#and you don't feel bad tossing it eventually because it's just paper

[salparadiselost]

I think people my age and younger need to rediscover the joy of a physical magazine subscription.

[oikasugayama]

I love all your posts. In your dazai nsfw head canons, there was the thing with chuuya and I was wondering if you could write a fic on that? It's oki if not!! :)

tag-team

Inspired by letters I and W from my Dazai NSFW alphabet in which Dazai wants to fuck his girlfriend in Chuuya's office, and Chuuya gets to join in.

5.1k, jealous!dazai, afab!reader, cumming inside, cunnilingus, blowjob, fingering, soukoku bickering while fucking, etc. not soukoku but they do sexually interact, etc. not proofread bc i'm tired [click to read on ao3]

You urge Dazai to lock the door behind you, but he chuckles and shakes his head. “No baby,” he mumbles, sliding his hands past your hips and down to grab two handfuls of your ass. “He'll know something's up if the door's locked. If Chuuya catches us, we should be riiiight in the middle of things so he can't stop us.”

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this again?” you ask as he leans forward, chasing your lips even as you lean back and wait for an answer.

“Because fuck Chuuya. If I want to fuck my girl in his office, I will.”

“That's a terrible reason,” you gasp as Dazai slides one hand up your body and into the hair at the back of your head to pull you in for a kiss. His open mouth meets yours, tongues immediately gliding together with the same force as your lips. 

“But we're here, aren't we?” he asks after pulling back just for a second. “And I want you so bad.”

You whimper and let him reel you in once again. Your nerves will get the best of you if you have time to take in your surroundings; as it is your nose can't stop sniffing out the unfamiliar smells of luxuriois leather and some kind of smoke. If Dazai keeps leading you so confidently you'll be able to let go of yourself entirely and go along with this absolute ridiculous plan of his.

He kisses you faster and with more urgency than he does at home, making both of you breathless as you gasp into each other's mouths and lap at each other's tongues. 

His large hands glide over your body, up and down your back, hiking your top up and trying to dip into your pants. You follow his lead, reaching for the buttons on his vest and his shirt. He keeps kissing you through both of you martially undressing, his tops hitting the floor, yours following shortly after.

When he gets your bra off he makes you sit on Chuuya’s desk, and he leans down to suck on your tit. You lean back, tossing your hair over your shoulder, closing your eyes so you can focus on the feeling of Dazai's tongue circling your nipple as it perks and hardens at his touch. You make small noises, still shy in an unfamiliar place, but Dazai keeps working over you, suckling, kneading, teasing his teeth over your skin, until you're softly moaning his name and laying back, making him bend at the waist and lean forward to follow you down onto Chuuya's desk, ignoring whatever papers you land on. 

Dazai kisses lower eventually, and his deft fingers unbutton your jeans and start sneaking under the fabric.

“You're so pretty spread out for me on stupid Chuuya’s desk,” he says cupping your dampening panties in his palm. “I'm gonna make you feel so good the whole Mafia hears you screaming.”

Your eyes widen in panic briefly and you stutter out a no, but Dazai laughs softly and kisses right above where your panties cover.

“You're safe, baby, I promise. Not a single person here would be stupid enough to hurt a hair on your head.” He drags your jeans down your legs finally, and you kick a little as he pulls them over your feet. He grabs one ankle, kisses the inside of it, then holds your leg up and kisses slowly down, closer and closer to your crotch.

“These walls are soundproof anyways,” he says once he's near your inner thigh. “No one will hear you scream.”

You giggle softly and push his forehead away from you.

“Don't be creepy, weirdo.”

He smiles and lays his cheek against your thigh, his face so close to your clothed cunt. You watch him, desperate for his next move.

“There's my sweet girl. You really don't need to be worried, I promise.” You jump slightly when his finger presses just above your clit and pushes in as he drags it down, making your panties slightly stick between your folds. “I'd never put you in danger.” His voice lowers as his finger goes up again, still pushing in, now really emphasizing your cleavage. “You know that, right?”

You nod, giving a quiet “mhm.”

“Speak up,” he says, now tracing his fingers around the outside of your panties.

“I know,” you say, still keeping your eyes locked on his. “You'd never put me in danger.”

“Good. And do you know why?” His finger slips under by just a single knuckle, and he lifts your panties high, making the crotch pull taut and squish between your labia. You whine and try to push down to get some friction on your clit but it's barely there, he's holding your panties at just the wrong angle.

“Tell me.”

“Because you love me?” You guess, and he smiles widely.

“Exactly!” he says in his playful, excited voice. Then he rolls his head toward your crotch and licks a fat, wet stripe up one half of your exposed cunt. You make a startled little moan and he chuckles before licking the other side too.

“Now, do you want my tongue or my fingers?” he asks so close that you can feel his breath tickling your wet skin.

“Both,” you answer immediately.

“Both?” He sits up and tsks, slowly shaking his head. He stands upright and you whine, reaching for him, saying soft no’s.

“Greedy girl.” He looks down and spreads your pussy with his fingers, then readjusts your panties so they're right against your clit. “You must be so horny you could die. Being so greedy like that… Why don't you get yourself off then, baby? Show me how you play with yourself with no hands.”

He tugs your panties up slightly a couple of times, giving little pricks of pleasure to your clit. You get the hint and move your hips up slowly, getting another prick of sensation. You readjust, getting one foot up on the desk beside you so you have leverage to move. Then you start a slow rhythm, bucking upward against your panties so they grind on your clit and work you up. 

“That's it, baby,” Dazai coos lowly, petting your thigh with his free hand. After a while when your speed increases and you start whining his name, he unbuckles his belt, works open his button and fly, and pulls his dick out, giving it strokes that match the time of your grinding.

“Fuck, this is hot,” he sighs. “I could watch you get yourself off all day.”

“But I want you,” you whine. You start kneading and pawing at your boobs as well, staring right up at Dazai. “Fuck me,” you beg softly.

Dazai bites his lip but says nothing, watching you with his greedy, hungry eyes.

“Please,” you breathily beg, searching for more pressure that just doesn’t exist in your current predicament. “Please, Dazai, please. Please.”

“God, it’s so hot when you beg,” he finally says, letting go of his dick. He grabs your panties with both hands and pulls them down your legs before haphazardly throwing them over his shoulder to land somewhere else.

“I want you so bad, Dazai. Please. Please.”

“Shhh,” he coos softly, leaning down over you. His lips brush yours and he intersperses tiny kisses with tiny shushes as his fingers collect your wetness. You desperately chase his lips, but he keeps pulling away. He even has the audacity to chuckle in your face.

“Don’t worry, needy girl.” He hisses softly, and you vaguely get the impression that his arm is moving-- he must be stroking himself with your wetness. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod frantically, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He asks if you’re ready, and you keep nodding and nodding and finally he slips the tip inside and you moan into his face.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, sinking further and further into you. “Love this pussy. It’s so fucking good to me.”

“I love you,” you whine and he chuckles again as he bottoms out.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips and kisses you properly, not teasing or withholding anymore.

And that’s when the door opens.

“What the fuck?! Dazai!” Chuuya yells, scrambling for what to say next. Dazai sighs dramatically, letting the noise turn into a groan. He stands up without pulling out of you and turns his upper body toward Chuuya.

“What do you want?” he snaps. “I’m kind of busy here.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” There’s a scuffle and some noise from the hallway, but to your surprise Chuuya calmly calls over his shoulder “Don’t worry about it-- I’ve got it under control,” and then closes and locks the door behind him. He takes his hat off and hangs it on the back of the door then turns back to you two.

“I thought you were fucking joking, you dumbass.”

“I never joke about my lady’s pleasure,” Dazai says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What is he talking about?” Your whole body is flushed with embarrassment and fear and now confusion. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, afraid of being yelled at or in trouble with the fucking Port Mafia, but Dazai is acting so nonchalant, and all Chuuya does is tsk.

“You didn’t even tell her? How the fuck did you get her here if you didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what? Dazai?”

Dazai groans and turns back fully to you, grinding against you, making you gasp. “I told you that you weren’t in any danger. Chuuya knew we were coming.”

“I didn’t know. You said it like a fucking joke.”

“Dazai, tell me what--”

“I asked Chuuya if he’d let us fuck in his office if he got to join in if he caught us, and he said yes.”

“I thought you were joking!”

“Join in…?”

Dazai’s eyes lock on yours but he doesn’t say anything. Your eyes are softer than he expected and now he’s starting to realize maybe he didn’t make the right call here. Now he’ll actually have to put his money where his mouth is and let his ex-partner fuck his girlfriend.

Dazai easily regains his composure and turns to look at Chuuya again.

“Well?” he asks. “Why are you still standing there? You caught us, so come here.”

Chuuya hesitates.

“She okay with this?” he asks. “Man, I don’t even know her name.”

“That’s because you haven’t introduced yourself yet, slug. Now come here.”

“Don’t boss me around,” he grumbles as he crosses the room. Finally he’s standing over you and his eyes lock purely on yours, not straying in the slightest to any of your exposed skin.

“Sorry we weren’t properly introduced because your boyfriend’s a fucking moron. I’m Nakahara Chuuya. Are you okay with this?”

“Hi, Chuuya,” you say softly. Your face is so warm as you blush; his formality makes the situation really sink in--you’re spread out naked with your boyfriend balls deep, and Chuuya’s hardly acknowledging it. “He is kind of dumb, but I like him anyway--”

“--Heeey--”

“I’m [Y/N], and yeah, you can join us. I mean, really it’s the least we could do…”

A smirk slowly overcomes Chuuya’s face.

“Oh, yeah? Gonna pay me back for the time it’s gonna take to clean my office by letting me use your pretty little body?”

Dazai grinds against you again, and you groan softly, biting your lip.

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding at Chuuya. “We’ll make it worth your time.” You reach out for his hand, and he allows you to take it. You guide it to your tit, and he chuckles.

“Right into it, huh?” he asks, massaging it gently. Dazai finally pulls partially out of you and thrusts back in, making you gasp again. Chuuya glances down at where your cunt sucks your boyfriend’s cock in, and he clicks his tongue.

“Damn, that’s kinda hot.” He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling it and squeezing, drawing extra whines from you.

“Isn’t she?” Dazai asks rhetorically, rubbing one of his hands across your belly and up your side. He pulls you by your hips until your ass is partially hanging off the desk. You wrap your legs around his hips and he starts his usual starting pace, fucking into you nice and deep because of the angle he has you at.

“Chuuya,” you say softly, but the way Dazai is fucking you makes everything you say sound like a breathy moan. Both of them turn slightly red from hearing you more or less moan to Chuuya. “Chuuya, take your pants off,” you add, trying to make it clear that you were trying to say this from the beginning. Dazai’s thrusts speed up and hit harder, and he starts grunting from the effort.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, grabbing the edge of the desk for dear life. “Oh, Dazai, fuck!”

You hear the clinking of metal and turn your head to see Chuuya doing as you asked. He drops his pants, kicking them to the side after kicking his shoes off too. He unbuttons his vest and his shirt and strips until he’s only in his underwear and socks. You watch as he palms himself through his underwear, watching from a few feet away as Dazai fucks you relentlessly. Your tits jiggle, your breath shakes, your legs are trembling, and Dazai is huffing and moaning and panting above you. His head is down, his long hair hanging over his face as he watches where your cunt meets his cock--he told you once it’s one of his favorite sights, and when he gets so drunk on it like today, you believe it.

“Let me touch you,” you stumble out to Chuuya, reaching out to him again. He shuffles closer until your hand can paw at his crotch, feeling for the shape of him through cloth. He locks his hands behind his head and stands with his hips toward you, watching as you stroke him and feel him up as best you can.

“Take it off,” you huff, grabbing the elastic of his waistband. “I wanna see.”

Meanwhile, Dazai’s pace doesn’t let up. One of his hands gropes at your breasts, squeezing and almost using it as leverage to balance himself as he fucks you.

“Go on then,” Chuuya says without moving. You struggle to reach both arms over to him, but you manage to squirm away from Dazai just enough-- which he does not like-- to get your hands on Chuuya’s underwear. You pull it down a few inches and push it as much as you can until finally they drop.

His cock is a nice size-- it’s thick and when you wrap your hand around it, an inch or two and the tip are still sticking out. His pubes are thick but cleanly trimmed and with his toned, muscular body you have to admit you’re finding him really, extremely hot.

“Your hands are much softer than mine,” he grunts as you jerk him off. “Feels good.”

“She’s got an amazing mouth,” Dazai pants, finally lifting his head to watch you interact with Chuuya, though his pace never ceases. “Put on a condom and let her show you what she can do.”

“You use condoms?” Chuuya asks, glancing down at Dazai’s dick.

“No, but you will if you’re gonna put your dick anywhere near her,” he mumbles. “I don’t even like her hand on you bare.” He grimaces. “You still keep some in your desk, don’t you?”

“Old habits die hard,” Chuuya mumbles, gently touching your hand to make you let go of him. As he rounds his desk to rifle through his drawers, Dazai leans down and licks one nipple, then the other.

