls you closer to unraveling. Time and time again.

—

There is protest— displeasure from attendants that arrive on behalf of the main family estate. You aren’t meant to be seen like this— bedridden and flawed and vulnerable.

The instruction was to wait. Wait until you have healed and could properly make yourself presentable. To save your family face, above all else.

But it’s your house, your rules.

The attendant continues to talk your ear off about why this is egregious and why the meeting should be postponed until months later when you’ve healed. It’s what the family ordered.

They might as well have ordered you dead, too. In your current state you’re no different than a deer in an open meadow, a thousand triggers waiting to be pulled.

“No.” Your gaze is blank as you side-eye the attendant by your bedside. “I want him to see— see exactly what my father signed him up for. If he is to be my guard, then he has to be able to handle all aspects of my life. What good is he to me if the unsightly is just that and nothing more?”

The attendant opens their mouth to oppose, but is interrupted by a knock on your room’s door as another attendant exchanges a hushed message. Upon their departure a tall figure is allowed inside— dark, silent.

Heavy is the atmosphere as he stands before you with an air that you can’t quite read. Blade, his name that was briefly provided by your father’s informant days prior.

“The family extends its gratitude for your gracious courtesy to meet with me on such short notice. Things haven’t been going as smoothly as my father would like. And that man does not trust me whatsoever to keep my mouth shut if the worst should happen.” You mutter something bitterly that Blade chooses not to dwell on. Sleepless paranoia has taken quite the toll on you. The dark circles under your eyes are quite unbecoming, though he doesn’t comment on it.

It’s none of his business— not until you tell him it is. Your word now commands him from the second he stepped into the room.

Blade sits across from you in a leather chair, unreadable with a rather guarded posture. His employer’s daughter— his task— is both what he expects and doesn’t expect.

There is a fear that keeps you alive and a defeat that splits your soul. A cacophony of unrest, a cocktail for an isolated soul.

“As you can see, he’s sorely mistaken,” you snort, dry and humorless. The days worth of agony are neatly dressed in gauze and fresh bandages, well on their way to become a blur of many such incidents to come. A recent incident— torture for information, he can only assume. “Regardless, my life is in your hands now.”

Blade nods, a simple acknowledgement. How easily he accepts to be by your side until your final breath.

“More than your duty,” you continue, “you are my trusted companion. My only companion.”

___

There’s little intel Blade could gather on attempts at your life, but that matters less to him from the second he’s hired. Those attempts would not prove successful, at whatever cost. They would only diminish further the longer he was your guard.

Duty-bound and distanced, he does not bother asking further about your past, and neither do you. You know he wouldn’t answer, and you’ve tried.

As a victim of circumstance, you are hard to blame.

Casual conversation is one-sided—a condition you’ve grown accustomed to. The microscopic changes of expression he allows are often response enough for you to carry conversation. You’ve long since stopped thinking too hard about it. No use breaking your heart over minor inconveniences like a petulant, rich brat.

In fact, not once have you heard him speak in your presence. Doesn’t need to, you think.

It’s easier to think that perhaps he holds resentment or dislikes his duty of protecting you. The lack of verbal conversation is often key to that. But Blade is very good at what he does—skilled in the art of reading people with a glance. His gentle gestures despite a blank, forlorn expression speak to the heart. Your heart.

It’s easy— liking him.

“There’s a restaurant that was highly recommended to me. Word of mouth from one of the Iris Family members during last month’s meeting,” you start casually. Sleep is just freshly rubbed from your eyes that morning.

Blade doesn’t respond, as expected, his hands steadily occupied with brushing your hair. Always gentle. More patient than you who yanks at any knots that form. You prefer it when he does it, liking the feeling of little jolts of electricity down your spine at the intimate action. It calms your nerves, he’s noted.

So, he indulges you.

There’s hesitance in your fidgeting hands as you peek at him through the vanity mirror from under your lashes. It easily betrays the stern facade you try to enact. You try your luck anyway. “It looked promising and would be a nice change of pace. I would like to try it out.”

Silence. His hand stills and his gaze is rather cold as he meets your eye. The air in the room shifts, a thick tension that’s palpable. You don’t even flinch.

“Bad idea, I take it. Well, I have an errand in the area regardless— the Oak Family contacted us not long ago and I’m being issued as the initial contact for a new business discussion. It would be an ideal use of our time if we can still pick up some food to bring back afterward.”

His hands resume their brushing, burning-red gaze now a dulled crimson as he focuses on not pulling your hair. A better idea, you take it, as he seems to relent to your veiled suggestion with a quiet sigh. The only clear sign you’ve learned means you won him over.

Blade knows well that you look for little ways to get some wiggle room of normalcy. You’ve never gotten used to this caged-bird life, bound to fear what lies beyond the golden enclosure of silk and honey. Perhaps he pities your cries, like birdsong that longs for a life that doesn’t suffocate you— a life that doesn’t hinge on every day and every interaction being a gamble.

If there is even a fraction of an illusion of that for you, he will turn a blind eye and let you lie to yourself. A moment is enough to soothe your aching heart.

Later in the day you depart for the city. A distraught feeling sits in the pit of your belly. An omen brought by a spike in anxiety that you force out of mind as Blade opens the passenger door for you.

It’s a silent ride across several towns to the location indicated. There’s doubt that gnaws at the back of your mind. Something didn’t seem right with the person that contacted you with the location details for this conference between families. You’ve become much too aware that you’re viewed as an expendable pawn of the family.

But, you’re sure Robin will be there. And a familiar face is just what you need for this to be less of a drag.

Blade seems to sense your hesitance. Wordlessly, he turns on the radio. You worry too much, he seems to criticize with the action. It helps all the same.

But… your spirits seem lighter, more optimistic. A moment of normalcy as you tune out and look out the window at passing city lights and a sun slowly tucking away behind never ending buildings. You’re a person, then.

Even if only briefly.

____

They say a common phenomenon occurs that allows you to register one small, redundant detail when in a state of sudden shock. And you remember it then, clear as day.

7:59 PM.

The time on your cracked phone screen just inches away from you.

The smell of iron and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. None of it registered quick enough before Blade yanked you harshly out of the way.

And yelling. Muffled and harsh.

Your body is cold with fear, frozen stiff in place. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt since you were a child.

You struggle to get back onto your feet, cowering back toward the alley wall. It gets harder to breathe as panic sets in when your eyes spot Blade clutching his side.

The situation deteriorates further, every passing second a blur of struggle and dark figures. It feels like every emotion is going to burst out of you in a scream. It’s an out-of-body experience, as if you’re watching your own body act on its own trying to put itself between Blade and the attackers.

“Don’t,” he commands—harsher still with urgency. “Stop.”

You freeze at the foreign sound of his voice. There’s no time to process it as crimson seeps through the fresh wound on his side.

You keep hearing his muffled voice tell you to run, run away. Through the pounding in your ears of adrenaline and fear you realize that’s your voice. Hoarse and frantically yelling, pleading for him to run away— you’re hurt, don’t fight anymore.

The rest is a blur as Blade drags you out of the alley, through crowds of nightlife and shoves you into the car. There’s no way of knowing if the pursuit was hot on your tails. It’s a risk Blade could not afford in his current state.

Your mind is numb with fear during the entire process. Every jolt from the roads he speeds through shoots pain through his body— a bloody manifestation of his inadequacy. He hisses and clutches his side, forced to drive with one hand. The sound tears you from your daze for a moment but forces you to experience the present.

There’s red on your hands, your clothes. The smell of iron is putrid as you desperately try to control your breathing. Bile is at your throat and you choke back a sob, like a pitiful kicked dog. You can’t afford to freak out right now and make things worse.

It’s disjointed how your body reacts compared to your mind. You’ve been through worse. You know that. This comfortable life laying low with your bodyguard has spoiled you. He has spoiled you. Your heart is merely a soft pearl now, layers of disjointed affections received and perceived through his tenderness. The base instinct overwrites everything else— all logic, all experience.

This is not normal, it reasons. This shouldn’t be normal.

You want desperately to silence the mind.

The car comes to a slow stop after miles of non-stop driving, and you’re painfully aware of the trembling in your hands. Though you try to hide them by folding them onto your lap, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Blade’s hand, calloused and marred with drying red, is steady as it closes over your fist. It commands your attention and the lump at your throat threatens to rip a sob from you.

It’s alright now, his piercing red eyes tell you. There’s a tenderness that comes through while his thumb rubs your knuckles to ease your anxiety. He lets his head fall back onto the headrest, a bitter chuckle filling the rigid silence.

Your voice trembles, breathy as it breaks with the urge to cry. “They could have killed you.”

Blade exhales through his nose, eyes still closed as he processes your distress.

“I’m expendable. You must live.” His tone is even, detached. It lacks the usual twinge of warmth and care. It’s as if he’s reading something scripted instead— attempting to avoid overstepping.

“You’re being dishonest with me. That’s not what you want to say. I–”

Your mouth presses into a thin line, his hand squeezing yours.

“I know my father sent them.” There isn’t even hurt in your voice, but a steady bitterness begins to burn at the hearth of your soul. It was high time they deemed you more of a liability than an actual member of the family. You shake your head, and with a deep breath you steady your nerves as best as you can. “That matters less right now. Let's get you cleaned up.”

Staying the night at a hotel much too far from home is less than ideal, but you’re aware Blade won’t risk walking right into another ambush that may be waiting at your doorstep. Best not to compromise the situation further.

Despite the tremble of your lip, your hands are steady and efficient as they work to help clean his wounds. You jolt as your phone vibrates with an incoming call, apologizing as you excuse yourself to the balcony. Blade quietly finishes dressing the cleaned wound on his side. He listens intently as you speak with an Oak Family member on the phone, quickly and quietly.

“No, no. We are safe now. Please keep alert. My contact sent you all available surveillance footage of the area shortly after we departed. We can discuss this further once I look into it. On behalf of,” you pause, a strain on your voice before you compose yourself, “on behalf of the family I apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you, Robin.”

