#as you can see this was such an easy relaxing read

[insidekatmind]

Secret-Hwang In-ho

Wearning: +18,smut

You let the guards drag you away, their touch firm but not painful. The buzz behind you is a mixture of whispers and widened eyes, a mixture of curiosity and fear. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to make sense of what is happening.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tremble in your tone gives you away.

Silence. No response. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing in the long colorful corridors, a labyrinth of stairs and turns that seems to never end.

Finally, you stop in front of a purple door. A quick beep and the door opens with a mechanical hiss. The guards push you in without ceremony, closing the exit behind you.

The air in here is different. There is no sterile coldness of other environments. The soft lights paint the room with golden shades, reflecting on elegant black furniture. The distant sound of an old jazz melody hangs in the air. In the center of the room, sitting on a dark leather armchair, there is a man.

You recognize him immediately, even if you've never seen his face before. His sharp facial features are partially hidden by the shadows, but his black eyes, cold and calculating, are fixed on the screen in front of him. The images scroll on the display: the games, the participants, the desperation. In his hand, a glass with an amber liquid. The sound of melting ice is the only noise besides the music.

Hold your breath. He's attractive, yes, but there's something about him that creeps you out. A silent power, a presence that crushes the air around it. The most disturbing detail? His face is uncovered. No mask to hide his identity. It lies next to him, abandoned on the table.

"Sit down." His voice is low, fluid, but leaves little room for discussion.You obey, your body moves almost automatically. He relaxes in the chair, eyes still on you, cold and inscrutable.

“You were interesting to watch, Player 114.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an almost amused calm.

You look at him confused, then you look up and see the big screen and you saw that the other players were terrified. He follows your gaze, a smirk on his lips. He seems to find some twisted amusement in this situation.

“Don’t worry. They can't hear us.”He takes a sip of his drink and looks back at you."You're probably wondering why you're here."

You’re about to reply when he interrupts you.“And don't bother denying it. There are cameras everywhere. I could see your confusion, read it on your face."He leans forward in his seat, his gaze still fixed on you."I’ll be honest. I wanted to meet you, Player 114."There is something almost sinister in his demeanor, the way he’licks his lips.

"Why did you want to see me?" you murmur. “Oh, now we're being bold, huh?” he chuckles, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I like that.”He leans back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass. “You're different. You can’t deny that.”

In-ho pauses, eyes roaming over you again, as if he was searching for something specific.“Most of these players are...predictable. They’re easy to manipulate. But you,” he takes another sip, "you're not.”

He gets up from his chair and slowly walks towards you. Every step echoes in the tense silence between you. He stands in front of you, so close that you can smell the faint hint of alcohol in his breath."You're curious. You observe. You think. And most importantly," he leans down, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you adapt."

“it's called survival” you say looking at him. He laughs at that, a dark sound that sends chills down your back. "Survival, huh? Smart."He steps even closer, now towering over you. The air between you is charged, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"But it’s more than that." He reaches forward, his fingertips grazing your chin, lifting your face to look at him. “You’re special.” His touch is cold, the skin of his hands almost rough. He lets his fingers trail from your chin down your throat, barely touching you, sending tingles across your skin. His expression is unreadable.

“Most of the others, they’re all the same. They rely on their instincts, fear, anger. It makes them predictable. Weak.”His words are as sharp as his touch. He circles you now, his eyes roaming over your figure, a hunter assessing his prey.

You watch him carefully, evaluating his every move. He walks slowly, moving around you like a predatory, his footsteps measured and deliberate. Every movement is calculated, designed to keep you on edge.

"But not you," he says, his voice low and smooth like velvet. "You're different."He stops behind you, his breath brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His presence is overwhelming, his body so close to yours that you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him. His voice drops to a whisper, "You’re smarter than the rest. More perceptive. And I find that..." His fingers touch your hair, a barely there graze against your scalp, "Enticing."

His touch leaves a burning trail on your skin. He leans forward, his body pressing against yours, his mouth close to your ear. "You could go far, Player 114."His scent envelopes you, a mixture of smoke and something darker, something addictive.

His hand slides down the side of your neck, fingers tracing your collarbone. The contact is almost electrifying, his touch so light yet powerful enough to render you trembling.

"I see it in you. Potential. Determination. Strength."He stands directly behind you now, the heat of his body seeping into you, filling you with a confusing mix of anticipation and dread. His other hand finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s a possessive gesture, his grip firm but non-threatening. His fingers skim along the curve of your hip and back up again, igniting a fire within you that you try to suppress.

"What do you have in mind?" you ask carefully. He chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck. "Oh, I have plenty of things in mind for you, Player 114."

He’s so close now that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. His hand slowly slides up your side, tracing a path of fire against your skin.“You’re not like any of them. You’re interesting.” He leans in close, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “And I like interesting."

His touch is almost tender now, the hand on your waist pulling you impossibly closer, your back flush against his chest. His free hand continues its journey, tracing patterns across your arm, his touch so light it’s torture.“I saw you, you know. During the games.” He pauses, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. “I noticed you immediately. The way you moved, the way you reacted. Brilliant.”

"huh, do you have a crush for me?" you say sarcastically. He laughs, a low, throaty sound that reverberates through his chest. "A crush?"His hand on your hip tightens slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving behind a pleasant ache.

“I don’t have crushes, honey."He spins you around to face him, his hand moving to your chin, holding it up so you’re looking directly at him.

He steps closer, the distance between you almost non-existent. He’s towering over you again, his eyes burning into yours with dark intensity."I take what I want, and right now, I want you."His words hang in the air, heavy and loaded with a dangerous promise.

You stiffen at the realization that he wanted you as a toy. He notices your reaction, the slight change in your eyes, the tensing of your muscles.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, honey."His hand on your chin moves to your cheek, his thumb skimming along your jawline, the touch both gentle and menacing.“Surely you could tell I had something else in mind than just talking.”

In-ho touches your lower lip and plays with it, making it drag down a little. Your breath stutters at the feeling of his touch on your lip. It’s almost soft, the way he manipulates your mouth, his thumb dragging it lower with a possessive gesture.He leans closer, his face only a few inches from yours now, the atmosphere heavy with a mixture of desire and danger.

His eyes hold your gaze captive, the intensity in them making your stomach churn and twist. His touch is still there on your lip, the back and forth motion sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins."I could make you mine, you know." He whispers, his voice almost a purr.

“On your knees,” he orders, playing with your lip again. Your eyes widened knowing what he wanted. His tone is commanding, leaving no room for hesitation. Your mind is reeling, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through you. But you can’t help the way your body reacts, and you find yourself sinking to your knees, obeying his command without a second thought.

He’s still towering over you, his dominant position making you feel small and vulnerable. He grabs your chin, lifting your face to look at him."Good girl." His voice is a low growl, a mixture of satisfaction and desire.