“I’m gonna cum in you,” he mumbles against your skin. “You’re mine. Don’t you forget that.”

“Yeah,” you moan as you agree. His fingers find his way down to your pussy, and you feel one partially slip in beside his cock, working a louder moan from you as it stretches you nicely. He pulls it out, presses in, gently stretching and filling you to the brim.

There’s a thud next to your head, and you turn to see Chuuya kneeling on the desk beside you, rolling a condom over his shaft. “Will you open that pretty mouth for me?”

You don’t even answer, you just whine and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

“She loves it,” Dazai says, and it comes out awfully near to a moan. “Love sucking cock, don’t you, [Y/N]?”

“Mhm,” you hum around Chuuya’s tip as he settles it on your tongue. You close your mouth around him and let him decide the pace. He goes relatively easy on you given how Dazai is still jackhammering away at your cunt, grunting and huffing though he’s far less talkative than normal.

“Yeah, look at you,” Dazai sighs blissfully. “Bet you like having two cocks, huh? Greedy girl.” His eyes are on your mouth, watching Chuuya tamely slide in and out of your mouth. He privately seethes at the way your shiny eyes stare up at Chuuya, but he’s determined to get your attention back by making you cum.

His finger, now sufficiently wet from fingering you while fucking you, slides up from your pussy to your clit. He rubs fast, wide circles over your clit. He relishes in the way your eyes widen and flicker over to him. You must have sucked in a breath and sucked harder on Chuuya, because he moans too and his hips stutter forward.

Dazai knows that you’re about to cum based on your frequent moans. He wishes he could hear them more clearly, but he also is starting to find a sick sort of pleasure in the muffled sound you make combined with the typical noises of having a cock in your mouth. Chuuya’s not too bad looking, either.

Finally it happens. You’re loud, even muffled as you are. You moan and whine, your breathing is heavy and struggles to escape through your nose, but Chuuya doesn’t retract himself to make it any easier on you. Your legs tremble, and Dazai feels proud because of it. The way your walls clench and flutter as your orgasm tears through you milks Dazai’s dick so good.

“Fuck, mm, fuck!” Dazai whimpers and drops his head, once again watching his favorite sight. He’s been fucking you so deeply, and you’ve been so exceptionally wet today, that there’s a sticky, white ring around his shaft and it only gets messier as he cums inside of you. He shoots thick ropes of white deep inside, continuing to thrust increasingly lazily as he empties his load. 

“Stop, stop,” Dazai says softly, touching Chuuya’s hips. Chuuya gives him a look but nods and backs up, finally freeing your mouth. Dazai slips out of you while leaning down to kiss you. You lick and pant into each other’s mouths, and when Dazai pulls away he slides two messy, cum-covered fingers onto your tongue.

“Taste us.”

You clean his fingers off with your mouth and try to sit up once he’s pulled his hand away and stood up himself.

Maybe it’s because of how calm and blissed out Dazai is because of his orgasm, but he lolls his head to the side and smiles lazily at Chuuya. “She’s the wettest she’s ever been,” he sighs happily. “You better get your dick wet before I change my mind. Take that stupid thing off,” he says, waving his hand at Chuuya’s condom-covered dick.

“You sure?” Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow. He holds himself by the base, languidly stroking when his cock gives an interested twitch at what Dazai offers. Meanwhile, Dazai is helping you to your feet and peppering kisses across your face.

“Yes,” Dazai says, rolling his eyes at Chuuya, then he turns back to you. “Why don’t you take it off him, baby?”

You nod slightly and turn to Chuuya, holding your hands out toward him. He crawls to the edge of the desk beside you, observing the way your legs tremble after the pounding Dazai just gave you. You wrap your hands around him and roll the condom off, handing it to Dazai after which makes him laugh.

“Throw it away,” you mumble, then predicting what he’ll do, you quickly add on “in the trash not on the floor.”

“Yes, darling,” he coos, though it’s unmistakable how disgusted he is to be holding Chuuya’s used condom. He barely grips it with two fingers, holding it away from himself. “In the meantime, I think Chuuya should lay on the floor-- you’ll both like my idea, so just do it.”

You and Chuuya share a look as Dazai goes behind Chuuya’s desk to find a trash can, but Chuuya shrugs and gets down on the floor on his back, one arm behind his head, the other lazily stroking his cock as he looks up at you. His eyes trail down your body, from the hickeys and lovebites all over your neck and chest to your red, sore nipples all the way down to your visibly sticky wet cunt which has been slowly dribbling Dazai’s cum down your thigh.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Chuuya hisses, fisting his cock harder when he notices the cum trail.

“Isn’t she?” Dazai asks, coming back to you. He gives you a few sweet kisses, keeping his eyes cracked open to make sure Chuuya is watching. Then he takes your hands and guides you the few steps over to his former partner on the floor.

“Lay down on top of him, your back on his chest.”

“But I’m gonna--”

“You’re not gonna squish him, he’ll be fine.” Dazai holds your hands as you kneel down, straddling Chuuya’s hips backwards.

“But if you touch him you’ll nullify--”

“He’s tougher than he looks, and he already looks pretty tough-- that’s the only compliment you’re getting from me, Slug.”

Chuuya’s hands grab your waist and help you sit on his hips and then lay back so you’re against his chest.

“Not even using my ability and you’re fine, babe. Don’t worry about your weight, I don’t care.”

“‘Babe,’” Dazai quotes with an edge of bitterness in his voice. You knew he’d get a little jealous letting his former partner in the mix, but it was his idea and you’re intent on seeing it through now. You’ll never tell Dazai, but you do find Chuuya incredibly attractive and once you saw his dick today you knew you weren’t gonna be satisfied until you got your chance to cum on it.

“Babe,” Chuuya says again, helping you readjust until your head is at his shoulder and you’d be able to look at each other or even kiss if you wanted-- not that Dazai would let you.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Sluggy dearest,” Dazai says, swiping some of his cum off of your thigh and spreading it over Chuuya’s tip. “You’ll never see her again after today, so don’t go falling in love with my girl or I really will have to kill you.”

“Like you could ever do that,” Chuuya snaps back. “I’d beat you to a pulp, even without gravity manipulation.”

“Bold talk for a man with my cum on his dick,” Dazai says in an overly playful tone with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Dude, what?! You’re a freak, why did you do that?!”

“It’s gonna get on you anyway, dumbass,” Dazai says. He slides two fingers into you easily, your pussy still being open and wet and so needy for more. He collects some of his cum and your arousal, completely mixed together and unable to discern one from the other. You give a little whine at his fingers in you, and especially at them leaving you, and then Chuuya’s breath hitches and even though you can’t see, you’re pretty sure Dazai is rubbing your slick over his dick.

“Fuck,” Chuuya sighs, and you look over at his face. At first it seems like his eyes are closed, but then you realize he’s just looking at Dazai, and you look down and see Dazai smirking and giving absolute bedroom eyes at Chuuya. Your pussy clenches around nothing, another surge of arousal making you squirm.

Chuuya’s hands grip your hips, and Dazai’s eyes shift to you and he chuckles.

“What is it, baby? Use your words.”

“You’re so hot… both of you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Chuuya purrs in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You think so?” Dazai asks, and you feel something tap against your pussy. You look down and manage to catch that Dazai’s hand is still around Chuuya’s cock, moving it now, making it touch you.

“Yeah,” you moan softly, biting your lip.

“You want Chuuya to fuck you?”

“Mhm…” you hum, nodding. Chuuya chuckles softly and lets one hand roam upward over your skin until he’s palming and kneading your breast. 

“He'll do a good job, too. Won't you Chuuya?” Dazai asks, rubbing Chuuya's dick between the folds of your cunt.

“I'm gonna fuck you so good.” He sighs at the stimulation, his hips bucking up slightly. “Better than that shitty mackerel does, I bet.”

“No chance in hell,” Dazai sneers.

“Let me show her. I'll prove it.” Chuuya bucks his hips up again, trying to get his dick to slip inside. 

“No chance--”

“--Please,” you moan, cutting Dazai off. His face changes from glaring to surprise.

“Oh? You want to find out if he’s better than me?” he asks bitterly, smacking Chuuya’s dick against your pussy.

“No, I want him to fuck me,” you whine.

“That’s not what it sounded like to me.” Dazai frowns, gloom overcoming him.

“Make her cum before I do then, jackass,” Chuuya says, largely ignoring Dazai as he plays with your tits. “Prove you’re better than me.”

“Make me cum, Dazai. Let me use Chuuya like a fuck toy.”

“God damn,” Chuuya says, bucking his hips up again. “I know that’s all I am, but fuck.”

“Yeah…” Dazai’s frown slowly turns to a smirk. “He is just a fuck toy. A big fuck toy that’s gonna fill you up with cum just how you like.” As you and Chuuya give Dazai identical confused looks, Dazai points Chuuya’s cock at your hole and guides him in. The tip drags against your inner walls so well and has you moaning and grinding down on him.

“Go, Slug. Fuck my girl.”

Chuuya’s hips immediately start thrusting up into you. He braces his feet on the floor to get a better angle and he loses himself fucking you. 

“Holy fuck you’re wet,” he huffs. “So fucking good.”

“Oh, yeah,” you moan, reaching up and around to hold the side of his head. “Oh, fuck. Chuuya.”

Dazai tries not to react to the way you moan Chuuya’s name and caress him. It’ll be over soon and he’s not about to let his jealousy take away from the incredibles view he has of your pussy being rammed by a nice, thick cock-- not that he’d ever say those words out loud for Slug to hear. 

He kneels between yours and Chuuya’s legs and runs his hands across your abdomen and belly and near your cunt, calculating how long he think the two of you are gonna last. He knows you’re already sensitive from cumming with him before, and Chuuya hasn’t cum yet at all, so maybe if Dazai gets your pussy clenching around him it’ll be over within five minutes tops.

Dazai leans down with that plan in mind and without impeding Chuuya’s thrusting, he gets his face right up to your cunt and uses the tip of his tongue to circle your clit. You whimper and buck your hips up, then push them back down to meet Chuuya. Dazai doesn’t even need to spit on you-- you’re plenty wet enough-- but he does it anyway, landing a glob right on your swollen clit. He uses the excess wetness to have his tongue gliding effortlessly in circles around your nub. Finally he gets your attention again, and you moan his name. The hand that isn’t in Chuuya’s hair slides down into Dazai’s, and he relaxes a bit now that you’re touching him.

The combination of Chuuya fucking you from behind and Dazai’s tongue now flicking relentlessly back and forth over your clit-- all the wet sounds, the smell of Chuuya’s cologne, his moaning in your ear, his hands still tweaking and playing with your incredibly over-sensitive nipples-- it’s too much. You can’t even talk; you can’t tell either one how you feel, how good they are. You can hardly moan, most of what comes out of you being only broken, stuttery noises thanks to the way Chuuya’s movements wrack your whole body and control the way even your breathing works right now.

I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna make it. you think, but you’re unable to warn either one of them. Chuuya must know it’s coming from the way your cunt clenches around him. He hisses and turns his head so his lips hover over your nose, moaning your name right at you.

Finally it happens when Dazai sucks on your clit and pushes a finger into your tight cunt alongside Chuuya’s cock. It’s overwhelming. There’s too much happening, too much going on from the both of them. You’re completely dumb on Chuuya’s cock, complete putty in Dazai’s hands.

You cum hard, arching your back up to let Chuuya fuck you deeper if possible. You squirt profusely, drenching Dazai’s mouth and getting a surprised chuckle from him.

“Good girl,” he praises, but you barely hear it over the way Chuuya shouts a string of swears next to your face. His hands finally leave your tits and grip your hips hard. He only thrusts a few more times before he’s cumming too, painting the inside of your cunt white for the second time. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chuuya chants as he comes down, his movements slowing until he’s finally completely still. Dazai sits up and smiles a shit-eating grin at you.

“We made her squirt, Slug. Did you feel it?”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groans, dropping his head back and turning it away from you. “I’m not cleaning that shit up, though.”

“Did you cum inside…?” you ask quietly as Dazai starts maneuvering Chuuya’s softening dick out of you.

“He said to,” Chuuya says flippantly.

“Think about it, baby,” Dazai says. “There’s no way his shitty little swimmers will beat mine. If you get pregnant, that's gonna be my baby in there.”

“It’s only ‘cause you’re a shitty mackerel. Fish swim.”

[scaly-freaks]

Snippet of Rhaena/Aemond from my AO3 fic which I probably won't be able to fit into the work itself because...plot issues. Might write bits here, I don't know. We'll see.

tw // implication of dubcon

"WHERE IS SHE?"

For such a petite woman, his wife screams like a banshee. But to her little dragon - that raw, pink, ugly creature - she coos like a siren, all trills and undulations.

