#alongsides barb i mean

[warper-in-training]

Did you tell your Solomon you love him today?

[sorrowfulrosebud]

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: in which Katsuki sees you get rid of a scrap book you planned to give him after he broke up with you

The breakup was… rough to say the least. You supposed it could have been described as a perfect mirror image to your relationship to begin with; the crushing pain of Katsuki being Katsuki.

Katsuki cracked his knuckles loudly from outside of the Heights Alliance building as he waited in the cold for you. Everyone was out doing something with the group, and Katsuki could not have been more quietly grateful. Even though he was going to rip your beating heart straight out of your body, he wanted you to maintain the dignity and pride that he had originally fallen in love with.

It wasn’t like Katsuki had woke up that morning and decided that he was going to break up with you; months of inner self-depreciation crept into his thoughts day by day, alongside the crippling realisation of his ex-victim’s strength and progress. The weight of his existence was slowly crashing around him, and he needed all of his attention for his strength.

Unfortunately, that meant cutting away dead weight.

Your happy humming could be heard as you wandered your way to your boyfriend. Your face lightened at the sight of him, before your smile drops at his scowl.

“Hi, Suki! Is everything alright?” You asked him worriedly, head tilted to the side. Katsuki’s scowl deepened, causing you to reach out to him.

“Suki please, you’re starting to worry me,” your voice rang through his ears as his hand locked around your wrist before it could reach his fluffy locks. There was a long pause as you retracted your hand, staring wildly at your boyfriend’s face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he sneered. If he was going to break your heart, he had to rip it out and shove it in the blender. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took your hand back.

“Katsuki, I-,” you were interrupted by Katsuki.

“Don’t fucking call me that either,” he grunted, shoving his hand in his pocket. Tears threatened to prick at your eyes.

“I’m breaking this thing up. It’s not worth my time at all. I’m training to be the number one hero, so I have no time to waste on other useless shit,” his gaze steeled, no ounce of insincerity to be detected. His words cut deep like a sword, your knees feeling weak as tears cling to your lashes.

“Y-you don’t mean that,” you sniffed. Katsuki let out a gruff laugh.

“Don’t I? Look, I guess it was fun when it started, but my priorities haven’t changed. You were just a distraction, something I could put my mind to. I’m not wasting any more time on you, so just leave me alone. I don’t care what you do, or who you get with. Just don’t fucking talk to me anymore, got it?”

His strength was impressive, you thought. How he could say such horrible things to you without buckling or feeling barbed wire dig into his throat. You could only stare at him with tears in your eyes, before shakily nodding. You turned at your heels and unsteadily walked off, before delving into a run back to the dorms.

Katsuki waited until you left. And he waited. And he waited. Until your sobs could no longer be heard. His body shook, before hushed hiccups and cries left his lips. His exhausted body slumped against the wall, shaky hands knuckling at his wet eyes. Well, his dirty deed was done.

Life afterwards was rough for you. After being together for 10 months, your daily routine stung in ways you didn’t know was possible. You found yourself stopping during tasks you had grown unconscious to; you had to stop texting him during the day. Even just the silly thoughts in your head couldn’t be translated in a text to him.

You could only make protein shakes for one now. Laundry loads grew lighter, snack trips became quicker and physical touch with others withdrew exponentially. For the next month, you rotted in your dorm. You ate when Mina would bring you food, her hugging you tightly and angrily grumbling about how much of a dick her friend was.

You managed to stumble to class when you didn’t oversleep the day away. Insomnia plagued you like the Black Death, tossing and turning as you tearfully mourned the relationship you lost. You arrived to class way later than your ex would, avoiding all eye contact even though you were deskmates. (You soon requested a seat change).

Aizawa had had enough when you stumbled late to his lesson for the 5th time, demanding you stay back after class. You gulped and felt your cheeks heat up, embarrassed that your teacher called you out.

The bell for the end of class sounded, bringing you out of your daze.

“(L/N), stay behind please,” came the tired drone of Mr Aizawa. Mina offered you a smile and a rub on the back as she walked off with Kirishima, throwing you a sympathetic look when she left.

Mr Aizawa cleared his throat as he signalled for you to take a seat in front of his desk. He continued marking some papers as his onyx eyes slightly looked at you.

“Your grades are slipping. You’re arriving late to class. You’re avoiding… certain classmates. If you’re struggling, I’d recommend telling me now and continuing the course. If not, pack your bags and take your grievances elsewhere. We’re training heroes, so you need to be exemplary,” he said bluntly, eyes flickering back to his paper.

You sniffled a little, rubbing your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr Aizawa. I’ll be better,” you promised dully, wiping your eyes on a tissue. His eyes looked back at you.

“I’m not an idiot. I can tell that you and Bakugou have come to some sort of disagreement. If it can get sorted, I would recommend making up as soon as possible-,” he starts.

“We broke up. He… he dumped me. He said such… horrible things to me. About me,” you whimpered, face screwed up as you clutched your uniform. Aizawa stopped writing before putting down his pen.

“I-I know I’m not exactly as composed as Todoroki, or as fast as Iida or as smart as Yaomomo, but I thought there was something about me that he liked. It just hurts how quickly he discarded me. I’m sorry for disturbing your lessons Mr Aizawa, it won’t happen again,” you quietly cried as you sunk your head in shame.

Only to lift your teary head as Mr Aizawa’s large hand encompassed your scalp. He looked at you with slight concern as you wiped your eyes.

“While it’s true that some of your classmates have advantages that you do not, a real hero doesn’t sell themselves short. Where Todoroki is composed, you’re bubbly and outgoing. Although Iida is fast, he often lacks the ability to let loose and enjoy the small things. And yes, Yaoyorozu is a prodigy student due to private schooling, but you put in the hard work and reap the rewards” his words soothed you as he softly rubbed your head.

“A real hero wouldn’t let someone who had to be chained up at the sports festival make them cry. So don’t sell yourself short. That boy has been in far too many detentions to have the nerve to point out your shortcomings,” he finished, removing his hand and gently pressing his fist into your shoulder.

“Understand me? I’ll let this incident pass if you can prove to me that you can put in the rest of the work and be a hero that everyone can put their faith in.”

The tears returned, but for a completely different reason. You quickly hugged Aizawa, his face immediately shifting into one of discomfort before gingerly patting your back. He let out his signature sly grin.

“Besides, if he tries anything, I can always say to Gang Orca that he needs more classes at the provisional licensing centre.”

You smiled at your home room teacher.

“Thank you Mr Aizawa,” you said, releasing him. He let out a small cough.

“Thank me with your actions. Tell anyone I let you hug me and it’s detention for the next month, understand?” He grilled you.

“I understand sir,” you giggled.

“Now go find Ashido, I can smell her anticipation from here,” he instructed.

“Yes sir.”

After Mr Aizawa’s curt but helpful words, you aimed on self improvement. You focused on bettering a routine, sleeping more and eating healthier. Days you would have spent rotting in bed were forced into activities with your classmates.

The breakup still stung like a knife, but it was easier to manage and slowly dwindled down to a papercut. You hadn’t talked to your ex in 2 months, only sly glances when he wasn’t looking.

Unbeknownst to you, Katsuki was absolutely miserable. Seeing you rot and struggle to cope absolutely murdered him inside knowing that he was the person who ripped your heart out, and that he couldn’t stitch it back together. He managed to keep his own composure, training even harder to avoid seeing you or bumping into you.

He nearly passed out from training, he was overworking so hard. It was his own fault, he knew that. He just couldn’t work past his issues with you there; you didn’t deserve to be at the end of his shitty stick.

The pride he felt when you started cleaning yourself up and interacting more with your classmates made his chest swell. You looked so much more beautiful and radiant; the person he fell in love with.

And dumped.

“Stupid fucking Sparky, gettin’ sick and makin’ me do his chores,” Katsuki grumbled, arms overflowing with bin bags as he stumbled to the large bins. It had been 2 months since your breakup. Or, even worse; your 1 year anniversary.

His heart was absolutely wrecked, but he could now slide quick glances to you without fear of you looking at him. He was so proud that you were able to overcome his asshole behaviour, and hopefully swallow any more feelings that you had about him. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sniffling.

He peeked his head around the corner, dropping the bin bags as quietly as he could. His eyes widened. You were stood near the incinerator, a thick book wedged in your hands.

Tears slowly trickled down your face as you looked at the book. A small smile appeared as you thumbed the cover.

“I… I thought we would have made it. I don’t know, I thought it was all going so well. I know I’ll never probably understand what was going through your head that day, but… it’s time to let go of the past,” you say quietly, rubbing your teary eyes as you open the incinerator door.

“I loved you, god fucking damnit! More than I think I could have ever loved anyone! I suppose a small part of me always will now, though. I just thought we had a better chance. Happy one year anniversary, Katsuki,” you finish as you let out a sob, throwing the book into the furnace. You ran off before checking that the book was fully inside the furnace, slamming the door and running back inside.

Katsuki waited until your steps made no noise, before running forward and pulling the book from the furnace. It was a scrapbook; the book was ridiculously chunky, with glitter glue and doodles smothering the outside, as well as stickers from your combined favourite TV shows. The furnace had charred a large chunk of the book, the smell permeating his nose.

Then he saw your names scrawled neatly in cursive. His heart started to thud as he thumbed the pages.

Polaroid photos of you on dates were plastered neatly on the pages; some photos he remembered, others he had no recollection of. Movie ticket stubs, post it notes with cute messages detailing your affections, stickers you gifted each other, silly photos from photo booths that you dragged him into.

Each page was a flash of white-hot pain. There were photos of him during a festival winning you a fish from a difficult carnival game, his eyes smoked beautifully with eyeliner as he grinned (and won the fish). He wonders if you still had it.

Another photo of his birthday party. The two of you had snuck off to your favourite spot in the woods, where he found that you had created your own picnic spot with a spread of his favourite foods. Photos of shy hand-holding, of him resting in your lap and vice versa.

Katsuki was struggling to see the paper for the tears he tried so desperately to blink away before reaching the last page. A whole page was filled with your writing, and Katsuki had to knuckle his eyes to read it.

Dearest Katsuki,

Wow, a year already! I’m so happy that we’ve come so far, my love. I’m so indebted to you for everything that you’ve done for me; helped me with training, putting up with me, hell even just being there for me.

I know I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, I know I’m easily excitable and not exactly quiet. I love and appreciate that you can listen to me and not get bored, just as I do with you.

Training to be a hero is hard work, so I’m so thankful that you’ve chosen to take your journey with me, even though you’re training so hard to become number one.

I love you more than words can ever describe; you’re the reason I wake up everyday. I adore you, and I hope we can have many more years together kicking ass and beating Deku >o<

Lots and lots and lots of love,

Your (N/N)

Katsuki couldn’t stop the tears that trickled down his face. Reading your words of quiet insecurity, thanking him for things that he threw right back into your face like you were nothing made his heart ache so badly.

He clutched the scrapbook to his chest tightly, sending silent but desperate apologies to you as his head sunk to the floor. Guttural cries escaped him as his choices swirled through his head. The scrapbook’s cover buckled due to the force of his grip as he sobbed his heart out.

Months of self deprecation caught up to him as he craved your touch; he wanted you to hear him, to turn around and hold him tightly to your chest and never ever let go ever again. He needed your sweet affirmations as you played with his hair; “my number one hero,” you would croon as you hugged your tired boyfriend.

His stupid pride got in his way once again, and he finally came to the one conclusion he should have met those 2 fateful months ago.

He couldn’t do this without you.

The trip back to Heights Alliance was a painful one, but Mina hugged away your issues as soon as she saw your misty orbs.

“I’m so proud of you for doing this bestie. You deserve so much better. It’s time to let go of the past,” she told you softly, pink hair tickling your face. You smiled at your best friend.

“Thank you for everything Mina, I really mean it,” you sniffle, wiping your nose and taking a deep breath. You let go of your friend as you smiled at her.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap, training was super rough today,” you told her, squeezing her hand as she squeezes back.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well, and I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready,” Mina promised, giving you one last hug.

You gave her a wan smile as you walked to your dorm room, throwing a pained look at your exes room. You shook your head as you unlocked the door and got changed into some comfy clothes. Tired bones sunk onto your bed as you let out a sigh.

“It’s time to let go of the past,” you murmur as you fell asleep. As soon as you were about to beat Shigaraki to a pulp, a loud knocking on your door pulled you from your dream.

The knocking was quiet at first, then grew louder, more desperate. You thought it was Mina, and that you had skipped dinner.

You let out a tired laugh, getting out of bed and redoing your hair.

“Okay, okay Mina, I’m coming-“ your voice was cut short as you opened the door, seeing a disgruntled ex staring at the floor.

Clutched tightly in his hand was the scrapbook, as you looked on in shock. How did he get it?! He wasn’t there when you- oh fuck.

Katsuki raised his head, volcanic eyes plagued with tears as he wildly searched your face. He gingerly reached for your hand before sinking to his knees, placing your hand on his face.

“P-please take me back. I know I was a dick, but I’m willing to show you all of my vulnerabilities. Please baby,” he raised his head again.

“I can’t live without you.”

[merakiui]

maybe, i'm afraid.

azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: slight angst, nsfw, azul bottles his feelings and is insecure note - happy birthday to my favorite tako in the whole world. <3 may you have wonderful days forever!! // loosely inspired by lovelytheband's "maybe, i'm afraid."

i. spring - dancing in your party dress, you were singing me some frank sinatra as you wept. pull me close enough. it seems like we lost touch, so hold me as the record skips.

“Can you believe we’re gonna be fourth years?!” Kalim exclaims with wide, sparkling eyes. They look like twin garnets set into his face—polished jewels having caught the aquatic illumination from Mostro Lounge’s aquarium. “Time really does fly, huh!”

“Feels like yesterday,” Ruggie agrees around a mouthful of food. His plate is stacked as high as it can possibly get, piled with contrasting flavors. “Pretty crazy to think we’re all gonna be heading off in different directions soon.”

Jade nods. “Our school lives are as fun as they are fleeting.”

An odd quiet falls over the three of them, which is soon broken when Floyd drapes himself over the booth. He leans down to swipe a sliver from Jade’s plate. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“Just reminiscing.”

“Ah. S’bout that time, ain’t it? Gettin’ sentimental in the spring.”

“Makes sense. The semester’s ending and people are starting up their internships or going home. Really makes you think…”

Ruggie gazes at the group huddled near the bar. Riddle, Jamil, and a half-awake Silver chat alongside you and Azul. You seem to be in the middle of a riveting story, for your arms gesticulate wildly. Azul looks on with what Ruggie thinks is the most mushy-gushy, ooey-gooey smile he’s ever seen.

“We’re gonna come back in the winter, aren’t we?” Kalim asks, tilting his head.

“Indeed. For the cultural festival.”

“Yeah, that’s right! It’ll be fun to see you guys after so much time apart. Oh, we should all keep in touch! That way it’ll feel like no time has passed at all.”

“Perhaps not for us.” Jade follows Ruggie’s line of sight, landing on one person in particular. “For others, the gap is cavernous.”

“What do you mean, Jade?”

Floyd catches on then. “S’not our fault he’s not sayin’ anything.”

Ruggie shrugs. “It doesn’t concern me.” He pops up from his spot in the booth, grinning. “It’s been great and all, but I’ve gotta get my fill. Wouldn’t be right for a guy to skimp out when it’s Azul hosting.”

Giggling, Floyd waves him off. “You do that, Sharksucker.”

Kalim turns to the twins, brows raised. “You’re talking about Azul?”

“He’s been swept up in Shrimpy ever since. It’s been—how long now?—about two years or something.”

“Oh.” Kalim blinks back at him, slow on the uptake. And then, seconds later, it hits him. “Ohhh! He likes (Name)!”

“There ya go.”

“I’m afraid he’s yet to confess,” Jade adds around a bite of cake. “You should see the plans he’s drafted. Dozens of them, in fact. Each one is… Oh, perhaps I’ve said too much already.”

“I don’t get it. If he likes (Name) so much, why wouldn’t he just confess? Why make plans?”

“Wow, Sea Otter, you don’t play when it comes to feelings, do ya?”

“If it was me, I’d want everyone to know how much I care about someone.” To demonstrate this point, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “You’re the best, (Name)!”

You glance past a now wide-awake Silver at the twins and Kalim. Mirroring his actions, you reply in a giggly voice, “Thanks! You’re great, too, Kalim!”

Beaming, he says, “See? It’s not so difficult. If Azul needs any help, I’d be happy to—”

Floyd throws his head back and cackles like a madman. “Not so difficult for you!”

Jade masks his amusement behind a gloved fist. “My, my. I think I’ve just witnessed the very soul drain from Azul’s eyes. You have quite the talent, Kalim.”

Kalim doesn’t hear the underlying meaning or the backhanded barb in his statement. “He’s got time, doesn’t he?”

“That’s what he keeps saying. But deep down he knows.” Floyd watches Azul hurry to recover his composure before anyone can notice. “He’s leaving for his internship after school’s over and then graduation’s next spring. He’s running out of time.”

“Does (Name) like him? Maybe she’ll confess before he does!”

“That’s just it. He doesn’t know what Shrimpy feels for him. Been driving himself crazy all school year tryin’ to figure that one out.”

“I suspect he’s grown excessively cautious as a result of his fear of rejection,” Jade explains, dragging his fork through the buttercream smeared on his plate.

“But if he confesses now and she doesn’t feel the same, he’ll have all summer to recover.” Kalim turns his stare on you next. “(Name)’s always been nice. I’m sure she wouldn’t shatter his heart.”

“When you’re Azul, even the tiniest push is enough.” 

“Really? But he’s always so strong!”

Jade hums. “Three hearts are quite the boon-burden.”

“Only makes lovin’ someone that much worse. Cuz then you’re lovin’ ’em three times as much.”

“Isn’t that good? I think it’s sweet Azul cares about (Name) so much.”

“Sweet…” Jade shares a look with Floyd. Something unspoken passes between them. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Azul thinks it’s a pain in the ass. Throws him off his course and he loooves bein’ on his course.” 

Kalim stares a moment longer. “Maybe he needs a push in the right direction.”

“Liquid courage works wonders—”

“—or gives way to woe.”

“Nothing like that.” He doesn’t elaborate further, instead getting up and padding over to the bar with a cheerful bounce in his steps. “Hey, everyone, let’s take a picture!”

Riddle welcomes him with a warm smile. “Ah, hello there, Kalim.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Jamil comments, arms folding across his chest. Which, arguably, is worse because it can only spell trouble should Kalim find himself inspired.

“Way ahead of you!” You hold your Ghost Camera up, turning the lens on Kalim. Lighting up like the very sun in the sky, he poses just as you snap a photo. It takes a few moments for it to develop, but once it does you hand it over to him for his perusal. “Looking good as always.”

“Aww, thanks! Okay, your turn next! Let’s get a big group photo and then individual photos.” With the camera now in his possession, Kalim’s free to fidget with it as he pleases. “Ooh, this is neat!”

“Careful with that!” Jamil bounds forward just in case. “The Headmage gave that to (Name). Don’t break it.”

“I won’t,” Kalim promises, holding it up to capture you and Jamil in its sight. “I think I’ve got it! Everyone, group up! Picture time!”

There’s lots of fumbling. An argument about height breaks out. Floyd pokes fun at Riddle for having to stand in front to account for his height. Riddle fumes, red with anger, and stomps his foot indignantly—all while insisting he’s still growing. You offer to stand beside him, but he hisses at you like a cat: “Don’t patronize me! I’m of perfect, healthy stature for someone my age!”

Kalim looks on from behind the camera. “Actually, can we get (Name) and Azul together first?”

Azul, who had been in the process of adding to the joke with a comment of his own, hesitates. He peers at Kalim, his walls rising. “Me?”

“Yeah! Only fair to put you front and center. You’re the host, after all!”

“Ah, right. Of course. But then—”

“Why me?” you ask, confused. “If anything, I should stay out of the picture. I’m not a third year like the rest of you.”

Kalim gasps, scandalized. “We can’t do that! It doesn’t matter what year you are. You’re still our friend, and parties are for everyone to enjoy.”

“Doesn’t that throw off the original plan?” Ruggie wonders, munching on a frosted donut.

“Kalim, we need to account for height. Riddle can’t stand in the back.” Jamil glances apologetically at Riddle. “That’s just the reality of it.”

Riddle huffs, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“I’ll stand in the front,” Silver offers.

“What? No, that’s not the issue here, Silver.”

“It’s not? I thought we were picking who stands beside (Name).”

“Ooh, I wanna stand with Shrimpy!” Floyd wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your head. “C’mon, Sea Otter, take our pic!”

Jamil sighs. “All of you…”

“Shall we take individual photos with (Name) first?” Jade suggests, smiling placidly at Kalim.

This time the message is received loud and clear. “Oh, great idea, Jade! Azul and (Name), could you stand next to each other?”

The group disperses to allow you and Azul to do just that. Rigidly, Azul steps closer. He keeps a healthy distance between your bodies, one Jade picks up on right away.

“Please smile and pretend like you love each other,” he instructs, to which Azul flusters.

“W-What? Jade, that’s—”

“C’mere, Ashengrotto! I don’t bite!”

With a joyous laugh, you wrap your arm around Azul’s waist and drag him in close. He stumbles, flushed in the face, just as the camera flashes. The corresponding photo slides out next, blank for a while. Eventually, the image begins to show up with striking clarity.

“How’s it look? Great, right?” As soon as it happened, it’s gone—your warmth. The comfort of being held. Azul almost pursues you when you release him from your grasp and move towards Kalim to inspect the photo. Thankfully, he catches himself. “Hey, this is nice! Good job.”

You and Kalim share a high-five.

“Me next, Sea Otter!” Floyd crowds in, baring his pointed teeth in an unruly grin.

With everyone’s attention on you, Kalim, and the camera, Azul’s left to stand behind in silence. Anticipating the rainless deluge, Jade lingers within earshot.

“I know,” he mutters in a brittle tone. “Don’t say a word.”

“Not a peep. Although if I may share just a tiny tidbit… Kalim offered some very helpful advice. You may want to hear it.”

Azul stares at him, stunned. “You told Kalim?”

“Not directly, no. It was implied.” Jade averts his mismatched eyes on purpose. “More or less.”

“I should’ve made you and Floyd sign NDAs…”

“Is it really so sensitive?”

“Yes! Yes, of course it is!” Azul deflates with a sigh, looking on mournfully. You’re trying to snatch the camera from Floyd’s hands. He holds it up and out of reach, laughing raucously. “What did he say?”

“If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart.”

Azul barks out a short, hollow laugh. “In an ideal world, that’s easy.”

“You’re making it more difficult than it needs to be.” Jade issues an encouraging smile. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Are you seriously asking that?”

“It’s just something to consider.”

A minute ticks between them. Jade watches the scene alongside Azul, delighting in distant chaos.

“I’m afraid, Jade,” he admits quietly, the confession as soft and fragile as a single breath. “She’s everything and I’m…nothing.”

Jade frowns in disagreement.

“I’ve looked at it from every conceivable angle. There isn’t any calculated risk to be made—no potential profit or success to be had.”

“Are you certain?”

“Very.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to get it off your chest. We have a few weeks left before the break. If not your heart, perhaps you could establish a means to communicate?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt… For the sake of networking—”

Jade chuckles. “Networking? Is that it?”

Azul scowls. “You’re awfully irritating tonight.”

“I’m not the one with his tentacles tied, hopelessly infatuated.” 

“You—”

“(Name), there’s something Azul would like to tell you,” Jade announces, and you turn to look at him.

Azul thinks he should just go ahead and die right there. Is it possible to spontaneously combust if he thinks about it long enough? Is such a phenomenon magic? All he needs to do is visualize it and then the spark will catch and—

“Yeah? What’s up, Azul?”

Azul flounders, his concentration broken. Like he’s done so many times in the past, he plasters his trademark smirk-grin on and falls into the shoes of the sleazy conman. “If you ever find yourself in need of study materials even after I’ve graduated, do not hesitate to contact me and I—”

You laugh. “I think I’ll be good. Thanks, though.”

With withering confidence, he chuckles. “I could give you quite the deal. You’d be missing out…”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced.

Jade—annoying, asshole Jade—brushes past, smooth as sea glass. “I shall take my leave, but please continue your chat. I believe there’s a camera waiting to capture the memory of me.”

Now it’s just you and Azul. He clears his throat, suddenly awkward.

“(Name), I—”

“Azul—”

“Oh.” He stares at you, a smile twitching on his lips. “You first.”

“No, no, you spoke before me.”

“Ah. Well…”

If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart. As if a love that’s been flowering for two years could possibly be resolved within the span of a few months.

He tries again even though it’s not what he really wants to say. “I do hope you’ll have a pleasant summer.”

“You as well.” You nudge him. “Kick ass at your internship.”

“I intend to.” Right. Internship. Work. Business. He can hold a normal conversation if that’s the topic. “And you? Do you plan to stay here?”

“Yeah. Crowley’s letting Grim and me live on campus since we don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll work part-time in Craneport. Summer is a great season for tourism, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Azul laughs. “If it’s a family, they may spend more on kid’s menus for the novelty of it all. Be sure to talk it up to truly sell it. All children deserve to know the magic of a seasonal menu, do they not? Food in fun shapes. Fairy tales and sparkles. All of that razzmatazz. It’s the experience they’re paying for, after all.”

“Is that advice free?”

“Is it?”

“Fine, fine.” You dig through your pocket and hand him the photo from earlier. “Your payment, good sir. A memento of me.”

Azul takes it from you, admires your effortlessly pretty smile, and then freezes. “Oh, I look positively dreadful!”

“Not at all. It adds character.”

“A horrid sort of character.”

You sidle up beside him, peering at the picture. “I like it. It’s a photo of an imperfect Azul.”

“What an ambiguous compliment.”

“I’m serious! It’s Azul when he’s not acting. I like imperfect Azul. He’s authentic. A real person.” You pat him on the shoulder. He stiffens, betraying his initial nonchalance. “Or maybe not. One day I’ll catch you off guard.”

“We’ll see.”

“One day…” Your attention is stolen when you catch sight of the group attempting to bunch together for a selfie. Offering Azul that same smile he’s admired ever since he saw it, you add, “Have a fun summer. Don’t be a stranger next year, okay?” And then you’re bounding across the lounge. “Wait for me! I want in, too!”

For the rest of the semester, Azul keeps the photo tucked away in his phone case.

I have time to mull over the pros and cons, he tells himself when he departs through the mirror, summer break at his fingertips.

ii. summer - maybe i’m just too good. maybe i’ll run away. maybe i’m over you. maybe i shouldn’t stay. maybe i just don’t care. maybe i talk too much.

It occurs to you, while sorting through the photos you’ve taken throughout this past school year, that there’s an absurd amount of Azul. Whether on his own or with others, he appears in more photos than anyone else. You wonder how that happened—how you managed to be there for so many of his moments, each one documented in photographic permanence.

Some of them are humorous. Azul looking unimpressed when you lifted your camera to capture him. Grim jumping into his arms to demand snacks. His glasses sitting crooked on his face. Some of them are endearing. Azul reading in a comfortable nook in the library. Azul smiling fondly at the lens during an alchemy lesson. Azul laughing after you cracked a joke during PE. Some of them are animated. Azul waving at you from across the courtyard. Azul rolling his eyes at a dull pun. Azul playfully blowing a kiss to the camera after you told him to do something memorable. Some are special. Azul in his birthday robes. Azul during that time Mostro Lounge became a butler café for one week. Azul on his last day of the semester, leveling the camera with a roguish smirk.

This one—the most recent and last photo taken of him—is especially important. It’s the conversation that prompted an unforgettable expression that fills you with butterflies whenever you recall it.

“I think you’ll miss me,” you told him, elbowing him for good measure.

“I think I will,” he replied, his lips curling.

Unequipped to deliver a witty retort, you could only gawk.

“Don’t tell me that’s all it takes to shock you into silence.” He chuckled, and there was that infamous smirk-grin—sitting so perfectly on his face, as if it was meant to be there for this very exchange. “You’re too easy, (Name). Where’s the challenge?”

Wordlessly, you raised your Ghost Camera and snapped his picture.

There are so many facets to his person that you’ve managed to catch on your camera—complex layers you wouldn’t have otherwise witnessed if you hadn’t spent so much time around him.

Now you realize why you have an abundance of Azul photos.

We sure hung out a lot this year, and every time I had my camera…

Is he your muse? Is he just naturally photogenic? He fits into plenty of backgrounds, but it’s never the scenery that fascinates and bewitches. It’s always his expression, his body language, his emotions. And the reason all of these photos are so important is because this is an Azul who is comfortable enough to show these sides to you. An Azul who wants you to document his best and his worst, his beautiful and his ugly, his silly and his serious.

Sitting at your desk, thumbing through stacks of photos, you know he’s more than a muse. As you watch Azul move in various pictures, you wonder what he’s doing. It’s only a month into summer, but everything feels so slow. Campus has cleared out, and with it the lounge has closed for the season. You’re certain he still has his ways of making profit and spreading word of its wonders. Azul isn’t foolish. He’s always working an angle. Endlessly clever and stubbornly ambitious.

Does he miss me, too? you think, running your finger over his smiling face. Or was that just something he said to get a reaction?

Just then, a gut-wrenching thought lodges itself deep: Are we even friends? What if he thinks I’m a nuisance? Maybe he’s just tolerating me and all this time I’ve been delusional.

You glimpse the photos again, watching Azul laugh soundlessly in an animated loop. What am I to you, Azul?

