#and then my back got inflamed....and then i moved almost all the way across the country....

[tazmiilly]

new local man is tired from 4 day drive that he did....by himself...

[xiaoscarasimp]

Am I a Good Boy?

I've been wanting to write a XiaoVen fic for a while now, so here it is <3

MDNI

If you dont like the pairing DNI

Contains: praise kink, anal, BJ, finger sucking, frotage, nipple play, alcohol

NSFW Below Cut

When isn’t there a night where Venti doesn’t drink too much? 

That’s the question Xiao asks himself most nights. Everynight was the same: Venti would stumble in the room drunk, giggling, and then catch sight of Xiao, trying to get him to have “fun” with him. In other words, drinking made Venti horny and Xiao was just so irresistible; his face, his body, his scent, his everything. 

“Xiaoooo,” Venti cried. “Let’s have some fun together in the way only couples can. I want youuuu~.” Venti lunged to hug Xiao, but the latter stepped swiftly out of the way, causing his lover to stumble and fall in a very comedic fashion. Venti got up, patted himself off, and then tried again, stumbling into the wall this time. 

Xiao groaned. Most of the time, he loved the bard for his humor, his wisdom and his soothing aura, but at times like this, he was borderline unbearable. Even if Xiao did want to "have fun" before, hearing the phrasing from a drunken Venti made him lose all interest.  

Venti was a master of stripping down, doing so in record time. The now naked man was crawling into their bed, face red and eyes half lidded with lust. Xiao looked down and noticed the bard's already half erect cock, head starting to become inflamed with passion. It was going to be a long night for the adeptus, either fending off Venti's advances or a long night of love making with both of their near infinite stamina.

"Get naked with mee~~!" Venti said playfully "I want to feel your soft skin!" 

"...it's not soft; it's riddled with scars," Xiao looked away, rather embarrassed. He noticed Venti's lips, glistening with saliva and passion. He looked back at the bard, his own face becoming tinged with a red blush, taking in his delicate features. "Can I ask for one favor if we partake in human bonding tonight?" Xiao asked, face becoming increasingly red.

“Anything for my sweet Xiao Xiao~” Venti practically purrs. 

“I, I want you to praise me.” 

Venti stopped for a moment, finger on his chin, and then proceeded to pat Xiao’s head, ruffling his short teal hair. Xiao was so overwhelmed by the act, even though he had asked for it, that he started crying a bit. He wasn’t expecting the drunk man to actually indulge him. 

“There, there,” Venti cooed as he continued to stroke the blushing man’s hair. “You’ve done well. You’ve matured so much since I first met you; I love you even more than I did then, and will continue loving you until you reject me.” 

Xiao looks at the bard, tears still in his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss his soft lips. As their lips chastely made contact, Xiao attempted to pull away, but Venti’s hand was still on his head and decided to hold him in place and the drunk man ran his tongue across his lips. It tasted like the expensive liquor that he had been drinking, but nevertheless. Startled by the motion, Xiao opened his mouth in surprise and Venti took the chance to thrust his tongue deep into his mouth as he moaned Xiao’s name. 

That was another thing that turned Xiao on: hearing his lover call his name. 

Venti started running his free hand up Xiao's shirt,  eventually finding purchase on his nipple. He rolled the swollen bud between his fingers,  reducing Xiao to a mewling mess.  Between the teasing of the nipple, the making out,  and the praise his lover was giving him,  it was fair to say Xiao was over stimulated in the best way. He was almost cumming even before he took his clothes off.

"V-venti," He moaned. “Pl-please stop teasing me.” 

Venti moved the hand that was massaging the nipple down towards his crotch and started groping at the growing bulge. “Your mouth says no, but your body is responding to every touch, every word I speak. Who's my good boy?" Xiao's cock twitched and he groaned at the praise, his pants starting to feel uncomfortably tight. 

"You should take these off," Venti continued in a sultry voice; music to Xiao’s ears. He tugged at Xiao’s pants, and eventually the latter obliged, pushing Venti off temporarily; his underwear was already soaked from the precum. "Good boy. That's my Xiao. But, I'm pretty sure we can do with a little less clothing."  

Venti used his anemo powers to rip the rest of Xiao's clothes off, causing Xiao to try and cover his chest full of scars. Venti pried his arms away from his body, holding his hands as he did.. The bard's fingers traced some of the more prominent scars, causing the adeptus to moan at feather lite touches. 

"You've fought very hard to repel evil for me, haven't you, Xiao? I'm proud of you and I want to show you my thanks," Venti murmured as he cupped Xiao’s face in one hand and massaged his balls in the other. The adeptus leaned in again to kiss his lover, but the bard beat him to it, surprising him and causing him to topple backwards on the bed. Venti went on the attack again, sticking his tongue in Xiao’s mouth yet again, grabbing the shorter man’s tongue with his own. As they made out, Xiao’s hands reached for his own weeping cock, desperate for stimulation and release, but Venti grabbed his hands and placed them on his hips.

"V-venti," Xiao moaned between the making out.. “I’ve been your good boy, pl-please stop teasing m-me.”

“Mmm,” Venti hummed in Xiao’s mouth. He debated for a minute whether to give in to his lover's erotic moans, or tease him even further; Venti being Venti decided that he wanted to savour the moment, and rubbed his fingers delicately on the underside of Xiao’s cock, teasing the head with his thumb occasionally. Eventually, he detached himself from his partner’s mouth and replaced his tongue with two of his delicate fingers.

“Be a good boy, and suck on my fingers,” Venti cooed, as Xiao’s saliva coated his fingers in an erotic way, making Venti even harder than he already was. Xiao started sucking gently at first, but then started moving his tongue around the focus of the oral fixation, moaning as Venti moved his fingers around his mouth. “Good boy, you’re doing so well.”

“Mmfph,” Xiao choked out, shivers down his spine. The praise was almost enough to make him cum on the spot, but restrained himself, but only barely. “I-I am your g-good b-boy. Pl-please, V-venti, I c-can’t wait any longer.” The proud man, who would never bend to anything, was now pleading and begging for a sweet, sweet release. 

Venti eventually removed his now saliva coated fingers from Xiao’s mouth and used them to rub up and down his lover’s now sobbing cock. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Xiao came already due to the copious amount of pre-cum. 

“Nnng,...V-venti, I-I’m c-cumming.” The feather-like touches on his cock were sending him over the edge. “Pl-please le-let me cum!” 

The bard released his hand from the adeptus’s cock, the latter hissing at the lack of contact; Venti could be quite cruel if he wanted to. “Ah-ah-ah,” He tuts. “Good boys try to get their partners off first. You’re not being a good boy, Xiao, almost cumming like the slut you are.” 

He reached over and grabbed the lube and ran his lubed fingers over Xiao's delicate but needy hole before inserting one finger. Xiao stifled a little moan by putting his hands over his mouth. Venti was insulted by this and forcefully removed his hand from his mouth.

"I want to hear your beautiful voice," He murmured as he thrust faster in his lover's ass. "Let me hear my good boy's voice." 

At this point, Xiao couldn't control his voice anymore, moaning obscenities and calling out to the archons, especially the one abusing his poor ass. He knew the drunken bard was amazing with his hands, but somehow he was even more adept when he's had a bit too much to drink.

"F-fuck, Bar-barbatos," He continues to moan. "I ne-need you inside me, V-venti."

Venti drips some lube on his cock; not that it needed any at this point. He then rolled Xiao on his stomach, and Xiao presented his ass for the taking. To make sure he was prepped enough, Venti plunged his silky digits one more time in the needy hole, curling his fingers and gave the receiver's prostate a few quick, but gentle rubs. As he lined up his cock, he leaned over and grabbed Xiao’s hair and pulled his head back and nibbled on the outside of his ear. 

"Who's my good slut in need of this cock?" He breathed in Xiao’s ear. 

"M-me," He managed to gasp, overstimulated by the breath tickling his ears, and his poor little asshole being teased. 

"Good boy." He plunged slowly into Xiao's ass, letting his body adjust to the sudden entrance. The needy hole felt like a black hole, sucking the bard in and collapsing around his girth. Xiao's lover barely bottomed out before feeling like he was going to cum, but held back if only just to savour the moment.

"V-venti," Xiao mewled, tears in his eyes.  "Nngh…you can m-move now. Pl-please fill me up…"

He started thrusting slowly and rhythmically at first, but Xiao was not happy with slow torture of being at the brink of release. Xiao could barely make out "faster" but instead started grinding his hips against the bard's dick. 

"Ah-ah-ah," Venti tuts and smacks Xiao’s pale ass, leaving a red mark. "Good boys tell me with their words that they want me to go faster. You've been a naughty boy." Another slap came across the other cheek; Xiao winced with pain, but stopped grinding at his lover's request. "Good boy." 

However, Venti popped himself out of Xiao’s ass, causing him to hiss at the cold air suddenly hitting the empty hole. 

"Venttii…I-I didn't mean it. I'll be good, I swear!" He was practically begging at this point. 

Without warning, Xiao felt his lover dive right back into his sensitive hole, and immediately started thrusting, hitting his sensitive spots with each thrust. Venti reached his arms around the adeptus, and started stroking his hardened length. He began with the lower half of the shaft, massaging it with a gentle but firm grip, and worked his way up to the tip that was coated in precum. 

"Hnng!" Xiao moaned as Venti ran his fingers over the tip in perfect timing with each thrust. "I'm c-cumming! V-venti, d-deeper! Faster!" The poor man was a babbling mess, moaning, crying from the over stimulation, and leaking precious fluids from his dick. 

"Th-that's it, take my c-cock like a good boy."

With a few more thrusts, Venti coated the insides of the adeptus’s ass white, and Xiao came immediately from the sensation. They both collapsed on the bed, panting and covered in various fluids. Venti rolled Xiao over and started licking the semen off his cock, savouring every last drop of it. 

"Xiao~ You're getting hard again," the articulation he had earlier was gone, replaced by slurred speech. Whether the bard was still drunk from the alcohol or drunk on Xiao’s dick was yet to be seen.  "Are you really my good boy, getting hard at the slightest touch?" 

Xiao had held back the moans for this long, but eventually let out a small whimper as his half-hardened length was stroked repeatedly. He was at the brink of over stimulation; the only thing keeping him grounded was the intense stare from Venti.

“V-venti, I’m going to cum on y-your face at this r-rate,” He mewls, his cock becoming more and more erect at each kitten lick Venti laid across the tip. His lover lapped up the fresh precum and the cum from earlier like it was the sweetest wine he'd ever tasted. 

“Ehe~ Maybe that’s what I want from my good boy,” Venti teased him further; the words of praise encouraged his member to stand at full attention. Xiao wasn’t the only one getting hard again; Venti was also at half mast already, just from seeing his partner’s reactions.

“Hngnn!” Xiao spilt his load in the bard’s expectant mouth, panting and apologizing over and over again. He wasn't going to deny he felt amazing after his second orgasm, but he felt that it was unfair that he got two and Venti only had his one. As his hands went towards his lover's half erect dick, he was suddenly met with a kiss flavoured with himself and the wine Venti had drunk earlier. 

"Ah-ah-ah," he reprimanded Xiao again; a sinking feeling formed in the adeptus’s stomach. He had been good, right? He prioritized his partner’s pleasure over his own, right? "Let's give those thighs a try!" 

He was already on his back, so squeezing his thighs around Venti's cock was pretty easy. As their members rubbed against each other, a knot was starting to come undone, threatening to snap at any moment. A dangerous glint shot across Venti’s eyes; he was getting impatient and was getting ideas of how to satisfy himself faster. 

Unsatisfied with how long it was taking him to climax, Venti rolled Xiao on his side, facing away from him and slotted himself back between his lover's thighs. Venti bit down on Xiao's neck, eliciting a gaspy moan from him, and rubbed his nipples between his fingers with his right hand. He shoved two of the fingers on the other hand in Xiao’s mouth.

All of a sudden, a pair of pure white angel wings sprouted from his back, enveloping them both like a cocoon. The small, usually invisible tattoos on his skin started to glow, along with his braids that had come undone the passionate night thus far. 

"Suck," He commanded; the usual playfulness in voice was gone; only the voice of a God remained. Xiao started sucking on the digits like his life depended on it, swirling his tongue around them, nibbling delicately on them. As he moved his tongue faster across the fixations in his mouth, Venti started thrusting faster and faster, pinching down harder and twisting his nipple. 

“X-Xiao,” He gasped, his pace almost too fast. “I’m c-cumming~!  Who has the best cock in the w-world, pleasuring themselves between your thighs?”

“Y-you mmfph do,” Xiao gagged slightly as fingers thrusted in his mouth, almost keeping pace with the owner’s own rhythm. Venti bit down harder and harder on his neck as he edged closer to his release, drawing blood as he came between Xiao’s thighs. 

"Haaa," Venti was panting as he snuggled into his partner’s back. His angel wings receded in a poof of feathers, although his hair still had a tinge of glow to it. He almost fell asleep before realizing that he probably should help the messy man clean up. "Let's get cleaned up shall we?" The usual giddiness was back in his voice, with an edge of tiredness. 

When isn’t there a night where Venti doesn’t drink too much? 

That’s the question Xiao asks himself most nights. Everynight was the same: Venti would stumble in the room drunk, giggling, and then catch sight of Xiao, trying to get him to have “fun” with him. In other words, drinking made Venti horny and Xiao was just so irresistible; his face, his body, his scent, his everything. 

“Xiaoooo,” Venti cried. “Let’s have some fun together in the way only couples can. I want youuuu~.” Venti lunged to hug Xiao, but the latter stepped swiftly out of the way, causing his lover to stumble and fall in a very comedic fashion. Venti got up, patted himself off, and then tried again, stumbling into the wall this time. 

Xiao groaned. Most of the time, he loved the bard for his humor, his wisdom and his soothing aura, but at times like this, he was borderline unbearable. Even if Xiao did want to "have fun" before, hearing the phrasing from a drunken Venti made him lose all interest.  

Venti was a master of stripping down, doing so in record time. The now naked man was crawling into their bed, face red and eyes half lidded with lust. Xiao looked down and noticed the bard's already half erect cock, head starting to become inflamed with passion. It was going to be a long night for the adeptus, either fending off Venti's advances or a long night of love making with both of their near infinite stamina.

"Get naked with mee~~!" Venti said playfully "I want to feel your soft skin!" 

"...it's not soft; it's riddled with scars," Xiao looked away, rather embarrassed. He noticed Venti's lips, glistening with saliva and passion. He looked back at the bard, his own face becoming tinged with a red blush, taking in his delicate features. "Can I ask for one favor if we partake in human bonding tonight?" Xiao asked, face becoming increasingly red.

“Anything for my sweet Xiao Xiao~” Venti practically purrs. 

“I, I want you to praise me.” 

Venti stopped for a moment, finger on his chin, and then proceeded to pat Xiao’s head, ruffling his short teal hair. Xiao was so overwhelmed by the act, even though he had asked for it, that he started crying a bit. He wasn’t expecting the drunk man to actually indulge him. 

“There, there,” Venti cooed as he continued to stroke the blushing man’s hair. “You’ve done well. You’ve matured so much since I first met you; I love you even more than I did then, and will continue loving you until you reject me.” 

Xiao looks at the bard, tears still in his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss his soft lips. As their lips chastely made contact, Xiao attempted to pull away, but Venti’s hand was still on his head and decided to hold him in place and the drunk man ran his tongue across his lips. It tasted like the expensive liquor that he had been drinking, but nevertheless. Startled by the motion, Xiao opened his mouth in surprise and Venti took the chance to thrust his tongue deep into his mouth as he moaned Xiao’s name. 

That was another thing that turned Xiao on: hearing his lover call his name. 

Venti started running his free hand up Xiao's shirt,  eventually finding purchase on his nipple. He rolled the swollen bud between his fingers,  reducing Xiao to a mewling mess.  Between the teasing of the nipple, the making out,  and the praise his lover was giving him,  it was fair to say Xiao was over stimulated in the best way. He was almost cumming even before he took his clothes off.

"V-venti," He moaned. “Pl-please stop teasing me.” 

Venti moved the hand that was massaging the nipple down towards his crotch and started groping at the growing bulge. “Your mouth says no, but your body is responding to every touch, every word I speak. Who's my good boy?" Xiao's cock twitched and he groaned at the praise, his pants starting to feel uncomfortably tight. 

"You should take these off," Venti continued in a sultry voice; music to Xiao’s ears. He tugged at Xiao’s pants, and eventually the latter obliged, pushing Venti off temporarily; his underwear was already soaked from the precum. "Good boy. That's my Xiao. But, I'm pretty sure we can do with a little less clothing."  

Venti used his anemo powers to rip the rest of Xiao's clothes off, causing Xiao to try and cover his chest full of scars. Venti pried his arms away from his body, holding his hands as he did.. The bard's fingers traced some of the more prominent scars, causing the adeptus to moan at feather lite touches. 

"You've fought very hard to repel evil for me, haven't you, Xiao? I'm proud of you and I want to show you my thanks," Venti murmured as he cupped Xiao’s face in one hand and massaged his balls in the other. The adeptus leaned in again to kiss his lover, but the bard beat him to it, surprising him and causing him to topple backwards on the bed. Venti went on the attack again, sticking his tongue in Xiao’s mouth yet again, grabbing the shorter man’s tongue with his own. As they made out, Xiao’s hands reached for his own weeping cock, desperate for stimulation and release, but Venti grabbed his hands and placed them on his hips.

"V-venti," Xiao moaned between the making out.. “I’ve been your good boy, pl-please stop teasing m-me.”

“Mmm,” Venti hummed in Xiao’s mouth. He debated for a minute whether to give in to his lover's erotic moans, or tease him even further; Venti being Venti decided that he wanted to savour the moment, and rubbed his fingers delicately on the underside of Xiao’s cock, teasing the head with his thumb occasionally. Eventually, he detached himself from his partner’s mouth and replaced his tongue with two of his delicate fingers.

“Be a good boy, and suck on my fingers,” Venti cooed, as Xiao’s saliva coated his fingers in an erotic way, making Venti even harder than he already was. Xiao started sucking gently at first, but then started moving his tongue around the focus of the oral fixation, moaning as Venti moved his fingers around his mouth. “Good boy, you’re doing so well.”

“Mmfph,” Xiao choked out, shivers down his spine. The praise was almost enough to make him cum on the spot, but restrained himself, but only barely. “I-I am your g-good b-boy. Pl-please, V-venti, I c-can’t wait any longer.” The proud man, who would never bend to anything, was now pleading and begging for a sweet, sweet release. 

Venti eventually removed his now saliva coated fingers from Xiao’s mouth and used them to rub up and down his lover’s now sobbing cock. If he didn’t know better, he��d have thought that Xiao came already due to the copious amount of pre-cum. 

“Nnng,...V-venti, I-I’m c-cumming.” The feather-like touches on his cock were sending him over the edge. “Pl-please le-let me cum!” 

The bard released his hand from the adeptus’s cock, the latter hissing at the lack of contact; Venti could be quite cruel if he wanted to. “Ah-ah-ah,” He tuts. “Good boys try to get their partners off first. You’re not being a good boy, Xiao, almost cumming like the slut you are.” 

He reached over and grabbed the lube and ran his lubed fingers over Xiao's delicate but needy hole before inserting one finger. Xiao stifled a little moan by putting his hands over his mouth. Venti was insulted by this and forcefully removed his hand from his mouth.

"I want to hear your beautiful voice," He murmured as he thrust faster in his lover's ass. "Let me hear my good boy's voice." 

At this point, Xiao couldn't control his voice anymore, moaning obscenities and calling out to the archons, especially the one abusing his poor ass. He knew the drunken bard was amazing with his hands, but somehow he was even more adept when he's had a bit too much to drink.

"F-fuck, Bar-barbatos," He continues to moan. "I ne-need you inside me, V-venti."

Venti drips some lube on his cock; not that it needed any at this point. He then rolled Xiao on his stomach, and Xiao presented his ass for the taking. To make sure he was prepped enough, Venti plunged his silky digits one more time in the needy hole, curling his fingers and gave the receiver's prostate a few quick, but gentle rubs. As he lined up his cock, he leaned over and grabbed Xiao’s hair and pulled his head back and nibbled on the outside of his ear. 

"Who's my good slut in need of this cock?" He breathed in Xiao’s ear. 

"M-me," He managed to gasp, overstimulated by the breath tickling his ears, and his poor little asshole being teased. 

"Good boy." He plunged slowly into Xiao's ass, letting his body adjust to the sudden entrance. The needy hole felt like a black hole, sucking the bard in and collapsing around his girth. Xiao's lover barely bottomed out before feeling like he was going to cum, but held back if only just to savour the moment.

"V-venti," Xiao mewled, tears in his eyes.  "Nngh…you can m-move now. Pl-please fill me up…"

He started thrusting slowly and rhythmically at first, but Xiao was not happy with slow torture of being at the brink of release. Xiao could barely make out "faster" but instead started grinding his hips against the bard's dick. 

"Ah-ah-ah," Venti tuts and smacks Xiao’s pale ass, leaving a red mark. "Good boys tell me with their words that they want me to go faster. You've been a naughty boy." Another slap came across the other cheek; Xiao winced with pain, but stopped grinding at his lover's request. "Good boy." 

However, Venti popped himself out of Xiao’s ass, causing him to hiss at the cold air suddenly hitting the empty hole. 

"Venttii…I-I didn't mean it. I'll be good, I swear!" He was practically begging at this point. 

Without warning, Xiao felt his lover dive right back into his sensitive hole, and immediately started thrusting, hitting his sensitive spots with each thrust. Venti reached his arms around the adeptus, and started stroking his hardened length. He began with the lower half of the shaft, massaging it with a gentle but firm grip, and worked his way up to the tip that was coated in precum. 

"Hnng!" Xiao moaned as Venti ran his fingers over the tip in perfect timing with each thrust. "I'm c-cumming! V-venti, d-deeper! Faster!" The poor man was a babbling mess, moaning, crying from the over stimulation, and leaking precious fluids from his dick. 

"Th-that's it, take my c-cock like a good boy."

With a few more thrusts, Venti coated the insides of the adeptus’s ass white, and Xiao came immediately from the sensation. They both collapsed on the bed, panting and covered in various fluids. Venti rolled Xiao over and started licking the semen off his cock, savouring every last drop of it. 

"Xiao~ You're getting hard again," the articulation he had earlier was gone, replaced by slurred speech. Whether the bard was still drunk from the alcohol or drunk on Xiao’s dick was yet to be seen.  "Are you really my good boy, getting hard at the slightest touch?" 

Xiao had held back the moans for this long, but eventually let out a small whimper as his half-hardened length was stroked repeatedly. He was at the brink of over stimulation; the only thing keeping him grounded was the intense stare from Venti.

“V-venti, I’m going to cum on y-your face at this r-rate,” He mewls, his cock becoming more and more erect at each kitten lick Venti laid across the tip. His lover lapped up the fresh precum and the cum from earlier like it was the sweetest wine he'd ever tasted. 

“Ehe~ Maybe that’s what I want from my good boy,” Venti teased him further; the words of praise encouraged his member to stand at full attention. Xiao wasn’t the only one getting hard again; Venti was also at half mast already, just from seeing his partner’s reactions.

“Hngnn!” Xiao spilt his load in the bard’s expectant mouth, panting and apologizing over and over again. He wasn't going to deny he felt amazing after his second orgasm, but he felt that it was unfair that he got two and Venti only had his one. As his hands went towards his lover's half erect dick, he was suddenly met with a kiss flavoured with himself and the wine Venti had drunk earlier. 

"Ah-ah-ah," he reprimanded Xiao again; a sinking feeling formed in the adeptus’s stomach. He had been good, right? He prioritized his partner’s pleasure over his own, right? "Let's give those thighs a try!" 

He was already on his back, so squeezing his thighs around Venti's cock was pretty easy. As their members rubbed against each other, a knot was starting to come undone, threatening to snap at any moment. A dangerous glint shot across Venti’s eyes; he was getting impatient and was getting ideas of how to satisfy himself faster. 

Unsatisfied with how long it was taking him to climax, Venti rolled Xiao on his side, facing away from him and slotted himself back between his lover's thighs. Venti bit down on Xiao's neck, eliciting a gaspy moan from him, and rubbed his nipples between his fingers with his right hand. He shoved two of the fingers on the other hand in Xiao’s mouth.

All of a sudden, a pair of pure white angel wings sprouted from his back, enveloping them both like a cocoon. The small, usually invisible tattoos on his skin started to glow, along with his braids that had come undone the passionate night thus far. 

"Suck," He commanded; the usual playfulness in voice was gone; only the voice of a God remained. Xiao started sucking on the digits like his life depended on it, swirling his tongue around them, nibbling delicately on them. As he moved his tongue faster across the fixations in his mouth, Venti started thrusting faster and faster, pinching down harder and twisting his nipple. 

“X-Xiao,” He gasped, his pace almost too fast. “I’m c-cumming~!  Who has the best cock in the w-world, pleasuring themselves between your thighs?”

“Y-you mmfph do,” Xiao gagged slightly as fingers thrusted in his mouth, almost keeping pace with the owner’s own rhythm. Venti bit down harder and harder on his neck as he edged closer to his release, drawing blood as he came between Xiao’s thighs. 

"Haaa," Venti was panting as he snuggled into his partner’s back. His angel wings receded in a poof of feathers, although his hair still had a tinge of glow to it. He almost fell asleep before realizing that he probably should help the messy man clean up. "Let's get cleaned up shall we?" The usual giddiness was back in his voice, with an edge of tiredness. 

[not-a-space-alien]

Savage Sunset 18S

Story masterpost

Complementary chapter

Thank, you all for waiting so patiently!! Let's see what Lex and Ari do, shall we? 👀

In this chapter:  ⚰ 🦇 lol

Content/Content warnings for this chapter: Aftermath of torture

***

He looked completely like a corpse now, chest still, eyes glazed over and open, completely motionless. Rendered totally immobile and helpless at his own request. The amount of trust it took to let them do that…

We've got you, sweet boy. Thank you for trusting us.

He really did look like a corpse. Maybe this was where the meritless idea of a vampire rising up from a coffin, of being undead, had originated. If Lex had come across him like this without knowing anything else, she probably would have assumed he was dead and buried him. And if he'd been at full strength, he might have been able to dig himself out. And Lex would have reacted with shock and horror when the corpse she'd laid to rest came back to life, even more so if it'd done it to come feed on the blood of the living…no wonder humans and vampires had such poor relations. He was, objectively, a very scary and dangerous thing.

Lex wiped the blood off the back of his neck where they’d cut in to sever his spinal cord, then wrapped soft gauze around the injury, winding it all the way around his neck for good measure, to have something between the bare metal of the collar and his irritated skin.  His neck was an inflamed red color from the metal constantly rubbing on it over the past months–it wouldn’t be a problem if he was fully fed, but as it stood now it must be really uncomfortable.

God, she felt so bad about him being stuck walking around with Nick’s metal collar still padlocked on his neck.  They’d have to figure out a way to get that off ASAP.

Jerome came in with a sleeping bag, suggesting they could slide him into it and zip it up. Like a little worm. It would keep the sun off him, as well as pad him against bumps. Not that he could feel it.

Ari unzipped the sleeping bag and laid it out on the ground, and she and Lex moved his body onto it.  Jerome got a shit-eating grin on his face and crossed Valen’s arms over his chest like one would for a corpse at a funeral, and Lex batted his hands away.

Ari zipped it up, then hauled him over her shoulder.  “Thanks again for the help, guys.  We really appreciate it.”

“Maybe we’ll come over to your place tomorrow to check on him, yeah?” said Jerome.