“Pull my pants down,” he orders you. His word’s hung in the air like daggers. You look up at him, wide-eyed, your breath caught in your throat.There is no room for negotiation in his tone, no hint of softness behind his gaze.Your hands shake as you reach for his belt, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. He watches you intently, eyes dark and unreadable. Every move you make is followed by a slight, almost imperceptible, shift in his expression. Your fingers are clumsy as you pull his trousers down, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of the fabric hitting the floor echoes in the room like a gunshot.

“You know what to do” he says lifting his thumb from your lip and bringing his hand into your hair. You can’t help but shiver at his touch, his fingers woven through your hair in a possessive grip. His gaze is still fixed on you, dark and possessive, as he awaits your actions. You know what’s expected of you now. Your hands shaking, you reach up, gripping his thighs for support. This is uncharted territory for you, a dangerous game with unknown rules. But something about his command makes your breath catch in your throat, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins.

You pull down his boxers and gasp at the size of him. Your reaction draws his attention, a smirk playing on his lips."Surprised?”He looks down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You slowly take it into your mouth, but In-ho had other plans: he grabbed a handful of your hair to block you and let his entire cock enter your mouth. “Don't be shy darling,” he grunts, thrusting his hips.

You look at him as you suck him and he grunts. In the room you could only hear the sound of your mouth on his cock as you sucked it. He groans throwing his head back. “you're so good baby” he murmurs pushing his hips faster. His words send a thrill of excitement coursing through you, a strange mix of pride and shame. He’s giving you orders, guiding you, and you can’t deny that it’s affecting you, arousing you.

“I’ll make sure you think about this every time you remember me” he pants, his grip on your hair getting tighter. “Every time you watch the games.” His words reverberate through you like a thunderclap, a reminder of the games, the situation you're in, and the power he holds over you.

He continues moving his hips, his pace growing more and more irregular. “I have a special place for you.” You continue to suck him using your tongue too and he cums in your mouth. He grunts deeply as he cums, his hands still gripping your hair. “That’s it,” he pants, his voice hoarse. “Take it all.” He looks down at you, eyes dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

In-ho lets go of your hair, and you pull away, catching your breath. The moment feels like a blur, a strange combination of control and helplessness. In-ho quickly covers himself back up, his expression returning to its usual cool demeanor. You look up at him, still on your knees, and he gazes back at you with something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. His breathing is heavy, punctuated by ragged gasps of pleasure. "I want you to be mine, but there are conditions.”

He reaches down and lifts your chin, tilting your face up so you're looking directly at him. There is a seriousness in his eyes, a hint of a threat disguised as a warning.

You touch your throat because it was burning now. "and would they be?" you murmur voicelessly. "You'll find out in time."

He runs his thumb lightly across your lip like he did before."Just know, honey..."He leans down and whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin."I don't like to share." He steps back, taking in the sight of you kneeling there, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. He runs his fingers through his hair, a small gesture that betrays the cool facade he's trying to maintain.

"You'll be my little secret, for now," he says, his tone low and possessive. "But if I decide to claim you... there's no going back."

You widened your eyes knowing that now you had no choice left.

[namgyunation]

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants—the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then— "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

© to @namgyunation on tumblr; do not repost

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

[borathae]

BTS Reaction: Breakfast in Bed

Anonie said: Sibiuuu I'm back 😚😚😚 thank you so much for all the other reactions, I'm so happy yippiee 😚 neow listen kween 👉🏾👈🏾 Bangtan's reaction to getting breakfast in bed? I just think it would be so fluffy and sweet 👉🏾👈🏾

Genre: Fluff

Gender: not-specified

Wordcount: 3k

a/n: anonie my love! this is exactly the kind of content I lose my shit over gaaah i LOVE!! this got so insanely fluffy and romantic i'm so happy but also omgmgm listen 😔 the thought of having a lover? and surprising them with breakfast in bed? i cry because it's not my reality 😔

Namjoon

CW: hinted “night after” trope, bsf2l!AU

This is the first time he stays at your place. You and he aren’t new per say. As a matter for fact, you were best friends before you became more. Namjoon always said that friends can’t become lovers until he fell for you. Namjoon was also at your place before, many times actually, but he never slept over. Especially not as your boyfriend. After a, well, after a very nice night. 

He traces the spots you touched last night, reminiscing with closed eyes how it was to be with you. Namjoon always thought that love making was only thing of movies. Sex stems from humans and humans are too flawed the create something as innocent as love making. Then he laid with you and felt your breath against his neck and Namjoon finally got it. 

He opens his eyes before his racing heart can overwhelm him. He sits up.

“Holy fuck”, he presses out, touching his own chest to make sure that he was still alive. His heart never raced as much before. So this is how it feels like.

You have some books on the bedside table. Namjoon reaches for one of them in order to distract himself from the massive butterflies in his stomach. He begins reading, glasses perched atop his nose while his tummy continues to tingle.

The books is about philosophy and art. No wonder he fell for you. An art exhibition is only truly enjoyable when he visits it with you. Philosophy only really makes him want to think if he knows that he can share his thoughts with you later. Nature is truly only relaxing if he knows that you get to be next to him. Falling in love with you was as easy as breathing. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Namjoon lowers the book, giving you his full attention. His hair is messy, his glasses sit on his nose very prettily. He isn’t wearing a shirt, honey skin kissed by the sunlight entering your bedroom.

“I am. Good morning. Damn, you are really beautiful”, he says, tummy fluttering.

“Thank you. You are beautiful too.”

Namjoon watches you close the distance, “what are you carrying?”

“Breakfast. I thought I could impress you. You know, first night together and all that.” You explain, putting the tray on his lap. “Let me know what you think of it.”

Namjoon studies it, feeling lost for words. You aren’t his first relationship and yet you are the very first person to ever make him breakfast in bed. Well, except for his parents when he got sick as a kid, but this was totally not the same thing. 

“You’re quiet. Does this mean you don’t like it?” you ask quietly.

“What? No, I love it. I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it, that’s all.” 

“Wait till you taste it. I really put my whole breakfastussy into it.”

He cracks up, scrunching his eyes. You snicker, swaying from side to side giddily.

“If that’s the case, I have to try it. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

You put on some music in the meantime. It is the same vinyl you listened to last night. 

Your eyes meet shyly. His heart is racing as much as yours is. The memory of last night is so sweet.

“Is it okay if I put on some music?” you ask.

“It's more than okay. You're fucking perfect”, he assures you.

“Nice”, you return to bed, getting comfortable on your side. You sit cross-legged, snatching some of the food to snack on.

But Namjoon can’t concentrate on breakfast. All he sees is you.

He finally gets it. Namjoon finally goddamn gets it.