Blade watches you intently from the side. There’s a facade of calm you’re trying desperately to keep up. Perhaps it’s the ‘fight or flight’ that’s still keeping you whole right now. For now, he keeps a close watch over you, every microexpression, every fidget.

There’s hesitance as his left palm rests on the bed. It doesn’t escape your detection as you close the sliding door.

“Give me your hand.” A beat and he relents, red gaze as intense as ever as he watches you kneel before him in silence. “You’re hurt here, too.”

He grunts as if inconvenienced, but lets you do as you please. Indulges you— always does.

With a patient crimson gaze, he observes you. Your heart has never felt so vulnerable than right now.

“It’s not perfect, and I’m no doctor, but…” You pause to look over your work.

Despite trembling hands and less-than-elegant bandaging, you gently bring his knuckles to your lips and press a kiss to each one. A childish gesture he didn’t see you as the type to do. That surely in your naive heart you believe a kiss will make it better— despite the blood and bruises.

And Blade— doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop you.

How selfishly he lets your heart devour him.

He gives a silent thanks and moves to sit away from you, making home on the couch with a wince as he adjusts to lay down. The lights are off now, save for your bedside lamp.

Even in the warmth of the lamplight, the feeling of being cold and isolated persists. Alone at the edge of the bed. You want to be selfish and order him to sleep on a proper bed— near you for your peace of mind.

Sleep, he tells you wordlessly with a glance. It’s been a long day.

You worry your lip all the same, seated at the edge of your bedside. Unmoving, tense— your mind reels, replaying the same thing over and over.

7:59 PM.

When the weapon just grazed over his heart and instead hit his side. When the smell of iron, cursed with beautiful crimson, nauseated you.

In the dark, your eyes adjust and watch as Blade’s breathing slows with sleep. It’s not normal— his breathing. The wrappings will only do so much while the pain persists. But by morning, the scar will be there, as if it had always been there. You don’t dare ask the details of why.

He’s spoiled you, surely. A comfortable life in his hands has made you soft. And you know this to be true, otherwise this attempt at your life would be nothing but another occurrence you hardly bat an eye to.

The gentleness he grants you unravels you faster.

No matter how close Blade is, you’re always alone. Even so, you choose to stay within his shadow. It’s warm— always warm.

And you crave him. Crave him in ways you should not entertain.

You don’t sleep much that night. The attempts on your life are few in recent years, but even more rare is successful bloodshed. The more dire incidents leave your nerves fried, a heavy pounding in your chest as adrenaline leaves your body tense and sleepless. Even with Blade’s watchful gaze keeping you safe, knowing he’s been injured by your carelessness only leaves you waking with a strangled gasp from guilt-ridden nightmares every hour.

The room is foreign as you try to adjust your sight to the dark bathed in a sliver of moonlight from a crack in the hotel room’s curtains.

This bed is not yours, this room is not yours. It’s not home, and this isn’t normal. The target is hot on your back— always under someone’s watchful eye. Never able to take a full breath without gasping and clawing at the anxiety closing its hands around your throat.

Your throat feels tight the more you think. In the dark, faces seem to morph into the details on the ceiling— mocking and shifting. All you can do is think in circles, worry your lips raw.

When you look over, you can just barely make out Blade’s dark figure laid on the sofa across from you. The bandages wrapped on his torso are salt in the wound as the guilt claws at your throat once more. Tears sting your eyes as the stress of it all finally reaches a breaking point.

The clock reads midnight as you tiptoe to the bathroom.

The bathwater is just short of scalding when you step in. The feeling doesn’t even phase you, a welcome sensation as the steam surrounds you. Its temperature is a welcoming hug melting your stresses away little by little as you work your fingers into your tense shoulders. A sniffle here and there, shaky breaths accompanied by the sweet melodies of tears breaking the water’s surface.

For a while, you sit idly, watching water from the leaky faucet drip. With each drop, the echoing sound clears your mind and centers you.

Deep breath, hold it. Exhale. Repeat.

The door to the bathroom clicks open, heavy footsteps trailing in.

“I already knew you were awake, but I wish you would rest,” you mutter into your knees as you shrink into yourself.

He sits at the edge of the tub. Formality is left at the door, for your sake. You have nothing to hide from him, anyway. The flesh is nothing to hide, and you’re more ashamed to let his eyes gaze upon the want in your soul. Ugly and wretched.

“You care for me,” is all Blade says in the quiet echo of the bathroom. “Don’t.”

The silence that follows seeps into the water that is no longer warm. Your body sinks lower into the tub until your nose is just above the water. Heat sears the tips of your ears.

The pounding of your heart is deafening, louder still as his presence engulfs your senses.

You feel foolish and naive and your bones are tired of being within your flesh. Bound to carry a fool like you through every mistake.

The sound of water draining doesn’t faze you. He’s decided this is less healing than you wallowing in self-pity. It won’t do you any good. Believing him is easier when you’d rather not think.

You sit up and keep your gaze glued to the surface of the water. Not unable to meet his gaze— refusing to— as his words weigh heavy on your heart.

You would rather he squeeze your heart— drink it dry of the lifeblood that keeps it pumping. Maybe this isn’t love. Or isn’t what you need.

But you will yourself to not care. Have to.

Blade taps your shoulder, urging you to stand before you catch a cold the longer you stay in the lukewarm water. He sighs quietly when you shake your head petulantly.

You finally speak— a quiet, frail thing as your voice trembles ever so slightly. “You’re wrong. It’s more.”

The water sloshes and spills over the sides as you turn your body around. Your eyes meet full, crimson moons, and your heart remains strangely steady. Uncertainty claws at your nerves until they fray like ribbons.

The draining water weighs in the forefront of your mind like an hourglass waiting for your next move. And with each second his eyes crumble your resolve, seeing through you— peering into the soul of a frail little thing like you. He waits patiently for your next gamble.

You lean up, lips pressing against his. A forlorn warmth.

Not pushed away, not stopped. Blade indulges you. Always does.

A wordless answer.

“You don’t like it, but I love you,” you mutter against his lips when you pull away. “That won’t change easily.”

“I never said I don’t like it.”

You can’t meet his eyes when your fingers silently trace the bandage wrappings around his bare torso.

“It eats me alive to see you get hurt. I know it’s your job, but… I can still be a fool in love. Can’t I?”

When you chase his lips again, your body shivers. It’s difficult to tell if that comes as a result from the harsh, cold porcelain of the empty tub or his teeth sinking into your lip.

The water is running again when Blade pushes you away, your eyes unfocused and glassy. He makes your heart ache. You have yet to decide if it’s in a good way or a bad way.

“Is it pity?” you ask quietly. “The reason you kissed back?” There’s distress and hurt in your voice as Blade falls into routine, moving you about like a doll to finish what you inevitably will not.

No response. For once, you can’t read him.

Blade works silently as he runs hot water over your body with that delicate gentleness that has your heart yearning and longing for him to be forced into what you need. You swallow the greed— the selfishness— and tear out the vitals of that ugly beast before you go mad if he leaves.

Your back is to him as he uses the shower head to get the last remaining suds out of your hair. It pulls your focus for a moment, the feeling pleasant and distracting. Methods he already knows to soothe your tumultuous mind.

The water runs and he turns you around. The bandages around his torso are damp by now, your lingering gaze focusing on them as he finishes rinsing you in silence. The myriad of scars adorning his arms and torso bring a heavy feeling to your chest. You will the vile feeling away and focus on his fingers gently lathering up your hair. Keeping you sat makes the task more difficult— you know this. But the attention makes your heart lighter all the same.

Selfish. The thought brands itself on your back like a hot iron.

The water runs and runs along your thigh with a light pressure as he abandons the shower head and tilts your face up to finally look at him. His gaze is intense— worried in the way he searches your crestfallen expression. You’re sure you look pathetic like this, disappointment on your face.

But he kisses you.

Blade leans down and kisses you. Of his own volition, now, and it's soft and warm. So warm it singes the edges of the isolation that consumes you. And for a moment, salvation is what you feel.

“You’re stubborn,” he says, his breath warm as it fans your face. “I enjoy it. That’s my answer.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips. It pulls a hum of amusement from him.

“Enjoying the demise of my heart. You’re cruel.”

Your words have no bite. A ghost of a smile graces his lips and it brings a rush of emotion to your already starving heart.

Because you don’t know it, but he craves you. Fondly but desperately.

Where your family has thrown you to the side, he will hold you close. A greed of his own he has to battle— keep focused so it won’t consume him. So he won’t devour you whole.

A shiver runs through your body as he coaxes you back into the tub, and you think for a moment he’s back to keeping you at an arm’s length again. The cold of the porcelain is harsh on your back. You retain some shame, at least, and you go to cover your chest. It’s the feeling of being a lamb before the slaughter, pristine and loved.

“Sit still,” Blade commands, voice smooth and an octave lower as his arm pushes one of your legs apart to prop on the edge of the tub.

It's a welcome initiative that makes your face warm with a sudden meekness. You’re exposed and surely getting slick by the second with arousal dripping down your inner thigh. Spread and completely bare.

Your chest rises and falls at a quickening pace and you whimper in anticipation. Blade watches you almost curiously, as if he’s never heard these pathetic little sounds from your lips. There’s little that hasn’t been shared between you two with his intimate work as your bodyguard. His presence has been by your side nearly twenty four hours a day every day for the past few years. Still, this is a new low he is taking on with you.

Indulging you. Like he always does.

This is an inevitable shift in your relationship— one that has long since strayed from a purely professional stance. It never suited you both, at least that’s what you like to think.

His gaze like blood is trained onto your expression— every shift, every change, every wince. He wants to see them all, sear them into his memory like tomorrow isn’t promised.

Your body jolts and an obscene moan you can't manage to hold back bubbles up your throat as he holds the shower head just over your slick cunt. The water runs with a constant pressure that feels odd and overwhelmingly good. But your moans are much too loud, much too desperate. With a click, the flow changes and he rips a sharp gasp out of you as he aims the water at your throbbing clit.