“Sure!” said Lex.  “That sounds great.  If you’re willing to help feed him…?”

Bailey gave a thumbs up.  “Of course!  My guy needs to put on some weight, fucking STAT.”

They waved goodbye one last time and took him out to the van.  “I hate to suggest this,” Ari said, “but maybe we just put him back in the coffin, so he doesn’t roll around.”

Lex grimaced.  “Yeah…there’s probably not enough room up in the cab with us.”

Ari stepped up into the bed of the van and opened the coffin, laying him gently inside and shutting the lid, but not locking it.

“We need to give this thing back to Nick,” Ari grumbled.  “I’m getting tired of fucking looking at it.  The coffin, I mean,” she rushed to clarify.

Lex kept glancing in the rearview mirror all the way home.  Every instinct in her brain was telling her that the person they had back there was dead, that something was terribly wrong with the situation, but she forced herself to engage her higher brain functions that knew what vampires were to calm down.

It was almost evening by the time they got home, but they weren’t scheduled to work that night, so they had plenty of time.  Ari removed Valen from the coffin and toted him up the stairs and into the house.

“There we go,” she said, laying the sleeping bag out on the floor and unzipping it.  “Nice and safe at home, just like we promised.”

Lex looked at him, motionless and hurt, but alive, on the floor surrounded by his belongings Lex had been trying to figure out what to do with a few hours ago, flush with relief.  “Thank God.  If he’d actually died, I don’t know how I could have lived with myself.”

“Yeah…” Ari said.  She elbowed Lex.  “If you still wanna talk about not being vampire hunters anymore, we can still have that conversation.”

Lex knelt on the floor glumly.  “Maybe.  I don’t wanna make decisions like that while we’re upset.  C’mon, help me lift him.”

They got one end each and lifted him into bed.  “Do you think he was serious about us changing him into the ducky pajamas?” Lex asked, trying to hide the eagerness in her voice.

Ari shrugs.  “Dunno.  He doesn’t seem shy about being undressed, so maybe.”

Lex sat on the bed and started unpeeling all the layers of clothes off him, wrangling his deadweight limbs until his shirt was off.  She hesitated at the sports bra and eventually decided to leave it on.  She did the same with his underwear and socks when she removed his torn pants and shoes, and then struggled to get the pajamas on him, buttoning them up.

“There,” said Lex.  “Cozy, right?”

Ari nodded from where she was sitting in the easychair.  “Looks good.  Maybe we should leave a note, in case we’re upstairs or something when he wakes up.”

“Good thinking.”  Lex got a notebook and a sharpie and wrote YOU ARE SAFE, YOU DO NOT NEED TO TRY AND RUN AWAY.  YELL FOR US IF YOU NEED HELP. -LEX

She put it on the end table by the pullout couch, then dug in Valen’s forgotten bag for the one book he’d apparently judged worth bringing with him, setting it out next to him.  Then, she pulled the comforter up to his chest, pulling a pillow under his head.  “Goodnight, I guess.”

***

They woke up later not to a yell, but a scream, the panic-induced wail of someone in mortal peril.

Lex was out of bed immediately, dashing downstairs to the living room.  Two reflective discs of red light swung towards her as she stepped inside, and from the darkness there was the flash of fangs.  “Get away!” snarled a monstrous voice.  

The haze of persuasion fell over her brain.  It was like someone dimming the lights in her brain.  She twitched in place, fighting to take back control of her body, in full blown panic after almost dying the last time she’d been put under persuasion.

Her body moved without her input or consent, pivoting on her heel and walking out of the room.  Then, the puppet strings on her body detached, and she slumped, falling over, pulse racing, far more scared than the mild nature of the experience merited. 

She’d almost died the last time that’d happened.  Her body locked up, and she fell to her knees.  From the next room, Valen started to cry loudly.

Ari finally arrived, hustling down the stairs.  “Lex, are you okay?”

She looked up at Ari with eyes wide, and nodded.

Ari bent down and took her hand.  “You okay?”

“Um,” she said shakily.  “Yeah, I–I’m okay.  Sorry.”

Ari furrowed her brow.  “Did he use persuasion on you?”

She nodded tearily. 

“All right.  You’re okay.”

“It was an accident, Ari,” Lex begged.  “I think.  He–he just got scared, it was a reflex, he released me right away.  It didn’t hurt me, I just–I just got scared.”

Ari put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed.  “All right.  Breathe, Lex.”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“I’m not going to hurt him, calm down.”

Lex pouted.  Ari sighed.  “All right.  Go make yourself some calming tea, okay?”

Lex padded into the kitchen, listening to Ari go into the living room and talk to Valen distantly.  Her voice was low and soothing, and his shrill and nervous.

Lex wanted to go in and help, too, but she’d lost her nerve, charging in and then getting rebuffed so thoroughly.  She sat there as the water boiled, then poured herself a cup, staring into the tea bag as it suffused the water.

Valen sounded so scared, it broke her heart.  But of course he would be scared.  Why wouldn’t he be?  He was as vulnerable as a vampire could get–starved except for a few feedings gotten into him, unable to walk, surrounded by vampire hunters–the same ones that had put him in this situation, even.  The only weapon he had to help himself could only be deployed as an absolute last resort, because it could be taken away at the drop of a hat if they decided he was somehow still too dangerous.  All it would take would be to-

“Please don’t put the muzzle back on!  Please don’t!”  Valen’s terrified cry came out of the next room.

Ari shushed him.  “Calm down,” she said firmly.  “I’m not going to.  Calm down.  It’s okay.”

Lex padded into the room with her mug of tea, to see Ari sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Valen firmly as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I used persuasion on you,” Valen sobbed.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, please believe me.  I won’t do it again.  Please don’t put the muzzle back on, I promise I don’t need it to behave, please please.”

“It’s okay,” Ari said.  “We just took you out of six months of being brutally tortured a few days ago.  We understand you’re scared.  You understand why using persuasion is an issue though, right?  You know not to use it because it feels bad for us, not just because it’ll make us mad at you, right?”

“Yes, I understand, I promise I understand.”

“Okay.  Just.  Just calm down.”

“What are you afraid of?” Lex prompted.  “Like, what do you think is going to happen?”

Valen grabbed his chest, hyperventilating.

"Take it easy," Ari soothed. "You're safe. How do we make you feel safe? What do you want us to do?"

"I'm not sure," Valen said, tears springing in his eyes.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Lex said.  She set her mug on the end table and sat on the bed, next to Valen, putting a comforting hand on his thigh over the blanket.  “Is there anyone you want to call?  I know you said you didn’t want your husband to come get you after all, but is there anyone else you trust?  Family?  Friends?  So you’re not just stuck here with us?  We want to help you however we can.”

“We’re not trying to hold you prisoner,” Ari said.  “Just to make that clear again.  We know you didn’t do anything wrong, and we’re trying to help you get better, that’s all.”

Valen drew his hands to his chest, quaking, eyes brimming with tears.  “N-no, there’s no one.  I have no one.”

“You have us,” Lex said with a gentle touch on the arm.  “You’re not alone, I promise.  I promise we’re going to do whatever it takes to help you.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Ari asked.  “Is that how you woke up?”

He nodded slowly.

“You look so tired,” Lex cooed.  It was true; the bags under his eyes were enormous.  “Is there anything we can do to help you sleep?”

He wrapped his arms around himself.  “I’m–I’m not sure.  Be-because, um…No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s okay, what is it?” Lex prompted.  “Is there something that will make you more comfortable?”

He let out a soft whine.  “The-the only time I wouldn’t be hurt was when I was in the coffin, and-and now it f-feels like I’m in-in danger when I’m out in the open, so-so I don’t-don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.”

“So you feel like you can’t sleep unless you’re inside the coffin?” Ari asked.

“Please don’t put me back inside there,” Valen wept.  “I can’t, I can’t go back in there no matter what, please please-”

Ari held up a hand, cutting him off.  “All right, all right, calm down.  So the point is you feel like you need to be in an enclosed space to feel safe, and that’s why you can’t sleep out in the open, is that it?”

He nodded tearily.

Ari clucked her tongue.  “Lex, you stay here with him.”  She gathered her coat and keys and wallet.

“What?” Lex said.  “Where are you going?”

“To the hardware store.”

***

Ari came back about an hour later with several different kinds of wood and 2x4s, which she promptly took downstairs where she kept her power tools.  Valen kept nervously asking Lex what Ari was doing over the sound of the circular saw grinding and wooden pieces falling to the ground, and Lex promised she’d go check.

When she came down there, she immediately saw what Ari was doing:  Making a wooden box for Valen to sleep in.  An actual coffin, to replicate the feeling of being in a safe, enclosed space, without actually trapping him.

She stepped down with a grin on her face.  “Oh, you’re a genius.” Ari winked at her.  “I know.”  

“What should I do to help?”

Ari had Lex help with measuring and cutting things, the coffin taking shape surprisingly quickly.

Lex came back up a while later, telling Valen they needed to fold the couch back in, because they’d need the space in the living room soon.  Valen let himself be lifted gently and set in the easy chair.  The sound of nails pounding into wood came next, and Valen sat with his hands clutched fearfully to his chest listening to it as Lex folded the mattress back into the couch, gathering the blankets and pillows in her hands and bringing them downstairs.

She also went upstairs and looked at her collection of plushies, searching for the right one.

“Oh come on,” Ari said, when Lex brought a stuffed cat down.  “I’m sure he doesn’t want that.”

Lex set it inside next to the pillows.  “Well, if he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to use it.  I’m just giving him the option.”

Ari did not argue further.  They finished it before the sun came up, lining the inside of the coffin with enough blankets and pillows and padding for it to be comfortable, then adding a lock and handles.

“All right, bat boy,” Ari said, dragging the results of their work upstairs.  “Get ready to get your tits blown clean off.”

“Ari,” said Lex, trying to suppress her laugh.

It was a struggle to get it up the stairs because of the shape.  Huffing and puffing, they managed to shove it into the living room, dragging it by the handles across the floor, to where Valen was sitting in the easy chair looking scared and overwhelmed.

“How’s this look?” Ari said proudly.

Lex pulled it open to show the inside.  He leaned over, furrowing his brow, and he looked touched.  “You made that for me?”

“Yeah, man,” Ari said.  “Here you wanna try it out?”

He nodded.

Lex and Ari got one hand under him each, forming a sort of swing with their arms, and hefted him from the chair and into the coffin, laying him out gently.  He settled into it, crossing his arms over his chest even though there was plenty of room inside.

“How’s it feel?”

“It’s comfortable,” he said meekly.

Lex guided his hand towards the handle to pull it shut on himself.  She could still hear his ragged breathing.

“What do you think?” Ari said.

“This–this is good.”  His voice was muffled and uncertain from inside.  “Yes, I think this is good.”

“Try the lock.”

A clinking sound from inside.  Ari grabbed the handle and gave it a little tug, but it stayed shut.  “See?  Nice and secure.  Now how about you open it back up?”

Valen pushed the lid open, and it flopped onto the couch beside him.  “You wanna try sleeping in this?” Lex asked.

“Yes,” he said politely.  “Y-yes, I would like to try it.  Thank you.”

“Good.”  Ari patted him on the arm.  “You can open it and close it however you want, and if you start to get a little freaked out, you can just haul yourself up over the edge to get out, yeah?  And if you need anything, you can just yell for us, okay?”

“Yes,” he said, slowly pulling the coffin closed, obscuring his face little by little.  “Thank you.”

***

Tag list <3

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@whumpsday

[zalrb]

first off: thank you so much for writing this. i was really hoping youd go for the sirebond fanfic, so your effort is GREATLY appreciated! now let's get to the actual fanfic!

starting off with passionate stelena sex, BLISS! 😍

"Elena woke up with a gasp and when she blinked in the unfamiliar surroundings of her motel room and realized Stefan wasn't beside her, that gasp shuddered out to a sob. She curled onto the bed, gripping the scratchy sheets, and heaved violently as the cries wracked her body."

"She couldn't stand feeling like this. Like there was a slow tearing in her mind, in her very core that had yet to rip her completely apart. She never thought she'd feel this kind of pain again and she thought that it might kill her.

But she couldn't go back.

Staying away was the only way to keep her and Stefan alive."

OH MY GOD... my current facial expression is really similar to this:

LIKE....

LOL rebekah secretly being the biggest stelena stan is just so accurate. its funny cause i can really relate to her admiration for them. stelena is ultimate couple goals

"It would be sickening if it weren't so sincere. Elena's body was weakening, her breathing becoming more and more laborious but Rebekah could see that even in the midst of a physical breakdown, she was at peace. Being next to Stefan, choosing Stefan had made her at peace.

"No matter what happens," she was saying. "It's the best choice I ever made."

the fact that she has absolutely zero regrets despite the fact that choosing him led to her death... I CANT WITH STELENA. THEYRE TOO BEAUTIFUL. MY HEART CANT HANDLE IT

"Damon stared up at her for a second before he pushed her off him and got up in one, smooth motion then stormed off. She followed him, knowing Stefan would find Matt and take care of him. She could trust him to do that. She could trust him with anything."

"Elena shook her head at him, almost relieved in how pointless this all was. "I do know that. And I also know that you never got it and if you don’t get it now, you never will," she said. "I could never have had those things if Matt died. It would have never been the life I wanted without him alive. And you can’t think that far ahead to see that. Stefan can."

I AM LIVING FOR THIS

"Damon narrowed his eyes at her.  "Was it ever really a choice?" he asked. "Between him and me?"

Elena bit her lip. "No."

L M F A O !!!!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

ELENA IS RUTHLESS. damon is garbage that got trashed

She sighed then said softly, "You don't love me, Damon."

He glared at her. "Don't try to make yourself feel better."

"That's not what I'm doing." She made a soft exasperated noise. "Look at what you were about to do to one of my oldest friends. I chose to save his life and you were about to take it, you were about to spit in the face of my choice. You..." she shrugged. "You don't consider anything I want, you don't take my feelings into account, you just do whatever you want because you need me to be alive for you."  Elena spoke calmly and simply, as if she were explaining something to a child, which only seemed to inflame Damon. "And I - I get it but ... that ..." She shook her head. "That isn't love, Damon, that's obsession. Like with Katherine."

"You loved her for over a century, Damon, you carried her for over a hundred years, and then you came to town and ripped it apart for her, and she didn't care." Elena watched as the pain of the memory flitted across his face. “What did you do with all of that? Where did it all go?"

YES TO ALL OF THIS!!! thats one of my biggest issues with show. damon moves on from katherine SO QUICKLY after a whole fucking century of obsession. so, just like that, hes over her? bitch please. its so dumb. to be fair though... it wouldnt be. itd actually be brilliant if the show didnt try to gaslight us into thinking that damon was genuinely over her and then madly in love with elena. cause he was neither of those things. he basically transplanted his obsession onto elena. which is why he doesnt respect her as a person. i dont think he ever even explains what he likes about her. damons feelings for elena would be a great commentary on toxic patterns in romantic relationships like obsession, idealization, etc. but the show doesnt address any of this in a meaningful way. love that youre doing it though!

YES TO ALL OF THIS!!! thats one of my biggest issues with show. damon moves on from katherine SO QUICKLY after a whole fucking century of obsession. so, just like that, hes over her? bitch please. its so dumb. to be fair though… it wouldnt be. itd actually be brilliant if the show didnt try to gaslight us into thinking that damon was genuinely over her and then madly in love with elena. cause he was neither of those things. he basically transplanted his obsession onto elena. which is why he doesnt respect her as a person. i dont think he ever even explains what he likes about her. damons feelings for elena would be a great commentary on toxic patterns in romantic relationships like obsession, idealization, etc. but the show doesnt address any of this in a meaningful way. love that youre doing it though!

Exactly this, though!

I had a post about it where I was like everything Damon likes about Elena is about what she can do for him

So I was like, I think it would be interesting if Elena kind of re-realizes this with the clarity of a life-changing event where she's just like ... it's not just that I don't love you, you don't love me.

[blue-flamed-phoenix]

Chapter 3 - Curiosity

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time skip (a few hours later)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<-Previous Chapter<-

Hayley's P.O.V

I fiddled with the bandage wrapped around my hand. After I left the canteen earlier today I punched a wall. I just felt angry and punched a wall out of anger. It was definitely dumb and incredibly stupid but hey I just got so angry. I made my way to the kitchen where the lunch ladies were making dinner for the inmates. Once I got inside I sat on one of the silver benches as I greeted the lunch ladies. I called out to Martha and Jill while they were at the stoves. "Hey Hayley, where have you been all day?" Jill asked curiously. "Visiting inmates on the third floor." I replied. "Oh my what have you done to your hand darling?" Martha asked noticing my hand as she looked over her shoulder. "Punched a wall" I replied as I played with the bandage. "What! Hayley did you get angry again?" Jill asked as I nodded. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You can't be doing that Hayley, you should go to the med floor, get your hand checked out." Martha said as she lifted the big metal pot off the stove and over to another silver bench across from me.

"I can still move my fingers, I think it's just bruised." I said holding my hand up while moving my fingers. "You say that now, wait till it inflames into a giant blueberry." Martha replied in a motherly tone. "You gotta control that anger of yours Hayley, sooner or later it could get you into a lot of trouble." Jill told. "I know Jill, hey where's everyone else?" I asked wondering where the other lunch ladies were. "They are helping bring in the new shipment of food that just came in this afternoon." Martha said as she moved to a draw. She opened it and pulled out a red box. I immediately knew what it was. CHOCOLATE. I reached out with grabby hands as I said "gimme, gimme, gimme". Martha handed me the box and I thanked her. As I opened the box and began eating the chocolate, the other lunch ladies came in with boxes and bags full of food and stuff. "Don't eat too many of those, you'll get sick." One said as they all walked through the kitchen putting stuff away.

The lunch ladies liked me better than the rest of the inmates. They were all practically my adoptive parents. All 12 of them. As the ladies packed away the food they had brought into the kitchen, they took all the cooked food out to all the inmates on the different floors. This left me alone in the kitchen as I didn't feel like following them. I sighed and continued eating chocolate. I am addicted to it, who isn't? I heard the kitchen door open and knew right away that it wasn't one of the ladies. I turned my head to see Jerome standing there. "Might I ask what you're doing in the kitchen? I thought most inmates weren't allowed down here." I said as I ate another chocolate.

"Well I'm not most inmates, gorgeous." Jerome said as he stalked towards me. "Huh, I thought you were most inmates" I responded, my tone dripping with disinterest. "Careful gorgeous that sharp tongue can get you into a lot of trouble you know." Jerome said smiling. Hisscarsmade his smile look twice the natural size but still I remained unfazed. I watched as Jerome stalked towards me while I ate the chocolate that was still in my hands. "If you're looking for knives, they're all locked up, I don't have the key" I said as my boredom of this conversation grew larger.

"Oh trust me gorgeous, I have many ways with locks." The ginger said as he drew closer to me. "Huh, oh my gosh, I think I just had an epiphany, it's almost like I don't care." I said sarcastically as I faked surprise. I closed the chocolate box and jumped down from the bench. I walked past Jerome, the chocolate box in hand as I walked towards the doors that led back outside the kitchen. I could sense Jerome was still looking at me as I opened the door. However, I stopped and looked back at Jerome to see he was looking at me.

"Oh kitten, I hope you realise the guards don't care about what happens in here." Jerome said which sounded like a threat. "First off, don't call me kitten, secondly I know the guards don't care. I've been here a lot longer than you have Romie." I answered as I walked out of the kitchen and into the hall. I realised I had given Jerome a nickname. Romie ha ha, I like that name. I went to Oswald's room. The door was open and Oswald was just sitting at his desk.

Without knocking, I stepped inside and sat down on his bed. As soon as I sat down, he turned around and looked at me questioningly. "Sorry for walking away before in the canteen" I apologised as Oswald gave me a surprised look. "What?" Oswald said cluelessly. "I just wanted to apologise for leaving you with the ginger. I guess you could say I lost my temper a bit." I said as I opened the chocolate box again. I held the box out for Oswald to take one. "Want one?" I asked and Oswald gave me a suspicious look. "Oh come on, where's a girl like me going to get poison from and I prefer not to kill my friends as soon as I meet them?" I insisted still holding the box out.

Eventually Oswald took a chocolate and thanked me. "I don't remember you ever asking me to be your friend." Oswald said as he ate the chocolate. I chuckled. "Well it looked like you needed a friend back in the canteen. You looked miserable, I figured you could use someone to talk to." I explained. "You just walk up to random people in here and talk to them just like that?" Oswald asked with a surprised look. I nodded. "Almost everyone in the asylum knows me, considering I've been here my whole life, after a while you lose the fear" I said to which Oswald nodded. "So what did the ginger have to say while I was absent?" I asked curiously.

"Not much that's worth repeating. But I don't think he's planning to leave me alone so I'm probably going to be sleeping with one eye open tonight." Oswald muttered to which I nodded and looked around the cell. "Well, hopefully things get better." I said as I looked at Oswald. "I'll see you tomorrow Oswald. Good night" I replied as I bid Oswald farewell. "Goodnight Hayley" I heard him say as I walked out of his cell. As I walked down the dark hallway, I reached a large vent and opened it. I climbed in and shut the vent behind me. I climbed up the vents until I reached a certain floor of the asylum. The Comatose and vegetative state ward.

I opened a vent and crawled into the ward. I shut the vent behind me and stood up. I began to walk past each bed that had a patient in it that was either in a coma or a vegetative state. That is until I made it to one particular bed. My father's. I got a chair and sat at his bedside. I grabbed his hand and held it in both mine. I looked at my father's pale, weakened face. I could hear machines beeping and the ventilator helping him breathe in the background.

"Hey dad," I said as I looked at him. "Sorry, I haven't been up here in awhile. It's been hectic down stairs, especially in the violent ward." I apologised. "I missed you, I hope that you are doing OK in there. A lot has happened in the last few months." I began to explain as I just sat there and talked not knowing if he heard me or not. "More and more inmates have been coming to the asylum, a lot more than usual." I explained and so for the rest of the night I told my father about the latest things that have happened in Arkham Asylum.

By the time I finished talking to my father it was almost dawn. So I said goodbye to my dad and climbed through the vents again only this time I climbed to the top floor.

->Next Chapter->

[michelle-is-writing]

Sneaking in, Steve Harrington

Word count: 1.5k~

Sneaking into his girlfriend's room was nothing new for Steve. However, since they hit the one year mark in their relationship, Steve gained the key to (Y/n)'s shared house with her parents along with a cute anniversary card and kiss on the cheek. Still, there were some nights that he wanted to head over to her place without alerting (Y/n)'s parents to his presence by accidentally waking them up. So, instead of using the front door, he stacked chairs and tables against the wall beneath his girlfriend's bedroom window and climbed up.

Finding the window to be unlocked, Steve opened the panel of glass as quietly as he could before stepping in and lightly stumbling on a pair of stray shoes (Y/n) had lazily tossed across the room earlier. Instantly, Steve jerked his head toward her bed and sighed in relief upon seeing his girlfriend still asleep, her head nuzzled deep into her pillow as she lied on her side toward the window. Steve smiled at the sight, his heart beating for her and only her in that moment.

Walking toward her bed, Steve got onto his knees once he reached the side of her bed and leaned over to face her. "Hey, (Y/n)," He whispered, reaching up to brush a stray hair out of her face. His pajama pants rubbed against the harsh carpet floors of her bedroom as he rested his upper body against the top of her bed, leaning his head on his other hand as he gazed at his sleeping beauty. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

Waking up from her sleep, (Y/n) immediately became startled at the dark silhouette in front of her, causing her to do the first thing that came to her mind: throw her fist forward at the dark shadow. Of course, Steve was lucky enough to throw himself back in response, but he wasn't fortunate enough to miss (Y/n)'s fist entirely. Instead of punching him in the cheek, her punch landed on his nose, earning a small crack as soon as her hand came into contact with Steve's face.

"Oh!" Steve groaned out in a mix of pain and surprise, covering the middle of his face with both of his hands as he landed on his bottom with a thud. Within a short second, (Y/n) recognized that pained groan and quickly reached over to turn her lamp on, the light from it brightening up her room through the vast darkness that took over it. Once her eyes landed on her boyfriend who was holding his nose in pain, (Y/n) gasped.

"Steve!" She shrieked, clambering out of her bed as her sheets tangled around her feet. Crawling toward him, (Y/n) fought him to remove his hands from his face before assessing the damage on his nose. To her horror, blood began seeping from his nostrils as the skin turned red and inflamed, no doubt about his nose and cheek area turning purple within the next hour.

"Why did you sneak in, honey?" (Y/n) asked him, her voice now filled with concern and worry rather than panic. Pushing his hair back, (Y/n) rested her hands on the sides of his face to make him stare at her. "Why didn't you just come through the front door? I gave you a key!"

At her flustered face, Steve smiled again. "You're so cute," He told her, causing her to roll her eyes, but blush nonetheless. "I didn't want to wake your parents up," He added on. "It's almost two in the morning, and I doubt they want me opening your loud front door with the old and noisy hinges."

"Which you still have to help my dad fix, by the way," (Y/n) reminded him, standing up with him following her.

"I know," Steve assured her, walking alongside her as they headed to her bathroom across the hall. "And don't worry - I will be the best son-in-law to your dad ever."

His words made (Y/n) shake her head and smile, the term 'son-in-law' making her heart beat ten times faster than usual. Steve alone already caused her heart to do that just by being near her, but with the idea of being married to Steve one day clouding her mind, (Y/n) could barely think about anything else at all.

"My parents aren't even home tonight, Steve," She reminded him, as she pulled the toilet seat lid down for him to sit on. "I told you that when you called about going on a date tomorrow morning for breakfast," (Y/n) added, pointing toward the toilet lid for him to sit down on. "So, again, why did you come through my window?"

With him seated and low enough for (Y/n) to clean off the blood around his nose and mouth, Steve realized what she was saying was the truth. He completely forgot what she was saying to him over the payphone speaker because he was too engrossed in his thoughts about giving her the gift he had gotten for her at the mall earlier. "Because coming through the window is much more... romantic?" He proposed, arching an eyebrow at her.

Pulling back from touching his now clean nose to feel if it's broken, (Y/n) stared down at him with pursed lips and a hand on her hip. "Is that your final answer?" She asked, unable to resist the smirk that rose to her lips in response to her boyfriend's goofiness.

Thankful his comment made her smile, Steve wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her closer between his parted legs, his arms remaining firm in his hold around her. "I do have to say I'm a bit proud knowing my girl can take care of herself," He confessed, forgetting about his broken nose until (Y/n) touched it again, feeling the curve of the bone. He had broken his nose yet again, but thankfully, this time it wasn't because he was defending a group of twelve-year-olds.

"But, for the people who really need to get beat up," Steve tugs his girlfriend closer to him, effectively pushing his chest against her stomach and his chin on her chest. "That's my job," He adds, making her giggle and lightly slap his shoulder.

"Oh hush!" She said to him right before pushing his nose back in place, causing Steve to shut his eyes and go stiff in his movements as the numbing pain rushed through him. Holding her breath, (Y/n) didn't move either until Steve did a few seconds later, letting her release a thankful sigh.

"Thank you, baby," Steve told her, rising up from the toilet lid to once again stand a few inches taller than (Y/n). Still holding her tightly against him, the red-and-blue-faced boy smiled down at her as his eyes scanned over her gorgeous face. For having just woken up, she was utterly beautiful without anything covering her perfect face, and not to mention she was sexy as hell dressed in only his t-shirt and her panties.