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently. You stop munching, meeting his eyes in curiousity.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, thumb tracing your knuckles, “I know, first morning kiss and us being in the middle of eating and all, but maybe?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’d really like to kiss you too”, you confess and close the distance to do exactly that.

Seokjin

“Wakey wakey to some brekkie”, you coo, entering the bedroom with a tray full of food. 

Seokjin, your boyfriend and occasional private chef, gawks at you in surprise as the roles are reversed this morning. He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, when you entered the bedroom. 

“You made me breakfast?” he asks, voice dripping in disbelief.

“I did and it’s your favourite. Now careful, there’s lots on there.”

Seokjin stares in pure shock, feeling his heart speed up. His ears are flushed. 

“Wow, I mean, wow. I love it, but why?”

“Why? Because I want to treat you, that’s why.”

“I see”, he murmurs and lowers his head shyly, ear flushing even harder. “Thank you, wow.” 

You snicker, climbing on bed.

“Now try it, pookie. Before it gets cold.”

“I don't even know where to start. Everything looks so good.” 

“Maybe this? I made it with extra love.”

“Wah, you and your cheesy lines.”

You laugh, “I learned from the best”, you tease, nudging his soft cheek.

Seokjin lets you because you are the only person he allows touching his face. Because he loves you and trusts you. And because your touch is always placed so gently. 

“Then I guess I have to start with this”, he says and picks up the chopsticks.

You snicker beside him, making him sneak a glance at you. You are so adorable to him right now. 

Seokjin lowers the chopsticks, meeting your eyes. He looks at you in ways you have never seen on him. Serious, intense and deeply in love. 

“What?” 

“Just making sure that this is real. You’re so perfect.”

“Be quiet.”

You fluster, lowering your head. The racing of your heart increases when he tilts your head back up with two fingers under your chin. His brows are lifted in a gentle invitation to open your mouth and take the bite he offers. 

Of course you take it, heart truly losing it when he wipes the corner of your mouth and licks his finger. 

Whatever happened to your goofy boyfriend right now, please don’t let it end. Don’t misunderstand, you love his dorky side, but this is changing you as a person. He is so attractive right now.

“Is it yummy?” he asks, gazing at your lips as he caresses your chin.

“It is. Wow, you just made my heart race.”

Seokjin grins lopsidedly and leans closer, ��good.” He whispers and kisses your lips with such seriousness and emotion that your heart begins racing yet again.

Yoongi

Yoongi is already awake when you enter the bedroom. He is staring at the wall, trying to come alive on the lazy Saturday this way. Like most mornings, his hair is dented at the back and sticks up messily. It’s a cute look especially paired with his puffy cheeks and barely open eyes.

“Oh? You’re awake? Perfect. Brb”, you say after sticking your head into the room to check on him.

Yoongi acknowledges you with a hum and smacks his lips. He sits, waiting curiously for you to come back while his sleepy eyes run over the dimly lit room. 

You return with something in your hands and a goofy grin on your lips.

“Good morning, darling.”

“What’s this?” his voice is still raspy from sleep.

“Breakfast in bed. It’s raining today and I wanted to be romantic.” You put the tray on his lap. “Tada.”

Yoongi scans his eyes over the array of his favourite breakfast food. You even made him an iced Americano and put together a small flower bouquet with flowers from the garden. 

Yoongi feels so giddy that he could burst. But he is also a little shy about being openly giddy (and very sleepy), so he sits and stares while his heart races unbearably. 

“What do you think?” you ask him, running your fingers through his hair.

“You did this for me?” he sounds in disbelief. 

“Of course I did.” You peck his cheek. “You deserve it and I love you.”

“Thank you. This makes me so happy”, he says and begins eating with flushed cheeks and a giddy smile.

“And? Is it good?” 

“It is. I love breakfast”, he gushes and puts his arm around your waist to pull you close. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed, giggling happily when he kisses your cheek. His eyes sparkle in adoration once he pulls back.

“Thank you for this. I’m very happy.”

“It's because I love you.”

“I love you too.” He closes his eyes and rests his head on your shoulder, giving your waist a soft squeeze, “Thank you.”

You love how Yoongi shows affection, melting in fondness. You hug his head, giving it a little kiss.

“Anything for you, baby.”

Hoseok

“Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~” 

You are entering the bedroom singing and dancing. Hoseok, who is already awake and merely thought that you went for a shower, gawks at you with an open mouth and widened eyes. He even startled a little at first, still clutching his imaginary pearls.

“Happy birthday my Hobi babyyyy~ happy birthday to you.”

You stop by his side, grinning down at him. A purple birthday hat adorns your head. 

“Happy birthday, baby. I hope you’re hungry, I made you breakfast.”

Hoseok giggles, dropping into the sheets to kick his feet. He covers his face behind his hands, looking so adorable that you have to giggle with him. 

You love making him happy. Happiness suits him so well.

“Wow baby, I can’t believe it. This is perfect. I love it”, he gushes, sitting up so he could hug you. Very aggressively if one might add.

“Careful, the food.”

“Yeah, right. Sorry. Show me.”

You put the tray on his lap, eliciting another giggling fit from him. 

“I love it. Thank you. This is the best birthday ever.”

“And it is just the beginning. I have so much planned. So many presents to give you”, you say and lean down to hug him, giving him a big smooch as you do, “I’m gonna treat you like a king today, baby.”

Hoseok leans into your embrace, closing his eyes for it and squeaking giddily.

“Thank you so much. Wow, wait. I need to take pictures. And videos!”

“Do that, my cutie.”

Jimin

CW: hinted "night after" trope but make it flirty

He is supposed to stay in bed and let you surprise him. But of course he doesn’t. Although you made sure to sneak out before he wakes up, you suddenly find yourself in the kitchen with his arms around you and his chest against your back.

“Mhhm smells like breakfast. I’m so hungry already”, he purrs sleepily, using his lower register for it as his soft lips nibble on your neck. He rubs your tummy and waist softly, “what are we making?”

“You are not making anything, you are supposed to be in bed. Goddamn it, my plans are ruined.”

“What plans?” 

“I wanted to use your sleeping-in-tendencies to my advantage and make you breakfast in bed. But of course you have to wake up timely today.”

Jimin chuckles, kissing your ear. 

“I’m sorry. Last night knocked me out deep enough that I feel well rested.”

“Noted. I know what to do next time I want you to relax.”

“Please do, I’ll turn into your devotee.”

You chuckle, but tingle a moment later when Jimin sucks on your skin gently.

“Last night was amazing”, he purrs, kissing a path up to your ear so he could tickle it with his lips, “was it good for you too?”

“It was and you’re teasing”, you say, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. He feels so good.

“I’m not. I’m reminiscing.”

“You are totally teasing”, you laugh, “and you’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to go back to bed. I’m almost done.”

“But the kisses.”

“No buts. Breakfast in bed.”