Your body is thrashing, squirming against the porcelain but you don’t have it in you to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop. But this feeling is not him, and you want to be selfish and have him take all that remains. To have him take and take and fill and put you back together after he breaks you into irreplaceable pieces.

The squeeze of his hand on the tender flesh of your plush thigh is enough to have you panting and writhing. The feeling is isolated, the mere touch hot on your skin— scalding, even. His large hand sinks easily into the soft skin there, and you wish his touch alone would leave marks in his wake. To remind you that he’s still here, and you’ll both be alright.

The coiling feeling builds and builds, your walls clenching around nothing as your clit is assaulted by the constant stream of pressure. A whimper of frustration escapes your lips as your hips try to buck up to chase the feeling— begging for relief. He doesn’t spare you from cruelty, not when your expressions are a wonder to behold. You can’t even scream as an orgasm rips through you so suddenly, mouth agape as you twist and arch under his watchful gaze.

An expression twisted and contorted by bliss— Blade drinks up all your sounds and the sight of you undone. You squirm against his hold on your thigh as the feeling starts to toe into overstimulation. It’s too much of a good thing and you don’t know whether to beg him to stop or keep chasing the feeling of the coil tightly winding again.

The tears that adorn your lashes blur your peripheral, but you’re sure you see a wolfish grin on Blade’s expression.

Just short of coming undone again, he denies you a second completion. The stream of water slowly drips to a stop and you lay there catching your breath. Frustration sits in the pit of your belly as exhaustion finally settles on your limbs, eyelids heavy. For a moment you feel his lips on your temple— a brief, chaste gesture.

It’s silent as you get ready to sleep once more. By now it’s almost two in the morning, your tired body protesting the hour. But the air is no longer suffocating, and a lightness remains in your heart once more. The maw of the beast still looms over you but for now, the beating of two hearts quells your worries until morning.

His steps halt as you pull him along toward the bed.

“Sleep here,” you beg quietly. “It’ll be better for your wounds.”

Blade closes his eyes, forcing himself to disregard the want in your eyes. When you tug gently again he gives in, allowing you to do as you please. Just like always.

He cannot pleasure you how he wants, not tonight. You wouldn’t allow it with his wounds. All the same he relents when you urge him to sleep in a proper bed— to lay with you.

In the stillness of the dark, his hand searches for yours. You wonder for a moment if his fear of losing you rivals your own. For the sake of your heart, you’ll have to assume that much.

He fits easily into the crook of your neck and allows his lips to press tenderly where your shoulder meets your neck. The flesh dissolves under his tongue. You are left bare, a soul so desperately longing to be unsealed and seen and filled.

And he sees you. Blade fills you— with yearning and a wretched possessiveness unbecoming of you. But he fills you, nonetheless.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Taoba (Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Daemon Targaryen)

Summary: Daemon and Aemond settle their pending score.

Warnings: Aemond being a BRAT. Daemon being a sugar daddy (I guess?) Violence. Targaryen way of conflict resolution. 

A/N: Final part of the Muña series. This is very unhealthy, but I needed to give it a satisfactory conclusion that felt in character to me, so it stopped using my brain space. 

THERE IS NO Sept in Pentos. At least, not in the part of the city where the manse is located. You do not dare go exploring further than a few timid excursions to the surrounding markets. 

Being out in the open makes you antsy. Your departure from Westeros is still too fresh, you have not yet settled into a life where you are not at war. Searching for a Sept in which to pray properly seems too trivial. 

You still light your candles, one for each person you have lost, plus another one. For yourself. 

Aemond is as unsettled as you are. To him, the loss is greater. He has had to shed his identity, cut his chair and remove the characteristic eye patch and leather clothes for more simple ones. He is now a dragonseed, brought along as a paramour to a happily married couple. 

“What can I say?” Daemon had laughed, when questioned about it by a magister. “I love my wife, and she does love her toys.” 

It had prompted a roar of laughter from his friends. You weren’t too sure you liked being known as a sexual deviant, but you had little choice in the matter. Everyone had to make sacrifices, after all. 

Even Vhagar. She is now known as The Cannibal. The Essoi know so little about dragons that an intimidating name to match the intimidating reptile in their city satisfies them. 

Daemon, in contrast, settles in as if he had never been at war. He has already been in one before, and has lost little. He still has his name, his money, and his marriage. He even has his old pentoshi friends. They had greeted him warmly, clapped him in the back, and it was as if he had never left. 

While Aemond continues to share your bed, Daemon is content to haunt the place. You worry despite yourself when you realize he is not out whoring or drinking as usual. But you are too busy with your inner turmoil to try to fix him too. 

Having run away from the only home you knew leaves you unsure about whom you really are. When the war started, you were different. You would have done anything to protect your people. Now, you were a coward who ran with her tail between her legs at the first hint of trouble. 

It was difficult to feel such a passionate love for them when they had started resisting your orders. As soon as the Blacks gained a bit of terrain, they started questioning your leadership. By the end of it, they were cursing your name.

Running was easier, after that. Playing Daemon’s wife again wasn’t. 

It all comes to a head one evening when you are asked to sweep into that role again. Daemon has insisted on hosting a dinner for some of his friends, and so, you have little choice but to squeeze yourself into a fine gown he commissioned for you. It seems fair that if he is housing you and your lover, you do something for him. 

You plan the night to perfection. It is what you have been raised to do, and you thrive on it. There is such an innate sense of control that comes with choosing a menu, the seating arrangements, the entertainment. You enjoy the task so much, you wish you had put it into practice more in your other life. 

Aemond sulks in a corner the whole evening, even when Daemon has gotten him a matching doublet. He seems to dislike the implication of being a bastard too much to enjoy himself in a company that cares little for his origins. 

“I hate this dress.” He complains, once you have ushered out the last of Daemon’s friends. Aemond toys with the laces on the back of it, making you frown. “Makes you look washed out. Ugly.” 

You flinch. You have never liked discussing your appearance, not after many years of mocking. During a good week, a remark about your looks can set your budding self-esteem back a moon. Hearing Aemond say so during a bad one guts you. 

Aemond was supposed to understand you. To see you. 

“I happen to like it.” You say, picking up the last goblets of wine and setting them into a tray to be taken down to the kitchen. Your household is sparsely staffed, Daemon’s savings not enough to keep it running at full capacity.  You find you don’t really mind. The lack of resources during the war had made you go through much worse, and you find you enjoy the privacy. “I enjoy the fullness of the skirts.” 

You are careful to keep your back turned to the men, but you cannot hide the tenseness of your shoulders, the stiffness of your spine. Perhaps the insult stings more because you do like the dress.  Despite how tight it was, you had felt pretty after putting it on. The seamstress had complimented you, even. 

The style was more form - fitting than what you usually wore, a bit more risky. It had been inspired by what the women here wore, and you knew Daemon wouldn’t let you embarrass him. That fact had prompted your confidence to wear it in the first place. But now, you just feel old and fat. 

A hand presses to your back, warm and gentle. You stiffen more, thinking it’s Aemond’s. 

“You look beautiful in it.” Daemon compliments, softly. And because he cannot resist it, he throws in a dig at Aemond too. “The boy is just bitter because he can’t pay for anything half as fine.” 

“That is not true. I could become a…” Aemond starts, and you groan, pressing your hands to your eyes. You have heard the tale of the sellsword plenty. He is a good swordsman, perhaps good enough to take up that sort of life. But he is out of practice. Most of his battles have been from the dragon, not the horse. Unlike cavalry, dragonback doesn’t provide such experience. 

“If you become a sellsword, you will die. And all I did would be in vain.” Daemon sits down, placing his boots on the table. You shove him. It’s not as if any of them do any cleaning, but Aemond is far neater. You do not clean either, but as the person in charge of the servants, you prefer not to be embarrassed by how piggish they can be.

Daemon has gone through great pains to secure you a home and safety. You try not to feel too indebted to him, considering the horrible years of marriage and shame, but cannot help it. He is finally behaving like you were taught a husband is supposed to behave, and it pleases your stupid brain. 

He provides for you. Pays for your home, dresses, lets you run a household. He protects you. Keeps you safe from the outcome of the war, rescued you from the likely revolt from your tenants. He makes you happy. Daemon pays to keep Aemond safe and healthy, too. 

It messes with your head. You shouldn’t feel grateful, you shouldn’t like him and yet…

Siege mentality. That must be it. Your current situation makes you believe it’s Daemon, Aemond and you against the world. 

Aemond doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. He has been behaving oddly ever since you got here. The first week, he had been on edge, wary Daemon was going to murder him in his sleep. The second one, he had not left your bed. And then he had settled into an odd sort of depression that involved making everyone around him as miserable as possible. 

Aemond was a man born and bred for war. It wasn't unusual that he was struggling with peace. 

“Apologize, Taoba.” Daemon orders. While this is not the first time Aemond lashes out, it is the first time Daemon bothers with demanding an apology. It is also the first time Aemond’s temper has been directed at you. 

“I refuse to apologize for my opinion.” Aemond smirks. He toys with his goblet, before leaning in. You know the look in his face. It’s the one he wears when he plans to deliver the killing blow. “The dress makes you look ugly.” 

You suppose it is better than being outright called ugly. The thought isn’t as comforting as you thought. 

“An opinion no one asked for.” Daemon’s tone is icy. You look at him, begging him to let it go. But Daemon has never listened to you, not in all the years you have been married. He won’t start now. “And a false one. I can’t just voice the opinion that the sky is red. Now, apologize or…”  

“Or?” Aemond challenges. This time, you turn your pleading eyes to him. Out of the two of them, he is slower to enact his revenge ploys, while Daemon chooses to take immediate and decisive action. You hope that means he can be persuaded to postpone the confrontation. 

“Aemond, why don’t we go to bed?” You ask, voice soft and meek. But Aemond’s gaze is fixed on Daemon. 

The older man smirks. He leans back on his chair, forcing it to balance precariously on its hind legs. 

“I’ll make you.” 