As if on cue, having sensed your sadness, arms wrap around you from behind. For a second you think it’s Grim, but then you see distinctly human hands clasping together. You whirl, startled out of your skin, to find Azul Ashengrotto standing there.

“Wha… What?”

He’s…here. Azul is standing in your bedroom.

You blink once and he remains. You blink twice and he’s still there, gazing down at you with soft, smiling features.

“Hello to you as well.”

“Hey…?” You pat his cheek and flinch away. “Oh, you’re real!”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Chuckling, he withdraws and moves to stand at your deskside. “I’m wounded. To think you would forget me just like that. And I thought I was plenty memorable.” He blows you a mock kiss then, and that’s when it finally strikes you.

This isn’t your Azul. This is an Azul from your photos.

How is this even possible? you think, scrambling to find which picture—which memory—he’s from. In doing so, you remember a particularly unique fact about the Ghost Camera. It’s a magical device that allows a photographer to capture slivers of their subject’s soul, which gives way to a special sort of connection known as a soulbond. The deeper the bond, the more likely the person in the photographs is to take on animation and, in some cases, slip out of the image that contains them.

So this is Azul from the time at which he was last photographed, you determine, holding up pictures to match his corporeal likeness to that of the scenery. The Ghost Camera is so cool…

“I missed you, you know.”

“Did you now?” He leans in close, curious. “How much?”

You push him away with a weak scoff. This isn’t good for your heart. Any closer and you might say something you’ll come to regret.

“Not as much as you think.”

“Is that so?” His gaze pans over to the pile of photos on your desk. “And these photos are simply here for convenience?”

“D-Don’t worry about it! Summer project. You wouldn’t get it.”

He flashes his teeth at you in a bright, competitive grin. “Try me.”

“You’re so nosy. Don’t you get tired of prying?”

“Not in the slightest.” He leans against the desk, his arms folding casually over his chest. “That’s besides the point. You’re avoiding the subject at hand.”

You turn in your chair and open your mouth to reply—why are you so invested in this?—but a better idea crops up. Meeting his cerulean stare with fierce, fiery eyes, you challenge him: “If it matters so much to you, I could be convinced to share my plans for the small price of one kiss. A real kiss. Not that fake one from before.”

Azul blinks back at you, a smirk crawling onto his face. “Is that all you desire?”

“What do you mean by—”

Your question is cut off when another set of arms embraces you from behind. Warm, soft lips press against your cheek; his breath tickles your ear.

“Are two not better than one?”

With a yelp, you jerk back so fast that you almost fall out of your chair. Standing there, looking very proud of himself, is another Azul. But this one, unlike Dorm Azul, is dressed in his school uniform. A very helpful distinction.

“D-Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

It’s the only coherent sentence you can manage. Your mind is a panicked muddle: I can’t believe it. Two Azuls. Am I dreaming? This is definitely a dream, right? There’s no way he’d kiss me on the…

You slap your hand over your cheek, gasping. “Y-You kissed me?!”

“Is that not the price you wanted me to pay?” School Azul asks, one brow raised as if daring you to deny that fact.

Dorm Azul’s fingers curl under your chin, guiding your gaze towards him. “Unless you’d like to raise the price…”

You swallow thickly. This can’t be happening.

“Of course, in raising the price, it’s expected you raise the value of the information you’re willing to divulge,” School Azul adds with a chuckle. “Is that not fair?”

You shrink under both of their insistent stares. “W-Why do you even wanna know?”

“Why not? Any information is good information so long as it’s useful.”

You scoff, but it comes out choked and shy. “I… I’m going to use these photos to put together a present for you. I know your birthday’s so far away, but I’m getting a head start.”

“And this present would entail…?”

You click your tongue at him. “I already paid my half for that kiss. No more.”

“Aah, is that right?” Dorm Azul leans in, kissing dangerously close to your lips. You reach up to touch the corner of your mouth after he’s pulled away. “How much for the full story?”

“How much are you willing to pay?”

School Azul rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you up from your seat. This proximity allows you to feel his hair as it brushes against your face. Dorm Azul closes the distance as if it’s second nature, and now you’re sandwiched between the both of them.

Your heart stumbles in your chest. He’s quite literally surrounding you, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“A very valid question.” Dorm Azul glances coyly at School Azul. “What do you think, Me?”

“Will we be enough for you, (Name)?” he purrs, rubbing slow circles into your hips.

You’re dizzy in their arms, your entire body warming with anticipation and embarrassment alike. Is it okay to be selfish? Even though this isn’t technically Azul—just mere memories of him—it seems so real. He’s holding you, touching you, reaching for you…

“Hmm. Two does seem to be a bit much.”

“Let’s call it a holiday and say it’s seasonal spoiling.”

“A gift for the summer.”

“Do open the window to let in the breeze. The heat is prone to making one feel rather…stuffy.”

They’re doing this on purpose. Maybe another Azul is more troublesome than I once thought. I can only handle so much charm!

Shrugging off self-doubt, you grab Dorm Azul by his lapels and yank him towards you, sealing the space that once separated your mouths in a hungry kiss. He melts against you, eyes fluttering shut. It’s quick and starved, the way you chase each other’s lips. You cling to him before you can fall, arms looped around his neck to keep him near.

Fully clothed and achingly desperate, you loathe the unbearable heat, but nothing is more molten than the space between your thighs.

Meanwhile, School Azul takes his sweet time running his hands along your sides, up the length of your body until he reaches your chest. With his form pinned to yours, you can feel his erection pressing against your ass. Rather shamelessly, he rolls his hips. You’re pushed up against Dorm Azul next, who takes hold of your hand and guides it to the strain in his slacks. He pulls away briefly to allow School Azul to slide your shirt up and over your head.

“Were you anticipating this?” he whispers, taking hold of your breasts.

“No way,” you protest between kisses. “Not… No. K-Keep dreaming. It’s too much trouble to wear one in the summer. Gets hot and—”

Dorm Azul captures your lips in another ravenous smooch, and the objection dies in your throat.

“There’s no need for these pesky articles where I’m from,” School Azul murmurs. He presses kisses into your bare shoulder, humming his very obvious delight. “You’d have already been laid out beneath me if that were the case… Soft and sweet, all mine to love at the bottom of the sea…”

“Humans have so many steps,” Dorm Azul laments, tutting.

“And merfolk don’t?” You try to sound smart with your question, but it comes out breathless when your nipple’s twisted between two fingers. “Oh…”

“Not when it comes to clothing. The very concept doesn’t exist beneath the waves.”

“You could visit sometime and see for yourself. I’ll welcome you with open arms.” Dorm Azul rests his forehead against yours. “And maybe then you’ll find yourself so taken with my home that you’ll want to stay.”

“A tempting offer.”

“But?” he prompts, his gaze falling to your hand as you palm him through his pants. He inhales a shaky breath.

“What’s stopping you?” the other Azul asks, his voice muffled in your skin.

“Firstly, I’m not a mer.”

“My dear, that’s nothing. Have you forgotten my proficiency in potionology?”

“And how much will one of your potions cost? I’d love to visit, but if it’s going to bankrupt me—”

“For you, a single kiss is all I require.”

“Isn’t that awfully cheap?”

Dorm Azul chuckles at this back-and-forth. “You say that as if you want me to charge an exorbitant amount.”

Glaring, you squeeze him out of revenge. His laughter comes out choked next, replaced with a needy whimper. Unbelievable.

“Maybe I do.”

“I would be careful with those words, dearest. I might take them to heart.”

He ruts against your hand, panting into your mouth. The kiss is sloppy and wet, all tongue and saliva. You move on instinct, grabbing at his shoulders when you’re taken to bed next. Both Azuls peer down at you from where they kneel on either side of you. They issue you hazy, lust-drunk smiles. Hands wander, feeling every inch you have to offer. You shut your eyes and submit to titillating touches.

“You really did miss me,” School Azul remarks when his fingers slip into your shorts to rub you through your sodden panties. Your breath hitches, a strangled whine squeezed from your throat, and he laughs. “I missed you, too.”

“I really like you,” you blurt, chest heaving with your every breath. He squeezes your clit to draw another sinful groan from you. “I think—Azul, you’re so—I think you’re so amazing… I wish we talked more. The year—aah… It went by so fast.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

“I wanna know you—the real you. I wanna know what Azul’s like when he’s comfortable and when he’s sad and when he’s happy. I wanna—ooh! Please… Please, Azul…” You grab fistfuls of the sheets, arching up towards the hands that caress your stomach lovingly. “I just want you.”

“And you’ll have me,” he—you’re not sure which—promises, leaning over to kiss you. It’s soulful passion, lust bleeding into love. Your cries are lost on his lips when you come undone beneath him, buoyant on a mellow wave.

You sense the loss before you see it.

Half-nude and gasping for breath, you stare up at the ceiling. Your bedroom is empty. All that remains of the Azuls are the animated memories imprinted on the photographs.

“I’m losing my mind…” you mutter, draping your arm over your eyes.

Please let summer pass quickly.

iii. winter - maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard. and maybe that’s just fine as long as you’re here in my arms.

Azul paces restlessly in his VIP room. It’s been months since he’s seen you, but his heart hasn’t swayed in the slightest. If anything, he’s only grown fonder in the time spent apart. Absence… What a bothersome thing.

“You’re gonna walk yourself into the floor, y’know. Your shoes’ll be all worn out by the time you’re done.”

“I’m aware,” Azul quips, uncharacteristically jittery. He turns towards Floyd. “Do I look presentable? Is anything crooked or misplaced? How about my hair?”

“You’re fine.” At Azul’s disbelieving glower, Floyd pouts. “I mean it. Shrimpy’s gonna like it either way.”

He bristles, defensive. “Who said anything about (Name)?”

“No one, but you’re thinkin’ it.”

“I… T-That’s besides the point! It doesn’t matter. She’s only here because I invited her. Common courtesy and all that.”

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

Azul frowns at the vault set into the wall behind his desk. If only he could pack all of his fears in there and lock them away for good. Then he could continue masquerading as someone fearless and confident. With winter having descended upon campus, bringing with it layers of fluffy, glittering snow, and the cultural festival having concluded successfully, Azul finds himself lost.

This is the last birthday he’ll celebrate at Night Raven College and, subsequently, the last February he’ll spend with you. He’s running out of time.

“Invitation or not, Shrimpy’ll always wish you a happy birthday. S’not like her to forget. Plus, she cares about ya.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Azul’s tone is so sharp that Floyd raises his hands in defense. “Guess not.”

“What would you do?” He inhales a wobbly breath. “If you were in my shoes…”

Floyd scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “Dunno. Guess I’d wait for the right moment and say somethin’ to get it outta my system.”

Azul sighs. “Jade said something similar.”

“He ain’t wrong.”

“I’m not prepared.”

“No one is.” Floyd smiles at Azul’s baffled expression. “C’mon, Azul, you can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to. S’just how it is.”

“Even so, it’s better to know all viable routes and options before diving into uncharted waters.”

“That’s just it. You can’t know. S’kinda the whole point, ain’t it?”

“I can’t do it,” he decides, the words heavy on his tongue. “I’d rather accept my future failure now than continue working towards it.”

“Like a coward.”

“Far from it! In business, that’s known as rescission. It is a completely valid method of—”

“You ever realize your feelings and business are two separate things? Not everything’s gotta be about business.”

Azul stands there, nonplussed.

Floyd makes for the door, stopping only to add, “Your fly’s unzipped, by the way.”

“You—” He scrambles to check. Much to his relief, it’s not. “Honestly… That’s not even funny.”

He smooths nonexistent wrinkles, schools his expression into something brave, and exhales slowly. I’m not going to ruin an occasion as grand as this with a half-baked confession.

Having made up his mind, he steps through the door out into the bustling lounge. Like clockwork, all eyes turn to him. He searches the crowd for you, hopeful. But before he can locate you, party poppers resound with a loud bang. Confetti trickles down like colorful rainfall, landing on his suit and getting stuck in his hair.

“Happy birthday, Azul!”

He wants to run and hide. He wants to dive into the sea and seek solace in his favorite octopus pot. He wants to bury himself in the sand and disappear.

Instead, he smiles and spreads his arms like he’s just pulled off an astounding magic trick. “Why, thank you, everyone! I’m pleased you could make it. Do enjoy yourselves to the fullest tonight.”

Cheers erupt amongst the partygoers, but they might as well be on a completely different island. Azul turns, hoping to make his rounds and escape, but Kalim intercepts him. Jamil isn’t far behind.

“Azul, happy birthday!” Kalim smiles just as Jamil catches up.

He passes two expertly wrapped gifts into Azul’s empty hands. “On behalf of Kalim and myself, thank you for the invitation.”

“Yeah, super thanks! It’s been so much fun. I hope you’ll like your gift, but if you don’t just let me know and I’ll get you something else. Whatever you want! You deserve it on your special day.”

Azul looks past him, not in the mood to entertain. “Yes, of course. It’s not a problem.”

Jamil raises a brow, but then it clicks. “(Name) wanted me to pass on her regards.”

As expected, that draws his attention. “Why’s that?”

“She wasn’t sure if she’d get to see you on your big, busy day.” Jamil eyes Azul knowingly.

Kalim nods. “We ran into her on the way here, but she said to go on without her.”

Azul doesn’t like the way they’re both looking at him—as if they’re in on some joke he’s not currently aware of.

“Well,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “her regards are well-received.”

“You’re not going to meet her?”

“It’s my big, busy day, isn’t it? I’m afraid she’ll have to catch me at her earliest convenience.” Azul, gifts in hand, smiles. “Please do enjoy the party, you two. Thank you again for your thoughtful gifts and birthday wishes.”

On his way to the table designed for gifts, Azul spots Riddle, Silver, and Ruggie. They stand off to the side, chatting amongst themselves. He supposes, if anything, he might as well say hello. Setting the gifts down, Azul struts over.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“You know it. Parties at Octavinelle are always somethin’ else,” Ruggie says. Unsurprisingly, he’s done well to fix himself a plate and more. With him around Azul doesn’t have to fret over food waste.

“Your presentation at the cultural festival was very informative, if I may say so,” Riddle commends, sipping his fizzy beverage.

“As was yours.” Azul’s smile tightens. For some reason, he’s always felt the need to walk on eggshells around Riddle. And for good reason, too! Whatever Azul seems to accomplish, no matter how lofty a feat, Riddle seems to do better. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the rewarding experience yourself.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s good timing,” Silver notes, and all eyes drift towards him. Azul perks up. Timing. He needs more of that. “Your birthday came right after the festival. It’s almost like celebrating your hard work and another healthy year all in one.”

“Never thought about it that way. Guess it makes sense when you put it like that.” Ruggie grins cheekily. “Lucky you, Azul.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck. The dates just happened to align… Either way, thank you, Silver. I’m pleased you can look at it with such inspiring positivity.”

“You catch up with (Name) yet?”

“No? Am I meant to?”

“Just asking.” Ruggie shrugs. “She had me run a few errands for her yesterday. Said it was all for your sake, but when I tried to get more info outta her she told me I’d have to wait for ‘the big reveal’—whatever that is.”

Now everyone’s looking at him. Azul feels small.

“With how often I’ve heard her name tonight, I’d think she’s the one with the birthday.”

“Is she really so popular today? Odd. I haven’t had the chance to greet her,” Riddle muses.

“I thought I saw her this afternoon.” Silver furrows his brow, uncertain. “She seems busy.”

“Which is precisely why I can’t fathom the insistence that I ought to have met with her already.”

Ruggie tilts his head. “That the only reason?”

Just how many people are in on this asinine joke? More importantly, which eel is he going to have to wring out for spilling a not-so-secret secret?

Azul realizes his mask is slipping and so he repairs it expertly. If Ruggie takes notice of this, he doesn’t say anything. “It’s bad manners to show up late to a party. I’m sure one of us will agree.”

Riddle nods, but his words are surprisingly lenient. “Life happens. I suppose we can’t fault (Name) entirely.”

“She’ll make it. I’m sure she will. Don’t worry, Azul,” Silver reassures.

He’s not. He won’t. He isn’t.

“If the world was ending tomorrow,” Ruggie says, sliding into a new subject with practiced finesse, “what would you all do?”

“The end of the world…” Riddle frowns. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s a hypothetical. Anything’s possible.”

Silver hums thoughtfully. “I’d spend what time I have left with my loved ones.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna go running back to Briar Valley to protect Malleus?”

“As a guard it’s my duty, but fighting against the inevitable would be pointless.” Silver looks to the rest of them for their input. “If the world is ending and there’s nothing a guard like myself can do to prevent it, then I can only offer what’s left of my time.”

“So companionship. Okay, good to know. What about you, Riddle?”

He huffs. “I refuse to let the world end before I’ve accomplished my goals.”

“Yikes. You academic types don’t rest, do you?”

“No, no, it’s true,” Azul pipes up. “I agree. Why am I going to let the world get in the way of my plans?”

“So both of you are going to resist it until the very end?”

“You said anything can happen in a hypothetical, yes?” Riddle smirks. “In my hypothetical the world says it’ll end tomorrow, but it never does. It keeps saying so like it’s a faulty forecast. The end of the world is scheduled for next week, the week after, three weeks from now. By then, a year’s passed and the world still hasn’t ended.”

Ruggie groans. “That defeats the whole purpose of my question. You can’t give yourself more time when it’s already so limited.”

“Anything is possible if you know what you’re working with,” Azul adds, nodding alongside Riddle. “I quite like this hypothetical.”

“Leave it to the honors students to logic it out and make it more complicated than it needs to be…”

“You wouldn’t spend it with your loved ones?” Silver asks, but it appears as if the question is directed entirely at Azul. “I think I’d want to tell them the things I never got to say. Things I put off saying… Would you do that, too, Azul?”

“I…” He shuts his mouth and then opens it. “I’m not sure what I could possibly say within such a limited timeframe.”

“It doesn’t have to be complex.”

“I guess a good, old ‘love you lots’ is better than nothing,” Ruggie says.

Azul stops short. The end of the world. Time. Loss. Loved ones.

Time! He’s running out of time!

“Well, this was quite the lively discussion, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself now. There are a few more people I must meet.” Azul smiles gratefully at the three of them. They wish him another happy birthday before he finally departs, his heart in his throat.

He’s running out of time.

Logically, Azul knows the feeling doesn’t reflect his reality. It’s not as if he has to confess by the end of the school year. Logically, he has his entire life to confess. But who’s to say you’ll stay in his life after he graduates? You might be gone by the time he finally finds the right words, the right time, the right circumstance.

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Floyd’s right. There’s no way of knowing for sure until he does it. There’s no way to know what lies in those uncharted waters until he dives in. There’s no way to know where your heart lies until he confesses.

The world isn’t going to end tomorrow, but if he doesn’t say what he needs to before graduation he’ll never have another chance. And then that world—the world contained within NRC’s boundaries—will implode and that will be that.

At that very moment, a camera flashes. He spins around to search the photographer out and—

There you are, striding through throngs of people to reach him. There you are, dressed for the occasion. There you are, wearing that pretty smile he sees in his dreams.

“Happy birthday!” You turn the photo towards him for his viewing pleasure. It’s of him, staring off into space. He looks so stone-faced with his knitted brows and pursed lips. “Sorry about showing up late. I had to add the finishing touches to your present.”

You hand it to him. The amateur wrapping job makes the gift appear more lumpy than it actually is. It’s heavy like a textbook. Shaped as such, too. Azul wonders what its contents could be. Perhaps something relating to economics? A novel in a particular genre?

“Thank you very much. I’ll take good care of both.” He tucks the picture into his breastpocket, battling the urge to tear into your gift now. He needs to know. What did you get him? What could it possibly be? “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Even if the world was ending?”

“Uh… What?”

“Ah, never mind that. It was simply a lingering thought from a previous conversation.”

“That’s so grim! And on your birthday, no less.”

Azul waves his hand through the air. A playful smile draws his lips apart. “Can you believe Riddle said he’d make the apocalypse wait on his behalf?”

“Seriously?” You snort, eyes brightening with amusement. “Even the apocalypse gets a schedule…”

He barks out a laugh. “Insanity, isn’t it?”

“Maybe for us, but definitely not for Riddle.” You glance at him. “What about you? What does Azul Ashengrotto’s last day look like?”

He intends to answer with something prepackaged: Awash in success until the very end!

“Alone.”

“Really? No friends or family by your side?”

“Would that make it better? Perhaps being surrounded by others only intensifies the dread.”

There’s some sort of symbolism in coming into the world alone and going out the same. Azul just can’t quite phrase it eloquently.

“Maybe there’s no right answer. Maybe there’s not any comfort in it either.” You run your fingers over the edges of your Ghost Camera. “We can’t know what lies ahead until we’re there. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time theorizing.”

“Quite the insightful judgment.”

“For the record, I wouldn’t mind being your plus-one for the end of the world.”

“I’m flattered.” He grins. “I shall be yours in return.”

“No strings attached?”

“All the strings attached. So many,” he exaggerates.

“No fair!”

Silence fills in the cracks. You stand side by side, drinking in Mostro Lounge’s upbeat atmosphere. After some time, you nudge him.

“Look at us, speaking about all of these sad things. It’s your birthday, not a funeral!”

He wonders if now’s a good time. Should he lighten the mood and confess? But wouldn’t that just make it even more serious and somber? Is there ever going to be an opportune moment?

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Surprises. Spontaneity. Luck. All things left to chance. All things Azul attempts to anticipate. He thinks back on the many plans and what-ifs he calculated and wonders if it was worth it.

“(Name), I just wanted to say—” He stops himself, his fingers curling around the gift cradled in his arms. I love you and I want you in my life. I don’t want the world to end here with you and me. I want to know what lies beyond and experience it with you—the good and the bad. Everything. “I just wanted to thank you.”

For being my friend. For being yourself. For existing in the same world as me, even if it feels like we’re doomed to be islands apart.

“What’s this? Genuine thanks? Am I going to find an anemone on my head next?”

“That can be arranged. Isn’t it tradition to grant the person of the hour one birthday favor?”

“Hah! You wish!”

I do. I really do.

The party wears on into the night. Azul repeats the same mantra as before: I have time.

When he’s in his room, gifts piled high on his desk, he sits back in his seat and carefully unwraps yours. It’s a book, leather-bound and regal. It looks expensive. While attempting to approximate its value, he reads the title spelled out with alphabet stickers: My Azul. His brow furrows. Just what are you playing at here?

Cautiously, he opens the book to the first page. Your writing winks back at him: Happy birthday, Azul! This is my gift to you. It’s a chronological journal of your school life! :D People often say it’s difficult to picture themselves through the eyes of others, so I wanted to show you what I see every time I look at you. I hope you’ll never forget just how important you are. If you ever do, open this book to remind yourself.

With love always,

(Name).

“Curious,” he mumbles, flipping the page. The layout reminds him of a scrapbook. You’ve decorated it with stickers and patterned tape, scrawled words in different colored inks. There are two photographs—each from Azul’s second year. He’d forgotten about these. That time it snowed so much the students had a snowball fight in the courtyard. That time an alchemy accident (courtesy of Grim) led to Azul speaking in cat for the rest of the day.

In the center, a small blurb reads: My Azul is terrifyingly good at making snowballs within record time, just as he’s terrifyingly good at marketing them at all the right moments. My team was totally losing. Leave it to Azul to swoop in when he knows it’s advantageous… He’s intelligent and passionate. Even when mistakes occur, he works through them effortlessly. (Although it was nice having Catzul for a day!)

He rolls his eyes at that last bit.

The next page displays photos in much the same fashion. You’ve clearly put lots of effort and thought into each arrangement. Azul feels like he’s walking through a museum with every page. Like the first, the rest of the pages that follow include photographs of himself (some with others and some with you) and a short paragraph describing your observations.

His eyes are on the verge of a typhoon as he soaks in every sugared sentence.

My Azul is strong. My Azul is silly. My Azul has the best laugh. My Azul is great at bargaining. My Azul is awkward. My Azul is clumsy (in the best ways). My Azul is resourceful. My Azul makes the best study guides (thank you!!!!). My Azul is a hero. My Azul never gives up. My Azul is a talented mage. My Azul is…

All of these things he’s never heard anyone acknowledge before—have you always seen him in this way? Is this truly what he’s like through your eyes? He finds that hard to believe, and yet there he is on the page, winking at the camera or posing in an outfit from one of the many school trips he’s attended. You’ve added little comments and doodles in the margins and corners. Azul smiles as he reads them.

Noble Bell College sure was something! I’d like to visit again one day…

Vargas Camp was exhausting! I still can’t believe we survived.

Halloween! I want to experience it in the Coral Sea one day. But maybe just for one night. An endless Halloween is too much…

The ceremonial robes are very pretty. They’re so different from the uniforms in my world.

Happy Beans Day! Azul prepares all year for this. That level of commitment is impressive!

Azul reaches the end with watery eyes. He sniffles, so enveloped in a love he’s never felt from any friend before. You care. You truly, honestly care. It’s clear in each and every page—in the words you’ve written. You care about him.

The final page has a blank space the rough shape and size of a photograph. For some reason he understands what he’s meant to do. He slides the photograph you gave him all that time ago from his phone case and pastes it to the space. And then he reads what’s written below.

My Azul keeps all of these walls up in order to protect himself. He’s sensitive and self-conscious. He likes to uphold a perfect image at all times. He likes to keep his weaknesses hidden, his cards close. But then he’s also funny. He’s sincere and gentle. He’s sweet. He’s someone I admire from all sides, good and bad. Even when he’s scheming, even when he’s acting, he’s still Azul. My camera’s captured so many of his moments, which is very apparent now that you’ve made it to the end. But I’m happy to have documented these moments because they showcase everything that makes my Azul himself.

My Azul has never looked “positively dreadful” to my camera. Even on the days where he feels like nothing, my Azul is everything to me. I will always think so.

He’s crying. He can’t help it.

Azul sits there and he sobs.

He sobs until his throat is dry, until his eyes are blotchy and red. He sobs until he can’t anymore.

Holding the book close to his chest, he wonders how he ever managed to befriend someone like you.

An angel. That’s what you are.

An angelfish.

And he’s Azul. Your Azul.

iv. spring - but, baby, i’ll be there. yeah, baby, i’ll be there. it’s been a little hard. i’ve been a little tough. but maybe all along i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid. i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid.

The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers, thick with pollen. Azul’s chest is light, swelling with excitement. A new chapter is about to begin. In just a few hours he’ll graduate along with the rest of his peers and then it’s off to start another story. For Azul, this is just a continuation of something already so prolific.

He strolls past The Great Seven, pausing briefly to admire the Sea Witch in all of her tentacular glory.

“With this weather, it’s almost difficult to imagine they called for rain.” Jade peers up at the sun, shielding its obtrusive rays with one hand.

“They’re always gettin’ it wrong,” Floyd says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So annoying. I was hopin’ it’d rain and then they’d cancel.”

“Unlikely. There are always contingency plans put in place when it comes to an event as momentous as graduation.”

“Bleh. Lame. I wanna skip. I hate bein’ in those stuffy clothes, packed in close like a sardine.”

“If you’re absent, you won’t receive your diploma.”

“What a scam.”

Jade simply smiles. Ironic.

Azul turns around to look at them. “Four years… Gone in a blink. Will either of you miss it?”

“It was certainly enjoyable. I admit there are some aspects I’ll miss quite fiercely.”

“Guess it’ll be a bummer not seein’ everyone all the time. I’m gonna miss playing with Baby Seal and Shrimpy.”

“I’ll miss them, too.” Azul sighs. “(Name) especially…”

“You still haven’t told her?” Floyd raises a brow. “You’re gonna leave without sayin’ a word?”

“That does seem to be the plan,” Jade answers.

“I… I’ve thought it over.” He clears his throat. No time for waterworks. He needs to be in top shape if he’s to deliver the opening speech as Salutatorian. Riddle took first place, which wasn’t a shock to anyone. He always did say he’d make Valedictorian no matter what. Azul had been keen to fight him for it, even if it became clear he’d never surpass him. Second place is irksome, but it has its merits. Although he isn’t going to settle with just that! He’ll get first place one of these days. “We’re better off friends.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that enough?”

“Is what enough?”

“Her friendship.”

“It’ll have to be.” Azul’s gaze glazes over.

He’s run out of time, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe that was meant to be.

“Well, let’s not dwell on it any further!” He claps his hands and turns swiftly on his heel. “There’s still work to be done.”

Jade and Floyd exchange furtive glances. They know as well as he does that he’s lying.

But maybe that was also meant to be.

— — —

Crowley tasked you with snapping photos for NRC’s yearbook. “Because I am a paragon of magnanimity,” he said, “I am entrusting this very important task to you once more. Take lots of pictures! Don’t miss a single moment!”

You do just that, photographing the graduates as they wait in a room behind the stage, chattering eagerly amongst themselves. You raise your camera to document Azul when he stands at the podium to give his salutation speech. You do the same for Riddle when it’s his turn. The ceremony is grand, ballooning with emotion. You look on with a cheek-splitting smile, proud of every student who crosses the stage. It’s bittersweet. The friends you made when you were enrolled as a first year are now moving on in life.

Time flies. What a whirlwind year it’s been.

When it’s Azul’s turn and he goes down the line to shake the hands of his professors and Crowley, you wave at him from your place in the audience. He meets your eyes from where he stands, and he smiles.

Your camera catches that moment in perfect permanence.

By the end of it all, your face hurts from smiling, your throat sore from cheering, your hands raw from clapping. Grim grumbles at you to knock it off with the sun shower, your tears dampening his fur. You wipe your eyes and sniffle. “I’m happy for them. It’s a good day.”