“At least let me carry something. It’s the least I can do after ruining the surprise.”

“No. Back to bed now. I’m the one to romance you today.” You turn around and shove at his bared chest gently. “Hop, hop. I’m not asking again.” 

Jimin takes your hands and pulls them to his lips for a kiss, giving you flirty eyes.

“One kiss before I leave, to thank you for cooking.”

“Fine, one kiss. And then I’m sending your cute butt back to bed.”

Taehyung

He knows that you are awake, floating in a state between sleep and awareness. The sound of you doing something in the apartment is his background music, increasing the cozy state he is in. The bedroom windows are open, letting in the warm morning breeze. The curtains dance in the wind and the sun shines onto his skin. He isn’t wearing a shirt because he gets hot easily. The sun feels really good. Warm. It’s a nice, deep warmth. The kind of warmth which gets rid of muscle aches.

Life couldn’t get any better than this. You suddenly enter the bedroom and life actually does get better than this. A lot better. 

“Oh crap, your eyes are open”, you say, halting in your once confident steps.

Taehyung smiles at the view of you, “good morning.”

“Good morning, hey. You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you.”

“With what?”

You pull flowers from behind your back.

“For me?” he gasps and sits up, stretching his arms out to you. 

“Yeah for you. I meant to put them on the bedside table next to you, so you’d wake up to them”, you explain as you trott to his bedside and put the flowers on their planned spot. You pout.

“But they’re so beautiful. Don’t be sad.” He assures you in a soft spoken voice, holding your hand. “I love them.”

“My surprise though. It’s ruined.”

He kisses your knuckles, “no, it’s not. It’s the most perfect surprise ever.” 

“There’s even more.”

“More?” he sounds in disbelief, following you with widened eyes as you leave again.

“Soon.���

Taehyung gazes at the flowers while he waits for your return. His heart is racing. This is such a romantic surprise and he loves these kinds of surprises.

“Eyes closed”, you announce your return.

“They’re closed.”

“And no peeking.”

“I’m not.”

He listens to you come closer again, then suddenly feels a weight on his lap.

“Okay, open them.”

Taehyung instantly gasps, eyes wide and tummy bursting in butterflies. 

“You made breakfast in bed?”

“I did.”

“Darling, oh my god. I don’t know what to say. This is…wow, it looks so yummy.”

You climb onto bed and sit down next to him, picking up a little strawberry which you tipped into whipped cream. 

“Open up.”

Taehyung takes in the strawberry with the cutest, most adorable expression, sending your heart into overdrive.

“Gosh, I have the cutest boyfriend ever”, you gush, caressing his cute little cheeks. 

Taehyung scrunches his nose giddily, leaning into your touch. His eyes are sparkling. 

“Open up. I’m feeding your adorable butt today.”

Taehyung giggles, letting it happen with a racing heart. He loves when you pamper him.

Jungkook

You and he went out with his friends last night. It got late and the two of you got drunk. He stayed over at your place, sleeping with no shirt on and his hair a total mess. Judging by how loudly he snores, he must be sleeping very well. You slept well too, despite the alcohol. Luckily for you, or perhaps because of your clever precautions of drinking lots of water, you don’t feel hungover. Just hungry. Really hungry. But you are also lazy and don’t want to leave bed. You have been staring at your boyfriend obsessively ever since you woke up.

You are so lucky. He is so handsome and he was so lovely last night. He kept close to you at all times and made sure you felt welcome with his friends by always including you in the conversation. He even borrowed you his jacket when you got cold and held your hand as you walked home. 

Jungkook snores especially loudly next to you, startling himself awake with it. He lifts his head, staring at the sheets with empty eyes.

“Good morning”, you chuckle, ruffling his hair.

“Hmhornming isf imf snorim ismsloud”, he mumbles something unintelligible and drops into the pillow again. His eyes close. His lips part. He fell back to sleep. He is so funny without even trying.

“Okay, you’re a sleepy head. Guess I gotta eat without you”, you decide and roll out of bed. 

Breakfast is prepared quickly and you return with your tray of food. You just about sat down when Jungkook lifts his head again. He is frowning sleepily, pouting.

“Good morning. Again”, you tease.

“Food?”

“Yes, this is food.”

“For me?”

“Do you want food?”

He nods his head. You already knew that he wouldn’t last long next to the smell of food, but this is a new record of how quickly he wakes from it. Doesn’t matter, you already prepared his tray in the kitchen.

“Sit up then.”

Jungkook obeys, grumbling and groaning as he does.

“Hungover?”

“Little.”

“This should help. Here we go.”

“Thanks.”

You leave the room to get his tray (which is now your tray because you gave Jungkook the first one) and return to Jungkook munching on his breakfast happily. His hair is a mess and his eyes are still puffy, but he looks happy. And a lot less hungover. 

You get on bed next to him, halting in your attempt to eat when he stubs your arm with his fingers.

He is looking at you with the puppiest puppy eyes ever.

“Yes?” 

“Did I take your food?”

“No, I planned for both of us.”

“You can have more if you want to.”

“It’s perfect for me. Just eat, baby.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Eat, baby.”

Jungkook holds your hand, “thank you for this. And for last night. I really appreciate everything you do for me and I love spending time with you.”

“I love it too, baby.”

He squeezes your hand, “and I love you.”

“Wow, you.” You and he didn’t exchange the big L-word yet. “You really mean it?”

“I mean it. A lot.”

“Kook, wow. I love you too.”

[artemisiasmuse]

Hey so ur insanely fucking talented I JUST read ur latest prompt if u have the time 🙂‍↔️ can we pls get a prompt of rafe going through readers Pinterest acc just to find that hidden board she’s so secretive about since she feels like ‘it’s too early for That and rafe wouldn’t like it’ and when reader finds out she’s just all prissy and a lil embarresed and rafes just all adorable about it <3333 anyways ly and take care it could be long too just dump ur head innit

ANON YOUR MIND i want to kiss ur brain, thank u for the support i appreciate so much :((

cw: fluff^2, some manhandling, height difference

rafe finding your wedding board:

he’s using your laptop for some work thing he can’t delay and since he’s at your place it just makes sense and you don’t think twice about it

once he’s done he notices your open tabs and while rafe is vehemently against snooping he can’t help himself but click on the “<3 wedding <3” pinterest tab he finds it full of rings, dresses, ceremony, decorations, cakes, and even invitation pictures. he thinks it’s sweet and he’s about to leave it alone, chalking it up to another girly thing, when he notices the description of the board. “for me and rafey one day” and then he decides no he can’t leave it alone. he takes a few pictures of the rings, for later, and tries to leave your laptop just as it was

he finds you in your room, putting clothes away into your closet and can’t help but think how you would in a wedding dress or just how pretty a ring would look on your fingers

you notice him staring, turning towards him with a smile, setting down the clothes you were folding, “all good?” he decides he’d much rather find out where you head is at, were you waiting for him to pop the question? you guys were young sure but not that young.