It happens faster than you can react. One second they are glaring at each other, the next Aemond has lunged over the table, sending the goblets clattering. He punches Daemon, making him fall off the chair. But before Aemond can get any other punch in, Daemon grabs him by the hair and slams him against the table. You scream. 

“My goblets! The tablecloth!” You realize you sound insane, but you feel it too. Your hands tremble. One would think war has desensitized you to violence, but it is one thing to know a battle is being fought and another to see the man you love get beaten by your husband. 

You make an aborted motion towards them, unsure if trying to get between them is a good idea. You settle for clenching your hands into fists, powerless to stop the situation around you. 

Daemon jerks Aemond upright, holding his hands between his back. 

“Aōla gēlȳni iēnkā, taobus!” You can tell Daemon is mocking him. Familiar as you are with his methods, you step forward, hovering. 

Were Daemon mocking you, this would be the part where you would defend yourself. Aemond, instead, simply smirks. 

“Sa Tida, Kepus.” 

Daemon’s face turns into an expression of absolute, murderous rage. His grip on Aemond tightens. He turns to you, almost in… Disbelief? You aren’t sure. You do not know what they are saying, but it can’t be good. 

Aemond blushes with pleasure. He smiles a cocky grin, and his chest puffs up with arrogant satisfaction. 

It is only at that display that color returns to Daemon’s face. 

“I must admit, you had me fooled.” He releases Aemond, and gives him a shove. “But your games will not unnerve me tonight. Not again. We will settle this.” 

“Daemon…” 

“As much as it pains me, he is right.” Aemond sneers. “There is a debt to be paid, Muña. Do not interfere.” 

He gives you a warning glance, before bowing his head. It’s the last time he looks at you. 

His attention is now focused on Daemon. He looks up at him, body taut with fear. If you didn’t know Aemond that well, you would miss it. But to your well-trained eyes, it’s obvious. He is terrified. 

Aemond ends up lowering his eye again. Daemon’s fierce stare seems to have him unbalanced, unable to hide his emotions as well as he usually does. Knowing Daemon, he must be delighted his intimidation tactics are making him squirm. 

Daemon thrives on fear and humiliation. He has perfected his methods through the years, his reputation as a rogue only aiding him in his task. His eyes are like daggers. Instinctually, you know that is better to stay silent for now. 

Aemond seems to share your thoughts. He averts his eyes, face red with embarrassment. You wonder what has Daemon said to him that he is so out of sorts. 

“You should be kneeling.” Daemon finally says, his eyes on you. For a second, you think the instruction is actually meant for you, but before you can do anything about it, Daemon has turned back to Aemond. He towers over him, somehow, despite being the same height. “You're such a pathetic creature.”  

Daemon steps towards him. Aemond takes a step back, and Daemon smirks. He can probably sense the weakness in the same manner wolves sense fear. 

“Insulting your woman after claiming to be better than I. Hypocrite. But what more could you ask from a Hightower.”  His face tight with anger, Daemon unsheathes his dagger and grabs Aemond's chin, tilting it up. 

Never in a million lives you thought you would see Daemon defending your honor. How life surprises us all. 

You pity Aemond. His skin is turning red where Daemon is grabbing him, and he is breathing hard, eye closed. He seems to be expecting pain, and it fills you with the urge to comfort him. 

Aemond shouldn’t be having to brace himself. This is a storm of your own making. But he has asked you not to interfere, and you do not wish to wound his pride. You stay quiet. 

The dagger Daemon holds is now pressed to Aemond’s throat and this time, it is too much.  You advance on them. 

“Stop it.” 

Daemon ignores you. He leans in, close enough that he could kiss Aemond. His hair tickles Aemond’s face. 

“And you still fucked my wife without my permission.” He snarls. “Open your mouth,”

Aemond swallows. He seems cowed, for the first time in his life. 

“Stop this. Right this second.” You repeat, but neither heed you. Much to your dismay, Aemond makes eye contact with you before opening his mouth. Daemon’s dagger brushes against his lips. He shakes like a frightened bunny, but he still doesn’t attempt to defend himself.

“Open wider.”

Aemond has no choice but to obey.  You are struck by how young he looks, how young he truly is. At least ten years your junior, twenty or so than Daemon. He has been a man for such little time, and yet, has done much more horrible things than most people twice his age. 

The lesser of those sins is bedding a married woman. 

Daemon’s voice is harsh. 

“I said wider!” Aemond opens his mouth wider, obediently. “Now, stick out your tongue.”  

“… Why don’t we all calm down..?” You feel your hands shaking. Daemon is capable of cutting his tongue. You know it. Aemond knows it. And still, he sticks out his tongue like an obedient dog. 

“Your tongue would make a fine gift to my wife. An apology, for all the insults I sent her way.” Daemon smirks. “And a penance, for how you dared treat her, petulant child that you are.” 

Your eyes sting. Something like a sob surges on your chest, but it doesn’t get out, caged between your ribs. It takes residence there, caught. 

It’s unbelievable. Once, you had prided yourself on knowing Daemon. You had been so finely tuned to his moods, out of an urge for survival, that you could tell with just a glance what he was thinking. His anger had always been transparent to you. 

This time, you aren’t sure if he is serious about cutting Aemond’s tongue for the slight, or if it is about the infidelity. 

“I do not want his tongue. Daemon. Stop it.” You beg, stumbling back into your chair. You hold your head between your hands, realizing this is punishment for you too. For daring to be an adulterous wife. 

Aemond’s face is pale. He is trembling slightly, and his tongue is caught between Daemon’s finger. It makes him drool. He attempts to pull back. 

Daemon's eyes flash with anger.  There is a dark satisfaction in his face. 

“Don't move.” Daemon's voice is low and sinister. “Keep it there. Less my pulse falters, and I leave you without a tongue before deciding.” 

“Don't!” You plead. 

Aemond doesn't move, the blade still pressed to his tongue, his mouth open. 

Daemon softens at the obedience. Perhaps because he has always liked control a bit too much. 

“Good boy.” He grins. Aemond sends him a look made of pure hatred, but keeps still. His eye is glued to Daemon’s, set on not backing down. 

If someone doesn’t intervene, something bad is about to happen. And there is no one else here, but you.

You stand up, furious. 

“That is enough! I happen to like his tongue where it is, inside his mouth and unharmed.” 

“You're nothing but a sniveling coward.” Daemon presses the dagger harder into Aemond's tongue, taunting him. “What's the matter? Do you like the taste of the dagger on your tongue? The feel of the metal against your flesh? Sick little boy.”

Daemon laughs. Aemond closes his eye, but both you and Daemon see it. A single tear falls down his face, mouth still wide open, dagger pressed inside. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, like one of the tapestries Daemon used to hang around showcasing Targaryen deviance. 

“Do you like that?” Daemon leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. You know through first-hand experience how devastating that feels. Somehow, seeing them together, Daemon holding Aemond almost in a lover’s embrace, makes you throb with shameful arousal. “Being completely helpless and humiliated? It should hurt. It shows you your place. On the ground, at my mercy.” 

Aemond tries to close his mouth, but Daemon's hands keep his face pushed back as he presses the tip of the blade into his tongue. Aemond's face tightens, a look of pain flashing across his eyes, but he can't say anything. The only sound out of his mouth is a painful groan. 

Daemon's expression is cold and hard. 

“It feels good, doesn't it? Just like kissing the cunt of a married woman?"

“Daemon! Enough!” And this time, you finally gather the courage to do what needs to be done. You get between the two of them and shove Daemon out of the way. “That’s enough.” 

Daemon licks his lips. Aemond swallows, a hint of blood in the edge of his mouth. You wonder if he is tasting copper. 

“What a pathetic display of weakness. I've seen a thousand pigs slaughtered with more bravery than you.” Daemon sheathes the dagger. Aemond’s face turns frighteningly angry. Torching the Riverlands kind of angry. 

His breathing is deep and labored, like a hurt animal. You rush to his side and hug him. 

“You are bold to speak of weakness…” Aemond says, with great effort. His body shudders against yours, and it is a testament to how shaken he must be that he doesn’t jerk out of your grip. “When it was your own what led your wife to my bed. Make no mistake, Muña. An old dog cannot learn new tricks.” He then spits blood at Daemon’s face.

Daemon wipes his face with his sleeve, horrifyingly calm. He then looks at both of you, and bursts into genuine laughter. 

“I was wrong, boy. You have balls.” He gives him a hand, helping him to a chair. “We might make a man out of you yet.” 

Aemond accepts his help without fear. You stare. 

“Both of you are unhinged.” 

Daemon turns to you. 

“Oh? Then what would you do in my situation?” 

“Apologize? Agree to move on and let go of the past?” You offer, weakly. 

Daemon scoffs at the suggestion. “Apologize? Apologize! You think that will solve everything?” But he does look over at Aemond, who has now relaxed in his chair, exhausted.  “I suppose I should try to be diplomatic, if only for your sake. Fine. I apologize for calling you terrible things, trying to murder you and to cut out your tongue. How does that sound, Taoba?”

Aemond swallows again. He seems unsure if he should be trusting Daemon’s words. He gives you a look. You shrug. If they want to try normal conflict resolution, you won’t stop them. 

“Thank you. I apologize for fucking her without your permission.” 

Daemon gives him a small smile. Aemond meets his eyes. A strange mixture of emotions seems to pass between them. Daemon looks as if he is seeing Aemond for the first time. There is a new interest in his eyes, one you do not like at all. 

Or perhaps, you like it too much. You can’t decide. 

“Is that all, then? Or do you have more to say, nephew?” He purrs. 

Aemond scratches his nape, embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to know how to react to being flirted with. Because this is what this is. Daemon is looking at him with utter hunger. 

“Nothing.” 

Daemon looks him over, inspecting Aemond like a predator sizing up his prey. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” 

Daemon studies him for a moment, not looking convinced.

“Someone looks guilty.” He is like a shark, smelling blood in the water. Aemond looks painfully awkward, nothing like the cocky young man that seduced you moons ago. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you attempt to shift Daemon’s attention to you. 

“I apologize for bedding him.” You offer, in your meekest tone. 