He forces his head under your palm, allowing you to pet him and cry through it in peace. He doesn’t say anything. You don’t need him to.

While the graduates meet up with their family and friends, you make your rounds. Kalim introduces you to his parents and siblings—all thirty-something of them. You’re in a daze by the time introductions are finished, and Jamil leans over to whisper, “No need to commit everyone to memory.”

“Have you talked to Azul yet?” Kalim asks after everything has settled down.

You shake your head. “Why? What’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask. I know the Headmage wants you to take lots of pictures.”

“We shouldn’t keep you any longer than we already have,” Jamil adds with a curt nod.

You smile. “Congrats, both of you. Good luck.”

“We gotta keep in touch. Promise me you’ll call whenever you can. You’re always welcome to visit, too! Oh, I’ll go check with my parents now! I’m sure they’ll say yes!” Kalim bounds off in their direction.

“Just let me know well in advance. That way I can plan for proper accommodations,” Jamil says, following Kalim with sharp eyes.

“I’ll do that.” You turn to leave and then stop. “I hope you get your vacation one day, Jamil.”

He stares at you, mystified, before a gentle smile softens on his face. “One day,” he echoes. “I hope you’ll find your way home.”

“One day.”

The two of you share a final look before going your separate ways.

Surrounded in such an energetic environment, talking to and meeting families, you find yourself longing for your loved ones. So much time has passed. You wonder how they’re doing. Are they well? Are they worried?

“Aah, it’s Shrimpy!” Floyd crashes into you with so much force you nearly topple. He steadies you with a giggle. “Where’s Baby Seal?”

“Left to gorge on refreshments. Hey, since you’re here, can I get your picture?”

“Course you can.”

Detaching himself, he poses for you. You take a few photos, mirroring his good mood.

“Are your parents around?”

“Mhm!”

“Seriously? They came?”

“Course they did.”

“Did they take transformation potions?”

Floyd nods. “Pops does land business sometimes, so he’s used to it. Mama doesn’t leave home much. She’s real bad at walking on her feet.”

“Ah, got it.”

Floyd grins down at you. “You wanna meet ’em?”

“Maybe later… I’ve gotta keep taking photos.”

“I gotcha. Make sure to snap a few of Azul.”

“Right! Speaking of him, where is he? I’ve spoken to everyone but him.”

Floyd peers out across a sea of faces, scanning each one like a predator sizing up his next meal. “He’s avoidin’ ya.”

“What? Why?”

“Why don’tcha ask him when you see him? Bet he’ll have a fun answer for ya.”

You would, if only you could find him. As the afternoon wears on, you begin to lose hope. If he’s truly hiding from you, he’s doing a great job of it. After what feels like hours of walking in aimless circles, you take pause to consider the situation. If you were Azul and you wanted to hide away for a little while, where would you go?

To someplace familiar. To someplace comfortable. To someplace quiet.

He’s pacing in front of Ramshackle when you arrive. You open the gate and step through, taking each step one at a time. Once you’re within a close enough proximity, you make your presence known.

“Azul?”

He startles and whips around. As soon as he sees you, he lurches forward, intending to leave.

You block his path. “Hey, wait! What gives? I’ve been looking all over for you. Floyd told me you’re avoiding me.”

“Floyd doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“But I’m sure you do. So what’s up?”

“It’s…nothing. I merely wanted to tour campus one last time.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve come with you!” You attempt to elbow him, but he side-steps you. “Uh, right…”

“Ah, sorry. I… Admittedly, there’s quite a lot on my mind.”

“I get it. Congrats, by the way. Your speech was really good.”

“I’m pleased you think so.”

This…isn’t Azul, you realize, a frown flickering on your face. At least not the Azul I usually see.

“I got to meet all of Kalim’s siblings.”

“Did you? All of them?”

“Every. Single. One. His family’s huge!”

An uncomfortable silence festers between the two of you. You glance at your camera and then at Azul.

“Can you believe that Crowley? He wanted me to take all of these pictures, but there were dozens of professionals who did it much better than me! What was even the point?”

“Terrible, isn’t it? A job as good as the one you do deserves proper payment.”

“Exactly! My services aren’t free.”

Azul smiles, a wistful gloss to his gaze. You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes—can see the calculation as it comes to fruition.

“You can cry. I won’t judge.”

“I’m not going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s normal, Azul.”

He inhales a deep breath, holds it for three seconds, and then releases. When he looks at you next, his expression is hard and riddled with subdued anxiety. A zephyr blows between you, rustling the leaves in the trees, raking through the grass, dragging wispy fingers through your clothes and hair. The quiet expands and stretches wide.

Azul opens his mouth, shuts it, and sighs. A forlorn resignation flits over his countenance.

“I—” he swallows hard and then it just bursts free, the admission he’s kept secret for so long— “I love you.”

Another breeze combs through the premises. Your gasp is swept away with it.

“I’ve loved you for two years. And I… I wanted to tell you so many times in the past, but I never could. I was scared and I ran away. I still am! The truth is that I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of messing up in front of you and looking like a fool. I’m afraid of showing you the parts of myself I hate most. I’m even afraid of that phrase—of saying it because it terrifies me to think, in some distant world, it might be reciprocated. But I have to say it, and I want you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I have to tell you.”

You gape at him, utterly speechless. The longer you do so, the more flustered he becomes.

“Y-You’re free to think it’s gross or weird. I understand I’m not the most ideal candidate, but I…” He wrings his hands, exhaling shakily. “I think you’re everything. My whole world.”

There are so many things you want to say. So, so many. But they’re all jumbled, carried along like flowers floating down a stream in spring. You close the gap, taking his hands in yours, and you kiss him.

Azul startles, squeaking against your lips. It takes a minute for him to find his rhythm, but soon he’s wilting against you, his body relaxed. You taste saliva and salt—tears. When you pull back, he’s crying.

“I think you’re the most ideal candidate. I’ve always thought so.” You cradle his cheek in a warm hand.

A sob trembles through him. “I never thought—you’re just so… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“That I’d like you?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” “Because…”

“I’ve always liked you, Azul. I’d never lie about that. Your birthday gift—those are my honest opinions.”

“Every one of them?”

“Each and every one.”

He sniffles weakly, drying his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Instinctively, you reach for your camera. And then you hesitate. You’ve always stood behind the protective lens of your trusty Ghost Camera, assuming the role of photographer in order to remain in his orbit. But now you’d like to try putting the camera aside and documenting Azul’s moments with your own two eyes.

He loves me.

You just manage to shut the front door before you’re pulling him flush against you. He presses you up against the wall in the foyer, a knee slotting between your legs. You melt in mutual merriment, grabbing at every part of him. Your uniform blouse is ripped open in a hurry. You try to handle his graduation robes with caution, appreciating expensive embroidery, but vehemence gets the better of you. It’s a wild rush. Hot and panting, you’re shuddering in carnal delight, every nerve alight. When he presses up against you next, half-dressed and hazy with an addictive adoration, you can feel the result of your exploratory touches straining for release.

“Upstairs,” you mumble against his mouth, sweating out of your skin.

You fall into bed as one, tangled around each other. Azul trails kisses up the expanse of your stomach, working you open on skillful fingers. You shiver beneath him, your heart pounding in your ribs.

“I love you.” A kiss to your belly.

“I love you.” A kiss to the valley of your breasts.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips.

You love him just as intensely. 

He drags his fingers out next, admiring the slick coating them like it’s a valuable substance. You giggle, dizzy with delirium.

“Can I call you mine?”

You run your hands up and down his arms. “I’d like that.”

“Your boyfriend,” he murmurs, astonished. “I’m your boyfriend…”

“Mhm…” You sit up in bed and climb into his lap. Slowly, inch by inch, you lower yourself. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth. “And I’m—mmh—I’m your girlfriend.”

Azul whines into your mouth. His arms wrap around you to keep you firmly pinned to his body, and he bucks his hips up to meet you the rest of the way. Filled in such a way, connected so intimately, you breathe a satisfied sigh. You dig your nails into his shoulders. Every muscle slackens. It’s bliss, pure and perfect. The both of you mold to one another like sea meeting shore.

You grind down, chasing a mounting climax. “You’re the best—perfect. So perfect. Oh, I love you, Azul. I love you so much. I’ve always wanted to say it.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “You have no idea how fervently I’ve yearned for this—for you.”

You can’t possibly begin to imagine, but you can definitely relate. Weeks of silent pining, of hoping something might happen and you’d be able to confess without fear. Those days are behind you. Now you can know love in his arms and it isn’t so uncertain.

You lose yourselves in the sensations of sweet, soulful sex. He’s gentle like a spring breeze, dedicated like a devotee at your altar. You’re much the same, your moans just as plentiful. Just as loud. You’re wrapped in wonder when you look into his eyes and find the same amount of love reflected back.

I’m so happy I met you.

When he cums, he digs his fingers into your hips to drag you down and bury himself deeper inside. You unravel shortly after, your orgasm coaxed out by a few attentive massages to your clit. Your bodies, sticky and sweaty, stay connected even after you’ve come down from the clouds.

“Had I known, I would’ve said something sooner.” After catching his breath, Azul rests his head in the crook of your neck. “I regret it.”

“I don’t. Things happen when they happen.” You run your fingers through the tangled, silvery strands of his hair. It’s soft just like him. He leans into your touch and hums appreciatively. “I’m glad it happened when it did.”

“I’m glad I could say it. It would’ve eaten me alive if I’d left without telling you.”

“And are you still afraid?”

Azul places his hand over yours. “No, not anymore. The world ahead looks much clearer now.”

“Am I in it?”

He laughs. “More than that.”

“Oh?”

“You are my world.”

[roseykat]

TITLE: Barb Wired Brat

WC: 7.1k

MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Minho x female reader

WARNING: minors DNI, I post NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever. 

TAGS: BDSM, impact play, mean!Minho, pet names, spreader bars, restraints, degradation, edging, ruined orgasm, multiple orgasms, crying, swearing, unprotected sex, subspace, use of the word ‘slut’, use of a vibrator. 

SUMMARY: misbehaving and being a brat doesn’t get you anywhere with Minho. So he lets you know what the consequences are...

The conviction of telling someone what to do, bullying them in bed, or manhandling them, is a challenging aspect. Being hesitant or unsure is not a road Minho has or will ever walk down when it comes to BDSM. He's a soft yet relentless inflictor of pain. Not many people are able to walk the fine line between both. Most are either too soft or too harsh.

Minho was the pot of gold you found at the end of the rainbow in terms of a romantic partner and a decent dom. Someone who knows his stuff.

Establishing roles was always important. Ideally, Minho associates himself as a somewhat dominant person. However, that doesn’t waive the occasions where he’s allowed you to take control in vanilla situations. Every now and then, he would let you handcuff him to the bed and ride him until you forget your own name.

But that’s almost as far as it goes because when it comes to BDSM, you let him take the reins. Whilst you have a fair bit of knowledge about it thanks to experience and research, Minho’s experience is more reputable.

“Edging is just teasing, no?” You asked him one day - long before either of you began to incorporate any kinks or special play into the relationship.

Minho pondered for a second, “not necessarily. They’re both the same in the sense of it being deliberate, but edging requires a lot of control on the sub's behalf. It’s not easy.”

“Hmm.”

“Why do you ask?” Minho questioned back. “Did you want to try it?”

With a nod and firm yes, edging became one of the first, recurring activities in the bedroom alongside most aspects of BDSM. It was such an effective way for Minho to assert control whenever you were consensually willing to give that to him.

But there were some days when he would need to earn that control as a result of you simply just being an absolute brat.

Your methods of acting up in bed were intentional and deliberate. In those vanilla instances, Minho could have you ride him. However, not even a minute into being on top, you would start to complain about being too tired or that your knees were getting sore.

You would then just lie on top of his body with his cock still stuffed in you until he decided to start doing all the work. In the moment, it would drive him nuts to have to flip you over and rail you into oblivion himself.

However, Minho doesn’t hold it against you because he loves you so much, but there’s only so much of your bratty behaviour that Minho can absorb. After that, he is brutal and unforgiving, which is exactly what you’re reminded of the next time you and Minho are in bed together.  

With the usual pre-discussion before any scene, Minho listened to any aspects that you wanted him to cover and not to cover.

“Whatever you feel like,” you said to him.

Those words left him with a decent amount of space to incorporate what he desired, tying it in with the element of surprise.

The alignment was perfect given the fact that he wanted to put you in your place - to tune you up a bit and to remind you what happens when you decide to act up.

From there on, he wasn’t going to hold back.

“Clothes off,” Minho first instructs.

The act of stripping you himself is too personal and sensual for what he’s going for. Even before he starts to touch you, he wants to plant the idea in your head that this is a punishment and not a reward.

You know he enjoys removing each item of clothing from your body, whether it’s slow and gentle or frantically ripping them off like he’s going to die if he doesn’t fuck you.

Either way, you understood his stance even more when he didn’t bother to look at you as you undressed.

You discard your clothes onto the chair in the corner of the room then sit on the end of the bed, waiting for his next instructions.

Minho shakes his head, “on the floor.”

“The floor?” You question back in disbelief.

“Did I stutter?” He asks you.

Looking at Minho now, you can tell that he’s pissed and the scene hasn’t even started. But you can’t help but absorb how hot he looks when he gets like this in the bedroom.

“No,” you reply sheepishly. “I just thought we were on the bed because that’s where we usually do scenes.”

“No,” Minho puts it sternly once more. “What’s your colour?”

“Green,” you answer.

“Then why aren’t you on the floor already?”

Giving Minho full permission to order you around or use you as he pleases is an exciting aspect of not knowing what’s about to happen. It intensifies his natural streak of unpredictability.

Following his instruction, you hop off of the bed and kneel before him on the ground while he retrieves a couple of items he had hidden beside the bed.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with these by now,” he says, holding up two spreader bars, one in each hand.

‘Familiar’ doesn’t even come close to how well you know what they are. It was a certain type of loathing mixed with a sick enjoyment. The whole purpose of the bars is to simply keep your legs spread for the man who intends to fuck between them.

“It might be better if you lie on your stomach first so I can work my way up.”

You try to contain your questions and heed his order. A hiss leaves your mouth when the front of your body flattens over the cold, hard wooden floor with your arms slightly propping you up. Usually, scenes between you and Minho take place on a surface that provides at least the slightest amount of cushion like a bed, chair, or couch.

For you to be on the floor is almost a disregard for any source of comfort. You know it’ll probably end up hurting, but not to the point where you would have to safe word your way out of it.

Minho takes the first spreader bar and fits it just above your ankles using the pre-attached cuffs. Each one is secured tightly so that the bar now takes the ability away for you to try and bring your feet together.

The second spreader bar is fixed just below your knees. Minho doesn’t want them right over the bone of your kneecaps because it would create an unnecessary risk of injury.

At that stage, anywhere below your hips are practically immovable. There’s no chance of you being able to close your legs at any stage, but you’re still able to sit back on your heels.

“Right, now sit up for me,” Minho instructs, patting you on the arm with the back of his hand. “Might be easier that way to get into the position, otherwise it’ll hurt trying to move with these on.”

“What do you mean?” You look back at him.

“I want you face down, ass up so I can cuff your hands to the other cuffs on the spreader bar.”

Oh. It was that sort of position.

You peel yourself off the ground, propping up to walk your hands back until you’re kneeling. In the midst of preparing two other items, Minho’s gaze drops down to your tits. Your nipples had hardened stiff from resting on the cold floor.

“Cute,” he comments with a coy smile, making your face flush entirely with red. “Alright, face down, hands at your sides.”

The position feels objectively embarrassing, especially when your legs are spread and your ass is in the air. Although, that doesn’t stop you from moving for Minho, knowing he’s not in the mood for resistance.

“Good,” he says, readying the next set of restraints.

This time, he’s using individual leather cuffs with clips attached, one for each of your wrists. Your hands rest at your sides once Minho secured them. He then clips each of the wrist restraints to the outsides of the spreader bar cuffs below your knees. This way, your arms were bound to your legs, now limiting any movement from your upper body.  

Once the restraints are complete, Minho moves away to get a good look at you. He watches as you test the cuffs by trying to pull away from the sides of your knees. You don’t even bother to move your legs knowing full well that it’s impossible.

Suddenly, the tips of Minho’s fingers trail over your spine. It’s ticklish, but a subtle attempt to soothe you.

“You should be feeling some discomfort, but is there any unnecessary pinching around the restraints?” He questions.

“No,” you reply clearly.

“Okay. Colour?”

“Green.”

“Right, let’s start,” Minho replies and begins to unbuckle his belt.

At first, you thought he was getting ready to fuck you, but it was far too early in the scene. There hasn’t been any foreplay or prep. It wasn’t until he folded the belt in half to use as a makeshift impact toy that you understood the message.

The black leather band wasn’t entirely that thick in width which meant it was going to sting rather than feel like a ‘thud’. Out of both sensations that you’ve experienced, the stinging can sometimes hurt to a point where it’s blinding.

Unfortunately for you, when it comes to impact play, Minho doesn’t hold back and shows very little remorse. He manages to demonstrate that with the first whip of his belt which came out of nowhere. You gasp at the sudden contact, already embracing the emulsifying heat that the first sting brings.

The next hit came from his hand, smacking hard and fast that your body involuntarily jolts.

“Fuck,” you swallow, bracing yourself for more hits.

Minho never mentioned how many you were going to take which he omitted just to torture you. If he had given you a specific number, it would eliminate the anticipation of the activity ending. To an extent, he wants you to suffer - to not know what’s coming next.

Over the same area where his hand slapped came the belt, forcing a set of curse words out of you. Heat spreads like wildfire throughout your lower half while your brain is confused by how much the impact hurts and how much you adorn it. The dilemma arises every time a hit lands hard on your ass.

With each whack or spank comes a fresh sting and a new handprint. It almost feels as if your skin is burning.

“Mhmm, fuck!” You scream out, attempting to kick your legs.

Minho clicks his tongue, “I should’ve gagged you.”

There’s nowhere for the pain to disburse except the isolated area Minho’s hand keeps making contact with. All of a sudden, he gropes one cheek and squeezes ruthlessly.

“Minho! Fuck, please, please, please!” You cry out desperately, your hands bunching into fists at your sides.

He glares down at you while you try to squirm under his grip, “what are you saying ‘please’ for? What do you want?”

“It…it hurts a lot,” you sob and groan. “I can’t…”

“Colour?”

Your brain stalls at his question. Minho trusts that if you’re uncomfortable at any stage throughout the scene, you would say either ‘yellow’ to slow down or ‘red’ to stop completely.

“Colour?” He repeats.

“I…g-green,” you convey clearly to him.

Even though you don’t see it, he’s smirking. Amidst all the pain he’s inflicting, no matter how much it hurts, deep down, you love it. Minho knows it too.

He lets out a haughty chuckle, “what a pain slut.”

His hand finally releases from your cheek and whilst you think you have time to breathe, Minho’s fingers glide between your wet folds. Up and down, he gathers your juices, deliberately teasing your pussy.

“You know how I can tell that you like it so much?” Minho asks in a soft tone.

His hand retracts, fingers slick and gleaming. He then proceeds to show just how wet you are by holding his hand up so that you can see from the angle you’re in.

That’s when you realise what the answer is…

“Because it makes you this wet. Doesn’t it?”

Too flustered and embarrassed to answer, all you could do was hum as a response. Unsatisfied with your lack of a proper answer, Minho goes back to squeezing one of your ass cheeks again making you yelp and shake.

“I didn’t catch that,” he taunts.

“Y-Yes!” You cry out, tremoring hopelessly under his grip.

“I thought as much,” he hisses and removes his hand, leaving you with more dull and dense pain to absorb. “You’ll take some more hits and if you take them well, maybe I’ll consider letting you come.”  

‘Maybe’ is never a promising word, but Minho always follows through with his convictions if you behave. Today he just doesn’t seem like he wants to put up with any disobedience.

To yank you out of your thoughts, Minho's hand pelts down hard once. Even though you’re expecting each hit, your body can’t help but jolt on every single one. By the unknown number of hits you start taking, the pain is there but it’s also not.

This effect has happened before. It’s not mostly that you know when it occurs during a scene, but it’s almost always during impact play.

Minho takes advantage of the infernal masochist in you, giving you so many hits to take that it makes your brain slip. It’s his ultimate catalyst to send you flying into subspace. But he doesn’t want you there just yet.

“Oi,” he warns, narrowing his eyes down at you to take in your distant expression. “Don’t start floating now, I want you to feel everything I’m about to do to you.”

The final set of impacts was the hardest you’ve had to take. Your ass is sore, stained red and tinged purple. There’s a twisted part of Minho’s brain that relishes in looking at the work he’s made out of it.

Seeing his reddish handprints over your ass makes his cock twitch. He then blinks down to the tent in his pants and sighs. At the moment, being hard was an inconvenience.

Then again, this was all his own doing. Allowing himself to be affected by the way you react to his actions drives him insane. You take it so well that there’s no need for him to be mean.

Deep down, he wants you to act up, not listen, or be disobedient. If that were the case, it’d give him even more of an excuse to be hard and fuck you dizzy.

Regardless, he’ll still do it.

Minho folds into irrationality, “you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

You can barely look back at him but you can hear what’s going on behind you when his zipper comes down. Minho gets a hand around his dick once it’s finally free. He glides the tip between your wet folds, causing your entire body to shudder.

The thickness and length of his dick filling you out causes your brain to short circuit - so much that all you can do is hiss and moan.

“That’s it,” Minho breathes out, eyes watching his cock gradually disappear right in you. “Fucking take it all.”

With a couple of slow and steady strokes, he deliberately takes his time pushing in and dragging out, forcing you to feel every inch he gives. It’s tortuously slow but gives you some time to adjust to his length.

To test the waters a bit, Minho snaps his hips forward, driving an emphatic moan out of you. He pulls back then thrusts in again, harder, as a precursor to establish that at a consistent pace.

“Feel’s so fucking good,” Minho says through gritted teeth.

The satisfaction of it alone is enough for him to use both his hands to grope your ass. He kneads the flesh like he’s massaging it, then will suddenly squeeze so hard that it has you screaming and whining until tears prick your eyes.

His hand would relentlessly smack down on your ass every once in a while just to feel you involuntarily clench around him with each hit.

“Right…right there, yes fuck!” You cry out, fingernails digging into your palms.

Minho scoffs and rams his hips forward again in the hopes you’ll shut your mouth. The intention was clear to you, but you can’t help it when he gives it to you so well.

It’s exciting and eventful, especially when you feel like you’re about to go over the edge of an orgasm.

In that instance, Minho will usually use your face as an indicator of when you’re about to start coming. He’s used to seeing your eyes roll back or see your mouth part open even when no sound comes out. Even though your face is not in his view, he can still physically tell.

Since he’s stuffed you full with his cock, you’ve progressively gotten wetter over the minutes. Then having gone from moaning and calling out his name, you’re starting to go quiet on him.

As the knot tightening in the pit of your tummy begins to unravel, your eyes flash wide open. You suck in a large gasp of air just before you’re about to come, which is when Minho pulls out immediately.

There’s nothing for you to squeeze around as your body involuntarily convulses with zero pleasure. It slips through your fingers as you try to chase that earth-shattering feeling.  

“No…no, no, wait!” You sob while your hands shake.

From behind, Minho chuckles meanly and doesn’t say a word. He slides his cock into you once more, filling you back out with very little satisfaction coupled with it. The eye rolling sensation when he’s stuffed you to the hilt is absent. Every ounce of pleasure has escaped.

Minho thrusts into you once, twice, several times before he speaks again, “that was for talking back to me earlier and thinking you could get away with it.”

Tears slowly roll down the side of your face and onto the floor. Despite this, there wasn’t a second that went by where you thought about stopping.

Crying isn’t uncommon in the bedroom. For you, it stems from being so viciously overwhelmed by pain and pleasure that your body doesn’t know how to react to the intensity. Not to mention the frustration of having a sterling orgasm ruined in a matter of seconds.

Determined to be good for Minho, you continue to let him use you until his hips start to jump out of rhythm. It’s torture for him to hold back when all he wants is to bust a hot load inside of you. He knows it’s something you ask for at any given moment the two of you start fucking.  

However, Minho didn’t want to stray away from the purpose of the scene; putting you in your place. He’s not going to give you what you want until he’s satisfied that you genuinely deserve it.

As Minho rides the verge of an orgasm, he pulls out at the last second and comes over your ass with a few grunts and some swear words. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as coming inside you, but this wasn’t all about him.

For now, at least, he can admire the gorgeous mess he’s made on your skin - how it’s marked up as patches of deep red, and strings of glossy white.

“I’m going to help move you so that you’re kneeling okay?”

When Minho’s mind clears, he tucks himself back into his pants and helps lift you up with a bit of momentum. Once you’re upright and kneeling back on your heels, Minho spots your tears.

He crouches down to your level too, his face inches away from yours. He absorbs how ruined and dishevelled you are; red cheeks, tear stained face, and visibly spaced out.

“This is the only time I like seeing you cry,” Minho whispers against your wet lips.

His hand trails up to your throat, fingers ever so gently squeezing around the sides of your neck as he goes in to kiss you. You feel his tongue, and the wet heat of his mouth, all of which make you feel drunk.

Your hands want to touch him so badly, to feel his skin, muscles, everything. But the restraints on your wrists make it patently clear that you’re not allowed.

If Minho could hear your thoughts, he’d say you were being greedy. He’s already letting you be kissed by him and that’s more than enough based on what he thinks you deserve.

But out of nowhere, he rises from the floor, leaving you to try and chase after his lips. He walks over to the edge of the bed and returns with a vibrator.

Seeing that toy in his hand already has you whimpering in a way that makes him grin. You can see where this is going and it brings back the many sexual adventures he’s had with you whenever he incorporates some sort of apparatus that can make you cum your brains out.

“You’re dripping on the floor,” Minho alludes to the space between your legs and the ground.

Not that you can see it, but you undoubtedly believe him.

Usually, your first instinct is to cower and blush at an embarrassing remark like that. But it has you flustered for the wrong reasons and it’s all because Minho has shoved you into a frame of mind where you’ve lost all shame and dignity.

You’re dripping onto the floor because you can’t help it. All the welcoming pain he’s inflicted so far has fashioned into an uncontrollable reaction. That reaction is something Minho feeds off of. It makes him manic seeing the sweet results of his actions.

“This is what’s going to happen,” he starts, ignoring his excited nerves on the inside. “You’re going to tell me when you’re about to come. If you don’t, the scene ends. Got it?”

Even as spaced out as you were, his instructions were very simple. But it was a lot easier said than done and the unsure look on your face proved it.

The problem was that you could barely keep yourself from not being able to come when Minho was fucking you. Being edged with a vibrator will require just as much self-restraint if not more.  

“Wait, I-I don’t know if I can,” you mumble to him, barely able to blink.

“Is that so?” He asks, looking you dead straight in the eye. “Colour?”

There he goes again - reminding you with a simple question that no matter how many times you contradict yourself, Minho knows your best interests. At the same time, he needs to ask just in case you actually can’t continue the rest of the scene.

“Green.”

He chuckles to himself and goes to sit cross-legged in front of you, “stop doubting yourself kitten.”

Your breathing has already doubled in pace and gets even quicker when Minho turns the vibrator on and holds it against your clit. Your body seizes instantly on its impact, mouth pursed together to try and suppress your moans.

“There you go,” Minho exasperates breathily, watching your contorted expressions. “Look at that. I bet that feels good doesn’t it?”

You nod. It’s all you can do. The task of trying not to come takes up far more of your attention than attempting to answer a basic question. Minho understands that, but he’s not compassionate enough today to let it slide.

So he cranks up the setting on the vibrator to the highest level. Your mouth finally pries open, whimpering Minho’s name repeatedly and panting like you’re about to run out of air. The speed of the toy makes your hips jolt and buck even though there’s no room to fully move.

“Gonna…I’m gonna come,” you warn, eyes fluttering as the sensation between your legs intensifies.

Minho chooses not to listen and continues to hold the vibrator against your clit.

“P-Please, I’m almost...”

Your head tips back, chest heaving as your orgasm approaches before its highest peak.

“Minho please!”

Within a split second, the vibrator is gone and your body startles from the sudden lack of pleasure. Still profoundly dishevelled, your head lifts back up to glare right into Minho’s eyes.

“What?” He asks. “Did you really think I was going to let you cum? I don’t think you deserve to at this point.”

Even though Minho wasn’t explicitly clear that he was going to do it, you knew that was the moment when he started an edging session. In his mind, overstimulation would be counterproductive for you – a person who has been misbehaving a lot and shouldn’t get what they want for the time being.  

Before going back in with the vibrator, Minho begins to extend your limits. He reaches out for your nipple, pinching and rolling the nub between his finger and thumb. It makes you want to twist and turn, but with your hands bound to the sides of your knees, it’s difficult to get the movement you want.

Absorbing the contorted expressions on your face, he bathes in the sounds that come from your mouth. How your moans sound so aspirated and breathy then loud when the vibrator comes in contact with you for the second time.

There’s no preparation for the assault that toy has.

Your eyes squeeze shut in determination to eliminate any sort of pleasure inside you before it starts. Diverting an orgasm is no walk in the park and it gradually becomes more difficult. The first ‘edge’ Minho bought you to already chipped away at a significant portion of your energy. It was almost hard to grasp what you were going to be left with by the time he’s done with you.

As the vibrations rattle through the most sensitive parts of your body, Minho still doesn’t let up on your nipples, only switching to the other for more attention.

“You’re gonna be good and tell me when you’re about to come, right?” Minho assumes. “Don’t wanna disappoint me do you?”