“uh huh, saw something interesting though.” his hands find your hips, turning you around so your back is to the wall. he knows you’ll try to run, so he gently walks you two backwards until your back is against the wall. you’re so trusting all you do is look up at him with wide eyes, he wonders if he should be concerned with how easily you let him manhandle you

“yeah what’s that rafey?” you mumble, taken with how strong your boyfriend is and how good he looks in a plain white tee. it should be illegal

“rafey there’s that name, you know you and rafey could make ‘one day’ a lot sooner.” he smirks down at you, leaning down with his arm resting next to your head, caging you in. you close your eyes as you realize at once what he’s referring to, embarrassment making you unable to meet his eyes. oh god you were so fucked. you’d been dating a while but you didn’t think it was time to bring up marriage! you were scared of rafe finding out and now you’d definitely fucked it up. god how embarrassing!

“hey! you weren’t supposed to see that.” you huff, your cheeks puffing up and you’re practically stomping your feet like a little kid. rafe is endlessly endeared, laughing at your reaction

“oh but you left it open, thought you wanted me to see?” he was crowding you against the wall, leaning down so he was your height and you couldn’t help but blink up at him owlishly. rafe was having too much fun teasing you.

“no i-, it was a mistake okay? just forget you saw it, we’re too young and it’s too-“

“relax baby, i thought it was cute, i was ready to propose on our second date.” he cut you off, there was no way in hell he’d give you the impression he wasn’t all in. your heartbeat stuttered at his words, second date, so early on you hadn’t even thought about a relationship let alone marriage.

“stop teasing.” your cheeks puffed up, if you weren’t so embarrassed you might have cried from how mean he was being. you really loved him truly and deeply, if he proposed you weren’t even sure if you could bring yourself to say no, age be damned.

“i’m not, mrs. cameron” your lashes fluttered at the name, rafe loved how easy it was to read you.

“oh my god.” you groaned, stuffing your face into his chest and making him laugh at your reaction. rafe thinks you should start getting used to the name, it’s gonna be yours soon anyway. now he just has to steal one of your rings to get the size right.

[lila-went-missing]

Hey girl! Can I request some fluffy Vi headcannons? <3

Absolutely! I'm finally writing on my laptop, partially because I have the live UConn feed on my phone. They 're playing Tennessee and I'm STRESSING, they're down four points in the last quarter. I hope you love this but I'm sorry if it seems rushed. This kind of turned into general relationship hcs but it’s all very fluffy. X

Fluffy Vi headcanons

For starters, Vi has had anything but an easy like and it really shows through the way that she acts around people.

Originally I think she would be a bit standoffish, especially right after leaving Stillwater.

It might take a while but she would get used to having you around. Her body would definitely take a while for her body to catch up to her mind. Any time you reach out to touch her she might tense up or flinch back, but she knows you wouldn't hurt her. She'd get there eventually it just might take some time and patience.

On the other hand she would love to be touching you.

I wholeheartedly believe that one of her love languages is physical touch.

She can convey feelings through contact that she can't with words.

She would constantly have a hand on you, whether shes holding yours, keeping it on your thigh, or just a hand on the small of your back as you walk.

She likes to have a physical reminder that you're safe and right there.

She'd love it when you lay in her lap, doing your own thing while she reads a book.

When they robbed Jayce's apartment the first place she went was the bookshelf. You can't convince me this girl isn't the biggest bookworm.

I feel like she would run a hand through your hair while you traced patterns on one of her legs.

I also think she would love to read your own copies of the same book and later discuss. I saw someone else mention this and I loved it.

Vi definitely sees herself as a protector so she would love being the big spoon.

The feeling of holding you against her, covering your body with her own.

Especially with how big she is.

She's like 5'10, BROAD shoulder, MUSCLES!!! She'd for sure cover most of your body.

She would not care how much you weigh or if you have some chub, she would pick you up and throw you around in her arms. Argue with the wall.

But despite all of this, sometimes she would need to be held and babied.

She wouldn't ask for it outright, at least not at first.

She would have this look on her face, her brows slightly furrowed and an almost undetectable frown.

But you see it of course.

So you would pull her into your lap, or on your chest, and just lay with you for a while.

Vi seems like the person to LOVE having her hair played with and her back rubbed.

I mean borderline purring because she’s so relaxed.

But who can blame her. With all the work and fighting she does I know her back is full of knots.

Our girl does NOT get a break.

Other than physical touch I think she’d be big on acts of service.

I mean come one her whole life her purpose has been to protect people so you can’t convince me she doesn’t like doing things for you.

It’s a whole range of things. From grabbing something off the top shelf to beating up a guy who made you uncomfortable when you went out for drinks.

Sometimes you have to force her to relax.

But it’s all worth it to her if she’s making your life easier.

I can see you patching her up quite frequently.

Even though she doesn’t fight in the pits anymore she does fight a lot of people for you.

There are a lot of bruised knuckles in your future.

After a while though she’ll settle down, more focused on making you happy than beating up a guy for looking at you.

She loves you very much. It may take her a bit to say it but she does.

She’s shows you her love everyday too through her actions.

You’re by far her favorite person.

She definitely calls you cupcake, among other things.

Other than cupcake, her favorites are probably babe, baby, and princess in a playful way.

HEAVY on Princess if you’re from Piltover.

But she says it with so much love that you don’t mind the playful jab.

I think she’d be addicted to you tracing her tattoo.

Plus you’d never get bored because it’s so big and intricate.

It’s another thing that would knock her out in like five minutes.

Moral of the story she’s addicted to you and wants to spend the rest of her life with you.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 5

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Upon discovering this is not the first time Marianus has met the emperors, you learn the horrible truth of what they endured at the hands of their father. It isn’t until later that night do you realize just how deep these scars run.

Tags: Marianus gets beat up at Geta’s command, mentions of past child abuse, mentions of mcs own toxic relationship with their parents, medical inaccuracies, split second of period-typical misogyny, period-typical slavery, Caracalla has a flashback and hits you during it, violence, dissociation (Caracalla), self-harming behaviors (mc does this), discussions of PTSD, and finally, even more absolutely diabolical levels of ‘I can fix them’ from mc

Word Count: 10.8k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

Not once, in your entire life, did you get to have a lazy afternoon. You always imagined what it would be like to have no responsibilities for as little as an hour. All you wanted was for some time to bask in the sun, talk to a friend about nothing and everything at the same time, or even lay in bed for a few extra minutes in the morning. Of course, that was too much to ask for. Even in your earliest memories, you were stuck doing something or the other. From music lessons to tutoring, extracurriculars, and schoolwork, your parents made sure you hardly had time to breathe. Eventually, you got used to the fast paced life you were given, though it would be a lie if you didn’t wonder if the grass was greener on the other side. What was the world like for the ones left behind?