Daemon doesn't acknowledge your apology, his eyes still fixed on Aemond, filled with curiosity. 

“I accept your apology.” Then his eyes harden, his face turns serious. “Now, come here. Both of you.”

Aemond’s eye widens, but obediently gets up and creeps closer.  Daemon reaches a hand towards you. You go easily. 

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Daemon teases, his eyes never leaving Aemond's face, searching for some hint of weakness.

Aemond nods silently, too intimidated to speak. Daemon grabs him by the back of his neck, firmly. He presses his forehead to his. 

“Aōha ēdruta vāedas. Vezof jin azantys, vestri sȳz. Se ābra dracarys jēdo nūm.” 

Aemond nods, solemnly. As if he were accepting a vow. Then, they both turn towards you. 

“Consider this my repentance.” Daemon says, with a smirk. Aemond looks properly chided. Contrite, even. 

“I apologize for being rude. The dress makes your cleavage look phenomenal. I was just… Jealous, I suppose. I used to protect you and now…” He offers, sounding much like a child who has gotten caught with his hands on the cookie jar. 

“Now you find yourself in the unusual situation of having me as the protector. I have been shielding you from Daemon and Daemon has been…” You realize it as you speak it. Aemond had come to rescue from your solitude, and your evil, up to no good husband. You had been his damsel in distress, until you had stepped into the role of the protector and Daemon into…

“Providing.” The man himself barks out a laugh. “Seven Hells, am I a stand-in for Viserys? I thought I had issues.” 

Aemond blushes. 

“It isn’t like that.” 

But Daemon insists. He takes a lock of your hair and twists it between his fingers.

“Fuck, I married Alicent. Fucking Alicunt.” 

“I am not her!” You protest. 

“You do look like my mother a bit. In the right light.” Aemond concedes, and you don’t know if to laugh or cry. “I… I want to do better. And I…” 

“I want in. In what you two have.” Daemon’s smirk turns more devious, gently tucking the strand of hair he was still holding behind your ear. “Normally, I would threaten you with kicking you out, or hurting your lover over here. But I have been told it is in bad taste to try to force myself into your bed.” 

So he had learned his lesson from the last time. You fight off the pleased smile. 

“So. The choice is yours. My nephew and I reached an agreement already, one that will be void without your consent. Otherwise, we can go as we are.” Daemon finishes his offer, placing his hands behind his back. 

You look between Aemond and him. Aemond seems encouraging. 

“Will you be content to pay for your wife and her lover the rest of our lives? How selfless.” You arch an eyebrow, doubtful. It sounds too unlike him. 

Daemon shrugs.

“What can I say? You inspire selfless devotion.” 

“He is right. You do.” Aemond says, hugging you from behind. You feel him bury his face on your hair, quietly grounding himself. He has had a taxing evening, for sure. 

“What do you think of this?” You ask him, voice low. 

“If he is involved, I would feel more settled. Like it is not charity.” Aemond says, kissing your temple. 

“I see you have learned from whores, haven’t you?” Daemon mocks, creeping closer. “Being my kept man and my kept woman. How lucky it is to be a prince.” 

“Cunt.” You say, giving him a shove. 

“Your cunt.” Daemon smirks. He leers at you. “And what a delicious one you seem to have…” 

You slap a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Aemond fights with a smile, and it is that which convinces you.

“Fine. You win. And we actually prefer trophy wife and boy toy.”

“Talk for yourself.” Aemond tugs at your hair, and you laugh. 

[minisugakoobies]

Mingyu 💞

💞 [ Reunion ] - A longing kiss shared after being apart for a while

This almost ended up being 1k ���‍♀️ I am sorry! But the 'gyu brainrot is REAL and it is STRONG 💕

**********

"You know, you didn't have to come."

You roll your eyes as Jeonghan repeats himself. True, your brother doesn’t really need any help picking up his friends from the airport, but you'd insisted on tagging along anyway.

"They're my friends, too," you declare.

"No, they're not." He glances at his watch, then shoots you a look. "You're not gonna be weird about this, right?"

You ignore him, choosing instead to focus your attention on the faces of the passengers now crowding around the luggage carousels, wishing you could brush aside the buzzing of your nerves just as easily as you shut out your brother's voice. The only thing weird right now is how excited you are to see your brother's annoying friends again. You've known Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu for ages.

It's been two months since the guys left for baseball spring training. Jeonghan normally would've been with them, but his broken ankle is keeping him benched this year. His incessant whining about being left behind made it a very long sixty days.

But the countdown is over. They're back. And you’re anxiously elated.

Because something changed in the few weeks leading up to their departure, between you and -

"Mingyu." His name falls from your lips as you spy him across the room. Even with his snapback pulled low on his face, you can see how his tanned skin glows, popping against his white tee. You bite back a sigh, wondering how it’s possible that he’s grown more gorgeous in just a few weeks. "I mean, I see the guys."

You lift your hand in a half point, half wave, and it catches Seungkwan’s attention, who then nudges Seungcheol, who in turn shoulder checks Mingyu. You feel the moment Mingyu’s eyes lock onto yours, stomach swooping like you’re in freefall when his lips lift in a soft smile.

You come crashing back down to earth as the other guys spot your brother. The regression is immediate, all four of them suddenly obnoxious teenagers again, with their secret handshakes and crushing bro hugs and unreasonably loud ballbusting. This is how they always say hello, so it doesn’t faze you one bit, though it does make quite a few of the other travelers standing around you glare.

Once they’ve finished their raucous greeting ritual, the luggage carousel begins to move, and all you get are a few quick head nods before the guys start pulling their bags off the conveyor belt. Your heart sinks a little.

Weird, don’t be weird, you think, plastering a blithe smile on your face and pretending to laugh as Seungcheol not so subtly trips Seungkwan with his roller suitcase. Maybe it was weird for you to expect more of a reaction from Mingyu. The two of you had only hung out a few times, a couple of casual dinners, some drinks, one movie, and then, the night before he left - 

Well, maybe it didn’t mean what you thought it did. The two of you had talked a little bit while he was gone, but never about anything serious. You suppose you could’ve asked him about it, but you knew he’d be busy with baseball, and maybe also you didn’t want to know. 

Your mind remains thusly occupied as you follow the guys out to your brother’s beat-up car. Jeonghan pops the trunk from the driver’s seat, using his now-healed ankle as an excuse to get out of helping them. Seungkwan and Seungcheol hastily toss their bags into the tiny space and clamber into the backseat, leaving Mingyu sighing in frustration.

“Thanks for the help, assholes.” 

“Here, let me,” you mutter, not quite looking Mingyu in the eye as you join him.

Together, the two of you rearrange the bags, trying to make everything fit. While the other guys sit in the car loudly fighting over where to grab lunch, you and Mingyu work quietly, in a comfortable silence. It makes you think that maybe it’ll be okay, if things go back to the way they always were before, even if your pulse still races the way around Mingyu the way it’s doing now. 

It’s not until the trunk closes that you finally meet his gaze. Mingyu smiles, that slow-spreading smile of his that makes you weak in the knees, and leans toward you, voice hushed as he speaks. “Sorry I didn’t get to give you a proper greeting earlier. Is it okay if I do now?” 

You’ve no idea what that means but your answer is, of course, yes, an emphatic head nod that makes Mingyu huff out a surprised (and pleased) laugh. His hands drop to your hips, shuffling you towards him just the slightest bit, and then he’s kissing you, lips moving against yours, slowly, longingly, like he’s been dreaming of this moment for two months and is bound and determined to make sure you feel it. 

Weird, how you’re surrounded by hundreds of strangers pouring out of the airport, and yet it feels like there’s no one else around. 

At least, not until your brother lays on the horn.

[pixiesfz]

so long london v.m x r

plot: the lead up to vivs departure

warning: mostly fluff and some angst

You were mad.

Furious.

You knew another contract wasn’t going to be made for Viv when she came home and told you that he never played her at Everton.

She had scored the most goals whilst being managed under his name, she was amazing at the game. She was a defender's worst nightmare.

You would know you used to be one.

It was when you played for City. No matter how hard you tried, every single game she scored past you. It made you angry whenever her name was on their starting sheet but of course, she would have been on the starting sheet.

She was the best number 11 the WSL had ever had.

Your hate grew into an admiration for the Dutch whenever she shook your hand with a smile “Good match” she would always say “Good goal” you said back, and she shrugged “You made it very hard for me”.

You both would laugh before returning to your teams.

You never realized that your cheeks blushed whenever she shook your hand a bit too long or smiled whenever the ball turned around and she had to turn into a defensive player.

She always used her hands to hold your hips after you got rid of the ball, stopping herself from bodying you over.

You were both relatively shy off the field, whenever there was an event and the teams were allowed to talk you both never talked together by yourselves, always just in a group of people but you always found yourselves looking at one another.

It drove your teammates insane.

Then when the next season arose you were told you would be put on loan to Arsenal, just for a season to let you have more experience with other players as you took over for Leah Williamson as she was out with an ACL injury. You were Manchester blue through and through.

You would be welcome back at any time.

When the news was announced you got many supportive messages from both red and blue teams. Steph, your captain wishes you luck, some of the younger girls shuttered you wouldn’t be there to sneak them treats at games, and some of the Arsenal girls were excited about your arrival.

You quickly become friends with Katie, also already being friends with your Australian teammates.

You were very excited when Viv’s name popped up on your phone late at night.

Viv_miedema: Welcome to Arsenal, I’m very happy you're on my team now even if it is just for a short while (:

You blushed and replied, thanking her.

It wasn’t long until you were training, film camera near you to document your first training. It wasn’t too bad, you were comfortable, but you had to stop yourself from yelling out the wrong names at certain times.

Katie laughed at you when you stuttered with a name but Viv slyly walked from behind and whispered their name from behind you.

“Vivvy the hero” Katie cooed before the tall women walked away, unbeknownst to you with blushed cheeks.