Rhaena's arm sweeps across the table, sending his books scattering. Half of them belonged to her grandfather, along with a few scrolls from Yi Ti scribed in a language Aemond has yet to decipher. He pores over them in the evenings, following along with Corlys's annotations - he never had much opinion on the man beyond helping to kill his wife. But Aemond must admit that he had a sharp mind for linguistics.

"Your dragon - " he pauses to finish reading a line of script, thumb pressed to the ink-stained paper. " - is safe. Don't fret."

Rhaena's voice dips low, trembling with rage. "Give her back. She needs me to feed her. She won't feed unless I prepare the bottle - "

"That's funny. She was feeding just fine when I left her with the dragonkeeper." Aemond flings the scroll on the table, and tosses one leg over the other, hands folded across his stomach.

He smiles at her - that cold, cruel, curl of a smile - and waits for it to sink in.

For months now, he has been patient, allowing his wife to come to terms with the reality of their marriage. Granted, he had forced his sister to give her stepdaughter over in marriage as the only elder left in that wretched household, but there was no mistreatment beyond that. Rhaena had her own chambers, her own separate life. All he asked was that eventually, she turn her mind to the reality of ruling a great house.

Heirs.

"Give her back," she repeats, and he almost feels sorry for her. It is clear she is struggling to draw air into her lungs, the absence of her dragon has her so distraught. "Please."

"Give me what I want and you can have your dragon."

"Sire a bastard and have your brother legitimise it. Isn't that what you fought the war for? So that you could both do as you wished? Now this realm is yours. Go! I give you permission. Find a whore and sire a whelp, but first return my dragon to me."

Aemond rises from his chair, slowly, so as not to alarm her.

Ever since the incident in the riverlands, Rhaena has treated him like a caged tiger, giving him a wide berth where and when she can. When he is reminded whose daughter she is, her fear strokes his nerves like silk on velvet, satisfies that deep, sadistic pit in his stomach he has nursed since the first time he watched Vhagar's flames swallow a man whole.

He won't hurt her - the girl is too precious for that sort of bad behaviour - but her fear keeps her in line, prevents her from choosing treason in her bid to escape. Besides, her mother's dragon now keeps watch, turning her childhood home into a prison, one which she has tried and failed to run from. The irony is steeped in poetry.

Rhaena takes a step back, and then another, glassy eyes searching his face for any indication he will accede.

"I want heirs off you." Half the battle is won through physical stature, and Aemond towers over his wife in her delicate rose-pink dress and gold-braided hair. She is a petal, easily plucked and viciously torn, unlike her sister who is all thorns and ice. "A boy, another boy, and then maybe a girl. Little fishes to populate Corlys Velaryon's grand, old Driftmark."

She is staring at him as if her mind has left her body and walked a hundred miles into the sea, deep under the white foam, to a place where he cannot reach her. Except a single trace of his finger down one of her braids brings her twitching back to him.

Only one question remains.

"So...do you want your dragon back, Rhaena?" Aemond asks, sugary sweet.

[ghuleh-recs]

It's @chapel-of-rizztual's birthday!! So obviously I had to make us a mixtape of my favorite rizz fics. I was stoked to make this one because it meant I got to reread some of my favorite ghoul smut 😈 If you follow rizz you know what a joy it is to realize you're both on tumblr at the same time. You'll notice your feed slowly being taken over in the best possible way by a wonderful stream of consciousness reblogging spree. I have to add that chapel-of-rizztual is so damn supportive of fellow creatives, as well--sharing anything and everything we make. So let's all treat ourselves to some s tier ghoul smut in rizz's honor and maybe leave a comment or two as a lil' bday treat. ♡

recs under the cut.

In the heat of the moment - phantom x rain x mountain (polyghouls)

“Shit, I’m sorry-I didn’t realise.” He raises his arms as Rain pulls a clean hoodie on him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” Rain chuckles lightly, running a hand across Phantoms chest, smoothing out the hoodie. “You’re in heat, darling. I wouldn’t expect anything different.” He blinks up confusedly at Rain trying to take in what he’d just said to him. “I-what? What!?” Or…. Phantom goes into heat onstage but doesn’t realise because it’s his first one topside.

The only exception - aether x dewdrop

Aether smiles sweetly at him, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. “You feel better after that, Honeydrop?” Dew nods, not trusting his voice. His eyes drop down to Aethers lips for a spit second before looking back into his eyes. Aether chuckles lightly. “You want a kiss, darling?” Dew nods again and Aether surges forward to capture Dews lips in his. He gives Dew a few little pecks before pulling back. Dew whines and follows his lips. “More.” He whispered. Aether cradles his cheek and pull him in for another kiss, a proper kiss thins time, not just little pecks. Dew let’s Aether lead the the kiss, letting himself melt completely into it with a contented sigh. Or… After a stressful day Dewdrop finds himself seeking comfort from the one ghoul he trusts the most.

tumblr ficlet - lingerie - cumulus x mountain x swiss x phantom x rain

“I-uh- well, we? We all saw it in the shopping centre the other day. And we all thought- well it’s just- we all thought of you? So…yeah.” Mountain fidgets nervously as he edges his way towards the door. “I’m-uh- going back to my room, the other are also there. You can-Uh-you can join us when you unwrap it.” He seem to snap out his nervousness for a second. “If you want! There’s no pressure! I just..yeah, no pressure.” He gives her an awkward thumbs up and slips out the door without another word. Cumulus would laugh at him if she wasn’t so excited to find out what was making him so nervous. She tears the paper from the box, giggling and rolling her eyes when she recognises the lingerie brand that’s stamped on the box. Typical Boys.

Don't want to close my eyes - mountain & aether (& dew)

Mountain’s insomnia has been flaring up recently, the past few weeks he’d been getting less and less sleep each night, which led to the last couple of nights where he’d been unable to sleep. Tossing turning in his bed, eyes heavy, unable to switch his brain off. He’d given up trying to sleep tonight. His room felt too suffocating, too familiar, the endless tossing and turning had become boring. Or… Mountain hasn’t been sleeping. Aether helps.

With desire flowing through my veins - copia x mountain

After realising no one had seen Mountain for almost a week, Copia, riddled with anxiety and worry, sets out to find the Earth Ghoul. He gets a little more then he bargained for when he does eventually find him.

tumblr ficlet - first time - dewdrop x phantom

Despite what everyone thought, Dew liked the new ghoul. Sure, he wasn’t Aether, but Dew didn’t think that was a bad thing. He liked how easy the new ghoul was. How desperate for attention he was, how he’d do anything with a simple command, no fighting back. Dew liked how much control he had over him, something he never really had before, he liked how he could do anything to the new ghoul and he didn’t even question it, he’s just happy to be getting the attention he desperately wanted.

tumblr ficlet - body worship - copia x dewdrop

It was a joke. A self deprecating one, but a joke non the less. And it had made the congregation at mass laugh, all be it an awkward laugh, but it was a laugh and Copia was taking that as a win.  Dew didn’t find it funny. If he’s being honest he didn’t really understand what Copia was trying to get at, he’d always viewed the man as some above godly creature, so to hear him say something so…low about himself made an uneasy feeling swirl in his belly. 

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[apocalypse-shuffle]

TONY STARK | IRON MAN (616)

—

“Office Time” (Tony Stark x Fem!Reader)

| Tony visits the reader at her office job. Just to hang out…no other reason.

| SFW, slice of life(?), nothing crazy happens they’re just talking, fluff

| Pic source: Tony Stark: Iron Man comics

| 2k+ words

Tony saunters into your office thirty minutes after finishing up with a business meeting in the area. He’s long since ditched his suit jacket, leaving him in a partially unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks, polished oxfords clacking on the vinyl as he travels down the office building’s nearly vacant hallways.

He knocks on your door while already walking himself in.

“Hey! It’s your boyfriend. Remember me?”

You glance at him briefly with a roll of your eyes but still flash him a smile before turning back to your monitor. The sleek black design was Stark Tech, gifted by himself, because no associate of his was working on anything less than the best. He can hear the tell tale signs of a conference call once he kicks the door closed behind him.

A small smirk eclipses his face at the sight of you and he edges his way across the room on silent feet. You toss him a curious glance but he waves you off. He’s got a hunch he plans on getting to the bottom of and he’s willing to risk your ire to do so. He thinks the reward will be greater than the risk in this case, though. Certainly more than his usual impulsive calls for excitement.

You only lightly startle when he plops down next to you on the floor behind your desk.

“So…” he starts, stretching out the word while settling comfortably beside your legs where they’re not fully under the desk.

“So?”

You hum and begin shuffling around with some papers. Tony feels like the file beneath your hands could knock Thor out; it's so thick.

“You know I love you, and all that good stuff. So, when I say this I'm really not trying to seem like the biggest jerk on the planet but, uh.” Tony scratches the back of his head as your eyes narrow at your screen. “Haha, okay. This is gonna be a little awkward, even for me, but did you get that package I sent you earlier?”

“Uh huh. It’s under my desk,” your face twitches funnily before you lick your lips. “It’s not secretly a…bomb…is it?”

You parse the question out tentatively and Tony blinks up at you.

“I would never do something so irresponsible.”

You squint, bright eyes still locked on whatever you’ve got running on the computer.

“Mmm, you kind of already have though.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle when the man smiles at you, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.

“I see what you’re trying to do right now, and it won’t work.”

“Oh you do? Well that’s okay because I distinctly remember a certain Armored Avenger crashing into the side of this building a month ago.”

“I’ll have you know, I was thrown, actually.”

You give a little nod randomly to the screen before addressing him.

“Whatever,” you sniff. “I could’ve died.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, the world's shittiest boyfriend award goes to me. Thanks.”

He’s going for playful dismissiveness, but if the look you throw at him is any indication he missed by a mile and ended up firmly at the corner of much too needy and much too self deprecating.

“Don't punch down, it looks bad on you. You still ended up saving me.”

“I don’t think the good deed counts if I caused the problem in the first place.”

“In this case we'll make an exception,” you frown at whatever’s on your screen but Tony doesn’t really know what to do at your reassurance. Eventually you fill the silence the room descends into.

“You’re good, though? Not slowly dying from some weird alien goo or anything?”

In a bid to dismiss your clear worry Tony waves his hand, “I’m fine, really. Just was in the area…Wanted to see you,” he shrugs. “Make sure you haven't opened that box.”

Tony gives himself a good chuckle before realizing the room’s other occupant isn’t laughing. His head whips to the side and his eyes widen. You’re cringing.

“Oh shit! You did? Honey...I...uh…” he trails off as you turn off your camera and slowly turn to him. Your face is pinched in guilt and embarrassment, and would you look at that, Tony feels like shit now.

“Hold on, Y/n, I’m not upset about it, just shocked I’m apparently rubbing off on you this much, and embarrassed.”

Your shoulders drop and you tap your manicured nails in succession once before your grimace turns into a soft smile.

You let out a small chuckle, “What’s so wrong with the gift you’d be embarrassed about it?”

“It’s just…uh…” he looks up at you and you smile.

“Proof that you care?”

He waves his hands around.

“No! I mean, yea- it just wasn’t supposed to come today.”

You nod sagely and place the gift, a beautifully crafted gold band set, gently atop your folder of doom.

“What exactly do you…think about them, though?”

Tony watches avidly as you chew on your lip for a moment.

He didn’t think after all you’d been through this would be the catalyst for you breaking up with him, but he really doesn’t want to disappoint you either.

It didn’t hurt that you were gorgeous to boot and could go toe to toe with Tony’s own brand of witt.

Neither of you take your eyes off the other as you suddenly push your chair back so you’re facing him. The moment you kick off one of your heels your boyfriend’s gaze locks on your bare foot. Tony’s breath hitches as you lift the fullness of your right leg up in front of his face. You slip the golden garter from your toes up to settle at the middle of your thigh, delighting in the way the hero tracks its trajectory.

Sliding the two thin gold cuffs up to your left forearm elicits the same amount of infatuation. After you finish putting on his gifts you meet his eyes and can't help the smile that tugs at your lips.

“Is that answer enough for you?” You lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love them, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony stares up at you, goofy grin taking over his face before he shifts to physically pat himself on the back. You laugh at him and turn back to your computer.

“Alright, yeah! Good on me. Best boyfriend of the year award firmly secured!”

You give him a little subdued upturn of your lips while flicking back on your camera. The meeting you’re in is still droning on without you.

“I won’t disagree with you, Tee,” you smirk. “Though that is a completely made up award.”

He squawks at your accusation, never mind that it was true.

You pay no further mind to his outburst except to shush him as you begin once again listening to what sounded like your team lead giving you all a hell of a talking to.

He takes to idly fiddling with his emergency screwdriver and the landline that was on your desk for the half hour it takes for your meeting to wrap up. He finds and disables a S.H.I.E.L.D tracker, two of Fury’s information gathering bugs, and one of his listening devices that was thankfully not transmitting -goddamn paranoid asshole- within the first twenty minutes.

Each time he finds something, identifies it and takes it apart, he shows it to you and by the time he’s fished out the last “addition” you look heavily irritated.