It wasn’t until this never ending dream did you get to find out.

Aelius laughed and punched the air with one hand, the other held against his stomach to keep the walnuts cradled in his palm from falling to the ground. His smile was playfully victorious. When he got close, he gave you a whack on the shoulder. “I win again. You are very bad at this game, my friend.”

“You grew up playing it,” You countered. Though your tone was exasperated, you grinned at him. “Set them up again. I will win this time.”

“I doubt that,” Aelius teased as he did as you requested. Expertly, he scattered the nuts along the slope, set up in a way where it would be a challenge for both of you to hit. It felt a little unfair considering he was better at the game than you, but you were having too much fun to care.

Aelius was showing you a game he played as a child where you took turns rolling walnuts down a slope lined with even more nuts. Whichever ones you hit, you would take, and whoever had the most in the end, won. Out of the six times you and Aelius played, you came out victorious only once. You were sure that was because Aelius went easy on you. He wasn’t pulling his punches anymore.

Marianus yawned from his place in one of the archways. He was relaxing, his back pressed against the hot stone as the afternoon sun beamed down at him. With his dark skin and hair, it would do little to affect him, even if you wished to slather him with sunscreen. The three of you, plus your ever-present praetorian escorts, had taken up space in the walkways of the garden. This particular one was settled on a small hill, making it perfect for a game of rolling walnuts — at least, that was what Aelius said. Greenery surrounded you, and you managed to keep cool because the roof above your head provided blessed shade from the sun. Only Marianus seemed to insist upon laying in its light like a spoiled housecat.

If you ever told him that comparison, you feared he would stop talking to you again. At least you knew what to say if you were ever angry enough to not want to see him for a week.

It had been a few days since your last official check up with the emperors, and a few days since Caracalla nearly plucked your eyes out. You fought a shiver at the memory. It was important to look on the bright side. Not only did both Geta and Caracalla return yesterday — at separate times — for another look over without you having to ask, but Marianus was talking to you again. As annoyed as you were at the silent treatment to begin with, you weren’t going to bring it up. Marianus was no longer angry, and thus, neither were you. It was easier that way.

For once, it seemed as though things were looking up.

With Aelius by your side, you squinted in an effort to get a better look at your targets. You had never been very skilled when it came to games, your intelligence lied elsewhere. Bending your knees, you positioned the walnut over your thumb and prepared to let it loose. This time, you would win. All you had to do was think of it like a game of pool.

“Alga!” A familiar rasp called, startling you enough to throw off your aim. Your walnut arced through the air and landed a foot away from the ones you were trying to hit before disappearing down the slope. Beside you, Aelius stood at attention, and judging who the voice belonged to, Marianus was as well.

When you turned around, there was Emperor Caracalla, his arms crossed as he frowned at you. He looked every bit a petulant child. It almost made you forget how he tried to blind you less than a week ago. His last visit to your clinic had gone well, he was as pleasant as he could have been, but it was quick. He had left as soon as he came, back to ignoring you as if you weren’t there. The fact he was looking for you set your teeth on edge.

“Caesar,” You greeted with a deferential nod. A part of you was thankful that it wasn’t customary to bow to Roman emperors, you weren’t sure if you would remember to do so every time you were in their presence. That would be as humiliating as it was dangerous.

Caracalla looked between you and Aelius, and then the walnuts. His judgement was obvious from the haughty raise of his chin. “I have been searching for you all day and here I find you playing children's games with soldiers.”

Expertly, you ignored his disdain with a question of your own, “You were searching for me?”

“Of course I was,” He spoke as if it were obvious, like you should have known that he was looking for you through psychic means. “I have something to give you, Alga.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the spot in front of him, away from both of your friends. “Here, now.”

Feeling a little awkward, you made a conscious effort not to look at either man instead of Caracalla, no matter how much you wanted to. While you were still anxious in Caracalla’s presence — his mood changed on a dime, and that was terrifying in of itself — he hadn’t actually hurt you. He had only intended to. You could delude yourself enough into believing intention and action were two separate concepts.

Besides, he didn’t look furious, merely frustrated. A vindictive part inside of you smiled. Now he knew how you felt when you spent hours searching for him and his brother in the sweltering heat. It wasn’t so funny now that the shoe was on the other foot. If you had a cup full of spit and all the power in the world at your disposal, you knew what you would do next. Of course, you kept all of those spite filled thoughts to yourself, your expression schooled into something mild as you approached him.

Once you were where instructed, your body close enough for the fabric of his cloak to brush against your side when the wind blew, Caracalla cocked his head to the side. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, momentarily pleased with your obedience before he remembered he was supposed to be angry with you. His eyebrows furrowed over his narrow eyes.

“Give me your hand,” He demanded.

It wasn’t like you had any room to disobey. With your palm up, you presented him with your hand, and Caracalla gave a pleased sniff. He placed his own palm flat against yours before he wrapped his dainty fingers around your wrist. There was a small, thin item sandwiched between your joined appendages, and you tried to focus on how soft and uncalloused his skin was rather than the object itself. It was obvious what it was and you would rather not acknowledge it until you had to. The pad of Caracalla’s index finger traced a vein in your wrist before he slid back, your own sweat making his retreat slick. When you looked down, he left behind a needle. A feeling of nausea twisted your gut and you hurried to close your fist, letting it fall to your side.

“Caesar?” There was so much you could ask. Too much you <i>wanted</i> to ask, but none of it would come out. Fear tied your tongue into a thick knot.

“You kept your promise,” Caracalla leaned even closer to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. His gaze flickered to your own. You could smell the lavender oil he used as perfume, it made him seem sweeter than he was. “So far, medicus, you have pleased me. My brother, though he insists on asking his questions, seems to understand he will receive nothing from you. Keep it this way and I—” He swung his arm gently, almost playfully, a finger brushing against your knuckle “— Will not have to return for this.”

Your mouth felt dry as your lips moved around words without making any sounds. Was this a threat? Was Caracalla threatening you? It certainly felt like he was. Though, the way he was looking at you, proud, as if you were a dog that had performed a new trick for the first time, made you question that train of thought. With a harsh swallow, you tried to focus on what Caracalla said rather than the needle burning into your skin. So long as you kept doing what you always meant to do, save for that idiotic empty threat you made, you would be fine. You would keep your eyes. The weapon was in your hands now, the ball in your court. As you exhaled, your shoulders slumped with barely contained relief.

“I understand, Caesar I will not betray this trust you have given me.” Without thinking much of it, you threaded the needle into the folds of your tunic, effectively hiding it from any prying eyes.

Caracalla gave you a firm nod, his smile satisfied. “Good. It would do you well not to.”

