#and a detached keyboard on my stomach

[inevitablestars]

my setup rn to try and write is making me laugh

[byfawn]

THE CONTRACT

↳ oneshot | 10.8k | lowercase intended

preview: you signed a contract in desperation for money, thinking it was a joke of sorts—desperate times call for desperate measures. but when you're taken by two masked men who don’t plan to hurt you, just keep you, you realize this isn’t a joke anymore.

↳ note: this is a dark romance with heavy psychological elements and morally ambiguous characters. while the ending leans into tenderness, there is a lot of blurred lines. reader discretion is strongly advised. i really held back a lot while writing this because i was not in the mood to have my account flagged again lol. maybe one day i'll get the balls to go full throttle!

↳ content warnings: this fic contains explicit non-consensual elements (kidnapping, confinement, drugging, forced captivity), psychological manipulation, stockholm syndrome themes, graphic sexual content (including cunnilingus, spanking, edging, denied orgasm, forced orgasm, overstimulation, anal play, double penetration, breeding, pussy slapping, praise, and degradation), power dynamics, forced feeding, and emotional trauma.

the bright glow of your laptop screen lights up your cramped apartment. outside, the city echoes with distant sirens and the occasional drunken shout, but inside, the silence is deafening. your fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly.

the eviction notice on on the coffee table stares back at you in big, bold red letters reading final warning. almost as if it was some kind of death sentence. you hoped it would't come to this but hope could only get you so far. the last thing you needed right now was to be homeless in this shady neighborhood during the dead of winter. you've sold everything of value—all of your jewelry, your books, even a good chunk of your clothes. but it wasn't enough. it was never enough.

so there you were, curled up on your sunken couch, scrolling through the darkest depths of the internet. the places people only whisper about in hushed tones. your breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts as you click through encrypted forums, each one darker than the last. the air in your apartment feels thick, heavy with the weight of your desperation.

you spent hours working late nights and early mornings but it was never enough to crawl yourself out of the debt that has been sucking you into a blackhole. 

then you see it.

the sanctuary.

the site is sleek, almost too polished—like it was designed to lure in people exactly like you. no flashy banners, no pop-ups. just a single, ominous listing under experiences:

be taken. be kept. no questions. $500,000 payout upon completion.

your heart stutters in your chest. half a million dollars. that kind of money would be life changing. more than enough to wipe your debts clean, to start over, to breathe again. you could finally move out of this shitty hell hole that is a pathetic excuse of an apartment. 

it was probably a scam but what harm would come from just filling out the application. some twisted joke or a phishing site made to prey on the desperate. you weren't stupid, you knew that. but your fridge was empty, your bank account was overdrawn, and the landlord's threats were starting to sound like promises.

but the questions that follow make your skin prickle with unease:

do you consent to full surrender? yes.

are you prepared to give up all rights for the duration of the stay? yes.

are you mentally and physically prepared for an intensive period of isolation, obedience, and environmental conditioning? yes.

do you understand that comfort and care will be provided at the discretion of your handlers, not upon request? yes.

you swallow hard, throat dry as sandpaper. the rules are deliberately vague, the language clinical, detached. it claims that it is a hundred percent legal and consensual, but something about the way the words sit on the screen makes your stomach twist.

it feels like a game. a dangerous, twisted game—but you're desperate enough to play.

your cursor hovers over the sign button. for a moment, you hesitate, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to close the tab, to walk away. but then you think of your landlord's sneer, the way your stomach aches from skipping meals, the crushing weight of knowing you're one missed payment away from being out on the streets.

against your better judgement, you click sign.

you hold your breathe as you wait for what happens next. the screen of your laptop goes black. anxiously, you ram your fingers against the keyboard in an attempt to bring it back to life. the screen remains black, the shocked reflection of your face staring back at you. 

you can't help but laugh. it comes out nearly hysterical. with everything going on, the last thing you needed was your shitty laptop giving out on you. as you reach to close your laptop, the screen mysteriously flickers back to life with a single message written across it:

leave your door unlocked tonight.

you slam the laptop shut, the sudden silence in the room pressing in on you like a physical force. your pulse roars in your ears, your palms slick with sweat. what the absolute hell did you just agreed to?

fuck, it's too late to back out now. and no amount of prayers or demise can undo what you had just signed off on. for all you know it was probably some stupid prank set up by a group of teenagers who didn't know any better. that night when you went to sleep, you locked the door and triple checked the windows before heading to bed. 

you spent countless hours tossing and turning, you were far to anxious to even close your eyes, afraid that the dark will swallow you whole. you opted for sitting on the edge of your mattress, knees drawn to your chest, listening to the creaks and groans of your apartment building. every noise makes you jump, your heart insistently pounding in your ears. every creak made your skin crawl, quickening your pulse. 

the clock strikes past 2:00 a.m. your eyes sting from hours of fighting off much needed slumber. you had a shift at the coffee shop that started in three hours. but despite your exhaustion, your body refusing to relax. before you knew it, light was softly filtering through the blinds, the dark of the night gone at last. the apartment was quiet and still as it could be as you stretched your sore limbs. staring into the mirror, your eyes were bloodshot and your face looked drained of life.

there was a part of you that felt like an absolute and utter idiot for even believing that something was going to happen. still, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. it wasn't in the apartment itself, or in the air, or the light. it was in you.

you dragged yourself through your shift at the coffee shop, running on caffeine and adrenaline. the hours passed in a blur. you made drinks, wiped counters, and forced yourself to smile at customers who would never guess what you had done the night before. you kept checking your phone, half-expecting a message, a warning, something. but there was nothing. it felt almost as though a weight was lifted off of your chest. 

by the time your shift ended, you were too exhausted to think straight. you walked home in a haze, the cold wind biting at your skin. after a quick hot shower, you bundled up under your comforter and drifted off into some much needed slumber. 

you don't know what wakes you.

maybe it's the shift in the air, the sudden absence of sound. maybe it's the weight of a gaze you feel before you even open your eyes. but when you do—there's a man standing at the foot of your bed.

your breath catches, your body locking up in pure, animal instinct. he's tall—too tall—his broad frame nearly swallowing the dim light from the streetlamp outside. the shadows cling to him like a second skin, but you can make out his face due to his mask, the glint of something dark and unreadable in his eyes.

you don't scream. you don't even move. your lips part, but no sound comes out. 

then instinct finally kicks in.

you lunge for your nightstand, scrambling for anything to defend yourself. his hand snaps out, catching your wrist in a grip like iron. your pulse thunders in your ears as you twist, nails raking against his arm. a growl rumbles in his chest, low and warning.

"none of that," he murmurs, voice rough.

you don't listen. you can't. panic floods your veins, sharp and electric, and you thrash, knee jerking up. a second pair of hands grabs you from behind, locking your arms against your body. "fuck," a new voice mutters, voice thick with a british accent. "she's a fighter."

you writhe, teeth bared, but they're too strong. he reaches reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe. the liquid inside catches the light and you thrash against them even harder.

your breath comes in ragged bursts. "no—no—"

"shhh," the first man soothes, almost gentle, as if he's calming a spooked animal. "just a little pinch."

the needle sinks into your neck.

you gasp, the burn of the injection spreading fast. your limbs grow heavy, your vision blurring at the edges. the last thing you see is the second man's masked face tilting as he studies you, his grip never loosening.

"sleep now, little one," the first man murmurs.

and just like that—the world goes dark.

when you wake, its feels like your skull has been hammered in. you could practically feel your heart pounding in your head. your neck still sore from whatever the hell you were injected with. your mouth feels dry and tastes of copper and cotton. when you try to swallow, its like sandpaper grinding against your throat. you slowly start to piece together the reality around you. 

first it's the smell of damp concrete and something metallic. then the cold, seeping through your clothes and into your bones. finally, the pain, a dull throb at your neck where the needle went in.

you blink against the dim light. you're on a mattress, thin and lumpy, pushed into the corner of what looks like a basement. the walls are bare concrete, the only light coming from a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling. there are no windows.

you try to lift your head and immediately regret it as the world tilts violently. a soft whimper escaping your lips. when you try to stand up, the chain around your ankle yanks you back. your breath hitches. it's thick, industrial-grade, bolted to the floor and connected to a leather cuff tight enough to leave marks but not cut off circulation.

"she's awake."

the voice comes from the shadows near the stairs. the british one steps into the light, holding two mugs. steam curls from them in the cold air. he's changed clothes and is now wearing black tactical pants and a tight gray henley that stretches across his shoulders. his mask remains firmly in place, the familiar skull fabric hiding his features. only his eyes are visible, glinting in the low light as he studies your pain-tense form.

he sets one mug on the floor near your mattress and keeps the other for himself. "drink. it'll help with the headache."

you don't move. your throat burns with thirst, but you won't take anything from him. not again.

he sighs, crouching down to your level. "suit yourself." he takes a sip from his own mug, watching you over the rim. "you put up a good fight back there. surprised me."

"go to hell." your voice comes out cracked, barely above a whisper.

you can tell he's grinning even through his mask. "already there, darling."

the creak of the stairs makes you both turn. the larger masked man descends slowly, his massive frame barely fitting. he's changed into a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. the sight of those thick veins running under tanned skin makes you swallow hard. his face is concealed by that distinctive hood—the fabric obscuring everything except those unsettling eyes that track your every movement.

"she's not drinking," the british one says. there's something possessive in how he watches you, something that curls heat low in your belly even as your mind screams in protest.

the hooded man tilts his head, the fabric shifting with the movement. "she will."

he reaches into his pocket with deliberate slowness and pulls out a phone. your phone. his fingers tap the screen before turning it toward you. the glow illuminates the loose threads of his hood as you see the bank notification—$100,000 deposited into your account.

"first installment," he says, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. "as promised."

you stare at the number until the screen goes dark, reflecting back the shadowy outline of his concealed face. it's more money than you've ever seen.

the british one nudges the mug closer with his boot. the ceramic scrapes against concrete. "now will you drink?" there's a challenge in his voice that makes you want to both obey and defy him, the contradiction tying your stomach in knots.

your hands shake as you reach for it. when you look up, they're both watching you with something like satisfaction, and the heat in their eyes has nothing to do with cruelty and everything to do with possession. it should terrify you. part of you wishes it did.

the hooded man pockets your phone, the movement making his hood shift. for a second, you think you see the shadow of stubble along his jawline before it disappears back into concealment. "rules are simple," he says. the fabric moves with each word. "you stay. you obey. you get the rest."

"and if i say no?" your voice comes out breathier than you intended.

the british one's laugh is hollow. "you clicked the button, love. that was your signature." he steps closer, and you don't pull away when his thumb brushes your lower lip. "we all know what you really want."

the hooded man's hand settles on your waist, large enough to span nearly half of it. his breath is warm through the fabric as he leans down. "this is your life for now," he murmurs, and the promise in his voice makes your traitorous body arch toward him. "be a good girl and accept it."

the bulb flickers as they leave. the lock clicks. outside, wind howls, but inside, you're burning up. you're torn between horror and shame and filled with the aching need they've awakened in you. the tea sits forgotten as you press your thighs together, disgusted with yourself and yet already wondering when they'll return.

the silence after they leave is suffocating. you slump back against the mattress, your fingers trembling where they clutch the mug. the tea has gone cold, but your skin still burns where they touched you. you hate it. you hate how your body betrays you, how your pulse jumps at the memory of rough hands and low voices.

the chain around your ankle clinks when you shift, the sound too loud in the empty basement. you should be planning an escape. you should be screaming. instead, you're staring at the spot where the british one stood, the way he brushed your lips with his calloused hands burned into your mind. perhaps it was the after effects of the drugs that they gave you making you hallucinate?

you don't know how long has passed but you're most certain that it has definitely been a few hours. you're stomach is grumbling, the last thing you consumed was a day or two ago—a croissant and cup of coffee from the cafe. the hunger was gnawing at your stomach and you were starting to feel dizzy. 

 the door clicks open without warning. you jerk upright, chains rattling, as the british one strides in carrying a tray. the smell hits you first—roasted meat, fresh bread, something herbal that makes your empty stomach clench painfully.

"brought you dinner, darling," he says, setting the tray just beyond your reach. steam rises from the plate, curling in the damp basement air. your mouth waters before you can stop it.

you force your gaze away. "i'm not eating that."

he crouches with predatory grace, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. "oh?" his fingers tear off a piece of bread, holding it up. "smells good though, doesn't it?"

when you don't answer, he tsks. "such a stubborn little thing." the bread brushes your lips. you press them tighter. his other hand grips your chin, forcing your head up. "come now. you'll need your strength."

"for what?" you snap, trying to twist away. his grip tightens.

"for all the fun we're going to have." he presses the bread harder against your mouth. "eat."

you lunge suddenly, teeth aiming for his fingers. he moves faster, twisting your head to the side and pinning you against the mattress. his body presses down, all hard muscle and controlled strength.

"naughty," he breathes against your ear, hips grinding down just enough to make your breath hitch. the bread is still in his other hand. "you want to play rough? fine." he nips your earlobe. "but you're still going to eat."

you thrash violently, nails raking down his arms, legs kicking uselessly beneath his weight. he sighs dramatically. "have it your way." in one smooth motion, he pulls his mask up just enough to reveal cruel, smiling lips and pops the bread into his own mouth, chewing slowly while watching you struggle. "shame. it's really quite good."

your stomach growls loudly. you can feel your face grow heated from embarrassment but your far to prideful to eat anything he offers. you can see his eyes light up with dark amusement. 

before you can react, he's grabbing another piece of bread and chewing it deliberately. you barely have time to gasp before his hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. his mouth crashes against yours, tongue forcing the food past your lips. you choke, but he doesn't let go until you swallow, his teeth nipping your bottom lip as he pulls away.

your chest heaves, torn between rage and the shameful realization that your body is responding to his dominance. he tears off another piece, chewing slowly as he watches you. you know what's coming. your breath comes faster.

"open," he commands. when you don't obey, he pinches your nose shut. instinct makes your lips part, and he's on you again, feeding you another mouthful with his lips and tongue. this time, when he pulls away, a whimper escapes you before you can stop it.

"that's it," he coaxes, feeding you another bite. each morsel comes with a stroke of his fingers, a whispered praise that coils heat low in your belly. "so good for me."

when the food is gone, he lingers, thumb wiping a crumb from your lip. you bite down hard. he yanks back with a laugh, examining the teeth marks on his thumb. when he finally stands, adjusting his mask back into place, you're left panting, your lips swollen, your body thrumming with conflicting sensations.

"feisty till the end," he muses. "i like that." he collects the tray, pausing at the door. "sleep well, princess. you'll need it."

your can feel the exhaustion of the past two days and a 12 hour shift wearing down on your body. as much as you try to fight it off in fear of one of them coming back down, your exhaustion wins and sleep comes heavy and unwilling. your lips still tingle from the forced feeding, your skin buzzing with the memory of his hands on you. you dream of mocking voices and teeth at your throat, waking in gasps only to find the basement still dark, still empty.

when you wake, it is to the feeling up being watched—a feeling that you have known all to well lately. it's him. the hooded one. he seems to be much gentler compared to the one with the british accent. 

he's seated in the corner, silent as a shadow, his massive frame swallowing what little light filters into the room. you don't know how long he's been there, but the way his head tilts when your eyes meet tells you its been far to long. his gaze catches yours slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment its prey realizes it's caught. 

"you're awake." his voice is low, muffled by the mask, but it scrapes over your skin anyway. he doesn't move. doesn't blink. just stares, those unreadable eyes tracking the way your breath hitches.

you sit up slowly, chain clinking, your muscles stiff from the cold floor. instinct has you crawling backward before you can stop yourself, shoulders pressing into the wall as if that could save you. "what do you want?"

he stands in one smooth motion, the movement too graceful for a man his size. the bucket in his hand sloshes, water dripping onto the floor between his boots. "you need to wash."

your stomach drops. "no."

he doesn't react, just sets the bucket down with a thud and nudges it toward you with his foot. the towel draped over his arm is crisp, white—a mockery of cleanliness in this basement. "you're dirty," he says. 

heat floods your cheeks. "i'm not undressing in front of you."

"no?" his head tilts, the edges of his hood shifting. beneath the fabric, you imagine his lips curling. "then you stay dirty." he crouches suddenly, fingers snagging the hem of your shirt. "unless you want help."

you slap his hand away. "don't fucking touch me."

his grip closes around your wrist like a vice, yanking you forward until your chest nearly brushes him. "fight all you want," he murmurs, dragging your trapped hand under his mask. his tongue flicks out, tracing your knuckles through the fabric, slow, as if savoring the salt of your skin. "you'll give in eventually. i'll ask again nicely. take it off."

"no."

one hand fists in your shirt and yanks. the cotton fabric tears like paper. cold air hits your bare skin and you gasp, hands flying up to cover yourself. it's pointless. he's already grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of your bare chest. your nipples harden under his sharp stare and you can't help but squirm. you shouldn't have found this attractive but it had wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs. 

the damp cloth traces your collarbones, slow and methodical, wiping away your sweat. you bite your lip to stop the moan threatening to escape.

"so sensitive," he murmurs, the cloth dipping lower. he releases your wrists and grips your waist, holding you still as he washes between your breasts. your breath comes faster, your nipples pebbling under his attention. "see how your body reacts?"

you squeeze your thighs together, but he notices. of course he does. his knee nudges them apart as he crouches before you. the cloth drags down your stomach, over your hips, leaving fire in its wake. when it reaches the waistband of your shorts, you whimper.

"shhh," he soothes, even as his fingers hook in the fabric. "i'll take care of you." the rip of fabric echoes in the quiet room. you should be ashamed, should fight harder, but his hands on your bare skin feel too good. you melt under his rough hands like putty. you find all the fight that you had slowly simmer down under the gentle care of his hands. 

the water is cool, but where he touches you burns. his fingers trace every curve, every dip, cleaning you with a reverence that makes your chest ache. when his thumb brushes your inner thigh, you jerk, a broken sound escaping your lips.

"so perfect," he growls, his masked mouth pressing against your knee. "so responsive." his hands slide up your legs, washing away the last traces of dirt, leaving you exposed and trembling.

no one has ever been so attentive to you. not when you were scrounging for food in dumpsters at twelve. not when you burned with fever that left you immobile in that shitty studio apartment with no one to even bring you medicine because you had no one. the first tear falls before you can stop it. 

he pauses. "look at me." when you don't, his fingers grip your chin, forcing your gaze up. his masked face tilts, studying your wet cheeks. "crying?" his thumb swipes under your eye, collecting tears. "why?"

"because you're—" your voice cracks "—you're fucking monsters. and this is the kindest anyone's ever touched me."

the confession hangs between you, raw and ugly. his breathing changes, the mask fluttering slightly. for a long moment, he just watches you shake, his grip on your waist the only thing keeping you upright.

was it the emotional wear and tear of the past 48 hours sneaking up on you? or even worse, the lifetime of neglect that you had faced resulting in any kind of attention, good or bad, making you feel seen? you had been numb for so long that the sensation of tear running down your heated cheeks felt foreign. it was almost as if a dam had burst within you. 

his hands resume their work, slower now. the cloth moves down your thighs with unbearable gentleness, washing away dirt and years of neglect. "let go," he murmurs against your knee, his lips brushing skin through the fabric. "just let us take care of you."

you sob when his fingers find the scar on your hip—the one from when you fell through a rusted fire escape at fourteen and stitched it up yourself with fishing line. his touch lingers there, warm and steady, and something inside you fractures.

maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you think wildly, to let them break you. if their hands put you back together after. if they keep looking at you like you're something precious instead of disposable. 

"there," he whispers when you're clean, pressing a towel to your damp skin. his hands tremble slightly as he dresses you, buttoning the fresh dress with careful fingers.

you hate how much you crave his approval. hate how badly you want him to touch you again. but most of all, you hate that when he leaves, the cold feels unbearable—and that the scent of him lingers on your new clothes, wrapping you in something dangerously close to comfort.

the days blur together in a haze of careful hands and quiet commands. the british one that you have come to know as simon comes like clockwork—morning, noon, night—feeding you bites of food between teasing remarks. "open wider, princess," he'll murmur, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip until you obey. sometimes he makes you eat from his fingers. sometimes from his mouth. you always flush, always protest, but your lips part easier each time.

and the tall one that goes by konig is the one who washes you, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as they scrub away your resistance along with the dirt. he notices everything—how your breath hitches when his fingers graze the back of your neck, how your thighs press together when he kneels between them to wash your legs. "so responsive," he praises each time, his masked mouth brushing your ear. "such a good girl for me."

 you had lost track of how many days you had been holed up in the basement. how long did they plan to hold you captive? you had wondered if there had been anybody out there looking for you. although, that was highly unlikely given that you're parents weren't in the picture and you had no friends. maybe your manager at the cafe had filed some kind of report, she was a sweet old lady who always checked in on how you were doing because she knew that you lived alone in a shader part of town. 

as the days passed you started to formulate ways you could escape. the first order of business you had to tackle was the stupid chain on your ankle. luckily for you, there had been a bobby pin from your hair that you had kept hidden under your mattress.

you waited until the house fell silent, until even the creaking floorboards above had stilled. then you went to work. the lock was stubborn, but you were stubborn too. the first click made your pulse spike. the second had your hands shaking with anticipation. 

"and what do we have here?"

you nearly jump out of your skin—your blood turns to ice. simon’s voice comes from directly behind you, his shadow swallowing you whole. you don’t even have time to turn before konig’s hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back.

"naughty girl," he murmurs, plucking the pin from your fingers. his mask brushes your cheek as he inhales sharply. "you smell like fear. you should be scared."

simon crouches in front of you, his knife flashing as he taps it against your ankle cuff. "we give you pretty dresses. feed you from our hands." the blade gently slides up your calf, making you shiver. "and this is how you repay us?"

you spit at him, the saliva landing on his boot. "go to hell."

simon’s laugh sends shivers down your spine as he wipes his boot clean with slow, deliberate strokes. "oh sweetheart," he purrs, sheathing his knife with a click that echoes in the silent basement. "you just earn yourself a proper punishment."

konig’s grip in your hair tightens as he hauls you upright, his other hand wrapping around your throat in a way that shouldn’t make your pulse jump but does. "such a bad girl," he murmurs, his masked lips brushing your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. "needing to be taught a lesson."

you thrash against him, nails scraping at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. the hard planes of his chest press against your back, his arousal evident even through layers of tactical gear. simon stands with that infuriating smirk, rolling up the sleeves of his henley to reveal corded forearms that have no business being so distracting. "over my lap," he commands, settling onto the edge of the mattress with deliberate ease.