Watching his eyes never leave her face, (Y/n) returned his bliss-filled stare with a giggle soon falling from her lips. "What?" She couldn't help but ask as he continued to gaze down upon her, his facial expression never changing in the slightest. Without answering her questions, Steve jerked (Y/n) up into his arms and carried her back into her room, her legs stuck around his waist the entire time.

"Oh, I don't know if we'll make it to breakfast tomorrow," Steve told her, gently tossing her down onto her messy bed before hovering over her and pressing his lips to hers in a passionate and heavy kiss. The meaning behind his seemingly innocent words made her let out a laugh without the worry of waking her parents. However, once her lips parted from his, she remembered something.

"Wait, wait, Steve, your nose!" (Y/n) reminded him, quickly trying to sit up to go and get a bag of frozen peas for him. "We need to put ice on it so it doesn't swell!"

Just as (Y/n) began to slide out from beneath Steve, he wrapped his arms around her once again and pulled her close, her back pressed up against his chest. "I need you more though," He simply muttered before attaching his lips to her neck and sucking on the skin, leaving purple spots there that would definitely match the area around his nose in the morning. Although (Y/n) wanted to try and reduce the swelling of his nose as much as she could, she couldn't help but lose that thought as other thoughts began arising to her minds while a warm hand began roaming underneath her shirt and over her soft skin.

The next morning, they did end up going to breakfast with (Y/n) wearing a turtleneck in the middle of summer and Steve smirking the entire time, trying his hardest to ignore the pain it caused his nose.

[babyboy-cody]

Literally your Grayson smut has me GONE 😵‍💫😵‍💫 can I ask for like anything that has to do with Gray fingering reader with his arm across the back of the couch and his lips against your ear with dirty talk???? Love you!

okay you’ve officially KILLED ME 😮‍💨

It had been Kristina and yours idea to have a movie night/fort. While the twins were reluctant, seeing the excitement on their girls’ faces was enough for them to help create the giant fort in the living room. Kristina and Ethan chose their spot on the floor in front of yours and Grayson’s spot on the couch. The four of you had your own assortment of snacks so that there wasn’t the continuous interruption of the movie when one of you needed to get up and get another snack.

The layout of the separate forts were quite simple. For Ethan and Kristina’s fort, couch cushions were placed behind and on either side of them with a large blanket covering the top. The cushions were big enough for them to sit underneath without their heads touching the blanket. Yours and Grayson’s fort had tall cushions on either side with a bigger blanket covering the top, sides, as well as the back of the couch. The lights were all off and the sun had already set - the only source of light being from the huge television hung on the wall above the fireplace.

Halfway through the movie, Grayson had gotten a little bored and started getting distracted by his own thoughts. He subtly turned his head to look down at you, his thoughts suddenly being overcome by you. The soft hues of light coming from the television made you look angelic that it nearly took his breath away. With your beautifully curled eyelashes, the soft slope of your nose, your parted lips as your entire focus was on the movie playing - every single thing about you enticed him. He couldn’t stop himself from lowering his head until his lips were at your ear to huskily whisper, “You’re so pretty.”

Almost immediately, your attention was pulled away from the movie and was focused on the handsome man beside you. You felt your cheeks warm up as your breathing stuttered. “Pay attention to the movie,” you softly whispered and nudged him with your elbow. Grayson loved how shy you got when you were complimented, especially when it came from him. He was obsessed with the effect he had on you.

“How could I when you’re sitting next to me?” He whispered in your ear again, watching closely when you squirmed closer to him. “You don’t understand how hard it is not to fuck you right here.”

You muffled your gasp and looked up at him in shock at how vulgar he was being, especially with company around. He has a smug grin on his face as he licks his lips. Under the blanket splayed across both your laps, he placed his right hand on your inner thigh and slowly spreads them.

“Think you can keep quiet for me, pretty girl?” He huskily asked in your ear, lightly nipping your earlobe and relishing in the way you shivered. You frantically nodded and bit your lip as you gripped the blanket to make sure it doesn’t slide down. There was a lump in your throat and a rush of butterflies in your stomach. It dawned on you that Grayson was seriously going to finger you while Ethan and Kristina were a few feet away.

He applied the slightest pressure against the crotch of your shorts. He rubbed agonizingly slow circles, hard enough for you to feel those sparks of pleasure. Your lips part to let out a choked and soft gasp. Grayson chuckles quietly in your ear before whispering, “That feel good?” And you nod frantically while eagerly spreading your thighs more open. It was embarrassing how desperate you seemed, but every little thing Grayson did always made you desperate. “If I slide my hand down these little shorts, are you gonna be wet for me?”

“M-Maybe..” you let out a shy giggle, barely flinching when a loud explosion erupts from the movie. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

He immediately slides his large and veiny hand under the waistband of your shorts, pressing his fingers back against the crotch of your panties this time - the fabric so damp and sticking to your dripping pussy. Grayson lets out a muffled groan that he hides in your hair. Somehow, the thought of getting caught didn’t scare you anymore. It just amped up the excitement.

“You’re dripping through these fucking panties,” he huffs a small laugh of disbelief, his hot breath hitting your ear and making you shiver once again. “Take off your shorts.” To your dismay, he pulls his hand out and gets himself comfortable - legs spread, body slouched, left arm never once moving from behind your shoulders on the back of the couch. Hastily pulling off your shorts, you readjusted the blanket until it covered yours and Grayson’s lap, as well as spreading your thighs to its original position. His hand goes right back between them and nestles against your clothed cunt. He can feel the outline of your pussy lips against the thin fabric and the small button of your clit beginning to swell.

Kristina and Ethan suddenly let out boisterous laughter after a particular funny scene, briefly scaring you at the possibility if one or both of them coming out if their fort and catching you and Grayson. His long fingers start rubbing your clit a little faster, now applying harder pressure for you to feel that tingly sensation. You rest your head back on his arm, your hips barely twitching against his hand. He whispers a small “fuck” in your ear, very slowly and finally sliding his hand into your panties to gain perfect access to your bare pussy.

Your brows furrowed and bitten lips parted, your face contorting into one of relief. Grayson couldn’t believe how wet you were until he dipped his fingers down to scoop some of your slick. He can almost here the obscene wet noises of his fingers rubbing all over your click to spread your wetness. You hastily grabbed onto his wide wrist, nails digging into his tanned and hairy skin.

With his lips against your ear, in a husky and gruff voice, he mumbles, “Just lay back and let daddy do what he does best.” Almost instantly, he began rubbing frantic circles on your swollen clit, applying just the right amount of pressure that has your eyes rolling back and pussy clenching around nothing. He’s rubbing you just right - it’s almost too much but not enough. The hood of your clit just barely pulled back until your bundle of nerves was fully exposed. The pads of Grayson’s fingers pressed down against it and it has your stomach bursting with butterflies. More slick pools out of you as you fight back your moans. With one hand around his moving wrist, the other clamps down over your mouth.

“I can’t wait to fuck you nice and hard when this movie ends,” Grayson cockily tells you, pulling away to look at your expression. His pupils have expanded from arousal. He never once let up the speed of his fingers on your inflamed cunt. He rubs much faster and harder, loving how hard it is for you not to let out your pleasure filled squeals and moans. Your hips began bucking more freely against his hand. “You want my fingers inside, pretty girl?”

“Yes yes yes yes,” you quietly babbled incoherently as your clit throbbed erratically, the tingles spreading like a wildfire throughout your lower-half. Your toes curled when Grayson roughly shoves his middle and ring fingers inside your cunt, the burning stretch making your eyes cross as you let out a pretty loud gasp that was thankfully silenced by a couple arguing on the screen. He starts fucking your pussy with his fingers, crooking them and rubbing your g-spot perfectly. The palm of his hand presses and rubs your clit. Both sensations has your mind turning to mush.

“You’re just soaking all over my fingers, aren’t you?” He softly asks in a condescending way. You can now hear the sopping wet noises of his fingers fucking your insides. You didn’t realize how loud it was.

“Yo, can you both stop making out please?” Ethan shouted from his spot in his own fort, immediately making your eyes open and thighs shutting around Grayson’s hand and wrist. “It’s loud as fuck! And gross!”

“My bad, bro,” Grayson lets out a full belly laugh and doesn’t stop the come hither motions of his fingers. He looks down at you with a grin wide enough for you to see the jewel on his canine tooth. He silently raised his brows at you as if challenging you to say something. He pulls his fingers out from your tightening cunt, just as you’re on the cusp of a strong orgasm, and he goes back to rubbing your clit at a fast pace. Your mouth falls open and your head falls back against his arm again. You’re holding onto his arm with both hands now to ground yourself. He leans in close to your face, his floppy hair brushing against your temple. “Are you gonna cum, angel?”

At the sight of your frantic nodding and heavy panting, he rubs faster and harder. And then you felt it. The wave getting higher and higher and higher. Your toes curled as you practically humped his hand like a dog in heat. When that wave finally crashed down, you had to bury your face in Grayson’s neck. He gruffly groans and shoves his middle and ring fingers back inside your pussy, feeling your walls contracting around them to keep your orgasm going. He slows his fingers to a stop before gently rubbing your overstimulated clit with his thumb. When you let out a small whimper against neck, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead and pulls his fingers out of you.

“You still wanna fuck later?” He bluntly asks you, staring at his pruned fingers coated in your cum.

You elbowed him with a quiet laugh. “How could I refuse that offer?”

He side eyes you - a gesture he always does because it makes you blush - and slowly licks his fingers into his mouth, letting out a deep moan only you can hear. Suddenly, the movie pauses and Ethan announced, “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You quickly grabbed the couch pillow and held it against your chest to hide your still fast breathing. You always shut your thighs and move them into a criss-cross position, stifling a gasp at the ache in and around your pussy. Grayson licks his lips and subtly wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist just as Ethan stands and looks at you both.

“No more making out!” He points at you both.

You and Grayson look at each other, both of you hiding a smirk before looking at Ethan. When you both nod in agreement, watching as he leaves to the bathroom, you lean over to whisper in Grayson’s ear, “Can I suck your dick?”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: working a full time job + part time job tutoring english + applying for scholarships + still having free time left is a lot harder than i thought it would be. which is my way of saying this chapter should've been done a week ago lol.

i call this my goodbye chapter b/c goodbyes are made.

***

As Nesta brings the last of her things into the cabin, Azriel takes the last of his stuff out.

Standing beside Cassian, Nesta watches Azriel shut the trunk over the final box of his belongings. With all the extra stuff he stole from the cabin, it almost seemed like everything wouldn’t fit into his tiny car, but here he is. Ready to go.

He dusts off his leather jacket and approaches her and Cassian. “This is goodbye,” he says, coming to a stop before them.

Nesta once thought this would be the happiest day of her life, second to her wedding day. She should have predicted that her rightful joy would be extinguished by sentimentality.

Cassian claps Azriel on the shoulder, the two brothers having already said their goodbyes in private. Still, Nesta can see a little sorrow in Cassian’s eyes, as if he also got too used to having Az around all the time.

Azriel, the dick, reveals nothing through his eyes. Neither does Nesta.

The two of them look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and then he comes in to hug her. Nesta hugs him back, arms crossing around his broad back, but it has the same stiffness as two Barbie dolls being made to kiss each other.

When Azriel tries to pull away, Nesta clutches him to her with surprising strength. “I know about the picture,” she says lowly in his ear.

“Too late to take it back now.” She might feel him smile on top of her hair.

Nesta lets go of Azriel swiftly, having had enough physical contact with him to last a year. “Drive safe, so Elain can find you in one piece,” she orders.

Azriel grimaces at that, reminded of what waits for him in Velaris. Whatever Elain decides to give him, it’ll probably be deserved.

“I’ll get going then.” Az starts backing away, and Nesta hears Cassian sniffle. She looks toward her boyfriend in concern, but he circles his huge arms around her shoulders and pulls her back to his chest before she can catch him getting teary-eyed.

They watch Azriel get in his car and drive away. Nesta waves until the car disappears fully into the thickness of the surrounding trees, waves until her arms are too tired to keep going.

Once Az is gone, she turns in Cassian’s embrace and jumps up into his arms. Her legs hook around his hips and his hands fit themselves under her thighs. She smiles and tells him, “Let’s go home.”

Ten minutes later, they find themselves sitting in the silence of the kitchen. It’s the quiet of a house adjusting to a missing person, and Azriel’s absence is tangible.

Cassian is the first to break the silence. “Do you think he’s past city limits by now?” he asks as he stirs his coffee.

“No.” Nesta turns the page of her book, focused on reading. “Not if he stopped by Gwyn’s before leaving.”

She hears Cassian stop stirring. “What does that mean?” he says.

Nesta looks up at him and shrugs. “It means he probably wants to say goodbye to her.”

***

“One charge of assault, one for battery, and one huge lawsuit against my company,” Rhys reads aloud from the file in front of him.

Cassian waves a hand in dismissal. “Just make it go away like you always do.”

Rhysand’s near-violet eyes narrow with barely restrained rage. “Cassian. You shattered an employee’s hand.”

“Hey, O’Connell.” Cassian strolled up to him early last Monday morning. The underground parking lot was near empty at this hour, since most workers wouldn’t come in until nine. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

O’Connell looked up from getting his bag out of his car, clearly surprised to see Cassian willingly make small talk with him. “It was good,” he answered lightly. “You left Velaris early, though.”

“Yeah, about that.” Cassian came to a stop by O’Connell’s car and held out his hand, catching the car door before it could be shut. “I had to take my girlfriend home.”

O’Connell looked confused, but nodded along. “That’s nice. Can you—?” He gestured at the car door, indicating to Cassian to let go.

Cassian didn’t. “What hand did you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you touched her,” Cassian clarified. “What hand did you use when you touched her?”

O’Connell’s look of confusion morphed into one of contempt. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

“Nesta Archeron.” Cassian straightened up, hand tightening over the top of the car door. “Your old college friend.” Realization dawned across O’Connell’s face, but he still hadn’t answered Cassian’s question.

“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll have to take my pick.” Cassian clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You’re left-handed, aren’t you?” He snatched up O’Connell’s left hand, and in a flash O’Connell was pressed up against the car, his hand pinned to the doorframe.

“Hey, wait, what are you—” O’Connell protested.

The sound of a car door slamming shut on a hand was louder than Cassian expected. It was the crunch of bones and muscle followed by immediate screaming.

“It could have been worse,” Cassian said flatly over O’Connell’s cries of pain. “It could have been your tongue, since you like talking shit so much.”

Cassian blinks out of the memory. “So what if I did?” he shrugs in response to Rhys.

“You are a member of my inner circle,” Rhysand fumes. “Keith O’Connell is a respected figure in our industry and a higher up from Vanserra and Co., and the head of our Milan outpost, but you saw fit to take out justice on him without asking me first.”

“You had nothing to do with it.”

“That is not up to you!” Rhysand jabs a finger at Cassian. “What will our shareholders think when they hear about this? What will the board members say?”

Cassian is starting to get irritated now. “They won’t find out, because you won’t tell them,” he says firmly. “We both know you’ve covered up worse things to fit your agenda, but it’s a problem if I don’t want a creepy bastard working under my jurisdiction?”

Having learned most of his business tricks from his father, Rhys is no perfectly clean CEO himself. He would’ve done far worse to O’Connell if it was Feyre in Nesta’s place, and he would have ended it all with a speech about how abusers and their sympathizers have no place at Night Court Inc.

The thought only inflames Cassian more; maybe he’s still riding off the anger of O’Connell making Nesta cry.

Tempering his feelings, he tells Rhys, “When you’re done shutting O’Connell up,” because Rhys would do it no matter how angry he pretended to be, “make sure Nesta never finds out about this.”

Rhys sits back in his chair, a bitter smirk pulling at his mouth. “Afraid she’ll be horrified of what a brute her sweet boyfriend is?”

Cassian nearly snorts at the image of Nesta recoiling at a broken hand. She’d probably call him weak for not shoving O’Connell into a ravine. “No,” he answers tiredly. “It’s not violence that offends her, but if she finds out it was in her name… I don’t want to put that on her shoulders.” Which is a shame, because in any other situation Nesta would love to hear about the unfortunate circumstances that led to O’Connell quitting his job.

Rhys lets loose a long sigh. “Damn, you both scare me.” After a few moments, he asks, “Now what are we going to do about Milan?”

***

Life after moving in with Cassian passes by quickly, and before Nesta knows it, she’s completed her second year of law school.

As for the boys who were some of her first friends and drinking companions, back when Nesta barely knew the definition of a friend—today they complete their final year of law school.

Nesta fans herself with the pamphlet she was handed at the beginning of the graduation ceremony, trying to stop the harsh morning sun from melting the makeup off her face. The audience is packed like sardines onto one huge field, and the announcer on stage hasn’t even reached the last names that start with D. Eris, Justinian, and Isaac are all near the bottom of the alphabet.

“Do we really need to be here today?” Nesta murmurs to Emerie, squirming in her metal foldout chair.

Sitting at her right, Emerie throws her a scolding look. “Don’t be like that. We’re never going to see these guys again.”

Nesta sincerely doubts that, considering how none of the guys are moving more than a few hours away. But her uterus is raising hell right now, even though her new meds have put a stop to her periods. Paired with the ache in her back from these terrible chairs, she’s about to call it quits and go straight home.

“Nesta!”

She whips her head to the left, finding Elain striding through the row of chairs to reach the empty seat beside her.

Like watching the Red Sea part, everyone in the row pulls their feet back and makes themselves as small as possible so Elain can have a clear walkway.

Nesta moves the purse she used to save Elain’s seat aside, and Elain drops her butt onto the little foldout chair like it’s a throne.

“A little warm for an outdoor ceremony, don’t you think?” Elain fans her face.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, you know,” Nesta says.

“Eris made me. I haven’t talked to him since I broke up with his brother, but I think he wants to look like he has a lot of friends here.”

“Yeah, that checks out,” Emerie mutters from Nesta’s other side.

Elain seems to take notice of Emerie for the first time, and her Southern charm turns on like a switch. “Oh my, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Elain introduces herself and Emerie does the same, smiling and nodding politely, and Nesta can’t even decide if she likes this crossover because she’s too busy massaging her aching abdomen.

A string of “Excuse me, sorry!”s go up in the row they’re sitting in, and a moment later a familiar face plops down on the chair to Emerie’s right.

Gwyn leans over Emerie and holds a bottle of Advil out to Nesta. “This is all I could find in my car, babe.”

Nesta releases a sigh of relief and snatches the bottle. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Elain’s gaze moves to the medicine, then to Gwyn. “You must be Gwyn.” She offers a smile. “I’m Nesta’s sister, Elain.”

Gwyn’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and Nesta realizes she should have warned Gwyn that Elain would be here.

Going off how Gwyn’s been acting the last few weeks, Nesta can only assume that she influenced Azriel’s final decision to move away, whether directly or indirectly. Nesta doesn’t even know much about what happened between the two of them during their weird sex deal, considering that she and Gwyn promised to never discuss such horrible things with each other.

All Nesta knows is that Azriel is Gwyn’s closest male friend, and close friends that have also slept together probably don’t want to bump into each other’s exes without warning.

“Are you here to see Eris graduate, too?” Elain asks.

Gwyn looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Who? Oh—no, I’m just here so we can drive to brunch together after.” Her voice gets quieter with each word, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nice to meet you,” she adds in a murmur, her face a furious shade of red. She quickly looks forward at the stage as if the graduation ceremony is the most fascinating thing ever.

Elain doesn’t note the odd behavior, instead refocusing on the Advil pills that Nesta pops into her mouth and swallows dry. “Are you still hurting?” Elain says, furrowing her thin brows. “I thought you got that problem fixed.”

Nesta tries not to snort as she accepts the bottle of water that Emerie wordlessly passes her. “You can’t ‘fix’ endometriosis, Elain. That’s not how it works.”

“Oh. Well how was I supposed to know that?”

Nesta slides unamused hooded eyes to her sister. Before she can retort anything, Emerie elbows her hard. “Look, it’s Isaac!”

She refocuses on the ceremony, cheering and clapping half-heartedly as Isaac takes the stage. It’s not that she doesn’t care about her study buddies; it’s just that she feels like shit right now.

Justinian follows suit a few minutes later, grinning and waving when he spies Emerie cheering for him. Gwyn is distracted on her phone through all of it.

The Advil has finally started to kick in when Nesta murmurs to Elain, “How is Azriel adjusting to being back in the city?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Elain answers innocently. “I haven’t seen much of him since he returned.”

“Just spill it,” Nesta says. “Azriel wouldn’t tell me anything, so I’m assuming he’s humiliated about it.”

Elain sighs, delicately pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “He came to me to talk. I heard him out, and then we went back to his apartment for coffee, and then I took my fabric scissors and cut out the crotch from all his pants.”

Nesta raises a brow. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Nesta shrugs, turning back to face the stage. “It’s good enough. I could have done worse.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me, isn’t it?” Elain snips.

Nesta won’t say it, but she supposes she is a little happy for Elain. In fact, she thinks this might be the first time Elain has stood up for herself instead of letting Nesta handle it.

After the ceremony is over, Emerie goes off to congratulate Isaac and Justinian. Gwyn follows so she can get away from Elain, and Nesta, being sweaty and overstimulated and more than ready to leave, settles for waving her arms and grinning at the boys from across the field.

She’s about to say goodbye to Elain and make a beeline for the parking lot when she spots a head of shining red hair approaching her. No—make that two heads.

Eris looked unbearably snooty as he received his degree, likely smug with the fact that he has a comfortable job at a family friend’s corporate law firm lined up for him after he passes the Bar. Nesta admits that she’s a little disappointed in him: after all his talk of working hard and being the smartest person in the room, he ended up riding his father’s coattails to a disgustingly high salary. But maybe that is hard work for him, considering that there was such a ruckus in the Vanserra family when he chose to go into law instead of business.

As for Lucien… Well, Nesta really has no idea what the kid does, but she knows he looks good, better than the last time she saw him. An early summer tan makes him glow in comparison to his brother, while lean forearms are revealed under the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. He looks comfortable in a way he wasn’t at Thanksgiving all those months ago.

Even with his ex standing just a few feet away.

“Elain,” Lucien greets her with a foxlike smile.

Elain rolls her eyes in response and turns to Eris. “Congratulations on graduating, hun. Now that we’re even, kindly delete my number from your phone and never call me again.”

Even? Nesta raises a brow, wondering what that could possibly mean.

“I take it this is goodbye?” Eris tells her.

“I’m already leaving,” Elain says sweetly. She blows a kiss at Eris, then Nesta. “Feel better soon,” she chirps at her, before striding away in her pastel pink heels.

Very jealous of Elain getting to escape before she can, Nesta calls after her, “Hot date to catch?” She’s wearing the signature perfume she usually does when meeting with a man.

Elain tosses over her shoulder, “Something like that.” Her purse swings as she disappears around a corner to the parking lot.

Nesta watches her go with envy, and when she turns back she finds Eris already looking at her. Meanwhile, Lucien still has his eyes glued to the spot where Elain disappeared.

“You feel sick?” Eris asks her.

“No thank you, I have a boyfriend,” Nesta replies on instinct.

Eris scoffs once in indignation, then twice. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says with disbelief. “I can care about my friends, you know.”

“You want her,” Lucien mutters.

Nesta’s eyes snap to Lucien, who seems to be acknowledging her presence for the first time today. “And what do you want?” She tilts her head at him, intrigued at having a new playmate. He’s less predictable than Eris, at the very least.

Lucien looks at her and offers a sheepish smile. “Nothing you can give me.”

Eris rolls his eyes at the both of them, clearly regretting bringing his brother along with him. “I’m already bored of this conversation,” he laments. “I’m out; the D.A. is here and I want to say hi. Find me when you’re done, punk.” Eris bonks Lucien on the head with his rolled up diploma and starts walking away, only pausing to extend a mocking bow to Nesta. “We’re not over yet, Archeron,” he calls as he leaves.

Now it’s Nesta’s and Lucien’s turn to roll their eyes.

With only the two of them left, Nesta feels obliged to ask awkwardly, “So… how’ve you been?”

Lucien’s gaze slides to her. “I didn’t know you were Elain’s sister,” he says.

She huffs a laugh. “I didn’t know you were her ex at first, either. Does it matter?”

Lucien’s mouth turns down in thought, but he doesn’t answer her question. “I’m doing good,” he says in response to her former question instead. “I’ve been living the nomad life, traveling around with friends, roadtripping in a van.”

But would you come home for Elain? Nesta can’t help but wonder.

She didn’t know Lucien had dated Elain until after her first meeting with him, but even then it had been something of a throwaway detail. Elain dates lots of guys, and falls in love with even more of them. She seemed to barely remember Lucien’s name when Nesta first brought it up in front of her.

But for some inexplicable reason, Nesta genuinely likes Lucien. A part of her recognizes something similar in a part of him, and it makes her sad to imagine him being stuck on a girl who won’t think about him twice.

“Take my advice,” Nesta tells him bluntly, “and move on if you haven’t yet. Staring after Elain when she already broke up with you will get you nowhere.” Elain isn’t the type to ever look back, and she never falls for the same man twice.

Lucien just looks at Nesta with a blank face. “I broke up with her,” he says.

Nesta’s mouth falls open.

“And,” he adds, “I was staring at her ass.” He starts walking backwards to his brother, giving Nesta an innocent grin as he leaves. “It was nice meeting again. See you in another six months.”

Nesta is dumbfounded watching him go, not knowing what to do with this new knowledge. As far as she knows, no one has ever broken up with Elain except for Azriel—and that ended in Az losing all of his pants.

It only occurs to Nesta that she shouldn’t have let Lucien get away with that ass comment when Emerie and Gwyn suddenly appear at her side, each of them interlocking an arm with hers. “You feeling better?” Emerie inquires cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

Nesta nods slowly, forcefully putting Lucien Vanserra and his too-sly demeanor out of her mind. He isn’t her problem right now. Summer is already here with a vengeance, and she’ll only have so much free time with the people she loves most. So she chooses to focus only on them.

Tugging her friends closer and squeezing their arms, Nesta asks, “Where are we eating?”

***

a/n: this needs sooo much more editing lol i could have done a lot more with this chapter if i wasn’t constantly tired and pressed for free time. sorry y’all :/

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes@readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[keilemlucent]

take care of me

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~4.4k

beta’ed: @hawnks

keigo is perfectly happy to help you forget a stressful day

warnings: daddy kink (no age play), spanking, aftercare, praise kink, self indulgent smut, spit kink <333333, bdsm, masochist reader 

...

self indulgent..... caregiver dom keigo? we knew it was coming. enjoy loves <333

||||||||||||||||||||||

You ached all over.

The mental exhaustion of the day was far more grating than the physical, but the dull throb of your tired muscles was impossible to ignore, even when you were only half-conscious on the couch. 

You were put out. 

You’d been burrowed under a pile of blankets since you’d stumbled into the penthouse after work, curling up without even bothering to take off your shoes.

Night had fallen, the apartment cold, silent and still. Normally, you might’ve whipped up some dinner or showered, maybe done something productive.

But not that night.

You’d held yourself together through the day. Each angry word and sneer you faced was handled with a smile, despite how you were cracking inside. You even managed to keep an even expression when your scalding morning coffee was splattered over your shirt, almost burning you.

Well, you weren’t sure if it hadn’t. You hadn’t checked, considering you were still wearing the stained garment. Maybe, the skin of your stomach was as inflamed and puckered as it felt.

Maybe that was just your mood.

...

You hardly stirred when the balcony door of the apartment slid open and then shut, Keigo’s ruffling and booted footsteps echoing across over the apartment.

Your eyes stay half-lidded and hazy when Keigo rounds the couch, eyes softening as he notices your cocoon of blankets.

“Hey, dove,” Dropping to his knees neck to the couch, he cups the side of your cheek in a gloved hand, “Feeling a bit tired?”