The first week was over and you had opted to sit out on the first game, choosing to sit next to Leah on the bench so you both could analyse and she could teach you more about the team. You were scared the English Captain would not want to help you, scared you would be replacing her but she was nice.

She wanted what was best for her team and she knew it was you.

Your homework session had worked when at training you had easily gotten the ball off a majority of your teammates and kicked it away.

Viv watched you with a smile, determination written on your face.

Katie, her defender scoffed “What?” Viv asked “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this until now,” she said and Viv quirked her brows “What?” she questioned again and Katie gave her a deadpan look “You have a crush on City” she said, using her nickname she gave you.

Viv widened her eyes “No” her voice grew quiet “and Katie covered her mouth in shock “Oh my god you actually fucking do” she said, excitement taking over her as Viv slapped her arm “Shoosh” she shushed Katie.

“How long?”

“We are at training.”

“Balls at the other end”

“Katie” Viv grumbled and Katie laughed, already scheming in her mind.

You were happy in the training, making sure to high-five Leah who laughed at the energy you still had.

Caitlin slapped your back in the changing room as you were untying your shoes “I have an idea” she started off and you shook your head “No, your ideas suck”

“This is a good idea I promise,” she told you and you looked at Steph for help who looked away “Don’t drag me into this”.

You sighed and sat up “what is it?”

“Wanna come on a double date with me?” she asked and you stood up to walk away but she grabbed your wrist, sitting you back down “Please? She asked again, giving you puppy eyes and you sighed “Who is it?” you asked, and the girl clapped her hands, excitedly.

She never told you who the girl you were going on a date with looked like she just told you it was one of Katie's friends, which made you feel a bit better. Katie had a good eye and would only befriend people with good intentions.

“Not that I want to start dating a total stranger but how do I look?” you asked Caitlin and Steph who were sitting on the couch waiting for you to finish getting ready.

You wore a simple pair of denim jeans and a nice-fitting top that sat nicely around your arms. Your hair was up but it was curled.

“You look nice” Steph smiled and Caitlin smirked at her phone “You might need to bring a jacket” Steph yelled out when you turned to your room “No!”

“Your date must give you theirs”.

“I might just put one in the car though, girls are usually the same size so it won’t be oversized Stephy,” you said, using hand gestures to make Caitlin laugh “I’m just trying to romanticize this up a little bit okay, leave me alone”

“All right, we will cause we got to go”.

You played with your fingers in the car, tempted to text Viv asking her to pick you up as Caitlin drove.

The more you thought about it the more you wanted to be in her presence rather than a random girl you had never met in North London.

“Here”

You looked up to Caitlin who looked back at you with a smile, comforting you “Okay” you replied and walked out of the car “Katie and the girl is already there” Caitlin told you as you both walked in “Why don’t you use her name-“ you trailed off before you saw a smirking Katie and a dazed Viv.

“What?” Caitlin smirked “You didn’t think I picked up on your little crush, I’ve noticed this since you were still at City”

“I’m going to kill you,” you told her before you walked up to the two girls “hey babe,” Caitlin said, kissing Katie on the cheek as you and Viv looked at each other “uh hi” you blushed and Viv’s hands rubbed over her thighs “Hi” she smiled back.

Katie and Caitlin looked at you both hesitantly, scared they had crossed a line but when you sat down and filled both of your cups with water they knew they had just given you the right push you both needed.

Now for their last step.

“I actually wasn’t feeling that good” Katie piped up and Caitlin placed her hand on top of yours “Really, should we get you back home?”

Caitlin definitely was not an actor.

“Yeah maybe” Katie sighed, and Viv turned around “Should I take you back?” she asked and Katie shook her head “I drove so I can take her back myself,” Caitlin said “You two stay, Viv can drive you back later,” Katie said before they both quickly got up and walked away, you and Viv watched as they giggled with each other through the window.

“Do they know-“ “No they definitely do not” Viv answered your question as you both laughed “How are you?” you asked the girl who sat up “You don’t want to leave?” she questioned and you shook your head “I mean we’re already here and Caitlin left her card” you smirked, holding up the card that your friend had left on the table.

Viv smirked and then laughed “That’s good because I didn’t want to leave either,” she said and you blushed “Well that’s good”.

You both would label that as your first date, even if it wasn’t planned by the both of you but it didn’t stop you both from going on more. It was on the fourth date that Viv acted differently and it worried you a bit, she was short with her answers and kept on fumbling with her hands.

It was in the car when you figured out “Are you okay?” You asked and she furrowed her eyebrows “Of course” she said and you nodded “You’re just acting a little bit weird I guess” You shrugged and Viv opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out “Viv?” you asked and she shook her head “Can you close your eyes?” she asked with a blushed face, she usually wasn’t the one to blush so you smiled “okay” you obliged and closed your eyes, facing her.

You felt her soft hands grasp your chin and your lips parted at the feeling before she leaned her lips to yours, you smiled before reaching your own hands out to her and pulling her a bit closer as you kissed for the first time, you both smiled into the kiss and only leaned away when you both had to breathe.

“You don’t have to be nervous to kiss me” you assured her and pulled her in again and she graciously kissed you back.

Since Viv technically kissed you first, you decided you would be the one to pop the question for the Dutchie to be your girlfriend. It was on a rare free day and instead of being incognito at the men's City game, you took her to the restaurant where you went on your first date.

“This is cute” Viv hummed as you took her to the same table you sat at the first time, still with two spare seats next to you to represent your missing friends.

You fumbled with your rings the entire time as you waited for the right time to ask her but Viv being the most observant person ever reached her hands out to yours, covering them “Are you okay?” she asked and you nodded your head “yep” you said, your voice squeaky.

Viv quirked her brow at you, not believing you and you took a deep breath “I was just wondering” you said before Viv smiled at you, calming you “If you would like to be my official girlfriend?”

Viv squeezed your hands and smiled “I thought you would never ask” she teased you “You knew!” you realized and she shrugged “Katie is very bad at keeping secrets”.

Viv felt like home.

So when your loan had finished and you had to choose between City and Arsenal you chose to stay at Arsenal for another six months on a contract.

You watched as one night Viv landed weirdly on her knee, her knee had been bothering her weirdly and this would definitely not help. Then when she had felt slightly better Jonas put her back on the field.

You hoped it wouldn’t be too early.

And It almost felt like everything would be fine, especially when she shot a goal against Liverpool, you were quick to run from the other end of the field to jump in her arms.

“I’m so proud of you” you whispered into her ear and used your arms to hide yourself kissing the side of her neck.

She laughed, squeezing you and light-heartedly telling you to get back to your position.

Then she was sent off, Alessia going on for her, you saw her wobble on her knee.

You went off shortly after, subbing on for Leah as she had returned from injury.

You sat next to her on the bench, laying your jacket over both of your legs before reaching your hand down to draw circles on her knee which she nodded at you..

You should’ve seen the signs from Jonas that he was trying to ice Viv out and you hated yourself for not. You held her in her house when she sobbed into your shirt, scared that her knee was going to end her career.

All you could do was hold her.

You were frustrated for her, even when her knee was healed Jonas still didn’t play her, at first you thought it was out of fear but it wasn’t until the last Everton game you realized it could be because he just purely didn’t want to.

You were near the boundary line, watching as Viv stood up, ready to go on and you smiled at her, she smiled back with a nod. Fans cheered as they thought Viv was returning to the field and so did you.

Your smile fell as you watched Jonas walk up to her and pull her back forcefully, turning her to the bench.

You felt hot, anger that had been bubbling had now spilled over, all you saw was red and it wasn’t because you had Arsenal girls surrounded before you.

“Oi!” you yelled out to Jonas as Viv also defended herself “Touch her like that again and I’ll fucking quit! You want to win? Put her on!”

You ran away back to your position, immediately regretting your actions as Katie patted your back “I’m sorry” you said and she crossed her head “Don’t be” was all she said before running back to her spot.

Jonas took you off after the next goal, Lotte going on after you.

You felt defeated as you looked at your manager, tears pricking at your eyes as you could’ve just possibly ruined your career. You were only brought back into reality when a comforting hand grabbed yours.

Viv who also had tears in her eyes “Can we leave?” you ask and she nodded as you both shook hands with your teammates on the bench and walked through the tunnel to go home.

When you reached Viv’s home she turned to you, locking the doors.

“How long do you have left of your contract?” she asked and you threw your head back, trying to remember “End of the season”

“He’s not giving me a new contract” she admitted and you shot up “Viv-“ “City always said they’d have you back right?” she asked and you nodded your head “I get reminded every transfer season”

“I’m leaving Arsenal,” she said as if it was the first time she had admitted it to yourself.

“I don’t want to be at Arsenal if there’s no you,” you told her and she smiled, tears now starting to run down her face “What about at City?” Viv asked and you smiled “really?” you ask and she nodded

“I want to play with you- I want to stay with you.”

[wizzdot]

Sunshine

Description: just an idea I had. Might make it a series. Might not. Reader’s callsign is “Ray”. TW - Reader is depressed and has been through some shit.

Not decided who I’m going to make the main love interest, if anyone at all. Hell, not even decided if it’s worth continuing. Hit me up with ideas if you like what you read…

The rain hammers against the living room window. The window of your shitty, little rented flat in a dodgy, shitty area. It was cheap though. And it was a roof -albeit a temperamental, leaky one - over your head.

It was your decision, after all. You could still be slaving away as a soldier. Giving your all, with no reward. What had you even been fighting for, anyway? Oh yeah! Arrogant men wanting to play a game of chess with your life. Nah. You’d choose your shit flat and shit job, thanks.

The bottle of cheap wine looks real nice right about now, what with the rain not letting up. But you hadn’t done a food shop for two weeks, and you’d used your last packet of instant noodles last night. Shit.

Your jacket is still damp from this morning, you notice, feeling regretful for not hanging it up over the radiator as you zip it up. It’s not as if you allow yourself the expense of using the central heating anyway. You tuck the stray bits of hair, that were poking out, underneath the hood and brace yourself.