“Alright, yes, thank you for letting me listen in Ma’am…Mhm…Goodbye to you as well,” you say before logging off.

You turn to Tony, still cross legged on the floor, and your face goes from mildly irritated to furious in seconds.

“What the hell?”

Tony scowls at the ruined tech, “What the hell, indeed. Why would the General be tracking you?”

You shake your head.

“I work a desk job,” you say deadpan. “So it can’t be that, but I'd bet a lot that someone found out about us.”

“I want in on that bet,” Tony jokes lowly, dropping the ruined pieces of S.H.I.E.L.D tech into his pocket.

You rub at your forehead and Tony makes a soft noise before getting up on his knees and grabbing the hand that’s in your lap. He squeezes it softly.

“Don’t stress yourself out, I'll deal with it, okay? No one messes with my woman and gets away with it.”

You return the soft hold and snort as y’all lock eyes. Tony smirks and kisses the hand in his grasp. You smile softly down at him, bracing your elbow on the desk and leaning your head on your free fist.

“Your woman, huh?”

He can tell you’re putting on a brave face by how quickly your laughter fades after that. How fast your expression and tone goes from playful to something duller, and he knows he’s going to try and cheer you up before he even comes up with an actual plan.

“Yup.”

He winks at you, signature smirk softened around the edges, and you scoff while flicking his nose.

“Oh? Does that make you ‘my man’ then?”

“You’re damn right it does.”

You both let out quiet laughs while holding each other’s gazes. Dark lashes brush against brown skin when you blink and your eyes go half lidded, thumb running over his knuckles. It’s enough to make a grown man blush honestly.

Tony loves when the combined energy between you both sparks like this. It makes his body tingle in a way it never has with any of his past partners.

Sunset used to make him warm all over but it was never a good kind of warm, she used to make him feel lacking with nothing but pretty words and a flutter of her lashes. Tiberius didn’t make him feel like anything less than the shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Rumiko was like spring, blooming flowers and soft grass, but her dad had ripped her away the second he found out she was seeing a Stark so he’d never gotten to feel how they sparked. Janet made him want to dance and sing, her heat was like kinetic energy on a dance floor, but he was never a physical activity type of guy and she’d needed Hank more than him so their spark had fizzled out. Pepper and him had had a good run but in the end they hadn’t been what the other needed, but she was much more content with Happy anyway.

But you?

You made him calm like fall. All cool gusts of air and falling leaves when you looked at him during your rare moments of stillness together. Moments that made him want to fall into that pile of leaves and never come out. You pull him in like the world would stop revolving without you.

Your lips meet in a soft kiss.

You sigh against his mouth, hand moving to tilt his chin up more securely. He leans up to meet you halfway and you lean down to close the gap without a second thought. You and Tony devour each other slowly. You taste like coffee, like fall, and he’s desperate for it.

When you break apart neither of you are out of breath but he’s sure his eyes are just as dilated as yours. You’re only a hair's width apart as you breathe each other's air and he maps the intricacies of your face.

His eyes light up as he gets an idea.

“How bout’,” he pecks you on the lips before pulling back. “I cheer you up.”

“How so?” you ask, the smile you give him is wistful but the brown of your dark eyes twinkle.

Tony shivers. Your eyes only take on that mischievous sparkle when you’re planning or when you smell blood in the water and have somebody pegged. Tony usually likes the outcome of either of those.

There’s a twist to that usual assessing stare right now though.

You’re looking at Tony in the way Tony’s decided is reserved only for him. His stomach flutters. He’s not a particularly observant guy when it comes to normal people’s (ie: people that aren’t trying to kill him, use his money for villainy, or are who he fights beside) social cues, he accepted that years ago, but even he could tell that you were soft on him.

He throws you a heated look before adjusting his position on the carpet and moving down. He coaxes your legs apart with gentle touches before leaning in to plant a kiss on the soft inside of your thigh.

“I think I can come up with something,” he murmurs.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is not all canonical (obviously). Also mind any typos I’ll get to them eventually.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

[nekrosdolly]

washing machine heart (18+)

toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart, baby bang it up inside.

cw; implied cheating, workplace romance, reader is the bad guy here, hurt/no comfort, eventual sex, p in v, afab reader, vulnerable wesker

pet names; dear (reader receives)

a/n; i love mitski and angst

albert isn't a stalker. not normally. he's observant, for good reason- he has to be. if he wasn't alert at all times, his life would be on the line.

that's the justification he gives himself for watching you so casually flirt with chris, and chris flirting right back. it makes his heart tick in just the worst way imaginable. his stomach tenses, a searing wave of heat washing over his back. he hates this.

you're unaware of the watchful eyes on you. how albert wesker feels about you is none of your concern, mainly because you don't work for him. and maybe it's because of that fact that you enjoy flirting with his crew so shamelessly. touching chris's arm, watching his cheeks pinken so slightly from it. chris's hand finds your waist and just as you're leaning closer, the bell signaling the end of the workday rings.

you smile seductively at Chris. "well… i've gotta go, but i'll swing by sometime, okay? pinky promise." you give the bigger man's bicep a light squeeze and then make your exit.

it hurts. albert wesker is actually hurt.

he goes home late that night after finishing some much needed paperwork, his thoughts only on you as he drives. you, again, as he gets out of his car and locks it. you, accompanying him inside while holding his arm.

and you, in his bathroom as he showers. it's not always sexual, he's a more emotionally complex man than he'd like to admit. when he imagines you with him, you're always clinging to him somehow.

sometimes, you're holding his hand as he walks through the r.p.d, other times you're kissing him with all you've got and he can't say no. if only that was real. at 38, he's accepted his life of solitude. he can't exactly have a partner with what's to go down soon anyway. it's best if he abstained.

and he does, for the most part. he goes to work, watches you flirt with chris, or barry, or jill, or even rebecca- whoever you feel like- and then goes home. rinse and repeat for weeks.

that is, until your flirtatious gaze falls on him for once. your touches on his shoulder don't go unnoticed. of course, you get little physical reaction out of him. nothing but a measly blush as he brushes your hand away.

then, you stick around until all the other s.t.a.r.s officers are gone, and it's just you and him at the end of the day.

"hey, al?" you give him a small smile, almost shy. a blush tints your cheeks, your eyes more innocent now.

"yes?" he looks up from his paperwork, still sat at his desk. pen in hand, a metric ton of papers sat on either side of his desk.

"well… i was wondering," you start, approaching his desk nervously. he stops his paperwork completely. his heart is pounding in his ears, "if you'd like to go out with me sometime."

this must be a joke.

"dear," he adjusts his glasses, "you're joking." he states plainly.

"no, i'm not. i mean it." you step closer, so you're directly in front of his desk. he leans back in his chair and sets his pen aside, his gaze fixed on you from behind his shades.

"when?"

"tonight."

"where?"

"the bar."

"what time?"

"when are you off?"

"seven."

"eight, then."

"fine. don't be late. goodbye."

successful, you walk out of his office feeling light on your feet.

the date goes well. you two drink and he's surprisingly charming under the layers of stoicism and otherworldly nerdiness. he wonders if he's dreaming the entire time. he's wanted this for so long, and now that it's happening, he feels… anxious. like he's waiting for the shoe to drop. you're stunning. too good for him, for who he really is, not the facade he's putting on now.

-

the other shoe drops in a way he wasn't expecting.

you're almost a year into your relationship. he's working all the time. it's hard for you, even harder on him to be away from you. his days off are few and far between, which he cherishes every chance he gets. while he's not the utmost affectionate person in the world, he tries. and he tries so hard for you.

"oh my god," you whine quietly as he takes you from behind, your back arched with your faced pressed into the mattress. this was meant to be quick- you have errands to run and a job to go to, all within the span of two hours. he's thrusting into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, soft groans and breathy moans leaving him, too.

you're stupidly close, especially with how he's rubbing your clit. your cunt flutters before clamping down on his dick, a loud moan leaving you.

"fuck, chris, oh my god!" you whimper as you finish.

albert has never been an angry man.

"what?" he's pulling out and tucking himself away. it settles in just exactly what you've said. just how much you've revealed within a matter of mere seconds. you turn over and sit up against the headboard.

"why did you- what is going on? tell me. tell me right now." he sits down on the bed, his hands clasped in front of him on his lap.

"nothing is going on." you're a bad liar. you always have been.

"then what was that? why?" he's nauseated. upset. betrayed. he loved you, let you in when he swore he wouldn't, kissed your scars and told you that you're the only thing he lives for.

"i-i don't- you- it's not what you think, honestly." it's too late. he's getting off the bed, running his hand through his hair as he paces. this is his karma for living. you. agonized, he leans against the doorframe to the ensuite bathroom and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you're sleeping with him, then. that's it. that's all it is, right? just sex, not- not love, is that right?" he can't bring himself to look at you.

"he- chris keeps me company, al. you're always so busy, and it's not my fault-"

"not your fault? what, so it's my fault?"

"i didn't say that,"

"you didn't have to. i knew something was going on from the start- you always liked him more than me, so why am i even here?" he might cry.

you're grimacing.

"can't i love you at the same time i love him?"

"no! why can't you love me!? did you ever love me? was i even on your radar?" he throws his glasses on the bed and covers his eyes, trying to will away the tears.

you approach him and he stumbles back against the bathroom door.

"don't do this to us." he whispers, taking his hand away. his gaze lingers on the floor.

"it's too late."

[fcble]

LOOSE ENDS — A collection of drabbles to pick up the threads I started months ago. TOTAL WORD COUNT: 3.0k FEATURING: Yoon Mingeun, Kang Haksu, Andrew Han, Ahn Jinguk, Lee Taein, Oh Kiyoung, The Midas Touch

JULY 2024. A direct epilogue to this drabble. Previously posted as screenshots on my main but I don't think anyone saw that so here we go again.

Two hours after having his phone confiscated, Mingeun knocks on Haksu's bedroom door.

Haksu opens it, looking clean and put together for someone just sitting in his room. Sitting in his room, and likely eavesdropping on everything they said. "I heard what happened," he says, confirming Mingeun's suspicions.

He steps inside, trying not to look too closely at the Bible on Haksu's bedside table, or the cross hanging above his bed, the only decoration on otherwise spotless wall. A diffuser sits on top his dresser, filling the room with a faint pine scent.

Haksu shuffles through the dresser for a moment, and tosses three iPhone boxes onto his bed. They're all slightly different variants of the iPhone 15, in blue and white and black.

"You can have any of them," Haksu says. "I don't know why our fans keep giving me iPhones when I use a Samsung."

Mingeun doesn't get gifts like that. Haksu has his phones, and Andrew received a high-end laptop. He must be doing something wrong.

He doesn't say anything, just points to the plastic container in Haksu's hands. "What's that?"

Haksu opens the lid, and that's when Mingeun realizes it's full of index cards. "SIM cards."

There must be fifteen or so in the box, by his best judgement. Each index card has the SIM card taped to it, with a phone number across the top and a series of dates running down the right side of the card.

"You keep these?" Mingeun asks, plucking one out of the box. The dates on it cover the end of 2022 and a few months of 2023.

"I trade them in if they get really bad," Haksu says. "The company pays for most of these. I switch them out when I need to."

He flicks through the container and eventually pulls out a card that looks no different from the rest of the cards. "Here. I haven't used this one in a while. You probably won't get too many calls."

The most recent date on it is June 2022. Mingeun accepts it, and tries to peel the card off without ripping the paper. The paper rips anyway.

He looks at the phones again. "This is fine with you? I can take it?"

Haksu nods impatiently. He produces a pen from somewhere and adds a new line to the index card: Mingeun's name and July 2024 to an unknown date. "I don't use them."

Mingeun picks the blue one, because it's the most basic model. His own phone is still the 12. The upgrade doesn't feel right, not when it happened because Daewoong confiscated his phone.

"Thanks," he says awkwardly.

Haksu waves him off. "Don't worry about it." The cards and the two remaining phones disappear back into his dresser, and Mingeun is left clutching his new phone like a lifeline.

SEPTEMBER 2024. A sequel to this drabble.

Andrew's second visit to the Danyoung Group is no less intimidating than the first. It doesn't have to be a meeting at all. It could be an email. A text message. An Instagram DM. Does Jinguk even use Instagram? Probably not.

His answer is one word. In hindsight, it's ridiculous he even thought otherwise. All it took was spending a day almost, but not quite, third-wheeling with Jaeseop and Jaeseop's girlfriend, Seoyeon. It wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be an outing for Fable on one of Jaeseop's rare days off, with Seoyeon accompanying them only because Jaeseop had so few days off. Then the rest of the group started dropping like flies in the days leading up their lunch: Kiyoung and Intak at the premiere of an anime film, Haksu on something akin to a date of his own, Byeonghwi doing something he's been incredibly cagey about, and Mingeun's second or third bout of house arrest this year. Andrew's lost count.

The lack of an audience at lunch gave Andrew the courage to ask Jaeseop about his predicament, and Jaeseop the freedom to chew out Andrew in public—all while Seoyeon sat there quietly and ate her food.