"fuck you!" you snarl, twisting in konig’s hold. your heart pounds not just from fear, but from the way his fingers flex against your throat, the way simon’s eyes darken as they rake over your body.

konig tsks, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into yours as he easily maneuvers you face-down across simon’s thighs. the cold air hits your bare ass as konig yanks your panties down in one sharp motion, his knuckles brushing your sensitive skin and leaving fire in their wake.

"such a pretty little ass," simon muses, running his calloused palm over one cheek in a caress that feels more possessive than punishing. "gonna look even prettier all red and marked up."

the first smack lands without warning, sharp and stinging. you yelp, fingers digging into the mattress as heat blooms across your skin. "bastard!" you spit, but your traitorous body already responds, your nipples pebbling against the rough fabric of simon’s jeans.

simon just chuckles, delivering another sharp slap to the same spot, the pain melting into something dangerously close to pleasure. "count them, princess. or we start over." his thigh shifts beneath you, pressing deliberately against your aching core.

"never!" you gasp, but your hips rock forward instinctively, seeking friction.

the next blow comes harder, making your eyes water even as your cunt clenches around nothing. konig’s hand settles between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned as simon begins a relentless rhythm—left cheek, right cheek, each smack louder than the last, each one sending jolts of heat straight to your throbbing clit.

"o-one," you finally crack out in a broken voice, shame curling in your belly even as your arousal grows.

by the fifth spank, your thighs shake—not just from pain, but from the way simon’s massive hand covers nearly your entire ass, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your dripping slit with every impact. the sharp sting radiates through you, mixing with the low throb between your legs until you can’t tell where the pain ends and the pleasure begins.

"f-fifteen," you choke out after another brutal spank, your ass burning like fire. tears streak your face, but worse—your juices coat simon’s jeans where you grind against him, your body betraying you completely. you’re a sobbing, snotty mess by fifty, but your cunt pulses with need, aching to be filled.

simon pauses, rubbing circles over the heated skin of your ass. "fast learner that we have here," he murmurs, his voice rough with arousal. his fingers dip lower, brushing against your soaked folds and coming away glistening. "oh? what’s this?" he holds his wet fingers up for konig to see, his smirk widening.

you whimper, hips jerking away from his touch, but konig holds you firm, his other hand sliding down to squeeze your abused cheeks. "she’s dripping," he observes, his voice thick with amusement as he presses against you, letting you feel the hard length of him through his pants. "such a dirty little thing, getting off on her punishment."

"i’m not!" you protest, but your traitorous body clenches around nothing, your clit throbbing with each heartbeat. the scent of your arousal fills the air, mixing with leather and gunpowder in a way that makes your head spin.

simon’s next smack lands directly on your pussy, the sting mixing with pleasure so intense you scream, your back arching off his lap. "liar," he growls, delivering two more sharp slaps to your swollen lips that have you seeing stars. "your cunt’s begging for more. should we give it to her, konig?"

the taller man hums, his fingers sliding through your folds to circle your aching clit with terrifying precision. "i think she’s earned a reward," he decides, pressing down just hard enough to make you writhe, your hips chasing his touch. "after she apologizes, of course." his thumb flicks over your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing a broken moan from your lips. "well, little one? what do you say?"

you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to give them the satisfaction even as your nails dig into the sheets, your body arching toward konig’s skilled fingers. simon’s hand comes down again, this time on your already burning ass, the sharp sting making your clit throb against konig’s relentless circles. "fuck! okay, okay! i’m sorry!" you sob, the words torn from you as much by pleasure as punishment.

konig’s fingers don’t stop their torturous movements, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "sorry for what, little one?" his voice is rough velvet through the mask, that accent curling around the words in a way that makes your stomach flip.

"for t-trying to escape," you gasp, hips rocking shamelessly against his hand now, your resistance crumbling with each expert stroke. the way simon watches you—those piercing eyes tracking every twitch of your body, the way his jaw tightens when you moan—sends fresh heat pooling low in your belly. "for being a b-bad girl."

simon’s palm lands one final, stinging blow before soothing over the heated skin, his touch almost tender.

"good enough," he decides, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. his eyes darken at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your heaving chest, the way your nipples pebble under his gaze.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. "all marked up and still so defiant." the way his voice drops sends shivers down your spine. "we’ll break you eventually."

konig’s fingers push inside you without warning, curling against that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. "she’s close," he observes, though the way his breath hitches betrays his own arousal. his fingers piston in and out, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room as you arch off the bed, your body taut as a bowstring. "should we let her come?"

"not yet. the first time she comes, it will be on my cock." simon leans down, his breath hot against your ear as konig’s fingers still, leaving you teetering on the edge. "don’t even think about touching yourself, i will be watching."

"next time you misbehave," simon promises, his teeth grazing your earlobe in a way that makes your cunt clench around konig’s fingers, "we won’t stop at just a spanking." the dark promise in his voice has liquid heat dripping down konig’s fingers. "understood?"

you nod frantically, your entire body trembling with denied release, your skin oversensitive and burning wherever they’ve touched you. konig withdraws his fingers with a wet sound, wiping them deliberately on your inner thigh, marking you with your own arousal. "good girl," he murmurs, the praise curling around you like smoke. "now sleep."

as they leave, the door locking behind them with finality, you collapse onto the mattress. your ass still burns, your cunt still aches, and worst of all—your fingers itch to touch yourself despite simon’s warning. you press your thighs together, biting back a moan as the friction sends sparks through your oversensitive nerves.

curling into yourself, you press your face into the pillow to muffle your frustrated scream. you should be planning another escape, looking for a weakness in routine, trying to get out of the shackle but you find yourself wondering on how they would taste and feel instead.

sleep didn't come. just the endless replay of konig's murmured praise, simon's dark promises. the way they'd worked you over like a shared project, all rough hands and calculated tenderness. you bit your lip until copper flooded your tongue, but it didn't stop the memories—konig's breath hitching when you clenched around his fingers, simon's grip in your hair as he forced eye contact while konig touched you.

the next morning arrives with no relief. you wake tangled in sweat-damp sheets, your body still thrumming with last night's denied pleasure. every shift of fabric against oversensitive skin sends sparks through your nerves, making your teeth clench. you press your thighs together tightly, but the pressure only makes it worse —a constant, aching reminder of their control.

"someone didn't sleep well," he observes, setting down the breakfast tray. the scent of coffee makes your chest tighten with something dangerously close to homesickness.

"fuck you," you mutter, but your voice lacks its usual bite.

he chuckles, perching on the edge of the mattress. "eventually." his fingers trail up your bare leg, pausing at the bruise konig left yesterday. when you flinch, he presses harder, his thumb circling the mark. "hurts?"

you shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"liar." the word is almost affectionate as he reaches for the breakfast tray. "open."

when you hesitate, his free hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your still-throbbing core with terrifying accuracy. "i said," he repeats, fingers applying just enough pressure to make your hips jerk, "open."

you part your lips with a shaky exhale, letting him feed you the first bite. his smile widens as he wipes a crumb from your lip with his thumb. "see? was that so hard?"

konig enters silently, his massive frame filling the doorway. his masked face tilts as he takes in the scene—simon's hand still under the sheets, your flushed cheeks, the way your fingers clutch the blanket in white-knuckled fists. "trouble?" he rumbles, moving to stand behind simon.

"just reminding our girl who takes care of her," simon replies, feeding you another bite. this time, konig's hand joins his under the sheets, his fingers replacing simon's. his calloused fingers drags against your sensitive flesh, making you gasp.

"so wet," konig murmurs, his other hand stroking your hair. "even after last night." his fingers work you with clinical precision, never quite giving you what you need. "do you want to come, little one?"

you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood. the answer claws at your throat, but pride keeps it locked behind your teeth.

simon leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "say please," he whispers, "and maybe we'll consider it."

the tray sits forgotten as they reduce you to a trembling mess between them—konig's relentless fingers, simon's filthy words. when you finally break, a whispered "please" slipping past your lips.

simon's fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart, the cool air hitting your needy cunt. his mask is lifted just enough to reveal his smirk before he leans in, tongue dragging a slow, torturous stripe through your folds. you whimper, back arching off the mattress, but he pins you down with ease, his grip bruising.

"so fucking wet," he mutters against you, lips sealing around your clit to suck lightly—just enough to make your toes curl but not enough to push you over. his tongue flicks and teases, alternating between soft licks and sharp nips that leave you gasping. konig's hand strokes your inner thigh, his other palming himself through his pants, the quiet sound of fabric rustling filling the room.

"please," you choke out, fingers twisting in the sheets.

simon pulls back with a wet sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "please what?" he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, the thick head catching on your clit. you jerk, a broken noise escaping you. "use your words."

"please—fuck me," you plead, hips lifting desperately.

he doesn't make you wait. with one brutal thrust, he's inside, stretching you to the limit, the stretch burning so good. his hips snap forward, setting a punishing pace from the start, each drive punching a moan from your lips. konig's hand slips between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in time with simon's thrusts, the dual stimulation making your vision blur.

"gonna come?" simon growls, fingers digging into your hips. "told ya the first time you'd come would be on my cock."

you shatter with a sob, your cunt clenching around him as pleasure crashes over you in waves. the orgasm so intense that it hits you like a freight train. simon fucks you through it, his own release following shortly after with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. konig's breath is ragged behind his mask, his hand moving faster over himself until he grunts, spilling over his fist.

simon pulls out with a satisfied hum, thumb swiping through the mess between your thighs before pressing it to your lips. "good girl," he murmurs, watching as you lick it clean. konig's hand strokes your hair, his touch almost gentle compared to the wreckage simon left behind.

"next time," konig says, "i'm taking your ass, little one."

konig's fingers curl around the cold metal of the shackle, the one that's been clamped around your ankle for weeks—maybe months, time blurred down here in the dark. the click of the lock releasing is the sweetest sound you've ever heard. your skin tingles where the rough iron had been, the sudden absence of weight making your leg feel almost weightless, like you could float away.

the relief is immediate. the constant pressure, the chafing, the way it bit into your flesh every time you moved—gone. you suck in a sharp breath as blood rushes back to the spot, the sensation both prickling and soothing at once. you reach down without thinking, fingertips brushing over the raw, tender skin. it's sore, yes, but god, it's free.

he watches you for a moment, his masked face unreadable, before he hooks an arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you like you weigh nothing. your body protests weakly—every muscle limp, every nerve still buzzing from simon's rough treatment—but you don't fight it. you can't.

the basement stairs creak under his boots, each step taking you further from the damp, mold-scented air, closer to something you'd almost forgotten existed. real light, real air. your vision swims as he carries you into the hallway, the sudden brightness making you flinch. it's not even that bright—just a dim lamp flickering on the wall—but your eyes burn anyway, unused to anything but shadows.

he kicks open a door, and then you're being lowered onto something soft. a bed. actual fabric beneath you, not concrete, not that pathetic excuse of a mattress. your body sinks into it, the mattress cradling you in a way that makes your throat tighten. you want to cry. you might already be crying.

konig's hand drags over your bare hip, possessive but not cruel. "rest," he orders, voice gravelly. "you'll need it."

you don't have the strength to answer. the second he pulls the blanket over you, your eyelids give out, heavy as lead. the last thing you feel is the ghost of his touch on your cheek before darkness swallows you whole.

later that evening, you stir to the feeling of large hands sliding beneath you, lifting you with surprising care. your body aches, muscles still heavy with exhaustion, but the pain is duller now—soothed by the deep, dreamless sleep you'd fallen into.

konig's voice is softer than usual, almost tender as he murmurs, "time to get you cleaned up, little one."

you blink up at him, disoriented, but there's no cruelty in his touch, no impatience. just steady, quiet control. the mask is still in place, but his movements are gentle as he carries you down the hall, the sound of running water growing louder with each step.

when he pushes open the bathroom door, steam curls in the air, the scent of something warm and herbal—lavender maybe—filling your lungs. your breath hitches. a real bath. not a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, not the rough scrub of a rag while you shiver on the basement floor.

the tub is already full, water glimmering under the dim light, little bubbles floating on the surface. konig kneels beside it, testing the temperature with his fingers before turning back to you. "can you stand?" he asks, voice low.

you nod, though your legs tremble when your feet touch the tile. his grip tightens just enough to steady you, his other hand sliding around your waist to keep you upright. the care in his touch is almost startling—like he's handling something fragile, something precious.

he helps you step into the water, and the moment it closes over your skin, you nearly whimper. it's so warm, so soft, the heat seeping into your sore muscles, loosening the tension in your back, your shoulders. you sink deeper, the water rising to your collarbones, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel clean.

konig doesn't rush you. he sits on the edge of the tub, one arm draped over the rim, watching as you slowly relax. when he finally reaches for the soap, his movements are methodical, careful. the washcloth glides over your skin, scrubbing away the grime, the sweat, the lingering traces of simon's touch. he's thorough but never rough, his fingers lingering just a little longer on the places where bruises bloom—like he's memorizing them.

when he reaches your hair, his touch turns almost reverent. he tips your head back, cupping water in his palm to wet the strands before working the shampoo through with slow, massaging circles. your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a quiet sigh escaping you. it's the closest thing to kindness you've felt in so long, and it makes your chest ache.

"better?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you can only nod, throat too tight to speak.

he hums in approval, rinsing the suds away before lifting you from the water with effortless strength. a plush towel wraps around you, absorbing the droplets as he pats you dry with surprising tenderness. his hands linger on your hips before he lifts you again, carrying you back to the bed.

the sheets are cool against your skin as he lays you down, but the warmth of the bath still lingers beneath your flesh. he looms over you, his masked face unreadable as he reaches for something on the nightstand—a small bottle of oil.

"gonna stretch this pretty little ass for me," he murmurs, uncapping the bottle. the scent of vanilla and something spicier fills the air as he pours the oil over his fingers, warming it between them. "you'll take it so well, won't you? always such a good girl for us."

his free hand spreads your thighs, exposing you completely. you shiver, but not from cold. there's something about the way he looks at you, the way his voice drops into that rough, possessive tone that makes your stomach tighten.

the first touch of his slick fingers against your rim makes you gasp. he circles slowly, teasing, watching how your body reacts. "so tight," he growls. "gonna ruin you for anything else."

just as the tip of his finger begins to press inside, movement catches your eye—simon, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. his gaze is dark, hungry, tracking konig's every movement. when he pushes off the wall and stalks forward, your breath hitches.

"look at that," simon murmurs, dragging a calloused finger through your folds. "already wet for it." his touch is rougher than konig's, less patient, but it sends a jolt of heat through you all the same.

konig chuckles, the sound low and pleased as he works his finger deeper. "she loves it," he says, twisting his wrist just enough to make you whimper. "don't you, little one? love being stuffed full?"

simon's fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have your hips jerking. "fuck," he breathes, watching konig push a second finger in. "look at her. greedy little thing."

the stretch burns, but the pleasure simon coaxes from your clit makes it impossible to focus on anything else. konig scissors his fingers, stretching you further, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "soon," he promises, voice thick with want, "it'll be my cock. gonna wreck this perfect ass until you can't walk."

simon leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "and i'll be right here," he murmurs, "playing with this pretty cunt while he does."

the plug is cold when konig presses it against your hole, but the way he works it inside��slowly—has you arching off the bed. simon's fingers curl inside you, matching konig's pace, and when the plug finally pops into place, you come with a broken cry, their praises ringing in your ears.

the room is hazy as they pulls away, simon's fingers glistening as he drags them slowly from your soaked cunt. you're still trembling, oversensitive and boneless, but he doesn't let you rest for long.

"open," he commands, pressing those same wet fingers to your lips.

you obey without thinking, tongue darting out to lick them clean, the taste of yourself sharp and familiar. simon hums, satisfied, before reaching for the tray he'd brought earlier. the food is simple but to you, it might as well be a feast.

simon doesn't hand it to you. instead, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it to your mouth. "eat," he says, voice rough but not unkind.

you take a bite, the flavors exploding on your tongue, and you have to force yourself not to whimper. it's so good, so much better than anything you've had in what feels like forever. simon watches you chew, his dark eyes tracking every movement of your throat as you swallow.

"that's it," he murmurs, grabbing another piece. "good girl."

he feeds you like that making sure you take your time. konig watches from the foot of the bed. you can feel the weight of his gaze. it's heavy, possessive, and it makes your skin prickle even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs.

when the tray is empty, simon sets it aside and wipes your mouth with his thumb, the gesture almost tender. "sleep now," he orders, pushing you back onto the pillows.

you don't have the energy to resist, not when your body feels so heavy, so used. the plug inside you is a constant reminder of their claim, but right now, even that can't keep you awake.

the last thing you see is konig leaning over you, his hand brushing your hair from your face. "rest," he says, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "we're not done with you yet."

escape is the last thing on your mind as you doze off. 

the next morning, sunlight filters through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. it had been so long since you'd waken up to the sun. you stir as the door creaks open, konig's broad frame filling the doorway. 

"morning, little one," he rumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

you sit up slowly, the soreness in your body a dull ache now, more memory than pain. the plug in your ass still feels foreign. konig crosses the room in a few strides, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "feel better?" he asks, tilting his head.

you nod, and something in his posture relaxes—just slightly.

"good," he says. "then let's get you dressed."

he doesn't give you a choice, but his hands are gentle as he helps you into fresh clothes—soft cotton pants, a loose sweater that smells faintly of him. when he kneels to slide socks onto your feet, his fingers linger over the fading marks from the shackle, his thumb pressing lightly against the tender skin. 

you had fallen so into routine with the two of them that your old life was a thing of the past. it's not like you had anything or anyone to go back to. at least here, you had a roof over your head and you didn't have to worry about when or what your next meal would be. 

"no more basement," he murmurs, more to himself than you.

"no more basement," you repeat after him. 

then he stands, offering you his hand. "come. you can see the rest of the house."

your breath catches. real freedom—even if it's just within these walls—feels like a dream. konig leads you through the hallway, his grip firm but not restraining. the house is larger than you expected, the floors polished wood, the walls lined with framed maps and black-and-white photographs.

but it's the library that makes you stop.

floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with books of every color and size. your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to touch, to explore. konig notices, of course. he always notices.

"go on," he says, nudging you forward.

you don't need to be told twice. the moment your fingertips brush the spine of a book, something tight in your chest loosens. you pull one out at random, the weight of it familiar and comforting in your hands.

konig watches as you curl into an armchair, your knees tucked under you, the book open in your lap. he doesn't join you, just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. but he doesn't leave either.

the silence is comfortable, broken only by the turn of pages. you lose yourself in the words, the story pulling you under, and for the first time in so long, you forget—forget the basement, forget the pain, forget that you're anything but a girl reading a book on a quiet morning.

until konig shifts, pushing off the wall. "simon's back," he says, and just like that, the spell breaks.

your fingers tighten around the book, but you don't protest when he takes it from you, marking the page with a slip of paper before setting it aside.

"later," he promises, his hand sliding under your chin, tilting your face up to his. "if you're good."

the rest of the day goes by in a blur, you even asked simon if you could cook dinner and he agreed although he was wary of letting you use a knife, reasonably so. 

the knife feels heavy in your hand—too much power after so long without any. simon watches from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every movement. you can feel his gaze like a physical weight, but you focus on the vegetables in front of you, slicing them carefully.

"slow," simon murmurs, stepping closer. his breath ghosts over the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "don't get too excited now."

you nod, forcing your hands to steady. the rhythm of chopping is almost meditative, the repetitive motion soothing. simon hums in approval, his fingers brushing your hip as he reaches past you for a glass. the casual touch makes your stomach tighten.

dinner is simple—pasta, roasted vegetables, a sauce simmering on the stove. it's more than you've cooked in months, maybe years, and the domesticity of it feels surreal. konig appears just as you're plating the food, his mask pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. he inhales deeply, nodding.

"smells good, little one," he says, taking his seat at the table.

simon doesn't say thank you, but the way he cleans his plate tells you enough.

the meal is quiet, the only sounds the scrape of forks and konig's occasional low comment. you eat slowly, savoring each bite, hyperaware of their eyes on you. when you finish, konig takes your plate without a word, stacking it with the others.

then simon stands, stretching lazily before fixing you with a look that makes your pulse jump.

"bed," he says, tone leaving no room for argument.

you obey without hesitation, your body already reacting to the command. konig follows, his presence a solid warmth at your back as you climb the stairs.

your room is dim, the bed neatly made—just as you left it. but you don't get the chance to admire it before simon is pushing you onto the mattress, his hands rough but purposeful. 

"you did good today," simon murmurs as he strips you of your clothes, "so we'll make it good for you too."

the mattress dips under their combined weight as konig settles behind you, his massive frame caging you in. his thick thighs bracket yours, forcing your legs wider. you can feel the obscene stretch of his cock already—hard and leaking against your ass—as he works the plug inside you with slow, filthy twists.

"fuck, look at you," simon growls from between your legs, his calloused fingers spreading your drooling cunt wide. "clit all swollen and begging, and this greedy little hole—" he slaps it, making you jerk, "—dripping just from getting stuffed in the ass. fucking perfect."

konig’s hand fists your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he finally pulls the plug free with a wet pop. the cold air hits your stretched rim for just a second before he’s pressing the thick head of his cock against it, spit-slick and relentless.

"breathe, little one," he rumbles, but doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s sinking in, inch by brutal inch. your back arches, a broken scream tearing from your throat as he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.

simon doesn’t let you recover. he flips you onto your back, your legs hooked over his shoulders as he slams into your cunt in one brutal thrust. the angle is deep, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every snap of his hips.

"that’s it, take it," simon grunts, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit as konig starts moving behind you. the stretch is unreal, your body stuffed impossibly full, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls.

konig’s hand slides around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur as he murmurs, "feel that? both of us inside you, owning you." his thrusts are slower, deeper, dragging against your oversensitive rim with every pull.

simon leans down, biting your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. "gonna fuck you so full, princess," he snarls. "gonna pump this tight cunt until it’s dripping with me—then watch as he seals it all inside you."

you’re sobbing now, your body strung tight between them, pleasure and pain blurring into one unbearable wave. konig’s free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he picks up the pace, his balls slapping against your ass with every snap of his hips.