“Once more into the void” you tut lamely to yourself, before stepping into the rain, on the hunt for dinner. ‘Goin’ fuckin’ mad, talking to myself now’ you roll your eyes at the voice in your head, sick to the back teeth of your failing life.

The familiar, chipped door of the local corner shop jingles as you enter. You stamp the wet off of your boots on the dirty mat at the door, not that it made a jot of difference to the trail of wet you left in your wake.

“Hello you!” Ravi, the (overly) cheery, elderly shopkeeper shouts. I nod, sending a tight lipped smile in response to his greeting. “This rain, eh! It’s pouring down! Madness out there!” his accented voice says chattily, as you try to disappear behind a shelving unit stacked with tinned soups.

“Yeah, mad” you grit out, monotonously.

“Chatty as always, eh?” - “yep” good god, please stop talking to me! Not in the mood..

You grab two tins of soup, and three 29p noodle packets and head back to the counter to pay. Ravi scans your selection through and looks up at you with a raised eyebrow, awaiting something else. You sigh. “The norm, Ravi, if you will” you say. “Thought you might have quit! Bad vice to have, a young thing like you..”

You choose to ignore that comment, as he slides the packet of cigarettes over the counter. “£16.49”. You pull the slightly soggy twenty from your pocket and hand it over and he quickly counts your change and you’re on your way, the ding of the shop door sounding your departure.

The rain has somehow worsened, so you decide to run the mile and a half back to your flat, pissed off that you’d had to put any effort in, whatsoever. You’ve kept your fitness levels up since your military days. You huff a laugh at your own expense. Knew the morning jogs before work were worth while.. you think to yourself.

Work. Fuck. You’d not finished until 5am this morning, hence the wet jacket. Drunkards had crawled in after winning the football match, refusing to leave until gone 3am, and leaving a shit tonne of mess behind that needed cleaned up. You got decent tips though. Tips that your landlord would snatch off of you thanks to the fact that you were a month behind on rent payments. Easy come easy go, you thought to yourself, as you jog back to the flat.

You get back in record time but halt abruptly when you reach the door. The rain has, by this point, soaked completely through your jacket, but something else has caught your attention. The door handle (which lost its spring a while ago) is slanted down. Someone has visited while you’ve been gone.

“Fuck” you whisper to yourself, before quietly shoving the pack of cigs down your bra to try and keep them dry, and gently stacking the tins and packs of noodles into your post box, for safe keeping, while you investigate..

On second thoughts..

You grab one tin, and carry it as a weapon. Just in case, right? Old habits die hard…

You step in, silently, and notice the wet footprints leading to the kitchen. They weren’t even trying to be subtle, what the actual fuck?!

Slinking towards the kitchen, acting every bit the trained operative that you once were, you round the corner, ready to beat the intruder to ever lasting shit with your soup can, when your eyes meet something - or someone, for that matter - that draws the breathe from your lungs.

“Get out” you all but growl.

The intruder huffs a confident laugh.

“You’ve not changed much, apparently.. a ‘hello’ would be polite, Ray” the figure, with their back turned, lounging on your one remaining wooden chair, that you use to hang your washing on to dry, teases.

“I don’t go by Ray anymore. Now, get out” you spit, marching back to the door to grab your remaining tin of soup and packs of noodles, no longer threatened by the unknown, but instead, utterly pissed off at the fact they’re wasting your time.. You return to the kitchen, intruder still unmoved, and slam the tins down on the counter to try and convey the fact that they weren’t welcome..

“You’ve got about 10 seconds..” you warn.

“Until…?”

“Until I call your superior..”

“He knows I’m here..”

“I’ll call his superior, then” I threaten.

“You’ll call Kate? T’was her decision to send me..”

“Look, Lieutenant. I don’t give a single, steaming shit about whatever it is that you’ve gotten yourselves caught up in, this time. And if you think I want to be involved, you’re heavily mistaken. And it’s laughable that Kate chose you to try and retrieve me.. didn’t even think to send Gaz…? The only one of you wankers that I actually, borderline, tolerated?” You laugh bitterly.

“I really mean it, Ghost. Get out.” you practically spit his callsign, wanting him to understand that you really weren’t considering his, yet unspoken, offer.

“We’d have sent Gaz…” he pauses “but he’s broken. So I’ll have to do…”

Your stomach drops at that and Ghost almost almost sees the break in your facade.

*18 months earlier*

You’d gone through your entire military career with Gaz by your side. You’d class Gim has a friend, even though you were detached and fairly closed off. He was always determined to bring down your walls.

The pair of you were eventually split up when he was headhunted for the formidable taskforce, the 141. You didn’t see him for months, maybe even over a year, until your unit, which you labelled as ‘the Donkeys’, because they were all so shit, crossed paths with the 141 in Russia.

You, and Shepherd, you came to find out, who had been acting as the temporary commanding officer, visiting from America on a joint op, were the only survivors, not that Gaz knew.

The 141 didn’t stick around to check how us Donkeys got on. Just left us behind to do the grunt work, while they, along with Shepherd, moved on. Yeah. Still a bit bitter about that…

Mission accomplished, in their eyes. Necessary losses and all that.. the Donkeys were just collateral for them.. you included.

You returned to base, under your own steam, injured and forced to practically hitchhike back from Russia. When you limped back through the base security, flashing the dented dog tags, confirming that you were, in fact one of them, you were hailed a miracle.

Laswell called within the hour of your miraculous return and wanted to promote you to Lieutenant of your new unit, of strangers, that you’d yet to even meet. Hell, you were even ready for active duty, with your injuries. You decided that it was all for show. Or out of pity… you guessed that, seeing as the rest of the donkeys, and the existing Lieutenant, had been killed, they needed a replacement.

The day of the ceremony rolled around a couple of weeks after, the big names in the SAS, in their fancy suits covered in silverware and ribbons, turned up, to ramble on about what important work you’d all been doing and rewarding medals to hundreds of other soldiers. It was all bullshit.

When it was your turn to receive your medal of distinguished bravery, and to solidify your promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, you stepped up to the stage slowly, and glanced around at the huge crowd, dressed in their formal uniforms, and caught eyes with them. The 141. Gaz was smiling at you, sending a thumbs up your way, mouthing ‘proud of you!’ toward the stage.

You furrowed your brow, thoughts running rampant in your head. Proud of what, exactly? Proud that my entire unit were wiped from existence? Proud that, for some reason, I came back to base?

You froze on the stage. You don’t know for how long. You just remember gulping, trying to make your inner voice shut the fuck up.

Autopilot took over for a few seconds, and you step forward again, towards the important guy, holding the medals and sashes. “Y/n y/l/n. I present to you…” all you hear is your name, and then his muffled voice.

You take one final glance around the ceremony, and take the Lieutenant badge from the silver tray, earning a few gasps from shocked spectators.

“Fuck your promotion. I quit”

And you left the stage, head held high, and walk away. Away from the SAS. Away from the chess game of life. Away from the danger and greed of those in charge. You were done. Even the donkeys didn’t deserve their fate. They were someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Someone’s brother. And they were gone. Without a second glance. But they were oh so thankful for their service, right?

Bullshit.

Canon fodder. That’s all you were sent in for that day.

Pawns to be banished from the board for the next step of the game. Bigger picture. Greater good. All that grandiose bullshit.

You remembered rushing to your old room at the barracks and hastily packing whatever you had left. Hoping you’d be gone before someone detained you. Surely what you’d done was some sort of illegal, right?

What you didn’t expect was for Gaz and his Captain to come knocking on your door.

“Y/n? You in there..?”

“Piss off, Garrick” you snapped in reply.

“Soldier, open the door” the Captain’s, you’d assumed, rough voice commanded.

“Sorry Cap” you popped the P, immaturely, “no can do, don’t take orders anymore, remember? I quit..”

There was one heavy crash at the door, followed by some splintering sounds of wood, and then the Captain, followed by a sheepish looking Gaz, invited themselves into your room.

“Ray, is it? You don’t need to do this... You’re a valuable asset. You have so much to offer. I’ve read your file. You show a lot of promise. Garrick, here, backs that up. Says you and he came through the ranks together, said that you were the only one who could beat him in your year. Is that true?”

You kept your back to the men, continuing to blatantly ignore them and stuff your belongings into bags.

“You don’t have to rush, Ray. I have my other two men blocking the hallway”.

You remember furrowing your brow at that, not that he could see. Why was he protecting you? Why was he being… nice… about it?

“All due respect, Captain, but I’m out. Done. Finished. Yeah? Understood? I’d love to think up some more words to try and get through to you, but I need to get off base asap, before I’m detained. Hell, they’ll probably decide that what I just did is some sort of war crime. Now.. if you’ll excuse me..” you said, pushing past the men and out of the door.

“Ray!” Gaz shouted.

“Here, at least take this..” he presented his wallet.

“Help you find somewhere, yeah?”

You recall being caught off guard at his offer before nodding, sending a tight lipped smile his way.

“Thank you”

*now*

That was the last interaction you’d had with Kyle Garrick. Probably the last act of kindness thrust upon you since, hell, since you can remember...

And now his Lieutenant is in your shitty little flat, that Gaz’s money helped pay the deposit for, telling you that he is hurt.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the scraping of the chair against the wooden floor, and the massive Lieutenant, skull covered face and all, standing from said chair, his head practically touching the ceiling light.

“I’ll pass on your regards to Gaz” he grumbles, heading to the door. “Enjoy your soup, Ray.”

You wait until his back is turned and he is out of earshot, before gulping and scratching your damp hair. I hope Gaz is ok.. I - I wonder why they’ve came to me..? What the hell has happened..

More thoughts run through your head, and the squeak of the springless door handle jolts you again. Christ, hasn’t he gone yet..? He’s taking his time..

“Good bye, Ray. Trackers in the wallet. If you want to disappear again” Ghost speaks quietly, as if to himself, before stepping out into the curtain of rain.

Your eyes flash back and forth, furrowed brow. That slimy little prick, they’ve known where I was this entire time.. probably kept an eye on me.. what the actual fuck..