You shake your head and swallow, “n-no.”

Seeing you become more obedient makes him smirk but also melt inside. It’s compelling enough to make him release your nipple from his fingers and use that hand to slink behind your neck.

His face closes the space towards yours, lips reaching you first. It was an odd contrast to the fact that he was being mean and had you bent over, spanked, and fucked.

Now he was being gentle.

Although, it’s no shock or surprise at how sensual Minho can be. It was the thin line between the two main shades of his personality at play.

Despite his soft touch and his tongue in your mouth, the pleasure growing inside was hard to ignore. Even though you wanted to keep kissing him, you were also under the instruction to tell him when you were about to come.

Being wordless wasn’t a hindrance for the man who’s fucked you an undisclosed amount of times. He knows your body - particularly the responses it gives when you’re being worked up.

Your breathing is jumpy and staggered. You’re moaning into and against his mouth, so much that he can feel the vibrations throughout his upper body. Just as your head tips back again, Minho catches your bottom lip and bites down.

Another loud moan escapes from your mouth just as you were about to come until Minho rips the vibrator away and leaves you shuddering.

“That was close wasn’t it?” He asks you with a small smile. His words almost made his soft and gentle nature look like a complete sham.

You jolt once more at the feel of the vibrator press once more to your sensitive clit. Already at this point, your body is so overstimulated that you think it’s impossible to build more pleasure. Every nerve inside you is on end as the euphoria escalates higher this time - greater than what you’ve felt at any point tonight.

The third ‘edge’ turned into the seventh, which turned into the twelfth, and landed you around in the twenties. Somewhere along the way, you had given up full control to Minho.  

He had succeeded in getting you to a point where you would begin to subconsciously obey him. Each time he would hold the vibrator to your clit and build you up to an orgasm, all you were capable of doing was muttering the word ‘coming’. After that, he’d pull his hand away, praise you, and wait until that orgasm dissolved before going back in.

It was repetitive - to the extent that Minho gave up tallying the many times he was edging you.

“You’re doing good for me,” he praises with a satisfied smile. “You like it so much don’t you?”

Regardless of whether he was going to extract an answer out of you at this stage, he can’t help but feel excited when you’re unable to speak. It means you’re past the verge of mindlessness - all the control you sought to harbour from him was wilfully given up.

To add to the torture, Minho would switch up the speed of vibrations every now and then. If he used the highest setting, your orgasm would build quicker before he pulls away. If he used the lowest setting, it would take longer to reach and harder to chase.

Both of these methods have you completely dazed and turned your brain into liquid. You make inaudible noises, ones that Minho finds interesting yet adorable. He’s completely stripped you back to an incoherent mess.

“Do you want to come?” Minho asks, watching you look up at him with tears in your eyes and a glazed expression. “Should I even let you come?”

Sentences are too complex for you let alone to be able to comprehend the question as your head lolls to the side. It’s impossible to simply answer while simultaneously trying to restrict yourself from coming. The latter is the one that sucks the most energy out of you and has been since Minho pulled that vibrator out.

But he sits on the idea of wanting to be merciful or absolutely brutal by not allowing you to come. Even though he was pushing the thirty minute mark of edging you to the point where you can’t speak or think, he was only half satisfied that you deserved it.

“You’ve been acting up quite a bit lately,” Minho reminds you. “Always getting me to do the work in bed, misbehaving, talking back to me…”

Your jaw is slack, still, no words come out. Instead, Minho continues to do all the talking while you try not to come without his command.

“I think you need to learn another lesson. If I don’t give you what you want, you’ll be good. But there’s always the risk that you’ll play up again,” Minho says, turning the vibrators’ speed up one notch. “Still, you’ve been good to me this evening and I want to reward your behaviour. What do you think I should do?”

“M-Min…I’m…”

They’re the only two words you’ve been able to say within the past half an hour. Minho knows you’re on the verge of coming if you start talking, and yet, he doesn’t do anything to stop you. He wants to test you, to assess how good you really are to him.

Before you start fumbling with more words again, your orgasm approaches its peak and by that time, it’s too late. Minho doesn’t even say anything about allowing you to come, you just do it regardless.

A couple of more tears roll down your face when you feel like you’re about to burst from the pressure in the pit of your stomach. None of what had been initiated an hour ago was anything short of overwhelming and all it does is continuously building aggressively.

Unable to keep up with the toy that’s pressed firmly against your clit, all you do is succumb to an out of body experience. Your head tips forward, chest heaving as your legs begin to shake in the restraints.

Minho lets out a conceited chuckle of disbelief, watching you cum over the vibrator. Whilst he appears rather annoyed that you didn’t listen to him, he cannot deny how amazing it is to see you orgasm so incredibly hard.

He revels while watching you lose your mind to the toy. This time, the ball of pleasure that has been growing exponentially doesn’t stop for anything. It makes for a blinding orgasm.

Spreading in surges and surges of pleasure, your body tremors at each one. Minho watches you while he’s completely dazed by how hard you’re actually coming. He can only stare as your orgasm shreds throughout every cell in your body until you’ve gone limp.

“Well, guess that answered that then,” he scoffs rather condescendingly then turns the vibrator off for the first time.

Since the low hum and buzz of the toy is no longer in his ears, Minho can now fully hear all of the tiny noises you’ve been making. He can hear you breathing heavily in staggers, the small, strained whines, and yet the one thing he can’t hear is you struggling against the restraints anymore.

You’ve just completely given up on trying to break free as if you have genuinely begun to enjoy the idea of not being able to move as you please.

That thought alone sends a reminder down to Minho’s now fully hard dick again. Now that you’ve unintentionally made him hard again, he wants to get his use out of this session to cum once more. This time, finally, inside of you.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Minho growls in your ear.  

Before you know it, he’s lowering you carefully back down into the first position he secured you in, with your face down on the floor and your ass in the air.

The mess he made on you earlier was still there. Seeing it makes him sick with excitement now knowing he can do the same but inside of you. With that, Minho then frees his cock once more, rubbing the tip in between your wet folds. He pushes into your hole with ease, slicking his dick faster than he could imagine.

A sigh of relief leaves his mouth when he feels that velvety heat enclosed around him. It’s only come to his attention now just how achingly hard he is. As for you, you’re just floating absentmindedly, content with a warm fuzzy feeling inside of you as you swim around in a post-orgasmic haze.

When Minho begins to fuck you again, his ears drink up the wet sounds from in between your legs and the small whines that leave your mouth. He realises how much he enjoys it when his nails start digging into the flesh of your hips, screwing his eyes shut as he tries not to come early.

Minho just wants to be buried inside of you forever.

To top things off for him, he can feel you clenching around him. He knows for a fact that it’s not intentional because you’re in no headspace to even think right now. It then dawns on him that you’re having another orgasm.

“You’re coming again?” Minho questions in a degrading tone of voice.

Still, you can’t answer.

He chuckles deviously, almost like he’s gone mad as he keeps fucking you hard from behind, “such a slut. I already made you come once and now you’re going to come again?

Without giving a verbal answer, Minho can feel, see, and hear your actual response. The result of his cock repeatedly hitting the same sweet spot inside you has your eyes rolling back and ultimately makes you squirt.

Trembling uncontrollably once more, your walls are spasming around Minho’s dick while dripping constantly on the wooden floor.

“Holy shit,” he exasperates. “Baby.”

It’s the first time he’s made you squirt, and it takes him so much by surprise that he has to slide out of you and see the mess he helped you create. If Minho had his phone on him, he would’ve - without a doubt, taken a photo. Unfortunately, he was only able to do with a mental image, one that’s now permanently ingrained in his brain.

Rabid with excitement, Minho now knows what he needs to do next time.

He loses sight of his authority for a split second after getting too caught up in what just happened. With a shaky hand, he realigns himself with your entrance and glides back in effortlessly with a string of moans that leave his mouth.

“So fucking good for me,” Minho rasps, snapping his forward.

He gets himself into a steady, forceful rhythm and tries to drag out fucking you for as long as he can hold off. It’s difficult for him to not come when you’re so pliant and fucked out. Before he knows it, Minho is clawing into your skin again, coming hard that it causes his vision go slightly splotchy.

For a few moments, he slows his thrusts and allows his breathing to steady. To help ease himself back to earth, he continues to drag his cock in and out of your wet pussy. It was mind blowing for him just as it was for you. Minho then pulls out and observes you one final time.

The wet mess on the floor, on your ass, the way that you’re still dripping wet, the redness over your skin from his hands and belt earlier, how you’re bound on the floor - it could all easily make him hard a third time.

He almost feels high as a result, but he’s also reminded that he needs to move quickly - to get you out of your restraints. Minho unhooks all the cuffs and swiftly takes away the spreader bars before bringing you between his legs as you both rest against the bed, still on the floor.

The mess nearby doesn’t bother him at this stage. Right now, his focus is solely on you. Ensuring that you know he’s there even when you’re on cloud nine still is important. It’s the least he can do to ensure that you don’t go plummeting into subdrop - the worst possible outcome to subspace.

Coming down from two orgasms on such a large scale can be jarring if there’s no aftercare.

“Good girl,” Minho whispers in your ear, hoping that it’ll reach your mind that’s floating elsewhere. “You did so well for me baby.”

His arms have wrapped themselves around your body as he soothes you with gentle words of praise. From the mirror across the room, he can see how spaced out you look now. The frontal view of your body grants Minho to see just how yielding you are.

How vulnerable your body is to him right now.

His right hand lies across your abdomen while his left hand slowly makes its way down to your oversensitive clit. A small, strained whine escapes your mouth and like some sort of conditioned behaviour, your legs seem to slowly pry themselves further open.

Minho smirks. He seriously can’t get enough of you. If he hadn’t of fucked you already, he would’ve come untouched just seeing you so obedient.

“The things you do to me,” he whispers against the back of your shoulder.

Minho watches his fingers in the mirror and begins to wonder if they have minds of their own. They travel down slightly past your sensitive clit to the cum that has been leaking out of you. The pads of his fingers collect what’s of it, only to bring it back up to your clit, caressing and massaging around and over the nub.

Your reactions are subtle but effective for Minho to pick up on. He can tell that his fingers must feel different in comparison to the vibrator. They’re more attentive and soft which makes the sensation between your legs even greater and gets you over the edge quicker than ever.

“That’s it baby,” Minho encourages. “One more for me.”  

His eyes never leave the mirror - never leave from where his fingers are until he makes you tremble and come once more. Moans continue to lodge in your throat as Minho helps you ride out your high until every ounce of energy within you is spent.

Within the next twenty minutes, you are blissfully floating. It takes you a while to come down from such an intense session that by the end of it, you're left wondering how you have damp hair, a fresh pair of comfy clothes on, and now back on the bed.

Minho, who is sitting on the edge of the mattress, has been rubbing moisturising lotion onto your legs - especiallywhere your knees are. Next to him on the bed is a towel with a couple of ice packs for what you only can assume is for the tenderness that has started to emerge.

The aching around those areas was a reminder that you spent quite some time on the ground. Not to mention the restraints…

“Hi baby,” Minho says quietly, studying your tired face.

“Hi,” You reply, too exhausted to even move. “How long was I out for?”

He twists the lid back on the tub of lotion and sets it on the bedside table. He then grabs the towel and places it over both of your knees followed by an ice pack on each one.

“Not long. Ten minutes after we showered. You can go back to sleep if you want?” He replies.

You shake your head, “no it’s okay, I just want to see you.”

He smiles softly then scoots up the bed a bit to get closer to you, “how are you feeling?”

“Mm, good,” you hum. “A bit like jelly though.”

Minho chuckles, feeling a bit of guilt there, “yeah I’m not surprised. That would’ve taken a lot out of you.”

“I loved every bit of it though,” you reassure him.

The last thing you want is to place doubt in his mind about what he’s doing in the bedroom. Then again, Minho trusts you enough for you to go to him if there’s something you’re not comfortable with, and vice versa.

“Judging by how hard you actually came, I’m not surprised,” he says, which earns him a playful smack to his arm by you.

“Quiet,” you reply sarcastically. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“It was hot,” he replies, ignoring what you think about it. “So hot that I wanted to record it.”

“Maybe you should’ve…”

“We’ll discuss it next time,” Minho says then leans and meets your lips. He kisses you so softly and tenderly before coming back up. “For now, just rest as much as you need to. I’m ordering dinner then we can eat together while watching a movie.”

“Sounds perfect.”

-

A/N: Omg what is thisssss. Sometimes I surprise myself with some of the stuff that I wrote, but anyway, please enjoy. I really want to write another piece similar to this except the reader goes into subdrop. I’m not too sure if anyone will be interested in that but if anyone is, please let me know and I’ll write something up lol

Note: I strictly do not permit any copying, editing, rewriting or remakes of my work nor do I allow them to be uploaded to any other site or social media platform. Tumblr is the only site I use to post this type of content so if you see it elsewhere, then it has been stolen. 

[cosmicstarlatte]

Devil-Mart ⭐ (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

You got hired at mega retailer, Devil-Mart⭐. Naturally, the guys "suddenly" need a job too and start working alongside you.

»Characters: Demon Bros + Bonus Dia and Barb

»Tags: Humor, Bulleted Style fic, Gender Neutral Reader/MC

»Notes: How about shopping with them?-> [Devil-Mart: Shopping]

Lucifer:

"...Mammon put us in debt this month."

Was worried you'd be bullied (or eaten) surrounded by demons/other monsters

Is that coworker who acts like a boss

Actually does make it to management within the first week

The customer isn't always right. He's the manager to call for rude customers

Actually likes stocking, finds neat aisles soothing

The home improvement dept is his favorite

Frequently makes sure you take all your breaks

Doubles as store security if needed

Mammon:

"I just needed extra cash alright?"

Was worried you'd fall for some other demon

Failed in all departments except online orders (he's very fast!)

Bags for orders would occasionally go missing

Took extra long breaks but Lucifer caught on and wrote him up

Would try to frequently visit you in your department

Started fights with other workers who were busier staring at you than their work

"They're not meat, beat it!"

Got fired for trying to steal electronics

Levi:

"Theres a lot of new merch releases coming up soon!"

Didn't want to be the only one left out so he applied...plus you won't see him anymore!

Electronics department ONLY

You won't find him cross trained anywhere else, he refuses

Is actually really good with upselling

Can be aggressive if you don't go with his recommendations

Has received a few complaints for that reason

Tries to match his breaks with you since that's the only time he really gets to see you

Was the one who tattled on Mammon

Satan:

"This is for research."

A lie he almost believes but knows he just wants to be near you

Works the same department as you so you see each other all day

Never put him on registers or customer service

Almost got into a fight on the first day

Retail is rough for him but he does it for you

Complains to Demon Resources about Lucifer daily

Asmo:

"Ugh...a job!? I'm gonna cry. Oh but my fans would love if I relate to them! And your job will be fun with me there!"

Upfront about his reason lol

Refused to do anything except customer service

Just stands back and talks to customers while the coworker alongside him completes any transactions

Makes DevilToks on the clock

Frequently leaves his spot to talk to you and Satan

Gets all the work gossip

Lucifer never catches on

"You know, this isn't so bad! I'm such a good worker right!?"

Gets employee of the month

Beel:

"I don't like the thought of you surrounded by demons alone. This isn't RAD."

Aalajffkslsjda the cutest honest protector

Is cross trained everywhere but

Never put him near grocery ever again

Likes to work with you if he gets the chance

Usually works in the backroom unloading and back stocking things

Has a doctors note that let's him take frequent breaks for eating

His favorite department overall is security because Lucifer gives him extra treats if he prevents high valued thefts

Belphie:

"I'm here because I have things I would like to have."

Is there an extra meaning to that?

Works in the back with Beel usually

Takes frequent naps in hidden areas of the backroom

Pretends to look busy if Lucifer is around

Also complains to Demon Resources about Lucifer daily

Fights with Levi on your breaks because he also wants to spend time with you when he can

Is the reason some coworkers don't approach you

He makes it known to not fuck with you

Diavolo heard you started a new job alongside the brothers! He goes to visit with Barbatos in tow.

Diavolo:

"Can I get a little help here?"

Flirts with you while on the clock. He thinks the red vest on you is cute!

Was wowed by the store in general

(Normally Barbatos does the shopping alone)

Liked sampling the food that was around the store

Was tempted to apply but Barbatos shut it down

Took a photo of Lucifer in his manager clothes

Barbatos:

"Seeing you here will make my shopping trips more enjoyable."

Praises your work

Did have to go to customer service to complain and ran into Asmo

Didn't believe Asmo was gonna clean the restrooms but at least the complaint was taken

Takes a survey and compliments you

Has to fight Dia to get him off the racecar cart

"It's for parents with children my lord."

Returns the cart to the cart corral like an upstanding citizen

My first bulleted story post lol. I had fun with this & hope to make more in the future. <3

⬦You might also like: Coconut︱Mexican Restaurant︱Waffle House︱You ARE The Father

[lyricswrittenbythesecretdreamer]

Haunted Pt 2

Hi everyone! Thanks so much for the fantastic reception on Part 1, it really made me want to write some more to this little story! Here's Part 2, I hope you enjoy it as much as the last one.

Summary: Reader remembers a party she was at, and the Ghoul causes trouble in a saloon.

“Are you enjoying the party?”   

I looked over to my left to see Barb Howard approaching me. She was completely impeccable – her dark skin was glowing, and she had the best-looking hair in the room. Her dress was a beautiful peach colour, and she had a string of pearls around her neck that were probably worth more than all the alcohol spilling at the party. Beside her, I felt ever so slightly dull.   

“Oh, me and Jackie are having such a good time,” I nodded towards the toilets, “he’s currently taking a bathroom break.”   

I felt the need to accentuate my husband’s appearance next to Barb, and I breathed a sigh of relief when Jackie appeared from the toilet and smiled widely at us.   

“Barb, this is a spectacular event. You lot at Vault-Tec certainly know how to throw a party!” he laughed, and I felt a wave of jealousy come over me as she laughed alongside him. Jackie was so good at this – talking to people he barely knew, making them feel like he really cared about them even if he didn’t give a whatsits. “Me and my wife here barely get a chance to go out together at the minute, this filming is taking awfully long.”   

I noticed he winced as he said this, and Barb’s face fell ever so slightly. The one thing we’d both agreed not to mention tonight was the film because we knew I was already on Barb’s bad side after she’d seen The Man from Calabasas. I’d never taken her as a jealous type, but after the premier had finished, Barb had become immediately cold towards me. Her irritation at my presence got worse with Under the Covers, and this one we were currently shooting often had visits to set from Cooper’s wife, who apparently was under the impression I was screwing her husband.   

Not even my marriage had convinced her otherwise and she’d been invited to the wedding.  

“Well, you and I are both feeling the loneliness from our spouses’ schedules, although Cooper’s is most definitely busier.”   

I sucked in a deep breath at her veiled insult, but Jackie just put his hand on the small of my back and pointed to the corner.   

“Look, darling, there’s Charlie,” he smiled politely at Barb, and she forced one back at us. “my apologies, Mrs Howard, but I think we’re being waved over.”   

We walked away from her, and Jackie let out an unhappy sigh.   

“God, you’d think that you’d be flirting with that woman’s husband off-camera with the way she acts towards you.”   

“I barely flirt with him on camera, darling.” I chuckled, and he took me in his arms, placed his hands on my waist and kissed me deeply.  

“I love you, darling.” He said softly, and I smiled back, feeling myself getting lost in his gaze.  

“I love you too, Jackie,” I replied, “I love you very much.”   

***  

“Earth to Little Miss Ryder, are you even fuckin’ listening to me?”   

I turned to the Ghoul, who was waving a gloved hand in my face. I jumped slightly and sent him an uneasy nod. We were walking past the remains of what seemed to be a forest, with trees that were coming back stronger than they’d grown before. Walking along the treeline gave us a bit of shade from the burning sun, but the Ghoul had been shifty since we’d left the hut that morning, looking in every direction at once as if something was going to appear all at once out of nowhere.  

“Yeah, sorry. Just got distracted thinking about someone. I mean, something.”   

“Well, you better keep fuckin’ focused 'cause I think I can see what passed that hut last night.” He gestured in front of me, and I gasped as I saw what he meant.   

Up in the distance, shuffling around aimlessly, was another ghoul.   

“Has it seen us?” I whispered, but he shook his head.   

“Nah, I don’t think so,” he hissed back, “but we’re gonna have to pass it at some point, and it’s definitely feral.”   

In front of us, the feral ghoul began to turn towards us and suddenly I was being pulled behind a tree. He pulled out his gun and gestured for me to do the same.   

“Hey, uh, I should probably have asked you this before, but what’s your name? I don’t want to go ‘hey ghoulie’ and have you both turn to look at me.”   

“I don’t have one.”   

“What do you mean you don’t have one?”   

“I. Don’t. Have. One. Okay?”   

“Everyone has a name!”   

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just call me Sherrif!” he spat out, before leaping out behind the tree and shooting the feral in the head.   

“What kind of a fuckin’ name is Sherrif?” I almost laugh at the implications – this fucking Ghoul, who dressed like a cowboy with a secret love of Westerns wanted to be called Sherrif?   

“It’s my fuckin’ name, Missy.”   

“No, it ain’t.”   

“Yes, it is.”   

The feral currently on the floor began to move again, but Sherrif shot it again, still glaring at me.   

“It’s a fucking stupid name – makes you sound like a dog.”   

He lunged at me – grabbed onto my neck and shoved me against the tree we’d just been hiding behind.   

“Maybe I just am a dog, Missy. I certainly seem to be followin’ you around like one.”  

“Yeah, that’s what I’m fuckin’ paying you for, Sherrif,” He let out an irritated huff, and let me go, adjusting his belt.   

“Never meet your fuckin’ heroes,” he sighed and shook his head. I only let out another laugh and shrugged.   

“I was never the hero, Sherrif. I was the always the damsel in distress, gettin’ tied up by some evildoer and Coop’s character would have to rescue me.”   

“You were pretty fuckin’ fiesty for a damsel in distress.”   

“Only ‘cause the old perverts that liked watching Coop’s pictures liked to see a woman’s titties jiggle as she fought off the evil outlaw.”  

Walking away from the scene, the bounty hunter Ghoul became talkative in a way he hadn’t been before last night.   

“What was it like actin’ alongside the infamous Cooper Howard?” I raised my eyebrows at him, but he only shrugged. “I’m just interested to know if he was a fuckin’ arsehole like actors usually are.”   

“What do you know about actors, Sherrif?”   

“Been around a long time, I suppose.”   

“I can fuckin’ believe that one,” he shot me a dirty look, but I only grinned, “anyway, Coop was actually a pretty nice guy, for the most part. Though it is his fuckin’ fault I’m out here and not sittin’ pretty in a vault with my husband.”   

“The vaults aren’t all they were cracked up to be,” the Sherrif grimaced, and adjusted his hat, “you’re probably better off out here.”   

“You might be right, to be fair. But if I saw him walkin’ ‘round today, I’d sock him right on the mouth.”   

“Haven’t you done that before anyway?” I roll my eyes at his attempt at a joke, but I can’t help but smile.   

“We were acting.”   

“Were you?”   

“Of course I was!” I slap him on the arm, and he grins down at me. For a second, I’m not in the wasteland – I’m back on set with Cooper and Jackie or Greg and we’re just laughing about some dumb shit on the script. Then the wasteland appears before us again and I’m no longer home.   

***  

The next settlement we arrived at was substantial but quiet. The people there didn’t seem scared of us as we dragged ourselves to the watering hole, but there was a look in their eyes like you’d see in a prey animal. We handed over a few caps to the bartender in exchange for a drink and some directions to somewhere to kip for the night.   

“Jus’ head over to Mister J’s place. It’s on the high street, opposite the junk shop. Can’t miss it.”   

“Thank you kindly, sir,” I said, turning back to face the Sherrif. He was looking around us with a hint of suspicion on his face, and I handed him his drink. “what’s up, Sherrif? Does this saloon reek of outlaw or somethin’?”   

The Sherrif grunted but nodded all the same.   

“Somethin’ like that, little Missy. Somethin’ ain’t right here.”   

We hadn’t been sitting in the bar long before that something walked right in, a rather substantial gun in his hand and a crazed look in his red-rimmed eyes. The bar went completely silent, and the ghoul next to me immediately put a hand on his own gun.  

So far, apart from the trouble with raiders and fiends and all that shit, we hadn’t faced a huge threat. But between the haunted looks of the settlement inhabitants, and the coked-up-looking man standing next to the bar, I was sure this was going to be trouble. It reminded me of a scene from Under the Covers, where I’d played a sultry young woman hiding a dark secret opposite Cooper’s detective and he’d got into a bar fight over a mafiosa’s wandering hands.   

I shook my head at the Sherrif, who seemed to be moments away from pulling out his gun and firing it at the coked-up crazy man before he decided to fire at anyone else. He frowned but shifted anyway and pulled his hat further over his face. The sudden intruder whispered something in the ear of the bartender, who had become very interested in the glass he’d been polishing. He put the glass down and poured the man a beer, before quickly going back to polishing his glasses.   

From where we were sat, I had a pretty good view of the dude – his red eyes, thick beard, the bloodied fist clenched around his beer glass. I looked back over at the Sherrif, whose eyes were trained on the gun in the man’s other bloodied hand.   

I made eye contact with the Sherrif and then looked over to the door. He seemed to get my meaning, and we were about to get up when the crazed man began to talk.   

“You got the caps for this month, Jim?” he asked, and the barman cowered, before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Sir, I haven’t been able to make the full amount since that shootout last month, I just need-”   

“So you don’t have my fucking caps, is that what you’re saying?”  

“No, Sir.”   

At this point, I could see that the barman was shaking, and the other man was holding up his gun, not quite pointing it, but holding it up as if he were inspecting it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Sherrif shift in his seat, and his hand returned to the pistol.   

“Well then, I guess I gotta give you a little more time then, eh? A little bit more time to make a few more caps, yeah?”   

“Yes Sir, please. I only need a couple more days.” I was almost certain that the barman was close to shitting himself, and I was beginning to panic that we would be next.  

I remembered men like these – men who would come into the brothel with their guns, pointing them at any whore who dared disobey.  

I remembered shooting a few of them.  

I watched, half in horror and half in dull apathy as the coked-up man raised his gun to the head of the barman, who had resorted to whimpering in fear. There was a click, as he pulled the trigger, but no gunshot ran out.   

The barman let out a cry, but the other man just began to laugh.   

“You got til’ tomorrow. If I don’t get my caps, I’ll shoot you in the fucking head for real.”   

The barman whimpered a thank you and then seemed to crumple to his knees in relief, disappearing from view.   

I let out a sigh of relief of my own, and I saw the Sherrif remove his hand from his holster. I relaxed my shoulders and leaned back into my chair and I saw my companion relax a little himself.   

“Now, what have we got here?”   

Shit. I took a quick look over to the Sherrif, who was currently in a staring contest with the apparent landlord of the saloon.   

“Me and my companion here are just a couple wanderers, enjoying a quick drink,” I hastily begin, “We won’t be sticking around long.”  

“You know, you don’t see many ghouls around these parts.” The Sherrif remained silent, so I attempted to step in again.   

“We’ll be on our way very soon,” I said, “We’re not sticking around, like I said.” I looked over to the Sherrif as I did so, who raised his glass to the Landlord and downed the rest of his drink.   

“You look very familiar, young lady,” the Landlord began, “Have we met before?”  

I shook my head and forced out a smile.   

“We’re nobodies, Sir. Just your average wastelanders.”   

He looked us over, for a moment, before standing aside.   

“Off you go then, average wastelanders.” He had a sneer painted across his scarred, hairy face that I didn’t like but at least he was letting us go.   

We got to the door of the saloon and were about to walk out and find wherever Mr J’s was when the Landlord’s voice called out to us once again.   

“I know where I remember you, Little Missy,” my breath caught in the back of my throat and I clenched my jaw. “You work at that brothel near Scrapheap, right? You were a slave there.”   

“I earned my freedom,” I bit out, “I don’t work there anymore.” 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just knock you out and sell you back to it? I’m sure they’re missing their best worker.” He leered at me and I felt myself shiver. His eyes felt like they were piercing right through my bones. I opened my mouth to speak again, but I was interrupted before I could make a sound.   

“You try anythin’ and I’ll shoot a bullet through your thick fuckin’ skull, alright?” Beside me, the Sherrif grinned and pointed his gun at the man in front of us. “I’d say that’s one good fuckin’ reason.”   

The Landlord let out a loud, unhinged laugh. A few people around us began to laugh as well, and then the Ghoul standing next to me began to laugh as well.   

He shot at the Landlord, and all hell broke loose. 

[lucidfallacy]

* König x Reader 18+ *

It's about twenty meters high. I survey the dauntingly short distance between me and a guaranteed spot as a sniper on the esteemed firing-squad. One last wall of rock and destiny to earn the privilege of fighting alongside the Colonel's 4 man fireteam. Truth be known I'm really just vying to be near the soft spoken Austrian death-bringer, König. That fateful name, meaning king in German and spawning fear among the toughest of men across the globe. And maybe it's sad, but I would gladly bow to him. After the things I've witnessed him do... His interrogations alone feel like a damned strip tease. Even though I still don't know what lies under that ragged executioners hood cloaking his head and maybe I never will. But I do know that his eyes are bluer than a vile of Kortac's sparkling lethal injection. Which I've seen him administer on quite a few occasions. I also know he is utmost respectful, looking and speaking to me as if we are equals. My attraction to him is quite the opposite of atomic and the repercussions if I followed through with my desires are nuclear. I'm just hoping that serving him will be enough to quench this insatiable thirst I have for his approval.