You nodded, lips still sealed.

There was nothing in you to give, just the slow simmering of exhaustion and sadness that you couldn’t escape.

Keigo’s gaze softened, gold and far-too pretty in the dim light of the living room, “Bad day?”

“Y-yeah.”

Your voice cracked when you spoke, the words going grainy as your chest tightened.

As you sniffled, burying your face into the blankets as unwelcome tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

Very bad day.

He shed his jacket and gloves, tossing them to the side without a care. Keigo coaxed you to rise, only enough for him to slip into the blankets, laying underneath you to pull your head to his chest.

“I’ve gotcha’, dove,” He hummed, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You didn’t respond, only bit your lip and buried your face into his chest.

Keigo had just arrived home after a long day, and the last thing you wanted was to be a chore to deal with consider how fucking trashed you felt. The idea of being a burden— 

His voice shocked you from your thoughts. 

“Do you want daddy to take care of it?” 

His words and all of their insinuations washed over you.

You knew Keigo had no issues taking that role— fuck, he confided in you many, many times that he loved being able to take care of you in any and all ways. 

Giving it a name, an identity, made him purr with pride. 

You swallowed, the idea curling your head. Catharsis by Keigo’s hand sounded fucking fantastic in the most gut-rotting way.

You nodded.

Keigo smiled against your hair, his own insides twisting. He’d had his own day of annoyance and had been more than ready and willing to come home to you and blow off some steam, but if this was what you needed, he was more than willing to provide and have a fantastic time doing it. 

Keigo hummed, smoothing his hands up your sides. “So what are you feeling?” He knew you wouldn’t be great at giving anything other than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, but he could try and coax a bit more out of you. 

Options.

“I could start off slow, just how you like,” His voice curled over your ear with a nip as he slid his thumbs beneath your waistband. “Let you rut on my thigh like the cute little dove you are. If you’re good, maybe you could suck daddy’s cock while I lick your pussy clean.”

You buried your face in his neck, a high whine echoing from the back of your throat.

Keigo felt his cock twitch, wings stirring from their crunched position.

“Or, I could knot your wrist tight, give them those nice, pretty burns, tie you to the bottom of the couch and fuck you into the floor.”

You buried yourself deeper, all of the ideas in your head were alluring, but not quite right.

A kinder option was also a good idea. 

“Or, I could hold you nice and tight like this for a while. Maybe take a bath, use that new massage oil we ordered, rub you down until all of that tension is pulled out by my hands.”

The pads of Keigo’s fingers rolled into the knots in your shoulders, some of the stress dripping away with the preview of his words. 

It took the softness to realize what you really needed:

“I want it to hurt.”

Oh, and fuck, you wanted it to so bad.

You wanted to be fucked up and used so bad you could barely move. Fucked stupid, so all of the nasty thoughts of the day would melt away. 

Keigo practically rumbled beneath you, his wings flexing and puffing up against your back, just inches from your face.

He wanted it— no, needed it, just as bad as you. 

He took a few deep breaths beneath you, his hand wandering to settle with a bruising grip at the fat above your waist.

“Gimme your taps,” Keigo nuzzled against your cheek.

“One tap is that I’m good, two taps is slow down, three taps is stop, four taps is that I’m having trouble talking.”

It was an easy system, one you and Keigo had adapted to suit your needs and the often merciless ways he’d lay you to ruin. 

“Perfect, dove, god,” Keigo sang his words like sweet prayers. Slowly, he sat up, still holding you tight to his chest. “You go wash up quick in the bedroom, I’ll get myself all settled and ready. Wear whatever you’d like and shout if you need me, okay?”

You swallowed, gut turning.

“O-Okay, I love you.

“I love you too, so fucking much.”

...

You took a few minutes in the bathroom to ground yourself. You still felt like shit, but in the way that now craved something different and more carnal to get it to fall away and release.

You trusted Keigo with everything in you. He knew how to pick you apart just the way you needed. 

You wandered back into the living room, padding in quietly in a pair of fluffy socks, an oversized tee that hung just below your ass, and a pair of shorts that showed the barest bits of your cheeks.

Keigo was in the kitchen, the hilt of the knife clicking against the metal of the rings he wore as he chopped up a few of your favorite fruits and placed them into a wooden bowl.

He’d changed as well, looking sharper and much more like the ‘daddy Keigo’ that you knew. His black pants were sharp and perfectly fitted, along with the black mock neck he wore. He accessorized with a few rings on each hand and a chain necklace laying over his collarbones.

Keigo’s eyes flickered up to you as you regarded him, a little grin beginning to grow.

“Seems I overdressed.” His wings flared behind him, unable to hide his excitement the same way his face was. 

“I-I can change—” 

“Absolutely not,” Keigo slid around the kitchen island, tsking quietly. “You’re perfect, just like this.”

You didn’t reply, not until Keigo stopped in front of your and grabbed your jaw, pulling your gaze to him.

“Sweetness,” His affections rolled over your skull in the exact way you needed. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

“P-Please.”

The word was desperate, shaking and shuddering as it slipped from lips.

Keigo’s smile grows wider, his plumage ruffling.

“Sweet girl, try again.”

Your lip wobbled as he stroked down at your pulse point. 

“Please, d-daddy.”

What a role to have.

Keigo loved it, notably.

It had started early, that incessant itch to care for you in any way that he could was semi-insatiable until he started to indulge it to his heart's content. You thrived off it too, needing that personal attention that he was so willing to give. And hell, it wasn’t like you didn’t return it constantly with endless love and sweetness.

He just took care of you. 

The details, all the small things he’d gathered about since you’d gotten together (and before then too) were things he cherished. Little things about you he wasn’t even sure you noticed, he collected them and accommodated them in any way he could. 

There was the more mundane, like your favorite smells and tastes and touches. The knowledge of the best textures of clothes and blankets that he loved to gift you and your favorite spices and sweets were coveted. 

There was the more intimate, too.

He had taken breaking you apart with pleasure as a divine rite, that first time he got you on the silken sheets of his bed. Learning every twitch and shudder and what it meant felt like his life’s goal as he buried his face in your cunt.

You liked it all, notably. 

You thrived off the attention, though it took a while for you to accept that ‘yes, you do indeed deserve this, very much so.’ 

Once more, you returned it. Perhaps you weren’t quite as perceptive as Keigo was, you didn’t have the training (thank god), but you did constantly return love to him. Your own touch and kind words more comforting than anything he’d ever received in his fucking life.

He could only return the favor by taking care of you in any way that you needed.

And that night?

You needed to hurt. 

And Keigo, truthfully, was in the mood to get a bit of tied up anger out in the sweetest way possible. 

...

Keigo drifted to the couch, your hand in his with you in tow. You were so meek that day, eyes downcast.

He’d have to be careful, watch your body and expressions and not push you too far. He trusted you to call things off, but he still never hurt you beyond what you could handle.

Besides, Keigo had crafted a wonderful plan that he was fairly (very) certain you would enjoy.

Keigo sat down on the couch, thighs parted the slightest bit, a half-chub already pressing against his trouser.

“Lie down, dove,” He kept his voice so sweet as he tapped his thigh. “Let me help you.”

You scrunched your shirt in your hands, mind beginning to get pleasantly hazy with his words and you laid yourself over his lap. You adjusted with your arms cushioning your head, knees pressed against the cushion. 

“Talk to me, sweetness— What’s going on?” Keigo spoke as he nudged your hips upwards, your back bowing and arching under his touch.

 “Just a bad day,” You swallowed, burying your face into the cushions. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Your head was already swimming, you didn’t want to mentally relive how awful the day had been— 

“Then let’s make it good, hm?” Keigo mused, cupping your ass through your shorts and squeezing. “Make you forget in your favorite way. I know how much you like this.”

You tried to speak, but your jaw snapped shut with a click and a cry as Keigo’s palm smacked over the fat of your ass.

“You just need a little bit of extra help today, hm?” Keigo smoothed his hand over where he had struck. The motion was tender in the same way his words were, washing over you enough to almost distract from the pain that was just beginning. 

“Uh-huh,” You replied, weak and muffled into the fabric beneath you.

Another strike sent you pressing into the cushions, whining against upholstery as Keigo rubbed over your skin was against, his other hand going to stabilize your back, tracing his name and little hearts over your spine. 

“‘Uh-huh’, who?” 

“Daddy!” You screamed with the next strike. Your words melded with the echo of the sounds of your flesh.

Keigo was beaming at you, you could feel it. His wings were puffed up, rippling in time with heavy breathing.

“Good girl, god, dove, perfect,” He leaned down to press a kiss to the back of your head while smoothing a hand beneath your shorts. “You’re just so good. You deserve so much good, you know that?”

You nodded as Keigo shucked your shorts to the ground, pushing up your shirt to leave most of you bare to him.

It felt vulnerable, despite having been in this position before. 

“I d-do,” You stuttered, words sticky. “I am good.”

It felt real, for a moment, brightened by the sharp pain that was growing constant from your cheeks.

“God, perfect,” Keigo waxed, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing. “Here’s what you’re gonna do sweetness— here’s how I’m gonna take care of you today.”

His hand slid between your clenched thighs, pushing them apart and barely teasing your slit, “You’re gonna hurt for me, so fucking good. I’m gonna give you... twenty-five, how does that sound?”

You nodded, an answer Keigo accepted.

“Good,” You could hear his grin. “You’re gonna take each one so well, I know you will, dove.”

The expectation hurt so bad you winced. 

Keigo hushed you with a hand to the back of your neck, “It’s alright, I’ll be right here. Just want to break you a little bit, hm?”

You whined this time, shifting your thighs together as Keigo chuckled. 

“Maybe a lot, but we’ll see. I don’t want you thinking after this.”

Holy fuck, neither did you. You’d be content to be close to braindead when Keigo was through with you. 

Any reply you had was just a warbled moan into the cushion below as Keigo slapped his hand down once more.

“Count, sweetness.”

“O-one.”

Another smack, to the other cheek, flesh growing hot. 

“T-two— “

And Keigo didn’t fucking relent.

Each smack was hard, the fat of your ass jiggling and burning against the flat of his palm. The knick of his rings against the soft flesh only added to burn and sting. 

Perhaps, in other conditions, Keigo would have built up to the level of pain he was providing. Preamble a bit with some softer touches and sweet words as opposed to relentlessly spanking your ass so hard you swore you could already feel welts forming from the rings he wore.

“T-t— Ten!” 

Your voice cracked in your throat, each impact bringing up sprinklings of tears that were rubbed into the couch. 

All the harshness of his strikes was in harmony with the sinfully soft way he was touching you otherwise.

A gentle hand running through your hair, mindful of any knots or tangles. His fingertips stroked up and down your neck, nails teasing the thin skin just below your ear. Even the way he rubbed at your flesh between strikes was so fucking tender, despite how his touch made the hot skin boil even more.

Your first muffled sob was what got him going verbally.

“Oh, wow,” Keigo whistled to himself, a sharp-nailed finger running up your spine. “Are you crying already, sweetness? Does this hurt too bad?”

“N-no,” You forced the words out, even as they clung to the back of your tongue. 

The confusing feelings and emotions thrumming through you made you want to just let go. The tears mixed with the loving fullness in your chest, all counterpointed by hot pain that was ripping through your nerves from the bruises and singed skin from your ongoing spanking. 

Not to mention the slick coating your thighs— 

“Seems not,” Keigo clicked his tongue, pausing to run a finger over your slit. “Still dripping for me, even when I’m touching you like this?”

He spanked you again, right over a pre-existing welt.

You sputtered in the cushions, almost sobbing but still trying to hold onto a semblance of your composure.

Keigo could see it in the rigidity of your shoulders. No matter how he pressed into the muscles in time with the strikes he dealt, you just wouldn’t loosen up.

You shook against the cushions below, exertion from holding your arched back clear.

Keigo hummed to himself.

You said you wanted it to hurt, right?

And God, if he wasn’t going to deliver. 

In a flurry of motion, Keigo shifted, bringing you with him.

Your cheek remained against the leather of the couch, blood rushing to your head as your ass was thrown up and over the armrest. 

Keigo stood up, wings unrestrained and extended. You couldn’t see the angry, red plumage, only the shadow it threw over you.

“Oh, dove,” Keigo waxed. “You just need a bit more, right?”

Another strike.

“F-f— Fifteen— “

“You’ve had such a rough day, haven’t you?” 

His words stir something vile in your soupy brain, a whimper leaking through your parted lips.

(Maybe, you were more fucked out than you thought.)

He hushed you with a yank on your hair, forcing your back and neck to bow.

“My dove just needs to know how loved they are, hm?”

You nodded, his grip tightening but you could hardly care. Each spark of pain felt so fucking good, your lingering barriers broke down more and more with each one of Keigo’s touches.

Whether they were that syrupy comforting kind or burning, bruising kind, you couldn’t care or tell. The blend of it all was flooding through you so well, all you could do was blubber out numbers between bursts of tears and ‘more’s and ‘please’es.

“T-we— n— ty!” The syllables felt choppy, maybe, but you hardly cared.

“Good girl, fuck,” Keigo gritted out, palming the front of his trouser. He’d been graciously (read: cruelly) ignoring your dripping cunt as well as his own ache throughout your spanking session.

He’d make sure the two of you were satisfied by the time it was all over.

You did have five strikes left.

 “Taps for me, love,” Keigo’s rubbed at your back, hips bumping into your broiled ass. 

You gave the leather below a single hard tap.

All good.

“Perfect.”

 And with very little reverie, a few of Keigo’s feathers shot from his wings, wrapping around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the leather.

And with even less reverie, Keigo’s spread your asscheeks wide and spat onto your cunt.

“K-Keigo!”

His name ripped from your throat, mixing with a shriek as the cold spit went clammy against your burning flesh.

“Try again, sweetness.” 

The next strike was hard, and Keigo’s hold didn’t shift from your cheeks. 

He’d hardened two fucking feathers.

Larger ones, broader enough to strike down at the top of the curve of your ass with a swift flick.

They were so much harder than his hands. 

So.

Much.

Harder.

Harsher.

Crueler. 

“D-daddy!”

You corrected yourself instantly, clawing into the cushions. Your chest burned as your sobs turned to weepings, your cheeks singeing with each harsh breath.

“Tw— e— nty one!

You barely managed to get the words out before Keigo buried his face in your cunt.

And fuck, did he eat you like the prized meal you were. His words be damned, he had plenty of ways to break you down beyond his verbal praise. 

He lapped at the tacky slick on your thighs, licking up to tease at your pussy with the tip of his tongue. The stubble along his chin roughed up your most precious bits, but you didn’t mind.

If anything, you wanted it to hurt more. 

For that reason, his feathers could finish the job. They surely had a harder hit than his hands had.

Based on the way you were quaking against him, stammering and blabbering little pleads and adorations, they were doing their job.

Broken little thing, weren’t you?

But that was the point, of course. 

“Four more, dove,” Keigo murmured against your folds. “Say thank you with each one, dove. Keep being good for me.”

The command was all you needed, hurriedly nodding into the tear-soaked fabric below.

The feathers struck down again, skin breaking.

“T— wen-ty two!” 

Keigo chuckled against your cunt, pulling away only to tease slide his fingers over your clit, “Feeling good?”

“T-Thank you!”

Oh, you were fucking braindead. 

Keigo was all too pleased, a few smaller feathers going to prop up your hips as they trembled.

“Good,” His words were muffled by your sex, but neither of you had the mind to care about words. It was all in the soup of sounds that kept you rutting back into his tongue. “Keep going.”

The next strike was so loud, it eclipsed the sound of your own shriek.

“TW— wenty three! Thank you!”

Keigo could feel you wheeze, but no taps came.

No reason not to continue.

His own pants felt tight as he rolled his hips into the side of the couch, eyes rolling back into his head as your cunt gushed around him.

Your entire body was thrumming, pulsing from the inside out with what had to be pain, but you could hardly tell. You were spinning somewhere harsh and fast and you didn’t dare try to rationalize it.

All you could ground yourself on was the slap of Keigo’s feathers and the feel of him eating you in earnest.

It was enough, barely.

The next slap just added to your feelings. 

 “TWE— EN— ty f-four! T-thank you!”

Keigo pulled away, wiping your arousal from around his lips and scooting around the couch to get a better look at your face.

As absolutely hot as he was, and how desperately he wanted to eat you up until he burst, he also knew he was pushing you fairly hard.

“Sweetness, ready to take your last one?” 

Keigo ran his fingers through your hair as your eyes focused on him in their half-lidded position. 

“I-I can’t do it, daddy.”

He paused.

You’d have given taps if you wanted to stop, truly. He trusted you on that.

“Yes, you can,” Keigo cooed, thumbing a bit of drool over your cheek. “I know you can.”

“I-I can’t,” You sobbed out, burying your face into the couch. Despite your words, you stayed tense and rigid.

All you needed was a little push.

Keigo took to leaving gentle touches across your back, rubbing out your tension wherever he found it knotted. Your weeping didn’t fully subside, but it certainly quieted as you took gulps of breath was some gentle coaching.

“Can you take one more for me? For your daddy?” Keigo glowed with pride as he spoke, seeing the way your eyes lit up and your head bobbed against the cushions.

“Uh-huh,” You leaned into his touch where you could. “One m-more, f-for you.”

You gave a single tap into the cushions.

 Keigo couldn’t help but be proud of you as you readjusted, arch going harsher and deeper.

He’d finished your spanking off with his hand, you earned it after taking so much so well.

The large feathers returned to him, while a single small one drifted between your sticky thighs to part your folds.

Slowly, the plume circled around your clit, lapping at the nub as his tongue would, your juices soaking it all the same. 

Even as Keigo laid the most gentle touch on your ass, the throb and burn of it made your whimper and whine. 

One more.

Just one more strike and all of that mundane stress and anger would be broken off from you and dissolved in a puddle of your own tears.

“When I give you your last one, you’re going to cum all over that feather for me, dove, understand?”

You nodded, hurriedly, barely grinding against the stimulation. 

Keigo wound up, wings extended and full, before putting all of his weight into his swing.

His palm hit your rear with such a crack that it broke both of you.

You screamed, shrieked, as your thighs clenched and gave out beneath you. Any cries you’d be managing to hold back ripped from your throat with the last smack as your cunt clenched and pleasure exploded in your gut. 

Barely, you managed to speak through your tears.

“Twenty-f-five.. .. thank you....” 

Keigo had to take a moment himself, breathing hard and particularly weak-kneed. 

The sweet cry that had torn from your mouth was all he needed to be pushed over the edge, his cock twitching and spurting while hardly even being touched.

He was impressed, with both himself and you.

“God, dove, you did so well for me,” Keigo wiped the salt from his brow, ignoring his creamed pants to slip onto the couch and pull you into his arms.

You were half-lucid, sticky with sweat and arousal but you couldn’t find yourself to care. All you could fixate on was the feel of Keigo’s heat and the ruffle of his feathers as you settled into his lap.

Keigo pressed kisses against your temples and cheeks, positioning your thighs around his own and allowing you to sag into his chest. 

You clung to him with everything you had as you spun down from your high.

He whispered little affections to you, small praises and love for doing so ‘well for him’ and ‘how good you took it, took it all’. 

A few of his feathers came and went carrying a bowl of fruit, chilled and cut up into bite-sized pieces.

From your haze, Keigo pressed a piece of sweetness to your lips.

“Eat, love, take it,” He purred as you opened your mouth just enough for the fruit to slip in. You chewed slowly, focusing on the flavor and texture before swallowing.

The spare drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth was quickly scooped up by Keigo’s thumb, gathered and popped into his own mouth.

His feathers rippled.

“I feel a lot better,” You slurred into the crook of his neck. “Thank you.”

Keigo chuckled, something high and light that made your guts turn anew. His hand brushed over the meat of your ass, bruised and covered in welts, “You’re welcome, but...”

His touch hurt, but in the best way.

A pleasant reminder.

“How does this feel?” 

“Painful, but good,” You hummed, opening your mouth for another piece of fruit. The tartness of the bite brought you closer to lucidity. “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“Flattery, when you’re this fucked out? I’m impressed,” Keigo pulled you closer by the small of your back. “Rest for a little bit, then I’ll clean us up, sound good?”

“Very,” You circled your arms around him, locking your hands just below his wings. “But... ‘us’?”

“I might’ve nutted. Maybe.”

You snorted, but you were quickly quieted by another piece of sweetness and plenty of distracting affection.

Desperately needed, by both you. 

....

thank you for reading!!! check out my links (ko-fi, ao3, and twitter!!)  

[master-sass-blast]

Not Normal.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Not gonna lie, this whole fic is me projecting just how bad I want a massage.

Summary: “I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

AKA you get Lin to agree to some self-care, for once in her life.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T on account of my love of swear words.

Word count: 4.5k.

There’s a certain element of “razzle dazzle” that comes with “seeing” --or, perhaps more accurately, being fucked by--Lin Beifong.

You know that the Beifongs are an old money family; hell, everyone in the world practically knows it. The flying boar crest pops up in nearly every major Earth Kingdom enterprise, from mining, to textiles, to political halls.

Lin, despite her staunch pragmatism, is no exception. Her apartment is in the nicest complex in the city --one of the nicest in the world, even--where rent goes for several tens of thousands of yuan a month. She drives the latest model Satomobile (and even with her personal acquaintanceship with Asami Sato, it’s no small financial investment). The fixtures in her apartment --what of them there are, given Lin’s leanings toward minimalism--are all high end, from her furniture, to her bed sheets, to the toiletries that neatly line the built-in shelf in her shower.

And, if she has an occasion to stay somewhere other than her apartment, her tastes don’t waver in the slightest.

According to Lin --who’d given you a short, gruff answer when you’d asked the first time about why she’d invited you to the Four Elements and not her apartment--it’s because of the Spirit Vine entanglement that’s taken over a good chunk of the city. Whenever she has to work in the outer reaches of Republic City, she stays in a hotel suite until everything’s resolved since the drive back to her apartment has practically tripled.

(Personally, you’re not complaining. It’s not every day you get to sweat up the sheets in a bed of a five star hotel room.)

You stride up the steps to the entrance of the hotel, a spring in your step. Your mind’s already awhirl with countless options for the evening; all of them end with your ability to walk being severely impaired.

(It’s the small things in life.)

The front desk staff already knows you (a credit to how often Lin wrecks your back). A crisply dressed concierge member hands you a heavy metal key when you detour to the desk, then gives you a polite “Have a pleasant stay” as you head over to the elevator banks.

It’s a long, tortuous two minutes to the penthouse.

The penthouse comes with its own butler --something you know rankles Lin, but it’s hotel policy. They greet you when you step off the elevator and usher you into the sitting room.

Lin’s there, stretched out on a velvet upholstered sofa with a pillow propped under her head. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her mouth is set into a tight scowl.

You can already feel the bruises on your thighs; a shudder runs down your spine. “Rough day?”

Lin grunts, then tries to sit up --only to gasp in pain and stop halfway.

You frown, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lin spits through gritted teeth. She winces as she forces herself to finish sitting up and settles against the couch gingerly. “It’s just my hip.”

You cross your arms over your chest and arch one eyebrow at her. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps.

“I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

“Like what?”

“I do have a job aside from letting you fuck my brains out,” you quip, which gets a terse chuckle from the older woman. “I’m a healer. Massage therapy and chiropractic adjustment, with a specialty in dealing with injury and scar tissue rehabilitation.”

Lin stares blankly at you. “Oh.”

You do an internal victory dance; it’s not everyday you manage to surprise Lin Beifong. “I might be able to get you some pain relief.” You purse your lips when her expression sours and put your hands on her hips. “Pride isn’t worth pain, Lin.”

She opens her mouth to argue --then winces again and sighs. “Fine.”

You nod --after a moment to process your shock. “Okay. I’ll need to pick up a couple things from the office I work in.”

She waves one hand and tips her head back against the couch. “Fine.”

You stare at her for a beat, then turn on your heel and head to the door before she can change her mind.

***

It’s times like this that you’re grateful for the invention of the phone.

Thanks to the Spirit Vine blockages and rush hour traffic, it takes an hour to get to your office. You call Lin from there to let her know that’ll likely take you a while to get back --which she accepts with little more than a grunt--then pack up what you need.

Thank Spirits for the invention of the portable massage table, too.

By the time you get back to the Four Elements, the sun is setting (although, for late winter, that’s not surprising). Your foot taps against the floor of the elevator car as it whirs past the countless floors to the penthouse. As soon as the doors open, you exit --the butler lets you into the penthouse proper--and head straight for the sitting room.

Lin’s still there. She’s laying on the couch in the dark with one arm over her eyes.

“I need to turn the light on so I can set up.”

She grunts in response.

You turn on a table lamp, then start setting up your massage table. You keep glancing over at Lin, try to suss out what’s ailing her.

She’s tense --but, then, Lin’s almost always some sort of tense. Her jaw is clenched tight, and her hands are curled into fists. Her whole body looks keyed up, almost like relaxing hurts.

You realize she hasn’t taken her arm away from her eyes. “Light sensitive headache?”

Another grunt.

“Does talking hurt?” When she grunts again, you tut softly in sympathy. You secure the last leg of the massage table, then pick up your fur skein you use to hold water (it’s easier than toting around a bowl) and amble over to the couch. You crouch next to her, study her face and where she’s holding tension for a moment, then quietly ask, “Is it your scars?”

Lin tenses --likely on reflex, you’ve seen it in several trauma patients--but grits out, “Partially.”

“Alright.” You bend some water out of your skein. “I’m going to try to get you some relief so you can open your eyes and talk, okay?” When she nods, you continue. “I’ll need to work on your face, head, and neck. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Lin purses her lips, then takes her arm away from her eyes and nods.

You gently place your hands against her cheeks and use the water to feel along the tissue and muscle there. You can feel the scars --the angry, inflamed, knotted stripes of tissue that streak across her right cheek--and, sure enough, when you start massaging them gently, you can feel the pull of tension shooting into the surrounding muscles, up her forehead and scalp, and down into her neck.

“Yeah, that’s a gnarly one,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you try to find the root knot. You move one hand to Lin’s neck and start pressing your fingers against it. “Did you take a hit to the right side of your face recently?”

Lin’s lips curl into a tight smirk. “Got slugged in the face by a perp.”

“Ouch.” You suck a breath through your teeth. “Yeah, that would probably do it.”

“Should see the other guy.”

“Oh, I already knew they’re worse off.” You smile when she chuckles, then focus on feeling out the tension in her shoulders and neck. “Okay, I think I’ve got at least part of the root here. I’ll be able to get the rest of it once we get you over to the table.” You take a deep breath, then place your water-covered hands on her shoulders. “I’m gonna start down and work my way up so that the bigger muscles help the smaller ones release. You’re probably going to feel really warm from all the blood flow moving through the tissues again. If you need me to stop, tell me.”

Lin takes a deep breath to brace herself, then nods. “Just do what you need to do.”

You nod back --out of habit, her eyes are still closed--and start using the water to massage the muscles how you’ve been trained. You knead her shoulders with your waterbending, using the water in her muscle tissue to massage out the adhesions. “Come on,” you mutter as you work at a particularly stubborn knot. “I know you’re not happy; please let go for me…” You smile when you feel the muscle --finally--relax. “Thank you.”

From there, it’s like chasing after an unraveling rope. The release in the shoulder muscles triggers relaxation in Lin’s neck and face; all you have to do is follow along and catch any stragglers.

Lin lets out a gasp, then relaxes against the couch.

“That’s it,” you murmur with a smile as her body goes limp. You focus on the crown of her head, make sure the headache finishes dissipating properly, then bend the remaining water back into your jug once you’re done. “How’s that?”