"come," simon demands, slapping your clit again. "come on our cocks like the filthy little thing you are."

you shatter with a scream, your cunt fluttering around simon as your ass clenches down on konig. they don’t stop—just fuck you through it, their groans mingling as they chase their own release.

simon comes first, his cock pulsing inside you as he grinds deep, filling you up just like he promised. konig follows with a low snarl, his thrusts turning erratic before he spills, his cum mixing with simon’s as it leaks out around his still-hard cock.

for a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and the wet drip of their spend onto the sheets.

then konig leans down, plugging your ass again, now filled with his cum. "my perfect little one," he murmurs, pressing a kiss through his mask to your pulse point. "you did so well."

simon just smirks, tapping your swollen clit once more just to watch you twitch. your body is limp between them, every muscle trembling from overstimulation. for a moment, you think they’ll leave you like this—used and sticky and aching. but then simon shifts, his arms sliding beneath you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you whimper at the movement, your oversensitive skin protesting, but he hushes you with a low hum.

"shh, princess" he murmurs, carrying you toward the bathroom. "we’ll take care of you."

the water is already warm when he lowers you into the tub, the heat soothing your sore muscles. konig follows, a damp cloth in hand as he kneels beside you.

"look at you," simon says, dragging the cloth over your stomach, wiping away the evidence of their claim. "so pretty when you’re all fucked out."

you shiver, but there’s no bite to his words—just quiet satisfaction. konig takes your hand, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles as simon cleans between your legs, his touch surprisingly careful despite the way you flinch.

when the water starts to cool, konig lifts you, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you back to bed. the sheets have been changed, fresh and soft against your skin. simon presses a glass of water to your lips, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to help you drink.

"slow," he warns, but his voice lacks its usual edge.

you swallow obediently, the water soothing your raw throat. konig climbs in beside you, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. simon settles at your back, his arm slung over your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder.

"you can leave tomorrow if you want, the rest of the money promised to you will be wired to your account," konig murmurs into the quiet, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. the words hang in the air, heavy and unexpected.

you go still against him.

simon’s grip tightens slightly at your waist, but he doesn’t argue. just waits for your response.

the offer is real. you can tell by the way konig’s chest rises and falls, measured and slow, like he’s bracing for something. like he already knows.

your throat feels tight. you think of whatever shitty life awaits you beyond these four wall. you had nothing to go back to. yes, the money would be nice but not as nice as whatever this was. you think of the careful way simon had fed you, the way konig had held you after. you think of the basement—the cold, the dark, the ache of being nothing.

and then you think of this.

the weight of them around you, the heat, the way their touches have started to feel less like a threat and more like...something else. something you don’t have a name for yet.

you press closer to konig, nuzzling into the space between his collarbone and jaw, his mask tickling your nose. his breath hitches, just slightly.

"no," you whisper.

simon exhales against your shoulder, his arm curling tighter. konig’s hand stills on your arm before sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the spot behind your ear.

"good choice, princess" simon rumbles, and you hear a rustle behind you followed by a kiss to your shoulder. you lean over to see that he had taken his mask off, it was your first time seeing him without it. your heart catches in your throat, you hadn't expected him to be that attractive.

konig doesn’t say anything. but when you tilt your head up to look at him, his mask is off, his dark eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes and drift off.

the days melt into weeks, then months, then years—each one softer than the last. the basement gathers dust, its door left permanently ajar until one day konig tears it off its hinges and turns the space into a wine cellar. you laugh when simon fills the first rack with cheap beer instead.

their masks stay off more often than not now. you learn the way simon’s nose scrunches when he laughs, the way konig’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when he’s fighting sleep. they learn the way you hum when you cook, the way your toes curl when they kiss that spot behind your knee.

mornings find you tangled in their arms, afternoons in the library with your head in konig’s lap as simon reads aloud (badly, on purpose, just to hear you giggle). evenings are spent on the porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of gold and violet, their hands never far from yours.

[grumpymirelurkqueen]

I still have rot in my brain. So take this my friends.

" Imagine Kenma big streamer and video game player. You creator of a romantic visual novel that makes people talk about him. "

He didn't anticipate that at the start of the stream. Everyone knew about it, but it looks like he completely forgot to watch the game news. How can such a good streamer not know when an update is coming? asks a viewer in the chat. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, a ball of stress forming in his stomach. When he started streaming, he'd had a lot of nasty comments. But with time and perfect planning, he had managed to inoculate himself against this kind of comment. At least that's what he told himself. Perhaps not in reality. Poor guy, he was completely lost. He didn't know what game to play tonight. Why did an update have to be made now.

He chuckles to himself over the microphone, then speaks again to lighten things up.

To keep face with his viewers, Kenma asks for one of their favourite games. He's seen all sorts of answers, from games he knows and has streamed to games he's never heard of. But one name catches his eye. A comment to be precise:

"I know you don't do romance games or anything like that. But it's so gripping with a sad story and a romance that grabs you by the scruff of the neck. The characters are endearing and I cried for their story. This game is like no other. I've played a lot of Visual Novels, but this one is a masterpiece. The creator said that she was inspired by her love story and that of her acquaintances. The name of the game is Love And Tears. I just hope you can see my comment."

At first he didn't see the comment, it was those who agreed with him. That he went up the threads.

He had already heard of the game, but had never played it. Thinking that these viewers couldn't possibly like this kind of game. But a wave of comments came in, showering the game with praise. It convinced him that he might be discovering a new kind of game.

"I warn you, I'm not very good at romance games. I'm only doing this for you."

He's been playing for an hour and a half now, and his audience has soared.

At the start of the game, her viewers had left because they weren't playing their usual games. Hateful to misogynistic comments appeared in her chat. Then they left, seeing a wall of support. It was the first time in two years of streaming that pure goodwill had arisen from people he'd never seen before. New subscribers have come to support him and help him see the full potential of the game. A place once full of insults about young players who didn't know how to use their controllers has now become a relaxing stream. For the first time in two years he could relax and not be judged by his choices.

He saw an honest game about love and life choices. A game without butterflies or colourful bows. So far, nothing too sad, in his opinion. But he can't help getting attached to some of the characters. Even though he's been trying to play the detached guy all along. He can no longer hide it from his viewers when one of the terribly sad multiple choice chapters pops up on his screen. A groan of frustration goes through his mike.

" I'm sorry but I can't choose between Sheyra and Akemi. I really like Sheyra, she's honest and whole, it's refreshing to see her. But I made a promise to Akemi. I just can't. It's a horrible choice."

He collapses into his gaming chair, dropping his keyboard and mouse. He doesn't know what to do. He knows they're just fictional characters, but he doesn't know why he's become attached to the two girls. He looks at the cat, hoping that someone will tell him what to do to find the best solution. All he sees are divided comments. Between Sheyra who can no longer help her friend, whose comments insult her as a bad friend. And on the other hand Akemi, who is stuck in a toxic relationship, juggling his boyfriend and the character played by Kenma. He's frustrated with himself, perhaps because he made the wrong choices in the previous chapters. All he wants is a comment on the confirmation of this choice. Then a comment with a rather strange name : "therealcreatorofloveandtears"

"You've made the mistake of getting too attached to Akemi at the moment. Keep up the good work and I'll enjoy watching you play my game. 😜"

"Omg the game creator! I love your game so much."

Several similar comments appear after this one. He doesn't believe what he's just read. Is she really the creator of the game? he asks himself, stunned in his chair. He tries to say something, but nothing comes out. Too stunned.

"Erm… So what would you advise me to do?" he asks a little nervously, it's the first time he's spoken to a creator about a game he likes."

" This is your first part so have fun finding out their story, then you can get the bonus content later😉. There are even some hot scenes if you want…"

He's blushing furiously as he reads your comment. Wait, he's really fallen for a Visual Novel? Or he's blushing because Kuroo sent him your Instagram. Fortunately, he never puts a camera to his streams, otherwise it would have been weird…

"Take a look at the Instagram of our little video game designer, I think you'll like it!"

🦀 : I admit the name of the game isn't the most creative. But it does its job.

[ohgodthevoices]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Save point °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

time skip kenma x f!reader

word count : 2922

Premise : You’re a concept artist who recently moved to Tokyo after a personal tragedy left you questioning your purpose. You take a low-key job at a new gaming studio, where you meet Kenma Kozume, the quiet yet sharp CEO. Initially, you clash—Kenma is reserved and brutally honest, while you’re more expressive but guarded. However, as you work together on a passion project, the walls you’ve both built around yourselves begin to crumble.

note : this fanfic will be on my ao3 >here< it might be more organized and easier to keep up with it but i will still upload the chapters here <3

chapter 1/ chapter 2 / chapter 3

Chapter one

The Tokyo skyline stretched endlessly outside the glass windows of the modest office. The sound of computers and the faint clicking of keyboards filled the space, a rhythm you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. But today, there was an edge in the air—a tension you couldn’t ignore.

You adjusted your headphones, trying to drown out the growing sense of unease. You began to notice every little noise, the elevator opening and closing , the cars beeping outside, the messed up tie of the man walking past you, the ice melting in your cup of coffee.

“You’ll be collaborating directly with Kozume-san on the upcoming project. Effective immediately.”

Your stomach churned. You’d only been here a month, barely long enough to learn everyone’s names, let alone work with the CEO himself. You had joined this company partly because of its reputation for having a younger, laid-back workforce. It was refreshing to work somewhere that didn’t require stiff suits or stifling formalities. Here, you could stroll into the office in sweats, hair undone and no one would bat an eye. It wasnt simple allowed, it was the norm.

You worked in the artistic department, where your job was to bring life to the game’s visuals—character designs, environments, and UI elements. Your desk was a cluttered haven of sketches, color palettes, and concept art pinned to the walls.

It was the kind of work you’d dreamed about during late nights in art school, but the reality was far more demanding than you’d anticipated.

Deadlines were tight, revisions were endless, and creativity didn’t always come on command. Some days, the ideas flowed effortlessly, your tablet pen gliding across the screen as you brought fantastical worlds to life. Other days, you’d stare at a blank canvas, frustration bubbling as you struggled to meet expectations.

Your first impression of Kenma Kozume came in passing, and even then, he was hard to miss.

The first time you saw him, he was slouched at a desk in the far corner of the office, hoodie pulled over his head, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. He didn’t look up once, even as people moved around him, his focus unshakable.

The second time, you caught a glimpse of him in the break room. He stood by the coffee machine, staring blankly at the counter as it filled his mug. There was something oddly unapproachable about him, even in such a mundane moment. He had an air of detachment, like the world around him barely registered unless it directly affected him.

You’d never spoken to him, but you’d already decided he wasn’t the type to make small talk or exchange pleasantries. Still, there was something magnetic about him, something that made you wonder what went on behind those sharp, tired eyes.

You had learned that prior to you , Kenma was never really in the office , he was still a streamer more than a CEO , after all this game developement project is only possible thanks to his succesful gaming career. However recently , once he saw how sucessful his idea got , he was now more present in the office and hired more people , you included.

“Hey, Y/N!”

A bright, cheerful voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. You looked up to see Kaori, her vibrant pink hair catching the fluorescent light as she leaned against your desk. Her wide grin and colorful appearance were like a splash of sunshine in the otherwise neutral-toned office.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blinked, the metaphor hitting a little too close to home. “That’s… not far off,” you admitted, gesturing to your screen. “I have to work with Kozume-san. On his project.”

Kaori let out a low whistle, plopping into the chair beside you. “Oof, that’s a big one. But hey, you’re amazing at what you do. You’ll be fine.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if I mess up? He’s… him. He’s probably going to hate everything I do.” you bury you hand into the palm of you hands

“What if—”

“Nope.” Kaori held up a hand, cutting you off. “No ‘what ifs.’ You’re going to go in there, show him what you’ve got, and if he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at her unwavering energy. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is easy,” she said with a wink. “Just think of him as a moody NPC. He might be hard to impress, but you’ve got the skills to win him over.

That made you laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit. “Thanks, Kaori. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said, standing up and flipping her hair dramatically over her shoulder. “Now, go slay that boss battle. You’re the main character, after all.”

As she walked back to her desk, her bright presence lingering in the air, you took a deep breath. Maybe Kaori was right. You could do this. You just had to believe it yourself.

You checked your schedule, hoping—praying—that there had been some kind of mistake. But there it was, glaring at you in bold letters:

Meeting with Kozume-san | 2:00 PM | Conference Room 3

Your stomach sank. It wasn’t just a casual check-in; you were expected to present your ideas.

You glanced at your tablet, where the rough sketches and concept notes for the project stared back at you. The game was a platformer with a futuristic theme, but Kenma had insisted on “keeping it simple.” That vague direction had left you stuck between creating something bold and eye-catching or playing it safe with minimalist designs.

The game you were working on was set in a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world, a crumbling cityscape where neon lights flickered through the smog and towering skyscrapers were half-collapsed, their skeletal remains a testament to a world long past its prime. The streets were flooded with a mix of broken technology and rusted machinery, the last remnants of a once-thriving society. With game mecanics similar to The Last Of Us , the players would collects ressources and try to survive in groups.

Your characters were survivors—scrappy, resourceful, and filled with the grit needed to navigate this decaying world. You’d designed them to be mismatched, each with their own story written into their attire, their scars, their expressions. The environments were dark, gritty, and filled with the hum of malfunctioning tech, but you’d infused them with moments of color—neon signs, glowing graffiti, the occasional flicker of hope in the bleakness.

But now, staring at your designs, the doubt began to creep in. Was it too much? Kenma was known for his minimalist approach, and here you were, drowning in the chaos of color and detail. Would he see your vision as too loud, too cluttered for the world he had in mind?

The clock was ticking. You had less than a couple hours before the meeting.

You were so absorbed in tweaking the final details of your designs that you didn’t notice Kaori approaching your desk. Without a word, she set a takeout bag down in front of you with a soft thud, the scent of warm food wafting through the air. A thumbs-up and a smirk was the only indication she’d left before she walked away,

With a quiet exhale and a smile, you grabbed the food, letting yourself step away from the screen. For a few minutes, you allowed yourself to just eat, to breathe, to let the chaos of your thoughts settle.

————————————————————————

You stood in front of the conference room door, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold metal of the doorknob felt like a weight in your hand

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but your hands were shaking. The designs you’d worked so hard on, the ones that felt like your heart and soul poured onto the screen, suddenly felt like they weren’t enough. What if Kenma didn’t get it? What if he didn’t like it?

You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Five minutes. Just five minutes until you have to go in.

You reached for the doorknob, your fingers trembling slightly, but before you could turn it, the door suddenly swung open, and you stumbled back in surprise.

Kenma Kozume stood there, but he wasn’t alone. A sleek, black cat perched casually on his shoulder, its golden eyes eerily similar to his own.

His light blonde hair, slightly messy and falling over his forehead, gave him a perpetually disheveled look. He didn’t seem to care much about appearances, as his hoodie—gray and a bit oversized—hung loosely on his frame, paired with comfortable, worn-in jeans.

The cat let out a soft meow, and Kenma, unfazed, gave it a quick scratch under the chin before glancing at you. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a faint flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

“You’re early,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

Your eyes darted between him and the cat, trying to process what you were seeing.

Waaa the cat looks exactly like him!

You hadn’t pegged him as the type to bring a pet—let alone one so comfortably perched on his shoulder—to a meeting.

As you hesitated, the cat jumped down gracefully, landing on the conference table with a soft thud. It padded across the surface, tail flicking, before curling up near the laptop that was clearly set up for the presentation.

Kenma sat down without a word, as if this was all completely normal, and started typing on his laptop.

“You can start whenever,” he said, not looking up

Snapping out of your daze, you stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind you. The cat’s gaze followed you as you moved toward the table, its tail swishing lazily.

Your tablet felt heavier in your hands as you set it down, your designs still vivid on the screen. You glanced at Kenma, but his focus remained fixed on his laptop.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint clicking of keys. You cleared your throat softly, hoping to signal that you were ready to start, but the sound barely registered.

Instead, it was the cat that took action. It stood, padded over to your tablet, and plopped down directly on top of it, effectively blocking your work from view.

Your eyes widened, and you froze, unsure of what to do. “Um…”

Kenma finally looked up, his gaze shifting between you and the cat. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

“Pudding,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. The cat flicked its tail but didn’t move.

“Pudding?” you replied before you could stop yourself.

Kenma leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s her name. She likes warm surfaces. Just move her.”

You hesitated, not wanting to offend the feline—or its owner. Tentatively, you reached out, sliding your hands under the cat’s small frame. Pudding meowed in protest but allowed herself to be relocated to the edge of the table.

As soon as your tablet was clear, you turned it on and opened your designs. The glowing images of the post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world filled the screen, casting faint neon reflections onto the polished table.

Kenma leaned forward slightly, his attention finally shifting to your work. His golden eyes narrowed as he studied the sketches, the lines of his face giving nothing away.

Your heart raced as the silence stretched on, every second feeling like an eternity. You wanted to explain, to justify your choices, but the words caught in your throat.

Finally, Kenma spoke, his voice quiet but deliberate. “Why did you choose this color palette?”

The question was simple, but it carried weight. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I wanted to balance the desolation of the setting with moments of vibrancy,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “The neon lights and glowing elements are meant to represent remnants of the old world—hope, even in destruction.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking between the tablet and you. Then, without a word, he reached out and swiped to the next image.

The room fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle as Pudding shifted on the table.

You watched as Kenma swiped through your designs, his expression neutral. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before you began to explain your characters.

“These characters are survivors,” you said, gesturing to the designs on the tablet. “Each one has their own backstory, their own way of navigating this broken world. I wanted them to stand out in contrast to the bleak environment—each piece of their clothing, their scars, their accessories, all tell a story of where they’ve been and what they’ve had to survive.”

Kenma’s eyes flicked over the characters, his gaze flickering between the vibrant details of their outfits and the muted tones of the world around them. He didn’t seem to react at first, but then he spoke, his voice calm and direct.

“They’re too flashy for side characters,” he said, his tone flat but cutting. “If they’re meant to be secondary, the design needs to be more subtle. The world you’ve created is chaotic, but the characters should blend into it, not dominate it.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at his words. You had poured so much into these characters, wanting them to feel real, to feel alive in a world that had been stripped of so much.

“You’ve got a strong concept,” he said, his tone softer now. “Just need to refine the details.”

You nodded, trying to absorb his feedback. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was something you could work with.

The room felt quieter now, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of his criticism, but you also knew that this was the process.

You had to adapt.

Taking a deep breath, you swiped to the next character design, one of the more subdued ones. “I understand what you mean,” you said, your voice more composed now. “Maybe I went a little overboard. But these characters, they’ve lived through so much. I wanted them to feel like they’ve earned their place in this world.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached forward, swiping through the designs once more, his eyes scanning them critically. Pudding, who had been lounging on the table, lazily swatted at the edge of the tablet, causing the screen to flicker slightly.

Kenma glanced at the cat, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Pudding,” he muttered, gently pushing her paw away from the screen. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to you.

“You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “The characters do need to feel like they’ve earned their place. But if they’re secondary, they shouldn’t demand attention. The focus needs to be on the world. The players need to feel like they’re in the world, not just looking at it.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. The idea was starting to click, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’ll adjust the designs,” you said, determination creeping back into your voice. “I’ll make them blend into the world more, but still keep their individuality. They need to feel like they belong, but also like they’ve got something to prove.”

Kenma nodded, his eyes flicking to the screen one last time before he stood up. “Good. That’s what I want to see. Take your time with it. The meeting’s over for now.”

your mind already racing with ideas for revisions. As you gathered your things, Pudding meowed again, hopping onto your lap before you could get up.

You blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but chuckle.

Kenma gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. “She likes you.”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing slightly. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. You still had a lot of work to do, but now you had a clearer direction.

As you walked out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. You had the feedback you needed. Now it was up to you to turn it into something even better.

You stepped out of the conference room, still processing Kenma’s feedback. The weight of the revisions hung over you, but you were determined to prove him wrong, to make the changes and show him you could do it.

As you made your way down the hallway, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, it was an email from Kenma.

You paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Why would he email me?

You opened the message, your eyes scanning the short, direct note:

I want to see the updated designs by tomorrow. Come to my office at 5 PM.

Your heart skipped a beat.

His office? Tomorrow ? you didnt have much time…

Before you could process it, someone called your name from behind. You turned, only to find Kenma standing at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

He was looking directly at you, his eyes piercing through the distance.

“Don’t be late,” he said, his voice low, and then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

You stood frozen, the weight of the email and his words sinking in. What was this really about?

[violettwritess]

I hate that I still care m.s

Summary: Y/n has always been the one to try, to reach out, to hold things together. But when the weight of being unnoticed becomes too much, she makes a decision that changes everything.

Warnings: none

Wc: 1.5k

English is not my first language

Y/n sat on the couch, phone in hand, the screen faintly glowing, her thumb hovered over the keyboard, typing out a message and then deleting it, over and over, she knew Matt was busy, he always was, but still, it stung a little every time he didn’t reply immediately. She didn’t need his constant attention, but it would’ve been nice if, just once, he could’ve made her feel like she mattered.

She had always tried to convince herself that he cared in his own way, he wasn’t the type to express his feelings openly, and maybe that was okay, she’d learned to let it slide, but recently, it had started to feel like she was the only one trying, the only one sending texts, the only one initiating plan, the only one staying up late waiting for a reply.

It wasn’t like their relationship was terrible, they still had good moments, moments that made her believe it was worth it. Like when they had spent the whole afternoon at a coffee shop last week, laughing at nothing in particular. Or when he had held her hand while watching a movie, like it was just the two of them in the world, those moments were magic. But then there were the other times, the times when she felt invisible, like he had checked out without saying a word.

It had started small, him forgetting their plans, him canceling last minute because of filming a video for, him getting too caught up in his phone to notice her sitting right next to him. Every time, she told herself it didn’t matter.

But today, it hit differently, they had spent the whole day together, and yet she felt farther away from him than ever, they had gone for a walk in the park, and he was more interested in his phone than in talking to her, she had caught him scrolling through his feed, barely listening to her, is laughter had been too loud, too forced, when he finally acknowledged her. The distance between them felt thick, almost suffocating.

Now, here she was, staring at her phone, waiting for a response.

He still hadn’t replied.

Her heart sank a little deeper.

She couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine, she couldn’t keep hoping for something that wasn’t there, the worst part was that he didn’t even seem to notice.

She opened their chat again, typed a few words, then erased them. What was there to say? Was there any point in telling him how she felt when it was clear he didn’t understand?

It hurt, more than she thought it could, the thought of walking away from this, of walking away from him, it felt impossible, but staying, feeling invisible, feeling like she was fading into the background of his life, that felt worse.

Her thumb hovered over the send button.

“I can’t do this anymore, Matt, I’m done”

She stared at the message for a long time, it was final, it was something she never thought she would say, but it felt necessary now.

She pressed send.

For a moment, everything went quiet, the silence was deafening. Then her phone buzzed, and Y/n’s stomach twisted.