The trials have been exceedingly treacherous and I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it. I've fought for everything I own. My rank, my reputation. Today's challenges must have been crafted in soldier heaven just for me. We started off early as sin this morning with bare knuckled knock out boxing. Not usually my first choice for breakfast, but it was entertaining at least. By no means am I small and still they underestimated me. Should've guessed that I wouldn't go down easy just from how fucked my body looks. Did they get a good look at all my bruises? The scars? I spent my teenage years fighting for my life as I wandered the streets of Chicago. It's a part of me I've gladly left behind, ever since I joined the military on my eighteenth birthday. I had not a single doubt in my mind about it, but that was years ago and I was young. I mean, who was around to tell me no? The routine here was good for me in the end. But I'm no less grateful for the lessons I learned in that chapter of my story. I was stuck believing that I could only ever be worth the life I was born into. That's until I found my purpose.

They all see me as "just another bitch in the way." Well, that's how my 'comrades' put it. That's why it was almost too easy, contorting Zero into that arm bar earlier. He wanted this position so very badly too, but obviously not enough for a broken arm. I'm still reveling in the way his shoulder popped right before he tapped out. Wish I could've recorded it for the next time he pisses me off. But I will admit, he had me sweating there for a second. In the end, his teeth sunk deep into my thigh as my legs wrapped around his hopeless neck. I wrenched his arm back into a devastating hold, pulling harder as we fought an unspoken battle of "No, you let go first." König stood just outside the cage with his men in the shadows, studying us. Arms folded across his imposing 6'10 stature and unmoving with every crushing blow to we laid to each other. The abandoned building was filled with our groans and grunts as we fought for dominance. The spotlight almost blinding while we rolled around in each other's sweat on the makeshift ring's floor. But as my blood pooled around Zero's mouth he licked his lips and I cried out in pain. I'm almost certain I saw the Austrian death himself fucking twitch. Soon I'll know why.

After winning, I was bagged blind and thrown into the barbed wire mud pits. There was only five of us left. It would've been courteous to warn us about those friendly crocs who damn near took one of my shoes in the process. Anyway, 3 of us made it through without any major issues. Next was a 10 mile run through the god damned jungle, weighed down by 50 something pounds of equipment and muddied fatigues. It pushed me to my limits, knowing he was watching from afar. Letting him know the lengths I'd go just to please him. My boots are still lined with the uncomfortable grittiness of the dried dirt and as night falls. The air has dropped to a bone chilling temperature. This something I'm used to. Being disgusting, cold, hungry even. During this entire trial, my colleagues were not ones to spare any fairness or sympathy for me. I've been pushed, trampled, spit on. And I expected it. If anything it's fucking welcomed.

I leap onto the first notch of the rocky wall, my nimble calloused hands making it easier than expected. Droplets of rain begin crying from the forming dark clouds and my opponents boots trample through the mud behind me, so I quicken my pace. Something slides out from the corner of my vision as I ascend, sounding like the grind of two cinderblocks. Soldiers are meant to be adaptable, but a decaying rock wall was not something I had expected. My hand slips on the next peg as it falls below. I twist my torso, catching my weight on a smaller peg to the right of me with my opposite hand. Too fucking close. I would say I'm about halfway up at this point and I peer down to my opponents below. The loose rock that was determined to make me eat shit is now laying beside an unconscious Velilkan in the mud puddles below. Unfortunate really. To get this far, just to be knocked out by a pebble. Operator Nikto and agent O'Connor are hot on my ass, kicking and pulling at each other like two bickering children. I giggle at the sight. O'Connor falters a bit, brandishing a nasty bite on his bicep from one of our reptilian companions earlier. It's commendable that he actually made it through the whole lockjaw and death roll routine.

But here I am only meters away from the golden bell at the top. The resounding ring will be a testament of my strength and resilience. I begin daydreaming about my future on the team. How I will be their right hand and all seeing eye for impending danger. How I will finally feel like I am enough and maybe even- My fingertips can almost graze the knotted white end of the bell's rope, before I know it. I can't even hold back my elation as it floods over my expression. This is the first time I've truly smiled in what feels like ages. A single bright crack of lightening tears through the night sky. The rain continues to beat down violently on my face as if its a ritualistic cleansing to start anew.

"Like the rest," the thickly accented Russian agent bellows to me through the raging storm. The former FSB operative digs his gloved fingers into the lip of my boot. "Just a corpse."

Nikto yanks me downwards with all his might, almost taking himself out in the process as he hangs one armed off a peg. The rope slips through my needy fingers and fear strikes through me, mocking the way lightening rips into the clouds. My screams are drowned out as I claw the air, grasping for anything to break my fall. My stomach is in ruin, tossed and turned all sorts of ways in my descent. The fall may be 20 meters, but it's scarier to think of as 65 feet. A plummet that most certainly could kill me, or leave me paralyzed nonetheless. I ease my panic and straighten my body, colliding with an unknowing O'Connor who has valiantly climbed about halfway up. My arm latches around his throat in a sort of goofy headlock and just before I gather my bearings, his pegs give way to our combined weight. We wrestle in each others arms through the air only 30 feet to go now, a short-lived battle deciding who will break the other's fall. Less than a second later, the wind is knocked from my lungs as the bell tolls and I collapse in a plank-like position over the two soldiers bodies beneath me. There's no room for me to think about the ache of my potentially broken ribs, or how my wrist twisted the wrong way underneath me upon landing. All I can feel is the pounding high of adrenaline laced with a fervent hatred. And just like that, the trials are complete. And god am I a sore fucking loser.

                                                                                     #

Embarrassing is the first word that crosses my mind, thinking about how I limped back to base on shaky legs like a newborn fawn. My entire being feels sprained. Fractured even, by one simple mistake. My skull throbs as I lift my forehead from the tiled shower wall. I'm fighting a bitchin' headache which is only amplified by the bathroom's blue fluorescent lighting overhead. It's bright enough to annoy even a blind man. The scalding hot water steams inside of the barbed wire gashes along my spine so I gnash my teeth, attempting to stifle a cry. Soldiers of Kortac aren't allowed to cry, or feel anything really. It's one of the 3 big rules around here. And though I'm alone, having my own special pity party, I'd rather not test the waters. Every soldier on base is celebrating that son of a bitch at the mess hall right now. Well, that's if they're not shacked up in the infirmary. I can hear the echoes of their victorious chants in all sorts of foreign languages from across the barracks. I can imagine Nikto now as he begins a speech, beer in hand at the middle metal lunch table. It should be me up there. Is he happy for Nikto? König watched on as each of us trained for this position over the past year. He probably had one of us in mind, but the trials are only fair. And I know he's passionate about this. Would've been his specialty if he wasn't so... vertically challenged? No, he's just freaking massive.

Now, would I have received the same commendable treatment from my peers? Probably not. But still, I refuse to stuff my face in front of that cheating bastard, let alone congratulate him. All he deserves is the crusted crocodile shit on the bottom of my combat boots, as far as I'm concerned. I pump some of the citrus orange colored soap from the shower wall dispenser and lather it through my hair. I work around the forming goose egg on my crown with a wince.

"Stupid. So fucking stupid" I whisper to myself as I yank my hair in frustration. A sob begins to creep up my throat.

It's an unfamiliar sensation I can't ignore, stinging across my cheeks and nose bridge. The oncoming snot hinders my breathing. My chest and hands tremble as I try every coping skill in the book to sooth my anxiety. Last time I had a panic attack was probably high school... Grabbing a rag from the shower's hook, I decide to focus on getting myself clean rather than irrational emotions. I whimper at the mix of soap and friction against my lacerations. Not a single square inch of skin was sparred by the elements. I scrub into my arms, but no matter how long or hard I chip away at the dirty feeling across my body. It seems I will never get clean.

"Useless. Just another corpse," I cry to myself, replaying Nikto's words in my head.

My skin becomes reddened and raw from my self inflicted abusive cleansing. My next victim is my chest as venomous tears seem to poison my bloodstream. I'm overcome with a wracking sob that reverberates through the bathroom. The slow tread of heavy boots make their way to my open cubicle in the back corner, but I'm too occupied in my own head to notice. I only stop scrubbing myself as a shadow looms over me, blocking all recesses of light and swirling thoughts in my mind. The rag slips from my hand, hitting the cement floor with a wet plop as I slowly turn to meet the warmth of steel blue eyes. I suck in another shaky breath, wiping the snot from my face as I stand at attention. I'm barren to him, covering my breast with one arm to try and remedy my naked state.

"Colonel, sir," I sputter out wide eyed.

The Colonel has now seen me cry, no König has. And I will harbor this shame for the next century.

"What troubles you, soldier?" König asks, voice thickly accented and rigid with concern.

He grabs the arm covering my bare chest, flipping my wrist to examine my forearms. His gloved thumb grazes my raw sensitive flesh I scrubbed away just moments ago. The shower runs cold, but my body has heated up beyond a boiling temperature. He cocks his head, and I can tell his expression furrows beneath the material of his hood.

"I know what it's like, you know," he whispers. "To be seen as small. To never be enough." König drops my arm, his knuckle reaching up to graze against my streaming faucet of tears. "If you take a foolish man's words to heart, it'll end up consuming you little Maus."

His touch is kind and unexpectedly welcoming. I wanted him to make an example of me, scold me for feeling anything other than cold indifference. But this? It's validating. My lip quivers, understanding his thoughtful words.

"I wanted it so bad, sir. I- wanted you," the words spill out of me before I can think.

I might as well have driven a stake through my own heart, realizing what I've done. Covering my truthful lips, I try rushing past him. But this human blockade of a man traps me in and I bounce off of his solid chest, like he's sandwiching me between self-doubt and excitement. And I think I might be sick in the head from how slick my pussy is in arousal. It's just the close proximity, I tell myself.

"Don't hide away from me, Sonnenschein," he groans, fingers traveling from my navel and between my breasts to my neck.

His thumb presses on the underside of my jaw as he grips my throat. He backs me into the wall, the frigid water baptizing us with an intoxicating sensation. His tan trousers part my thighs and the material makes me shiver with terribly filthy expectant thoughts.

"You've wanted me, the same way I've needed you Y/N?" he says shakily, those steel blue eyes never leaving mine.

He's drinking in my thoughts and expressions, not just my body.

"Yes-" I admit, trying to comprehend his feelings.

He exhales a quick excited breath and I can imagine the way his nostrils flare. König leans in, licking my tears away through the hood's material. His other hand snakes in between my folds, pinching and rolling my swollen clit. I gasp, my hips bucking as he grinds into me. Maybe I'm drunk off of the hypothermia, but I need for him to fuck the anxiety out of my pitiful head. His eyes dip down, urging me to touch him too. As I reach up and trace the outline of his bulge, I realize how hopeless my situation really is.

"Shit König, that's-" I moan.

"Help me out here, Y/N" he hums against the crook of my neck, rubbing small circles around me.

My hands are unsteady as I work towards freeing him from the confines of his trousers. I get quickly frustrated in anticipation, unable to undo this complicated belt fucking fast enough. My fingers dip into the waistband of his underwear and I jerk downwards. König's reddened cock slaps against my stomach at full attention, already leaking from its slit. My thumb runs over the sizeable head, smearing around his precum as I feel the throb of his racing heartbeat. He twitches, just as he did during my match with Zero. In a fell eager swoop, he reaches under my bare ass and thighs, hoisting me up to his level as if I weigh nothing. My back arches against the hard coldness of the tiles. His elbows fit like a puzzle piece underneath the crook of my knees as he lines himself up with my entrance.

"How patient have you been little Maus? How long have you waited for me?" König growls, reveling at the sight of me bent to his will.

It was the first of August, 2022. I was just a trainee then, five painstakingly long years ago. There I was, uselessly watching on as König, the insertion specialist, snuffed out twelve Al-Qatala members single-handedly. I held my breath with each shot he took, eyes glued to the drone cameras from a sentinel truck parked on the outside of town. This man saved fifteen women that day. And promised myself I would be just like him.

He teasingly smears my wetness up and down my lips with the head of his cock awaiting my answer. Up and-

"Since Berlin," I finally confess.

"Fuck-" he whines, forcing himself inside to the hilt against my pussy.

He's like a human fucking battering ram. And I'll let him use me. Break me down. He's pounding and pounding, his ragged moans altering into gravely cries. We are both balls of convoluted nerves, forced to mask ourselves and freed by each other's embrace. And once again I'm crying. Not from anger or my failures. It's because we share the same burdens and have finally found solace, in a raw emotional fuck.

My fingers dance around my clit, finding rhythm in his thrusts. His dick fills me completely, hitting every spot I never knew existed. I'm gasping for air in between sobs and the freezing shower's torrential downpour invading my lungs. Our foreheads press together as we warm our faces with moaning breaths. His musk still smells of a busy day's worth of sweat and mahogany, a delectable combination that'll haunt me. A reminder of the man who has now completely ruined my expectations for sex. But maybe this isn't it for us.

"Can I cum little Maus? Please god-" he whimpers, death gripping my thighs with no consideration for my sensitive bite mark.

I hiss at the pain, but it sends me over the edge. My cunt tightens in spasms around his cock.

"I'm- yes oh my god König," I cry out as he pins me up higher against the tile and unravels into me.

White stars flit across my vision and I hear ringing as if I'm in earshot of an oncoming train. I'm completely spent, slumping over onto his stiff body as my arms loosely grasp around the girth of his neck. I feel empty when he pulls out of me, but he stuffs his still hard member back into those tight khaki slacks. An ungodly amount of semen and my fluids to drip to the floor and wash away. But the water begins to run red. I tip my head back knocking against the shower wall, but the pain is dulled as my vision dilutes. Those steel blue eyes are struck with horror, staring at his bloodied gloved hands. I smile tiredly.

"Mein Liebling, you're bleeding. I'm so- shit, shit," his cadence reminding me of my own self deprecation.

König cradles me as if I'm some injured puppy he has rescued off the side of the road, delicately wrapping me up in my white towel from the railing.

"I can fix you. I'll fix all of this." he sniffles out.

I groan, cold, wet, and sore in his loving embrace. I'm a soldier and yet he's allowing my vulnerability just as he is allowing me to witness his. The ambiance shifts as his heavy boots pick up their pace in the hallway. I can somewhat recognize each corner we turn and the different floors he treads upon. We aren't going to the infirmary? König kicks open a creaky door with a thud, striding in as he caresses my head. In my weakened state I'm none the wiser, but I relax when he lays me down upon the pillowy grace of a mattress. I hear the unfamiliar grumble of a man from across the hazy room.

"I didn't know you had it in you, ya fuckin' animal," the blurry man says blowing out a puff of fragrant cigar smoke and giving König a firm slap on his back. I catch undertones of a British accent in his inflections. I'm freezing but a light sweat clings to my forehead, so Konig pushes my drenched messy hair out of my face with a sigh. I begin fading in and out with every other word of their conversation.

"Quit your bitchin'. I'll take good care of her. Now hurry up and go get rid of that sorry excuse for a sniper before he gets too comfortable," the mysterious man orders.

I blink, lightheaded and attempting to focus as the man turns my chin towards the dim light. He's illuminated enough for me to see his tight black mask concealing the entirety of his head.  Half of a skulled face mask is fixtured at the top. His dark eyes hold a sinister mischievousness, but his touch is gentle as he begins dressing my wounds.

"I'll be honest with you girl. We already had our pick of the litter for the team," he chuckles, tearing away at the tied gauze on my arm with his teeth. "And he wanted you from the start." 

[huntingpeople-savingsam]

Okay so, I don’t know why this is speaking to me now but rewatching this specific scene, where Jonathan says to Nancy at the end of season 4 after both of them going through their respective season’s ordeals,

“Sorry I wasn’t here.”

He says this not because Fred died (so similar to how Barb did), not because he wanted to be there with her during Spring Break, not because he wanted to follow her journalistic hunches straight into Vecna’s childhood home, not even because Vecna tried to come for Nancy and could’ve killed her the same as the others, but because he felt guilty he wasn’t there when the Upside Down, and the entities that had taken Will, came for the people of Hawkins, with Nancy included.

It’s not that Jonathan wouldn’t have cared if Vecna or anything from the Upside Down had hurt or killed Nancy, of course he would, but Nancy in mourning? Nope. Nancy with her detective brain leading her into danger? Not willingly. Nancy being forced to confront the feelings of guilt she’s never been able to address or overcome during her entire relationship with Jonathan? Hell no.

Jonathan, bless his soul, has sadly dedicated his whole life to one thing; protecting his family and by extension, himself from the hurt of being helpless to save them. Nancy he cared for, she had similar goals to him, but she’s not a priority to him now, and frankly, she never really was.

I think this scene jumped out to me so much because he says this semi unprompted while he and Nancy are in the middle of an awkward silence together, and the response he gets is not necessarily one I think he expects either:

“To be honest, I’m kind of glad you weren’t.”

And that begs the question, what did Nancy mean by that.

She has her quick cover, but it’s clear that she meant what she’s been saying for the last two (yes, two, because it didn’t just start in season 4) seasons, that when Nancy needs Jonathan, he isn’t there.

In season 3, we first see it when Jonathan and Nancy start having arguments about work, Jonathan not supporting or defending Nancy with their sexist bosses, Nancy’s hunches jeopardizing her and Jonathan’s jobs when Jonathan needs the opportunity more than she does, etc. etc. etc.

But we see it, the same as they both admit even then:

“I guess we just don’t understand each other anymore.”

“I guess not.”

And going into season 4, we see the same thing. At the start of the season, Nancy is complaining to Fred about Jonathan not coming to Hawkins for Spring Break and not committing to going to the same college as her in the Fall so they’d be together again, and she’s clearly annoyed and when she has a journalistic hunch, she only has her friend Fred to follow her (which she sadly later regrets).

Meanwhile Jonathan is complaining to Argyle that he doesn’t want the same thing as Nancy but he doesn’t know how to tell her. He doesn’t want to keep lying to her but he doesn’t want to tell her the truth and risk her giving everything up to be with him (which he wouldn’t do for her, can you imagine him leaving Will behind for Nancy?). And it’s absolutely fine that Jonathan is realizing that he doesn’t want the same thing anymore and that the relationship isn’t working anymore, but Argyle said it best:

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not lie!”

So when Jonathan says in this episode that he’s sorry he wasn’t there with Nancy while her and the kids and Robin and Steve are dealing with Vecna, and Jonathan and Will and Argyle and Mike are tracking down Eleven and running for their lives from the shady government ops guys, is he really telling the truth?

Would he rather have been with Nancy, following her hunches, letting her lead them into danger to find the truth, and being there for her when her guilt overwhelmed her?

Would he have rather done any of those things which he has a history of not doing, than be where he was, protecting and being with his family and the one friend he’s had that he could have alongside his family while out of harm’s way up until this point?

I don’t know that he would.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Legend will never know peace as long as I have the ability to write. This is a Platonic fic, but it could be romantic if you wanted it to be.

Chain: Sometimes I hate the goddesses for making me as they did.

Reader: I don't. You are an honorable man with a good heart. It's a rare thing.

CW: Derealisation

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You’d hardly been travelling with the chain long enough to know the way Legend was acting was odd. What had once been a tight-knight group with their mannerisms and routine set based on each individual’s talents, had begun to unravel.

The sassy and endearingly sour Vet had— well, soured. For lack of a better term.

Some delicate trust had broken, and slowly it began to seem as if it were never there at all. There was a subtle difference between a light hearted brotherly jab and a slightly sweetened insult.

His words were barbed, they dug into the soft flesh of whoever was caught off guard.

The words themselves didn’t hurt though. Each and every hero had been subject to torment or rumours or the unique cruelty of high society.

Sure, the Insults hurt.

But not so much in comparison to his tone. His anger was striking and with such unwavering honesty. His insults were truth. And they were personal, too. He spoke as if he genuinely meant every jab and taunt.

It was in between the layers that there was fear. Subtle. It was a dart of his eyes or a wince whenever he was regarded. It bubbled up and out of the cracks, so noticeable to those that cared to look. He was paranoid, keeping tabs on everyone obsessively. He was running himself into the ground, trying to fulfil something internal that was a mystery to everyone else.

He was easy to read if you were eager to learn.

Slowly, you noticed, he began to shove everyone away. He created distance between himself and whoever he could. Physically, of course. But also arguing with those who were willing to try and stay close.

He made sure that it’d be easier to leave than to stay.

That it’d be painful.

That it’d be unrewarding.

That it’d be thankless.

And he got what he wanted, though it took a while and was certainly not without distress and worry of the chain. There came a point where truly, it was easier for all of them to leave him over fighting to stay. He’d burn out eventually. There’s only so far he could run himself into the ground.

Loneliness always found him.

Perhaps it never truly left.

Maybe it was woven within him, through the tapestry of his tale.

As far as Legend saw it, he didn’t deserve nice things. Not brotherly banter, not the firm connection of friendship. He didn’t deserve people accustomed to his sourness. He didn’t deserve their peace, their contentment for who he was, in spite of his flaws. He didn’t deserve these people, unrelenting in their talent.

Afterall, he didn’t know what he was doing. He was just a boy on his first journey.

He had no mentor to guide his hand.

He didn’t even have a hero to act as an example.

Legend was bitter, and mean, and sour. But most of all he was undeserving. He sat and slept among and alongside some of the greatest heroes Hyrule has ever seen.

He can’t help but feel out of place.

It was that thought, that notion, which began to rot within him. The paranoia began to pick at him, that truly he wasn’t supposed to be here. That there was a mistake— that he was a mistake.

That maybe this all wasn’t real anyway.

And He’d have to leave again.

He began to plan preemptively. What he’d do, what he’d say, what to make of all these things. There was a week he spent entirely convinced that none of this was real.

Every last thing needed to be accounted for. Every option, every path, every single thing Hylia could possibly throw at him next.

But apparently he’d forgotten to account for you.

The other Heroes, the Links, they all happened to be much the same. They understood on some level what he was going through. They all had their quiet ways of showing they cared. Four mended his clothes when his hands ached so bad they could hardly move. Hyrule would use his magic to ease his mind whenever Legend would have nightmares. Twilight had begun taking up his night shifts. Wild would always give him a slightly larger serving of food. Sky would replenish his potions. Time would let him sleep in. Wars would polish his jewellery. He even caught Wind slipping extra trinkets into his bags.

All things easy enough ignored or left unnoticed.

But you, you were the unpredictable variable.

You’d continued to sit by him, stubbornly waiting out his insults and failed arguments.

You’d refused to leave, even just to step back and let him be, when he knew the others had urged you to.

He, on some levels, despised your stubbornness. On others, he respected the commitment.

Maybe he even began to latch onto it, subconsciously.

You regulated him, pulling him back down to what was real when he felt like this was all just a dream again.

Slowly, you began to be reliable in his mind. Something stagnant amidst his changing life. A familiar comfort he’d longed for but couldn’t quite place.

You were comfortable.

Comfortable enough that one night, sitting by the fire, you’d asked him why exactly he’d felt so scared, to commit to this.

“I don’t know” He’d said, stumbling to explain through each of his adventures and through the entirety of his uneven life. So badly he’d wanted for this acceptance, to have a place alongside people like him. People who wanted him. And yet for some reason he couldn’t accept it.

“Maybe it’s just what i’m used to,” He admitted, shamefully, “It's better to let go than be abandoned. Hylia’s sure taught me that lesson” He huffed in some sense of amusement, rolling his eyes.

“If that’s the only lesson you’ll ever take away then it’ll never be any different” The fire’s glow shifted and danced over the planes of your face, reflecting in your eyes.

“You didn’t deserve that. Any of it. But if you don’t let yourself reach for more, if you keep ripping open your own wounds, you’ll never heal.” You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes now searching his face. Suddenly he’d regretted ever drawing your attention to him with the way he’d frozen.

“You’re a good person, Link” You nodded, content with yourself.

“You deserve to let yourself have good things.” Your hand ruffled his hair, pushing back his hat. He jabbed you in the side, both laughing genuinely for what felt like the first time in months.

He wanted to try.

Even if some part of him was scared, he wanted every night to be like this— shared with others.

And dammit, even if none of this was real, or if he’d have to leave it anyway, at least he can look back fondly at what he had.

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Date Night

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings.

Word count: 1,237

Summary: Dating a vigilante is hard, but worth it. Early on their relationship, she has to face that.

Masterlist

--------

On an early autumn night they strolled across Robinson park. Actors in Elizabethan costume were prancing around the low concrete stage, doing some warm-up crowd work. Jason’s arm was slung over her shoulder, and her dog Marlow trotted happily alongside them. 

They weren’t great at the actual Dating aspect of dating just yet. It was still early days, and they had sidled into being together by following the same trajectory as their friendship, now with sex. They supported and trusted each other, they were both loyal and committed. They had already had two years to figure all that out. 

Romantic nights out had been planned, postponed, and cancelled. Andy had eaten alone at a restaurant booked for two, not to know until later that Jason was fighting Killer Croc in a cage match. The week after he was blowing up an exotic animal trafficking ring before the major players could flee to south america. 

He was apologetic and self recriminating. She could already see the barbed little seeds of ‘can this even work?’ trying to take root in his mind. 

But she wasn’t a quitter. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to stand her up. It wasn’t even in the first five, and she’d long since made her peace with it. It just felt more calamitous because now it was called a date. 

It wasn’t a big deal, she decided. If other people could make it work, the partners of firefighters, nurses, other on-call professionals, then Wonder Woman help her, she could too. 

Despite telling herself it wasn’t a big deal and she wasn’t worried, when Friday night swung around: bright, warm, and dry she let out an audible sigh of relief. 

The light was swiftly dying but the park was surprisingly busy. It was the last Shakespeare in the Park of the year, and there were food trucks and little battery-powered candles for sale. Families and couples of all ages milled about looking for good spots. A polite group of children came over and asked if they could pet their dog, to said dog’s eternal happiness. 

“I propose a strategy,” Andy said.

“Hit me.” 

“We split up to look for clues, and by clues I mean the best food trucks. That yellow one has empanadas, and we passed a flag before that said something about paella.”

He nodded seriously. “You take Marlow, I’ll take the backpack, and we’ll meet back here in ten.” 

They broke off like fighter jets zooming away, and roughly ten minutes later they returned with arms full of delicious smelling cardboard boxes. They set up their picnic blanket on the slope some distance from the stage where they had a good view of the whole area. They’d arrived at the perfect time, because the park was filling up. 

They sat on the ground and laid out the spoils of their hunt, just as the show was starting. 

The empanadas were sold out, but they had choripan instead, which Andy picked up for Jason. The paella was with shrimp and mussels, and was absolutely delicious, if a little small. Jason had found Korean fried chicken, and little skewered things called tteokkochi that neither were familiar with but were excited to try. 

It was a confused and messy dinner that they dove into with relish, and some negotiations over final bites. 

Getting the choripan was a strategic move on her part, because Jason was a sucker for anything in the neighbourhood of a hotdog. The fried chicken was the perfect counter, he knew her weaknesses. The tteokkochi turned out to be deep fried rice cakes slathered in sweet and tangy hot sauce, that had them both licking sticky fingers and promising to try them again some time. 

Up on stage a short performance of the play within a play from Midsummer Night’s Dream was finishing up. 

Next up, and the main show for the night, was an abridged version of Much ado Nothing. Jason scrunched up their food packages and lobbed it into the nearby trash can, and Andy got out the thermos of non-alcoholic mulled wine from the backpack for them to share. 

They relaxed together on the slope, leaning back on their hands, with Marlow sitting up next to them on look out. 

Jason glanced away for a moment. 

“Hey, can I borrow your scarf?” he asked. 

“Yeah, sure.” She handed it over without questioning the strange request. 

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then wrapped it around his neck so he could pull it up and hide his face.

“I’ll be right back.”

He snuck away through the crowd. 

The play continued, the actors hamming it up appropriately. The night had set in properly now, and large lights beamed down onto the stage leaving the rest of them in darkness. The audience around her laughed at the jokes and gags. 

She leaned against her dog. 

The night was getting cooler.  

Why did it hurt more now than it had when they were just friends?

She’d had no expectation of him then, she supposed. She hadn’t wanted him to be hers.

No. That wasn’t true, she had wanted him badly for some time, but squished it all deep down inside of her. Now it was out, with promises made and claims staked, it was hard to keep that once contained desire on a leash. 

He would give his life for her if the situation demanded it. She knew that, with the same confidence she knew tomorrow would follow today. 

But he would give his life for just about anyone if the situation demanded it. He was never going to change. She wouldn’t want him to.

She looked at the silhouettes of people in the dark around her, an elderly couple on camping chairs to her side, and ahead of her a family with two children who were fast asleep on a blanket. Not very long ago this park was so dangerous people rarely came here during the day. 

She looked at her things around her, and thought about what she would need to do if he didn’t come back tonight. She would take a taxi home and bring his stuff with her, hold onto it for him until he could come to her place to pick it up. It could be in two weeks, it could be tomorrow. 

This was going to be her life, forever. 

She pulled in deep breath and leaned her forehead on Marlow’s neck.

“Okay,” she said to herself. “Okay.” 

About twenty minutes after Jason left, Marlow looked up and to the side. She followed his sight line and she saw Jason returning through the crowd. He dropped something into the trash can with such a casual air it took a few moments for her to recognise it as a disassembled pistol. Nobody else noticed him at all.