Lin opens her eyes and blinks. “Feels like I got a full night’s sleep for once.” She pauses, then grimaces. “And like I’ve been out in the sun.”

You laugh quietly and nod. “That’s the blood saturating your muscles and soft tissue. It’ll settle in a bit --slowly!” you hiss, placing your hand against her back to help her sit up. “Don’t fucking undo all my hard work.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lin says, smirking. She lets you help her stand --though she glares at you a little for it--then winces as she straightens.

“Yeah, I figured there’d be more,” you mumble as you look her up and down. “Sit on the center of the table, arms down. Do you mind if I turn on another light so I can see better?”

“That’s fine.”

You turn on another lamp, then skirt around the table so you can better examine the set of Lin’s shoulders and her back. You press your fingers down the length of her spine, checking for resistance. “It’s your left hip that bothers you, right?”

“Yes.”

“That tracks with what I’m seeing,” you mutter as you check her ribs. “Can you turn your head to the left for me? And to the right?” You place your hands on her neck so you can feel the motion of the joints and muscles, then tap the left side of her neck. “You’ve got a lot of resistance here, likely caused by your body trying to correct your favoring your right side. I’m going to do some massage work first; the bones move easier if the muscles are already relaxed.” You step back and dig through the bag you’d brought with you. “Are you sensitive to scents?”

Lin grunts, displeased. “No fucking lavendar.”

You chuckle, then opt for the unscented massage oil, just to be safe. “Shirt and bra off, please, then lay flat on your stomach.”

Even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, the sight of Lin Beifong topless is always enough to leave you breathless. The musculature in her back, shoulders, chest, abdomen, arms, even her hands, to say nothing of her tits…

You force yourself to close your mouth before you start drooling.

Lin lies down on her stomach, lets you reposition her arms and adjust the angle of her neck…

You sigh when you realize her hands have curled into fists. “Lin.”

“What?”

“I need you to relax.”

“I am.”

You arch one eyebrow at the back of her head. “For a cop, you’re not a very good liar.”

“Not supposed to be. That’s the attorneys’ job.”

You snort, then shake your head with a sigh. “Lin. Please. It’ll be harder for me if you don’t relax.”

She sighs --and then slowly, reluctantly, she lets her body go limp against the massage table.

You murmur your thanks --and tuck away the interesting fact that she conceded to make things easier for you--then pour some massage oil onto your hand and rub it between your palms. Once your hands are warm, you place them on Lin’s upper back and start working.

There’s a lot to work on. Between Lin’s sheer muscle mass and the stress-slash-physical wear and tear of her job, there’s knots and adhesions all over her back.

Lin grunts when something near her left scapula goes crunch. “What was that?”

“Gristle,” you reply with a smile. When she scoffs, you laugh. “I’m serious. The muscles around the shoulder blades get used a lot. The knots that form give the muscle tissue about the same consistency as gristle.” You dig your thumb into another line of knotted muscle and press it through. “Crunch, crunch, crunch. Do you do any yoga or regular stretching?”

“I do some stretching as part of my workout routine.”

“Good, good. I’d recommend adding some upper body stretches to your regimen; it’d help with all the tension you carry up here.”

Lin snorts, low and soft. “Whatever you say, kid.”

***

It’s slow work. There’s a lot of trauma and scarring on and in Lin’s body --no surprise there, given her line of work.

You switch back to waterbending-based healing when you get to her left hip. You grimace when you feel how inflamed the joint is, then start working on calming the irritated and overworked tendons. “You need to take it easier on the job.”

“I need to do my job properly,” Lin fires back, sucking in a breath when you adjust her hip further.

You switch to pain relief techniques. “You won’t be doing your job at all if you destroy the joint.”

Lin grumbles under her breath, but doesn’t argue further.

Once you’re done with the massage work, you let her get dressed before having her lie down on her back. “Have you had a chiropractic adjustment before?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, good. I’m going to work on your back first.” You put a padded board underneath her back, then have her cross her arms over her chest --one atop the other, hands on her shoulders so her arms make a ‘V’ shape. “Alright, curl your chin up.” You put one arm around her, supporting her back, then help her up so you can put your fist between Lin’s back and the board. “Okay, deep breath in… and let it out.”

Lin grunts when you roll her down over your hand and something in her back pops. “Shit.”

You freeze. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Keep going.”

You keep working up her back, then take the board out from under her back once you’re done. “How does that feel?”

Lin shifts experimentally. “Better.”

“Good, good.” You move to stand at the head of the massage table and start palpating her shoulders and neck. “Alright, let me take the weight of your head in my hands.” You gently turn her head to the left, feeling for any resistance. “Just let your body relax… okay…” You get her neck in position, feeling out where the tension rests. “Tilt your chin up for me, please.” You adjust your grip on her head. “Alright, deep breath in, then out…” You wait for her to exhale, then jerk her head to the left.

Lin groans when her neck cracks. “That felt good.”

“I bet.” You repeat the process for the right side, then have Lin roll on her sides so you can adjust her lower back. “Lay back down, I want to check your knees and ankles.”

Lin arches one eyebrow at you. “Is that… normal?”

“They can be safely adjusted, if that’s what you mean.” You flash her a teasing grin as you walk down the side of the massage table. “Besides, call it a hunch.”

“What ‘hunch?’”

By way of response, you start feeling around her knees and ankles. You nod, then laugh. “Yep. Definitely an earthbender.”

Lin smirks up at the ceiling. “Your first hint was?”

“You lot are rough on your ankles and knees. All that stomping around. I can tell just by how jammed up everything is in here.” You adjust her knees, then move to her ankles --and frown. “What the hell kind of shoes are you wearing, day to day?”

“My uniform boots.”

You squint at her from the base of the massage table. “The metal ones? With the retractable soles so you can use your seismic sense when needed?”

“...Yes.” Lin lifts her head, then chuckles when she sees the stink eye you’re giving her. “They’re practical.”

“They have no support for your joints,” you fire back. You smack her shin --albeit not harshly--when she lets out a huff of laughter, then set about adjusting her ankles. “Stubborn old fart.”

Lin snorts. “Pigheaded kid.”

You smile and shake your head.

***

By the time you finish, it’s nearly ten. The sky is dark, save for the few visible stars --thanks, light pollution--and the sounds of the city have wound down to a gentle roar.

Lin stands, stretches, then lets out a sigh of relief when there’s no pain or resistance. “Thanks.”

You wave your hand as you go about packing up your supplies. “No problem. I wasn’t about to let you suffer.”

Lin nods after a moment, then pads over to a nearby desk. “How much do you charge for your services?”

You gape. “I-- Lin, no--”

“I can always pick a number at random.”

Your mouth snaps shut. You sigh, but acquiesce (mostly because you’re certain she’ll pick an absurdly high amount just to get a rise out of you). You rattle off a price --an expensive price, maybe worth two or three day’s work in total--then accept the check Lin hands you moments later. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You huff a little --it still feels weird, taking a friend-but-not-friend’s money--as you tuck the check in your bag --and then your stomach decides to imitate a dying whale.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have dinner,” Lin surmises.

You shrug. “Kind of hard to give a massage and eat at the same time.”

The corner of Lin’s mouth quirks up. She nods to a nearby phone. “Kang’s is still open, if you want to put in an order.”

“...Okay.”

This entire night is a break in your usual routine. Massage and chiropractic work aside, normally you’re either headed home or in the middle of being fucked into the nearest solid surface by now. There’s no casual hanging out --and, sure, Lin’s ordered take out for the two of you on occasion, when you were both hungry, but all this still feels… different.

(You’re not sure what’s scarier, the change or the fact that part of you likes it.)

You put in the order --fortunately, Lin’s ordered from Kang’s before, so you know what she likes--then put down the phone just as the clock strikes ten. “Oh! Murder Mystery Theater is on!”

Lin looks over at you. “What?”

“It’s a crime-drama radio show. They run a new show every week.” You gesture to the radio. “Do you mind?” You take Lin’s hand wave as the permission it is, and turn on the radio before tuning it to the right station.

The sound of slightly muffled string instruments floats out the speaker.

“This week! On Murder Mystery Theater…”

You make yourself comfortable in an armchair that matches the velvet upholstered sofa. The new shows air at nine, so this one’s a rerun, but you recognize it as one of your favorites --a dramatic game of cat and mouse between the intrepid detectives and a serial killer hiding in plain sight.

Five minutes in, and you realize that Lin’s listening along, even as she reads from a newspaper. You catch her looking over at the radio or staring off into space while she processes the story unfolding before her.

Eventually, she flips to the next page of the paper and says, “The doctor did it. He gets off on killing his patients.”

You raise your eyebrows as you look over at her. You already know she’s wrong --it’s the mortician’s assistant, who so happens to be the doctor’s son. A smile stretches across your lips as an idea forms in your brain. “Wanna bet?”

Lin looks up from the paper and smirks at you. “What’s your wager?”

You mull it over, then grin wickedly. “If you’re wrong, I get to use the cuffs on you at some point.”

Lin scoffs and sets the paper down on the coffee table in front of the sofa with a thwap. “And what could you possibly offer to make that a balanced wager?”

“If you’re right… I’ll behave for a night. Whatever you want, no complaining, no fighting.”

Lin’s eyes light up. She smirks, then extends a hand out to you.

You grin and shake her hand.

***

Dinner arrives halfway through the show. You and Lin eat in the sitting room, listening to the show while eating (spicy possum chicken with steamed vegetables and rice for her, braised hippo beef with spring rolls for you).

“--but Jang said she was with her husband at an evening show until eleven.”

“...Which means he can’t have been playing cards with his friends at ten.”

“Not unless he’s a Spirit. Come on, I’ll drive. Let’s go see if Lee remembers this ‘show’ he went to with the missus.”

“This isn’t half bad,” Lin comments around half a mouthful of possum chicken.

“I thought you liked Kang’s,” you fire back, even though you caught her meaning the first time.

She rolls her eyes, swallows, then continues. “I meant the show. Its description of police procedure is actually on point.”

“The creator shadowed police departments in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for over a year before writing the first episode,” you explain before biting into a spring roll. You chew, swallow, then add, “He used to work as a PR rep for law enforcement when they had to work difficult cases.”

Lin nods, impressed. “It’s definitely better than all the crime family and love triangle shit that gets put out there.”

“Well… that stuff happens, doesn’t it?”

“Not the way the media likes to write it.”

You concede with a shrug --then perk up when you realize the script is heading towards the twist reveal. You shove the rest of your spring roll into your mouth to keep from tipping off Lin to your “insider information.”

“Lee Jang is a servant to this city. He’s been my coworker for three years! I think I’d know if he was a psychopath murderer.”

Lin’s brows knit together. She sets down her container of chicken and glares at the radio. “The mortician’s assistant?”

You shrug and take another bite of your entree to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Eh, there’s still time for things to shake out different. Each show always has a twist.”

Except it doesn’t “shake out different.” The mortician’s assistant is arrested, there’s a few brief trial scenes, and then it ends with an allocution when it’s apparent that the case isn’t going in the defendant’s favor.

Lin tosses her chopsticks against the coffee table and slumps back against the couch with a disgusted scowl. “Fucking dammit.”

“I guess that makes me the winner.” You tidy up your take out trash, pretending to pay Lin no mind as she glares holes into the side of your skull.

There’s no hiding your smug sense of victory --especially from a seasoned detective such as Lin Beifong.

She narrows her eyes. “You knew how the story would end.”

You lift your gaze to meet hers and smile, smug and unrepentant. “New shows air at nine. Reruns air at ten.”

Lin rolls her eyes. “So you cheated.”

“The odds are always in the house’s favor.” Your smile slips when you take in her obvious discomfort and displeasure. “We don’t have to hold the deal if you’re that upset about it.”

Her gaze cuts over to you. She studies you for a minute, then relaxes minutely and shakes her head. “It’s fine. A deal’s a deal.”

You’d argue, but something in her eyes --a familiar glint you’re accustomed to seeing before starts undressing you, or spanking you, or bending you over the nearest flat surface--makes you stop. Your cunt throbs, and you push through it by crossing your legs. “Alright, then. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”

Lin rolls her eyes --but she’s smiling, just a hint. “Brat.”

“Funny, I thought that was why you liked me.”

Lin merely rolls her eyes again (but you swear you see her smile get bigger, just a bit).

You stand, stretch, then turn off the radio when it switches to a commercial. You eye the clock, then groan when you realize it’s almost eleven. “Dammit. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

It’s too late for a cab --again--or the hotel’s car service. Lin could drive you, but it’d be forever to get to your apartment building from here (thank you Spirit Vines and bureaucracy for impeding the city infrastructure).

Lin glances at the clock, then stands and starts clearing her share of the take out trash. “Stay here. Use the second bedroom.”

You nod, grateful (it’s not the first time you’ve stayed over with her at the hotel, given that the Spirit Vine roadblocks aren’t exactly new). “Thanks.”

Lin nods--

And then the two of you just stare at each other.

(Because, while this isn’t the first time you spent the night in her hotel suite, normally she fucks you in your bed, then heads to her own bedroom once you’re sated and on the verge of passing out.

But, if it wasn’t clear, this isn’t exactly “normal procedure.”)

Lin moves first. She nods again --awkward and jerky--then carries her trash over the bin in the kitchen before striding off to the room she usually uses. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you reply, soft enough that you’re not sure she hears you. You blink when the door to her bedroom thumps shut, then sigh and force yourself to clean up and head for bed as well.

(Despite the luxurious mattress and bedding, sleep is a long time coming.)

[spxllcxstxr]

Always With Me • R.L

Summary: “Please don’t go.” (Bolded)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating/not being able to eat, brief mention of vomit, Remus is very close to the full moon so he’s snippy, underage smoking, yelling, Remus is insecure and hard on himself, depressing thoughts

Word Count: ~1k

A.N: I actually wrote this like a year ago, but I’ve recently tweaked it and all that. Listened to Tiny Dancer by Elton John while thinking up the title. I guess this is my first angst post too, so I hope it’s angsty enough! Some characters may be a bit ooc though

Title: Elton John - Tiny Dancer

****

The week of the full moon takes a lot out of Remus, especially when added to the increasing amount of assignments the professors start handing out. The stress practically kills him.

He’s stuck in bed three days before the full moon, and will likely stay there until after the transformation.

Remus looks sickly, laying in his bed. His skin is pale and dotted with sweat like he’s got a fever. The numerous scars that litter his body look rougher and inflamed. His hair looks like it’s thinned overnight, and you can see strands scattered over his pillow. It’s wirey and delicate to the touch when you run your fingers through it.

“You need to eat, darling.” You mutter, trying to convince him.

The plate of plain toast and orange slices you brought up from the Kitchens sits untouched on his nightstand.

“Love, I won’t be able to hold it down.” He croaks, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands.

“Well you can’t just starve yourself for three more days, Rem.” You lecture, watching him puff out rings of smoke.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? I just don’t feel like vomiting it all up!” Remus snaps, ripping his gaze from you, deciding to focus on the ceiling instead.

The bags underneath his eyes are heavier and darker than usual.

You sigh and lay down next to him, resting your head on his chest. “I’m sorry, Rem. You know I just worry.”

The thumping of his heart is dull and every breath comes out in a labored wheeze.

“I’ll try to eat later, ok?” He murmurs eventually, still focusing on the thin wisps of smoke.

You hum in response and rub your thumb across his chest, partially trying to ease his anxiety and partially to ease yours.

“Don’t you have class?” Remus questions.

“Don’t you?” You counter.

He huffs out a faint laugh. “Don’t get smart with me, love.”

You bury your cheek deeper into his shirt.

“I’m fine missing one Arithmancy class, darling. Especially for you.” You shrug.

Remus grunts in response, snubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him. The movement has his bones creaking, and his teeth grinding together in pain.

You kiss his cheek. “Try to get some sleep, alright?”

He nods, his eyes already closing due to pure exhaustion.

You stay with him until the end of the period, but you do have to go to class eventually. You write him a note and make your way to Potions.

Lily catches up to you on your way to the dungeons.

“(Y/n)!” She calls, her fiery braid flowing behind her.

You slow to a stop and let her catch up to you.

“How was Arithmancy?” You ask.

“Just some more number charts. I’ll lend you my notes.” She shrugs.

“Thank Merlin for you, Lils. You’re a life saver.”

Lily finally grabs your arm and drags you into an empty classroom. She closes the door behind you.

“Lily, what’s up—?”

“What’s up with Remus?” She cuts you off. Her green eyes search your eyes for answers.

“What‘re you talking about?” You scoff, nervously. Your fingers twitch out of habit.

“Cut the shit, (Y/n). I’ve noticed it for years now.” Lily crosses her arms in annoyance. “He’s my friend too. You think I haven’t noticed how sick he gets, especially during the full moon? And how all of you disappear in the middle of the night?”

“Lily—“

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“You’re not stupid—“

“Is he a werewolf?” She whispers harshly.

You pause and bite your lip. You could just deny it, but she’s already completely figured it out. You start wringing your hands, wishing you could take out a cigarette right there in the middle of the castle.

“It isn’t my place to say.” You finally sigh, dodging the question.

“It’s a yes or no question.” She argues.

“It’s not!” You exclaim. You then get close enough to whisper in her ear. “Ask him about it next week, yeah?”

Her green eyes are wide and staring at you when you finally pull back.

You swallow harshly, guilt pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

“Let’s drop it and get to Sluggy’s class.” You walk out of the empty classroom, and walk briskly to the potions room.

You stomp up to the boys dorm after Ancient Runes, your last class of the day. The rest of them are already in their room, James, Sirius, and Peter already back from Divination, and Remus not moving from the morning. At least the orange slices are gone. However, that doesn’t mean he kept them down.

“Lily knows.” You announce, dropping your bag at the end of Remus’ bed and taking out a cigarette.

Sirius, who already has one lit, snaps his head towards you. “Lily knows a lot of things, so you gotta be a little more specific.”

“She knows about Moony’s furry little problem.” You clarify, biting your lip.

“She what?!” Remus cries, finally sitting up against the headboard.

“I didn’t tell her, Remus. She figured it out herself and asked me about it!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Well shit, (Y/n). What’d you say?” Peter asks, picking at his blanket.

“I just told her to ask him about it next week.” You mutter, anxiously awaiting Remus to explode out of anger.

“Oh that’s just bloody brilliant, innit?” Your boyfriend spats at you, teeth clenched.

“Hey! Don’t yell at her, it’s not her fault!” James shouts, coming to your defense.

“Moony, she was bound to find out eventually, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Sirius comments, picking at his black nail polish, successfully chipping the paint.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No.” You reply, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Yes.” Sirius says at the same time, effectively provoking it.

“Lily can report me and spread this, don’t you understand?” Remus rages, the tips of his ears red.

“Lily wouldn’t do that, you know this Remus.” James tries to reason.

“I think you’re a little biased, Prongs. She was bloody friends with Snivellus! Anything could happen!”

“Well she isn’t friends with him anymore, Moons. Lily is trustworthy and a good friend. She wouldn’t tell a soul.” James argues.

Remus growls and forcefully closes the curtains around his bed, shutting you all out.

You shift awkwardly on the balls of your feet, the four of you watching the scarlet curtains sway. Remus is silent behind them.

The guilt has your stomach in knots. You can’t help but feel responsible.

“C’mon, (Y/n), it’s time for dinner and obviously Moony wants to be left alone.” James anxiously runs a hand through his already chaotic hair, slightly tugging at the dark curls.

You wordlessly nod your head and start to follow them out the door.

“W-we’ll bring something up from the Kitchens, Remus.” Peter stutters in front of you.

However, you hesitate at the threshold, reluctant to just up and leave your boyfriend in such a vulnerable state.

“Please don’t go.”

The broken words are almost too faint to actually hear.

You creep your way back to his bed, carefully pulling back the curtains revealing your boyfriend’s head buried in his hands. You notice the pronounced tremors taking over his hands.

“Hey...hey Rem, it’s all alright.” You murmur, lightly dragging a hand through his rough hair.

Dropping your head down to his, you press your foreheads together, whispering reassurances and declarations of love into his ear.

[mrsgiovanna]

Crimson (Dhampir! Don Giorno x Wife! Reader)

Those of you who have been here for a while would have suffered through my intermittent constant ramblings about scenarios in which Giorno's vampiric tendencies start to awaken. To the nonnies who requested this, here you go my loves.

TW: Blood mentions

Word Count: 2.4k

The sunshine felt glorious on your skin as you lounged next to the pool while Giorno completed a few more laps in the water before he was set to join you. Something felt amiss as you watched him aggressively swim in the huge body of water like a caged shark, but you attributed it to him needing to work off some of the stress of leading Passione. Finally satisfied with his efforts, he emerged from the pool, water clinging to his body and dripping from his hair, he would have looked like Neptune incarnate if it wasn’t for the angry red sunburn marring his otherwise flawless form.

“Gio, your skin looks so inflamed, let me help you,” he walked right past you, prompting you to follow him into the house. “My love, are you alright? Let me at least put something on you to…”

“Stop faffing, I’ll be fine, I think I just need some rest, you can go back to what you were doing,” snapped Giorno, in a harsher tone than he intended, in fact, he didn’t mean to be as short with you at all, and grimaced at his words, but he needed to get away from there as soon as he possibly could to not alarm you as this isn’t the first time he has experienced this, although, it is the first time it has happened in front of you.

You tried to hide your dejection at his behavior, you pulled on an oversized shirt, went inside and decided to work on some of your reports in the sunroom instead. Upstairs, in the bathroom of the master bedroom, stood Giorno in front of the golden-framed mirror. Before his ruby-tainted eyes, his burns had healed without him consciously summoning his stand… was it done subconsciously? His question remained unanswered, looking himself in the eyes, he realized that they still bore a crimson tinge to them. Dismissing it to simple chemical irritation, he took a cool shower and mulled over his exchange with you, growing ever more remorseful of how he dismissed your concern. Getting rid of the last bit remnants of water from his hair, he set out to find you to and apologize for his behavior.

Finding you bundled in the corner of the sunroom, musing over a few documents, Giorno just stood at the entrance admiring your beauty. You looked so cute wearing his shirt, the concentration furrowing your delicate brows and placing a pout on your lips.

“Tesoro? May I speak to you?” his voice was gentle, a far cry from the way he sounded before. You looked up from the documents you were working on and offered him a strained smile.

“Gio, I thought you wanted to rest for a bit…”

“I did bella, but that’s not important right now… I’m sorry… for the way I acted before, you were just showing your concern and I behaved like an idiot. Please forgive me…” walking towards you, he seated himself next to you.

“Well, you were very mean to me, but I’ll forgive you just this once… only because you asked so nicely, next time it won’t be so easy for you Don Giovanna,” you said with a smirk, breaking into a small giggle when he grimaced at the epithet.

“Come here bella- nice shirt by the way, it looks very familiar…”

“Oh, it’s just something I found lying around… you know what they say, finders’ keepers,” with a gentle smile at your remark, he peppered your face with soft kisses and made sure you got comfortable on his lap, so he could hold you while you worked, his mind though, was preoccupied with the events that occurred of late.

In the next few days both you and Giorno were busy with your respective tasks, and as much as you wanted to dismiss his distant demeanor on how busy you both were, you knew that he was uncharacteristically withdrawn from you. Giving him the space he needed, you met his aloofness with your usual calm kindness. Needing to discuss a few work-related issues with Giorno, you decided to go see him rather than wait for him to come home.

“(y/n)- bella, this is a nice surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?” he still had that charming velvety quality to his voice that made you feel, for a split second, like things were back to normal, but the strained way in which he kissed your cheek told you otherwise. He considered you for a moment, staring at you with his slightly reddened eyes.

“Are you wearing a new perfume?” inhaling the air around you sharply, he posed his question to you.

“No my love, it’s the same scent you like, the one I wear most often”

“Oh? You just smell so sweet, it’s wonderful,” Giorno’s words are muffled as he buries his nose into your neck and places a small kiss there, rigidly pulling away almost instantly, the red sheen becoming more pronounced in his eyes. Guarded, he stepped away from you and with a tense smile he completed what you needed from him.

“I’ll see you at home then,”

“Of course tesoro…” distracted, Giorno kissed your forehead and you left, determined to get to the bottom of what was plaguing him. You knew that his origins were obscure. He didn’t have much of a relationship with his mother and you both learned the truth about his father after meeting with Dr. Kujo to resolve a few matters which required Giorno’s assistance. Recalling the conversation, you remembered the sordid business with Dio and the stone mask. Your blood ran cold when you considered the idea that Giorno could be going through a transition of sorts… it wasn’t a pleasant thought to entertain, however, you couldn’t think of another reason for his odd behavior and changes in his features.

You knew it was a risky idea… you knew that if he overheard your conversations he’d be furious… but you had to seek help from the one man who had encountered the type of being that Giorno shared his DNA with. Hating having to hide this from the man you had previously shared every mundane detail of your day with, you pressed on, and within the week that had passed you had learned all there was to know about his condition without actually having an expert examine him. You had unfortunately hit a wall, all the while, despite your best efforts, the rift between you and Giorno had continued to widen.

You sat up in bed engaging in a long distance call with a tired-sounding Jotaro, at that ungodly hour-alone- confident that you would be falling asleep beside a cold pillow, just as you had for the past 3 nights. “Is there anything that can be done from where I am? Dr. Kujo, please… I know you may be apprehensive given the history, I can assure you that, if by some stroke of misfortune, anything were to go awry I have enough faith in my abilities to contain him, I…”

“It’s not that, I trust that he isn’t a threat, despite what he’s experiencing. The thing is, we have already shared every bit of information we have in our possession with you. Anything else will require you to come here, the foundation has experts and the technology available to at least assess Giorno to determine a way forward from there,”

“I’ll try to get…”

“Who are you talking to?” the temperature in the room suddenly dropped when you heard the cold manner in which your husband addressed you.

“Oh! Giorno… I can explain… Dr. Kujo, please forgive my rudeness, but may we continue this later, at a suitable time for you?”

“Of course,”

“Thank you, I’ll be in touch…” moving from one impossibly difficult conversation to another, you turned your attention to Giorno who was seething at the doorway across from you.

“Care to explain?” the expression on your husband’s face was so cold it forced you to silently avert your gaze to gather your composure.

“(y/n), I’m waiting…” his footsteps resounded with a sharp clatter as he walked into the room.

“Gio… I’m worried about you. You think I haven’t noticed but I can see that you’ve changed. I see you agonizing over this… transition… you’re going through. Please don’t shut me out,” weeks of unexpressed feelings pooled in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out.

“(y/n) … this is something I have to do on my own, I… I don’t want to hurt you,” it was clear that Giorno did not want to have this conversation with you from his shaky disposition and the manner in which he spoke.

“What you’re doing right now is more hurtful than anything else! Watching you struggle like this, being so close to you, yet so far removed from each other,” emotions swirling uncontrolled, you choked out the words despite wanting to protect Giorno’s feelings.

“You don’t understand cara”

“Then make me understand, damn it Giorno!”

“Ahh! you think I don’t know what’s happening to me? I’ve been doing my own research as well. I know what my father was… I knowwhat I’m turning into! We both know… and you… the scent of you drives me insane. Rather than hurting you, I chose to stay away from you!” For a moment after his outburst, all you heard was silence save for the sound of Giorno’s breathing and your own heart pounding in your ears.

“You’re not him Gio, you never will be like him. and if your bloodlust is doing this to you, then please just let me help you… I’m your wife, if I can’t do this for you, who will?!”