It was from Matt.

“What’s going on?”

Y/N blinked at the message, she had expected anger, maybe a fight, or even an apology, but this… this felt so detached, like he hadn’t even realized what she was feeling.

She took a deep breath, her finger hovering over the screen again. What could she say? The exhaustion weighed on her, the years of trying to make things work flooding back, she had given him so many chances, and every time it felt like he was just absent.

“What’s going on?”

That question felt so small compared to the storm inside her. He didn’t get it, he never really tried.

She quickly typed back.

“You don’t understand, you never really tried to, and I can’t keep pretending I’m fine with it”

She pressed send.

The phone buzzed again, faster this time, the tone was quick.

“So you’re really ending it?”

Y/N stared at the words, it was as if he didn’t even care enough to ask why, just accepting it like it was no big deal, like it didn’t matter to him.

She could feel the tears threatening to come, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not for him, so she swallowed her emotions, staring at the message in silence.

“Yeah, Matt, I am”

She sent the message without hesitation,it was clear. It was final.

But what hurt more than anything was that the next message never came, he didn’t fight for it, there was no plea, no apology. Just nothing.

Y/N stared at the screen, waiting for a response that never came, her thumb hovered over the phone again, but she didn’t press anything, the silence was suffocating, she had expected something, anything from him maybe just some words that showed he cared, but there was nothing, just the blankness of the screen.

Minutes passed, then an hour. Still nothing.

Her heart squeezed tighter, she had done the right thing, hadn’t she? She had given him every chance to notice, to show he cared, but now that it was over, it felt like she was standing at the edge of something, and he wasn’t even reaching out to pull her back.

Her phone buzzed again, and she quickly looked at it, it wasn’t Matt, it was Chris.

“Hey, is everything okay? Matt’s been distant since earlier”

Y/n felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly replaced by frustration, Chris had always been the one to check in, always the one to notice when something was off with Matt, ut even with that, it felt like no one truly understood.

She typed a quick response, her fingers stiff from everything.

“It’s fine. Just… tired, you know?”

She couldn’t explain it to Chris, she couldn’t explain the weight of everything, she was the only one who understood how much she had been giving, how much she had been sacrificing. For what? For someone who barely noticed?

Chris responded a few minutes later.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, if you ever want to talk, I’m here”

She smiled faintly and typed back.

“Thanks, Chris, I know”

But even as she sent the message, the emptiness returned, she wanted Matt to care, she wanted him to fight for this, for them, to show that it wasn’t just something he could easily let go, but the silence between them confirmed what she already knew, she had been fighting for something that wasn’t really there.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, it was from Matt.

“Can we still be friends?”

Y/N’s chest tightened, she read the message over and over, each word feeling like a punch to the gut, after everything, he thought they could still be friends? How could he even ask that after everything? After she had given so much of herself and he had barely shown up?

“How could you think I’d be your friend?”

She typed, her fingers trembling as she pressed send.

It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t bitterness, it was the realization that she was done, done trying to fix something that wasn’t right, she was done being invisible.

The message sent, and once again, everything went quiet.

Y/n let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch, her fingers curled around her phone, not out of hope, but habit, the weight of everything settled deep in her chest, pressing against her ribs, she had spent so long holding on, convincing herself that Matt cared in his own way, that the empty spaces between them weren’t as vast as they felt. But now? Now, she saw it for what it was.

Her phone remained still in her palm, no new messages, no calls, no desperate attempt from him to fix things, she wished she could say she was surprised.

Maybe she had been hoping, deep down, that he’d finally realize what she meant to him, that losing her would be the wake up call he needed, but that was just another fantasy, one more thing she had built up in her head to make their relationship feel like it was worth something.

She closed her eyes, forcing back the lump in her throat, she wasn’t going to cry, she told herself she wouldn’t.

A knock on the door startled her, she sat up, her heart pounding in her chest, for a brief, fleeting second, she thought, hoped it was Matt. That maybe he had come to fix things, to explain, to tell her he was sorry.

But when she opened the door…

Part 2 - Chris

Part 2 - Matt

[goshikisbaee]

Hii !!

I was wondering how the haikyuu boys would relax after a long day ? Like what would they do with you to destress and all

(with goshiki, tendou, koganegawa, basically all the underrated cuties, add whoever you want)

+maybe one or two nsfw 👀 if you do obviously it's gonna be time skip but if you don't want to that's fine

Hope you have a great week byeee <3

Thank you for the request ❤️

🌙 How The Haikyuu Boys Relax After a Long Day (With You)

———

Goshiki Tsutomu

He pretends like he isn’t tired at first (“What? Me? Tired? Never. The future ace NEVER RESTS!”) But within ten minutes of sitting down, he’s laying sideways on the couch, his head on your lap, mumbling about how sore his legs are.

You suggest watching a movie, but he picks something super dramatic so he can pretend he isn’t dozing off halfway through.

You hear him whisper, “you’re the only one I’d ever let see me like this…” before he knocks out completely.

Tendou Satori

Tendou loves to mentally detach after a long day. He’ll suggest something totally random like painting miniatures, building a blanket fort, or watching bad horror movies and giving them dumb voice-overs.

He sprawls out on the floor, legs across your lap, eating snacks and making weird little jokes to get you laughing.

When it gets late, he rests his head on your stomach and gets uncharacteristically quiet.

“I like when it’s just us. It makes the noise go away.”

He likes when you trace soft lines on his arms with your fingers. He says it helps him “reset.”

Koganegawa Kanji

This boy crashes. Like, walks through the door, drops his bag, and just flops onto the bed face-down like a cartoon character.

You rub his shoulders a little, and he groans like he’s dying (dramatic baby).

Once he’s got some energy back, he’ll beg you to play Mario Kart or Just Dance with him—even if you’re both exhausted.

Afterward, he’ll get you both drinks (like hot cocoa or smoothies depending on the season) and give you the softest, dopiest smile.

Sits next to you and nudges your shoulder, whispering, “You’re my reward after hard days, y’know?”

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Yams is the quiet “curl up and recharge” type. He doesn’t need big distractions—just you and something peaceful.

He loves having soft instrumental music or lofi playing in the background while you both cuddle under a blanket.

You read or scroll on your phone, he lays his head on your chest and listens to your heartbeat.

He eventually starts dozing and murmurs, “Don’t move yet. Please. Just stay like this for a little longer.”

It’s his perfect safe space.

Yaku Morisuke

Yaku gets a little grumpy when he’s tired, so he needs help to unwind. He’ll sigh a lot, complain about his teammates, mutter “Why am I the only one with brain cells?”—but once he sees you, it softens immediately.

You make tea. He brings the heating pad. He lies in your lap and grumbles while you play with his hair and listen.

Then he says:

“Okay, okay, I’m done complaining. Your turn. Tell me about your day.”

He doesn’t fall asleep, but you know he’s the most relaxed when he gets quiet and just holds your hand for a while.

Semi Eita

Semi decompresses by making music—and if he really trusts you, he lets you in on the process.

You sit beside him while he noodles around on his guitar or keyboard, sometimes asking your opinion.

Eventually, he gives you headphones and plays you something he wrote.

He tries to play it cool, but he keeps side-eyeing you for your reaction.

When you smile and tell him it’s beautiful, he blushes and mumbles, “Thanks… I, uh, was thinking about you when I wrote it.”

Aone Takanobu

Aone doesn’t say much, but his presence is so comforting. He comes home, gently pulls you into a hug, and holds you until his heartbeat evens out.

The two of you sit in quiet peace—either drinking tea, watching nature documentaries, or just sharing space.

He likes brushing your hair out of your face and just looking at you.

If you initiate cuddles, he melts instantly.

You once fell asleep on his chest, and he didn’t move a muscle for two hours so you wouldn’t wake up.

🔥NSFW (TIMESKIP/AGED-UP)🔥

Tendou Satori

When it’s really been a hard day, Tendou’s energy shifts. He gets quieter, a little more intense.

He’ll grab your wrist gently, pull you onto his lap, and whisper, “Can I be selfish tonight?”

He wants to feel close. Not rushed, not wild—just slow touches, breathy kisses, and full body contact until his stress melts into you.

He murmurs praise and gratitude the whole time, voice low and genuine:

“You’re the only one who gets me like this. Thank you.”

Semi Eita

Semi doesn’t usually initiate right away—but when he’s stressed and you gently run your hands down his back? Game over.

He’ll pin you against the couch or bed and let out a deep sigh like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

It’s not fast. It’s lingering. Like he’s trying to memorize every part of you to forget everything else.

His hands are confident but never rough, and he whispers, “You always know what I need…” right before he kisses your neck.

The way he touches you—it’s more like worship than release.

———

💋 💋 💋

[mythsandfabels]

𝑴𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒍'𝒔

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 4: 𝓟𝓾𝓵𝓼𝓮

Summary: Why is it so much fun to tease a chronically stoic snowman?

a/n: Welcome to the story, Zayne! I'm not going to lie, Zayne has my whole heart-- his chapters are probably going to be the easiest (or hardest) for me to write, but I promise-- I'll be putting twice as much effort into the other boys, so I hope you guys can never tell the difference. Or at least that you notice it less and less.

Cross-posted on AO3 and Quotev

Word Count: 3.1k

Master List

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Aurora was listening to her phone ring in her ear as she rode the elevator up to the right floor. She was relieved to see the doors slide open just as the line connects.

“Hello, you’ve reached Dr. Li’s office--”

“Hey, Yvonne,” Aurora sighs loudly into the receiver, eyeing the analog clock on the wall and grimacing. 6:28-- she was just barely going to make it. “It’s me-- Just coming out of the elevator. Dr. Li hasn’t gone home, has he?”

“Don’t worry,” Nurse Yvonne soothes through the line, amusement lining her tone. “All checkups are in the system, which sends out the notifications. Dr. Li can’t forget them.”

Aurora sighs, her stomach relaxing in her relief.

“Right,” She breathes, then chuckles to herself. “Besides, even if he’s not working, he practically lives in his office.” She mutters with a shake of her head.

After disappearing a decade ago, Zayne has only been back in her life for six months, and he’s already proven how much of a workaholic he is. Not that she sees him often. In fact, aside from being her new primary care physician-- because of course a one-of-a-kind heart condition needs a one-of-a-kind cardiologist-- the last time she remembered seeing him was when they ran into each other three months ago at that new restaurant.

“Or maybe I was never teasing you in the first place.” He’d said then, and she still flushes in embarrassment-- talk about a misunderstanding. How was she supposed to know those snowballs he’d left at her door (without even a note!) were actually--

“You’ve known Dr. Li for a while, right?” Yvonne’s friendly voice cuts through Aurora’s thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “I’ll transfer your call over so you can get started.”

Crap.

“No, don’t--” But the Hospitals automated script was already playing in her ear, leaving her dreading the moment the phone would reconnect. Maybe she could just hang up and--

“Good job,” She heard the still unfamiliar timbre of Dr. Li in her ear. “You were ten seconds away from being a no-show.”

Shit, was she really?

“I fought hard to book the last appointment today-- wait!”

“Don’t worry, you still have five seconds left.”

“Do you need to be so precise?!” Aurora gasps plaintively, even as she starts moving her feet in the direction of his office.

“Three,” He says in her ear, and she breaks into a run. “Two,” he continues as her hand clasps the door handle and she pushes it open.

“Congratulations,” He says sarcastically, his voice echoing through her phone. He taps a button on his keyboard, and she sees her own phone disconnect from the call. “You weren’t late. Is this impeccable timing a new Evol ability of yours?”

Aurora finally looks up, her gaze locking with the hazel green eyes of Dr. Zayne Li framed by silver wire glasses. Though his words suggest humor, his tone is completely detached and his sharp features remain stoic as ever as he observes her from his desk, black hair falling over his forehead.

“I can’t believe you’re just sitting there and counting down,” Aurora frowns irritably, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “What are you, a ticking time bomb?” By the time she turns back to his desk, his eyes are already focussed back on his computer screen, typing away on his keyboard. She eyed him over once more-- he looked okay, all things considered. No new scars, his complexion was still slightly tanned, no signs of exhaustion surprisingly.

“Aren’t I supposed to be examining you, Miss Fabel?” Zayne says flatly, though he doesn’t even pause or look up at her. Aurora bites the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting in an equally dry manner.

“Yvonne said you returned to Linkon at five o’clock this morning,” Aurora says instead, approaching the desk in three steady strides. “And were back to work by seven.” She reaches into her shoulder bag and retrieves a folder with Akso hospital's logo on it, setting it down on the desk.

“She tells you everything.” It’s not a question, nor an accusation-- he doesn’t seem to be concerned about that fact.

“You told her it was a vacation,” Aurora continues, taking a seat across from him. “But you were actually in the Arctic to work on a secret project, right?”

Zayne’s eyes snap to her as the word ‘Arctic’ crosses her lips, his graceful fingers pausing in their keystrokes for a moment. This was the only sign of his surprise, and she had to fight to keep the triumphant grin off her face. It wasn’t every day that she managed to get a reaction out of Dr. Li, and she had sensed something was strange after Yvonne explained why she had to move her evaluation back.

Zayne wasn’t the kind of person to take time off so suddenly, especially not for leisure. A little digging around and a few favors later revealed his paper-trail, and the rest-- okay, the rest was pure conjecture and dramatic teasing to lighten the mood. It’s not like she was trying to stalk him. She was just curious and, frankly, bored out of her mind, being stuck at her desk for the last two weeks.

He only paused for a heartbeat, then he was back to typing on his keyboard, as indifferent as ever.

“Patients shouldn’t be so nosy.”

She pressed her lips together in an attempt to stifle her smug smile. She wanted to feel sorry, truly, but was unable to muster the willpower.

Zayne gives a decisive click on his mouse, finishing whatever task he was working on, and finally turning his full attention onto her.

“Report.” Was his succinct demand, and she knew the conversation was over.

With a deep breath, she turns the folder around and pushes it closer to him. Silently, he opens it up, and while his sharp eyes scan the page, she fidgets with her fingers in her lap.

She always hates this part. Sitting there, waiting for the professional to cast judgment on whether or not she can be trusted to do her job effectively. She knew it was silly-- the numbers were sound, the results spoke for themselves. Despite her condition, her body was operating at a good, healthy capacity, with no signs of distress. She didn’t even need to take suppressants regularly like other’s with her condition-- only in high-stress situations. She knew, on paper, she was perfectly fine.

But still, her traitorous heart pounded inside her chest, every beat a question, a reminder, a threat. And if one doctor thought something was just a bit off, that this or that was just too risky, that’s it. Career ruined, dreams crushed, fears realized--

She always hates this part.

“Any changes recently?” Zayne asks, his eyes still scanning the records, and she breathes in, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“No,” She says and has to bite back a grimace-- that did not sound convincing at all. Zayne must have thought the same thing, because his eyes flick up to hers, a brow arched in quizzical scrutiny.

“No?” He questions, and she curses herself, biting her lip in an effort to brace herself.

“With the Association preparing for the new recruits, the workload has been a bit heavier, and I pulled a few all-nighters,” She sighs, trying to make it sound at least somewhat reasonable while waiting for the inevitable doctor-patient lecture.

Zayne calmly closes the folder in his hands and turns back to his computer to make a note as he speaks.

“Ignoring medical advice like it’s nothing,” He summarizes bluntly in that way that just screams ‘I’m disappointed in you’. “I suppose you’re just here to go through the motions.”

She winces at his retort, his words hitting a bit too close to the mark for her comfort.

A few short keystrokes later, he glances her way once more, then pushes back fully from the desk, rolling his chair to the side. He looks at her one more time as he stops in front of a stool.

“Sit over here, please.” She watches as he unhooks his stethoscope from around his neck, then she makes a questioning noise in her throat. He levels her with an unreadable expression and nods in the direction of the stool. “I need to listen.”

“Oh,” She says, feeling a bit awkward. “Right…”

Obediently, she stands from her chair, pulling the sweater she had donned after work off her shoulders and folding it carefully on the desk. Then she sits on the stool directly in front of Zayne.

There is no hesitation as he places the stethoscope against the left side of her chest, his hands radiating a cold aura while she tries desperately not to stare too intently at his face.

She doesn’t do very well, and his usual quiet stoicism only makes her more nervous, while he listens to her heart.

“This isn’t the first day I’ve had Protocore fragments in my heart, you know,” She starts telling him, needing something other than the deafening silence and the roar of her pulse in her ears. “Even Dr. Dean said I was perfectly fine. And it’s been over a decade.” Was she babbling now? She was babbling, heaven help her. “If anything bad--”

Zayne, to his credit, only gives her a gentle shush, and she immediately snaps her lips shut. With the way she felt her heart jump into her throat, her heart rate was not going to be normal. How was this going downhill so fast?

“Don’t talk. But you should still breathe.” Zayne looks up at her face then, and she thinks there might be a small curve at the corner of his lips, a rare warmth of amusement in his eye.

Aurora hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath until he said something, and she released it immediately, feeling some of the tension in her ease as she did. Zayne takes his eyes away again, back to listening with all the professionalism of his field.

She reminds herself to breathe steadily as the moment drags on. Zayne passes the stethoscope to the center of her chest, mindful of the rigid scar hidden under the buttons of her shirt, and even now she can’t help but watch his expression for any change. It feels like he pauses there for a few moments longer than before, and Aurora fights to keep herself from asking if anything was wrong. His expression wasn’t giving anything away, and it was honestly making her more nervous than Dr. Dean’s expressive brows and thoughtful hums had.

“A fast resting heart rate,” Zayne observes, shifting the stethoscope back to the left. “What riled you up this time?”

Aurora swallows a sudden lump in her throat.

“It’s nothing…” She says. He raises his eyes, and she doesn’t need a change in his icy countenance to know he’s calling her bluff, so she sighs. She should be honest-- he IS her doctor. Aren’t you supposed to be honest with your doctors?

“Fine-- I’m nervous, okay?” She can’t help the defensive edge in her tone and has to turn her head away to keep her resolve from cracking. “I always get like this when I have to see a doctor…” She admits this with a bit more care, trying to convey that it wasn’t anything personal.

She feels a puff of cold air flutter her curls before Zayne pulls back, removing his stethoscope.

“Understandable-- your condition is unique.” He rolls away from her once more, returning to his computer to take down more notes. Aurora tries to be patient-- really, she does-- but she only lasts a few seconds before she gives in to her nerves.

“So?” She prompts him meekly.

“Heart arrhythmia, premature ventricular contractions,” He lists without looking at her, blunt and entirely unsympathetic. “Heart murmurs…”

“R-really?” She knew what those terms meant-- she’d been to enough cardiologists in her life to understand the vocabulary. It wasn’t anything damning and could be explained by her emotional state, she knew, but clustered together like this might make Zayne hold off on her active-duty clearance for a follow-up. Another two weeks trapped at her desk. No, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she was already so restless--

Zayne shoots her a look over his shoulder.

“Despite being aware of the risks,” He says, turning to face her fully. “You still became a Hunter.”

It’s not a question-- well, actually it is. It’s an attempt on his part to understand, she knows. From his point of view-- a talented doctor that had seen scans of the fragments clustered around her heart, listened to the warning sounds in her chest, and seen the scars that marred her skin-- what she was doing was stupid and outright reckless. No one in their right mind would willfully tempt fate the way she was.

“You can lecture me all you want,” She tells him, looking down at the file still resting on his desk. “But you know why I’m doing this.”

She still dreams of that day. The tight grip on her arm, bony shoulders digging into her ribs, the growling and screeching sounds of incomprehensible monsters, the sudden and unrelenting pain that speared through her chest-- it was a day she would never forget, even if she forgot everything else, and a feeling she never wanted to experience again. No one else should ever have to go through what she and her sisters had.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a blade. She doesn’t look back at Zayne-- doesn’t trust herself to remain calm if the expression on his face is as cutting as she thinks it will be. She chooses to burn holes into the folder with her records using her gaze instead, waiting for the moment the gavel falls on her head.

“I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Zayne says finally, and she hears him start tapping at the computer again. “Linkon has been the safest it’s ever been under the watchful eye of our skilled Hunter, Aurora.”

Aurora feels her body jerk and she looks up to the doctor in surprise. His face is as impassive as ever, but… was he trying to be nice to her? Or was that how he really felt?

“I wouldn’t say that,” She tries to deflect the praise awkwardly, unsure what to make of the shift in their conversation. No matter his intentions, he had just given her a compliment, and a compliment from Zayne was a rare occurrence. She didn’t know how to take such a moment, so she defaulted to her usual coping method; humorous redirection.

“But you never know; One day, our skilled Dr. Li may find himself in trouble,” trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled low in her belly, Aurora playfully circles the desk to lean over it into his field of view. “And the Hunter who saves him might just be me.”

Zayne shoots her the flattest expression of the day, and she can’t suppress the grin that splits her face in response. Getting under his skin was always a worthy endeavor and besides, it would be a sweet triumph if her prediction turned out to be true. She never claimed humility was one of her virtues.

“If you wish to hold something over me,” He begins with a shake of his head, his hand reaching into his pocket. “Then I suggest you be careful while out in the field.” He reaches across the desk and places a candy wrapped in a minty green foil on top of her file. “I’d prefer not to see you airlifted to the hospital via helicopter.”

Aurora whips her head back up to look him in the eye-- he’s definitely smiling now. It’s faint, less perceptible than the Mona Lisa, but the warmth of it is unmistakable.

“Do you mean…” She starts, hardly daring to let herself feel relief until she hears him speak the words.

“I’ve just sent the relevant paper-work to your supervisor,” He tells her. “You should be cleared for active duty by tomorrow morning.”

She isn’t sure where she finds the will to keep herself from leaping for joy right there in Zayne’s office, but she does. The smile on her face is still wide enough to hurt, though, so her joy isn’t exactly hidden by any stretch of the imagination.

“Thank you, thank you, Zayne-- Dr. Li!” She barely manages to correct herself, too excited to worry about the formalities. Zayne shakes his head gently.

“Zayne is fine,” He tells her. “It’s getting late-- you should go home. I imagine your sisters are looking to celebrate their new assignments.”

Aurora blinks in surprise. She wasn’t aware that Zayne knew about their graduation from the Academy. Seeing the expression on her face, he raises an eyebrow at her.

“You aren’t the only one keeping tabs, you know.” Aurora has to laugh at his comment. Thinking about it, she shouldn’t be surprised. Zayne was always meticulous about details, even when they were kids.

“I’ll let them know you said congrats,” She says as she rises from her chair, picking up the candy as she did and making sure to grab her sweater.