He stretched out on the blanket behind her and gently pulled her back against him, his hands around her waist. He returned her scarf, wrapping it loosely around her neck. The knuckles of his right hand were grazed. He drew no attention to it, acting for all the world as though nothing had happened and nothing was ever going to happen. He definitely hadn’t just disarmed whatever dangerous hooligan had been planning to do something terrible. 

She loved this man so much it hurt.

“What’d I miss?” he said in her ear.

“Not much.” She leaned back against him. “But I’m starting to think this Benedick guy doesn’t actually dislike Beatrice after all.” 

He snorted a laugh. They settled in for the long haul.

Next>>

[roeroe-world]

zion.

starring: diamond white as tangie, nas as himself

set in 2000.

warning: sensitive topics, use of drugs and alcohol, mention of suicide, smut

There she stood. Her pearly whites being showcased, laughing alongside her girlfriends. A red cup in hand. All of her friends were dimes but she stood out. Bronzed skin adorned with hints of body glitter which glistened under the lights.

Tresses cut into a pixie cut. The blonde bombshell rocked her look uniquely and beautifully.

Diamond belly ring on display as well as her toned stomach with the exception of the sparkly golden deep v-neck crop top. A small ankh symbol tattooed between her perky breasts.

Plump backside accompanied by low rise Iceberg light blue denim jeans. Heels amongst her pedicured feet. She was fly yet mesmerizing, hips swaying from side to side as she began to dance to the music.

Confidence exuded from the woman and she didn’t need to try hard.

From afar, the bombshell caught the eye of a particular man. His attention had been focused upon the woman all night as he sat in the cut, remaining lowkey.

The rapper was in attendance due to being invited by a childhood friend. After almost an hour, he was on the verge of leaving— ready to go home, smoke yet another blunt and lay down.

But the blonde appeared in his peripheral, capturing his undivided attention. He found himself smoothly walking through the crowd, letting out occasional excuse me’s and dapping up a few individuals who spoke to him upon recognizing him.

Dragging his tongue across his plump lips, eyeballs trailing up and down amongst the woman’s frame underneath his naturally low eyelids.

Dancing, unintentionally she turns— her back currently facing the rapper. The beauty seemed to be having a great time, smiling brightly and shaking her hips to the beat effortlessly.

Connecting his palm amongst hers to gently spin the woman in his direction, “How you doin’, shorty? I’m Nas.” The brief expression of confusion and frustration immediately transitions into surprise yet fascination once she lays eyes on the male, instantly recognizing the rapper.

She analyzes his baggy attire and expensive jewelry, digging his style— especially his oversized red leather jacket. He looked even better in person. Smelled good too.

Jet-black liner surrounded her lip shape perfectly with a hint of brown and clear lip gloss. The rapper also caught a glimpse of the dark barb-wire tattoo amongst her upper arm and a Chinese font upon the other one.

“Tangie.” Their swirling dark-brown irises piercing into one another’s.

“What you doing after this?” His demeanor was suave, showcasing nonchalance.

His inquiry earns a chuckle and Nas returns it, watching her head drop slightly before she takes a good look at him yet again. “Going home. And not with you.”

Throwing his hands up in defense, “Oh shit.” He began, a chuckle passing his lips. “I ain’t even mean it like that.” That was a lie.

In actuality, as much as he’d been eyeing her… Nas really wanted the beauty to come home with him. But he isn’t going to be disrespectful about it.

“What did you mean then? ‘Cause you were pretty straightforward.” Crossing her arms, her head tilts to the side. Squinting her low eyelids in his direction as if she’s reading the rapper.

“I think you’re gorgeous. I’m digging what you got goin’, shorty. Know what I’m sayin’?”

Fighting her smile, she replies, “Uh huh.”

Tangie knows exactly who the male is. He’s a hip hop sensation whom seems to have it all; the money, the looks, the women. There’s no telling how many other females he’d said that to.

Looking off to the side, chuckling yet again at the sharp silence and the way her dark-brown orbs are piercing softly in his direction, “Can I at least get your number?”

“Nah, you good.” Mentally, Nas kissed his teeth yet physically his face grew slightly defeated yet stoic. “Nice meeting you though, Nas.” Placing emphasis on his name, the beauty began to walk away, a grin amongst her glossy lips.

She knew exactly what she was doing and so did Nas.

“Damn.” His irises watching her backside and hips sway side to side as well as her lower back tribal tattoo, clearly mesmerized.

When the word ‘damn’ exited his lips— it held two meanings. One is he didn’t know if he would see her again and the other as in ‘damn’ she’s a bad bitch.

But he would find a way. And that… he did.

He’d never sought out to find a woman, though for this particular one, he did. Having connections in Jersey isn’t rare for the rap star. It was rare that these connections had no absolute luck in search of the woman.

A month flew by, Nas found himself in Jersey yet again for shows and club hostings. Though, this particular day, he happened to be in a grocery store for snacks.

The rapper rolled his barely filled cart through the aisle, glancing at the stocked shelves behind his tinted Ray Bans shades. In the midst of tossing a bag of chips into the cart, something tells him to analyze his surroundings.

His eyes searches the aisle up and down, seeing as that it was practically empty with the exception of himself— the male immediately pauses in his tracks, watching a familiar captivating face turn and began pushing a half-full cart into the aisle he’s in.

“Oh, shit.” Speaking to himself lowly, the rapper instantly notices a toddler seated in the cart as well. He seemed focused on the toy car in his hand.

The woman hadn’t even caught him staring, giving her undivided attention to the stocked shelves.

She still looks as fly as ever. Dressed in figure-hugging denim jeans, a red bubble coat and black leather high heeled boots amongst her feet. It was chilly in Jersey so she dressed appropriately for the weather.

Mindlessly, the rapper pushes his cart further downward the aisle in her direction. “Excuse me? Tangie, right?” He makes his presence known earning the woman’s attention, taking off his sunglasses to get a good look at the beauty.

“Yeah…” She began, an unreadable expression amongst her brown skin. “You’re Nas. I saw you at that party.”

The rapper sends the blonde a light grin which she returns hesitantly. “What up, lil’ man?” He directs his gaze upon the little boy whom just stares at him. “This your brother?”

They practically had the same face and obviously the same skin tone. Undoubtedly, they were related somehow.

“No. He’s my son, Zion.” She beams down at the toddler lovingly.

He couldn’t lie. That caught him completely off-guard. But he isn’t mad nor upset. Why would he be?

“Can I hold him?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Before Tangie reaches to pick the adorable boy into her arms, Nas was already two steps ahead of her. He lifted him into his arms, “What up, man? You being good for your beautiful mommy?”

The toddler glanced around at his surroundings adorably as Tangie gently grasps his little wrist so he could wave at the rapper, “Say hi.” She smiles brightly which Zion returns, his eyes falling upon Nas. His chubby cheeks raising, showcasing his little teeth.

“He likes you.” Unintentionally, Nas and Tangie’s heads turn synchronously to lock eyes.

Tangie automatically breaks their eye contact. Meanwhile, Nas couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. “How old is he?”

“Three.” Grabbing the toddler out of his arms, she sits him right back upon the seat of the cart.

“I got a kid too. Her name’s Destiny.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and peeling out a small photograph. A grin amongst his lips, he shows the woman an image of his daughter.

“She six going on seven in a few months.”

A bright smile falling upon her face, analyzing the little girl’s facial features, immediately recognizing the similarities the two shared. “She’s gorgeous. That’s your twin, omg. No DNA test needed.” The duo exchanged chuckles, smiling at one another.

“Yeah, I know. I’m still tryna figure this fatherhood shi— I mean stuff out.” He corrects himself, not wanting to speak profane language around Zion. Placing the picture in its rightful position as well as his wallet— in his baggy leather coat pocket.

“I feel you. Parenthood is far from easy. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. He saved my life.” Tangie sends the toddler a loving smile yet again, adjusting his little bubble coat.

Silence began to rain upon the duo. Nas just stood there, admiring the woman’s beauty. A glint in his low eyes. This time, he couldn’t let her slip through his fingers without no way of possessing contact with her.

As the woman slowly glances upward, their alluring swirling dark-brown irises connected.

“I want to see you again.” Nas speaks, sounding more like a command.

Raising a brow, looking the male up and down very closely and slowly before staring into his orbs, “What’s stopping you?”

————

Sighing heavily, Tangie enters her two bedroom apartment. Upon waltzing into the living room and tossing her purse amongst the couch— something in particular catches her eye. It drew her attention.

“What the hell?” Her irises peered at the large vases of flowers, there had to be at least ten of them.

Follow the rose petals

The note hidden in one of the flowers read and instantly the beauty glances downward to the hardwood floor, lifting her heel slightly before doing as told. Her tongue sliding across the inside of her cheek, a smirk amongst her lips as she realized the rose petals lead her to the bedroom.

Her attention falls upon the bed, slowly strutting inside the bedroom in her heels. A purple, gorgeous silk gown laid across the queen-sized bed. Black red bottoms sitting on the floor neatly. A note sat next to the dress which she grabs without an hesitation.

Can’t wait to see that body in that dress. See you at 8, beautiful — Nas

Tangie began to blush uncontrollably, placing the card to her heart before catching a glimpse at the time. Instantly, beginning to get ready for her perfect night with Nas.

A month ago, the two ran into one another at the grocery store after she’d rejected him. The day they saw each other again was the day they exchanged numbers and grew closer from that moment on.

Now here they were, going on yet another date.

Zion happened to be at her homegirl’s house whom had kids as well. It was Friday, meaning he would be staying over there for the weekend. Tangie missed her baby but she could use a break.

Eight o’clock had fallen.

Nas’ jaw nearly dropped, the moment the woman steps outside of her apartment. Closing and locking the door, beginning to trail along the steps. Their eyes connected, sending one another shy yet mischievous grins.

Leaning on the side of his Lexus, his hands buried deep into his baggy jean pockets. Admiring the view of the beauty within his peripheral. “Damn.” He found himself staring intensely, loving how the gown hugged her curves.

“Look at you.” Grabbing a hold of her dainty hand, he began to spin her around for a complete 360. “You so fucking gorgeous. You ‘bout to make a nigga have a heart attack, shorty.” She smiles as she does so, giggling at his choice of his words.

“Mm.” He grunts lowly at the view of her cleavage while leaning in to plant a sensual peck upon her chest. “Smell good too.” His hands sliding along her clothed back before getting a good grip of her backside.

“Aight, aight. Let’s go before I end up taking you back in that apartment and bending that ass over.” Snapping out of his trance, he removes his hands and taking a step back to open the door for the woman.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Her response catches him off guard as he eyes her hips while she hopped in the passenger’s seat. A smirk grew amongst his lips, his head shaking from side to side.

In forty-five minutes, the duo made it to the restaurant and were seated without any issues. Tangie couldn’t help but to look around in awe of the place.

Nas’ arm sat onto her shoulder, the two sitting closely together in the booth. “This place is nice.” She speaks earning a nod in agreement.

“Yeah, it is. I knew you’d like it here.”

Glancing at him, taking a sip of her glass of Dom Perignon. “You’ve been here before?”

“Hell yeah. This my go-to joint whenever I’m in Jersey.”

“Well, thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for… everything.” She wouldn’t even have to ask him for things, he would just do it. Minus the lavish gifts and shopping sprees, Nas is a huge help for the single mother.

“It ain’t no thing spoiling my girl.” He replies earning a giggle.

“Your girl?”

Neither of the two solidified whatever it was between them. They were just two people whom liked one another a lot as well as enjoying each other’s company.

There was no sex. Was there a lot of kissing? Yes. A lot of cuddling? Yes. And so forth. They did things like couples yet weren’t exactly an actual couple.

The rapper drags his tongue across his lips, “What we waiting for?” His face only a few inches from hers. “I been ready to take this next level…” Their irises piercing into one another’s, Tangie’s top row of pearly whites digging into her bottom lip anxiously. “Only if you are.”

The beauty remained silent, glancing between his captivating lips and eyes. Her mind traveling to her son, Nas’ lifestyle and his daughter, her career, the things that came along with his lifestyle, more importantly her son.

Honestly, Nas comes with a lot. Though, she does as well but this is another social status.

“I need more time to think on that. I’m sorry, Nas.”

Sighing, he replies, “I understand. I ain’t tryna pressure you.” Looking away from the woman and taking a sip from his wine glass. “Take as much time as you need, shorty.”

Silence falls between the two. Tangie couldn’t help but to feel bad for seeming to ruin the vibe. She just couldn’t let up that easy. She needed time.

“I want to meet Destiny.”

The moment those five words exits her lips, Nas’ head turns in her direction. She had his full undivided attention at the sudden mention of his daughter. “Foreal? You sure?” It caught him by surprise for sure.

“Yeah. I would love to meet her.” She smiles softly. “If that’s okay with you…”

“Let’s make that happen then.” He sends her a grin, admiring her captivating canvas.

After dinner, Nas drove the woman home and opened the door for her. “You’re not coming in, are you?” His hands sat above her bottom, leaning against the side of his car.

With a head shake, he answers, “Nah, shorty. I got a show at ten.”

Childishly, she began pouting, “Shit. I forgot about that.” Her arms hanging upon his neck.

“Imma be back, aight?” He raises off of his vehicle, bending his neck to connect their lips into a passionate union. Tangie’s tongue slides into his mouth, their tongues dancing with one another beautifully.

A throbbing sensation grew between her legs and the woman couldn’t help it. Her dainty hands caressing his shoulders, moaning softly against his lips.

Nas could feel himself growing erect, though, he’d been aroused from the moment he saw her in that dress tonight. He wanted to so badly rip it off of her but she wasn’t all in, she wasn’t ready.

Disconnecting their lips, he peers down at the woman before tapping her backside, “Keep it tight for me.”

The rapper watched her walk away, shaking his head at the view and the undeniable sexual tension they’d constantly avoid. They both wanted it but Tangie was scared.

Upon seeing her enter her apartment, he pulls off into the night.

————

“Hi, Destiny. I’m your dad’s friend and I’ve heard so much about you.” The woman smiles brightly at the little girl whom returns it shyly, beginning to hide behind Nas’ legs. Sending Tangie a wave.

As desired, Nas allowed Tangie to meet his only child.

Chuckling slightly, the rapper grabs her tiny body and lifts her behind his head then onto his shoulders as she laughs uncontrollably. “Why’d you do that, daddy?” She starts to hit the top of his head repeatedly in a series of laughter.

He jogs further into the living room, holding onto her little legs and playfully slamming her onto the hardwood floor. He does the exact same thing to Zion. Making sure to not be too rough with either of the kids.

“Again! Again!” Zion lifts his arms into the air, jumping up and down.

“Yeah, again, daddy!” Destiny agrees.

Nas lifts both of them at the same time, gently slamming them yet again. Their infectious screams filled the air.

Tangie found herself smiling at the sight until the male looks in her direction, immediately coming for her. Her eyes damn near bulges out of her head, shouting, “No, Nasir, absolutely not!” Despite her protests, he lifts the woman into his arms with ease and playfully slams her to the floor as well.

“Get her.” The rapper orders and instantly the children began to jump her. “No, get him.” Their eyes connecting as they shared laughter.

Both of the adults took turns, playfully slamming the children. Nothing but laughter filled the area, enjoying one another’s company. They were having genuine fun.

“Miss T, can we watch Lion King?” Destiny quizzes, hopping up and down excitedly.

“Of course, baby.”

Though, eventually after growing tired of playing, they made a palate amongst the floor and had already ate.

“I got it.” Nas volunteers to put the vhs tape into the vhs player.

As soon as the movie began to play, Tangie laid her head onto Nas’ chest as the children laid between the two, growing engrossed into the film.

Silence filled the living room then soft snores came along. “Hey!” The blonde whisper shouts to the male, motioning to the bedroom earning a nod.

As quietly as the two could, the duo snuck out of the living area. Their hands connecting as Nas lead them to the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

They began to lay in bed in the dark, staring upward at the ceiling. Nas caresses her back, considering the fact she’s laying on top of the male. Her eyelids fluttered slightly, on the verge of falling asleep, clearly relaxed.

“You wanna know something?” She quizzes tiredly.

“What?”

“I got knocked up at seventeen. I remember this and that person telling me what they thought I should do. What about college? What about your future? Blah, blah, blah, typical shit.” She began, growing comfortable enough to talk about her past. “I was in such a dark place with no absolute support from my so called friends nor my parents. They all turned their backs on me. One day, I decided I was sick of everything and everybody. So… I swallowed a bunch of pills.”

Nas immediately stops what he’s doing.

“That shit didn’t work. God said it wasn’t my time to go yet. It was a blessing and a curse. My parents tried to use my suicide attempt against me. Trying to make me believe that I wasn’t stable enough for a child. Truthfully, they were right. I knew they were right. So, I got in that car and sat back while they drove me to the abortion clinic.” A scoff passing her lips.

“But this particular radio station… began to play this one track by Lauryn Hill. To Zion. It was as if they knew my situation. I related to this woman so much yet I didn’t even know her personally.”

“I couldn’t get out of that car. I was frozen. I had been on my own since I made that choice. My parents didn’t want a damn thing to do with me and that was fine. I still don’t regret having my baby. Nothing compares to that moment of looking him in his eyes when I first laid eyes on him. His little cries. Those eyes that looked like mine staring back at me…” She trails off, nearly on the verge of tears. “From that moment on, I wasn’t the same girl. He changed me for the better. You would not have wanted to know me back then.”

He continued to caress her back, planting a kiss amongst her forehead. “You a damn good mother. Don’t you forget that.” She’d finally opened up but they had ways to go. Many ways to go.

“The way you interact with Destiny and Zion, I can tell you’re a good father.” The woman’s lips meeting the crook of his neck, planting sensual kisses. “I love that in a man.” Her tone of voice growing seductive, eventually their lips connecting for a good loving peck.

Tangie sat up on his lap, reaching over to her nightstand to turn the lamp on so she could see his canvas. The rapper’s hands palmed her backside, his dark-brown irises piercing upward into hers— ready for whatever.

Slightly bouncing on his clothed erection, she lets out a soft moan. The throbbing and wetness between her legs increasing each second. It had been a hot minute since she had a man in her bed, she was in heat.

She was tired of waiting and she was no longer afraid. He could tell.

“What you tryna do, shorty?” His raspy New York accent meets her eardrums, pink tongue dragging across his lips. He remained lying on his back, sensually analyzing the woman on top of his being.

Grabbing the rapper by his Queensbridge Finest Diamond chain, she replies, “I want you. I want all of you.”

Sitting up, the male instantly brings their lips into a passionate union. His hands sliding up and down her thick thighs. Tangie happened to be impatient and began to strip out of her clothes, now only in a pair of underwear.

“Damn.” Nas speaks in awe of the view, beginning to plant kisses along her exposed chest. He had never seen her like this before.

A plethora of low moans passing her throat but they start to grow louder the moment his right hand slips into her panties, rubbing her throbbing wet pearl in circles.

“You gotta be quiet, baby.” His tone low yet commanding, their low eyes piercing into one another’s.

Slowly, Tangie’s top row of pearly whites digging into her bottom lip as the rapper flips her onto her back. He peels off her panties, sliding the pair along her brown legs and practically groaning at the sight of how wet she is.

“Shit, I got you like this...” His gaze between her widened legs, gripping her thighs. It wouldn’t be long before his head was between them, feasting on the woman like his last meal.

Her manicured hands upon his head, caressing the rapper’s fresh fade. Lips set apart as she grinds against his gorgeous canvas. “Yesss.” Her soft tone of voice meeting his eardrums, encouraging him to keep doing what he’s doing.

“Oh, baby…” She looks down at the rapper in pure bliss, observing how he ate her nectar. The woman was doing her best to keep her voice down.

Softly, his head swayed side to side, licking and kissing his most prized possession. Eyes were shut, loving the taste she possessed. He found himself groaning as he ravished the beauty, his member hard as a rock.

Looking her dead in the eye, he sends a long lick to her center before suctioning his lips around it repeatedly earning yet another moan. Her eyebrows furrowing together, attempting to close her legs but Nas stopped her right in her tracks.

“Nah, don’t do that.” He goes back to work, her moans and whimpers grow louder. Profane language passing her lips, continuing to fuck his face.

Though the moment she became too loud is when he stopped. Nas takes off his baggy shirt, tossing it to the floor before climbing on top of the young woman and burying his face into the crook of her neck, forming hickeys amongst her soft skin.

Impatiently, Tangie reached to pull his baggy sweats and boxers down then dragged her tongue across her right hand— with that exact hand she grabs his thick phallus, leading him inside of her walls. A gasp passing her lips, eyes widening at the feel of him inside of her for the very first time.

“Ah, shit.” Nas curses aloud, his hands pressed into the mattress on each side of Tangie’s head.

His dick had been trapped within her compressed walls, immediately being thrown into a trance. It was as if he’d entered another dimension. He fell in pure bliss at the sensation she gave him. So much in bliss that he had to control himself from releasing so quickly.

With the grasp of both of her legs, he presses them into the mattress for more access. His hips moving in a circular motion, digging deeper into the woman beneath him. His pace slow and passionate.

“Fuck, mm…” Tangie caressed the rapper’s back, each stroke snatching her soul away. Her eyeballs rolled to the back of her skull, lips inches apart as her eyebrows furrowed together. “Oh, shit.”

Her attempt to be as quiet as she could began to fail, the moment Nas’ strokes grew rough. He held a tight hold onto her thighs, keeping them wide open and away from one another as he continued to hit that gummy spot. A plethora of squeals meets his eardrums, given that she’s trying to keep from screaming to the top of her lungs.

“You gotta keep it down, baby.” The young male sends multiple kisses along her jawline earning a whimper. “I know, I know. Fuck.” He groans, loving how absolutely soaked she is.

Tangie’s wetness became a track of its own. Her creamy essence creating a sticky mess as their skin slapped together repeatedly. His chain dangling in her face.

Glancing at where their bodies met, Nas licks his lips at the beautiful sight before analyzing her fucked out facial expression amongst her gorgeous canvas. “You look so fucking beautiful taking me. Shit… Shit…” She tightens around his phallus, creaming yet again while looking him dead in the eye.

Immediately, Nas pulls himself out, “Hold on.” Panting heavily.

Tangie wasn’t hearing it. She switches their position, currently on top of the male and sinking onto his phallus. “Damn, it’s like that.” He drags his tongue across his lips yet again, lustfully watching the beauty bounce on top of him with ease. He was hooked and so was she.

“Ouu, this dick is so fucking good. Feels so good inside of me.” Her breathy raunchy moans earns a smack to her backside, fucking the woman from underneath.

“Mm, fuck…” She drags out lowly, her head tossing backward. Her dainty hands lying upon his chest, beginning to grind upon his lap in circles but in the midst of her actions— she finds her spot. “Shit, Nas.” Legs beginning to shake, leaving more cream upon his groin area.

Tilting his head to the side, licking his lips at the view and admiring how sexy she looks on top of him. “Just like that, beautiful. You doing such a good job.” His thumbs toying with her erect brown nipples.

Suddenly, Nas sits up and grabs her legs, lifting the pair on each arm for more access. He immediately gained more control, passionately yet roughly thrusting in and out of the whimpering beauty. Between her whimpers, she couldn’t help but to let out squeals and little screams here and there.

Tangie couldn’t shout to the top of her lungs like she wanted to. Nas was fucking her so good that she wanted to cry. He was driving her insane, up the wall.

The headboard banged against the wall intensely as the bed shook violently, creating creak noises. Tangie’s wetness still making a track of its own, damn near an album at this point.

Their eyes connect yet again, “This pussy so good, mama.”

“Mm…” Was the only she could drag out before he plants his lips upon hers for a good, loving peck.

Nas switched their position, flipping her onto her stomach. Her backside in the air much to his approval as he analyzed her lower back tattoo. “Grab this.” He hands her a pillow before tapping his phallus amongst her throbbing center then gently pushing himself inside yet again with a groan.

His strokes were rough just how she liked it. When it comes to back shots, she didn’t know how to control herself.

“Oh, fuck!” She shouts aloud unintentionally, on the verge of tears.

In result, the rapper sends a harsh slap to her plump bottom. “You being too fucking loud, yo.” He continues to fuck her from behind, groaning loudly at the sight of her ass clapping back on him.

The woman buries her face into the pillow, crying out loudly into the material. Drool found itself trailing along her chin as she took every inch of him. She was too fucked out that she attempted to run, reaching to place her hand onto his lower stomach and trying to crawl away. But his grip was much too tight and it seemed to have gotten tighter, the moment she tried to run.

“Where you going, mama?” He quizzes lowly, grasping a hold of both of her wrists and pinning them behind her back as if she was arrested. “Don’t run. You can take it, baby. Fuck, you can take it.”

She had no choice but to take it. Tears of pleasure cascading along her cheeks due to how amazing he felt digging in and out of her tiny hole. He stretched her out so beautifully. She’d never had a man put it down the way he did.

“Unh, unh, unh,” Each back stroke, Tangie moaned in and out of the pillow. “Ouu, daddy. You’re fucking me so good. Oh, my—” A gasp passing her lips as her legs began to shake yet again, more of her cream leaking out of her tight hole.

“Ah, fuck!” Nas happened to be on the verge of releasing, still fucking into the beauty without a care in the world. He was so lost in her walls, so deep in a whole other world.

Digging her pearly whites into her bottom lip, her low lust-filled irises averts back at him, throwing it back like never before. “Don’t stop. I want to feel that dick come inside of me…” Her eyelids fluttering repeatedly, tone of voice high pitched. “Your pussy.”

His low eyes piercing into hers, “My pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, yes… I’m gonna cum.” Her thin eyebrows furrow together as she breaks their intense eye contact, burying her face into the pillow.

It wouldn’t be long before they reached their climax, mouths agape, riding their high. Nas found himself gripping the top of the shaking headboard in the process at the effects of the intense orgasm.

“Damn.”

[mychoombatheroomba]

To Be Alone With You

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 47

You and Leon steal a few final moments together.

This chapter is 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 18+ only please!

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

TW for unprotected sex.

Guys, PLEASE wrap it before you tap it, regardless of gender or biology, I do not condone these idiots and their behavior. Also oral sex (reader receiving) and some dom/sub undertones (Leon mostly sub, but they switch it up a little). Anyway, please enjoy the filth!

“So . . . you think there’ll be fireworks?” 

Leon’s brow arched as he looked over at Williams, and the tall woman looked back at him with an innocent expression. 

“What?” she went on. “Krauser can’t be that much of a stick in the mud. We could say it’s mortar shell training or something. Besides, haven’t we earned some real celebration time?” 

Valeria, who walked on Williams’ other side, scoffed. “Krauser might be in favor of that, but Reed and Hellman? Assholes probably didn’t even want to give us the day off.” 

A fact that Leon had to agree with - and one he was all too glad hadn’t been the case. The agents - alongside Krauser - had worked everyone to the bone these final two weeks. Leon had dragged himself through mud and barbed wire, run farther than he ever had in his life, taken bruise after bruise in the training yard and shot after shot at the firing range, all in preparation for what tomorrow held. The beginning of the end. The final test before he and the men and women beside him were no longer trainees, but agents. Weapons in an arsenal for a war unlike anything seen before. There might have been no chance to breathe before that final hurdle, were it not for the day it happened to be. 

He’d never been one to savor national holidays until now. Even Reed and Hellman were forced to honor Independence Day though, it seemed. And so, on this, the final Sunday before the test, the STRATCOM trainees were given another much needed day off. 

“Yeah,” Leon deadpanned, “a day off that you two really wanted to spend strolling through the woods with me.” Which, in truth, he was a little grateful for. The rest of the squad had planned something of a party in the evening, but the rest of the day? Leon had wanted to spend it with you. It was his last chance to, after all. It had made him more than a little disappointed when you’d told him that Doc needed your help in the infirmary in the morning, and he hadn’t seen you in the hours since then. So, even if he knew that he was likely just being dragged along with Dina and Valeria for the sake of cover, he appreciated the chance to keep his mind off the impending test. 

The thing was - Williams had never been a great liar, even with all the CIA training going on. And now, as Leon made his remark, her innocent look slipped in favor of a knowing smile. 

Valeria shot a grin over at him - one that didn’t cover her obvious sarcasm but did divert his attention. “What can I say? You’re just such good company.” 

Leon laughed, but shook his head all the same. “Well . . . you two just let me know when you want me to ‘lose you guys’ in the woods.” 

Williams’ smile widened, and Leon took that expression to mean that he’d hit the nail on the head. “You think we’d ditch you to go have some fun by ourselves?” she asked, as if the very thought offended her. 

Didn’t change Leon’s answer. “Yes.” 

Valeria laughed, then. “Well, you’d be right. But that’s not the only reason we’re out here, you know.” She’d make a good agent - Leon already knew that, but in the moment that followed? He was made completely sure of it in the nonchalant tone of her voice. The measured control she had over her expression. 

The way she didn’t even look at the movement Leon couldn’t see on his other side.

The way she didn’t give away that there was a fourth person there, until there was a hand at his arm and he only just stopped a blunted knife from meeting his throat.

Leon froze, but smiled all the same because he didn’t need to look to know who was at his back. Not with the way Dina and Valeria were grinning at him. Not with the way your body pressed against his. 

“It’s too easy to sneak up on you, Kennedy,” you told him, and Leon huffed a little laugh. 

“Thought my friends here were going to be watching my back,” he said, looking over at his walking companions - who, of course, were taking steps further down the forest path, backing away from you and Leon with knowing smiles. 

“And Krauser would tell you not to use your friends as a crutch,” Valeria smirked. 