“No! I won’t allow it. Will I even be human if I did? No… I can’t, and if I hurt you I’ll never forgive myself,”

“Gio, caro, I trust you entirely, I know you wouldn’t go too far, and if by some stroke of bad luck, you do, you can always use your stand ability to replace what was lost. I can’t stand seeing you like this… I love you so much… so please, if you need to… then do it, I’ll be okay,”

You saw the doubt flicker in his glossy eyes as he considered your argument. Inching closer towards him, you extend your hand to cup his cheek, cherishing the feeling of his faintly stubbled skin against your soft hand. He puts his hand over yours, leaning into your touch, he places a soft kiss into your palm. After craving your touch for so long, this felt heavenly to him, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to let you go again after this. You picked up on his yearning, as it matched your own, and gently coaxed his face towards yours, kissing him gently at first, and then surrendering to your urges as Giorno hungrily deepened the kiss, burying his fingers into your hair. When he broke away, his gaze was intense, but marred by doubt. He flicked your hair over your shoulder and gingerly traced the vein on your neck, his thumb gently caressing your silken skin.

Sensing his trepidation, you try to allay his fears, “It’s alright my love, I’m ready… I’ll be okay.” Your hands wrap around his back while his lips find your neck, small kisses were placed in the prime spot, turning into little licks and laps, until finally you felt the sharp sting of Giorno’s teeth sinking into the supple flesh with a low hum from him. After the initial pain, the sensation was unlike anything you have ever experienced before, a newfound intimacy that came from knowing you were helping him through something so intense.

After a few moments, his hunger was satiated- at last, the feral intensity disappearing from his eyes, his teeth retracting to the same level as the others, Giorno cradled you in his arms.

“Tesoro, are you alright?” his voice was tender, and it seemed that he had finally returned to his old self.

“I’m alright my love,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Giorno was overcome by a new wave of affection for you, watching you carefully, he lifted you up, despite your protests and carried you to bed.

“This will only hurt for second amore, but you will feel much better afterwards,” he explained as a familiar golden glow enveloped both you and him, slightly smarting the area that it healed until all evidence of the encounter had vanished. Clear eyes peered curiously into your own and were met with a relieved gaze- finally the crimson haze had cleared.

“How are you feeling my love? You look… different… calmer?” pushing yourself up on one arm, you sat up to face Giorno.

“I do feel calm, I feel like a spell has been lifted and I’m finally myself again…” anguish contorted the young don’s features as he thought back on the events that built up to that moment. “I’m so sorry, tesoro… I’ve treated you horribly over the past few weeks, there are no excuses, regardless of what was happening, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you… please forgive me,” unable to hold your gaze he just looked away dejectedly.

“Giorno… look at me…” you extended your arms towards him, gripping the sides of his face, gently turning him towards you. “We’re a team, we’ve fought against unimaginable things together, built an entire empire together, even changed the course of fate together… my point is that regardless of what you’re going through, it will never best us if handle it together,” offering you a tired smile, he grasped your hands in his and kissed them gently.

“You always know what to say… You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

“Well, of course I’m amazing! Doesn’t hurt to hear it every once in a while though…” your laughter lightened the mood and tugged at the corners of Giorno’s full lips. Wordlessly, he climbed onto his side of the bed and motioned for you to take your place in his arms. It was the embrace that you both craved after the painful period of time you were estranged from each other. Hair still adorned with his triad of curls and still in his suit, Giorno fell asleep almost instantly after wrapping his arms around you and tucking your head under his chin.

Feeling as safe as you did, your exhaustion also weighed down your eyelids. You knew that the road would be a long one, but for now, the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was safe and happy, and you were in his embrace where you belonged. Relishing the warmth he radiated, you allowed yourself to drift into a peaceful slumber.

[some-kindofgnome]

these violent delights, pt. i

In an immersive theme park where cutting-edge technology makes your wildest dreams come true, the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur. enter westworld, where artificially intelligent automatons known as ‘hosts’ are programmed to fulfill your every delight.

(westworld AU, eventual host!dabi x reader, host!keigo takami x reader, eventual shouto todoroki x f!reader)

part one | part two | part three

featuring: hanta sero, denki kaminari, katsuki bakugou, momo yaoyozoru, eijirou kirishima

part one: you prepare to enter the park for the bachelorette party your bridesmaids wanted. meanwhile, westworld’s capable employees prepare to roll out the latest programming update.

wc: 8.7k

pt. i warnings: smut (18+!), sci-fi dystopia, artificial intelligence, medical/surgical procedures, body modification. gun violence, robbery, kidnapping, drinking, death, no beta we die like teddy

notes: this is part one of my entry for The Smut Pile’s Western Collab! this is my very first server collab and I am so thrilled to be kicking it off with this plot monster. this is the first of three parts- it leans a little heavy on the world building, so stay tuned for parts two and three. the action dials up from here, promise! i’m excited to be putting out one of my first plot-heavy stories on this blog!

please note: part one borrows several events from season one, episodes one and two of the series. the story will branch off in its own direction in parts two and three. you do not need to be familiar with Westworld to enjoy this fic- so please give it a try! 💖

(MASTERLIST)

“This doesn’t feel right.”

Livestock Management technician Hanta Sero drifts idly from tool cart to operating table with his raven hair pulled back. He’s clad in a protective latex apron and gloves, approaching the table with a blowtorch in one hand and a long, slim pair of forceps in the other.

“That’s what it says here.” Denki Kaminari stands across the black-tiled room, his back reflected in the glass walls of the operating facility. He scrolls mindfully through a folding datapad with a crease of deep concentration in his golden brow.

Snapping his datapad shut, he lifts his chin to find Sero’s conflicted gaze across the lab.

“The specifications were pretty precise.”

“I know what the briefing said,” Sero retorts. “I just…”

He ignites the blowtorch and takes a deep breath, letting his gaze over slowly over the pale, unmarked flesh of the body stretched out on the table in front of him.

“What?” Kaminari takes in the sight before him. He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh. Well-“

He gets up from his stool, tugging his gloves back over his shirtsleeves and crossing the room toward Sero and the body in question. He picks up a scalpel, making a clean little cut just below the subject’s left nipple without any hesitation.

“Dude, stop!” Sero reaches with the hand still clutching his forceps, blanching as a thin well of blood trickles onto pristine flesh.

“He’s offline,” Denki chuckles. “He can’t feel a thing. You’ve patched these guys up a thousand times, Sero. What’s the problem?”

“I dunno,” Sero muses, drawing the back of one glove nervously over his temple. “I dunno. I think they’re starting to get too real. It’s messing with me.” He shoots Denki a weak chuckle and shakes his head.

“What do they need this guy all burned up for, anyway?”

“Momo told me he’s for the new narrative,” Denki replies, puzzling over the red hair and immaculate pale skin of their unsuspecting victim. “Some kind of grizzly new villain who’s supposed to stir up trouble.”

“Better make him extra fucked up, then.” The blowtorch, extinguished in Sero’s panic, is ignited again, but he’s still hesitating.

“Hey,” Denki prompts. “Why don’t we start with the system update? That’ll kill some time. And then- hey.” He reaches across the tool cart, grabbing for the bottle of black hair dye that came with the host’s modification kit. He shakes it in Sero’s face, letting a smug grin cross his features.

“I’ll do the carpet if you do the drapes.”

Sero and Denki find their rhythm easily enough. Before long, the tension dispels and they’re letting conversation flow smoothly between them, making weekend plans while Sero pushes polished silver staples into the now-scarred flesh of the transformed host.

“This guy’s older than he looks,” Denki quips from the tool cart, where he’s selecting an appropriately sized needle for the delicate work ahead of him. “His systems haven’t been updated in years.”

“I’ve never seen him in the park before,” Sero admits. He’s finishing the clean row of staples that trail from the corner of the host’s mouth to his ear, struggling to push the staple into the skin at the edges of his face. The sharp prongs don’t hold as well in the spots where the muscle and flesh thin to just skin stretched over bone. He looks up in frustration, shaking the spots from his concentrated gaze.

“Whoa,” he starts as he spots the way that Denki’s moved up between the host’s lean thighs. “You’re really gonna-“

“That’s what it says in the briefing,” Denki presses. He’s got the aforementioned needle in one hand and a bowl of curved barbells in the other; he’s gone a little grin about the gills, too.

“Sick fucks,” Sero snorts, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel very historically accurate, does it?”

“Please,” Denki pushes. “If you think this has ever been about history, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“Christ, you wanna talk about nasty surprises,” Sero replies, blanching and averting his eyes while Denki inserts the first piercing. “Just wait’ll the guests get a look at him.”

"Bakugou's outdone himself this time," Denki agrees, brow furrowed with sympathy and panicked concentration as he unscrews the first barbell. "Those idiots won't know what hit 'em.”

“Bring yourself back online.”

Head of Programming Shouto Todoroki sits in front of the park’s newest addition, datapad spread across his lap. Sero and Denki’s work paid off; the new host is looking fiercer than ever.

Not new enough for Shouto’s tastes, though. He can still see the blue glint when “Dabi,” as his new narrative calls him, shifts into wakefulness and lets his eyes flutter open. He shoots Shouto a sinister grin but does not move from his seat.

Shouto doesn’t want to believe what they’ve done to him. He’s still nude, putting all his new modifications on brilliant display. The staples in his flesh look angry and inflamed. The scars, done perfectly to appear long-healed, still make his blood curdle.

He can’t even think about the flashes of silver that catch the light when Dabi crosses his legs.

“And who are you supposed to be?" Dabi growls an opening line that shakes Shouto more than it ought to. He sports a brand new drawl that fits the world he’ll be slotted into soon enough, but it’s too much, bouncing off the pristine glass and shiny tile beneath his bare feet.

“Lose the accent,” Shouto commands. Dabi's expression shifts a little, but he does not drop eye contact.

Shouto can’t help but wonder if they all stare like this. He hasn’t been alone with a host in a very long time. Especially not one with this kind of significance.

“Do you know where you are?” He presses, determined to push forward. The sooner he gets Dabi through analysis, the sooner he can pretend like the unsettling host doesn’t exist.

But Dabi’s voice with no drawl is even more spine-chilling.

“I am in a dream.”

“And… do you want to wake up from this dream?”

Dabi’s eyes drift away in a direction they’re not supposed to. For a moment, he casts his gaze down and to the left, letting it sweep across the edge of the room as his brow creases with terrifying subtlety.

The gesture is minuscule, almost as if he's recalling a distant memory. For a moment, Shouto can only admire its beauty.

Then he realizes it’s not supposed to be there.

“Yes,” Dabi continues, his voice soft and lilting and almost wistful. “I’m terrified.”

“Freeze all motor functions.” Shouto’s heart pounds in his chilled throat. His extremities have gone cold. But Dabi follows his instructions to the letter, freezing before he can even blink. Shouto questions why he expected any differently.

Not two minutes later, Head of Behaviour Momo Yaoyorozu ducks gracefully into Dabi’s glass prison. Shouto is still sitting exactly where he began, perched on a little rolling leather stool. Six feet away, Dabi has not moved, bare and frozen on a stool of his own.

"I got your page," Momo soothes, shutting the door quietly behind her and unfolding her datapad. The hinges go rigid when they sit flat, blending seamlessly into a broad tablet that she taps and scrolls quietly through.

“I checked his programming on the way over. There’s something new here,” she concludes. “But I don’t know who added it. Must have been one of the interns, or-“

“I know who it was,” Shou answers grimly, already scrolling meticulously through the lines of code that make up Dabi’s new personality. Momo freezes, looking up at him with cold surprise.

“You don’t think…”

“I do,” he confirms. He takes a deep breath to quell his racing heart and shoots his closest colleague a shaky look. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“Incredible,” Momo gasps a few moments later when Shouto asks Dabi the same series of questions and gets the same frightening response. He knows why it shakes him as much as it does, but it hasn’t occurred to him that someone like Momo would actually… appreciate them.

“It’s like he’s-“ she starts, then stops herself. The conclusion she’s drawn should be as impossible as it sounds. But it’s staring them both in the face.

“Like he’s remembering something.” She finishes her thought this time, and Shou clenches his jaw.

"He must have slipped the code into the update," he determines. "In the programming, he's calling them Reveries."

“Kind of poetic,” Momo muses, still admiring the way that Dabi’s eyes seem to mist as they stare into the middle-distance. “It makes him look so real.”

“The code pulls memories from his earlier programming,” Shouto continues, looking up at Momo and waiting for her to be as spooked as he is.

He’s almost frightened that she’ll be defensive. But she’s sharper than he’s given her credit for, and that revelation is enough to pull her from her stupor.

“That could cause a lot of problems,” she muses. “Especially if the loops haven’t been closed properly. They’re supposed to be wiped after every cycle, but if there are links pulling them back…”

“I know,” Shouto emphasizes. Momo straightens, planting matter-of-fact hands on matter-of-fact hips.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do,” he confesses, turning back to catch another blood-chilling glimpse of the all-too-familiar host. “I can’t just pull the programming out from under him. He’ll know.”

“You can’t send him into the park with it. If it’s slotted in with the update, he could spread it to the other hosts.”

Shouto pushes his datapad aside and leans forward, steepling his fingers as he sighs deeply and descends into even deeper thought.

Momo’s right. With the Reveries included, the update has potentially disastrous consequences. But that’s operating on the assumption that his father makes mistakes, which most people would confirm is simply impossible.

If he clears the programming before letting Dabi go through, however, he’ll be facing the wrath of his father.

Shou purses his lips, lacing his fingers together but leaving the pointers extended and pursing his lips against the smooth joints.

“I think we’re going to have to.”

The glossy, perfect train- the first of many you'll take today, as you're told- pulls into a station that's even whiter than the train itself. Polished white floors and perfect whitewashed columns are the first things you see out the massive panoramic windows as the cars pull to a complete stop. When the doors glide open, your maid of honour touches your sleeve as the other girls filter out of your private compartment and onto the platform.

You’re far from the only ones disembarking the train. The rest of the platform is soon crowded by immaculately-dressed guests from all over the world. They bow and shift like a flock of starlings, moving in stark contrast past the perfectly-still bodies of the white-clad staff waiting to greet them.

A tall, statuesque woman with raven hair steps forward, addressing your maid of honour by name. She gives you an apologetic wave and a see you in there before disappearing amid the writhing sea of people.

You’ve been reading up on this place for weeks, scouring pamphlets and websites and guest reviews for every detail about the induction process you can glean from public knowledge. Details of the park itself are kept very private, but you’ve learned all you can about the way you’ll be introduced to it.

This place was not your first choice for the occasion at hand, but your friends practically insisted. You know it’s for selfish reasons- it’s the only chance they’re ever going to get to see the place for themselves- but you can already think of several places you’d rather celebrate your coming nuptials.

Not exactly your typical bachelorette party fare. But your friends agreed to wear matching dresses in that shade of pale green you couldn’t stay away from, so you’re giving them this.

Before long the platform is nearly cleared. You’re just starting to make your way toward the escalator, wondering what exactly became of the host who was supposed to greet you, when a soft croon of your name over one shoulder nearly shocks you out of your sandals.

Your host has arrived, and he’s even more gorgeous than you feared. Graceful and lithe-looking, he’s clad in a pristine white suit and turtleneck that contrasts the bold flashes of his golden hair perfectly. He shoots you a smooth smile, lit by razor-sharp tawny eyes and as he turns his face to catch the light, you can see that his jaw is grazed by the barest hint of scruff- perfectly groomed, just like the rest of him.

"Hello," you greet, trying not to lose your breath. You clasp the fingers of your right hand around the ring finger on your left- the remnants of your favourite new nervous habit. You've taken to twisting your engagement ring in moments of idleness or anxiety, but for safety's sake, you've left the flashy diamond at home.

You know you’re engaged. That’s what matters most.

“Good,” the host croons. You’re getting quickly used to his honeyed brogue, strong and low and sweet as he takes your hand and drops a suave kiss to your knuckles. “I’m glad you found your way here.” He jerks his head toward the emptying escalator, eyes never leaving yours.

“Follow me.”

As you’re ascending through the polished storeys of the park’s immaculate headquarters, your attendant rattles off a long list of mundane medical questions. He’s tapping away on a datapad as he walks, and you’re sure that whatever information he’s taking down will be swept away for later use.

Finally, he brings you to a plain-looking white door. He tucks away the datapad and slips his hands into his pockets. He’s graceful and perfect- too perfect. You’re starting to suspect that he’s no ordinary employee.

“Go on,” he urges, nodding toward the door. You shoot him a sideways little glance but step forward, hooking your fingers around the polished handle and pushing it open. You step inside.

The interior of the room- or closet, as it would be better described- is lit almost exclusively by glowing strip lights hidden in the crevices of the doorway, racks of clothing, and bordering a large series of mirrors that stud each wall.

It’s the biggest walk-in closet you’ve ever seen. And it’s filled to the brim with racks of clothing, all appropriate to the vague late-19th century setting of the park.

“Everything is bespoke,” pipes your immaculate attendant as he shuts the door behind him, “and exactly your size.” Painfully, you remember being asked for your body measurements in anticipation of this visit. Did they custom-tailor everything for each guest?

Or are you being given special treatment?

“You can pick out anything you’d like,” he continues, moving toward you, “and your other clothes will be waiting for you when you’ve finished your stay.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you muse, fingering the raspberry-coloured silk of a lavish-looking day dress.

“The clothes you choose will determine the course of your experience.”

Your attendant is right beside you now, so close that you can see the way his golden eyelashes brush his tanned cheeks. He’s leaning in to examine the silk same as you, but his shoulder pushes just a little close to be solely practical. As he grips the material between lithe fingers, he lifts his gaze to yours on purpose. There’s a charming lilt to his smile that you can’t help but admire.

He pauses, dropping the silk and turning to face you head-on. Though the smile has slipped from his features, he still eyes you with interest.

“You want to ask, don’t you?”

Your brain catches up immediately, confusion swelling and fading in the span of a heartbeat. It tightens to thick dread in your chest.

He’s right. You do.

“Are you real?” The words sound even more ridiculous in the air between you than they did in your head. But ever since you boarded the train it felt like you could never be sure. And he’s perfect. Too perfect. Even the way he takes your question seems scripted and rehearsed.

He gives a low chuckle and takes your hands, stroking smooth thumbs over the backs of your knuckles. Then he peeks up at you from beneath flawless dark lashes and flashes a hint of pearly canine as he speaks.

“If you can’t tell, does it really matter?”

You don’t need him to expand.

“Come,” he prompts gently, dropping one hand to pull open a drawer of delicate slips and shifts, sitting in neat, folded piles of undyed linen. Some are plain, others trimmed excessively with lace and ribbons. You’re drawn to the coloured ribbons immediately- pale peach, soft blue, mint green. But the brassy gold of your attendant’s eyes is even more magnetic and you can’t look away for longer than a handful of seconds.

“You know,” he continues, squeezing your fingers gently and moving back in to run his knuckles up the inside of your wrist. Every single one of his touches is delicate, fluttering like a songbird against your skin. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he looks at you.

“Some of these clothes are a little difficult to put on alone.”

He does not explain further, but he watches as you’re drawn to the same conclusion that he is.

You have to roll this one over in your mind for a long while. You left your engagement ring behind, but the engagement itself still stands. Then again, he told you to enjoy yourself here. ‘Make every use of the park’s benefits,’ he’d suggested.

He’s just a computer, you tell yourself. A glorified sex toy. Maybe he walks and talks and flirts like a real human being, but…

There’s something about him that’s making it hard to turn him down.

After a silence long enough for any normal person to question, you look up at your attendant once more. He’s patiently awaiting your response, having gone uncomfortably still. You're not even sure he'd blink if you stare long enough.

You give a tight little nod and he’s smiling again, the same lazy smile as before. His default expression, you’re beginning to gather. He reaches for your coat.

“Wait.” You stop him with one hand on either forearm. He’s touched you before, but it’s still shocking how warm he is. Even though the sleeves of his perfect white jacket, he feels unquestionably alive.

"Don't you have a name or something?"

“Of course I do,” he responds. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Um…” Your brow knits. “Yes.”

He slips around behind you, curling his fingers into the open folds of your jacket and beginning to slide the weighty material off your shoulders. As he does, he leans forward, letting his lips draw close to your ear and making you shiver.

“Call me Keigo.”

“Keigo,” you repeat. It’s pretty and rolls easily from your mouth in a slow purr of desire. You can’t help yourself anymore. Keigo’s been programmed to put you at ease, but he’s doing much more for you now.

He undresses you methodically, pausing only briefly to run a hand down the curve of your waist or dip his fingers under the point of your chin when he catches you looking down. Even when you’re standing completely naked in front of him, he does not move to touch you in any untoward manner.

Whatever unspoken arrangement you thought you had formed is obviously not as unspoken as you’d hoped.

With his help, you select some period-appropriate undergarments. He helps you into your breezy linen shift first, lovingly tying the drawstrings into a neat little bow at the centre front. The corset is not as uncomfortable as you'd anticipated, fitting you devastatingly well. Keigo’s skilled hands pull the laces with precise tension, and the whole time he breathes soft commands and inquiries over your shoulder.

“Too tight?” He whispers, holding the laces taught at your waist. You take a slow, deep breath, then shake your head.

“Good.”

He ties the laces off and helps you into two petticoats- one of plain white cotton, the other of decorative silk and lace. Then he sits you on a cool, leather-covered sofa on one edge of the room and drops to his knees in front of you.

“Uh-“ you start, but he produces a pair of silk stockings from seemingly nowhere, smirking over the tops of your knees.

“Let’s get this out of the way.”

He pushes your airy petticoats up from your ankles, letting the backs of his palms brush the insides of your knees. He shoves the material up to your thighs and your confusion is multiplied now- is this what you think it is?

The way he admires your thighs as you shyly press them together certainly makes it seem so.

"Keigo," you gasp, curling your fingers against the edge of the sofa. The leather is supple and delicate beneath your touch like you could tear it if you wanted to.

He looks up just in time to watch you hook a bare thigh over his shoulder, and his brows shoot into his pointed hairline.

You’ve decided what you want out of this trip.

"Dove," he chides, setting down the stockings and pushing them gently aside. He takes both hands up the backs of your calves, stroking perfectly manicured fingernails into the tender skin at the backs of your knees.

He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His face disappears behind the swath of frothy white petticoats gathered in your lap, but you feel his hot breath on your skin clear as day.

“If you wanted something from me,” he purrs, “all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m asking now,” you hum, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch. He’s easy enough to convince. Somehow, the fact that you didn’t have to work very hard for this almost makes it feel more acceptable.

“Here’s my answer,” he replies, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your inner thigh. You let out a strangled gasp, thigh jolting against his face as he slips his hand under the other leg- still hooked over his shoulder. You let out a low, shaky breath, trying not to think about the mark he’ll leave.

He pushes your leg away after biting it, shoving your knees apart and leaning eagerly forward. His head is fully buried under your gathered petticoats at this point, and you can feel him nosing his way into the crook of your groin, sliding a few free fingers up to prod gently for your hair-dusted folds.

“Wet already, bluebird?” He chuckles into your skin, sending shivers up your spine. “I’m flattered.”

“Stop,” you groan. There’s heat rushing to your cheeks with every word that tumbles out of his pretty mouth. You don’t want any of this to stop, but the heat between your legs is the one quickly growing unbearable.

“Do you want me to?” Keigo sits back almost immediately, ridding you of the delicious tingles his close breath were sending across your skin.

“No, no!” You yelp sharply, indignantly, digging your bare heel into his back to keep him close. He stops as soon as you apply pressure, letting out a quiet little chuckle.

“Keep going,” you pant, curling your toes against his pretty jacket.

“Your wish is my command,” he hums, already leaning into your flesh again. He does not hesitate this time, burying his head between your legs and giving the weeping slit of your cunt a long lick.

His first touch is all it takes to remind you how long it’s been.

“Fuck,” you gasp, low and languid. He doesn’t hesitate to close his lips around your swelling clit and suck. He makes sharp, sloppy noises with his lips and tongue, and the way they resonate in your ears near-doubles your pleasure. He’s eating you out perfectly, with terrifying precision. The strength of his jaw and tongue remains almost painfully consistent.

All the better for drowning him out. Despite his easy-flowing attitude and suave charm, he’s not a person. And it isn’t unfaithful to want him like this.

Even if you know he wouldn’t like it.

Keigo is diligent and careful, plunging his tongue in and out of your needy hole before finding the nub of your clit again, hard and sensitive. When he flicks the tip of his tongue against the tender front of it your legs spasm and you cry out softly as sensitive goosebumps rush across your ribcage.

“Like that,” you plead breathlessly, drawing your foot up between his shoulder blades as the tension builds. “Again, please.”

You’re holding the swells of your petticoats up around your thighs for him, but your fingers are beginning to clench in the delicate material. You’re not going to last long at all beneath a tongue as talented as his.

“Don’t worry, dove,” he purrs into your body, sending thick vibrations through every nerve in your system, “I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”

As he settles into his rhythm again, he plunges two fingers into your messy depths. He curls them tightly inside you, massaging your tender walls with a blunt and careful touch.

It takes little more than a few methodical strokes to make you fall. You cum with a tight little squeal, closing your thighs tightly around his head while you spasm and buck and sigh. He’s attentive enough to keep pumping his fingers through your orgasm, drawing out the pleasure as much as possible and greedily lapping at the wetness that trickles from your clenching pussy.

"That's it," he soothes, easing you down from your high with one calming hand on the column of your twitching thigh. As you settle, sweat-soaked, back into your seat he surfaces, sweat and shiny, sticky fluid sticking in the bristles of his perfect scruff. He licks his lips and you realize you’ve unconsciously mirrored him, doing the same.

In the moments directly following your peak you say nothing, looking down to meet his brassy gaze as deep uncertainty settles into your gut.

What happens now?

Keigo sits back on his haunches, pulling the folded pocket square from his breast and mopping up the mess on his chin and jaw like he'd done nothing more than spill a glass of wine or splash water over his lips.  

“Much better,” he croons, reaching for the discarded stockings from before. “Feeling a little more relaxed?”

You swallow hard.

“I’d say so.”

His smile is surprisingly bright and sunny.

“Good.” He hooks his fingers under your knee again, unhooking your leg from his shoulder. Sliding a palm down to your ankle, he fits one stocking deftly over your foot and slides it up your calf, continuing his work as if uninterrupted. He fits the stockings over your knees and ties them off carefully with slips of silk ribbon, sitting the knots just below your knees so the stockings won't fall. Then, he gets to his feet and offers you a hand.

“Let’s pick out the rest of your clothes, shall we?”

The park is even more immersive than you imagined. The photos do it no justice. When you step off the (genuine steam-powered) train at Sweetwater Station, it’s accompanied by a very real twinge of anxiety. The village is like a scene out of a Clint Eastwood movie. Only there are no cardboard sets here. The saloon doors really swing inward. The shops and businesses that line the main street are built from real, weathered lumber. The dust that’s kicked up by the hosts that go about their daily lives is already beginning to coat your new boots.

You sneeze.

“God bless you,” greets a kind stranger in a rough-hewn grey coat and white hat. He’s got a very apparent drawl to his voice, but the glint in his blue eyes is kind.

Back at the facility, guests and hosts were easy enough to distinguish from one another. Out here, it’s a little more difficult. You’re not sure whether to believe that everyone is real or assume they’re all fake.

Luckily, there are four women beside you whose humanity you are acutely aware of. You’re lucky enough to have found your bridesmaids on the train in- all clustered in the bar car, but together nonetheless.

And they’ve insisted on keeping the party going.

“C’mon, bride-to-be,” your maid of honour chides, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of your reverie. “I know exactly where we need to go first.”