Just as she’s about to open the door to the hall, she stops, turning back to him.

“Zayne,” She calls out, and waits until he lifts his head to look at her. “You should head home too-- get some rest. Even you have to be exhausted having spent most of the night on a plane only to jump right back into work.”

“I’m fine,” He says immediately, so fast she’s sure it’s an automatic response. “But,” He continues, more thoughtfully. “Your concern is noted.”

Aurora smiles at him, feeling the familiar urge to tease the overly serious man rise in her chest once more.

“Have a good night, Dr. Zayne.”

She slips out of his office without looking back and is walking down the hall, giggling quietly. She’s not sure what his reaction to the new moniker is, but she is sure it’s rankled him just a little. It was a silly term, and one she intended to use until it thoroughly annoyed him, and then once more for good measure. He had told her she could call him Zayne, after all, and the man could stand to be a little more expressive.

Once in the elevator, on the way down to the lobby, Aurora unwraps the candy, and pops it in her mouth, the minty flavor of the treat tasting just a little sweeter than usual.

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Master List

Taglist

@vanaaa @dwuclvr @cinnamonpinktea @justwinginglife @whocares-idont @sarahthemage @jadeloverxd @teanewb

[spookythesillyfella]

SPOOKSPSPOSLSPOKSPPOOKKSSPOKS i,,, wwant some funny facts about hv colin,,,,,,, bats my little lashes pleasee /nf (unrelated image below btw)

HI PHROG !!!!!!!!! HI HELLOOOO !!!!!!!!! :DDD

i dunno if theyre gonna tickle ur funny bone . per se . but i perzonally find them a tad silly – i suppoze that makez them worth sharing with the public still !!!!

★ Colin iz a huge fan of punz and wordplay – he findz it fun how simple a joke can be . and how wordz can have humorouz meaningz in certain contextz

★ Colin . for the firzt few yearz of hiz life . had the tendency to tangle hiz tail with hiz legz when walking ; thiz occured again when he waz detached from The Operation and brought back to hiz original body by Tracey – az embarazzed az he iz to admit it . thiz still tendz to happen when hez barely awake

★ Becauze Colin haz full control over hiz digital world . he can bring anything he wantz into exiztence – hiz faverite thing to do . however . iz make little pop-up windowz and sometimez startle Tracey . Sketch nd Tony [though Tony definitely lezz . az hiz pop-upz are more "friendly reminderz that i love u" than anything]

★ Iz somewhat scared of catz ; theyre so cuddly and touchy and they like to rub their facez againzt anything and everything and sit on hiz keyboard – feelz quite uncomfortable for the firzt few minutez while dealing with them . before eventually growing attached

★ Colinz keyboard keyz are ticklish ; for the mozt part theyre hard to reach becauze 1. theyre on hiz stomach and 2. becauze he haz a lot of clothing layerz on top . but if u hug him too hard . it can happen – and when it doez . he makez a funny noize

★ Hiz voice and screen glitch a lot more when hez really fluztered or really angry

★ Sometimez he getz overwhelmed by stuff and will only communicate through little text boxez ; sometimez hez too overwhelmed to even touch people directly . so when that happenz . he keepz handy-dandy sticky notez on hand – showing affection even while keeping phyzical touch at a minimum

★ Haz an entire library of stock sound effectz that sometimez play automatically whenever he sayz / doez something [for example he seez a cat and a little "meow!" iz heard from hiz speakerz . or he getz a good idea and not only doez a lightbulb icon appear on hiz screen but therez alzo a "ding!" sound – bezt one iz when something dizappointing happenz and a "womp womp :/" sound playz]

thatz about it . i suppoze ; hope i could have at leazt satizfied ur thirzt for fun hv! colin info :]

[heartinhands]

@spirestar said: ∗ 59﹕ sender  prevents  an  injured  receiver  from  getting  up . ( suzalulu )

When Lelouch wakes up, the first thing he's aware of is how much pain he's in. It courses through his arteries like a fire, stemming tide pulling at his surely-fractured ribs and a sore spot on the side of his gut. He's in too much shock to scream from the pain, although his throat hurts enough to tell him that he had been when he passed out.

Shinkiro's cockpit is in tatters. The pod is torn-up, hanged wires littering the cabinet like nooses. Lelouch tries to reach out for the keyboard controls, shaking fingers trying to stir the Knightmare back to life, but nothing happens except for the vague sensation of electric shocks beneath his fingertips. "Agh." Okay, so he can talk. Or make noises, at least. This stirs his body enough out of its shock-fueled reverie so the pain really starts to settle in. His vision blurs instantaneously, biting hard on the inside of his cheek. Lelouch shifts slightly in his seat, rolling to the side to identify what's wrong with his stomach and sees a huge piece of shrapnel sticking out of the side of his torso. "Ah--." Fear wraps its ghostly vestiges around his throat now and pushes. "Ah---ahh!!" Lelouch wraps his own shaking hands around the piece of Shinkiro that's betrayed him and embedded itself into his intestines but he has no strength to pull it--dimly he is aware that if he does, he will bleed out and die. No, no, I can't die here, not yet!! My revenge! Nunnally! His hands grapple and re-grapple with that foreign object in his side, debating if he has the courage or the strength to remove it, but no, Lelouch is a coward.

The cockpit makes a sound like screaming. Too high-pitched and grating for it to be someone coming in through the door in the back of the Knightmare. Through his weakened vision Lelouch sees that Shinkiro's cockpit is being pried apart by a Knightmare, and a few moments later Suzaku's unmistakable silhouette appears haloed by white light, his hand propped on the upper part of the man-made cavity so he doesn't fall into the destroyed, smoldering cockpit. "You're not dead." He sounds almost disappointed.

"Suzaku." It's an immediate gamble, saying his name. Lelouch is the easiest target in the world like this, and Suzaku has every right in the world to kill him. "I'm--,"

"Yeah, I can see it." Again his words come callous, detached. Lelouch lets out a withering gasp-like scoff he can't even call a laugh. Suzaku drops into the cockpit and carefully picks his way to Lelouch, gaze falling to the jagged piece of metal. It's impossible for Lelouch to read Suzaku's face when he's so woozy from blood loss, his heart beat the highest it's been in a long time. But his stomach is so torn up he can feel it when Suzaku gently scrapes his fingers over the piece of shrapnel even though his hands are nowhere near the actual injury.

"Ow, fuck," Lelouch hisses, his body wrenching like he's a bug about to be squashed under Suzaku's boot heel. Suzaku doesn't even look at him. "I don't know what happened," his voice pitches, toiling on unintelligible or maybe even drunk as his vowels shift and slur together, "suddenly I--,"

"Shut up, Lelouch."

He does. Lelouch blinks multiple times trying to will himself to focus on Suzaku's face as his companion looks over Lelouch's body trying to assess the damage, his expression taking on the muted one of a soldier. Maybe Suzaku's trying to figure out if it's safe to even move Lelouch right now, or whatever. While watching Suzaku watch him through his blinking vision Lelouch becomes aware of a purple curtain in the lower corner of his left eye. His stupid fucking contact must have gotten knocked loose when he got hit. No wonder Suzaku's so pissed off and trying not to look at his face. Now that Lelouch knows he hasn't done anything out of the ordinary to earn Suzaku's ire Lelouch really starts laughing in wheezing gasps that make pain race up his stomach and through his nerves; his lungs are too scared to draw in full breaths and accept the foreign piece of metal into his body even further into him or knock it loose and fill it with blood something. He is so goddamn afraid.

Suzaku fixes him with an unreadable look but this time it's unreadable because it's Suzaku and not because Lelouch is nearly delirious. "Shut up," he says again, leaning in a little bit, shadow passing over Lelouch, probably moving to try and remove him from the battered room.

Through those wheezing ghostly laughs Lelouch finds Suzaku's eyes and mutters, "Hey Suzaku, I order y--," and there's a hand suddenly slammed into his forehead to knock his skull back and into the ground (which is technically the wall of the cockpit) with enough force to concuss him. If Lelouch wasn't already when Shinkiro went down.

Now Lelouch can read Suzaku's expression. Anger. Fury. He likes it more when he knows just what Suzaku is feeling. After a moment of staring wildly up at Suzaku or just beyond Suzaku the hand that's got Lelouch's head pushed into the floor leaves its grip in his bangs and slides away.

Suddenly there's a pressure on his torso, Suzaku straddling him, his knees planted firmly into the ground on either side of Lelouch's body, adding his weight to the already brutal amounts of pain from the huge piece of shrapnel even though he's sitting just below where it's sticking out of his body like a knife. "Get up, Lelouch." Suzaku digs his weight down into his heels and the movement pushes all the air from Lelouch's lungs like a dying man's gasp. "If you can get up, maybe I'll save you." It's a better order than one Lelouch has ever given even with geass's absolute power at his side. Lelouch swallows and tastes iron.

He tries. Barely. He doesn't have Suzaku's deranged, self-hateful type of willpower. And it fucking hurts having a hole blown through your side like that, especially with Suzaku burying all his weight into the already-gaping injury. Lelouch slumps backwards into the destroyed cockpit seat. "I can't," he gasps weakly. Suzaku only drops more of his weight into Lelouch's body, his eyes narrowed to a squint more dangerous than any kind of knife's edge. The shadow of Lelouch's contact in the side of his vision blinks white with pain. The soreness of his throat tells him he shouted.

"Get up, Lelouch."

"I CAN'T, help me Suzaku, please--,"

"You're pathetic."

"Help me."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Help me."

Lelouch summons up enough strength to pitifully grab at Suzaku's left arm--his friend had kept them limp at his side the whole time instead of raising them or threatening to cave Lelouch's skull in with something or raising a knife. No, Lelouch doesn't have enough energy to fully grab or squeeze Suzaku's arm, his hand pathetically brushing against Suzaku's wrist. And it's this that for whatever reason that makes Suzaku waken enough from his hateful reverie. Green eyes widen a fraction. Lelouch can practically see the self-disgust drip into Suzaku's features like poison, the very corner of his lip curling acidly, eyes flitting back and forth across Lelouch's face like he'll be able to find his absolution in the Britannian's face. Suzaku has always cared so much about being A Good Person. This is not what A Good Person does--not that Lelouch deserves being treated like he's anything like A Good Person. But he wants desperately to live. it's Suzaku who wants desperately to die as penance; Lelouch has already committed the unforgivable sin of forcing his worldview onto Suzaku and forbade him from ever taking that avenue. Maybe because Suzaku is so afraid of being like Lelouch that's why he suddenly leans back.

The weight on his body feels enough to kill, really kill, pain churning into a maelstrom of uninhibited agonies as it combines with the life-threatening injury in his gut and Lelouch feels unbidden tears prick at his eyes from the pain, and then Suzaku's weight lifts off of his body like a shroud and the hurt is lessened just slightly but also making it a comfort. Lelouch lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, lungs aching as he sucks in another gulp of air, blackness tipping at the very sides of his vision, no longer able to keep up with the injury or the adrenaline or any of it. As he passes out another time he hears Suzaku get up and mutter, "I'll call Kallen."

[abiiors]

Naps

Matty Healy Drabble

A/N: I was only listening to Sufjan Stevens while writing this because I need this to be the softest thing you’ve read today, okay? I just do!

This was based on an ask! (My requests are open)

The clacking of your keyboard mixes with the blaring song in your ears as you finish firing off your last email for the day. Shutting your laptop with satisfaction, you get up and crack your back.

You’re fortunate enough to be making a decent pay out of working freelance. Meaning you can practically work out of anywhere that has a stable internet connection and that includes the 1975 tour bus. 

A small string of curses catches your attention and you instantly recognise Matty’s voice. You haven’t seen him all day, and now he’s back on the bus. You pick up your laptop and make your way to him.

He looks thoroughly harassed as he tries to wrestle the guitar back into its case. His eyes are practically shutting on their own and his shoulders look all soft and droopy.

‘What’s up with you?’ you ask as you walk up behind him. 

‘Oh, hey,’ he tries to smile but it just turns into a grimace. ‘Just got a bit of a headache. Are you done for the day?’

‘Yea, just.’ You set the laptop aside and push his wild hair out of his eyes, ‘have you been overworking yourself?’

The quiet look he gives is enough to implicate him. He has been working extra hard, you both know it. But reprimanding is not what he needs right now. You touch his stubbly cheek with one hand and he leans into it, closing his eyes blissfully.

‘Come on,’ you instruct gently. He lets you grab his hand and lead him to your little cabin without question. ‘When was the last time you slept?’

‘Um, dunno,’ he mumbles. ‘I have been awake since 5, I think.’

You wince at this. 5 is truly an ungodly hour to wake up at.  

He slumps onto the small bed and heaves a big sigh. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than they have been in the last week. His long eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones as he struggles to stay awake. You take a step closer to him and run your hands through his hair. His arms come up around your waist and he gently tugs toward him so that you’re standing between his legs. Then he rests his head on your stomach and holds onto you tightly. 

‘Let’s take a nap, okay?’ you whisper.

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘You’re gonna have to lay down for that.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ he’s still nodding on your stomach but he makes no move to detach himself from you. 

He’s just so soft and needy right now; it’s all very adorable. You can’t help it as you pepper a few kisses on his forehead, his closed eyes. His mouth blooms into a tiny smile at that. 

After much cajoling, he takes his shoes off and buries himself under the blankets. That leaves you with just enough space to snuggle in. As soon as you are settled in the bed, he’s back at it again. 

His arm is around your waist, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. His breath tickles a bit but you continue combing your fingers through his hair. It doesn’t even take two minutes before his breathing evens out and you start to hear soft snores. 

For good measure, you press another kiss onto his forehead. He is so warm and soft, so comforting and lovely that it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself being lulled to sleep. 

‘I love you,’ you whisper to him just as you’re about to fall asleep. 

There’s no way he can hear you right now, let alone respond but you swear you feel his arms tighten around your waist. 

[hannie-dul-set]

sins of lust [yoon jeonghan]

“lust /ləst/ — the mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the spirit is life and peace - romans 8:6″

LUCKY 7′S MASTERLIST

PAIRING | yoon jeonghan x female! reader GENRE | college! au, borderline smut, angst WARNINGS | nsfw themes obviously lmao but no actual doing the dirty because i can’t write smut for shit, swearing, jeonghan is the literal devil WORD COUNT | 4.5k

a/n: I’M SO VERY SORRY THATTHIS IS SUPER LATE ; - ; but anyways!! this is my last piece for our luck 7′s collab with @haokyeom​ :D this was,, very out of my comfort zone but i still do hope that you enjoy :’>

Your mother had always told you to never trust strangers.

“They’re like foxes,” your mother had once said as the both of you gazed through the window of your small cabin beside the thick walls of trees in the woods. Her hands rested gently over your small shoulders, and you two eyes the coat of orange fur speeding through the outside, a familiar stuffed animal hanging limply by its mouth. You had accidentally left it outside while you were playing.

You frowned upon seeing the animal disappear into the trees, and even at your young age, you knew that it was lost forever.

“They take what they can without a hint of remorse. You wouldn’t even know until you see them running away,” you looked up at your mother who stared into the distance with eyes stained in sadness. You turned around, hugging her waist and burying your face into her stomach, and she released a laugh as she patted your head. “My Y/N’s a smart girl, right? Never forget mommy’s words, okay?”

And you did. For eighteen years, you had lived with only the company of your mother, your homeschool teachers, and your precious cat, Salem. There were times when your grandparents would visit, usually during the holidays, but you weren’t exactly close with them (they didn’t seem to like you, either). It was only when you had finally entered college when you were given the chance to actually mingle with other people, especially people that were your age, and it was the first time that you had left to live on your own outside of your homey cottage beside the woods.

Initially, your mother was against the idea of you living in your campus’ dorms, especially the fact that you had to live with another person that you knew nothing of. You weren’t keen on the thought either, but it was far more reasonable than commuting every single day to the city all the way from the middle of nowhere.

At least your roommate was never around.

‘Staying over at Johnny’s xx,’ you sighed upon seeing the text message, and you stepped forward in the light when the person before you did as well. It was only the third week of the semester and you were already wishing for things to go back as they were.

A part of it was your fault for being socially inept, generally avoiding people and not even talking to anybody unless talked to. Your mother’s words rang into your head every single time, and naturally you had built up a wall. This wall was what made you feel comfortable, made you feel safe— you don’t trust anyone here, and it would be better to finish your studies without getting personally tangled with other people.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

Though, there were indeed times where you wished that you were at the very least not so awkward.

“A regular americano,” it took you so much strength to squeeze that out of our esophagus, relieving the tightened airway with a breath of relief when the barista nodded at your order and jotted it down. Hurriedly, you went to sit at an empty table, your racing heart making you move quicker than necessary. God, you wondered how many more trips to campus cafe would it take until you finally got the courage to order without feeling you were being held at gunpoint.

You huffed, squeezing your eyes shut. At least you didn’t stutter today, so that’s improvement.

Stop deluding yourself, Y/N. You’re still—

“Whoa. Careful, now.”

A thud. The feeling of warmth fluttering over your shoulders. An unfamiliar sweet voice seeping into your ears. And you looked up.

“Are you okay?”

His steady grip had left your shoulders but the traces of his warmth were still buzzing over your clothed skin like mini fireworks erupting when he made contact, and when you met his concerned eyes, it felt like you were about to reach the climax of the light show. He didn’t say anything, only waiting for the confirmation to fall from your lips with a worried look on his face. Your heart was still racing, but it was in a completely different rhythm. 

You had once felt your heart threatening to bounce off of your chest out of fear, and at times due to excitement. Your pulse rising due to nervousness was already like an unwanted friend to you.

But this.

What is this?

“Miss?”

“I, uh—” the man shot you a smile that was devoid of any malice despite you being a stuttering and mess that was frozen in place. Heat rushed to your cheeks while you were trapped underneath his gaze. You wanted to move but it felt like your mind was completely detached from your body, soaring above your head because you can't seem to grab a hold of it. But with enough willpower, you managed to squeak out a small “sorry’ before shuffling away to the farthest seat possible with your head down.

When you sat yourself on the seat, the first thing you did was look up to the direction of the male, only to see an empty space. You bit down your lip, hastily taking out your laptop from your bag and just move on from what happened, but the racing of your heartbeat refused to let it go. Was this… normal? You let out a choked groan, removing your hands from the keyboard to bury your heated face into your palms. There were times where you hated that you were so sheltered, and this was one of them.

If only your mother wasn’t so protective of you, if only she let you live a normal life, if only—

Your phone started buzzing.

Slowly, you sat up and took out your phone from your jean pocket, and the pace of your heart was slowed down by a surge of guilt.

‘How were classes today, honey? I hope you drank enough water today. Even when I’m around, you always seem to forget. The weekend is just around the corner. Are you coming home?’

You smiled. Of course, your mother had only wanted what’s best for you. Finally relaxing your muscles, you adjusted your position on the chair and silently tapped on our phone.

‘Classes were fine, mom. And that was before! I’ve been drinking a loooot of water, you know? Do you want me to…’

The next day had come. You quietly entered the near barren classroom, the early morning rays leaking through the open glass windows on the wall. You liked this class mainly because not a  lot of people are enrolled in it— even if it meant sacrificing a few more hours of your sleep. The less people to deal with the better.

I’ll just take a nap later after lunch. You thought to yourself as you let out yawn, your palm hovering over your mouth as you did. You arrived a little earlier than usual, so there was still an ample amount of time to review for a test for a different class before your professor arrived. You recalled your conversation with your mother yesterday, and you were slightly disheartened when you told her that you couldn’t come home for the weekend because you had a lot of things to finish that required you to be on campus. Even if you wanted to go, you couldn’t risk lagging behind your work.

A few more people entered your peripheral as you were scanning your notes, and you took this as a signal to put it away. You pulled your bag over your lap and tucked in your notes neatly before pulling out your laptop. More people started flooding and you noticed that the seat beside you was now occupied.

“You seem fine today.”

You jolted, the familiar voice entering your ears causing the veins underneath your skin to start buzzing. The moment you turned your head to your side, you were met by a small smile from the man that you bumped into yesterday. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I-it’s fine.”

Has he always been in this class? You’ve never seen him here until now. Then again, you didn’t really pay attention to the faces around you. The gap between your chairs seemed a little too close for your sanity, so you scooted a bit farther to the left.

“Are you feeling alright now?” his voice caused you to abruptly freeze as you tried to discreetly move your chair without being exposed, and you bit down your tongue. As if he noticed the sudden distance between you two, he thoughtlessly moved his chair closer. “You didn’t look too well yesterday considering how dazed you were.”

Why was he talking to you? A lot of people did try to befriend you during the first few days, but it gradually stopped upon them seeing how dismissive you were. “O-oh, I’m fine, uh— sorry for bumping into you,” he had his elbow propped on the table, his cheek resting on his palm as faced you, a seemingly permanent smile on his face that you’ve been desperately trying (and failing) to avoid. Maybe isolating yourself from the rest of the world dulled down your ability to perceive normal human emotions like the stuttering of your heart was trying to tell you.

Jesus, you thought that you were going crazy.

“That’s good to hear,” he hummed, turning his attention to the laptop screen before him. “My name’s Jeonghan, by the way.”

Jeonghan. You repeated in your head. Why did finding out his damned name feel like 200 pounds of gratification? Maybe you were really going insane. He cocked his head to your direction, the curve of his lips that never disappeared aiming directly at you, but they did not part to say anything. Jeonghan looked like he was waiting for you, which caused you to intermittently panic because why in the world was he just staring at you like that?

“It’s not fair that I gave you my name but I don’t know yours.”

Oh.

“Y/N,” your cheeks flared as you spoke, diverting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “It’s Y/N.”

He released a light laugh before nodding in affirmation, and you swore your heart was trying to run away from you in condonation. It felt like hours had passed it between the seconds of your small exchanges, causing you to wonder when your professor was going to enter and distract you from the fervent blows on your ribcage.

It didn’t seem like your professor was arriving any time soon— the guy was always late so you weren’t even remotely surprised but for the love of god, he could’ve made an exemption today. Your eyes flickered over to Jeonghan’s space on the long table, and you saw him scribbling indecipherable doodles on what was once a blank sheet. You bit the inside of your cheek, debating with yourself over and over again until one side of your mind finally overtook your senses and sensibilities.

You jumped into the ocean when you’ve never even stepped into a lake.

“I—I never noticed that you were in this class until today.”

It took a lot from you to say that one simple sentence, the words barely squeezing past your throat, and you realized just how pathetic you were. Luckily for you, Jeonghan didn’t seem to mind the lapses in your voice, the diversion of your eyes, or the way your fingers nervously thrummed over the white coated desk. Even if he did, he didn’t say anything about it, only sending that angelic smile on your way.