You rush to the door, opening it and seeing the Lieutenants broad figure stalking away into the darkness, the splashing of his steps the only thing you can hear over the pounding rain hitting the street.

“How hurt is he...” I shout into the darkness.

You don’t see, but Ghost smirks under his balaclava, before turning to face you.

“He’s not taking visitors, Ray. Let’s leave it at that..”

Cunt. Fucking bastard. He knows what he’s doing. Dangling a piece of string in front of a cat..

You growl.

“Arghh! FINE. Fuckin’. Fuckin’ FINE. You win. You happy? You fucking win, Lieutenant. Give me 5 minutes..”

He smirks again, and this time you swear you can see the smugness shine through his eyes. It won’t take you long to pack anyway. Not like you’ve unpacked in the 18 months you’ve been here.

You rush back into the flat and grab the two loaded rucksacks, untouched since you left base for the, what you thought would be, final time. You grab the door handle, and rush back to grab your tins of soup and noodles. Oh - and the wine!

What? It’s a waste not to use them..

You join Ghost back on the street.

“Welcome back, Ray..” the Lieutenant says in a cocky voice.

“Don’t call me that” you snap, bitterly.

“Need to have a name, woman. You’re the newest member of taskforce 141…”

“Piss off…” is all you can muster for the time being.

You wrap your soaked jacket, tighter around your body, and pray that the cigarettes in your bra are still dry.

You’re gonna need them…

[lostsyren]

The problem I have with people disliking Sofia:

(ok maybe this is biased since I love her but I’ll try to speak from an objective perspective)

Most of the reasons I see for people not liking her (ignoring the people who feel jealousy over rafe/ownership over him because I can’t reason with that [he’s a fictional character touch grass I beggg/hj]) is either because she’s boring or annoying. (Or they simply just ignore her completely).

After season 3 I semi-understood those sentiments. She had like 10 minutes of screen time, a couple lines of vague dialogue, and to a casual watcher of the show, she was pretty forgettable. She was kinda boring, compared to everything else happening in the show, and it could be argued that she was annoying– overly flirty, intensely optimistic etc…(though that word irks me a bit, especially when talking about female characters). I personally didn’t think any of that, I loved her!! But it didn’t irrate me, (as much as it does now), when people didn’t like her.

Moving on to season 4 coming out and I was pleased with her screen time and her development. Which is why I don’t get the “Sofia is so boring” comments?

Her character is cemented as a direct comparison to Rafe. She’s good, kind, moral, sweet. And I’m not just saying that. We see her ire in s4x04 at the beach, she’s repulsed at the idea of “going behind her boyfriends back”, she helps Rafe unselfishly (giving him advice, prompting him to talk to Sarah, consoling him after Ward’s passing) and she loves her family. We see her character become fleshed out. Her arc is interesting, as she transitions from being a good, devout girlfriend, to betraying Rafe, then dealing with the clear guilt and departure from her morals.

Remember interesting doesn’t always equal loud, brash, combative. It’s disheartening to see people equate boringness to someone who is quiet, gentle, meditative. And even then, she isn’t a pushover. She still has strength. She doesn’t shy away from showing her disdain in s4x04 (I so wish we had the deleted scene), and when she feels attacked, she doesn’t just take it– she retaliates.

She’s smart too. More so than Rafe. She smelled Hollis’ scam a mile away. She’s astute– eavesdropping on the club goers conversation whilst she works to get the dirt on Groff and Hollis. She’s business savvy– there’s a reason why Rafe always goes to her for advice (and listens to it!!)

Her big heart is what leads to her downfall. She loves Rafe, despite all the rumours tied to his name. She sees him for what he shows her, choosing to believe him and have faith in him instead of listening to her rationale and staying away from ‘bad Rafe Cameron’. And I think that’s so beautiful.

You can like it or dislike it, but I don’t understand how it’s boring?

And then people calling her annoying– how?

‘Idk she just is I don’t like her’ – don’t want to be screaming misogyny like the boy who cries wolf, but sometimes you gotta call it out for what it is🤷🏽‍♀️Like Rafe is objectively more annoying.

And if you think she’d be more interesting if she was more ‘badass’ and ‘strong’ and ‘cooler’, like no offence (truly no offence) but it’s giving “2010s heroine, not like other girls, I can fight, I can sometimes be a bitch, I’m not a sweet bubbly girl– that’s disgusting” typa energy. Or if you wanted her to be more sexier, or have a maneater quality– that just seems really reductive and archetypal imo.

Like just because she wasn’t what you wanted/expected, doesn’t mean she was a bad character. Like yes could’ve been developed more, but she’s literally a side character in an ensemble cast– she got a lot more than all the other side characters.

Like people can create cool and in depth headcanons/lore/development for Barry (who I love! This is not an attack on him) but can’t for Sofia? And he’s only seen with Rafe. There’s not a lot of canon information about his life. Like he’s a drug dealer, he lives on the cut, he used to be in the army and now he catches fish on a boat. There’s no real arc for him, he supports Rafe’s story. Which Sofia also does, but she gets a family backstory, she’s seen interacting with characters outside of Rafe, she has an individual arc that affects only her and not Rafe– yet she doesn’t get that same fanon treatment. Instead she’s denigrated for being too boring, being too annoying, being too meek. Like female characters being held to a different standard to male ones makes me so upset.

(Idk this was a whole rant, if you disagree with me I’d love to hear you out. But I tried to be objective about this. Like yes it makes it easier for me to like her because I’m in love with Fiona Palomo, but in such a big and active fandom, it’s strange to me how little love she gets? Does the pre eminence of x reader fics contribute to this? Probably. Ugh idk I just felt like complaining tbh😓)

Like look at herrrr she’s a cutieeee

[lavellansvh3nan]

A Letter From Inquisitor Lavellan to Dorian Pavus

//OOC//: Hello again! These letters won’t leave my brain so I’m churning them out while the muse is there. Enjoy!

My friend,

I can practically see you brooding, you know. Which is your right and your past-time, by my count.

I won’t sit here and try to make excuses for my choices, there are no good ones anyway. I want you to know that no matter what, I never meant to hurt you. But that doesn’t make you less angry with me.

Perhaps I’ve caught you in a more benevolent mood, willing to hear me out. If Bull is near you when you read this letter, remind him that he owes me one. Or more likely you’ll crumple up this letter, probably set it on fire, and only spare a thought for me when you’re telling embellished stories around a gorgeous dining table. Either way, you are owed an explanation.

I remember when you told me of your intentions to try and change Tevinter. I was so proud of you, because I knew if anyone could make change in their home, it was you. The idea of watching my friend leave, knowing that it would be unlikely we’d see each other more than a handful of times among the years, was difficult to swallow. Especially after all you did to bring me back to life when Solas left.

You can say his name, you know. He isn’t going to appear around a corner and lunge at you. I’ve made him promise not to.

What you did for me in the months following his departure is a debt I’ll never be able to repay. I’ve known the love of a mother, a father, a lover, and a friend, but perhaps yours exceeds all of them. For yours is a loyalty, a steadfastness, a patience, that only comes with knowing someone completely and choosing to be with them in their dark moments.

Bathing me when I was covered in paint. Filling the endless silence of my despair with your constant prattle, being with me every single day I didn’t know what to do or how to move forward, it is a love I had never experienced or will ever experience again. It is unique to you.

When I finally came back to myself all those months later, realized you’d put your plans on hold for me, I was appalled. I assured you I would be fine and you finally went on your way. To start the life I knew you deserved. And look at all you’ve done! Minrathos and the Shadow Dragons would be nothing without your leadership.

I’ve spent the last eight years wondering what I would ever do if the chance came to see Solas again. In those first years, I was angry. And then I was lost, for a long time, though I think you were the only one who truly saw it.

Being the Inquisitor gave me purpose. I knew Thedas needed me. I wanted to help in whatever way I could, especially considering we’d inadvertently unleashed Solas on the world. And then there was the waiting, wondering when he’d strike. If he really intended to take us all down with him.

Over the years, I’ve spoken to so many about whether or not I believe Solas capable of tearing down the Veil. You, Bull, half the Inquisition, really. Most everyone agreed that Solas needed to be stopped by any means necessary. That he was a monster.

What was your poetic phrase? “A madman with the moral superiority of a guilty noble.”

Varric was the only one who believed Solas could be swayed. Told me that really, all Solas wanted was a reason not to go through with his plan. After what happened when Solas took my arm, I didn’t want to believe him. It was too painful to hope.

But then the reports came in, bit by bit from Varric. Noted from Solas, personal journals. Like he was leaving clues for us to find. As if his pride refused to relent but Solas, my vhenan, wanted us to stop him.

It wasn’t until I spoke with Rook, actually, that I knew for certain that if I saw him again, when I saw him again, things weren’t through between us.

Call it soulmates. Call it a connection through space and time. Or, call me a fool, as you already have. All are probably correct. But I’ve know since the moment I met Solas that something tied me to him. When I saw him again, I didn’t see the Dread Wolf. I saw my vhenan, beaten and broken and tired. Drowning in his regrets, a slave to what he thought was his journey to redemption. And in that moment, I swore Varric was standing there right beside me, telling me that the one thing that would sway Solas was love. And he was right.

Especially after his final encounter with Mythal (That is another letter entirely. One I know you’re dying to read, so if nothing else, allow me to indulge you in my next response)

To be perfectly clear— I do not love him more than you. I could love no one more than you. No matter where I go, I’ll be with you. Just as you told me when you returned to Tevinter. But it is different. Just as you have Iron Bull, and we both know logic has no place in your relationship with him.

*the last sentence is a crossed out line, still legible, as though Lavellan is teasing Dorian*

Now, this isn’t goodbye. This isn’t even see you later. Solas has assured me I can enter and leave the Fade whenever I choose. Thanks to Rook, there are plenty of Eluvians available for me to come and visit. If you’ll have me. I understand you plan to pout, to hate me for a few weeks, as is your right. Don’t brood too long, however. I know you’re chomping at the bit to know all that’s transpired.

Just know, I’ll never be far from you.

With love, always,

Elliana