The direct consequence of that day is today. This time, Andrew takes the elevator to the ninth floor, and heads down the hall until he reaches the room labeled 923 in gold text on a shiny black plaque. He knocks first, then pushes the door open without waiting for a response.

The first thing he notices is that the view from the ninth floor isn't much different from the view from the fifteenth. This room, too, has a wall made entirely of glass. Better to lord over the people below you with, Andrew thinks.

He bows politely to Jinguk, standing near the window and doing the very lording Andrew was just thinking of. "Good afternoon."

"It's good to see you again, Andrew," Jinguk says. The words themselves might be warm, but the delivery lacks any sort of emotion. "Have you given any thought to my proposal?"

Straight to the point. Andrew hasn't even taken a seat. To be fair, he doesn't think he wants to take a seat. It's a far cry from the waffling Taein tends to do.

"I have," he says, hovering uncertainly near one of the two chairs in the room.

"Have a seat, and we'll talk." Despite his words, Jinguk doesn't make a move.

Andrew sits, against his better judgement. "I appreciate your offer," he says—calm, practiced, rehearsed, like he's staring down a camera—"but I'm going to have to decline. I'm staying with Fable." His heart jackhammers wildly in his chest, and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his knee from bouncing up and down.

"I suspected as much," Jinguk says. "I hoped you'd be more pragmatic."

Andrew is pragmatic. He's so pragmatic he knows he stands to lose too much if he leaves Fable now. And he's done his research on C Entertainment's artists. He sees two potential paths in that future: being indefinitely shelved or constantly scrutinized for payola.

He gives a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know if you're looking for pragmatism. You might want to try selfishness or greed. I can recommend Mingeun or Haksu." He doubts either of them would take Jinguk's deal, though he knows they'd be tempted in the same way he was.

Jinguk's expression grows stormy. His brow tightens, and he fixes Andrew with a disapproving look. "You must not understand the magnitude of your decision. This is not the sort of opportunity anyone can receive. They are liabilities, more so than you."

But Andrew is a liability too. He champions for himself, enough to butt heads with Mingeun on a wide range of topics. He'll bend and bend and bend—he had to, to debut—but he won't break. There are parts of himself he can't give up on, and that, he thinks, makes him more of a liability than someone like Mingeun. He doesn't say any of that out loud.

"They're people," he says, "not liabilities."

"This is a business, and you are an idol. It is a lesson both you and Taein-ssi have yet to learn." Jinguk's bottom lip curves up in a sneer.

Andrew doesn't know what he has to do with Taein. The side he picked, the battle line he drew in the sand. Something like that.

"It's unfortunate you have yet to come to your senses," Jinguk continues, though he doesn't sound disappointed or resigned in the slightest. He checks the time on his impossibly shiny watch. "My two pm will arrive shortly. I assume you know your way out."

Andrew nods quickly. He recognizes a dismissal when he hears one, and he's only too happy to leave. "If I ever come to my senses, you'll be the first to know."

As he leaves, he can't shake the feeling that he got off too easily, like he willing walked into the jaws of the beast and emerged unscathed. Jinguk appeared to respect Andrew's answer, even if he didn't appear to respect Andrew himself. It'll dog him, he knows, one more enigmatic piece in the puzzle of Jinguk's design.

OCTOBER 2024. Live Haksu reaction to this article.

"What is this?" Haksu asks. He pinches a sheet of paper between two fingers, as if it's poisonous. The glaring headline on the printed article reads, "Zenith Entertainment to Press Charges Against Fable Sasaeng." It's hard to read in the dim parking garage lighting, but Haksu has already committed the important parts to memory.

Taein's gaze, bored and disinterested, flicks over the paper and then Haksu. "It's what you wanted." He steps left in a valiant effort to get to his car.

Haksu mirrors his movements. If he could have snuck into his office to borrow his car keys, he would have. As it is, he has to settle for body-blocking his boss instead. "No, it's not. This is loud and messy. I wanted something discrete."

"Like a hit man," Taein says drily. He makes another unsuccessful attempt to get to the driver's side door of his car.

Haksu shrugs. That would be preferable. He folds the paper in half. Over the past couple of months, he's learned how to play Eunmyeong's game, picked up all her rules and added a few of his own. He's managing so far, by himself. He doesn't need Taein's lawsuit interfering with his carefully arranged house of cards.

"She never assaulted me," he says.

"Not everything is about you."

This is. Haksu knows that for a fact. From the moment he read the headline, he knew the anonymous A was Eunmyeong. No one else followed him home. He doesn't need to be a detective. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could figure that out.

"Think about it, Haksu," Taein says. He rolls his shoulders back. "I'd like to leave work today."

Haksu doesn't budge. "Do you think this will stop her?"

"As much as I'd like to be able to predict the future, I can't say what she will or will not do." He levels a piercing gaze at Haksu. "Don't you know her better?"

There's an accusation in there, if he can be bothered to find it. He's been on more pseudo-dates with her than he'd like to admit. Not enough to have lost count, but enough to recognize certain pillars of their otherwise tenuous relationship. He would know her, if their relationship was more even. As it stands, she's so obsessed with him that they don't talk about much else. Haksu only knows what her last name is because she told his mom. He doesn't know when her birthday is. He doesn't know where she lives or where she grew up or what her favorite food is.

"I don't know her at all," he answers. "Why did it take you this long to press charges?"

"Proper legal cases take time," Taein says, forming each word slowly, as if they cause him physical pain.

Haksu opens his mouth.

"For the second time, Haksu, I don't have any mafia connections you can take advantage of."

Haksu closes his mouth.

Taein continues to speak. "I wouldn't go through with this if there wasn't a reasonable chance the charges would stick. Have faith."

If there's one thing Haksu has, it's faith. He has faith in spades. His faith only falters when it comes to Taein. He should trust his boss more. He doesn't. He steps aside reluctantly, finally giving Taein access to his car.

Taein doesn't even thank him. All he does is pull the driver's side door open and say, "It's not your problem to worry about. Focus on your work, and don't go around giving phone numbers to your group members."

Haksu takes personal offense to that. He tamps it down and responds with his usual decorum instead. "Good night, sajangnim." He doesn't think Taein hears him. The door slams closed as he speaks.

Taein's headlights cast dramatic shadows as Haksu turns tail, shredding the paper as he goes. He doesn't see a problem with giving Mingeun a new phone number—and a new phone. He doesn't approve of everything Mingeun does, but he doesn't have to. He was just doing his duty as a friend.

He pauses as he reaches the fresh evening air, the breeze a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the inside of the garage. Haksu stuffs the shreds of paper into his pockets. Taein can do whatever he wants. Fine. So can he. He wonders if she knows she's going to court soon. It would be courteous to warn her, wouldn't it? He watches Taein's Mazda make a sharp right and nearly bowl over a pedestrian. Then he slips his phone out of his back pocket and writes a quick text.

OCTOBER 2024. Not a sequel to anything. It's more of an update of what Kiyoung is up to and the relevance of The Midas Touch to Fable.

As a collective, The Midas Touch is louder, rowdier, and more energetic than Kiyoung remembers being at their age. The excitement of a newly debuted group is palpable, but not quite contagious. That, and it pales in comparison to the sheer malice simply radiating from Haksu.

"Who pissed you off?" he mutters under his breath, adjusting the mic pack clipped to the back of his waist band more than he should.

"None of your business," Haksu mutters back.

"You'll keep it together?"

"Of course." The words are sharp. He corrects himself a moment later, softening into a more relaxed posture and expression. "I always do." He has the gall to wink at Kiyoung.

It's uncomfortable, watching the ease at which Haksu slides between his true feelings and his perfect image. Kiyoung suppresses a shudder.

Their role today is a supporting one. It's an extremely staged moment in The Midas Touch's extremely staged day. The idea is to present them with the same friendly and relatable boy-next-door image they built as trainees. Kiyoung thinks there are other groups who already occupy that niche, but he's not their creative director or management in any way.

The original plan was for him and Haksu to make a brief appearance to congratulate them on their first music show win. It was supposed to appear spontaneous. That plan fell through last week, when it became very apparent that TMT would be the runner-up to a project group Kiyoung's never hehrd of. Almost all of their music is in English, with the excepption of the song they promoted to win a week's worth of music shows.

So the script was rewritten, and now Kiyoung and Haksu are congratulating them on their debut. Never mind the fact that they already did that, right after TMT's music show debut, back when Fable was promoting their own album. This time is different because Haksu has a cake. He also has strict instructions to give it to Shinji, according to the script Kiyoung read a couple of hours ago. Shinji is, according to the same script, the clumsiest member by far.

He suspects someone is already prepared to clean frosting off the floor.

The long-awaited signal from the couple of supervising producers—a frantic flurry of waving, gesturing, and ushering—finally arrives. The smallest glance sideways tells Kiyoung Haksu is immaculately prepared. He has his cake, and he's turned down the malice to a less overpowering level.

Kiyoung gets the door. He makes it two steps into the room before there are three handheld cameras focused on him—an important part of TMT's relatability. They're greeted with overlapping cries of, "Sunbaenim! You didn't have to!" and "Haksu-hyung, is that for us?"

Kiyoung feels sorry for the editors who have to piece this footage together.

Haksu unceremoniously shoves the cake towards Shinji. The eldest member of the group, Elias, swoops in and intercepts it instead. "He'll drop it," he says, balancing both the cake and his camera.

"That might be the point," Kiyoung concedes quietly.

Though he looks loathe to play along, Elias passes it back to Shinji.

"Congratulations on your debut," Haksu says, an ever-consummate professional.

Then, message delivered, he surprises Kiyoung by making a beeline back towards the door.

Kiyoung grabs him by the wrist. "You can't leave," he hisses under his breath.

"You can come too," Haksu says, tugging his wrist free.

Kiyoung jerks his head towards TMT. "They're filming." A camera is usually the magic switch that gets Haksu to play nice.

Haksu turns around and flashes his usual charismatic smile. "Can you please cut the cameras?" he asks, tone syrupy sweet.

"Deadass?" Arjun asks from behind his own camera. All five of them break into sycophantic laughter.

Kiyoung assumes the cameras are still rolling. "He's not usually like this," he says, making a rather pathetic attempt to salvage the remnants of Haksu's image.

A silent look passes through the group, communicating something Kiyoung can't even begin to imagine.

Elias seems to speak for all of them when he says, "I thought so." He angles his camera back to Haksu. "Anything else for today's TMT Log?"

He's giving them a way out. Kiyoung nearly sags with relief.

Haksu seems to compose himself, straightening up and clasping his hands together. "The Midas Touch are our very precious juniors who recently made their debut. They've worked very hard to get to where they are today. Please make sure to show them lots of love and support!" He rattles off a few lines that are much more fitting of his usual persona.

Elias gives them a little nod, and this time, when Haksu runs for the door, Kiyoung doesn't stop him. He recites his own parting message, spit-balling whatever comes to mind—another congratulatory message, a half-plea to the editors to showcase Haksu in a positive light, permission to visit Fable whenever they'd like.

"I thought you said you could keep it together," Kiyoung says quietly as soon as they're in the hallway again. He suspects most of that footage will be cut. Shinji didn't even drop the cake.

Haksu flicks his bangs out of his eyes. "I did."

They have very different definitions of keeping it together, he thinks, disconnecting his microphone. Whatever is happening in Haksu's head is something he'd never confess to Kiyoung.

"Everything is fine," Haksu says.

Kiyoung suspects this is supposed to be reassuring. He doesn't believe it at all.

[valya-kingoftherats]

Bills would've been better

Mia brings Jane the letters. All from the fanclub you've somehow amalgamated. The one that you wish didn't exist.

And being the idiot that you are, you read them.

You're lying on the floor in your base, cold concrete doing wonders for your migraine. Sprawled out on your back with a little stack of loose papers beside you. One held up above your face.

They're more or less all the same. Glorified thank you notes. But reading them doesn't fill you with any sense or pride. They just make you feel hollow. More than before.

You are a pathetic excuse of a villain for one. What exactly have you done so far? Had a temper tantrum about an exhibit about your past at a museum. Stood at some protests and fought the LDPD to keep them back and put them in their place. Harassed government officials to improve the living standards in low-income communities. Picked away at removing corrupt politicians from power. Which will never work. There will always be another to replace. An endless cycle you are ultimately powerless against.

Worthless.

Why did you ever think you could stand a chance against the farm? It's completely unobtainable. Out of your league. Pathetic. What's one stupid telepathic regene with power armour versus an entire establishment? You are a fool if you ever really thought you stood a chance.

The next letter is from a kid. Pink glittery pen scrawl that hurts your eyes in the low light. You don't want to move so straining your eyes to read it is.

Another thank you note. For how Entropy mysteriously got the construction company to leave his neighbourhood alone. The project terminated and the houses and families that live in them safe and undisplaced. The CEO paid off everyone's mortgage as consolation for the stress and an apology for thinking them so easy to toss aside. Entropy is his hero.