“Really? I’ve noticed you since the first day,” he started. “To be frank, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now, but you always looked like you didn’t want to be bothered.”

“You— you wanted to talk to me? Why?” 

He shrugged. “You seemed cute,” there was a slight pause before he continued. “And I was right.”

You blinked, gawking at him. Jeonghan was saying such— such unprovoked things without a hint of shame while your face was flaring like it just made contact with the sun. In the middle of you trying to recover, your professor had finally decided to walk in, capturing the attention of Jeonghan and everyone else inside the class. You released a breath that you didn’t know that you were holding and lightly tapped both of your cheeks in attempts to lower your ever rising temperature. You caught the male beside you laughing a little, and when you slightly turned your head to face him, you were struck defenseless with a playful wink.

It was quiet for the rest of the class, but you couldn’t focus. Not when your mind was making a lot of noise, not when your heart was about to explode inside your chest.

And definitely not when the pretty boy beside you kept on shooting you glances in between. 

“Do you like movies?”

Jeonghan asked the moment he sat down beside you, and your brows raised at his sudden question. It had been a week since your first encounter with him, and within those few days, you’ve been seeing more and more of him. You weren’t sure if it was a coincidence or if he’d been deliberately trying to squeeze himself into your life.

But what did you know? Nothing. That’s why you let him.

“I do,” you answered, a small smile tugging at your lips. You remembered the times when you and your mother would watch countless movies in just a single day when you were feeling sad. You couldn’t leave the house easily, and when you did it was nothing but forest, forest, and more forest. Sometimes you were lucky to come across a wild hare, or sometimes even a small deer. Which reminds you— it’s been a while since you’ve gone home. You took a mental note to schedule some time for you to go back there.

Your curious eyes flickered over to Jeonghan. “Why?”

“There’s a film festival this weekend,” he leaned back against his chair, legs crossed and arms swinging lazily at his sides until he raised one hand to your face, a finger poking your cheek. “And I’m taking this pretty girl with me.”

“What?”

You gaped, dumbstruck. His lips were pressed into a brazen smile as his eyes were gleaming at you while you were still frozen in shock. He didn’t even ask you— did he think that you were just going to go with whatever he’s saying that easily?

“I—I haven’t agreed to anything!” you rebuked with a quick stammer, which caused a frown to replace the previous smile on Jeonghan’s face.

“But I thought you said you liked movies,” he sat down straight, the legs of his chair making a noise upon meeting the floor. The unabashed pout on his face, accompanied by the confused furrowing of his eyebrows, soon dissipated from his features when he let out a sudden gasp. “Wait, are you saying you don’t want to go with me?”

“I-it’s not that! I’m just—”

You couldn’t come up with any words to follow, distracted by the pained expression that Jeonghan wore. Was he just overreacting to mess with you? Was it fake? Or was he really hurt? Your ineptitude to social cues made you want to rip your hair out of your scalp. Once more, you quickly looked at him before snapping your head away, harshly biting down your lip before taking in a sharp inhale.

“Okay, fine!” Jeonghan’s face lit up, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. “I—I’ll go with you.”

You refused to look at him with how much your face was heating up, but you heard him let out a satisfied hum. It was quiet for a moment, giving u the opportunity to relax your shoulders and release your breath. Looks like the professor is late again. You dug into your bag to take out your notes, relaying yourself before class actually starts, but your actions were halted when you felt a thin, cold object pressing lightly against your arm. You looked over to see a phone, and the phone was attached to a hand, and a hand which belonged to a Yoon Jeonghan who was twinkling at you with an expectant gaze.

“Your number.”

Any moment now you swore that you were going to melt.

Within seconds, you snatched the device from his hands, rapidly smashing down the few digits, and you shoved it back to him at the speed of light. How you wanted to throw yourself out of the window, right now. A quick buzz in your pocket distracted you from your internal meltdown, and you took your own phone out, expecting a text from your mother, but instead—

‘See you on saturday, pretty girl :) hehe <3’

You shot up to meet the smug smile on Jeonghan’s face, and you bashfully looked back down at the message on your phone, feeling a smile of your own blossoming on your face.

It was late at night when you two finished.

Jeonghan insisted on bringing you home, protesting when you said that you said you could make it your way back at the movies, protesting when you said that you can walk through the campus to your dorm building alone, protesting when you said that you can head upstairs by yourself, and now when you had finally reached your floor, he stopped protesting— but he didn’t seem to how any signs of leaving just yet.

“Did you have fun?” he asked in a quiet tone. It was near midnight, and neither of you expected that the festival would go on for this long. You nodded, laughing a little, back pressed against the door leading to your room. Perhaps you were feeling a little loopy and tired from all the movies you watched, some of the scenes that stood out to you still replaying in your head.

He smiled, a few tufts of his hair shadowing over his eyes. “I’m glad.”

“I took note of a few of the films that I really liked! I’ll probably rewatch them with my mom when I get home,” you beamed, and he chuckled at your enthusiasm. “What about you?”

You almost regretted that you asked. Jeonghan was silent for a moment, a pondering look on his face as his eyes stared at the side before quickly flickering back to you. His lips were curved into a playful grin as he ever so slowly closed in on you, causing you to melt yourself into the wooden surface of your door as your heart violently thundered.

“Do you want me to be honest?” he asked in a teasing tone. His face was barely hovering over yours, and you felt your nerves screaming at you to rest your racing pulse. He didn’t do anything, though, seemingly waiting for you to respond to his question, but all you could manage was a small nod. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the movies.”

Your breath hitched and your mind was a whir. What was he doing? The waves of your senses were pulsating in an uneven rhythm, causing you to stumble over your own presence of mind as it was gradually slipping away, replaced by a haze of an uncharted storm of emotions overtaking you.

Heat was rising and you didn’t know what to do.

“I would have paid attention if it wasn’t for this pretty girl distracting me the entire time.”

“Jeonghan!”

You exclaimed, your voice being louder than expected. “I-it’s getting late. Isn’t—isn’t it time for you to go?”

There was a nervous smile on your lips as you stared up at him, eyes quivering when you tried to meet his clouded gaze. You waited for him to go, to step away from his closeness so that you’d finally have enough room to breathe, but dropped an unexpected question.

“Do you want me to go?”

The silence was deafening.

Jeonghan waited for you to say something, but the answer was something you yourself did not know. He waited until he derived the answer from your lack of response, sending you a nod and a smile before turning away. Your eyes were shaky, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in your moment of an unprecedented assault of hesitation, head filled with white noise because you couldn't think— therefore you listened to the fever stirring your restlessness.

You grabbed onto the sleeve of his coat at the last moment.

There was a glint in his eyes when he turned around, a knowing look on his face as if he had been expecting it. Swift steps and an even swifter heartbeat chased after you and once again Jeonghan was mere centimeters away from you, his warm breath igniting fire against your skin. “You could’ve just said so, pretty girl.”

He didn’t even give you the chance to breathe when he captured your unguarded mouth with his.

The air brushing against your fevered skin felt different, especially when Jeonghan was all up against you, ravishing your parted lips until you felt your senses slipping away. God, you’ve never done anything like this before and your conscience belatedly rang in your ears the moment you felt his hot tongue claiming yours as his own. You let out a faint whimper, the voice at the back of your head yelling at you that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. This was wrong.

You barely knew him— ten days wasn’t enough for you to know him. But you were too drunk over this foreign heat of emotion unfurling in your core to listen to your better judgement. You shouldn’t have stopped him from leaving, you shouldn’t have let him graze his teeth over your skin, let his hands roam all over your your body, let the feeling him pressed roughly against you being the only thing your dizzied mind could think of

But fuck, it felt so good.

You blindly reached for the door knob as you let Jeonghan trail wet kisses on your neck, and with a clicking of the lock, the both of you disappeared into the darkness of your room.

You said that the first was going to be the last— your mother’s words like playing a mantra in your head to bring you to the edge of guilt. But a week had passed yet that “last” never seemed to surface.

“H-hi, mom. Yeah, I—I’m fine, don;t worry. My classes just ended and—ah!”

You bit down your tongue after releasing the uninhibited noise, gulping down when you realized that Jeonghan had no intentions of stopping his ceaseless attacks from your jaw all the way down to your chest. There was fear trickling in your veins as your mother was still at the end of the line, possibly hearing the indecent sounds coming from her own daughter. You tried your best to remain quiet, but it started to become impossible when you felt Jeonghan’s teasing fingers brushing over your clit. You stared at him with wide eyes, suppressing the violent waves crashing over you, but all he did was smile at you and kiss you cheek before pressing his fingers down.

A loud gasp fell from your quivering lips.

“Mm? Shouldn't you be keeping quiet, baby?” he mumbled into your jaw before pressing a down kiss, and you let out a shaky breath. The hand that you were using to hold your phone returned to your ear, and you were welcomed by the worried voice of your mother.

“O-oh, it was just Salem! The little guy suddenly jumped— jumped on my lap,” you trailed off with a hint of nervous laughter, and you met the mischievous glint shining in Jeonghan’s eyes. He removed himself from you, causing you to close your eyes in relief and let out a sigh. “Home? Ah, I—I don’t think I can go there soon, but I’ll make sure to— oh my god.”

You were too focused on your conversation on the phone to notice that Jeonghan was now buried between your legs, nipping at your inner thighs. You slapped your hand over your lips, suppressing your moans from his bites, kisses and licks. He shot you a look of warning, and your heart stopped when you felt his hot breath hovering over your core. Quickly, you fumbled out a farewell into your phone.

"S-sorry, mom, I—I have to go—"

Another week had passed and you started to feel the consequences of your decisions crashing over you like falling debris. Jeonghan and you still met frequently, but "good morning" and "good night" texts slowly fizzled into conversations consisting only of "can I come over?" and "are you free?". It left a heavy feeling in your gut when coffee dates and movie theatres were forgotten, replaced with nights in his or your room, and suffocating scenes in his car. You couldn't help but think that maybe you should have thought things through.

But you were weak.

Today was no different.

You were buried in your bed, thick blankets covering your figure as you watched Jeonghan swiftly pull a shirt over his head. He had an evening class after this and you couldn't blame him that he was in such a hurry. Even when knowing this, you still wanted to take your chances.

"Jeonghan."

You called out to him in a quiet voice, small and fragile and lacking in firmness. He stood in the middle of the room, ready to leave but he turned around to look back at you— even if it was stupid, it bubbled the faintest shimmer of hope. You pulled the covers closer to yourself, looking down at the crumpled white sheets as you pressed your lips together before saying.

"I like you."

He didn't say it back.

Instead he smiled at you, feet padding against your wooden floors as he walked up to you in bed, pressing a small kiss on your forehead before ruffling your already messed up hair.

"I'll see you tomorrow, pretty girl."

But you didn't see him tomorrow.

You didn't see him at all after that.

The seat beside you in class was now occupied by an abhorrent emptiness that made you want to drag your nails against your skin. You tried searching for him in the crowded walls of the large classroom, but he was either not there or hidden by the enormous mass of bodies. He left you with a heavy heart and the only one you could find yourself to blame was yourself. Your mother's words never stopped ringing inside your head since then.

It was like fate was laughing at you when you saw him again at the campus cafe— just like the first time you met him. You were in a hurry to leave when you accidentally bumped into him, your coffee nearly spilling from your hands. You parted ways without anything exchanged.

Your mother had always told you to never trust strangers.

Maybe you should have listened to her words.

[twomoonstwosuns]

studying.

back to you [series masterlist]

previous part · next part

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warnings: so much smut (18+), fluff

word count: 3.0k

a/n: pretty much pure smut, not a lot of plot. also fluffy. i have not written smut like this before so i really hope it’s good and i hope you enjoy! feedback always welcome and so, so appreciated. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Turned on was an understatement.

You couldn’t remember ever being so worked up. You had a pretty decent sex life, a better one since you started seeing Poe, which got even greater when you started dating and seeing him more. Being in a fight then being in a car accident, you were too beat up to do anything physical. It also didn’t help that Poe practically waited on you hand and foot whenever you were with him and was extra sweet and attentive. It made you want to jump his bones.

You were done being coddled. You were in the mood to be manhandled.

You would physically beg for it if it came to that.

Stretched out on Poe’s couch, you had your legs laid across your boyfriend’s lap with books and notecards propped up on your stomach. Poe stared at his laptop, tapping his fingers lightly against the top of the keyboard. He wasn’t reading anything or studying something. He was simply staring.

“You look bored,” you stated, glancing up at him. Poe ran a hand over his jaw, your eyes following every movement and craving the feeling of his stubble against your skin.

“I don’t know why I agreed to give a speech at this conference next weekend.”

“Because you’re amazing? Because you’re passionate? Because people actually listen to you when you speak? I could go on and on.”

“Go ahead sweetheart, keep stroking my ego.”

You nudged him with your foot when he shot you a wink. He knew he was good and passionate and that people listened to him. But he still felt very humbled when people told him that.

Poe shut his laptop and set it aside, reaching forward to finish his glass of water. You watched his shirt ride up just enough to see a sliver of golden skin. His neck bobbed as he swallowed the water and you gulped. God, you wanted him.

Then an idea came to mind.

“If you’re bored, you could quiz me. Help me prep for this test.”

“That sounds just as boring as writing a speech.”

You sat up, pulling your feet off of Poe’s lap and crossing them underneath you. “It is, but I can make it worth your while.”

Intrigued, Poe turned his body so he was fully facing you, his arm draped over the back of the couch. “How so?”

You smirked. “For every question I get wrong, I’ll take off a piece of clothing.”

Poe chuckled lightly. “And if you get the question right?”

“Then you’ll take something off.”

“And what happens when we run out of clothes?”

You shrugged innocently, your eyes hungry as you looked at him. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Poe considered your idea. It was a win-win for the both of you, though there would probably be a point where the studying would come to an abrupt halt.

“And actually you know what? We better make it every three questions I get right that you strip.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to get you naked pretty fast and then it’ll all be over.”

“I’m sure we can find something to do afterwards,” You bit your lip as Poe nodded towards your lap.

“Give me those notecards.”

Twenty minutes later, Poe was shirtless in his sweatpants and you were still dressed. You had moved from the couch, unable to sit still, and paced his living room when you had to give really in depth answers. Poe switched back and forth from your notes to the book, knowing very well that teachers often pulled questions from the book without specifying that it would be on the test.

“How many marketing functions exist?”

You knew the answer, but you were getting bored with studying. The sight of Poe lounging on the couch in just his sweatpants and the idea of even just curling up next to him was making you lose focus. One more right answer would have Poe down to his briefs and your thoughts would go back to being much less innocent. A wrong answer would have you taking off either your shirt or your pants. Poe watched you have your internal battle, his eyebrows raised as he waited for an answer.

“Five.”

“Seven,” Poe smirked. “I know you knew that one.”

“Guess not,” you said in a sing-song voice as you lifted your shirt over your head. The black bra you had on was a little dressier than other ones you had and certainly fancier than what was called for on a lazy weekend, but you woke up that morning with the desire to show off a little bit.

“Is that new?” Poe asked.

“Kind of,” you answered, suddenly feeling a little shy with the way Poe was looking at you. “It’s what I had under my dress after dinner with my family.”

Poe sensed your unease and beckoned you over to him, standing you between his legs as his eyes became level with your stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” he said as his knuckle ran over the few spots on your skin that were still tinged yellow. “You can barely see the bruises anymore.”

“Soon they’ll be gone and it’ll be nothing but a bad memory.”

Poe’s hands held your waist carefully as he pressed his lips to your stomach, the incredibly tender action making your heart pound hard against your chest. You brought a hand up to rest against his neck, fingers grazing the ends of his hair as his lips moved across your bare stomach.

He was so close to where you wanted him yet so far.

“Poe.” Your soft voice brought his attention up to you. Connecting your eyes with his, you leaned up and kissed him deeply, your tongue taking it’s familiar route inside Poe’s mouth as your hands rested on his shoulders. You gently bit his lip as you pulled back and his mouth twitched up into a dazed smile.

“What was that for?”

“You haven’t touched me in nearly two weeks.” Poe exhaled deeply and you shook your head.  “It’s no one’s fault, we were fighting and then my accident happened so we never got our makeup sex.”

Running your hands down his neck, you gave his shoulders a short squeeze before continuing.

“I want you. So bad. I am wound so freaking tight right now that I’m about to snap. So I need you to fuck me and fuck me good. Please.”

Poe chuckled lowly as he stood up, his arms fully trapping you against him.

“Well now, how can I deny that request?”

He brought you into a hungry kiss, his mouth slanting over yours as his tongue invaded your mouth. You pressed yourself against him, your hands trailing from his shoulders down his chest to the band of his bottoms. You pushed his sweatpants down and kicked them away before disconnecting your lips and pushing him onto the couch. You slid your own pants down and straddled his lap, slamming your lips back onto his.

“You tell me if it’s too much for you, ok?” Poe said against your lips, slowing down a second to let you respond. You knew it wouldn’t, your healed body buzzing with a deep desire for him, but you nodded anyway as you rolled your hips down onto his. A satisfied grin crossed your face when he raised his hips to meet yours.

As he moved from your mouth to your jaw, his lips left trails of fire, sucking spots onto your skin with a message that said he missed this too. You captured his lips again as his hands kneaded your breasts through your bra, pulling one of the cups down and pinching your nipple with his fingers. He kissed the skin that spilled over and, as much as you loved it, the need for his skin against yours was too great. You unclasped your bra, flinging it across the room, and Poe’s lips attached to each area of your newly exposed skin.

You rolled your hips over Poe’s, his hardened cock pressing against you and rubbing the rough lace of your underwear against your clit. You palmed him through his briefs, his groan vibrating against your breasts.

“Holy shit Poe, I need you. Fill me up, please.”

Dirty talk wasn’t really your forte. You’ve begged Poe to fuck you before and you made sure to praise him whenever he did something that made your toes curl, but you didn’t often do anything more than that.

You’d have felt a little embarrassed by your desperate brazenness had you not caught the dark blown out look in Poe’s eyes as his lips detached from you and curled into a smirk.

“Say it again,” his voice low and rough and his fingers dipping down into your underwear. You whimpered as they brushed your clit.

“Poe…”

He lowered his mouth onto your neck, your pulse thumping widely against his lips. His fingers ran along your folds. “Say.” Kiss. “It.” Kiss. “Again.”

He sunk a finger into your core as he gently bit down on your collarbone, making you let out a breathy moan. A flood of heat coursed through your body and settled in your core.

“I--fuck Poe,” you whispered breathlessly, your walls clenching around his finger. He had stopped kissing your neck, instead watching your start to fall apart on top of him. “I need your cock. Filling me. Stretching me.”

Poe smirked as he kissed you. You released his cock from his briefs and he removed his fingers and twisted your underwear aside. Your eyes met his, both asking the same question: are you sure?

You waited for his nod before lining him up with your entrance and sinking down onto him, his length and girth the missing piece to your puzzle. He stretched you wonderfully as the ridges and veins of his cock brushed against your walls. You took a second to adjust before rising up and sinking back down onto him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you set the pace, riding him faster. Poe’s hand slithered up your back, twisting it in your hair and gripping tightly. Your nails dug into his shoulders as a strangled cry left your throat, the sound of skin on skin filling the apartment.

“You feel so good, fuck you’re so tight.”

The exertion of riding him began to slow you down. With a bruising grip on your hips, Poe took control and began thrusting up into you. You could feel your stomach tightening, your hand clutching the one on your hip as you were blindsided by a freight train of pleasure. Poe thrusted harder into you as you rode out your orgasm.

After one particularly hard thrust, Poe held you still on his lap, kissing you like his life depended on it. He held you down on his cock and wrapped his arms around your waist, carefully maneuvering himself off of the couch and onto the floor. He pulled out and tapped the outside of your thigh.

“On your knees,” he breathed with a wicked smirk. Your body flushed with lust as you sat up onto your knees, running your lips along his jaw to meet at his mouth. He kissed you sweetly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Poe grabbed your wrist as you reached for his cock, stopping you and turning you away from him so your back was against his chest.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said again, and your heart squeezed with how much he cared about your comfort. Still unable to form any coherent words, you simply nodded. Poe slid your underwear down, ripping them off when it became a struggle to get them off in your current position.

“Hey!” You laughed as he flung the flimsy piece of fabric aside. One arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place as he brought this cock back to your entrance.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said as he slid back into you, his hips immediately snapping against yours as he kissed your shoulder.

Hard and fast, he was giving you exactly what you were craving. Every push of his cock against your sweet spot was heightened due to the sensitivity you still felt after your first orgasm and you knew you’d come again quickly. You leaned your arms on his coffee table, needing something to brace yourself against as he pounded into you.

“This what you needed?” Poe panted, bottoming out inside you. “For me to fuck you like this?”

“Yes--Poe, yes, just like that.”

Poe grunted as he felt his release creeping up on him. He squeezed the skin of your ass before his hand came down and swatted it. You gasped in surprise and Poe immediately stopped moving, afraid he might’ve gone a little too far in the heat of the moment. You looked at him over your shoulder, a half smile forming on your face.

“Do it again,” you whispered hoarsely. Poe pushed into you deeply, tenderly rubbing the reddening spot before smacking the same spot again. Poe smirked down at you as you moaned in absolute pleasure.

“Who would’ve thought?” Poe poked fun at you as he punctuated each word with a thrust, his cock deep inside you as he came. You couldn’t come up with a comeback as he smacked your ass one last time, his fingers then sneaking around to your clit and sending you over the edge.

The iron struck white hot in your belly as you cried out, your walls fluttering around him and your legs quaking. You fell forward onto the table, the both of you panting as you caught your breath.

This was what you both needed. Every apology, every ‘I miss you’, every piece of lingering frustration was taken out on each other.

“Oh my god,” you panted as Poe pulled out. He collected you against him and sat onto the floor with his back against the couch. You slumped against his chest, the side of your head resting against his necklace. Poe gently ran his hands down your sides, one hand intertwining with yours while the other lightly tracing the red marks he left on your ass.

“I hate you,” you giggled, squirming at the sting. Poe squeezed your skin slightly, pulling you closer into him when you squirmed again.

“You most certainly do not,” Poe poked the side of your stomach, causing you to giggle again. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a spanking kink?”

You blushed, hiding your face in his chest. He pushed your hair back to try and see your face.

“Come on, don’t be shy now,” he said, tilting your head up to see your cheeks red but a satisfied smile on your face.