“I, uh, yes,” Over your shoulder, you checked to see if Aelius or Marianus were listening — they were both watching your exchange with varying levels of worry — and placed your hand beside your mouth. You dropped your voice to a murmur, like you were sharing a secret. Caracalla seemed amused by your showmanship. “And your symptoms? How do you feel?”

A little giggle, more genuine than you have ever heard it, pulled from his throat and he moved even closer until the tip of your nose was almost brushing his. The scratchiness of his voice was heightened by his low volume. “Better, Alga. It’s nice to have a physician who knows what he’s talking about for once.”

Despite yourself, the compliment made you flush, a bit of pride squirming in your gut as you pulled away. You always had a weak spot for praise, particularly regarding your skills in the medical field. Perhaps that was what happened when you made it such a major part of your identity, or maybe it was because you had been starved for any sort of approval by your parents. Caracalla watched your reaction with a confused tilt of his head, though you could see him filing it away for later.

“If that is all, Caesar, I should return to my game,” You said as diplomatically as possible. The fact that Caracalla had given you a small amount of trust — that was what you decided this was, not a threat; it helped — made your grin a bit more genuine.

In response, Caracalla clenched his jaw and glanced behind you at Aelius. “Nucēs relinquō, soldier.”

Whatever that meant, it made Aelius’ tanned skin darken with embarrassment. He kicked the walnuts by his feet away from him and gave you an apologetic smile. “Perhaps we should quit playing, my friend.”

“What? No! It was fun,” You exclaimed before you could stop yourself.

Caracalla straightened up and curled his arm behind his back, his expression arrogant. “It’s a game for plebeian children. I know better games, Alga.”

“But—”

Caracalla wrapped his fingers around your wrist and gave you a small tug, away from Marianus and Aelius. “Come with me. We can gamble. I want to have that miraculous little torch of yours.”

“I’m not going to gamble my medical supplies, Caesar.”

Caracalla laughed, both mean and determined. Any semblance of the softness from before had dissipated into what you expected from him. “You will if I ask you to.”

You wrenched yourself from his grasp as you fought to keep the irritation off your face. “If you ask me, I will teach you how to use some of my supplies. With my supervision.”

“I will do whatever I please, medicus!” Caracalla stomped his foot in a childish display, his fingers latching back around your forearm.

Marianus, who had been quiet this entire time, said your name, causing both you and Caracalla to jerk in his direction. The frustration on Caracalla’s face melted away into confused recognition.

“I know you from somewhere.”

Marianus grimaced. “Do you, Caesar?”

Caracalla cradled his chin between his forefinger and his thumb as he studied Marianus with narrowed eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do, but I do not know from where.” He frowned and hummed before his face lit up in realization. “My brother will know. Centurion, medicus, at my side, Geta will figure out where I know you from.”

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Aelius, who anxiously shuffled in place as he watched you disappear into the palace. Caracalla was dragging you, Marianus, on your heels, looking more uncomfortable than you had ever seen him. If he could turn into a bird and fly away, like in myths, you were certain he would have long ago. Wherever Caracalla recognized him from, he seemed to know, his jaw set in a grim line. Marianus was acting like he was marching to his own execution, and knowing the twins’ temper, he very well could be. It all depended on Caracalla’s tenuous memory.

You wanted to vomit.

Four praetorians formed a square around your trio, Caracalla’s grasp firm enough for your bones to ache. The idea of losing Marianus hurt more. You hadn’t known him for long, and despite knowing he was a figment of your imagination, you found yourself terrified of losing him. Friendship was not a frequent companion in your life. You were friendly with your peers, but that wasn’t anything more than fair-weather, if that. Now that you had a taste, you didn’t want to let it go.

Which was stupid, you told yourself, because Marianus wasn’t real. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and his gaze met yours. His dark curls, cropped close to his scalp, with an aquiline nose and brown skin, he certainly looked real. He gave you an apologetic grimace. For what, you didn’t know. Thinking about it only served to make blood rush in your ears. If he wasn’t real, why are you so scared for his safety? If this was a dream, couldn’t you make him come back? Couldn’t you save him?

Caracalla took a sharp turn, ducking into a spacious room, decorated by columns and two thrones. It was the same one you were in when you first met Geta and Caracalla, and it still left an empty pit in your gut. Geta sat upon one throne, looking bored as an important looking man spoke in slow, meandering rhythms. Whatever he wanted, he was not being blunt about it. That only served to irritate Geta judging by the imperial frown on his face.

“Brother!” Caracalla called as he entered. “I have a riddle for you to solve.”

Geta breathed a visible sigh of relief. You figured he saw an excuse to shirk his more irritating duties, if only for a few minutes. It would be foolish of him not to take it. “You are dismissed, Senator.”

“But—” The man began.

“Dismissed!” Geta’s tone left little room for argument. The senator wrapped his toga tighter around his forearm held against his chest. He looked ready to speak again, before he thought better of it and did as he was told. It wasn’t until his footsteps disappeared entirely did anyone move.

With a snap of his fingers, mimicking how one would call a dog, Caracalla released you and brought Marianus to his brother. Unlike how he held onto you the entire way here, he didn’t touch Marianus.

“What riddle are you going to set upon me now, Caracalla?” While Geta sounded exasperated, there was a small twitch in his cheek that implied amusement. He didn’t have to indulge his brother, still he chose to anyway. Whether it was out of affection or the desire to avoid any more rambling senators, you didn’t know. A strange, writhing part of you, deep under your skin, wanted to. You focused your attention back on your friend and the two wolves that circled him. Back to your worry and your fear.

“I know this man,” Caracalla tossed out his arm, almost whacking Marianus in the face with it. To his credit, Marianus didn’t flinch, only giving the offending appendage a blank stare. “Surely, you must know from where, brother.”

Geta hummed and tilted his head as he studied Marianus. He stood, stepping closer to him to get a better look at his face. Like Caracalla, he cradled his chin between his thumb and forefinger. While the differences between the twins were prevalent — they certainly weren’t identical — right now, they looked the spitting image of each other. “Tell me your name again, centurion.”

“Lucius Marianus.”

“Right, yes. It did sound familiar when I first heard it, perhaps—” Geta cut himself off, recognition glinting in his brown eyes. His expression cut into a horrid mix of fury and betrayal as he gestured for Caracalla to join him by his side. His brother obliged, and though he looked perplexed from the sudden change of emotion, he wrinkled his nose to mirror Geta. When he spoke again, his voice trembled with barely contained rage, “My brother was right. We do know you.”

“You do, Caesar.” The only sign of emotion on Marianus’ face was fatalistic acceptance.

You wanted to step in, placate them, but you were frozen in place. For once, you were thankful for it. What could you hope to do here? You were no hero. All you could pray for was that whatever Geta decided to do was something you could fix. That was where your talent laid: in the aftermath.