“It’s not even noon yet,” you protest, but the others are already miles ahead of you. You’re dragged easily into the broad, dusty street and toward those broad, swinging doors. The saloon stands proudly in the centre of town on a prominent corner with faded signs advertising its wares. And your maid of honour eagerly bats the doors open, striding boldly into the sun-soaked saloon.

The tables are surprisingly crowded for this time of day. It’s most likely a flood of guests, disembarking the train and heading straight for the local watering hole for a real taste of the action.  Beyond their idle chatter tinkles the bright keys of a player piano against one wall. You can see the player scroll turning in the piano’s upright fixture, but that doesn’t change the unsettling way that the keys seem to press themselves.

It’s an eerie fixture in a town populated by walking, talking player pianos.

The man behind the bar bleeds Old West stereotypes from every pore. He’s got a huge, exaggerated greying moustache and a tweed waistcoat with shirtsleeves bound back for work. He’s polishing an empty glass with a cotton rag, but you spot him just in time to watch him politely greet a guest and reach behind him for a frosted bottle of unlabeled whisky.

The only other fixtures in the place are the women patrolling it, clad in colourful, lacy outfits that you’re certain violate some kind of historical convention. But they’re all breathtakingly beautiful, bosoms heaving over tightly laced corsets and fluttering from table to table like songbirds. They seem to provide little more than decoration and, as you settle into a table not far from the door, they fade easily into the background.

Until one of them screams.

You’ve read as many stories as you could scour the internet for before coming here. You know this place can get intense. Details of the park’s narratives and interactive storylines are kept under wraps as much as possible, so you can’t be sure whether this is out of the ordinary or not.

But when you whip around to find the source of the blood-curdling shriek, it doesn’t feel scripted.

It doesn’t feel scripted when the pretty girl in peach lace flings herself to the feet of a brand-new guest, here with his wife and their young son gaping from across the table. It doesn’t feel like she’s supposed to be wracked with sobs having never exchanged a word with this man.

It doesn’t feel like she should be pleading with him.

But the sobs wrack her body anyway, and her rosy little cheeks are flushed deeply now as she sniffles and blubbers.

“My daughter,” she begs hoarsely. “My girl, my daughter, please, I know you have her. Give her back to me, please. I know you took her. Give her back to me, I’ll do anything.”

Whether the father-of-one knows what she's talking about or not he's white as a sheet, stumbling backwards against the edge of his wife's table and pushing his arms forward, trying to keep her away.

The player piano finishes its tune, keys stilling as the saloon’s patrons look on in shock. And for an honest handful of heartbeats, the saloon is silent save for the host’s ragged sobs.

It takes a few moments for the player scroll to re-align itself before the tune restarts, and as the familiar notes cycle back through the saloon the host re-centres herself, climbing to her feet. There's a hardened resolve on her tear-stained face as her target looks around, gathering his wife and son with a this is bullshit and turning to leave.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me-“ the host begins to snarl. She lunches for the man, hands outstretched for the back of his brand new jacket, or maybe the brim of his crisp Stetson.

“Freeze all motor functions!”

A deep voice booms from the door of the saloon, amplified and simultaneously muffled with the use of a megaphone. The girl, and every other host in the saloon, freezes in place as though they’ve been paused. They don’t just stand still- they’re paralyzed. The smiling bartender is stalled with a glass in his hand; he doesn’t even blink.

In the doorway stands a hulking man of at least six and a half feet, seeming nearly as broad across the shoulders as he is tall. He wears a black uniform, armored black vest and heavy combat boots with a head of brilliant red hair spilling over his shoulders. As he lowers the megaphone he’s grinning, the bare flash of a sharp canine catching the low light of the bar.

“Sorry for the intrusion, folks,” he declares, striding across the floorboards toward the frozen host. Her expression is paused in a sneer of sheer horror and aggression, her hand outstretched for the man who has long since stepped aside.

The red-haired guardian angel, who has the name Kirishima stitched neatly onto the breast of his protective gear in white thread, catches your gaze. He shoots you a familiar little wink and a nod, a soft y’alright? escaping his throat in a quiet little growl.

You lick your lips, nodding slowly. Kirishima averts his gaze and reaches for the frozen host. As soon as he touches her skin she goes limp, falling easily into his powerful hold. He hoists her body over one shoulder and surveys the saloon, touching two fingertips to his forehead in a bright little salute.

“Please, don’t let me intrude on your stay any longer,” he continues. “As you were, everybody. Resume.”

The last word seems to be a command for the hosts in the room, as they spin to life again. They resume their rounds as if no time had passed at all; as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever transgressed.

Spooked, but encouraged by Kirishima’s smooth removal of the offending host, the guests around you go hesitantly back to their conversations. The player piano, also halted by Kirishima’s commands, has resumed its delicate play, and slowly the environment returns to the way it was before.

Your friends are among those willing to brush off the incident.

"What happened?" mumbles your maid of honour across the table, as if the host were still around to overhear her. As if the host's friends might be listening in to see if anybody's talking about her.

“No idea,” quips one of the other girls. “Must be some kind of glitch.” She looks over her shoulder, watching the remaining hosts at the bar. “I wonder if it happens often.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Head of Narrative Katsuki Bakugou slams a stack of papers onto the table in front of him, disrupting the intricate hologram that provides a real-time, scale model of the park to the room’s occupants.

“Katsuki!” Momo scolds, watching the hologram stutter and flicker. It’s not the first table he’s damaged.

“You’re not pulling my fucking narrative. It rolls out today. Do you have any idea how many writers I had busting ass on that thing?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she retorts, tapping the screen of the datapad she’s got hooked tightly in the crook of her other arm. “You saw the host that Eijirou pulled, didn’t you? The fact that he had to step in at all means things got way out of hand…”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki retorts, sweeping his papers off the holo-table (and shattering the image one more time). “That was a fucking glitch. You don’t even have the results back from Behaviour yet.”

“I already know what they’re going to say,” Momo continues.

“That’s right,” Katsuki snarls. “I forgot you know everything around here.”

“She was carrying the latest update. There must be something wrong with the code.” Momo tries not to remember Dabi and his distant stare. She swallows the part about the extra coding slipped in by the man who could do no wrong.

She flips her datapad shut- it’s doing her any good, since Katsuki’s right. The results from Behaviour regarding the misaligned host won’t be ready for some time.

“You can’t. Pull. That. Narrative.” Katsuki’s squared up now, all the gathered papers tucked under his arm. His jaw is ticked, nostrils flaring as his eyes flash. “An entire trainload of guests is wandering around Sweetwater looking for the stories they fucking paid for. If you pull the plug, there’s nothing left.”

He’s right again.

“Look.” Katsuki crosses to the holo-table one more time, only this time it’s without the murderous intent in his gaze. For once he’s ready to use the table as intended, pin-pointing the broad, dusty street of Sweetwater’s main strip and bringing up a live feed of the bustling little town.

"Dabi is riding through here in less than two hours," he continues. "Dial-up his aggression a little. Make him shoot up the place. If you want to pull the hosts, at least let them go out with a bang.”

Momo isn’t convinced. But it’s the closest thing to a happy medium she can picture at the moment. Katsuki, as prolific as ever, knows how to think on his feet.

“How many d’you think he’ll take out?” She probes quietly, quirking an interested brow.

“Enough to keep the guests AND your Doctor Frankensteins entertained while I find us some more loopholes.”

Her mind races through more questions. But the panic, fluttering high and shallow in her chest, has somehow been replaced by a delicate sort of reassurance.

She flips open the datapad one more time, activating the remote host commands available only to an employee of her standing. Finding Dabi’s program file, she does exactly as Katsuki suggests and dials up the aggression in his behaviour stats by eighty percent.

“This had better work,” she threatens softly, but Katsuki’s already folding his arms across his chest, looking far too satisfied with himself. His ego is insufferable, but his talent is unmatched. Worth suffering for.

His mouth splits into a triumphant grin as he shoots an idle glance at the live Sweetwater feed. The only stage he’s ever needed.

“’Course it will.”

The afternoon sun has nearly dipped behind the tallest rooftops in Sweetwater when your friends stumble out of the saloon. Your friends are already tipsy, giggling and clutching each other as they try not to trip over the hems of their skirts. They’re all a little too eager to pull out the extravagant lace fans that pair perfectly with their colourful dresses and fan at their heaving bosoms.

As you bound down the steps and into the dirt road, you dive seamlessly into the milling crowd of hosts and guests, starting to swim. If you’re about to be caught in the eye of a devastatingly orchestrated narrative maelstrom, you’re blissfully unaware.

“Give me the time,” Katsuki grunts from the Sweetwater side of the holo-table. Momo glances up at the digital clock on the wall.

“Thirteen fifty-eight, forty-two,” she notes. Katsuki’s got the camera feed trained on a lone trio of riders, clad in black and plodding steadily toward Sweetwater. He watches carefully, keeping an eye turned on the clock.

“They’re going to be late,” he grunts bitterly, folding his arms over his chest. Sero, Denki and Kirishima, who have all crowded around the holo-table on their lunch breaks to watch the show, snort in near-unison.

“I don’t think anyone down there’s keeping track,” Denki quips, smoothing his palms down the front of his crisp shirt, apronless for once. Katsuki shoots him a vicious glare.

“You wanna go back to your sewing room or what?”

Denki goes quiet.

Inside the park, the sun passes behind a cloud. The light shifts just enough to draw your gaze, and when you look up, you’re among the first to spot a few dark shapes approaching. They’re close enough that you can make them out as riders, all on horses as black as the wide-brimmed hats on their heads.

There’s something about them, their precise formation and the slow, plodding, deliberate pace of their horses that holds your attention. You can’t quite write them off as guests, no matter how much they stand out from the dully-dressed villagers around you.

You glance across the street just long enough to spot a WANTED poster tacked to a column not far off. You can’t make out any of the writing on it, but the face is distinct- dark, shaded patches covering his jaw, chin and lower lip, carving out two shadowy patches under his eyes.

There’s something about the narrow shape of his cheeks that pulls familiar.

But you don’t have to wonder much longer.

The three riders ride quietly into town, the crowd parting around them with little more than low murmurs and dull, lidded fear. They pull to a stop in front of the saloon, barely twenty feet from you.

The cowboy in the grey tweed coat who caught your eye fresh off the train approaches the riders. He’s got a revolver holstered on one hip, and he draws it slowly out of its pouch as he squares up with the horse at the lead of the pack.

“Haven’t you seen the signs with your mug on ‘em?” He drawls, his face drawn into an expression of tense righteousness. He jerks his chin toward the nearest one, the WANTED sign you’d seen seconds earlier. “You’re not welcome here, Dabi.”

The taller rider in the centre- Dabi- tilts his chin into the sunlight, and that’s when you catch sight of its purplish colour. His face glints with silver, a perfect match for the drawing posted across the street.

He does not hesitate, drawing his own revolver in one smooth motion and shooting the cowboy in the chest. The gun discharges with a crack that’s louder than you ever imagined it could be, punctuated by the screams of bystanders nearby.

As the village descends into panic you stand there dumbstruck, watching the chaos unfold.

“Wait for it,” Katsuki grunts, hiding his satisfied grin as his colleagues watch in rapt fascination. Sero hasn’t blinked since the action began.

“You sure?” Dabi rasps, voice muffled by the feed. He produces a shiny golden badge and flipping it, like a silver dollar, onto the expiring corpse of the righteous host.

“No,” Denki whines. “He killed the sheriff?”

“Shut up and keep watching,” Katsuki growls, quelling the proud adrenaline pumping through his veins. There’s nothing quite like seeing his hard work come to life- supremely worth fighting with Momo over.

Dabi smirks, tipping the brim of his hat.

“Seems like invitation enough to me.”

He swings capably off his horse and you can’t deny your fascination with the mystery surrounding him. You should be terrified, but there’s something about the cool confidence with which he carries himself that you can’t quite put aside.

If the women flocking to the windows on either side of the street are any indication, you’re not the only one who feels that way. In a brief moment of lucidity, you take a glance around you. Your bridesmaids have disappeared, disappearing in the panicked mass of flooding crowds after the scarred rider fired his first shot.

He’s followed by a second rider on his right flank, both quickly disappearing into the bar. The third rider- a petite blonde woman swathed in a heavy coat- gets down off her horse and turns quickly toward her saddlebags. When she comes around the front side of her steed, she’s got a shotgun in her hands.

She’s loading it. The pandemonium amplifies. At her feet, there’s a long, thick coil of rope that’s partially unwound and trailing into the saloon. It’s unwinding slowly, with dull screams and shattering glass echoing from inside.

That’s all you have time to notice before another shot goes off in front of you. The little blonde girl’s levelled her shotgun, emptying her rounds at anyone who raises a weapon against her. You’re barely standing ten feet away. But she passes you clean over.

Is it because you're a guest? The only ones who have fallen at her hand are the hosts, capable of being hurt by her gunshots. The guests who haven't taken off are clustered in the windows of shops or hiding behind broad wooden columns, but there is no fear painted on their faces.

You know the hosts can’t hurt you. But there’s something about the thrill of it all that sends adrenaline pumping through your veins anyway. There’s a cool mystery to all of the black-clad riders.

A part of you wants to join them. If you can be anyone you want in here… why not one of them? Why not swing cooly down from your horse and terrorize, when there are no consequences to your actions?

You take one step backwards, then another. Your senses are finally coming back to you. You should run. Disengage. Maybe you can’t be caught in the crossfire, but you can’t stand dumbly in the empty street, either.

Something has to change.

Before you can make it to the safety of a storefront, a pattern of three gunshots in tight succession from inside the saloon triggers something in the blonde, still picking off hosts. There are bodies littering the street.  

She lowers her shotgun and hops back onto her horse, spurring it on with a sharp whistle. The beast takes off without hesitation, and it’s then that you realize the other end of the coiled rope is wound around her saddlehorn. As the horse strains its haunches and pushes forward the rope goes taut. And as the pair of them take off down the street, the spoils emerge: a heavy wrought iron safe, bursting out of the saloon doors and leaving nothing but splintered remains in its wake.

It bounces and rolls down the steps and slides smoothly as soon as it hits the dirt street. The blonde shooter and her horse disappear, safe in tow.

You wonder what became of the bartender inside and his friendly moustache.

Dabi emerges seconds later, a fresh rifle clutched lazily in one hand. His companion’s lost his hat in the turmoil inside- he’s blonde, too, with a deep scar splitting his forehead from hairline to brow.

"Let today be a lesson for every one of you," Dabi calls, re-cocking his shotgun as he surveys the fresh bodies and fleeing guests. You've stopped dead all over again, drawn to him like a magnet despite your best judgement.

He levels the shotgun, aiming it about five feet to your right. You follow his gaze. In the window over your shoulder, with her hands pressed to the glass, is a little girl no older than five. She’s watching Dabi and his riders with fearful fascination and does not seem to realize that she’s been targeted.

You don’t care if she’s a guest or not. She’s a human girl with big, lively eyes, and your adrenal glands work faster than your sense of logic.

Dabi shuts one eye, tilting his head. The corner of one lip curls ever so slightly as he concentrates, taking aim. “And that lesson is-“

“Stop.” You step in front of the window, spreading your arms and drawing his attention for the first time. When he looks at you over the top of his shotgun, his expression goes slack. He drops the shotgun and his eyes are wide, wider than they’re supposed to be, almost.

You’re close enough to see that they’re a shocking shade of blue. That blue strikes an achingly familiar chord in your heart.

You recognize those eyes.

“What the fuck!”

If the holo-table didn’t weigh half a ton, Katsuki would’ve flipped it on its end. The feed is as smooth as ever, but his face has gone scarlet as he paces away from the table, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Kirishima’s well past the end of his lunch break by now, but there’s no way in hell he’s going back to work before seeing the way this plays out.

“He stopped,” Katsuki growls. “He’s not s’posed to fucking stop.”

Dabi’s been stopped on the brink of a speech that took Katsuki days to put together. He’s been waiting to hear it delivered for weeks. It’s the speech that Dabi’s entire narrative was hinged on, forged out of countless sleepless nights and careless notes scribbled idly on coffee breaks.

“Holy shit.” There’s a genuine shock in Denki’s voice that’s enough to make Katsuki turn around. Denki’s gone white, Sero beside him, too.

“You’d better get over here and see this, dude,” Kirishima mutters, jerking his chin toward the feed. Momo’s watching over his shoulder, too, one hand pressed to her pursed lips.

“That’s a guest, isn’t it?” Sero quips. Silence settles over the room.

“I’ll get Shouto,” Momo declares, turning away and opening up her datapad.

“What’s going on?” Shouto bursts into the holo-room not two minutes later, mismatched eyes lit up with urgent concern. “Did I read your message right? I-“

Katsuki’s pacing the room, quieter than ever. Denki, Sero and Kirishima are still gathered around the feed, winding back the stream to replay the events that have sent them all spiralling. Momo’s the only one who even acknowledges his presence.

“Something’s happening in the park,” she explains, hushed and tight as she meets him at the door. “Another updated host is off-script.”

“How bad is it this time?” Shouto asks, hiding the dread that’s spreading in his gut. He had hoped that the girl from the saloon was just an unexpected glitch, but the results from Behaviour told another story.

Still, two deviances in just the first day of the update feels worse than he dreaded.

“You’d better take a look for yourself.”

Momo leads him to the holo-table and the feed, letting the other boys step aside. Shouto steps up to the projection, watching Dabi ride into town. Watching him break into the saloon with Twice and Toga, two other repurposed hosts, by his side.

He watches Toga ride off with the safe behind her and watches Dabi start his speech. And then, from a near-birds-eye view, he watches Dabi spot you of all people. Dabi lowers his rifle and strides toward you.

Shou’s heart leaps into his throat.

With dull horror he watches Dabi slip a leather-gloved hand under your chin. He watches you tilt your jaw into his touch. You’re fascinated by him. Even though the dust and pixels it's painfully obvious.

Dabi seems to notice, too, since he stoops low and hoists you over his shoulder without another word. You struggle, but he holds you fast. He strides across the road to his horse and sets you- still squirming and fighting- in the saddle, climbing on behind you and grabbing you tightly before you can escape.

Just before he spurs his gargantuan black steed forward, he pauses to glance over his shoulder. Shouto can’t be certain, but for a moment it seems like Dabi’s found the camera, staring plainly up at Shouto through its low-quality lens.

A breath passes. He looks away, gives a whistle, and disappears into the wilds beyond the town.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Kirishima presses. “Katsuki, you didn’t program him to kidnap a guest, did you?”

“Of course not,” Katsuki snarls from across the room, his nerves fraying dangerously. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Do I look like a walking liability to you?”

“Look, it’s fine,” Denki chimes in. “It’s not like he can hurt her or anything. Just chalk it up to the park experience. Tell her Dabi kidnaps random nobodies all the time.”

The room goes quiet as a crypt. Kirishima looks at Shouto. Shouto looks at Katsuki. Katsuki looks at Momo, and Momo takes a slow, deep breath.

“Do you want to tell him, Shouto?” she asks, “or should I?”

Shouto closes his eyes and tries to quell the panic rising in the back of his throat. He shoots Denki a cold look, jaw ticked but eyes blazing.

“That’s my fiancé,” he mutters, low and shaky. “Dabi kidnapped my fiancé.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Faded

Averykedavra prompt: okay, first of all, can I be added to your taglist? I love your fics! secondly, if you're open to prompts (apologies if you're not) could you write some logan-centric hurt/comfort? with roman and maybe Virgil comforting him? no pressure, but thanks!! and again your fics are absolutely incredible

Thanks for the prompt babe you’re an icon ^_^

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Logan’s not feeling so great, so self-doubt, self-esteem issues, all that jazz

Pairings: depending on how you want to read it, logince, analogical, possible prinxiety, analogince, or just hella platonic. My aro ass doesn’t know anymore you choose

Word Count: 4237

When a Side's role is disregarded, their door fades from the hallway.

Logan...do the others really need Logan?

Or just Logic?

 “Neato! So you're making your little factoids optional this time around.”

 Thank Archimedes the little pixelated boxes didn’t allow for much dynamic character interaction.

 Logan swallows and tries to keep going, growing more concerned that the lump in his throat would make it impossible to speak. But he can do this. For Thomas, he can do this. He has to.

 “Oh, I’ve got this one, guys!”

 ‘IGNORANT’ flashes up in front of him in big, red letters. Almost immediately he can hear the scoldings of Thomas and Patton followed by Roman’s mumbled apology but it’s too late. The word sears itself into his brain and he can’t see anything other than the choice that they’ve made.

 He swallows again. Alright. He’ll speak directly to the audience. Thomas has to listen to them eventually, doesn’t he?

 …well, maybe, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting every time he pops up with something and it’s completely ignored. He tries to appeal to Patton’s sense of humor. He tries to give Roman something when he can’t find the right words. He tries to give Thomas something, anything.

 Then he gets overexcited and pushes Patton into the blinds.

 The second Roman’s sword flashes out and slices him neatly in two a searing bolt of pain spreads to his arms, to his chest, to his throat. He knows logically—he knows everything logically—he can’t be hurt by that. It isn’t him. He is not connected in any way physically to these lowdowns.

 So why are his hands shaking?

 This is so ridiculous. He is Logic. He should not be working like this, he should not be reacting like this. This is logically the next step, he must simply not be out of the adjustment process yet. Which is ridiculous in and of itself, has he not mentioned several times over that the presence of the others imbeds Thomas’s ability to think rationally and calmly about the issues they have to face? Has he not himself wondered that if he were not so…undone by being in the same room that he finds it difficult to keep going when he needs to? Shouldn’t this be better?

 “You know I'm- I'm not doing a really great job explaining this philosophy. Um, Logan?”

 Patton? Logan pops up.

 Patton smiles—smiles?—at him as the box appears at the bottom of the screen. From this angle, he can’t see Roman or Thomas. What’s happening? Why hasn’t he been paying better attention?

 Why can’t he focus?

 “What would a real philosopher think about what I'm saying here?”

 Oh. Oh, no. This isn’t going to be good, is it?

 “Well, Frederich Nietzsche really wouldn't have been thrilled with anything you've had to say, primarily because pity seems to be at the center of your idea of ‘putting good into the world.’”

 “Th-that's not what—“

 “Nietzsche famously rejected the notion that pity was a virtue.”

 “Okay,” comes the quiet mumble that, really, should’ve told him to stop talking now, he wasn’t being useful anymore.

 But no. Logan was never very good at being quiet, now was he?

 “He once claimed that pity ‘runs counter to the instincts that preserve and enhance the value of life…’”

 Last chance, Logan, something in his head whispers as something else flashes in the corner of his vision.

  ‘Skip all.’

 But they would never do that, right? They knew, somewhere, because Thomas knew, that you had to listen to Logic. You had to listen, at some point, because if you didn’t, what did you have? They would shake their heads or grumble in annoyance, or cut him off when he’d been talking for too long or ask him to be quiet, but they’d never skip him entirely, cut him out of the conversation, would they?

 Patton’s finger presses the button and something of unyielding cold wraps around Logan’s neck.

 He flails as it yanks, jerking back awake with his eyes open, out of the boxes, out of the video, at his desk, staring at the screen as his lowdown program blocks him out.

 No.

 No!

 What happened? Why did they—is he—can he—

 Why didn’t they want to listen?

 Logan’s fingers fly over the keyboard in front of him, searching desperately for an answer. Maybe he programmed this wrong. Admittedly he’s a little new at programming so he could’ve messed something up that disconnected him. Maybe Patton clicked it by mistake. Why was there even a ‘skip all’ button to begin with? He doesn’t remember programming that. And what was it that wrapped around his throat?

 His hand goes to his neck at the mere memory of the horrible thing that yanked him out. He winces when his fingers slide of patches of warm, inflamed skin. It…it actually hurt. It left a mark.

 What—

 The instant his lowdown pops up with his face, he knows.

 It shouldn’t hurt. Really. This shouldn’t hurt.

 Now perhaps Deceit could see what it was like to be Logic. Or at least to try and be Logic.

 Now perhaps…perhaps he may have someone to talk to.

 No.

 Deceit was, in fact, far better at being Logic. Within an instant, he’d gotten the conversation to his side, gotten the others to listen, to think about what they were saying instead of just following on blind faith.

 Of course.

 Because it wasn’t Logic they didn’t want to listen to, was it?

 It was Logan.

 Logan closes his eyes. Alright. He can adapt to this. He can…he can work with this. He just has to figure out how.

 He turns away from the computer, stands, and carefully makes his way across his room to the nightstand, where the emergency first-aid kit sits tucked in the drawer. He will patch himself up, best he can, and then figure out what to do.

 He’s too distracted to hear Roman’s terrified shout.

  “What have you done with Logan?”

———————————————————

A few hours after filming stops, there’s a very soft knock on Logan’s door. He doesn’t move from his desk, nor does he pause in his typing. False sympathies and empty comforts have never been very appealing.

 …and he is just the slightest bit worried that he won’t be able to resist the urge to slam the door in Patton’s face.

 Footsteps moving away sound from outside. Good. It’s better this way, isn’t it?

 The lowdowns didn’t work. Well, they did…but they worked a little too well, didn’t they? Instead of being less invasive, they just…cut Logan’s contributions out entirely. They let Logan be taken. They were good for Logic, not Logan.

 Logan’s head turns to the wall where he has two lists tacked up. Standing, the desk chair scraping behind him, he picks up the marker.

 His job is to be Logic. Therefore, if he is failing at that job, he must find a way to be better.

 The list on the left has ‘LOGIC’ written in large, block letters. On the right, ‘LOGAN.’ Isolating the key characteristics of each concept will help to shift himself properly into the role he must play. Logan’s eyes scan down the ‘LOGIC’ list.

 LOGIC:

Emotionless

Useful

Rational

Necessary

Welcome

 The end of the word ‘welcome’ is smeared. Logan looks down at the marker. His hands had shaken so much as he added that last word…why? It was true; logic should be welcome in any conversation, that’s why is it so useful, that’s why it has so many of the other characteristics that it has. Logic should be wanted, regardless of the subject matter, because of what it could do. It had felt so small of Logan to add the word, even when it was the correct course of action. Was it not implied by the others that it should be wanted?

 That…that he should be wanted?

 Unconsciously, Logan twists the cap of the marker back and forth as his eyes dart over to the ‘LOGAN’ list.

 LOGAN:

Irritating

Invasive

Emotional

Easily dismissed

Unwanted

 If he had any doubts about whether or not these qualifications were inaccurate, each had cemented their place on this list after today.

 Logan’s hand flies to his neck again, grazing over the bandages he’d wrapped around himself, only to stutter to a halt when his fingers met the fabric of his tie.

 His tie.

 Hadn’t—he’d—he’d been so sure he’d been doing this right. He dressed well, he spoke carefully, he did his research, why—why was it so easy for them to say he was—to think of him as—

 …why didn’t they want to listen to him?

 He tried. He tried so hard to be what they wanted, what they would listen to, to appeal to each and every one of them to make sure he was still fitting in enough to be heard. Logic had to be heard, that’s one of its most important qualifications.

 As his fingers fumble and catch around the knot, it pulls taut and for a moment he’s thrown back into the feeling of Deceit’s crook around his neck.

 Oh.

 Oh, that’s right…he…Deceit—or, well, Janus, now—didn’t he...he was…Logic isn’t the problem.

 Janus’s Logic made them listen. Janus’s logic made them pay attention. Janus’s Logic was wanted.

 Logan’s fingers slide off his tie in a numb haze.

 His hand falls limply to his side.

 He stares at the lists.

  Irritating.

  Invasive.

  Emotional.

  Easily dismissed.

 There is a reason none of these qualifications have come up when he considers pure Logic.