“I didn’t know,” you admitted, laughing lightly. Resting your chin on Poe’s chest, you gazed up at him.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, a soft smile on your lips. Poe didn’t need to ask what you were thanking him for specifically. There were numerous meanings behind it and he knew each one. All he did was lean down and press a sure kiss to forehead and then to your lips.

“You want to order pizza?” Poe asked when he pulled back, wiggling his eyebrows. You snickered as you stood up, hauling Poe up with you.

“You do that, I’m going to go clean up.”

You were just about to Poe’s bedroom when he called your name.

“You know you’re going to have to help me write that speech now since you distracted me?” He smirked as he put the phone up to his ear.

You chuckled. “I know. Of course I’ll help you.”

“Also...did you retain any of the stuff I quizzed you on?”

“Yes, though I pretty much knew it all already. I kind of got a couple answers wrong on purpose.”

“I knew it.”

With a wink, you disappeared into his bathroom. You took a washcloth and cleaned up the mess between your thighs, looking at the bruises left behind and  having a very different reaction than the last time you looked at bruises that were on your body. Throwing your hair up, you tossed the cloth into the laundry and dug in Poe’s drawers for a shirt and a pair of boxers. The jingle of Beebs’ collar grabbed your attention as he changed positions on Poe’s bed. Leaning on the bed, you scratched under Beebs’ chin, his eyes closing in content.

“Oh Beebs, I’m sorry we keep having sex in front of you.”

You scooped up Beebs, the affectionate pup licking your face as you brought him out into the kitchen. Poe was redressed and had grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge.

“I think we’re scarring your poor dog,” you said as Poe came up and scratched his dog’s belly. “I’m going to get him a toy as an apology.”

“You don’t have to do that. Besides, he’s got enough toys.”

“A bone then,” you lowered your voice so Beebs wouldn’t get excited over the word ‘bone’. You smiled down at Beebs, rocking him slightly. “And I want to. Because you’re the best dog in the whole world who has the best dad in the whole world.”

You brought Beebs to the living room, setting him down on the floor as you picked up a rope toy to play with. You tossed it and watched him run after it, his tiny fluffy body jiggling with excitement. There was a knock on the door as you plugged Poe’s laptop into its charger and you glanced at the clock above his oven.

“That was, what? Twenty minutes? Impressive.”

Poe grabbed the door, looking back when Beebs let out a high-pitched whine  just in time to see his dog launch himself at you.

“Toddler?” The pizza guy asked, highly amused as he glanced into Poe’s apartment. Poe shook his head with an amused smile as he stepped in front of the guy’s line of sight, knowing there were still clothes strewn around the living room.  

“Hyper dog,” he said, giving the cash to the pizza guy. With a nod of appreciation, Poe shut the door and set the pizza on the counter.

You tossed the toy one more time before getting up and meeting Poe in the kitchen, trading a kiss for a slice of pizza.

You could get used to this domesticity.

tag list [open!] - @ah-callie @darksideofclarke @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies @spider-starry @krazykatkay456 @fanfiction-trashpile @afootnoteinyourhappiness @easterncryptid @my-child-gaara @myrandom-fandomlife @onebatch--twobatch @the-cry-of-youth @p3nny4urth0ught5 @porgiez @umchrisevans @galaxy-of-stories @seeking-a-great--perhaps @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @dameronsgalaxygal @mserynlarsen @yougottakeeponkeepinon @maze-It101 @goddamndameron 

[parts-of-spop]

AU where Catra lets Adora fall in the First Ones Temple and she doesn’t come out... until she does.

Part 2 in which Catra, having retired from her position as Force Captain in her grief, is tasked to scope out the Temple then return to Force Captain Lonnie. It should be quick and simple because the Temple opens for no one.

But the doors are open and she can’t resist.

The door is open.

Just… open. Like a waiting invitation.

“What?” She murmurs in bewilderment and it’s the most emotion she’s felt in months.

Beneath the dim light of the moons, her tail lashes and her claws flex restlessly into the branch beneath her.

She knows, sensibly, she should report back to Lonnie, her Force Captain, and let her know of this development but then Catra’s never been sensible has she? Smart but not sensible.

She climbs down the tree and inches towards the open door.

Adora died in there.

What if she comes across her body?

She couldn’t handle that.

She’d rather claw her own eyes out than see that.

But she inches inward and deeper into the darkness, careful not to touch anything or activate any of those spider things she remembers because she’s just… she’s not willing to fight nowadays unless she must.

She pads down a hallway, following dim blue lights, scanning around herself warily and waiting for it to all go red and turn against her.

It doesn’t.

She still thinks she should have returned to her squad but it doesn’t stop her pressing forward, slightly crouched with claws retracted just in case.

There’s another door in front of her and she raises her claws to slash it open when it suddenly opens with a soft whoosh and her breath stalls.

She hears beeping and clicks, her ears twitching towards them.

But her eyes are locked onto the form across the room.

The figure is painfully familiar…

But also, completely not.

It can’t be…

Long blonde hair flows free down her back with a white and gold uniform hugging her body.

She’s tapping away on some sort of keyboard, swift and effortless like she was born to, apparently unaware of Catra’s presence behind her.

But it just… it kind of looks like her and she can’t help hoping so-

“… Adora?” Catra croaks and the hands still in their motions.

Broad shoulders- broader than before- go tense for a moment. It’s easy to see the reams of hard-earned muscle.

Then she slowly turns and the first thing Catra notices is the amount of scars dotting her face, some pink but most of them pale and there’s a noticeably larger one cutting through her lips, little dents left behind.

Then it’s her eyes. They’re the same blue but they glow nearly as brightly as She-ra’s.

Catra finds herself creeping slowly nearer despite it all, trying to determine whether this is real or a very vivid hallucination or real.

If it is real, she isn’t sure how Adora looks… older. Like years have passed instead of months.

Adora still hasn’t spoken and her face is unnervingly unreadable.

Catra could always read her but she can’t now.

“Adora… How are you…?” She trails off and Adora blinks at her.

“Alive?” She finishes.

Oh, her voice. It still haunts all her dreams but she can’t get enough of it.

“… Yeah…” Catra rasps and Adora has the gall to shrug at her.

“After you left me for dead-“ Catra winces but Adora either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice- “-Light Hope encouraged me to stay and… work on some things.”

She’s being vague and stiff and not like Adora.

If this is a hallucination it’s a poor one.

“You’ve been here for 9 months?” Catra confirms and Adora pauses briefly.

“To you, it’s 9 months. Time is relative in the temple though so I’ve actually been here for nearly four years,” She replies smoothly and Catra feels like she’s been sucker-punched.

“But why didn’t you leave?” She splutters. Why did you not tell anybody you were okay?

“I needed to focus and train. It turns out my attachments tend to make me vulnerable,” Adora replies, eyes filled with meaning and Catra feels sick with disgust at herself.

“What… What’ve you been training at?” She says shakily. That’s safe. A safe easy question.

Until it’s not.

“And why would I tell a member of the Horde something like that?”

Another blow. This one harder because Adora looks cool and almost lazy in her detachment as she looks at her… like she just doesn’t care anymore.

Catra knows she’s earned that look but it doesn’t make it hurt less.

“A-Adora…” She croaks weakly, ears pinning back and for just a brief moment, her expression softens.

Then it’s gone and she’s back to being unwavering.

“Do you know why I felt I had to leave when I found the Sword?” She asks and Catra can only shake her head mutely, still winded. “It wasn’t just about saving the world, Catra… It was about saving a world… that had you in it.”

Oh…

Oh fuck…

“But I don’t have that problem any more… because I’m letting go, Catra, do you understand?” Adora continues and Catra wants to run, to hide but she can’t move. Adora’s approaching.

She looks so strong and almost regal in her new clothes.

She stands close, toe to toe with Catra.

They haven’t been this close without hurting each other in nearly two years.

Adora eyes burn hot into her own as her hands raise and cup her face between her hands, the touch gentle and bordering cautious.

She could probably snap Catra’s neck right now and be done with it.

Catra can’t say she’d mind much.

But then Adora does something far worse.

She guides her in and brushes a whisper of a kiss over her lips.

It makes her whimper and shake, her lips left tingling at the too brief touch.

Oh…

“I have loved you since I met you…” What? “But I’m letting you go now… I’m not doing this for you anymore… do you understand?” Adora presses and Catra feels Adora’s forehead rest against hers gently as she tries to process everything with limited success.

Then it clicks.

“… You’re giving up on me,” Catra murmurs in a quiet and gut-wrenching moment of realisation and Adora gazes back into her steadily.

“I don’t want to… but I will because I must… I can’t save this planet and keep defending you. It just doesn’t work that way… It’ll get me killed,” She reasons and her thumbs are stroking her cheeks, wetness dampening her fur.

Catra’s crying. She hadn’t noticed.

“Do you hate me?” She asks shakily and Adora’s eyes trail over her face for a moment.

“No… I don’t hate you…”

“… Why did you just kiss me, Adora? Why would you do that?” Catra presses, voice cracking with desperation to just understand.

Adora gazes into her for another moment.

“Because this is the only chance I’ll ever have,” She says, voice dropping to a whisper and Catra feels her chest tighten with fresh pain, more tears spilling free. Then anger curls in her stomach and she’s grabbing at Adora’s shirt roughly, claws catching in the fabric.

“Then do it properly!”

Adora barely hesitates, eyes widening for half a second before she’s lunging forward and pulling Catra into a frantic, bruising kiss.

Catra knows this is going to kill her later.

This kiss that she’s wanted since they turned thirteen and learned what kissing was is going to kill her.

It’s going to be the death of her.

It doesn’t matter... because if this is all she gets of Adora then she’ll take it in both hands and dig her claws deep enough that Hordak himself will have to tear it from her.

If this is the only part of Adora she gets to have, she’ll die defending it.

She presses closer and ignores the tears staining her own face.

She doesn’t notice how Adora trembles, just as broken and aching and wanting as herself.

[dreamyjoons]

case studkrkgksnwk // jhs

⇢ Study study study. You have to revise for upcoming exams, but your boyfriend Hoseok is tired of having to share you with your textbooks.

Genre/warning: established relationship! Fluff, smut. Oral (f recieving), fingering, swearing.

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: hello! Happy Valentines! Here is my drabble for the ksmutclub’s Secret Admirer project. The apple of my eye was @justonedaywithmysunshine ! Talking about you going back to college got this idea in my head, I hope you don’t mind 👀 I hope you enjoy, I loved getting to talk to you and being your Tulip 🌷more to come soon 🥴

You shuck your coat off your shoulders, letting it crumple to the floor as you stagger through your apartment.

Hoseok sits up from the sofa, the sound of you dragging through your shared place unmistakable.  

“Hey.” He smiles, dropping his phone beside him.

He leans up and hangs over the edge of the chair, waiting expectantly, beaming up at you. His smile is so bright that you can’t help but mirror him. You step forward and plant a soft kiss on your boyfriend’s lips before stepping back and watching his heart-shaped smile sit easily.

“Hey.” You mirror, walking away to drop your heavy rucksack on the dining table.

The table was littered with papers and pages of your scrawly handwriting. Hoseok tried his best to keep it ordered and neat but you were like a tornado, sending pages flying in a frantic bid to keep your studies up to date.

He swivels on his spot on the couch and watches as you empty the contents of your bag onto the surface, dark brown eyes narrowed. You glance over at him, but he looks away quickly, running a finger and thumb through his dark hair.

“How was class? You better not be making a mess up there.” He makes his voice low and authoritative, but you know he’s only playing. You merely stick out your tongue in response, to which he scrunches his face.

“It was okay. I’ve got a mountain of things to do though.” You groan, slumping into the chair. You take a moment to roll your shoulders before sitting up and getting to work.

You flip open your laptop and spread your books out around you, bleary eyes slowly scanning across the assorted pile of information. You hear Hoseok whine as he gets to his feet, shuffling towards you.

He stands beside you, fingers absently tracing patterns into the sleeve of your shirt. You lean into his touch, trying to ignore the fact that you’d not been able to truly get to cuddle - let alone anything else - for a few weeks now. It was starting to get to the both of you.

“Do you have to do that now?” He whines, pouting his lips dramatically at you.

“Yes, I have a test tomorrow and the day after.” You sigh, shuffling your books around.

He huffs, slumping as he watches you. You raise an eyebrow at him before averting your gaze, trying hard to ignore the puppy-dog eyes he was trying to lure you in with.

Your computer boots finally, and as you begin to pull up note from your lecture, his finger drags up your shoulder and pushes your hair aside. You let your eyes flicker for a second but ignore him, determined to see this study session through.

It isn’t until his lips press at the juncture between your neck and your shoulder that your eyes slam shut. A gasp leaves your lips as he moves up your neck, gently placing soft kisses behind your ear.

“H-Hobi… wait.” You whisper, voice breaking.

“What love? I’m not trying to stop you.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“Fine.” He sighs, stepping back and letting your hair fall back into place.

You ignore the disappointment that settles in your stomach as you start to read back over your notes. He’s pushed from your mind as you begin to get into it, transfering important information to your botes.

You barely hear him sulking around over the top of your keyboard, but it isn’t until you feel something budge your leg that you snap out of your trance.

“Hobi?”

There’s no reply. After a moment you move back to your work, assuming that he’d gone to do some work on his own assignment.

Barely a minute passes before fingers are reaching into the waistband of your leggings and panties, tugging them down past your knees. You yelp as you’re jolted in the seat, cool air hitting your core.

“What the fu-“

“I don’t hear you working.”

“I’m half naked, Hoseok!”

You shuffle your panties back up, but as you make a grab for your leggins he rips them back down again. You lean down and glare at him, watching as he pouts up at you.

“Do you not want to have some fun, Y/N?” He asks, voice soft despite how awkwardly he is bent under the table.

“Of course baby, but I have to study.”

He purses his lips, the neediness plain on his face.

“Fine.”

“Great.” You roll your eyes, sitting up and moving to pull up your underwear at the very least.

“But... let me try something. I saw it in a Cosmo one.”

You stifle a giggle as you lean back under the table, eyebrow raised. He looks at you with a glint in his eye.

“You’ve read Cosmo?”

“Yeah, I wanted to read a review they had on a moisturiser.” He shrugs. “Just sit up and get back to work. Trust me.”

You stare at him for a moment before sighing, giving in to his request. You ponder for just a moment as to where his mind could possibly be going when you feel his finger slide up your slit.

You gasp, sitting bolt upright in the chair as his finger rocks back down lightly over your core.

“Hobi!”

“Keep working.” His voice is low and authoritative.  

An excited jolt runs through you as you subconsciously let your legs fall open wider. You wait, but he makes no more moves, simply letting himself lean against your legs. His breath rolls up the inside of your thighs, the soft scent of his shampoo drifting up, the combination almost heady.

Cautiously you begin to type out another sentence, your body practically thrumming for him. It isn’t until you had been typing for another solid ten seconds or so that you feel another finger ghost across your clit. Your eyes flutter for a moment, but you’re determined not to let the sensation go.

You continue to move notes across, fighting the roll of your hip with each gentle pass that Hoseok floats over your clit.

“Keep going, Y/N.” Comes the voice from beneath the table, and you bite your lip in anticipation.

You flip your page, forcing your hips to still before typing again. This time you felt nothing, and was considering to check if he was still there-

Hoseok licks a wide strip up your slit, tongue flicking ever so lightly across your clit.  

“Hobi…” you moan, fingers scrunching the pages scattered before you.

“I can’t hear you working.” His voice is barely above a whisper, lips so close to your clit that you can practically feel him grazing you.

With a blank mind, you absently begin to press random keys, hoping to lure him back out.

It works. He presses his fingers into the soft insides of your thighs, spreading you for him. He’s on you within a second, rolling his tongue over your clit.

You suck in a breath, fingers barely tapping keys as the tip of his tongue darts across your core. A hand slides down to tangle in his hair, to pull him closer and stop the teasing but he pulls away, detaching your grip from his dark locks.

“Now now, you said you needed to study.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you’re almost glad you can’t see the smug look through the table.

You whine, bringing your hand back on top of the table but shuffling forward in your seat so that you’re right on the edge.

“How can I concentrate?” You moan, trying to subtly thrust your hips at him.

“Positive reinf-“

“Hobi, if you’re trying to Pavlov me into remembering my notes because you’re eating me out, I swear-“

You’re cut off as he puts his lips on your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it quickly with his tongue. Your words choke off as your hands grip the edge of the table, rolling your hips into his face.

His thumb brushes the inside of your thighs, stroking the soft skin as he lets his tongue swirl your sensitive nub.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, letting a delicate finger trace around the throbbing area before moving his finger down to pool in your growing wetness. Those pretty lips that you could spend eternity kissing purse at you, a slim eyebrow crooked at you. 

“Keep working love.”

You want to flip the table, to drag him by the collar and have your way with him but you know Hoseok would never budge. You made your bed, and now you’d have to lie in it.

You move to the keyboard again, take a deep breath and begin to type at random.

Hoseok doesn’t wait this time, dragging his tongue up the full length of your slit and sucking your clut into his mouth again. He flicks at it, moaning as he works. Your head falls back as you smack at random keys, letting your hips roll.

The wet noises that rise to meet the clacking of your keyboard makes heat burn across your face, and it takes all your concentration to keep pressing at the keyboard.

He works at you ferociously, moving between licking fat stripes up your soaking core to take you in his mouth and making you see stars. You slam your hand down, random letters flying across the screen as your body shudders.

“Hobi, baby…” you whimper, the stiffness from where you sat awkwardly pushed far from your mind as pleasure rolls through you.

It isn’t until you feel one of his delicate fingers is circling at your entrance that you finally drop the pretence of typing.

He begins to press the finger inside of you slowly. A whimper of his name leaves you, the drag of his knuckles blurring your mind.

His mouth is back on you as he begins to move his finger inside you, deft precise movements that only Hoseok could do. Every touch, flick and moan is perfectly tailored to you, and as much as his perfection can bristle you, you love it endlessly. 

You rock on his finger and he lets you, watching as you work yourself up on his fingers. You squeeze on his digits and he groans, the vibrations making your clit throb.

“Here..” he rasps, sliding another finger inside. You groan, your knuckles turning white from where you grip the table so hard.

“Wanna touch you.” You whimper, your breath short.

He seemed to be in an extra giving mood. You let out a yelp as Hoseok pushes your chair back, moving you both out from under the table. But he doesn’t miss a beat, mouth still attached to you and fingers still deep inside you.

His eyes flick up to yours, a mischievous glint in his eye as he rolls a thick tongue across your clit. You choke on a gasp, letting your fingers finally knot in his silky hair.

His fingers pump into you, rolling up to brush over your soft spot. You roll your hips into him, keeping him pressed to you as you feel yourself reaching the edge.

“I’m gonna-“

“Show me, Y/N.”

With a few final fucks of his fingers you come undone.

You cry out his name as your orgasm washes over you, body juddering as you clamp down on him. He works you through it, eyes screwed shut as you roll against his face.

Soon the waves fade out, and Hoseok let’s his wet fingers slip from you. He takes a second to lick away your mess, soft eyes floating up to you. When you twitch with over-sensitivity he finally stops, moving to lean against one of your thighs and grin at you.

You smile down at him as you return back to reality, everything blurry but your boyfriend. His heart-shaped smile glistens at you, your wetness sitting prettily on his lips. You wipe him with your hand before you pull him up for a kiss, the taste of you fresh on his tongue.

He brushes hair back from your face as he grins down at you, delicate fingers grazing the tip of your ear. The tender touch brings heat to your face, comfy and loved.

Your eyes flick to your screen once you sit back in your seat, and a giggle bubbles out of you.

Do you wanna see my notes?” You laugh, eyes flicking between him and your screen.

He stands up between your legs and peers down at your screen, mouth moving as he scans the rows of text:

‘-but we can see from the case studkrkgksnwk…’

Hobi leans back from your laptop and laughs, eyes crinkling as he scrolls through the wall of keysmash. He looks back down at you, infectiously happy aura radiating from him and you feel your heart swell.

“You’ve worked hard.” He giggles, reaching out a hand to you. You let him pull you to your feet and press a soft kiss to your lips.

You can feel his hard length press into your stomach, and a blush burning bright on his cheeks. You smirk at him, letting your hand stroke him over his sweatpants. His eyes flutter, lips parting at the sensation.

“Wah…” he gasps.

You smile at the effect you have on him, stepping out of your leggings and panties, leaving them crumpled on the floor beside your bag.

“I thought you had work to do?” He asks, regaining control of his face as he meets your gaze.

“I’m sure we can be quick...” you shrug, taking him by the hand and pulling him towards your bedroom. He grins, a bounce in his step.

“We’ll see about that!”

[bngtanah]

House of Triad | Games (m)

summary: All the best things come in threes.     Just a bunch of one-shots centering around V, RM and the shared girlfriend they affectionately call ‘Honey’.

pairing: Vmon  x Reader

word count: 3.1k genre:  smut rating: explicit

chapters: o1| o2| o3|

warning: light angst, smut, fluff, explicit sexual themes, ambw, poly, oral (fem receiving), fingering, pillow talk.

a/n: There is no plot, only trash.

Working from home seemed like an easy enough perk. You get to stay at home, wake up twenty minutes before you’re supposed to working and sleep in whenever you wanted.

Simple.

This is exactly what Honey thought just before she became a full-time writer and writing was no longer a fun hobby that she had a natural talent for but the very bane of her existence on most days when she just could not get the thoughts out of her head and onto the page in front of her. The music helped her to focus she liked to say, usually her Pandora mix of choice was the Classical station but today she was furiously typing along with show tunes she knew would only end up stuck in her head later. Her fingers were moving at an untraceable speed across the surface of her keyboard as she muttered each sentence before she wrote it underneath her breath to make sure it sounded right. Today was supposed to be her day off, but her publishers called at precisely the last minute, moving the deadline for her to finish the next few chapters up to the end of this week instead of the following one.

Which meant she had to pull two additional chapters she hadn’t even started thinking about out of thin air and send them off to the proofreaders. Needless to say, 'Honey' was stressed. Almost ready to pull out her hair stressed, but you would never know it by looking at her; especially not now she looked almost serene while she typed and bobbed her head along to music in her ears. She had been on such a creative roll until she hit the enter button to begin a new line and her train of thought completely derailed. It was almost as if her brain had short-circuited entirely, with a loud groan she shot up from her seat and ran a hand through her hair. Just as she was about to pace around the room to get her blood flowing, something dark moved in the corner of her eye which made her scream loudly and throw the closest thing in reach (her iPod) at the ominous figure. 