Leon returned the look, unable to be anything other than excited, he found. Because if you had coordinated this with Valeria and Dina as he suspected you had, that meant that he was going to be spending the day with you after all. “What a betrayal,” he sighed, but there was no real hurt in his words. Just as there was no real intent to harm when he shook off your hold on his arm and leveraged his body, sending you arcing over his shoulder. You grunted as you rolled, coming into a crouch, your knife still in your hand and your lips carved into a wicked smile. 

Your eyes met, and for the first time in weeks - since Fort Benning, really - Leon glimpsed something he’d missed seeing in you. 

Fire. 

“Not bad,” you praised, rising to your feet but keeping your knife up, your stance ready. God, he’d missed this , he realized. Not necessarily the act of crossing blades with you, but the challenge of your will crashing against his own. Your bodies against each other, the line between lesson and love blurring until it became non-existent. And, as Dina and Valeria continued to move on past the two of you, Leon knew to expect exactly that feeling. 

“Have fun, you two. Meet you back in an hour,” Valeria called over her shoulder as the two of them disappeared down the winding path, leaving you and Leon alone. Payment for the nights Leon had spent on fire watch, when he’d awoken Valeria and Dina to have an hour for themselves. Hours and moments stolen, and now the same opportunity given to him. 

An hour, with just the two of you and the green around you. 

It would never be enough, but he would take what he could get. Even if that hour started with you lunging at him, your knife aimed at his heart. He blocked easily, just as you’d taught him to; taking a step to the side and reaching for your wrist, trying to trap your hand against his chest. Two weeks ago, he would have been able to disarm you with that move. Now, you just stepped in with him, your knee rising fast just as Leon twisted his torso to leverage your wrist. 

He stepped back just in time, letting one hand leave your knife to block your knee - and it was enough for you to wrench your blade free, the dulled edge scraping across Leon’s chest as it went. 

And God, the smile you gave him when you felt that . . . it was only fuel to his fire. 

He looked at you then, the soldier who had somehow stolen his heart in all this mess, and he almost laughed because, well, for once, he felt like the odds were even. Not because your injury had brought you down to his level, but because you’d raised him up to yours. Through hours and days and months, you had given him the ability to stand against you now. Krauser may have given him the skills, but you? Leon knew now that you were his strength. The reason he pushed himself to be better, the firm hand that had pulled him up from the dirt. Then, you had been unarmed and Leon had been unsure. You’d been a mystery, and he’d thought you a monster. Now . . . now Leon could scarcely imagine a world or a life without you in it. 

And now he would face you down, the final time a mirror of the first.

“That the best you’ve got?” Leon challenged, not because you weren’t giving him your best, but because he wanted to see your fire. He wanted those cinder-stares and the burn of your touch. He wanted it more than he could remember wanting anything, because this might be the last time he could-

You severed that line of thought with another attack, a series of slashes that Leon managed to successfully defend against. He managed a push kick to create some distance between the two of you, and the tension between the two of you came to a simmer as your eyes locked together. 

“You want my best?” You asked, raising a brow and letting your smile turn wicked. “Then come get it.” 

Maybe Williams had been on to something after all.

Maybe there would be fireworks. 

⧫⧫⧫

The battle - and it truly felt like one - traveled off the dirt path and into the woods. Between trees and around fallen debris, you and Leon traded blows and crossed blades. Use your surroundings , Krauser had told you, and damned if you weren’t going to prove a good student. You led Leon through the woods just as you planned, either retreating and forcing him to follow after you, or pressing the attack to get him back on course. 

To get him where you needed to be. 

The trouble was that herding an opponent as smart and skilled as Leon was harder than it looked. You learned that when he too took advantage of the forest around him, putting trees between him and you, grinning like the smug bastard he could be when he routed you successfully . . . 

Of course, you would do the same to him; knocking him into the brush, forcing him in the direction you needed him to go. You were nearly there, nearly at that perfect place . . . but then in a few moves, your plan came a little unraveled. 

You’d lost sight of him - just for a second or two, but it was enough. Enough that, as you scanned the woods for him, he could come at you sideways. You swung at him and he ducked just beneath your arm, rising on the other side at your back. With a grunt, you swung backwards at him, but too late to avoid the block he raised. Too slow to escape him trapping your forearm in his grip, his other hand bracing at your shoulder. 

The pressure he applied there, combined with him hooking one of your legs out from under you was meant to send you straight down. Trouble was that you happened to catch yourself, and you stumbled in an awkward arc. 

Right into a goddamn tree. 

You barely managed to reach up with your free hand, bracing against the worst of it, but the bark still scraped against your skin - forearm and face both. You grunted at the pain, but it was Leon who’s reaction bore the most concern. He called your name in surprise, and you felt his grip on you loosen. 

“Fuck! Are you-” 

He didn’t get to finish his question or his worry, because you ducked fully under his reach, your blade now free to run across his stomach. Unable to defend, Leon exhaled above you, then exclaimed as you reached for his knee, pulling his leg out from under him. His back met the forest floor and you landed on top of him, pinning him there, blade to his throat. 

“You had me,” you scolded despite yourself, shaking your head. “You could’ve won. You cannot keep doing this. You can’t keep letting your worry hold you back.” 

His smile faltered, the light in his eyes fading at your words. You could see yourself strangling the joy from the encounter, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Still, Leon just shook his head. “You’re one to talk about worry,” he pointed out.

“I have every reason to be worried.”

“Not today,” he insisted, some annoyance coming through now. Or maybe it was fear. “I don’t want to think about that today.” 

Guilt weighed you down, making for one hell of a tag-team as that worry refused to let go of its stranglehold on you. Still, you nodded, forcing yourself to relent. “Okay. Yeah, sorry.” 

Leon was, as always, too quick to forgive you. “It’s okay,” he promised. Then he smiled like he was seeing the sun for the first time after weeks of rain. “I’ve missed you.” 

Even if you were the one with the knife pressed to his skin, that simple phrase cut deep into you because, damn it-

“I’ve missed you too.” 

You moved then, freeing his arms. Letting him reach for you. Letting him hold you the way you’d been imagining him holding you for the last eight weeks. You weren’t surprised when he reached for your face, his thumb gently stroking the fresh scrapes on your cheek, just beneath your eye. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, too sweet for what he was about to become. But it wasn’t some hardened soldier underneath you, then. Not the man who was about to be Agent Kennedy. No, however much his body had changed over months of training, this was your rookie. Your Leon. So, his concern over the little injuries made you smile. 

“You know I’ve had worse,” you reassured him. “Besides . . . we’re even for that first day, now. ‘Bout time you gave me some bruises to remember you by.” 

“That’s not how I want you to remember me.” Leon’s words were serious, then. Weighty. And you couldn’t fault him. You both had so many hurts - so many marks left on you that told the story of your lives. You’d both shared those wounds with each other. It was time to share something better. 

So, you leaned down, taking the knife away from his throat. “Then how do you want me to?” you asked, your lips so close to his.

He answered you with a kiss - no hesitation. No waiting. Not anymore. Your response was the same, meeting him in that touch of slow passion. Not that it stayed slow for long. “Like this,” he said, and you smiled against his lips. 

You’d had a few weeks to take out your frustrations of not training. Sparring wasn’t the only thing you’d been unable to participate in, and it didn’t matter how often you let your own hand wander between your legs back in the infirmary, or more recently in the shower. It would never be enough to alleviate your yearning for him. There was only one way to get around that. 

So, you pressed your body against his, feeling the shape of him that you’d been denied for so long. With the woods between you and any prying eyes, you let yourself fall into his kiss with abandon. 

Well, almost. 

“I fuckin’ missed you . . .” Leon repeated, the words trapped between your lips and his. You could feel his hand gripping desperately at your waist, his body tensing underneath yours. 

“How much?” you asked, and you pressed a sly smile against his lips. 

Leon smirked right back at you, the hand on your cheek moving to the back of your neck instead to pull you down against him. “Let me show you.” 

It was hard to break away from that kiss. A test of willpower to stop, even as he let you dip your tongue into his mouth, making one of his soft little sounds. God, you had to call on so much willpower before you managed to break that heated kiss, pressing a hand against his chest to keep him from following you up. “Right here on the forest floor, Kennedy?” you asked, feeling like a wire coming to life with electricity. 

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” was Leon’s simple reply, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to roll your eyes or kiss him harder. 

“Well, you’ll be the one on your back,” you warned, smiling as it made Leon exhale a little breath. “You want that to be here? Or somewhere more comfortable?”  

Leon just raised a brow, looking up at you in confusion. “Wasn’t the woods your idea?” 

“This was part of my idea,” you corrected, and when Leon’s look of confusion only grew, you smiled and got up off of him. He took your hand when you offered it to him, and you couldn’t help the little sparks of excitement bubbling in your gut as you led him through the woods, following the notches in the trees you’d used to mark your way. It wasn’t long before you reached your destination at last, and you looked over at Leon just in time to see his eyes light up at what you’d prepared. 

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice betraying his joy. 

Not that there was, really, much to cause that joy. Just your rucksack, partially unloaded, sitting in the middle of a little clearing, two plastic bags with sandwiches inside (thank you, Doc) and an unzipped standard issue sleeping bag laid out in the shade and, of course, a little radio resting up against the bag. 

“This,” you said, propping a hand up on your hip, “is your graduation present. Part of it.” 

Leon just stared at you for a moment, and you took it as an opportunity to go on. 

“You said you wanted a date before. Best I could do-” 

“You’re a romantic.” The observation cut you off, and your eyes flashed a little like he’d just slapped you, even if his words were nothing but adoring. 

“I am not-”

“You are,” Leon insisted, chuckling. 

“And you’re a pain in the ass.” 

“Yet you keep me around.” 

“For some reason.” 

Leon laughed, because there was no real venom in either of your words. Then he took you in his arms, pulling you tight against him. Like he never wanted to let go. “Whatever reason that is, I’ll take it.” 

Reason. As if there was only one. As if Leon Kennedy hadn’t been the damn sunrise for you these last few months, breaking through your clouds. As if he hadn’t made you laugh and smile and forget even for just a few moments. As if he wasn’t the most beautiful man you’d ever seen inside and out. As if he wasn’t the person you would kill and die for. 

That was all too much to speak, though. That was why you’d planned this. Why you’d decided to risk it once more, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time. 

So you kissed him. 

You kissed him until the woods and the sounds of birds faded to background static, and you didn’t stop as you felt his hands seeking the hem of your shirt. He wasn’t the only one who wanted this to be memorable, after all, and so you dedicated yourself to making him come undone. Your time together hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things, but you had learned his weaknesses in love just as you had in fighting. Things like the way he melted when you took charge, his breath catching in his throat as you pushed him back against a tree, trapping him there. Or the way he tried to hide his moan when you pulled his hair back hard, exposing his throat to you so you could trail kisses there. 

Back between the buildings of base, you would have commended him for that attempt. Here, though? “There’s no one to hear you but me, pretty boy,” you murmured against his neck, your free hand sliding down to palm the growing hardness between his legs. “And I better hear you.” 

“Oh, God,” Leon breathed, his head falling back against the tree. He laughed a little as he pressed his hips into your hand. “This the other part of my graduation present?” 

You hummed against his skin, excitement building in your belly. In another world, another life, you would have spent hours building to this. You would have unraveled him piece by piece until he was a mess in your bed. Here, you didn’t have such time, so your plan would have to be enacted faster. “You remember our rule? You can tell me if anything goes too far at any time?” 

There was some hesitancy in his answer, but he nodded all the same. “Yes.” 

“Good,” you responded, leaning away to nip at his earlobe, enjoying the way it made him shudder. Still, you enjoyed his reaction to what you said next far more. “Because I want to ride you,” you told him, and already you saw red creeping into his cheeks, “but I only want that if you want it too.” You pulled back to look at his face for that last promise, bringing a halt to your teasing touches to let him make his decision. 

In the end, he stared at you with those wide eyes - more black now than blue - like he didn’t dare to hope what you’d offered was real. “Are you sure? We don’t have-”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed, your eyes finding his own so he could see the truth in them. “I want to feel you.” And you didn’t know when you’d ever get the chance again. If you’d ever-

“I want to feel you too.” Leon’s admission was quiet but you could hear the need in his words. The fear, because no doubt, he had the same worries in his mind. “But are you really sure?” 

You just gave him a look and pressed your lips against his once more. His hands found your face as he kissed you back, holding on like he was afraid to let go. “I’m sure,” you repeated against his lips. “Have you ever done this before?” you asked, because it was an important question. 

Leon stopped his kisses for just a moment, blushing a little deeper as he answered. “Once.” 

You’d figured as much. “Well, it’s been a long time for me,” you admitted. “Might need your help with a few things. Are you okay with that, too?” 

Leon just nodded, murmuring your name. “You could ask me to do just about anything and I’d do it.” 

You could hear the truth there. The complete and utter devotion in his words. It terrified you, so you pushed the feeling away. “Then you have some work to do,” you said, your hand dragging down to his chest.

“Guess I do,” Leon agreed, and your eyes widened as you felt him grip your shoulders. He maneuvered you so that you were against the tree now, facing the bark as Leon settled in at your back. So much more confident than he’d been that first night, when he’d all but let you do what you pleased with him. It made you smile as you braced your hands against the tree, all while feeling his hands at your hips. 

“Getting bold, rookie,” you pointed out. 

“Just like you taught me to be,” he said, his hands fiddling at the waistline of your fatigues. “Is this okay?” 

“So long as you remember that this ends with you on your back.”

“I think I can live with that. But I’m gonna give you a run for your money, first.” 

You’d never known Leon Kennedy to go back on his word. But as his lips met your neck and his hand snuck between your legs, you knew that this was a promise he meant to go above and beyond with. Before too long the two of you had set a rhythm, his hips rubbing against you, his hand opening your fatigues and sliding down to touch-

“There . . .” you sighed, rocking yourself against him, tilting your head to the side as he sucked and nibbled gently at your skin. Still, as nice as this was, you were on a bit of a schedule still, and damn did you want more. “That the best you’ve got?” you asked, using Leon’s earlier words against him. 

It made him chuckle against your skin. “Not by a long shot.” 

He made good on that promise too just a few moments later, as he tugged your pants down past your hips, your underwear too. He proved that he was good for more than just oaths when you felt him kiss his way down your back . . . and then even you moaned as his tongue circled you. However stupid this is, however foolish, you couldn’t give a damn in that moment. You let your eyes fall closed as he tasted you, one hand on your hips to support you, the other snaking around you to stroke exactly where you needed. 

He took to his task with vigor, and you arched your back into him, desperate to feel more of his tongue and touch. “That’s it,” you moaned, reaching a hand back to grab a fistful of his hair. 

The action made him groan into you, as it always did, and there the two of you stayed for what was too long and not nearly long enough, him worshiping you on his knees.

When he added the first finger at your instruction, you dug your nails into the bark and his name was a hymn as it left your lips. “Leon-”  

“I’ve got you,” he promised, and you believed him, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of him. 

Nothing mattered but him. Nothing else in the whole fucking world. 

“Another,” you ordered, and he obeyed, sliding another finger into you. You groaned at the stretch, at the feeling of his hand pressing into and against you, and all you wanted is more, more, more-

And he gave you just that. Working you open, learning what little of you he hadn’t known. He rose, leaning over you to mouth at your neck once more, careful not to leave any marks while his hands moved fast. Then you cried out as he reached that place in you that made sunlight bloom in you, and he noticed. You’d never given him credit enough for being able to find weak spots until now, but it wasn’t long before you were panting as he held you close. He was breathing heavily against your neck, his muscled body all but pressing you into the tree until-

“Oh, fuck!” you hissed, biting down on your lip as pleasure washed over you, warm and gentle just like the man that unleashed its tide on you. You shivered, glad of the strength of your legs not betraying you, and when it was finally done you could only let out a huff. “This was supposed to be about you,” you breathed, looking over your shoulder, only for Leon to nuzzle into you. 

He just hummed against the back of your neck, and you just knew he was grinning ear to ear. “Sorry. Got a little carried away.” You felt him kiss your still-clothed shoulder, and you laughed. 

“Well, pretty boy,” you said, turning to face him fully, letting your eyes glint in the light slipping through the trees, “I intend to give as good as I get.” 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon laughed as you pushed him down, the unfolded sleeping bag rustling as he landed on top of it. You never were one to waste time, and you didn’t now as you climbed on top of him, your lips crashing against his. He almost protested that you shouldn’t, given what he’d just done for you, but you didn’t seem to care and that only made him blush hard into the kiss. 

And as you kissed him, Leon felt his heart hammer against his ribs and sunlight kiss his skin as you pushed his shirt up. He rose, trying to help you pull it all the way off, but you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down firmly. “Down, boy,” you told him, and Leon blushed a deep, dark red. “Much as I’d love to strip you down, that’ll have to wait for next time.” 

Next time.  

Please, God, let there be a next time-

All thoughts of the future began to fade, though, as you reached for the fastenings of Leon’s fatigue pants. Freeing him from what he’d been straining against for some time now. He lifted his hips to help you pull them down, and your hand set to work immediately. Leon sighed as you licked your palm, then wrapped your fingers around him and God, he needs you. 

He’d never felt a need like he did then, not once in all his life because you were his and he was yours. All that you had gone through and all that you would go through, whether together or apart, whatever pain awaited you, the two of you would have this. 

You would steal one moment of perfection together. 

I love you-

So, when you finally had enough of working with your hand, there was only one answer to the question you asked. “Are you ready?” 

“Fuck yes.”  

You were in control. Leon had no illusions about that. So he let you move yourself, straddling him a bit awkwardly with your pants still around your ankles. His hands came to your thighs, squeezing gently because, frankly, he didn’t know what else to do. All he knew was that he’d imagined this moment so many times and now it was here at last. 

He watched with wide eyes as you lined him up, feeling himself pressing up against the wetness he left behind . . . and then moaned as you sank down on the first inch of him. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he survived what followed, really. Strangled gasps left him and you both as you lowered yourself bit by bit - he didn’t even have time to ask if you were alright. You were setting the pace, and Leon of all people knew that you were going to push yourself to the limit as much as you would push him. And so, the two of you moaned together as you took him deeper and deeper until, finally, blissfully, he felt himself fully buried in you. 

And there was nothing, not anything at all on this Earth, that had ever felt so good. 

He stared up at you, eyes blown wide, and found it nearly impossible to breathe as the two of you stilled, letting your body adjust for just a moment. Leon couldn’t find the words. What words could possibly do justice to the sight of you over him like that, the sun haloing through the trees above you? How could he ever describe to you how deeply you moved him, how your jagged-glass eyes softening and looking away from him made him feel alive? An angel of vengeance that, for just a few moments, had been sent to love him. To soothe the shredded heart in his chest. 

I love you, he repeated in his mind, once that mind was clear enough to form a thought. 

“Are you okay?” he finally managed to ask, and he hoped so desperately that you would say yes. That you would tell him to move. That he could feel you like he’d wanted to all this time. 

Your nod was heaven-sent, just like you were. “Yeah,” you told him. “You?” 

“Yeah.” 

A smile. A spark of hellfire in heaven. 

Then your hips rolled, and Leon moaned. 

You’d told him that you wanted to ride him, but fuck he hadn’t imagined it quite like this. 

“God you feel . . .” he couldn’t do justice to that feeling, either. He never could. You knew it, too, because you gave him a toothy grin and ground your hips against him harder, pressing him deeper into yourself, and Leon was sure those fireworks he’d been talking about had been lit in his chest.

“So do you,” you told him, your eyes falling closed as you twisted and moved on top of him. 

The two of you panted together, hips swirling and your hands splayed over his chest. Your fingertips traced down from where his shirt was bunched up at his collarbone, brushing against the scar at his shoulder. A wound taken for a woman who’d dealt him a wound in turn, and who, in that moment, was far, far away from Leon’s mind. There was only you, then, and the sweet sounds of your breathing. The feeling of your hand over his heart for just a moment, and then the involuntary jolt that went through him as you pinched at one of his nipples. 

The feeling made him flush because he hadn’t thought to- 

“Like that?” you asked, leaning down to grin at him. Leon, breathless, just swallowed because holy shit the way you looked, the way you felt around him-

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whimpered when you pinched him again, your hips moving at a torturous pace. 

You just chuckled, moving down to kiss his throat as you worked and your lips and your hands and the feeling of being inside you-

It was all too much. He couldn’t take it, his mind turning into a haze as he moved his hands up, feeling your hips. Your belly. He pushed your own shirt up, desperate to see you, only for his eyes to widen as he brushed against rough, raised skin. You stopped your torment of him to grab both his wrists, just as he brushed against your scars. Fearing he’d made a misstep, he let you pin both arms at his sides, looking up at you with concern. 

He was met, though, only with desire when his eyes met yours. 

And just then, your hips picked up speed. 

“Oh my god-” another exclamation as he surrendered to you fully. He didn’t know what to do - whether to buck up into you, to meet your passion with his own, or to let you have your way. Either seemed too perfect a choice, too tempting a desire, and each time you rose up and sank back down on him it only filled his mind with more and more static. 

“You have no idea . . .” you told him, whispering the words against his ear between breaths. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this.” 

“Yes I do,” Leon insisted, feeling something white hot and unstoppable building in his chest. Something he tried to stave off because he wanted eternity for this moment. “Yes I do-” 

I love you-

“You’ve wanted it too,” you agreed, squeezing his wrists a little harder as you moved faster. “I know. I know baby.” 

Your name left his lips, but you went on. 

“Show me. You promised to show me how much you missed me. Show me.” 

I love you-

Only you could give him orders like that, and as soon as Leon felt your grip on his wrists loosen, he did as you asked. He gripped your hips with all his newfound strength, and he let his instincts move him. Instincts that led him to lifting you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did it. Your eyes widened, and then flashed as he brought you back down around him, hard. 

From there, it was a losing game. 

⧫⧫⧫

Moans filled Leon’s mouth, and then your tongue followed as the two of you worked together, trading kisses as he helped you move up and down, up and down. It was almost brutal, the pace you set, offset by the sweetness of the kiss. 

Of course, that could only last for so long before you needed more. 

Always more. 

You broke away, leaning back and bracing one hand on Leon’s thighs. The other went between your own legs and you moaned, letting your head fall back as he thrust up into you. Letting yourself fall away and into the abyss, where none of your worries dared to follow.

⧫⧫⧫

But Leon followed you. 

As beautiful as you looked above him, he couldn’t let you go. Not yet. He watched you touch yourself for only a moment before he pushed himself up, one arm coming around you to pull you flush against him. Your head snapped back down, clearly caught by surprise, your lips parted as the two of you went on moving. 

Your eyes met his and-

⧫⧫⧫

You knew you were doomed, because just like that, you couldn’t look away. 

The hand you’d braced against Leon’s thigh came to press against his back instead and you let your body rock with each shared movement.

⧫⧫⧫

He whimpered as you pressed down on him-

You moaned as he pushed your shirt up and laid kisses on your chest-

As he felt you clenching around him-

As his hand replaced your own between your legs-

As that pleasure in him built-

And built- 

Until, at last- 

“Leon-”

“I’m-”

His warning and your name both were lost in the kiss you gave him, and then you were both gone from the world. For just one moment, you weren’t you and Leon wasn’t Leon. There were no boundaries between the two of you, nothing left to hide. Nothing left to fear, or fear for. 

Only each other. 

“I love you.”

He wasn’t sure you heard the confession, but he supposed it didn’t matter. You knew. You had to have known. 

Leon clung to you tightly as he finished, his hips twitching up into you just as you shuddered in his lap. Quiet settled in around you, wrapping you both in its embrace, only broken by labored breathing and distant birdsong. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, not sure what part he was sorry for. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head. “Not for anything.” 

His heart set at ease once more, Leon could have lived in that moment forever. He wanted to so desperately as he lay back against the sleeping bag, dragging you with him.

For a few beats of his healing heart, he was happy. 

Even as you asked a final question in a worried, weary voice-

⧫⧫⧫

"You sure it's a good idea?" you began, your head against Leon's chest. "Loving me?" Because that was all you could think of; his whispered confession in the throes of passion. You wanted to give him the chance to take it back. To choose a safer path. 

You should have known Leon Kennedy was a man of risks by now. 

"Maybe it isn't," he admitted, catching his breath. "But honestly? I really don't give a damn." 

Your fear came back, then, creeping across the forest floor to join in on your embrace. Still, your voice managed to be mostly good-humored as you shook your head. "You're crazy." 

He laughed. God, he sounded so young. So happy. "Maybe I am. Think that's part of what you like about me."

Like. Not love. He didn't want to presume, even if he'd be right. Even if you did love him. 

Even if the mirroring confession to his was right at the tip of your tongue. There it lingered, holding on for dear life as you nodded. "Maybe it is," you agreed. 

You weren't entirely sure why you didn't say it back, even if you knew you felt the same love. 

All you knew was that you didn't voice it that day in the woods. 

Later, you wondered if maybe you should have. 

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Chapter Index

[wanderingmausoleum]

My latest Shadow of the Erdtree theory:

Could Messmer the Impaler have been partially inspired by Cú Chulainn and his spear, the Gáe Bulg, from Irish mythology?

This will be a long post with a lot of heavy speculation so buckle up!

According to the Táin Bó Cúailnge via Wikipedia (which I apologize for using as a source; I don't know much about this topic and other results seemed untrustworthy or were behind paywalls), the spear Gáe Bulg was made from a sea monster's bone, and it "entered a man's body with a single wound, like a javelin, then opened into thirty barbs. Only by cutting away the flesh could it be taken from that man's body."

Which brings me to this iconic moment in the trailer:

Although the thing impaling this person doesn't look like Messmer's spear, it looks like it may have impaled them similarly to how the Gáe Bulg is described: spear-style, with extra barbs erupting out of it afterwards. I'm not sure how the living corpse in the trailer would have kept their head and body somewhat intact unless the barbs extended from the central spike after the impaling happened. Although it doesn't look like this was done with Messmer's spear, this gruesome injury's similarity to what the Gáe Bulg was said to do makes me think it's worth mentioning.

In some versions of the legend, the Gáe Bulg had seven heads with seven barbs each. Thus it may be worth noting that Messmer's spear has 6-7 metal barbs (depending on the angle and whether you count the spear point as one) formed by its fire design:

And, right after the trailer's scene of the impaled corpse, Messmer is shown to have an attack where he stabs the floor with his spear and a bunch of identical spears erupt from the ground around it, which is another slight similarity to the Gáe Bulg's multiplicity.

Now onto the even more speculative part of this theory...

Messmer and Shadows

We know Empyreans in Elden Ring are given guard dog-like Shadows to be their guardians: Ranni has Blaidd, and Marika has Maliketh. However, Malenia and Miquella are both Empyreans, and we are given no information about their Shadow(s), a significant absence in the lore and a topic which has been given much discussion in Elden Ring spaces I've participated in.

There has also been extensive theorizing about Messmer's place in the lore, with his red hair and M initial leading many to believe he may be another of Marika and Radagon's children, alongside Malenia and Miquella.

While learning about the Gáe Bulg spear, I learned its owner, the mythical warrior hero Cú Chulainn, "gained his better-known name as a child, after killing Culann's fierce guard dog in self defence and offering to take its place until a replacement could be reared," after which he obtained his well-known spear (Wikipedia).

With this and my prior speculation about Messmer's spear and lineage in mind, this makes me wonder: did Messmer kill Malenia and Miquella's Shadow(s), and possibly become their replacement himself (whether he later defected from that position or not)?

It may be notable to mention again here that the DLC's title is "Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree" and Messmer features prominently on its cover. Considering Shadow characters are an important part of Elden Ring's lore, with Blaidd being crucial to the game's most popular ending and Maliketh being necessary to defeat to complete the game, I wouldn't put it past the Elden Ring team to give the word a double meaning here: shadows meaning literal darkness as shown in the trailer, and Shadow meaning an Empyrean's guardian.

On the other hand, of course, Messmer with all his various heretical symbolism (fire, snakes, etc.) seems to exist in opposition to the Erdtree, so if the DLC title is referring to him, him being called the Shadow of the Erdtree doesn't make much sense lore-wise.

In conclusion:

There are no conclusions yet, really! Everything I'm theorizing here is based on a lot of speculation and vague connections. There are contradictions in the Gáe Bulg's lore itself, too (such as how it "had to be made ready for use on a stream and cast from the fork of the toes" [Wikipedia], something Messmer is definitely not doing in the trailer—although, since Fromsoft decided to give so many of their character models toe articulation and Messmer's toes are out, this could be a very funny way to make use of that). On the other hand, since Fromsoft very rarely takes inspiration 1:1 from existing mythology, I still think it's possible Messmer was influenced by it even if it doesn't fit his known lore with 100% accuracy.

I welcome thoughts/theories expanding on or contradicting this, especially from anyone who knows more about Irish mythology than me! I do not know too much about Cú Chulainn's story or this mythos in general, so I'm sure there's a lot of notable information I missed.

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Trust and Treachery

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: police, lady whump (sort of, ish, not exactly but ????), guy whump, guns (drawn but not fired)

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Word count: 4100 || Approx reading time: 17 mins

Trust and Treachery

Teaser: “I’m serious. They’re still looking for her. Isn’t anyone going to talk about that? Or am I the only one who’s worried?”

The tales were told over endless cups of tea, as night fell and deepened to the blues and purples of midnight: Will’s time in prison, including details Bree herself had not heard and which made her eyes fill with tears; Bree’s side of the story, and how she had run away from Baden and taken Will with her; Colette’s summary of her time spent in a “safe place” about which she gave no further information; and Jamie Wardrew’s account of shutting down all Iustitia aecum operations and hiding out with the mostly silent other man, who was called Geoff. They had reunited with Colette once word got out that a thief had mysteriously escaped from prison—and posters with Will’s face on them appeared all over the city.