 A wave of cold rushes over Logan. His knees wobble. His hand staggers out for something, anything to grab onto, to hold, to stop himself from collapsing under the weight of what he just realized, to stop it, to stop it, to stop—

 He hits the ground with a thud.

 The words beat into his head over and over as he lies there, frozen, cold, so cold, curled up by his bed with something wrapped tightly around his throat and his glasses staying stubbornly on his face so the words remain in perfect focus.

 It is not Logic that is the problem.

 The others can use Logic.

 The others can listen to Logic.

 The others can want Logic.

 They just don’t want Logan.

 Logan curls closer around himself as it starts to become very, very cold. That…this can’t be right, he must be missing something. He’s emotionally compromised right now, he’s not any good at being Logic, maybe—maybe that means he’s doing it wrong, he has to be doing this wrong, there’s no way they could—they need him, don’t they? They need Logan, they have to listen to him, they—they—

 Unbidden, a whine escapes Logan’s throat. It burns as it rings around his empty, cold room. He covers his face with his hands.

 Even his cheeks feel icy cold.

 Someone will notice, he tries frantically, someone will notice if I never show up again, someone will notice if I—if—if—

 But they didn’t notice. Not today.

 Not until it was too late.

 Outside, in the corridor, a dark blue door begins to fade into the wall.

———————————————————

“Logan? Logan!”

  Bam, bam, bam.

  “Logan!”

 Frantic hammering against the door jolts him awake. Immediately he winces as something in his neck catches. How—how long has he been like this?

 “Logan, please, open the door, we—we can’t open it!”

 Oh…the others have noticed…should go open the door.

 Wincing again, Logan rights himself, sitting up with his back leaning against the bed, blinking through his fuzzy glasses. Why are they so filthy?

 …oh, he must’ve been crying.

 How emotional.

 “Logan? Logan can you at least say something?”

 “I’m gonna break this door down.”

 “No!”

 Well, yes, Logan does not want his door broken down. Groaning, he stands, making his way over to the door that—wait.

 Why…why is his door so…pale?

 The knob looks almost translucent as he reaches for it, his pulse hammering as his fingers close gently around where it should be. He takes a deep breath and carefully, carefully, turns it.

 “Logan, thank god, I—“ Virgil cuts himself off with a choked gasp as he stares at Logan. “…L? What…what happened to you?”

 “What do you mean?” The instant it comes out of his mouth he knows what Virgil means. He sounds like his throat is actively attempting to cut itself off with every breath.

 A choked whine comes from behind Virgil. Logan’s eyes dart over to see Roman a sickly pale, staring at Logan, horrified.

 “…S-specs? Specs, I—Logan, oh, no, can I—can we—“ Roman reaches for him, only to freeze and quickly pull back his hand.

 Another wave of cold settles over Logan and his hand falls through the doorknob.

 “Logan,” Virgil murmurs, “can we come in, please? I, uh, we wanna talk to you for a moment.”

  Why would you want to talk to me?

 “…of course.” Logan steps aside and lets them pass, looking down at his hand.

 It’s still a hand, but it looks…thinner. He can tell where it isn’t, if that makes sense.

  When has Logan ever made sense?

 Virgil sits down on the floor, next to his bed. Roman hovers near the door, wringing his hands together as Logan carefully pushes the door closed.

 “I’m sorry, Logan.”

 Logan’s eyes widen as his head jerks around to face Roman. Roman gives him what may be the smallest smile he’s ever seen before taking a deep breath.

 “I’m sorry,” he says again, the sincerity making the cold burn in Logan’s chest, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It—it was stupid of me to press the ‘ignorant’ button and it was not my intention to hurt you. And I...slashing your box was wrong too. I just saw Patton get hurt and I—”

 He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. 

 "I'm sorry, Logan," he repeats, softer this time, "for all that I have done to hurt you. I want to be better about it."

 Oh. “…thank you, Roman,” Logan says carefully, “I appreciate your apology.”

 Roman gives him a nod. Logan looks at Virgil, whose head still rests against the bed, staring at the two of them.

 “Is this what you wanted to discuss?”

 “Sort of, but…uh, Logan, you…you’re not looking so great, bud.” Virgil shifts, looking to Roman, who nods and takes a seat on the floor too, leaving a space between them. “Will you come sit with us?”

 “…of course.”

 Logan sits gingerly between the two of them, his gaze fixed on the outlet in the wall opposite them. He hears the rustling of fabric as Virgil shifts, and sees a little white in the corner of his eye as Roman scoots a tad closer.

 “So,” Virgil murmurs after a second, “I guess this video was…hard.”

 Roman huffs quietly. Logan nods. “Yes.”

 “Can you tell me what happened?”

 “Have the others not already told you?”

 “I’d like to hear it from you too.”

 Logan takes a deep breath, ignoring the way the cold burns the inside of his lungs. “I attempted to implement a new strategy for how I interact with you and the viewers. Instead of appearing in person, I chose to use a series of lowdowns so the information would appear in a non-invasive way.”

 There’s a moment of silence.

 “…keep going, L.”

 “They were…not as well-received as I had anticipated.”

 A flash of movement and a stifled noise make him look over. Roman fiddles with the hem of his sleeve right in front of his mouth, obviously having cut himself off. He glances over.

 “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I didn’t want to interrupt. Please, continue.”

 “I, er…” Logan swallows, something about the movement of Roman’s fingers holding his focus captive. “I hurt Patton.”

 From his other side comes a sharp intake of breath. Logan looks away.

 “I hurt Patton. I could not do my job properly. I had compromised the conversation. A ‘skip all’ button appeared and…”

 “Patton pressed it,” Virgil finishes when Logan doesn’t speak, “he told me.”

 Logan doesn’t say anything. The crook manifests around his throat again and he shudders.

 “…Logan,” Roman’s worried voice says, even as it sounds like it’s coming from underwater, “Logan, did…what did that do to you?”

 “Janus,” Logan croaks, “he—his staff, it—I—“

 “Hey, hey,” Virgil croons, reaching for the hands that tug persistently at his collar, at his bandages, when did they get there?— “don’t do that, L, you’re gonna hurt yourself, stop that…”

 “Logan, can I hold your hand, please?”

 Logan lets Virgil tug his hands away from his neck. It—why—what’s happening?

 Why are Virgil’s hands so warm?

 Judging by Virgil’s expression, he’s as concerned about the stark difference in temperature as Logan is. Several emotions flit across his face before Logan can name them until they both register Roman’s question. Roman holds his hand out, all but pleading for Logan to let him.

 “Please,” he whispers, his hand starting to tremble, “please, Logan, may I…can I just hold your hand?”

 “Why are you so worried,” Logan wants to ask, “what is it that makes you so insistent about holding my hand?”

 Instead, when his voice is barely about a strangled whisper and his first attempt makes his hand phase completely through Roman’s, the question emerges as a stifled scream.

 “Shh, shh,” Roman whispers, moving in as close as he can, trying to curl his hands around where Logan’s should be, “it’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll—we’ll figure it out, Logan, we’ve got you, it’s okay—“

 Roman burns.

 “R-ro—“

 “Easy, Roman,” Virgil mutters from behind him, “take it easy, you’re gonna freak us all out.”

 “I know, I know.” Roman clutches the air of Logan’s hand tightly. “Okay…okay, Specs, we gotta…we’re gonna take some deep breaths, okay?”

 No, no, it hurts when Logan does that, what’s…

 He does as bid. The air whines in protest as he slowly breathes in and out, in and out, focusing on Roman’s thumb rubbing small circles into his hand. Roman seems to calm a little as he watches, bringing Logan’s hand close enough to cradle it in his lap as they breathe.

 “Good,” Virgil manages, still clutching Logan’s other hand tightly, his own voice shaking slightly, “okay, now we’re all just gonna calm down, yeah? Just…nice and calm…”

 Logan has no idea how long they sit there, on the floor, only that after a few more deep breaths, it no longer hurts. Roman’s hand no longer burns, it’s just warm. Virgil no longer trembles, he’s just there.

 “My apologies,” he manages, “I did not mean to be so…inconvenient.”

 Roman’s cry of protest is quickly accompanied by: “hey, no, none of that, Logan, you’re not being inconvenient. It’s been a hard day for all of us.”

 “But was I not—“

 “No,” Roman interrupts gently, “I’m sorry for interrupting, but…no, Logan. Nothing that happened today was your fault. Absolutely nothing.”

 “…I’m the one who hurt Patton.”

 “That was an accident and you didn’t know it was going to do that,” Roman says firmly, “and it was our fault we didn’t listen to you. So much that you felt that was your only option.”

 Logan swallows. “…what about Janus?”

 “What about him,” Virgil prompts, “the fact that he…came into the video?”

 “It was my lowdowns that enabled him to do so.”

 “And we pressed the ‘skip all’ button,” Roman says. “And I’m the one who gave him tips on how to impersonate the rest of us better.”

 Roman is right, even as Logan begins to feel cold again. Still, he opens his mouth.

 “I…I’m not…I can’t…it…”

 “Logan,” Roman says quietly when Logan can’t seem to find the words, “none of us are angry with you. I’m certainly not angry with you, and I’m…I’m sorry about everything that I may have done and have done to give you the impression that I do not hold you in the highest esteem possible.”

 Logan’s mouth drops open in shock.

 “I think you overdid it a little there, Princey,” Virgil chuckles.

 “But it’s true,” Roman insists, still cradling Logan’s hand in his lap, “Logan, you’re…you’re so important. And if I have done anything that makes you think I don’t care so much about you, then I…I will do everything I can to fix this.”

 What?

  What?

 “You…but we..we fight,” Logan manages weakly, “all the time, you…you disagree with me every chance you get, how—“

 “I told you on movie night,” Roman says, the corner of his mouth tugging up, “I poke fun at the things I love.”

  Love.

 Logan’s brain stutters to a pause.

 “You’re my family, Logan,” Roman continues, oblivious to the fact that Logan.exe has stopped functioning, please try again later, “and I…you are so clever, so sharp, so good that of course I want to talk to you about things. I respect your opinion so much and I want to hear everything.”

 “Yeah, if you ever stop teaching us stuff I might actually start crying and never stop.”

 “Virgil!”

 “What, like you’re any better?”

 “Of course not! I would be devastated!”

 “Wait, wait,” Logan mumbles, “you—you what?”

 “L,” Virgil calls softly, still chuckling a little as Logan turns to look at him, “L, we care about you so much. We wanted to give you space, especially after today, but…dude, you know we need you, don’t you?”

 “You need Logic,” Logan mumbles, “you…of course you need Logic.”

 “We do,” Roman confirms as the cold threatens to open up in Logan’s chest again, “but we also love Logan.”

 “You have got to stop throwing that word around,” Virgil murmurs, “you’re gonna send him into a full-blown freak-out.”

 “But we do, Virgil. We do love him, so much, and if he doesn’t know that…”

 Roman squeezes a surprisingly solid hand in his lap.

 “…then we have to remind him.”

 Virgil huffs, scooting closer. “Yeah, well, that’s easy enough.”

 No, no, it very much is not.

 Logan’s brain is still struggling to come to grips with the first thing Roman said, about poking fun at the things he loves. He hasn’t come close to tackling the fact that Roman just said they loved him.

 And Virgil agreed.

 “This…this doesn’t make sense,” Logan says weakly, “this doesn’t make sense.”

 “What doesn’t make sense?” Virgil’s hand is a warm weight against his side. “That we love you?”

 “…y-yes?”

 “Oh, sweetheart,” Virgil murmurs, “what makes you so convinced that you’re unlovable?”

 “I…I can’t…I am emotionally compromised. I cannot do my job properly. I will not be as useful as you—“

 “Do you need to be useful to be lovable?”

 “Don’t you?”

 “No,” he says firmly, pressing Logan between the two of them, “no, you don’t, Logan. We love you for you, not for what you can do.”

 “Don’t leave us, Logan.” The sheer amount of pain in Roman’s voice aches. “Not because you think we won’t want you.”

 A horrible laugh bubbles up in his throat. “And here I thought you were going to leave me.”

 “Never,” Roman promises, “never.”

 “We did threaten to break down your door because it was starting to fade from the hallway.”

 “…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

 “You don’t need to know right now, we’ll help you.”

 “I don’t know how good I’m going to be at this.”

 “We’re all working on things, it’s okay.”

 “But I—“ Logan swallows heavily— “I don’t know if I can stop believing that I…that it is just Logic you want and not Logan.”

 “If it makes you feel any better,” Roman calls, squeezing his hand, “I still struggle with that too.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “You what?”

 “Believe that you only keep me around as long as I make things that you think are useful?” Roman smiles sadly. “Yeah.”

 “But you’re—you—Thomas would not be able to exist without you!”

 “Wouldn’t he?”

 “No! It’s not just—Roman, you’re so much more than Creativity, if you weren’t here, we…” Logan takes a deep breath and swallows. “Something would truly be lost if you weren’t here.”

 He stops.

 “…oh.”

 “Yeah, Specs,” Roman whispers, “‘oh.’”

 “…oh.”

 “Come here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, opening his arms and letting Logan fall into his embrace, “don’t you leave us, okay?”

 Virgil drapes himself over them, wrapping his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’ll figure it out, L, but you gotta stick around, okay? Don’t—well, try not to worry about whether or not you’re being the perfect Logic. We want you.”

 “…promise?”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise too,” Roman murmurs, letting Logan rest against his chest, “now why don’t we all get into something more comfortable and we can have another look at your neck?”

 “Yes. That sounds…good.”

 “And Logan?” Logan cranes his head up to look. “If you ever stop teaching us things and telling me about stuff I will start crying.”

 Despite everything, Logan smiles.

 “Don’t worry,” he says quietly, the chill finally beginning to thaw, “I’m not going anywhere.”

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[softkuna]

Sukuna || Concert || Fic

Part 2 (oc) Part 2 (reader)

Content   ║  Sukuna x Reader 

His vocals held that pompous cockiness he was renowned for. It dripped down with the sweat along his neck and chest. His bandmates followed yet were lost in their own worlds. They let the instruments take control of them. You would never admit that you liked the music, either. It was that 90’s punk-grunge Christian parents thought lead to devil worship. The screams weren’t for the devil, no. They worshipped The King of Curses. Now you understood why.

Count      ║ 1,664 words.

Consider ║ Cursing. Sukuna being kind of being a dick. Female reader. Grammar issues most likely ^^”

Creator   ║ So uh…. I saw a photo of Rockstar Sukuna and this happened. Enjoy my self indulgence. Also… Song for Reference.

Ryoumen Sukuna positioned himself on stage. The sea of people were glued to every motion he made. You were one of those people in the front. Dead center. Your editor paid a lot of money for that spot, too, but you still wanted nothing to do with it. Sure, you needed a big story to get out of that damn plateau but this was not what you had in mind. You focused on fashion, not punk boys with eyeliner.

  His face turned to the stage, knees rocking his body to the beginning of a simple, yet effective beat. Broad, muscled shoulder curled forward, securing his zone. But then the guitar came in. A near feral grin ricocheted onto his features as it did. In an explosive leap, his feet left the ground only for the scuffed Doc Martens to slam into the stage at the second beat. Right hand whipped the mic’s wire out of his way, left arm jostled as he started to sing.

  Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can rock

Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can rhyme

Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can fuck

  Docs crashed with every step, their synchronicity with the band behind. One hand kept on the mic, the other whipped its wire out of his way. It wasn’t that he was energetic, no. He was captivating, calculated in every step, yet casual. His control over his body and the crowd… immaculate. It was a precarious balancing act that he pulled off with little to no effort at all. Steps were to the beat, his entire torso being thrown into the movements.

  He wore a white tank top with a breast pocket. The branding of it was recognizable simply by the pristine floral embroidery along the bottom and hems. It hung past the hem of black leather pants. A custom-made silver necklace beat against his chest with each toss of his built physique. You snapped a photo.

  His prowess was obvious, even for someone like yourself who knew not a single lick of rock culture. Even with the vulgar and energetic lyrics, the whirling stop-start slow-fast tempo, Sukuna perfected the music as though he were at one with it. Embodied and embraced it. The sharp smile he threw to the collage of faces before him was the only thing you needed to know that he was in his element.

  His vocals held that pompous cockiness he was renowned for. It dripped down with the sweat along his neck and chest. His bandmates followed yet were lost in their own worlds. They let the instruments take control of them. You would never admit that you liked the music, either. It was that 90’s punk-grunge Christian parents thought lead to devil worship. The screams weren’t for the devil, no. They worshipped The King of Curses. Now you understood why.

The song was strong, heady even. It buzzed throughout your mind and swung at your heart like a right hook. Each punch of the drums was exhilarating. Every kick of the bass left you wanting more. As alive as Sukuna was on stage, you were there feeling it with him.

  The concert went on, moving through each piece like a surging smooth river. It was hard to tell when one song began and the other ended. Whenever you could, you’d snap a photo. There were some good shots in there. Some of his imposing form dangling at the edge of the stage, arms wide out displaying his designer bracelets. Others when he’d toss his entire spine back. The best, though, were when he’d come face to face with the guitarist, his brother, in a beck and call. In their wardrobe, they were a delicate balance of blacks, whites, and coral.

  A certain thrill came about you as you realized the wardrobe of each member reflected their position. They weren’t to outshine him, but they all had a theme. Everything must have been custom ordered and hand tailored. Their entire image was just as important to the show as music. Every photo was set up to illustrated the complementing lights and darks they had set up on stage, a living and breathing portrait of youth.

  You couldn’t help but notice how every time you’d point the camera at him, he’d lock those brilliant eyes onto yours. He recognized you before. How could he not? Out of everyone in the front row, you were the only one wearing some preppy knit dress. He never would have expected to see a face like yours in his crowd. Some rising reporter with a side blog. He never cared about press, but you’ve been making a name for yourself due to your precise analysis of social culture and clothes. He actually thought your last article on street fashion was interesting and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t gawk at your Instagram after. All in all, he kept his glances for your camera instead.

  The stage lighting shifted, illuminating the beads of sweat sparkling along his tatted skin like diamonds. The unnatural redness in his eyes blew an intense gaze across the still crowd. They came to a complete stop. Unease settled into your stomach. This was your cue to go. You knew what would happen next and you weren’t ready for when it did.

  His foot tapped. The guitar started. A mosh pit rioted.

  It was a concert tradition according to the fan page you looked at moments before walking through the door. ‘If you don’t leave with a black eye, did you even go to a Two Faced concert?’ they’d ask.

  Your frame was shoved against the rail, knocking the wind out of you. Bodies collided behind and you felt trapped. Your lungs squeezed and your hands scrambled for your bag. Inhaler. Inhaler. Tightness inflamed your chest as a particularly bulky man squeezed you into the rail. Your hands clasped to inhaler, but before you could press it to your lips, another body collided into you. It clattered a few feet over the rail, hitting the stage. Fuck.

  From the corner of his eyes, he saw it happen. Panic painted across your face as you hauled your torso over the rail. Your arm reached for what was dropped before it immediately covered a coughing fit. What idiot would come to his concert an, his domain, and expect to just come out unscathed? It was your own damn fault if you got the wind knocked out of you, but he had to give you credit for trying. Just as he was about to look away, someone grabbed the back collar of your dress.

  Sukuna wasn’t one of those artists who genuinely cared about their fanbase or paparazzi. That was for the other members to do. It was well known, too. He didn’t indulge in pictures if he didn’t want to or wasn’t on stage. He didn’t sign anything without a check. No one knew music like he did. No one performed like he did. No one mattered like he did. Whatever it was that overtook him then, he wasn’t sure, but he dropped the mic. A sharp blare washed over the P.E. system. All eyes turned to him. Bandmates faltered for only a moment.

  Two steps back. Sprint. The tips of his shoes left the edge of the stage. Ryoumen Sukuna took flight. Arm reached for him, stopping his prized body from colliding with the harsh concrete below. The hand on you left, desperate to make contact with The King of Curses. The band went on, the crowd’s scream piercing the air as they swayed the singers body this way and that. You clambered over to grab the inhaler, took a hit, and dove for an exit.

  That’s how you found yourself where you were now, in a backstage hallway, staring directly into the fierce gaze of the lead singer. He smelled of sweat and cedar. A brow rose, hands stuffed into unimaginably tight pockets. Confidence wasn’t lost through Sukuna’s stature; shoulders back, weight slightly on one leg more than the other. What was lost, however, was the excitement. In fact, you felt like studied specimen, eyes scanning your limbs and stopping on your ribs. The bruise forming under your dress seemed to flare in response. His tongue clicked disapprovingly.

  “What do you want? You’re not some rabid fan.” His voice was smooth as a sip of whiskey. He already knew the answer. For a moment you wondered why he didn’t just call for guards. He wondered the same thing. Just as he wondered why he leapt off the stage. Not that he regretted the act seeing as it got him trending for the umpteenth time.

  Sukuna had become accustomed to certain responses. Some offered him their bodies in exchange for a few moments of his time. Shit like that was beneath him. If he wanted a quick fuck and a column, he’d find it himself. His free time was his and that was non-negotiable. So, he almost always cut them down to size. It didn’t matter to him if he made them cry or threatened their careers, he’d always say no. Pictures? No. Signature? No. Coffee? Get the fuck out of his face. Attention and fame may have been his drug of choice, but desperation and disrespect were one in the same and you do not disrespect the King.

  “No. I didn’t even know who you were until 12 hours ago,” you admitted with a shallow breath. You stroked his ego like velvet rubbed the wrong way. He opened his mouth, ready to toss you out then and there. The look in your eyes was enough to shut him up. Hunger. And he was your dish of opportunity. “However, I do want an interview, maybe even film you for an expose,” Your hand reached for his.

  His mouth pulled into a beautiful predatory grin. This one had ambition.

  “I’ll allow it.”

[hawksky]

Yuta Okkotsu | No One Believes You

A/N: it is so hard to write this man as funny but i have prevailed, his sweetness will not beat me. also I know no one asks for Yuta but here I am trying to force Yuta simping onto myself and all of you. Fluff & Humour

Prompt:  Yuta spills on you ( @megumifushi)/ people think you’re cheating on Yuta.

CW: mentions of sex (nothing explicit), alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating but y/n and Yuta know there is no cheating.

Maybe it was the candlelight. Maybe it was the home cooked meal. Most likely? It was nursing your third glass of wine that had you in a warm daze, unable to move your starry eyes from the dark-haired man sitting adjacent to you. It was far from your first date, you should have been over all the romance, but there was something about being in each other’s presence that made you both feel like nervous teenagers.

Flustered under the intensity of your gaze Yuta forced himself to look away, the flush on his cheeks growing darker with each passing moment. He desperately grasps for the jug of water across the table and it’s then that you both feel the effect of that third glass loosening your limbs. His elbow clipping the bottle of cabernet sauvignon, you watch helpless to react, as the remaining red liquid spills onto your chest.

 A bright red stain now adorned your white sundress, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad, unable to suppress your own giggles looking at the mess. You look up to find Yuta hovering over you nervously with a wet towel starting to blot the stain over your chest.

 You lean back, basking in the attention, entirely unconcerned about the mess (if you can’t get the stain out in the wash it wouldn’t be hard to replace the dress), and returning your gaze to your doting boyfriend. It was hard not to feel loved by him in every action he took, even something as small as rushing to attempt to clean an impossible stain.

 When his eyes met yours, it was like he exited whatever fugue state his was in, realization dawning on him that he was touching your boob. He jumped back in horror, immediately apologizing profusely for crossing boundaries.

 It was true, you and Yuta had yet to be physically intimate, but you were far rejecting his touch, you followed his lead in everything and it seemed at this point he was waiting for you to take the next step.

 You giggle softly at his overreaction “Babe, it’s okay, we’re dating you’re allowed to touch me as much as you want. Wherever you want. However you want.”

 With that permission finally vocalized to him, you had no idea what you had just released. _

You forgot.

You forgot the exact events of last night.

You forgot you agreed to spar with Maki and Nobara today.

 In a rush you haphazardly pulled on a pair of yoga shorts and a crop top, hopping around as you pulled on your shoes, too distracted to feel the pain in your legs.

 You arrived waving your hand eagerly, resting your hands on your knees once you reached the girls trying to catch your breath. When you finally glance up, surprised by the lack of comments on your lateness, you’re met with Maki’s judging glare and Nobara’s jaw hanging. “What? I’m sorry I’m late but I swear I was only 10 minutes delayed we still have plenty of time”

 They exchange glances and a silent conversation before Maki speaks up in an even cold tone.

 “Y/N, did you and Yuta break up or are you cheating on him?”

 You’re taken aback, of all the things you were not expecting that.

 “Wha-? Why are those the only two options? No neither, why would you even think that?”

 “Uh, the rope burns and bruises all over your body would be why we think that. Who the fuck did that to you?” Nobara replied as her eyes scrutinized your body, cataloguing each exposed mark.

 You had to glance down at your own body, trying to process Nobara’s description. Your face became inflamed, you had forgotten, but as you glance at each mark and bruise over your body, you remember. The memories of last night, hazy as they are, come flooding back. As you take full stock of the state of your body, you want to berate yourself for wearing such revealing clothing, although you’re unsure if you have any clothes capable of concealing this amount of damage.

 You scratch your head, cringing and avoiding their eyes “No, no cheating or break up, this is uhm Yuta’s work”

 “Fucking bullshit, Yuta? We’ve known him for years; this is not him.”

 “He really loves you yknow? I can’t believe you of all people would do this, it’s so fucking shitty”

 You finally meet their eyes, bewildered by their statements “I swear on my life, I’m not lying”

 A pause. Another silent conversation between the two women ensues, before they slung their arms over your shoulder with a devious “oh you’re telling us EVERYTHING”

__

 It had to be Gojo. It had to be fucking Gojo who saw you first. He looked frantically between you down on the field, and Yuta who was walking alongside him across campus. For the first time in his life, he felt like his eyes must have been failing them

 Yuta cocked his head, confused by Gojo’s unusual behaviour – well unusual for Gojo standards. Following his stare to see you with Nobara and Maki flanking either of your sides, seeming far too gleeful and unproductive for what was supposed to be a training session.

 Gojo reaffixed his attentions to Yuta, “You’re okay with that?”

Yuta laughed at his former sensei “I know you don’t have experience with relationships, but I don’t feel threatened by a lesbian couple around my girlfriend”

 “You don’t see all the bruises obviously left by another all over y/n?” “Obviously?” “That’s the part you focused on? Yuta-chan, don’t you worry I’ll find you someone else, tonight even I know the perfect place my girls will eat you up” Yuta weighed his options in response, he knew he could clear the air easily, but it wasn’t often a person got to be the one fucking with Gojo instead of the other way around.

 “Ah I really don’t think that’ll be necessary, me and y/n will heal up no problem”

 “Yuta, I don’t say this about many people, but you deserve a true real love, one that would never cheat on you” Gojo’s voice dripping with a rare bout of sincerity. “I know what I deserve you’re right”  

 “…So you’re coming out with me tonight then? We’ll have a real boys night” “No, me and y/n are going to a movie tonight and it’s my turn to pick I can’t cancel or else I forfeit my pick”

 Gojo took a long pause, Yuta’s usual sheepish grin had been replaced with one that looked almost devious. He couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something, there was some connection he had not been able to make, this was an unusual feeling for him.

 Gojo gasps suddenly, staring wide eyed at his darling former pupil “You didn’t ­— !” Despite the inevitability, Yuta still blushed heavily at Gojo’s revelation “I would never kiss and tell but… I am absolutely certain I have not been cheated on”

 “Ah ha ha, the pupil becomes the master, huh?” Gojo chides digging his elbow into Yuta’s ribs. “Sensei I assure you I have followed in none of your footsteps” 

Paging (send a msg to be added): @sandyscastle​ @nokkusu​