Hero. That's not what you are. Aren't supposed to be. Never was.

None of them know what they're idolizing. You are nobody's hero. You're done with that. Ended horribly. But no matter what you try, you seem to be bound to fail time and time again at playing the villain. All you've done is hurt Julia.

Maybe that's enough to make you the bad guy. It feels like it.

The next five letters are from employees from a local grocery store. They're unionized now. Thanks to Entropy.

Fucking hell, you hardly even pass for anything more then a glorified crosswalk guard. Holding people's hands and leading them from point A to point B.

They would've got there eventually, with or without you. You're sure of it.

If any of them knew the truth about what you are, they wouldn't be quick to attach themselves to you. How many would turn you in? Send you back?

The good life is only meant for real people. Which — you yank the sleeve of your hoodie back up over your wrists — you are more than well aware that you aren't.

Two more letters. More of the same. Work you don't need armour for. You could've done that with street clothing and sunglasses. Show up, adjust some minds, problem solved. Anonymous neighbourhood watchdog.

Four official letters from the charities you last hit up. Donated thousands, stolen from real villains. They're grateful. One of them wants to meet in person. Thank you. It isn't happening. You are not something to be shown off.

Too many people looking up to you. It makes you feel sick. You are the last person who deserves that. Nobody's hero. You couldn't save people you cared about when it counted.

You can't even find reason to even attempt to save yourself.

Look at you. Reading a dozen painfully heartfelt letters, and what does that make you feel? Like everyone would be better if you never came back from the dead. Were never here at all.

Maybe that makes you the villain. Because you must truly be awful to think the things you do. To do the things to yourself that you do in response. Because nobody in their right mind would want to kill themselves after hearing about how beloved they are. How many lives they've changed.

Selfish and pathetic.

A successful failed career. You switched sides only to do more good than you ever did as a hero. And none of it is even remotely useful to achieve your goals.

Not goals. Pipedream. Because there really is no way you can take down the farm. Not continuing on like this.

Right now, not continuing on sounds like the best course of action.

You let the last letter fall from your grasp. Watch it flutter down and land beside you. You don't know what it says. It doesn't matter. More false admiration for someone who doesn't deserve it. Someone who only tangentially exists.

Jane needs to get rid of the letters next time Mia hands them to you. And Entropy needs to toughen up and be the fucking bad guy. And Valya needs to take down that stupid fanclub website.

But none of that will get done. Because it's so much easier to construct new and creative ways to hurt yourself. Even just mentally. Remind you of what you are. Of how you will never be one of them. Never fit in. Never be truly deserving of being the hero everyone writes letters to thank.

You're more likely to actually take down the farm than to become a person deserving of that.

[mrsnancywheeler]

Billy & Muse in the early days are so 'Superman' coded... I never realized that before.

"He puts papers in his briefcase and drives away / To save the world or go to work / It's the same thing to me"

It's his muse in the beginning before all the whole 'I hate you, we break up, you call me, I love you' shenanigans that ensue throughout the early days of the situationship (if you wanna even call it that/whatever ***That*** situation is called)

"I wonder if he knows how much that I miss him / I hang on every word you say"

Need I say more?

"Come back, I'll be with you someday / I'll be right here on the ground / When you come back down"

I feel like this can be taken as either when Billy leaves on tour and Muse stays behind for whatever reason.. or when Billy goes on a bender and the two fight, he tells her to leave, and eventually gets her to come back around when he's sober; gives 'when you come back down' a different meaning.

"He's complicated, he's irrational"

Poor tortured artist Billy :( (sarcasm) but since he has that duel complex of thinking he's some tortured artist but also the best fucking thing since sliced bread... and toss in his short fuse and well... complicated and irrational is he.

"'He's not all bad like his reputation' / And I can't hear one single word they say"

... so 'they' being Eddie... maybe Daisy too. But mainly Eddie. Mainly Eddie trying to convince her that Billy's no good for her (but simultaneously not being the best choice for her either—)

"And I watch you fly around the world / And I hope you don't save some other girl"

The heartbreak when Billy tells her for the first time that 'she's just some groupie' and that 'he has a lineup of girls who would be fine with just the bare minimum' and 'he's billy fucking dunne and she's just... a groupie'

And just that horrible horrible feeling Muse gets when she's away from him after he says those things to her because what if he really does 'save' some other girl after he kicks her out for a day or two...

But then here he comes with flowers and sweets and a half-assed verbal apology followed by make-up sex and...

Well, we know how the rest goes.

wait, you're so right

whatever is that he's doing is life altering for her, his music is life changing, he's an icon, so far above, and she's lost in the daze of it all. his songwriting, him playing the guitar, driving off to the studio before she started coming too. and he totally just starts consuming her thoughts from day one and then once she's got a taste she can't let go. every sweet thing he's ever said is engraved in her brain which is what makes it hurt so much more when he starts switching up.

yes!! he comes back down to reality, he sobers up and comes crawling back to her because he cares about her, he loves her, and he knows that when he's not letting the fame, the fear, take over. and it makes her realize he's much more than the rockstar she became infatuated with because he was endearing but also kind of an ass sometimes, but he can also fluctuate between being so caring to falling into a pit of ego. songs about not being enough (well thanks to daisy encouraging him to write that way) but then he's the shit and nobody can compare.

eddie, daisy, karen, her dad, I'm sure so many people have things to say about being in some sort of situationship with billy dunne. but she can't hear it when she knows at his best it just feels so right, so perfect.

okay and eventually she realizes there will always be groupies, but they're just sex to him (which makes the comments about that being her hurt more) but anyways when she's putting that aside it makes her feel more confident about her place, it's more than just physical. but god, when it's one of those rare times he's kicked her out instead of her leaving and then the thoughts of, 'what if he finds a new me? finds a new girl and then he won't need me anymore' and it's almost enough to make her call first (don't get me wrong there's a time or two when she does but that's for me to write about not in this blurb lmao) but then there's billy at her door and all those thoughts are shaken away because he's so sweet now. and the makeup sex would always be so good-

but we know the drill

[strega-scripts]

“What the hell is a plus 4?”

a random fic i had the urge to write after being given the idea in a strega discord

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The sound of rain droplets hitting the hotel room windows replaced anything that would be silence otherwise. It wasn't much different from their usual nights, but somehow, it felt more awkward tonight.

If you listened closely, the sound of Chidori's pencil going across her paper could be faintly heard, as she had been sat down against the wall of the room, sketching away without a word. She still never let the other two see what she drew even while they were in the room.

There was also the faint sound of keyboard clicking as Jin typed away on his laptop, him being sat down on one of the beds while he looked through their website for requests. Sometimes his face scrunched up as he reads a few of them.

Takaya, however, was entirely silent, having been sat down on the other bed while leaned back, book in hand while he read through with a flat, neutral expression. Sometimes it seemed as though his eyes would glow as it got darker in the room.

All of a sudden, a groan erupted from Jin as he clicked off the site and slammed the laptop shut, although not with much force. He wasn't about to damage that thing, after all.

“That's it, can we please do something else?”

His small outburst confused the other two, of whom looked at him with incredibly lost expressions. Sure, Jin was the most expressive out of them, but still, seeing him antsy was always a surprise.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Takaya questioned him without much understanding, he even seemed a little displeased at his reading being interrupted, though he made a mental note of where he was last.

Chidori didn't say anything, she only stared up at Jin with a confused yet still almost flat expression. Sometimes, it annoyed him, and today was one of those times.

With a huff, Jin slid his laptop off to the side, and opened the drawer of the bedside table closest to him, as he grabbed a deck of cards and closed the drawer back.

“Let's play something.”

He avoided Takaya's question, never being one much for emotions, although that was basically all of them, he was just more prominent this night with it.

“But...”

Chidori began to speak some sort of disagreement, before slowly trailing off and eventually coming to a complete stop with a small sigh. She wanted to get this done, and she wasn't sure why it was such a problem.

“Jin. What troubles you?”

Takaya rephrasing his question got Jin to stop for a moment, he always enjoyed when his leader said his name, because to him, it felt like such a high honor coming from Takaya.

“I just... I don't wanna just sit around. I want to do something, and not in complete silence. Just this once.”

He always hated the rainy days, the ones where it was too heavy for them to be able to go out to do anything or complete any requests. Often it felt like the shadows were more aggressive those nights, too.

With a small sigh, Takaya closed his book and set it off to the side, before moving over to the bed Jin was sat on, and sat across from him with a small nod. That was enough for Jin.

Shortly, Chidori followed suit, as she closed her sketchbook and set it aside where she was sat, then moved over to the bed and sat down in a way that she was sort of beside the both of them.

“Let's play, then.”

Such a simple response from Takaya elicited a small sigh of relief from Jin as he shuffled the deck of cards, if you looked closely, you could almost seem him smiling ever so slightly.

“Thank you both...”

Jin spoke in a more relaxed tone as he tossed out the correct amount of cards to the other two as well as himself. All things considered, this wasn't anything abnormal— them playing games, it was something they did anyways.

But tonight felt different, somehow. Somehow it felt different. Like something bad was going to happen soon and they'd never get this chance again. It was a feeling Jin got often, and though he always brushed it off, he couldn't tonight.

He had a feeling Takaya knew. That scared him a little, but he wasn't about to try and bring it up if his leader didn't. It would save him a conversation he didn't really want to have.

“How do we play this game...?”

Chidori's question snapped him out of his thoughts, it made him realize he never explained what was going on and sort of just tossed cards at them like they had any idea what was going on.

“I'll explain. So...”

The explanation went by smoothly, and so did the game. If anything, it was rather uneventful, but the way Jin's demeaner changed and became more relaxed as time went by was enough to please the other two.

Surprisingly enough, it even seemed as though the other two relaxed as they played as well, it made Jin happy to see even the slightest of smiles on their faces, considering that was something very rare to see.

As the game went by, the rain continued to pour down, but Jin was soon enough able to calmly tune it out just by hearing their voices.

Soon enough, the game would end, with Jin placing first, Chidori second, and Takaya third. It was funny to see him watch as the two played against one another once he lost.

“Good game!”

Jin exclaimed, although he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been trying not to laugh at how confused Takaya seemed to be throughout the entire game. Although, at least he seemed to have fun.

“Nice job.”

Chidori complimented him quietly, she'd like to think she did decently well to at least place second, even if she still lost against Jin in the end, too.

“Good game... although, I do have one question.”

Jin's head perked up at Takaya's question, and while collecting up the loose cards, he looked up at him curiously. He enjoyed this game, so, he had no issue with talking about it more.

“Shoot. What is it?”

Jin smiled at him at he slid the deck back into the pack, and dropped it into the drawer that he took it out from. He wanted to at least stay somewhat organized despite all else.

“What the hell is a plus 4?”

[afteriwake]

Desert Race (1/?)

So this is a WIP I started...oh, fifteen years ago? But I ran across it and I definitely want to finish it (maybe for the 2024 round of WIPBB). It's a CSI/CSI: NY crossover with an eventual Nick/Lindsay ship. Enjoy!

Desert Race - It's on between the Vegas labs and the NYPD teams in the Law Enforcement Desert Relay, but unexpected sparks fly between Nick and Lindsay that puts a kink in both Sara and Danny's plans for winning the event.

READ CHAPTER 1

"Don't look at me." Catherine shook her head. "Last time I tried to do it, Grissom found a dead body. I don't want to risk it."

"Come on, Cath," Warrick said, smirking at her. "I heard that the LAPD team isn't holding grudges." In response, she balled up a piece of paper and threw it at him.

"Seriously, though," Sara said. "Someone from the lab has to do it."

"I would, but running and I just don't get along," Greg said. "Surfing would be one thing, but..."

"I already volunteered to be the driver of the poll vehicle," Nick said. "So I'm out."

Sara turned on Warrick, but he shook his head. "Just out of curiosity, is there any reason you want to win but don't want to have to run?" he asked.

"I just...I want to win."

"Then why don't you run?"

"Because if I do I can guarantee we'll lose."

"I don't know," Nick said. "I've seen you out jogging before. We may not place high, but I can assure you if you run we wouldn't lose."

"Besides, this year the only team we really have to worry about is the NYPD team," Catherine said. Everyone looked at her. "What? Just because I'm not participating doesn't mean I don't keep up with the competition."

"Why would we have to worry about them?" Sara asked.

"They've got some really fit runners. Must be all those chases through Manhattan," Catherine said. She turned to the laptop Greg was using in the break room. "Mind if I borrow that for a minute?"

"You break it, you buy me a new one," he said before moving out of the way.

Catherine sat down, tapped in a few keys and a website came up. She scrolled down a bit and stopped. "Okay, some of the teams who have already registered have a list of their participants and poll drivers. I went up against most of these guys, and they're good."

"Any of them you don't know?" Nick asked.

Catherine read through the list. "Just two, from the NYPD team. One's the poll driver, Detective Lindsay Monroe. The other's one of the runners... Detective Daniel Messer."