“You idiots should have skipped town fucking weeks ago,” Will said more than once, but there was no vehemence in his words. In fact, he was almost glowing. For most of the conversation, he twitched, bounced, and shifted in his seat, incapable of sitting still—except for his hand, which, despite how often he pulled it away to talk animatedly, always came back to rest upon Bree’s.

Now, his thumb stroked the back of her hand in a gentle, comforting rhythm. “You doing all right?” he murmured in her ear when the others were distracted.

Bree hummed a confirmation that she was, but exhaustion settled over her, brought on by the hours of talking and digging up of painful memories.

Oh—and the residual worries, of course, about when the inner circle of Iustitia aecum would come to their senses and throw her out. After all, what kind of woman would marry a man like Baden Hatchett? And how could she ever be trusted?

“You sure you’re okay?” Will asked.

“I’m just tired,” she told him, and he squeezed her hand.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said. “Everything’s okay.”

But alongside the joy of the reunion, a heaviness clung to the air, and when she glanced at the others, she found that they would not meet her gaze.

***

The next morning, waking in a bed that seemed emptier and colder than it should have, Bree found that Will was not beside her. She could hear him, though—one of several voices that drifted in from the kitchen, hushed and serious.

Frowning, she sat up, trying to catch what was being whispered into the stillness of the early morning.

“Gotta decide what to…”

“If we start up again…”

Bree slipped out of the bed, stifling a gasp at the bite of the cold floor against her bare feet. At the door, which Will had left ajar—had he snuck out, trying not to wake her?—she paused, nudging it slightly to let in more sound.

“I’m serious. They’re still looking for her. Isn’t anyone going to talk about that? Or am I the only one who’s worried?”

Dread, barbed and brutal, tore through Bree’s chest. They weren’t merely talking about IA business. They were talking about her.

“Colette,” Will’s voice said stiffly, his earlier elation gone, “she doesn’t want to go b—”

“Stop twisting my words. I didn’t say she wants to go back. But if they find her, they find us. You can’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind, too.”

“Okay, fine, it did, but—”

Bree closed her eyes. Was that the reason he’d held out so long before giving his name? Fear that her very presence would lead Baden right to him—and that she would buckle under pressure and reveal his name to the entire constabulary? Destroy everything he’d suffered so keenly to conceal with a single witless utterance?

“I mean,” Colette went on, “does anyone else really believe that mad constable’s just going to give up? He’s insane.”

Silence met her words.

“I didn’t think so.” How could she sound so fearless? How could her words be so calm, so steeped in cool, unshakeable logic? “I think you’d all better listen to me about this. Because I get it, we all want to get back to normal, get back to business, but as long as she’s around—”

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made Bree jump. Furiously, Will snapped, “Don’t you even fucking think about saying what you’re about to say.”

“God, will you let me finish? I’m not arguing that we ditch her somewhere. She’s lovely. God knows how someone like her ended up with someone like him. And—just wait, for heaven’s sake! I’m not a monster. But we need a plan, and we need to make it now, because Hatchett wants you and her and as long as that’s true, we’re all in trouble.”

“She wouldn’t fuck us over like th—”

“Are you even listening? That’s not what I—”

Jamie’s quiet voice cut in. “Okay. Both of you. Shut up for a second.”

“Alpha, you know I’m right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will said, his voice acidic. Something warm flickered in Bree’s chest. Even with his brother speaking now, he was standing up for her. “We know. You’re always right. You’re so fucking smart—”

“Will!” Jamie snapped. “Shut the fuck up. Listen, for once.”

“You’re taking her side?”

“I’m not taking sides,” Jamie said tightly. “She—”

Too loudly—enough that if Bree hadn’t already been awake, she would have been jolted out of a dead sleep—Will said, “If you say she has to go, we’re about to have a big problem.”

“Just—”

“She has nowhere else to go,” he said. “Her parents are dead, too. And she can’t go back to Hatchett. She can’t. I’ll fucking die before I let that happen.”

Barely audible, some of the coldness faded from her voice, Colette said, “Oh, Will.”

Bree pressed her hands to her mouth, her heart trying to tear itself free of her very chest.

“And I—I—”

Neither his brother nor his friend interrupted, yet Will’s voice trailed off, the thought unfinished.

Geoff grunted, “You what?”

“I just can’t do that to her, all right?”

Did he mean it? Every word? He did, didn’t he? He wouldn’t let her go back to Baden, even if it meant going against the family he’d only just found again.

“Okay,” Jamie said. A mere breath after him, Colette said the same. “Okay. It’s not going to come to that. But let’s make a contingency plan, all right?”

Will mumbled, “The fuck is a contingency?”

“A just-in-case plan,” Colette said quietly.

“Just in case of what?”

Bree’s throat tightened again as Colette responded, “Just in case things go sideways. In case he catches up with her.” She paused. “With us.”

Jamie, from the sound of it, continued, but Bree silently pushed the door closed again and backed away on trembling legs. Her heart pounded as she went over the conversation—the argument—the inner circle of Iustitia aecum had just had about her.

For a few painful seconds, tears prickled behind her eyes. No matter where she went, she was never good enough. Breanna certainly hadn’t been. Now, it seemed that Bree was not, either—not for her own failings, but for the peril she brought in her wake.

No.

She swallowed her tears and took a breath. So Colette and Jamie were wary. Weren’t they right to be? But Colette had said it herself—it wasn’t Bree she didn’t trust. It was Baden.

But Will trusted her. Even if the others were reserving their confidence for now, he had faith in her. And he was willing to go against the others to prove it.

So, there was only one thing to do. She was going to have to prove it, too. That she belonged here. The she was one of them. That she deserved every ounce of that hard-won faith.

***

Of course, proving herself to IA was easier said than done. Bree opted not to mention what she had overheard, and Will didn’t bring it up, either. In this, she was almost relieved; he was spared the unenviable task of admitting that he’d been talking about her when he thought she couldn’t hear, and she was spared the indignity of facing everyone else’s mistrust head-on. No, she decided, it was much better to carry on as if she were none the wiser, and do what she could to weave herself into the delicate IA web.

Evenings, she determined promptly, provided ripe opportunity to find common ground with the others—particularly Colette and Jamie, who seemed to be the ones who had filled the bookshelves until they bowed in the middle. It was when the fire burned hottest and brightest; when everyone gathered without speaking of gangs or thievery; when she could read amid the soothing sound of crackling embers. The threadbare chairs did not provide nearly enough room for everyone to fit, but sitting on the floor with her book made Bree feel like a child again. Will, pressed against her side, didn’t seem to mind, either, and that made it all the sweeter.

Tonight, in a move that made everyone else’s jaws drop, Will was thumbing through Romeo and Juliet, which Bree had finished reading. He wasn’t reading it in earnest, however.

“The hell does this all mean?” he asked, cackling to himself. “You trying to tell me any of this makes sense to you?”

Bree blinked herself out of her current book and looked up to meet his amused gaze and unimpressed smirk. “It’s an old story. Once you know what to expect, it makes sense.”

But Will just shook his head, dictating lines he found perplexing or droll. “‘Such comfort as do lusty young men feel…’” He burst into a laugh and, reading on, found another that had him howling. “‘An open-arse, thou a poperin pear…’ What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You would find all the rude bits,” said Colette with a roll of her eyes.

“‘Some consequence,’” he went on, ignoring her save for a grin, “‘yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin…’ Well, he sure sounds happy, doesn’t he? ‘Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars…’ No one else thinks that’s a weird thing to want? No? Just me? All right. ‘I have an ill-divining soul…’” He scoffed and pushed it away. “Why can’t he just write like a normal person?”

Shaking her head, Colette asked wryly, “That’s your expert literary opinion, is it?”

“Pretty sure you’d find most reasonable people would agree with me.”

“I rather think you’d find,” she shot back, “that most intelligent people would not.”

Will snatched a cushion right out from behind Jamie’s back, eliciting a surprised yelp, and threw it at her head, howling with laughter when it struck its target squarely.

And grunting a loud, “Ow!” when she hurled it back at him.

“Leave her alone,” Bree said, laughing, laying a hand on his arm to prevent him from launching another attack. “Maybe you should try reading it. Who knows? You might end up liking it.” She paused. “Though it is very sad.”

“Right. It’d take me a month just to get through the first chapter.”

“It has acts and scenes,” Bree said, pointing to the heading on the page. “Not chapters.”

“See? I’m already hopeless.” But he didn’t look hopeless or even terribly annoyed as he closed the book and peeked over at Bree’s. “Can’t believe you finished it in a few days. What are you reading now?”

Bree showed him the cover, and Colette, peering at it, too, piped up again. “Oh, you found my Ovid.” She heaved a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s nice to have another intellectual around for once.”

Biting her lip, Bree tried not to look too satisfied with this remark.

Will brandished the cushion again, prompting his brother to take it out of his hands and return it to its previous place, supporting his back. With his physical ammunition confiscated, Will merely said, “You’re fucking hilarious, Colette.”

“I just finished the story of Orpheus and Eurydice,” Bree said to her, talking over him.

Geoff and Jamie had been watching in silence, the former quite apathetic toward the topic of fine literature and the latter baffled that Will was engaging with it at all. Now, his long-suffering-elder-brother expression changed from faint amusement to outright hilarity when Will demanded with a groan, “What the hell kind of names are those, now?”

Rubbing his face, Jamie answered, “It’s a myth, Will. Ancient Greek.” He looked over at Bree almost apologetically. “I really tried, you know. He used to sneak away instead of going to school. You think this guy ever did anything he was told?”

Throwing his brother an obscene gesture, Will just asked, “What’s it about?”

Bree was about to answer, but Colette said, utterly straight-faced, “It’s about an idiot who can’t follow simple instructions.”

The group burst into gleeful laughter, celebrating how Will had set himself up for the joke. Bree took his hand.

“No, it isn’t,” she told him. “It’s about how love is sometimes stronger than reason.”

With another vulgar gesture at the others, Will leaned toward her and laid a kiss right on her lips. Bree blushed, but there were no huffs of disapproval, suspicious glares, or scandalized gasps. Instead, teasing whoops spread through the room.

“You give her one of those bite marks in front of me, and I’ll smother you in your sleep,” Colette said primly as the titters faded, and Jamie choked on his tea.

“Oh, shut up,” Will said, and even though even his face flooded as red as Bree’s, he nearly fell to the floor with laughter.

Maybe, Bree thought with a smile, winning over Iustitia aecum wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought.

***

“You know, I’ve never seen him care about any of Colette’s books before.”

Bree jumped and stifled a squeak at the sudden voice behind her. She’d offered to fetch some water from the well, and she’d been quietly humming to herself—certainly not expecting anyone to overhear her less-than-impressive musical talents—so the appearance of Will’s brother was not one she was prepared for.

“Sorry,” Jamie said, smiling a little ruefully upon seeing that she was startled. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s all right.” She resisted the urge to press a hand against her pounding heart, figuring she already seemed jumpy enough to his eyes—jumpy, silly, and in over her head. “I didn’t hear you walking up.”

Jamie’s laugh, to her ears, was sardonic and abrupt—almost uncomfortable. “Well. We’ve had some practice in being stealthy over the years.” He nodded at her arm, free of bandages now but still marred by an unsightly scab she suspected might leave a scar. “You need some help?”

 “Did Will send you?” she asked charily.

“No, actually.” He took the full bucket from her hand and replaced it with the empty one he had brought with him. “We can share the job. I’ll carry two back, you carry one.”

“Thank you,” she said, uncertain of where to go from there as she filled the last bucket. Was he going to be the one to confront her? Bring up Colette’s fears? Demand proof of her loyalty to the Iustitia aecum creed?

“Will didn’t send me after you,” Jamie said. “I wanted to say…” A strange look crossed his face—a happy one, but mixed with sadness, too, and perhaps even a touch of bemusement. “I’ve never heard Will…I don’t know, ask questions like that before. About books, I mean. Like he actually cared.”

A warm glow blossomed in Bree’s chest. “Really?”

“Definitely not.” He leaned against the side of the well, eyes fixed on the cloudy sky. “You know, I was… When we didn’t know what had happened to him, all I could do was hope we’d find him again. And I knew if we did, he might be different.” He laughed. “I didn’t think that this was the kind of different we’d be getting.”

Bree’s eyes burned with uninvited but admittedly gratified—and somewhat triumphant—tears. “Is that…” She swallowed. “That’s a good thing, right?”

He glanced at her now, seeming to notice the shine in her eyes, though he did not mention it. “I think so.”

Bree turned her face away for a moment to blink away the sting.

“You look familiar.”

Almost automatically, she said, “Well, maybe you saw me about town with Baden,” although now that he mentioned it, there was something about his face, hailing from a time long ago—more than just his striking resemblance to Will.

He clenched his jaw. “I can tell you for sure that I have never once been close enough to that fucker at any moment to see your face that well.” The flat hatred in his voice made a shiver run down her spine.

“Um…” Eager to move on from that thought, Bree said, “Perhaps before that? School, maybe?”

But he shook his head—the age difference was a bit too big, they determined, and he had likely already been working by the time she was in the schoolhouse, too poor for a governess.

“My maiden name is Cooper,” she said, thinking back and racking her brain for the answer, and as his expression changed to astonishment, the image struck her, too: a quiet boy with threadbare clothes, wind-chapped cheeks, and tired eyes—a boy she’d never seen again after a fateful winter’s day.

Or so she’d thought.

“James,” she gasped at the same time he said, “Cooper.”

“You worked for us!”

“Your dad’s a huge prick.”

Well, there was no denying that. “He was. He’s dead now.” She gazed at the man in front of her. Was it really him? The boy from that day?

The day her father had turned out all the servants, every single one—and one boy had fought back.

She hadn’t thought of him in years. It was painful to remember, those early days of her father’s broken business, his rage, his humiliation. That day in particular was one she preferred not to recall. All those people, thrown out in the bitter winter, hopeless and weeping and cold...

But a boy called James had tried so hard to stand up for them, shouting and railing, demanding some semblance of justice for the servants who were losing their livelihoods. As he always had, to everything and everyone, Silas Cooper had responded with violence—beat him and hurled him out, right into a snowdrift.

“He was horrible to you,” she whispered. “I’m—I’m so sorry—”

“You ran out,” he said, and she nodded. Bree had raced outside, determined to stay her father’s hand, and wound up with a handprint on her cheek. “I remember that. You…” He paused. “Thanks.”

Reeling at the revelation that her story and Will’s had been threaded together for so much longer than either of them had known, she pushed up her sleeves, close to sweating from exertion and awe. “I…I can’t believe it.”

“No,” Jamie said, equally stunned. “It’s a damn small world.”

They stared at one another a few moments more, Bree fitting his careworn face over the time-misted features of a sixteen-year-old boy with fire in his eyes—the same fire she had seen blazing in Will’s so many times before.

Suddenly, those eyes widened.

“Breanna?”

It took Bree a moment to realize that it was not Jamie calling to her—nor would that be the name he would use even if he was.

Gasping, Bree spun around, letting the bucket slip from her hands and spilling frigid water over her boots.

“Curt,” she whispered. The wonder of the moment, blazing hot and beautiful, vanished; every ounce of it sucked away, leaving nothing behind but cold, scouring dread.

He flew forward, so fast she only managed a panicked step backwards before he reached her. “It’s you.” Hands on her arms, pinching tightly. Eyes wide. Voice rasping. “God, Breanna—” Grip tight. Too tight. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Please let go,” she said, half-dizzy. Frantic thoughts spilled through her mind, melting into the noisy, discordant symphony of Curt’s voice, rapid hoofbeats, and distant thunder. No. This can’t be. “I’m…”

But he was talking, clinging tight, talking, talking, talking, gesturing to the officers behind him. “Quick! Go get…” Not happening. This couldn’t be real. But he was holding her hand, lifting it, examining the scab on her arm. “Breanna, what happened to you?”

“Nothing!” He can’t be here. She tried to wrench herself free. She had to get free. Where was he sending that other constable? “Curt, you’re hurting me.”

Where’s Will?

What if—

“Don’t move!”

Bree froze her struggles, but the order was not for her.

“Who are you?” Curt demanded, his eyes on Jamie. “Breanna, is he with—is he with them? Is he keeping you here against your will?”

“No!” Bree tried again to pull away. Still, he wouldn’t let go. Why wouldn’t he let her go? “Curt, leave him. Please. He didn’t—”

“You’re hurt.” Curt’s voice was dark, his gaze flicking between her arm and Jamie’s frozen form. “That miserable bastard hurt you. The one who got out.”

“No,” she said. “Listen, please, Curt, he didn’t. He didn’t. Let me go, and—and—leave him, Curt, please. Please—”

But Curt was only half-listening, it seemed; he was no longer even looking at her, and when he spoke, he merely repeated, “He didn’t let you go and leave.” With his gaze trained on Jamie’s, he stared, slow recognition leaching into his face. Realizing he had seen those features before. Realizing who else that ruddy hair and those strangely hued eyes belonged to.

Forming his own twisted narrative from the face he saw before him and the cry for help he thought he’d heard.

He cursed softly, and Bree cried his name, desperate for him to look anywhere but at Jamie’s face.

“What did they do to you?” he hissed.

“Nothing!”

“You’re lying to me,” said Curt furiously. “Again. After everything. Aren’t you? That bastard is here somewhere. I know he is. Who is that—his bloody twin?” Finally, he looked back at her. “Where is he?”

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t…

If she looked back at the townhouse, if she gave away the headquarters of Iustitia aecum, then it was all over—when it had barely even begun.

Don’t look back.

But she did.

She did, just in time to see a figure with red-brown hair fling open the door and start to run before a pair of brawny arms grabbed hold and yanked him out of sight.

Two furiously screamed names escaped before Will’s voice faded into strangled silence.

“Bree! Jamie! N—”

“That way,” Curt said, following her gaze. Following Will’s cry. One of his fellow constables hastened toward the townhouse, boots clicking maddeningly along the street.

And then he jerked his head toward Jamie and said, “Arrest him.”

Something shattered.

Perhaps it was the sound of Will’s voice being cut off. Perhaps it was the sight of that constable bolting toward the townhouse, all because her treacherous eyes could not do as they were told. Perhaps it was the cold fury in Curtis Lenton’s voice. Perhaps it was the way Jamie Wardrew did not move a muscle.

“No!” She thrashed against Curt’s grasp, and in his shock, he let go. “Curt, for the love of god, don’t do this, please!”

She made it three steps away from him before he captured her again.

“Why are you fighting me?” he asked as she pounded her fists against him. “Breanna—please! I’m here to help you! I’m going to get you away from these people!”

Tears, heavier and hotter and more painful than any she had ever shed in her life, blurred her vision. Her limbs trembled and, after a moment, gave out, for Curt did not listen. And he did not let go.

“Hey!”

All the officers froze.

“There’s no one there,” Jamie said. His words were calm. He had not run, and he still did not, even as the third officer approached him with his revolver drawn. But his arms, held in the air, trembled.

For one of them had the sleeve pulled up—baring the Iustitia aecum sigil for the constables to see.

“You’re too late,” Jamie said. “They’re already gone. You won’t find anyone else.”

Lies, Bree thought dizzily. A distraction to confuse them? Slow them down?

“Who are you?” Curt snarled again. “Where is the thief who escaped?” To the one he’d sent to the townhouse, he repeated the order to go, and the man obeyed.

“Forget him. He’s gone.” Jamie looked away from Curt’s glare to stare into the barrel of the other constable’s gun. His gaze met Bree’s for only an instant when the man reached him and wrenched his hands behind his back. “I’m the one who’s in charge of Iustitia aecum. I’m the one you want.”

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

@kixngiggles

✨

[frillsinadress]

THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL

characters : daria , zoro , hiyori , robin.

warnings : sad angst, self hating

word count : 1.2 k

authors note : i am infamouse for my angst - its just what i do ! so enjoy some of my lighter content skjfkbnrlskf daria and zoro is such a near and dear ship.. let zoro live w his 7' tall gfmsfujds. set during wano - even tho i never watched wano. eat my jorts if smth is wrong.

“i think you should know— brook said he saw zoro and hiyori-san sleeping together once.” came the quiet hushed words of robin that shattered the once perfectly peaceful day. daria had been mid step, the words barely faltering her stride as the two walked side by side. the group was traveling back to their little hideout, and daria as usual had taken the front of the line to ensure her crew’s safe return. her stopping would cause an alarm, so she kept going. robin watched her expression, darias eyes locked in front of her. she knew robin did not mean any harm in her words— quite the opposite actually — but boy did they shake her mind up. 

had she misread something? missed a cue and lost track of the plot? daria was sur- no certain that her and zoro had been too bound to duty to ever get entangled in a relationship. hell the two had spoken about it several times before, and zoro had thrown the idea of romance right in the curly browed cooks face. 

all the promises, their endless trust of one another, the way they wordlessly covered each other in combat like perfect cogs in the machine. did she read too much into things? 

her stomach twisted, to the point it actually hurt. the walk was blanketed in silence as robin placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder, knowing the battle she was currently engaged in. daria had always been so set in her own ideas to the point where she had no idea how to properly handle such a shift. she never had time for boys or anything! so did she have any right to feel angry or sad that someone had taken the chance? 

she was broken from her little mind skirmish by the sight of their base, letting out a rattled sigh in relief as everyone started to get settled in. 

“if you’d like, we can have a girls night? like we used to hm? i think nami has managed to procure some of that oil you liked.” robin offered softly, genuinely wanting to ease the worry that was clearly shaking the younger girl mentally. daria handled the brunt of many on her shoulders, and now this was another weight for her to carry. daria smiled softly and nodded, wordlessly offering her arm to robin to take for the two to walk back to the girls rooms. 

opening the shoji door revealed the current person that tormented daria’s mind and she felt the floor give out under her. guilt twisted in her gut alongside feelings of sadness and anger. hiyori was stunning. her throat closed as she practically gaped at the girl who looked flushed, 

“oh im sorry! i was told i would be staying with you all, is that alright? did you need the room?” 

robin was about to speak when daria quacked out a reply, works feeling like barbed wire against her tongue, 

“not at all! i was just leading robin back so i could go on recon before bed!” 

robin gave her a side eye, full of concern and confusion but daria shrugged her off. her hand rose to unclasp her holster and slipped the magnificent dawn breaker off her back. 

“do you mind holding onto this for me?” she asked softly, passing robin her greatsword as her friend nodded and took it.

daria turned, and quietly walked out of the perimeter of the base and into the surrounding forest before she could hear anymore. her pace was steady, letting the breeze attempt to comfort her with gentle caresses that cooled her raging mind. for once she let herself try and digest the food in her mind. 

zoro and her had always been honest with one another - or as much the two could anyways. the deeper darker thoughts that plagued them were spilled via the clashing of swords, running through drills to smooth over the wounds from the mistakes of the past. she had always expected their bond would remain as strong as it had. maybe it still had? maybe he had done it out if pity? no, no zoro was not the one for pity or false kindness. 

the sights around her picked up as she then turned the spotlight onto herself. was she the problem? clearly zoro had ended up changing his decision to stay vigilant to only the duty of his dream. so then why hiyori, someone he had met only recently? hiyori was like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day, the kind of person that made you feel at ease just by looking at her. and on top of that, hiyori was kind from what she had heard. 

as if on cue, the world around her blurred into a mess as her pace picked up to a run, her chest's tightness finally caving under the shaking as a sharp whimper left her lips. a blink of her eyes and tears were falling, leaving shiny tracks in their wake. her heartbeat raced and each beat matched the thrumming of her feet against the dirt. she stumbled over the tightness of her kimono, quickly grabbing at one of the edges and holding it up as she booked it further and further from their base. 

as memories raced in her mind, it did what it did best and hyper analyzed each scene — each interaction. this only pushed her further and further down the line of hysteria as she felt everything speeding up with no end of stopping. 

the steady pace was broken by a cracked hiccup, pushing the once impenetrable fortress that was daria off her feet and crashing into the earth. once one thing had broken the rhythm everything did. she beat her hand into the dirt, trying to silence her pitiful sounds of sobbing as she tried to scramble for any chance of recovery. nothing felt right, nothing made sense! she felt achy, lost and exhausted, weighted down as if she once again wore sea stone. this was not something she wanted to deal with, clutching at her hair and curling into herself. her mind rushed through so many thoughts she felt it was going to explode. and the worst part was that it made sense! 

it made sense as to why zoro would choose hiyori. the two seemed like a match made in heaven if she took a look at any trope in any romance novel or play! always the dainty princess with the brooding protector. it made no sense for two fighters to find anything but a sense of camaraderie in their world. she was stupid! so so painfully stupid to ever think that her and zoro would’ve ever had a chance! she was a fool to think anyone would ever wait years for her, especially when other better options lie elsewhere. she thrashed about, trying to grab at the invisible enemy that threatened her peace but there was none. of course there wasnt. she had no right to be angry at something she had no claim to. daria bowed her head to the earth, pleading and begging for it to take her suffering. 

in the game of life — the winner had taken it all, and daria had lost in playing by the rules. 

[lord-morpheus-ravens]

16 for the blossoming romance

Aaah this is such a good prompt! Thank you!

16. naturally gravitating closer together

There was, Hob thought, a tension to his friend, coiling like barbed wire along the straight line of his spine, the sharp set of his shoulders. Even like this, wearing nothing but a soft tee and a pair of old sweatpants (both Hob's, once blue, now a deep black; he did not begrudge the fabric its need to please the Dreamlord) patterned with fluorescent lights, there was a stillness to him that spoke of tight, forceful control, like a pulled leash.

Like fear, maybe, though Hob would not dare name it out loud.

Dream sat on his sofa like he was holding council with foreign dignitaries, like any slip of his expression, any gesture, any unveiled emotion might be used against him; and Hob, human and helpless that he was, ached for him, ached to gentle him somewhat, to put him at ease. So he pressed tea in his white bony hands, and sweetened it with honey, and sat with his own cup by his friend's side, close enough that he could see the shadow cast by his lashes on his cheek, smell his otherworldly scent.

It was... different, in the Waking. Subdued, in a sense, though no less entincing for it. But then, he had always been drawn to Dream, from that first night in 1389, when he'd lifted his gaze to meet those ever-wet eyes, that irreverent smirk, and had known something great, something other and terribly precious had entered his life.

So he sat, trying to think up ways to uncoil the tension, to smooth out the loneliness of his dearest friend, the sense of non-belonging he seemed to carry deep within his cloak alongside the stars. Without really meaning to, he shifted his leg, and then their knees brushed, just barely, and Dream let out a punched-out breath, devastating.

Hob looked at him, took in the confusion in his unguarded eyes like a wound to the chest. "Dream, dove, are you alright?" he asked, the pet name escaping in his rush to soothe, to bridge this wide open chasm between them, the shape of his friend's quiet, mournful dread.

Dream shifted, leaning towards him for but a second, just an inch before he stopped, statue-still and pale as marble, and sharp, inhuman teeth pressed against the softness of his rose-pink lip. Hob stopped himself from tracking the motion, but slid a little closer.

"You keep thinking of me," Dream whispered, hushed and lingering, like wind sweeping inside the living room, the voice of the Dreaming, blurred around the edges and ever-changing. "You dream of keeping me. I would know if you mean it."

Caught, Hob fell prey for one stretched moment of his own terrors, blaming his own poor control that had him wear his heart on his sleeve. Then he breathed, and let it go. Dream had seen much worse from him and had still chosen to meet him, to take up a vessel of flesh and blood and fold it neatly on his sofa, to drink his tea in small, endearing sips. To touch their thighs together and not move back.

"I mean it," said Hob, steady, willing the disbelief away from those star-filled eyes; slowly, he brought his hand forward, palm up, and laid it between them in offer. "All of it."

Dream stared down at his palm, touched two fingers lightly over the line of his wrist, like it was forbidden. "I am drawn to it. What you offer, Hob Gadling, I want it. And my want is a terrible thing." He retracted his hand, tucking it primly in his lap, and looked up at him. "I have been trying. To spare you."

"Don't," Hob said at once, and caught his hand, twining their fingers properly, holding on tight to the trembling, cold flesh of him. "Let me. Let me care for you." He could have spoken of love, let me love you on the tip of his tongue, but it felt more important that Dream understood this, first and foremost: "It is no burden, to care for you, dove. Easy as breathing, actually. Sometimes it seems like I've done little else in the past few centuries."

Bowing his head, the Dreamlord shuddered, and his blunt nails dug into the heel of Hob's palm, as if to ascertain the truth of him. "I wish you closer," he finally admitted, like a secret confession, like Hob should be frightened by it. The arc of his spine was twisted strangely, bowed forward into the empty space between their bodies and yet held suspended, mid-motion, trapped into a half fall. "All the time, I wish you closer."

"Come here, then," Hob told him lightly, drawing his free hand around the bony shoulders, until he could splay his fingers over the long tense curve of his back to try and mould it into something kinder. "Come here, my friend, my love."

The thrill of calling Dream love aloud was nothing to the wonder of having him in his arms; the tension snapped, and he became loose without it, liquid-like, flowing into his lap, forehead resting in the cradle of his neck, lips barely brushing his skin. "Surely it will become too much," Dream said even as he burrowed closer, and his ice-cold fingers dug into his shirt, bunching it up, desperate and reaching.

"It won't," Hob murmured, smoothing out the tremors of his spine, filled with love and grief alike for the beloved creature in his arms. "Stay as long as you like."

Whew! that was very inspiring!!! Thank you again for the prompt!

send me more if you like!