"Wah! What's wrong with you?" Taehyung cried after the metal object connected with the corner of his head before clattering to the ground. His hand immediately flew to the now throbbing area as he hissed in pain.

"Shit, Tae" The smaller woman gasped once she realised that the dark figure hovering in the doorway was her boyfriend and not an intruder "Sorry, I didn't know you were home already, let me see" She cooed and crossed the room to inspect the red bruise that was forming on the side of his forehead. Taehyung stood just a few inches above 'Honey' and he made a point of pouting and grimacing even harder when his girlfriend dabbed her fingertips to the outer edge of his bruise. It didn't really hurt all that much but Tae could never pass up a chance to be dramatic.

"Why are you throwing things, anyway?" He asked, sounding pained as he slid his arms around his Honey's waist and pulled her close to his chest. As she pressed her cheek against his chest and sighed heavily, Tae glanced over her head for a second; noticed the open Word document on her laptop screen and he no longer needed an answer to his question. "Ah, that's why."

"I hate my job," Honey groaned into Taehyung's cotton shirt and he rested his hand on the crown of her head.

"No, you don't, Hon" Tae replied with his trademark grin, "You're probably just a little stressed, maybe you should take a break?" He asked, his gaze trailing from the back of her head to her backside while his girlfriend detached herself from his body and slowly walked back over to her desk.

"I can feel your eyes on my ass, Tae," Honey said with deadpan delivery making Taehyung chuckle to himself while she sat down and pressed her fingers back to her keyboard, "I would love to take a break but I really don't have time for that. These chapters are due by the end of the week."

"That's in three days," Taehyung reasoned and placed his hands on her shoulders. One of his thumbs rubbed circles against the base of her spine and he leaned forward so she could feel his warm breath billow over her skin as he spoke, "I'm asking for 20 minutes, hour tops."

Honey felt a jolt of lust throughout his body when she picked up on what he was implying. "I'm busy Tae," She muttered, despite the arousal that was building between her legs. She knew that there was no way that she could continue to say no if he kept massaging the pressure points on her neck.

"I can make you cum in ten minutes if you really want, baby" Taehyung growled softly, leaning close to her ear. His lips teased the outer shell of her ear, the tip of his tongue flicking against the skin and Honey felt her body inadvertently shudder beneath his touch. She was prepared to brush him off against, in one last attempt to finish her work for the day but when his hands moved down from her shoulders to the front of her chest to playfully tease her breasts over her thin t-shirt Honey lost the will to deny him any longer.

"Tae?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Ten minutes only."

Taehyung grinned like a child on Christmas morning and wasted no time carrying her over to the bed, dropping her on the mattress with little gentility and climbing on top of her right away. Their lips connected immediately in a frantic kiss and Honey's hands found their place around his neck and Taehyung grabbed one of her legs and lifted it over his waist. Honey threw her head back against the soft pillows as Tae trailed kisses from her lips, across her jaw, and down her neck her hands slid down his back, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Taehyung sat up for a moment to let his shirt come off before his lips returned to their previous place while Honey's hands explored his newly exposed torso. 

Eventually, he pulled her away from his chest and dragged her mouth to his while he used the other to lift her out of the flimsy dress that was covering her body. The moment that the article of clothing was pulled over her head Honey threw it to the floor, leaving her naked with the exception of her panties. Tae groaned softly as he looked down at his Honey spread out on their bed, there was a part of him that wanted to pounce and ravish her as quickly and roughly as he could, keeping his promise to only keep her away from her work for ten minutes but he stopped himself. He wanted her to get her work done but there was nothing stopping him from having a little fun first.

"You're stunning," he muttered genuinely and smiled when he caught her blushing. He bent down, lips brushing against the silky smooth skin of her stomach and her legs spread wider so he could lie between them.

He kissed his way up her stomach, licking upwards on her sternum while one of his hands slid down her body and snatched off her panties before settling between her legs.

"Mmm," she moaned and pushed her head back against the pillows as his finger ran up and down her slit teasingly.

He kissed along her shoulder as his index finger circled her clit. She tugged on his hair, pulling him up to meet her lips, gasping into his mouth as he entered a single fingers inside of her.

"Tae," she could barely stop herself from moaning out his name as he added a second finger.

He loved the sound of his name on her lips, he'd never tire of hearing her pant and moan any variation of it. Taehyung pulled his fingers from her, smiling slightly at her visible displeasure, and got off the bed. He grabbed both of her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed then kneeled down, spreading her open and wide before him diving right in, tongue shooting in and out.

Honey sighed sharply and gripped the bed sheets below as she ground down. "God, TaeTae," she groaned, and a hand went down to his hair, pulling him closer to her. "I'm so close," she whispered breathlessly.

A finger joined his tongue, followed by another and Honey could feel herself nearing the edge. It didn't take much longer when he removed his tongue from her and began to suck on her clit while three of his fingers moved furiously inside of her.

She cried out his name when she began to shudder as she came around his fingers, moaning lightly as he lapped up her arousal, not wanting a waste one drop.

"My sweet, sweet Honey. You're not tired out are you?" he asked playfully as he crawled back up her body and kissed her so she could taste herself on his tongue.

"Not even close," she smiled up at him.

"Good," he smirked. "Because I'm not even close to finishing with you yet," He wrapped his arms around her waist and pushed them further up the bed.

Taehyung rolled them over so she straddled his waist and reached for her breasts, humming softly at the feel of her soft mounds against the palms of his hands. Honey leaned down to kiss him but stopped when he abruptly sat up and took one of her breasts into his mouth.

The pleasurable sensation made Honey throw her head back, her hair cascading down her back as she basked in the way he sucked on her nipple and flicked his tongue back and forth over the sensitive nub. She was lost in a haze of her own lust but still wanted him to be just as worked up as she was, her hips whined at a careful pace against his bare crotch and Honey grinned when she felt the vibrations of him moaning against her skin. Although he would love to keep toying with her, working her up until she could barely say his name; the ache between his legs was becoming much too insistent for him to ignore.

So for the second time that night, Taehyung rolled them over so that Honey was on her back before grabbing both of her hands and pinning them above her head. He settled himself between her legs and teased the tip of his cock up and down her slit. They both moaned together as he pushed into her, her walls gripping him tightly as she took him inch by inch. He kissed her neck, and she exhaled several breathless pants, her hands flexing against his until he finally released his grip on wrists, allowing her to loop her arms around his neck and pull him closer.

Her ankles locked behind him and Taehyung moaned an "Oh, God" as her action pulled him deeper inside of her,  his hips instinctively picking up the pace making Honey beg him not to stop.

They filled the room with their moans, gasps and whimpers. Honey could feel the beginnings of her orgasm tremor inside her as her walls clenched tighter around Taehyung's cock. He pounded into her relentlessly, stirred on by the vice grip she had around him and as his hand slips between their bodies to vigorously stroke her clit Honey is finally pushed over the edge. Her eyes screwed closed and her body convulsed in small frequent spasms as an intense wave of pleasure that overcomes her.

The feeling of Honey exploding around him made Tae lose what little control he had stored away and he slammed into her at a frantic pace. Still in the throes of her release Honey spreads her legs wider to accommodate his frenzied thrusts until he too is taken over by an intense orgasm.

Still half-hard, Tae pulls out of her out of breath and practically glowing as he gazed down at the beautiful woman he was so proud to call his and she looked up at him with the same lazy and satisfied grin spread across her lips. A grin that fell into a small chuckle as she glances over his body, immediately noticing that he was still up and rearing to go once more. Without words Taehyung swiveled his finger and motioned for Honey to turnover, which she did without complaint; moving to lie on her stomach and rest her chin on her forearms. He eased her hair to the side and pressed his lips to the base of her spine, trailing kisses all the way up to her neck and then back down again. His muscular hands massaged her, moving from her neck down to her back and stopping at the curve of her ass making the raven-haired beauty beneath him moan at his touch.

Each soft whimper and moan that fell from her lips as he touched her only stirred up his desire for her even more, by the time his hands have caressed every inch of Honey’s body he is stiff and ready for her again. Not wanting to waste any time he pulled her back against him, lowering her onto him inch by inch until he's completely engulfed by her walls. She's still drenched for him and it barely takes more than a few deep and precise thrusts into her inviting heat before he's bottoming out again, groaning her name with pleasure as he empties himself within her walls. He grins when Honey grabs his free hand and slips it between her legs. His fingers soaked the moment he touches her and he knows that this won't last very long.

His name tumbled from her plump lips for the third time that afternoon and Honey knew that all hope of her finishing any of her work was no longer possible. She didn’t mind, however, as she crawled out of Taehyung's lap and he pulled her into his arms right away, kissing every inch of skin available to him. Chest to chest and legs entangled together, they exchange light and tender kisses as Taehyung gingerly runs his fingers over her hair and they whisper overly cheesy compliments to each other before the pull of sleep calls Tae and he's yawning and nodding off making Honey grin and press a kiss to his cheek before cuddling up against his chest. Honey loved being with Tae for many reasons; he was an attentive, generous lover who was never hesitant about trying something new but if she was honest, she would have to admit that this had always been her favourite part of their lovemaking. The quiet after the storm when they're both completely spent and wrapped up in one another both physically and mentally, discussing whatever asinine topic popped into their heads. 

It didn't take much longer for her eye's to grow heavy and eventually shut down completely; she tried to fight it knowing that she had work to complete but three orgasms nearly back to back would take a lot out of anyone. It's well after midnight when Honey feels her skin being caressed and a pair of lips touching the space of her neck next to her shoulder.

"Tae, go back to bed" She grumbled and blindly swatted at the pair of hands in her hair, making the owner of those hands chuckle softly, pull back and press his lips against hers.

"Wrong boyfriend."

"Joonie?" Honey mumbled and cracked one of her eyes slightly open, She was met with the sight of Namjoon smiling at her with a dopey grin that made his dimples grow deep. It had been years since he'd first smiled at her like that and it still filled her with warmth inside whenever he did. "What time is it. Are you just getting home?"

"It's late," Namjoon nodded as he stood up to shuck the windbreaker he was wearing off his shoulders, he let fall to the ground and quickly moved to unbuckle his belt, "I got caught up at work, I tried calling both of you but no one picked up." He seasoned his words with a playful judgemental look while kicking his jeans off his feet and joining Honey underneath the sheets. The size of the California King bed was large enough to accommodate all three of their bodies with some space left over though throughout the middle of the night Honey usually ended up sleeping directly on top of one of them to conserve warmth while the other (usually Tae) hogged the covers.

Honey grinned and draped her arm over Namjoon once he settled next to her, her head and upper body moved to rest against her chest making Taehyung; who was still cuddled against her back, stir and shift positions but not wake up. "Ah, yes. Well, I've been writing most of the day and when Tae came home we got a bit distracted..."

Namjoon chuckled and ran a hand down Honey's side, pausing for a second to gentle squeeze her thigh before turning his head to the side "He's a poor influence on you."

"You think you're any better?" Honey countered with a sly grin. Their eyes met and like moths are drawn to a flame they both gravitated toward each other and shared a silent but tender kiss, it was late and there was no way they'd be able to do anything without waking up Taehyung who was still snoring peacefully on the other side of the bed. Namjoon was the first to pull back and gently caress Honey's cheek, drawing her head down so he could kiss her forehead and then press her head back to his chest.

"You should get some sleep, Honey," He breathed, his thumb and index finger massaging her neck.

Honey only nodded, quickly pressing a kiss to Namjoon's jaw before settling completely against him and allowing the heavy blanket of slumber to wash over her once again.

[regardingseas]

Title: Echoed Vexations (Part two)

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Rating: Teen and up audiences (violence warning)

AO3: here! (Full story at once)

•••

(PART ONE)

Beginning, summary, and warnings can be found there. Story continued under the cut.

•••

He regretted it instantly.

Catching sight of the white abyss behind Their eyes, the sanctions of his mind found themselves entangled in the monster's clutches. They weren't physically there, but he could feel them all the same-- tendrils like snakes burrowing into his brain, parasitic vermin that rooted themselves into his very core with a vice-like hold. He'd thrash, or fight, but that only ever ended in the pain spiking from a ten to an eleven, proven by the past, and again by Cub's screams of anguish as Scar barely bit back his sobs.

His thoughts echoed in his skull, looping over themselves as the Vex listened in like safe-crackers. He wanted not to think, not to have a single notion cross his mind, but an infinite number of processes scrambled through at once no matter what he tried.

Not being able to defend himself against such beings was humiliating in its own right. Rationally, he knew They were far more powerful than the average human, and a group of Them was nothing to sneeze at when they got serious. The Vex were a corrupt and cruel species who enjoyed little more than acquisitive riches and making others suffer, but as much as he was aware of that, it didn't make being beaten down by something an eighth of his size any less demeaning.

With that train of thought, Scar's auditory input from the outer world was replaced by ringing-- blood seeping out from his ears and from his nose not long after. The taste of copper was bitter on his tongue, mixing with the salt of tears and bile that had risen in his throat.

We're nothing but small, cruel, and materialistic? The concordats forget themselves so...

They will learn from this, mistakes make for better humans.

I think they've forgotten who they belong to.

He dared to think he didn't belong to Them, that he was his own, not even of his own accord, and still his air was cut off. His arms gave out next and he crumbled to the side, gagging on red and trembling as waves of pain crashed over his body. Scar gasped, but his lungs refused to fill, leaving him grasping at his throat and pleading internally.

Do you remember now?

One of Them, or maybe all of Them, had asked.

Do you remember our deal? Do you remember the emblem we burned into your skin when you agreed to join us?

I remember, he begged in his mind, I remember. I'm sorry. Please don't kill me, I'm so sorry. I belong to the Vex. I'm sorry.

Horrid laugher overtook his senses, and a feeble rush of air filled his chest before his consciousness began to fade.

You will never escape us.

They finalized, and his world went dark like the drawing of velvet curtains.

------

Back in the present, flashes of that day and many others raced through his head as if to mock his phobia of thinking itself. It was almost akin to watching his past unfold in third person, like he'd been detached from his body during the events. Bleary yet potent reenactments of metal patterns searing his flesh, of his bones shattering, of gashes and bruises and the life fading from his eyes. All the times he was made to expand their trade, slaving endlessly until his hands were stiff and immobile from overuse, but it still not being enough for Them. Annexing the rest of the industry, becoming number one, having two humans as their play things. Nothing was, or ever would be, enough for the Vex.

Scar's nails raked up his arms as he tried to feel anything other than Their coils invading his brain, doing all he could to reason with himself that they weren't real, for the logical part of him knew they weren't. His hands grasped for the brand ingrained into the flesh of his shoulder blade, fingers feverishly grazing over the risen tissue to find the divot and remind himself that the seal had been severed. His time with them was over. The symbol was broken.

"I'm- I'm safe..." he recited, "I'm away, I'm free, I'm okay…"

The words were more of a finding of his voice than a real reassurance, and Scar fumbled to pull his communicator from his pocket, aware of how much he needed to contact a proper support system. Tears blurred the screen, making the already jumbled letters more difficult to make out, but he managed to gather the necessary information.

He could call for Cub, but the man was away, and even if the notification were to alert him, such an event was likely to jump-start evocations of his own traumas.

Xisuma was available, but he didn't want to pester the already busy admin with his troubles anymore than he'd had to before. The kind man had already spent countless time and energy ensuring that they were all safe inside of the world barrier; a field in which no Vex could enter on Their own, nor abuse Their power if They were to be deliberately summoned by a rogue party. Admin magic, he was thankful for it to the nth degree, but he currently needed a real person in his presence more than anything.

Scar scanned the remaining names on his monitor. There was only one other Hermit who knew about what he'd been through, and he was practically imploring him to be around.

Grain.

There he was!

Scar would've sobbed in relief weren't he already weeping, left struggling to type out a private message to his friend.

<GoodTimeWithScar> Grian are you avaiavble?

<GoodTimeWithScar> i need your help, i'm at Mumbo's base

<GoodTimeWithScar> my base? i don't know, the monument

<Grian> sure am! whatcha need help with?

Scar's thumbs danced awkwardly above the keyboard, grappling with himself over what to say. It was always a struggle to express his troubles in the midst of panic, especially when doing so was a part of the problem. He knew he didn't have to go into depth with the other Hermit, however. That was another benefit of them being aware of one another's history; they didn't need to spill their guts in order to receive a helping hand.

<GoodTimeWithScar> i just need someone here

<GoodTimeWithScar> i can't seem to calm muself down right now

<GoodTimeWithScar> or type out messages poperbly it seems?

<GoodTimeWithScar> haha dang

<Grian> i'll be right there

<Grain> i'm at zedaph's cave, so the distance is a little further than usual, but you know i'm a fast flier

<Grain> so just hang tight, scar

<GoodTimeWithScar> i'm not going anjwhere

Scar dropped his hands to his side with a shaky breath, flinching when a sudden softness brushed against his hand. He glanced down only to see a concerned looking Jellie, the cat purring softly and nuzzling his arm. He cracked a feeble smile and reached out to pet behind her ear, her very presence providing a degree of comfort.

Much to his surprise, it truly wasn't long before the telltale beating of wings thumped through the air, Grain landing expertly in the grass and folding his feathered pinions snug behind his back.

"Scar?" he asked, cautiously approaching the other man.

Scar looked up to him, managing to raise a hand and wave as a greeting. Still wrought with trepidation, his shaking arms were scored with scratches he'd unconsciously inflicted while attempting to ground himself. Tear tracks lined his cheeks and his hair had become an unkempt mop, but he'd pulled through the worst of it.

"Oh, dude…" Grian said sympathetically, stepping over the rest of the way and crouching by his side. "It's alright, I'm here."

He nodded slow, "Thanks, Gri…"

The avian returned the nod and extended his hand, allowing Scar to take hold of it as a reminder of his security. "It's no problem. I see Jellie showed up to help, too."

"Yeah," Scar chuckled humourlessly, "She can always tell when I'm upset…"

"She's good like that," Grain confirmed, earning a well timed meow from the feline beside them.

They both let out a small laugh, Scar's being far weaker but present nonetheless.

"How about we get you away from all this noise and take care of those scratches?" Grain asked, and the other Hermit nodded again.

He helped Scar to his feet, leading him away from the distant thundering of the base's heart. They departed from the heights of the ruins, Grain ushering Scar to settle down against a tree once they were out of earshot of all the clamour.

"Let me see your arms, 'kay? I'll fix them right up."

Scar held out his scored arms after a moment of hesitation, finding them still stinging with the red drag of nails.

Grain produced a potion and gauze from his inventory, pouring the thick blue liquid onto the cotton before dabbing it across the irritated skin. A cool numbness spread over the area, and Scar relaxed at the alleviation of his symptoms. People often overlooked Mundane potions due to them having no official use, but anyone suffering from a mild ailment could tell stories of just how practical its effects could be. From soothing scrapes or minor burns, all the way to settling stomach aches or migraines, they could work little wonders. A Mundane potion for mundane problems.

"Better?" Grain asked.

"Much… thank you. Sorry for making you fly all the way over here."

"No, no, don't apologize, it's no big deal," he assured, motioning to brush off his concerns. "I needed to get out of that cave anyway. Not to bash on Zed's decorating skills, because the gadgetry is amazing, but the rest is all nonsense and greys and belch-- it was making my head spin."

Scar nodded, but couldn't help the guilt that crept into his chest, eyes darting to the side as if in anticipation for the hostility he sensibly knew would never come.

Grain smiled tenderly and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I mean it, it's no trouble. Besides, you'd do the same for me. Geez, man, you have!"

"I guess you're right," Scar agreed, turning once more to face the winged man. It wouldn't be the first time either Hermit had coaxed the other down from a panic, for not only had Grain been there for him in the past, but vice versa as well.

Most recently, he could recall, someone had led a bundle of animals into the blond's mansion as a prank. Such a feat was usually harmless fun, as was the case with the challenges they'd created wherein a herd of chickens were set loose in the same manner. The problem, however, arose when the trickster wanted to break the chain of stunts involving birds, and instead released a colony of rabbits into the manor's grounds. It was intended to be innocuous, but to say it hadn't ended well would be making a molehill out of a mountain.

Mumbo and the baffled prankster themselves had immediately volunteered to clear the animals from the house, whereas Scar stayed with Grain at the man's starter base until the mansion was deemed clear, and he was able to find resolve. It had been a long day for them all, but Grain especially. He'd mostly adapted to seeing hares in the wilderness, but finding himself in an enclosed space with dozens of the creatures sent him spiraling. Scar had been told tales of a man named Sam; a heinous individual with ears of a rabbit, who despite the innocent appearance, caused Grain immense suffering.

He's from a chapter in my story that I'd much rather leave behind, Grian once said, I have a far better future to write now, anyway.

That last line always stuck with Scar, no matter how much time passed after he heard it. There were brighter eras ahead, they just had to move forward and stick around to see them. In the end, he of all people could respect wishing to leave one's past as just that. The past. Even so, he'd probably still deck that Sam character given the chance.

"Of course I am," said Grain abruptly, and Scar blinked back to the present after an internal game of catch-up to remember what they'd been speaking of to begin with.

Nodding and smiling faintly, he asked, "So, what are you doing for the rest of your free time?"

The Brit grinned in turn and ruffled his wings, "Well, my schedule is actually rather jam-packed. I'm spending the rest of the day with a friend who's in quite the pickle."

Scar raised his eyebrows, pointing towards himself, "Is it me? Am I in the pickle?"

Grian laughed, "Yes, my briney bro, you are. And I'm determined to stay by your side until you're feeling better again."

Thankful, Scar smiled as well, knowing it would do no good to feel remorseful for taking up his companion's time, or to try and convince him he would be fine on his own.

"Thank you, Grain," he said truthfully.

"Anytime," he replied, "Now let's find something nice calm to do."

"Now those are words I never thought I'd hear you say."

The two chuckled and made their way off, ready to waste the rest of the afternoon in a mellow rhythm to starve off any further panic. Scar knew he'd likely feel off for a while, not fully himself again until at least the following day. The lingering tension of his episodes always latched to his nerves and left him on edge, but he knew the company of an understanding friend would lessen the blow. They'd spend the coming hours in a tense yet manageable tandem, and to some degree, Scar could accept that.

He was still learning to trust the fact he was safe, no matter how much he already wished to embrace his freedom with open arms. Eventually, one day, maybe, he could believe it entirely, or at least to more ample extent. Until then, it was gradual steps forward on the road to recovery.

Grain skipped beside him, cracking light-hearted jokes laced with reassuring phrases, all made to help lift Scar's aching mood.

Wherever it was that road led, however, at least he wasn't walking it alone.

[END]

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