Nick's head snapped up. "Danny's running?" Everyone's eyes turned towards him. "What?"

"You know him?" Catherine asked. Then she shook her head. "Course you do. He's listed as Daniel, you called him Danny..."

"Knew him back in the college ball days. Didn't know he was a cop." He got off the table he'd been sitting on and walked over to the laptop, looking at the screen. He saw Danny's picture and grinned. "Yep, same guy."

"How well did you know him?" Greg asked.

"He and I tried out for the same minor league team. He got hurt so he dropped, but we hung out a bit. He wasn't a bad guy. A little cocky, but not bad." He shook his head, grinning. "A cop. Never would have seen that one coming."

Sara thought for a moment. "I think I feel my competitive edge coming on... Nick, if you'd help me train, I think I might just do this."

"You're on."

"Then I guess we have a complete team," Catherine said. "Good. I really didn't want to have to run this year..."

---

Danny tossed the baseball up in the air and caught it on the way back down. "Relax, Montana. It's not like we're going to Vegas to get married or something." He heard her choke on her coffee and he turned to look at her. "Okay, that probably wasn't the best time for me to say that..."

"Danny! Don't joke like that."

"What? Flack was ragging on you about it and you just grinned. I do it and I damn near kill you."

Lindsay just looked at him before shaking her head. "Danny, everyone's going to think that we planned this."

"Not my fault you were a last-minute replacement for Stella. We weren't expecting the case to get dragged out so long." He threw the baseball up again. "Got a surprise call from someone I met years ago when I played ball. He's a CSI in Vegas now." He caught it and looked at Lindsay. "Apparently, the Vegas team is making it their personal mission to beat us."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but I get the feeling he wasn't supposed to be calling me." Danny grinned. "Nick's a pretty nice guy, doing that. Gives me more incentive to train."

"His name's Nick?"

"Yeah. Nick Stokes." He looked at her. "You'd probably like him. He's a real easygoing guy."

"It'd be nice to meet someone easygoing in this whole mess." She got up and looked at the screen he was looking at. "So what are you looking at?"

"Info on Vegas. Trying to figure out places to go to eat and stuff."

"Ah," she replied. "That would be a good thing to know."

"See, Montana? I'm good for some things other than running my mouth off."

She grinned at him. "Messer...just shut up and find places to eat."

"Yes ma'am."

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Tony's here. Doing that thing he doesn't deserve. Caring.

It's not as weird as he thought it'd be. It's awkward as hell and he feels guilty, but it's not weird. That they slept together. Tony showed up which means something. It didn't ruin them. The stupid bastard was here, and that means he failed at icing him out.

Fuck, he should not have opened the door. Now it's going to be awkward. The only saving grace was the paper coffee cup held tightly in one of Tony's hands, that was promptly shoved into his hands. There's a relieved exhale at the warmth of the cup still, it was fresh and he forgets to invite Tony in because he's distracted with sweet, sweet caffeine.

❝ My hero. ❞

He had needed that today. Seventh cup already. How he hadn't given himself heart problems with the amount of coffee in his veins was a miracle. One he won't call out. It relaxes him just enough to accept the guy he didn't call was now sitting in his living room. A bag of food deposited on the coffee table which saves Clint from leftovers again.

Blue eyes are scanning around his apartment, peaking up at the loft and trying to make sure that nothing was too suspicious. It's a little messier but not a bad as that one Christmas or in the past. He was alright two days ago, or had a better day.

❝ Haven't you heard of the irresistible factor test? I don't call and I score a perfect 10 if you show back up within two weeks. ❞ He scoffs a laugh, as he finds nothing too out of place and goes to join Tony on the couch. ❝ I just passed it, with a perfect 10. See, I can't miss. ❞

Okay, being closer was a little weirder than normal. The man kissed him, refused to let Clint shove him out, and now he's hear again and he didn't call. Would lying and saying he was gonna call about a new air conditioning unit be better? He considered it, would have done it eventually.

Clint focuses on the coffee in his hands for a solid thirty seconds before his hands are in the takeout bag, trying to find out what was for food. He could eat, he could always eat unless he couldn't eat. Today was an eat day. He's pulling out, about to pop open a foam box when Tony's produces a plastic case and tosses at it.

❝ What the- ❞ Food dropped as he reflexively moves to grab the case. He shuts up as Tony explains. They weren't tiny which Clint was glad for, he hated the damn stealth hearing aids that were like tiny earplugs that Shield made him wear. Hidden, like he was supposed to be ashamed, like no one was suppose to know.

His left eye burns and he wills himself not to get choked up because Stark's made something new, to the shape of his ear and they were purple, and they would be visible when he was wearing them. They looked nice, and they came with bells and whistles. Clint wants to shove Tony Stark, because he was fine, he didn't deserve this or need this.

Sound dampeners. He needed that. Crowded rooms bothered him a lot. His current model was Stark tech, but ones that could be bought at very low and affordable price, the ones anyone could buy because he was never going to ask for something special made. These were that. Fuck, he should just kill Tony, save Clint the guilt that he was feeling.

❝ You didn't have to do that. ❞ Thank you is what he means. He already had a headache, very dull and only at the back of skull, so swapping to new aids wasn't going to be an issue. Might as well swap them now, than ruin a headache-less day by making his brain and ears adjust to something new. He takes a moment to swap them out. The other ones will go into one of his stashes or put in his emergency gear kits, just in case.

❝ I was going to. ❞ Liar. ❝ Eventually. ❞ Liar. ❝ I've been fine. ❞ Liar.

❝ I'm giving the air-con one more month before I'll replace her. I would have called you about that. ❞ That's not one hundred percent a lie. It's more depedent upon if he could bring himself to get a new air conditioner. ❝ She's working just fine. No reason to fire her yet. ❞

Sorry, he should maybe say. ❝ What's up, Iron Pants? Your harem of women been tearing you a new one or...? ❞

Tony can hear Clint on the other side of the door moving things around. He knows that Clint is aware he knocked. Even if he didn't hear it, Lucky is barking up a storm. Besides, Tony saw the shadow at the door of Clint's huge feet and the way the light changed in the peephole when he looked through it. So there's a few options for what's going on right now.

The first is, Clint thinks he's an idiot and is pretending he doesn't know there's someone there and/or hoping that Tony thinks there's no one home. Alternatively, he's hiding something or putting on some clothes. Finally, he's trying to get his window open so he can escape out the fire escape.

Whatever the option, Tony will give Clint some time to dress/hide whatever he's hiding and if he doesn't open the door he'll break in. Bonus points for if he has tried leaving through the fire escape, in that case, when Clint gets back, Tony will also kick his ass.

After some scraping and door slamming Clint finally opens the door. "Just for you," Tony says and pushes the takeout cup into Clint's hands and use it to guide him out of the way, so Tony can push past. He glances around the room. The couch is made up for someone to sleep in. No one is here though, so either Clint's sleeping on it, or his guest is out for the moment. Or he supposed Clint could have shoved them into his bedroom as the door has been shut. Sucks for that person then, they'll be hiding in there for a long fucking time.

Tony drops the takeout bag on the coffee table and flops onto the couch, putting his feet up on the table next to the back and crossing one ankle over the other. "You didn't call me," he snarks as he fishes around in the inside breast pocket of his jacket. "And we had such a nice date, Cupid. I was thought you might be the one."

His fingers close around the smooth plastic case he'd manufactured for the new hearing aids and he pulls them out and tosses them to Clint. "Here. Try these. I had them modeled to the shape of your ear. Do not ask how I had a 3D model of that. You don't want to know. They have a background sound dampener for when you're in a really noisy space so it doesn't all just become a mess of sound. It filters out any sounds of things rubbing against them. And I can install something on your phone that you can target them onto something specific. Even if it's on the other side of a noisy room. You know, sneaky spy shit. Oh and bonus features of being fairly resistant to both water and EMPs. Not proof. Just resistant. Don't intentionally go leaving them in glasses of water over night."

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks up at Clint. "Why didn't you call me?"

[littlewalken]

mar 28

That thing where you wonder if you did or didn't need to use a specific something altho the use became sort of redundant but you tell yourself that by using the specific thing you made the inventor happy you used the product in its intended way.

The feeling shall pass.

But honestly is you have ideas for something to do in a fancy notebook but feel unsure about it get one of those reusable notebooks that take a Frixon pen. You can do what ever you want on the pages and if it's good copy it over to your fancy notebook and if not literally wash it away.

I'd also recommend them for people who start a few sentences or paragraphs then end up tossing the paper away when it's not working. You'll end up copying the good stuff to paper or the computer but in the meantime the not so good stuff will never be seen by anyone else.

To give myself enough pages I ended up buying 2 more notebooks and putting them all together. It's a fear I'll run out of pages in a notebook that's too thin bad childhood memories thing. And with the latest use I would have tun out of pages in just one book.

Going out today, where we used to live this destination would be considered a most of the day trip so anything else that needed doing would have to be done in that area. The idea we live a good hour or so down the highway and closer to that place still hasn't sunk in. It's quite literally down the main street we're off of. Still a good 20 minutes or so down that street but still, it's just down that street.

Something about the middle of the night depressive thoughts I eventually have to get on a waiting list to something something.

Then how to explain it's the dyspraxia that I've always had but you never really noticed because paying attention to me hasn't been on your mind for 40+ years. And girls don't get autism. And altho I was in dance class I was purposefully 'doing bad' in gym class because I'm 'lazy' not because of the wiring in my gross motor skills.

Dyspraxia people often display the inability to catch a ball but can do amazing things with their fine motor skills, thus the wonder of the noggin pudding.

[ftb-writes]

And here's the fill! I have more of it, to eventually continue it to, because Ganymede's one of my favorite Dragonborns I've made. As for the next post, I have a bit of a surprise one. I'll explain next Sunday when its ready!

Ganymede comes too in a pile of filth.

He did not know why he was regaining consciousness in such disgusting places these days, but he had a feeling it was just a natural occurrence for the occupants of Skyrim. It had only begun happening to him after coming to the new country (thanks, General Tullius) and the Nords here never bat an eye when they all pass out drunk in the cowpens, so perhaps there is some strange spatial anomaly going on. He should bring it up to Tolfdir.

"You alright there, friend?" A dark elf leans over him. Ganymede thinks he recognizes him from that corner club here in Windhelm -- the proprietor, he thinks, or was the other man the proprietor? The man's name eludes him at the moment, especially with the rapidly developing pounding in his skull. Something with an 'A'?

The man is beginning to give Ganymede an odd look, and it occurs to Ganymede that the elf is perhaps checking he has not received brain damage of some kind.

"Yes," he rasps, gazing up at the snow falling toward him. "This one is just waiting for the ringing to stop."

The elf chuckles humorlessly. "Looks like you lost a fight with the guards, Khajiit. Don't mind them. They like to rough us non-nords up, sure, but that's about all they're really good for. Have you come alone to Windhelm?"

Ganymede sits up (with immediate regrets at moving) to take the elf's offered hand. "Ah, no, friend," he explains with a wince, "this one came to Windhelm with a… business partner. He went and got lost in this maze of a city while this one wasn't looking. And that's when the guards showed up."

"What's he look like? I'll send someone out to find him while we get some healing potions in you." The elf carefully helps Ganymede across the snowy road, and looks up, back over his shoulder. The Khajiit had been hurled from the parapets above, a nearly three-story fall, and was walking away. Just who is this cat?

"This one thanks you," Ganymede assures, "but it will not be needed. He will find us, it just may take a bit."

Ambarys and Malthyr are behind the counter of the corner club, discussing the strange Khajiit they have boarding upstairs, when a Nord with bright red hair and a black and red jester's outfit bursts through the door, waving a paper frantically at them.

"Have you seen the Listener, Cicero's lost him, Cicero needs him back, poor Mother needs the Listener, she's going to be so angry with poor Cicero, please tell Cicero he's here, Cicero has been all over the city looking for him!" He says all this very fast, practically in the same breath. Like a whirlwind, he spins on his heels to take in the dining room and then turns back to them, a crazed desperation in his eyes.

"I--" Ambarys starts to ask, reeling, before the Nord slaps the paper (a rather bad drawing of the Khajiit upstairs) onto the counter loudly.

"He's a cat and he's very friendly, but not too friendly in that perfect just-the-right-amount-of-friendly kind of way, which is why he makes such a good Listener, and he's got gray fur and black eye spots and he's got a big scar on his nose from a bear, and it's very important Cicero brings him home in one piece, please tell poor Cicero you've seen him." The Nord (Cicero, Ambarys supposes) is almost crying, pulling anxiously at his hat's points.

"Up the stairs, third bed on the left," Malthyr cuts in before the newcomer can get going again. The Nord tosses a handful of gold onto the counter hastily and bolts through the backdoor and up the stairs. They can hear him cross the second floor in a flurry of footsteps.

"Oh Listener, thank Sithis," they hear the Nord gasp, followed by a thump and creak from the bed and a soft laugh from the Khajiit.

"What took you so long, my Cicero? This one was beginning to worry."

"You? You? What about Cicero?! Cicero thought the Listener was dead, Cicero couldn't find the Listener anywhere, and then that damned guard said he'd beat you, and Cicero saw red. Cicero's only just escaped that rat's nest of a jail."

There is a very pregnant pause, and then the Khajiit and the Nord begin chuckling together. "Oh, my Cicero," the Khajiit says, "never change."

Ganymede wakes again to a finger poking him in the arm.

"Mister Ganymede," Malthyr whispers, setting a candle on the table by the bed. "There's a member of the Thieves' Guild here looking for you two. And he's also ginger."

Ganymede can hear the hidden laughter in Malthyr's voice, and rolls his eyes. "So, this one has a type," he grumbles. "It's probably Brynjolf. Let him up."

Cicero mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and curls closer as Malthyr leaves, chasing the warmth trapped in Ganymede's fur. The jester cracks an eye open when they hear boots on the stairs. "Cicero is cold," he complains quiet.

"Well, lad," Brynjolf's voice, smooth as honey, comes from the doorway. "Best get you warmed up."

"Brynie," Cicero mumbles happily, reaching over Ganymede to wiggle his fingers into the gloom. The light through the cracks in the walls is faint, and it is silent as a grave outside. Ganymede realizes it must be very late, and that Brynjolf would have ridden into the night to get here now.

The thief himself steps into the candlelight, grinning, and scoops Cicero out of bed to settle next to Ganymede, depositing the very sleepy jester into the small space between them.

"Cicero, Brynjolf murmurs, "I hear you got arrested, naughty little thing. Stop causing so much trouble for us, attacking guards."

"He said he hurt the Listener," Cicero whines. "Brynjolf, you'd have punched him too if you heard what that bastard said about Listener."

"If you two wouldn't mind, could we discuss this later?" Ganymede wraps an arm over the two Nords beside him and yawns. "It's just, this one just got the headache to stop."

"We'll talk about this tomorrow," Brynjolf orders.

"Yes, Brynie," Cicero grumbles, before cuddling into him and falling right back to sleep.

Nords, Ganymede sighs to himself.

Markarth is a sprawling city of roughly a hundred, and Ganymede knows from experience that the phrase, 'blood and silver flow through Markarth' is terrifyingly true.

"Are you alright, lad?" Brynjolf and Cicero flank him as he gazes up at the front gates of the city. The thief had insisted on coming after the Windhelm incident to help keep Cicero better behaved.

"Listener has been awfully quiet," Cicero agrees, leaning into Ganymede's space to blink owlishly at him.

"This one," Ganymede starts, but the words stick in his throat. He swallows, and starts again. "This one did not think he would ever be back here."

"I've heard Cidna Mine is the worst prison in all of Skyrim," Brynjolf murmurs. "And you spent nearly a month there, right?" The Nords loop protective arms through the Khajiit's, ready as always to support Ganymede in all his endeavors, but they are surprised when Ganymede smiles and shakes his head.

"This one had it pretty easy in the Mine," he chuckles. "Had a few associates on the inside who helped this one. It's something else." Ganymede's smile fades. "Something worse."

"Champion," a gruff voice interrupts from behind them and the trio turn to see Markarth's resident dog breeder, who is smiling genially at Ganymede.

"Oh, Banning," Ganymede nervously returns. "How's everything been?"

"Business is good, but the table has been lonely without you," Banning grunts, not unkindly. "You'll be coming to dinner tonight, won't you? Our Lady would be happy to have you, and I'm sure your friends here would enjoy the meal." The smiles he directs between Cicero and Brynjolf are slightly less friendly and more unnerving, and both the Nords are shocked when they feel goosebumps rising along their skin. Something is distinctly off about this man, though he clearly means no harm to Ganymede.

"Ah, sorry, Banning," Ganymede is saying, and they watch Banning's face fall. "This one is on urgent business. For, ah, for our Lady, really, so she understands already!" The Khajiit has a shaky smile on his face, obviously uncomfortable but with no easy way of backing out of this conversation. "You understand, old friend?"

"Of course, Champion," the dog breeder mumbles. "Our Lady's dinner comes first."

As he walks back to the stable, the redheads beside Ganymede hurry Ganymede into Markarth and into an abandoned building Ganymede motions to. The Khajiit almost collapses, knees giving way beneath him, and the cat sinks into a dusty chair and begins loosing rattling breaths.

"You are part of the Coven of Namira, Listener," Cicero asks gently, setting a cautious hand on Ganymede's knee.

"It just sort of happened, all too fast," Ganymede murmurs, eyes far away. "This one didn't realize what was really happening until it was too late to stop."

"I've heard whispers," Brynjolf says. "What is it, exactly? I've never seen our dragonborn so shaken, Cicero."

"A coven of cannibals," Ganymede breathes, suddenly hoarse. He won't look at either of them, instead turning his gaze between the floorboards and a ring he pulls from his pocket. It's got a magical green tint to the gold metal.

"This one ate a man's heart for this," he whispers, closing his fingers around it. For a moment, his fist reels back, like he wants to throw it further into the abandoned house. He doesn't, tucking it away again with a sigh. "Namira speaks to this one through it. This one… wishes to be rid of the thing, but everytime, this one remembers--"

Ganymede abruptly stands. "We should go," he mumbles. "Let's get our business over with and get out of this cursed city."

Brynjolf and Cicero follow him out, and silently agree to not pry any further.

[cicad4s]

i discussed this with a friend but it really feels like the writers went, "yo, it'd be interesting to have an amnesiac romance a childhood friend, because you assume it'd be a safe choice when it's actually not!!" and then they poured all their heart into portraying that, just to give up on creating a meaningful ending because they didn't think that far.

route spoilers below the cut

the climax point is so rushed and dreadfully ooc. they didn't successfully build up to that scene, they didn't justify it in any way. you get no explanation for why he pulls that; it just happens, and you're left going... ???? . and then, you're forced to forgive him? it's no wonder people hate toma so much.

here is my toma good ending rewrite proposal/stuff they could add to the route:

you coax toma into opening up to you and that's what eventually leads to him learning that the heroine was in love with him the whole time. no diary BS. toma triggers a core memory, (maybe of the heroine saying she'd always be there for him or something idfk) subsequently freeing her from the amnesiac chains that bind her , and the heroine's return to her old self allows her to confess her feelings entirely.

imagining the scene more directly: toma gets so angry at the situation and the stress that he shuts down; we see toma's self deprecation that the game touches on but never rlly delves into. the heroine uses the broken part of the cage to escape, and you have the choice to either escape or comfort him. escaping is the normal end or another bad end (ukyo)

in the route: toma's stress is more emphasized. there should be a scene where something almost happens/does happen to his thesis paper, and it frazzles him. we see a lead up to the shut down that happens later in the route. maybe to cope with this stress, he tells a story about their childhood, and it highlights how much he relies on nostalgia/the heroine's existence in his life as a numbing agent. maybe he's also struggling to sleep; the scene where you wake up and toma's just staring at the cage could be prefaced by orion saying "he was tossing and turning earlier... i don't think he could sleep at all." you find out that he's an insomniac, but he felt too guilty to take the melatonin he was prescribed. i think that could also be interesting when you think abt how he drugged the heroine: he sees her as being worthy of sleep, but not himself.

i know toma is someone who is very physically put together, but this is a taxing situation for anyone and he doesn't get any real respite from it. i think there should be situations where he doesn't realize he's being watched and he slips because of it. i think orion should mention that toma looked really tired more often.

in the route, ukyo is a more present threat. he should be looming even more than he already looms. he should be the one who tried to kill heroine twice, not the fangirls. that's wayyy more justification for tomer pulling out the cage.

you hate toma's route because he does something bad. i hate his route because he was woefully mischaracterized. we are not the same...

[joachimnapoleon]

Doomed to Be Our Bane - Excerpt [Caroline's POV]

(NaNoWriMo 2021 - Day 29)

(An exhausted and ill Murat has just returned to Naples after leaving the remnants of the Grande Armée under Eugène's command; he reunites with Caroline at Caserta on 31 January 1813. Awaiting him are some letters from Napoleon...)

***

"I don't want to talk to you of the displeasure I feel at your course of conduct since my departure from the army, for that is the result of your weakness of character. However, I have thought it right to give my opinion of it frankly to your wife, the Queen of Naples. You are a good soldier on the field of battle, but elsewhere you have neither energy nor character. I presume you are not one of those who think the lion is dead. If you count on this you make a mistake. Since my departure from Vilna you have done me all the harm you could. The title of king has turned your head. If you want to keep that title you must conduct yourself differently from what you have so far done. The opportunity for reinstating yourself in my good opinion will not be long before it presents itself."

Joachim crumpled the paper up and tossed it into the fire.

"An opportunity to reinstate myself in his good opinion," he said dryly. "How very generous of him. I wonder when he might be able to reinstate himself in mine."

Caroline was silent.

"Well, out with it then," Joachim pressed. "He says he gave you his frank opinion of me. You might as well show it to me. I'm sure it could hardly be worse than this letter combined with his public humiliation of me in the Moniteur on the 27th."

But, Caroline knew, it was worse. She had intentionally concealed the letter from him since his return, knowing full well the effect it would have on him.

"I would... really prefer that you don't read it," she said. "At least not right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is it really that bad?"

"It is. And I don't want you to be so angry, especially when your health is as delicate as it is at the moment.”

She had been shocked at the sight of him upon his return to Caserta at the end of January. He was thinner than she had ever seen him, even in the wake of his illness in Spain; his complexion was jaundiced, his eyes dark. Every spark of joy that had ever existed in him seemed to have been snuffed out, and when they embraced in the first moments of their reunion, she felt nothing in him but relief and a weariness that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. He slept for fourteen hours uninterrupted his first night back with her, but it had not refreshed him as she had expected it to. He had shown no interest so far in discussing the affairs of the kingdom.

Nor would he talk about the war. For as long as she had known him, he had loved telling war stories, regaling her with his exploits in battle, and those of his comrades-in-arms. He had never even shied away from giving her the most shocking details of the past campaigns, not because he had wanted to horrify her, but because she had always insisted on it. She could never go into the field with him, could never share this one thing--war--that had been so central to his life, to his very being, for his entire adult life. But unlike so many of her female friends, who were content to remain detached from this aspect of their soldier-husbands' lives, it troubled her to think that she could never fully understand him as long as this subject remained so abstract, so opaque. It took some coaxing before he was willing to indulge her desire to know the full, unvarnished truth of his experiences, but eventually he had come to confide in her easily, and it had strengthened their bond.

This time it was different. He had told her only: It was terrible. Terrible beyond anything you can possibly imagine. And so far, he had refused to elaborate any further.

"Show me the letter," he insisted, holding out his hand. "We might as well just get it all out of the way at once."

"But Joachim..."

"It'll be worse for me to have the suspense hanging over my head than to just read it now and be done with it."

She reluctantly retrieved the letter and handed it to him. He unfolded it and read it aloud.

"Your husband, the King of Naples, deserted the army on the 16th. He is a brave man on the battlefield, but he is--" he stopped, his eyes widening as they scanned the words. His cheeks reddened.

Caroline held her breath.

"He is weaker than a woman or a monk when he is not in sight of the enemy," Joachim's voice quavered. "He has no moral courage. I leave it to you to express to him all the displeasure I have felt at his conduct in this matter."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why? You didn't write it," he snapped. He tore the paper into shreds and consigned them to the fire along with the blackened remnants of the first letter. "Damn him."

"You know how he can be," she said in a soothing tone. "And I'm sure he must be under a great deal of str--"

"Don't make excuses for his despicable treatment of me," he said. "Yes, I know how he can be. He can be a rank hypocrite, accusing me of ingratitude while he repeatedly insults me in the most vile manner after I sacrificed eight months away from my family on his behalf, suffering through cold and starvation and horrors the likes of which you cannot possibly begin to fathom. And how many years of sacrifices before that? All for him! And this--" he gestured at the burning letters, "--is the thanks I get. He can abandon the army and all is fine and well; I do the same thing and I am weaker than a woman and a monk; and Paris gets to read in the Moniteur how much more capable Eugène is than me!"

"Please, my love, you must calm yourself. You are already very ill and if you keep up like this, you will be bedridden with a fever in no time. I tried to tell you--"

"One day, Caroline," and there was a sudden calm in his tone, "that man is going to regret the way he's treated me. One day very soon."

"What do you mean? Joachim?"

He regarded her in silence for a moment, his lips parting ever so slightly as if he were on the brink of divulging something to her; whatever it was, he seemed to decide against it.

"Nevermind, my dear. I think I'm going to lay down for a while."

"Yes. Yes, please get some rest." She drew him towards her and kissed him; his cheek was unnaturally warm. She sighed. They would be returning to the capital tomorrow, but she doubted he would be in any condition to meet with his ministers and resume handling the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom for some time.

But at least he would finally be able to see the children again.