Geta leaned down to whisper in Caracalla’s ear and you watched as his features twisted into raw hatred for the man before him. He inhaled a shuddering breath and looked like he was about to start shouting before his face went slack, eyes growing distant as he took several steps back to collapse into his throne. His jaw was set, a foggy air about him, glaring at Marianus from below his brow.

“You know us too, do you not, centurion?” Geta began to pace back and forth, and it reminded you of a tiger trapped in a cage. His anger was rolling off of him in waves, simmering under his skin. It made the room feel hotter than it was. “You have known all this time, remembered me and my brother all this time. Were you laughing at us? Do you find our humiliation amusing?”

“No, Caesar.” Marianus stood stock still, his arms clasped tightly behind his back.

Caracalla lunged from his throne with a near-feral scream, “Liar! He lies, brother!”

Geta held up his hand, and, for once, Caracalla listened. He froze in place, breathing heavily, his stare intense and eyes glassy. “Calm! I will take care of it, he will be properly punished.” With a deep breath, Geta clenched his hands by his side. He was shaking. “Tell me, centurion. I want to know. Is it only now that you regret your lack of action?”

“I have regretted it since that day, Caesar.”

Geta let out a humorless laugh. “More lies from a man desperate to avoid retribution.”

Inhaling a deep breath, he bellowed for the praetorian to enter, and you flinched as a dozen armored men brushed past you, swarming Marianus at Geta’s command. Again, he was pacing, his chest heaving and eyes wild.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You didn’t know what to do and it made you feel sick. Run, or stay. Scream, or beg. Step in, or watch. Ultimately, the coward you were, you stayed rooted in your spot, your heart thundering at a frantic pace. There was nothing to be done, you told yourself, even if you knew that wasn’t true. You knew, at your core, that you were terrified to be in Marianus’ position, and you knew that, no matter how badly you wanted to, drawing any attention to yourself was a bad idea.

As much as you cared for Marianus, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but watch. You wondered if that made you a bad friend.

“Let us see how you like it, being at the mercy of other men,” Geta snarled, saliva flying from between his clenched teeth. “No hope of stopping the pain, no hope of being saved, knowing that the pain will only end when I demand it so.”

With a flick of Geta’s wrist, a praetorian threw the first punch, straight into Marianus’ gut, with a meaty thud. The air left his lungs as he doubled over, though he didn’t get the opportunity to catch his breath before another praetorian brought both his fists down against his spine. It wasn’t until Marianus hit the floor did you realize you were crying. A sharp gasp ripped from your throat when a praetorian kicked Marianus in the face. There was a sickening crunch and blood spewed from his nose onto the marble floor.

Geta, who seemed to have forgotten you were there — or perhaps he never knew — whipped around to face you. If you thought you were frozen before, the weight of his fury made your blood run cold.

“Do you like to watch too, medicus?” Geta bellowed as he advanced on you. “Is that why you’re still here, sobbing like a woman?” He threw his arm forward, pointing at the exit. He was screaming now, so loud, his voice cracked, “Out! Get out!”

That was all you needed to hear. You sprinted out of the throne room, tears streaming down your face, the sounds of Marianus’ beating echoing behind you. It wasn't until you were safely inside your clinic did you stop, the door shut tight behind you. Broken sobs ripped from your chest as you pawed at your face, desperate for the tears to stop. What the hell was that? What was wrong with you? This was your dream, you should have stepped in, you should have stopped it, screamed at the emperors until they understood how insane they were being. Instead, all you did was prove yourself to be a shameful, sniveling little worm. You were so incomprehensibly pathetic. Weeping on the floor, through snot and tears, as your friend was very likely being beaten to death a few halls away.

A hysterical whimper fell from your lips alongside a line of drool that you wiped away with the back of your hand. You had to breathe. Shut it all down, lock everything you felt away so you could be what you needed to be. Useful, and perfect, and obedient, and a doctor. Marianus would survive, this was your dream, and if you thought about it hard enough, that would be what happened. He would come to your clinic, bloody and bruised, for you to fix.

All you had to do was get a hold of yourself and wait.

With one, final sniffle, you stood, wiping your face clean with the heels of your palms. First, you needed to prepare your tools. As much as you didn’t want to perform surgery, if he had a punctured lung, there would be no choice. On autopilot, you lined up each of the ancient surgical instruments, right next to some opium that you had at the ready the second that Marianus fell through your door. Which, he would. He had to, or you didn’t know what—

A few more tears dripped from the tip of your nose onto your desk. Your breathing was shaky again, and you couldn’t have that. Placing your palms flat against your wooden surface, you steadied yourself the best you could before you began to organize again.

Once you had everything laid out, you checked, then double checked that it was all in order. Then you took inventory. After the fourth time, you began to count the grains in the wooden surface the instruments laid on to keep your mind focused on anything other than the images of Marianus’ corpse your mind kept conjuring.

This was taking too long. There was only so much trauma the human body could take. If the emperors were having him beaten this entire time, there would be nothing to be done aside from scraping Marianus’ remains off the floor. You felt numb. There were one thousand three hundred and forty eight grains in—

The doors opened and light from the hall spilled into your clinic. Two praetorians carried in a barely conscious Marianus, their arms tucked under his armpits. You were by his side before you could blink. One second, you were staring blankly down at your desk, the next, Marianus’ swollen face was inches from yours. While you led him to a lectus, the cushion sure to be far more comfortable than your examination table while you checked over his injuries, you muttered soft affirmations to him.

“I’m here now, I’ll fix you, my friend.”

Gently, you laid him on the lectus raced to grab your flashlight and stethoscope. First, you had to check for a concussion, then, any broken ribs, or, God forbid, a punctured lung. Marianus groaned, his head flopping to the side as fresh blood dribbled from his crooked nose. It was definitely broken, you would need to make a splint for it.

“Don’t go to sleep, Marianus.” You patted his cheek with as little pressure as you could manage. To your relief, one of his eyes fluttered open, the other swollen shut. “I know you’re tired, but you cannot sleep. Whatever happens, you cannot sleep.”

He groaned, drawing attention to his split lip. It was deep enough to require stitches and you fought the urge to frown. “I won’t sleep, medicus.”

“Good, I am going to keep you talking while I work. If you do not respond, I will pinch you. Do not test me.” Marianus nodded as you placed a hand between his shoulder blades and helped him sit up. It took both of your efforts to try to slip off the top half of his tunic, only for you to discover his shoulder was dislocated when he let out a cry of pain. You cut the fabric off, instead, with a small apology. Once you placed the stethoscope against his chest, you said, “Breathe in for me, please.”

He did, and you let out a relieved huff. No punctured lung, but judging by the bruising on his abdomen, his ribs were at the very least cracked. You knew he was in pain, and while you wanted to give him some opium to help him, you were very aware of how addictive it was, along with the dangers of an overdose. Ibuprofen was an option, even if you wanted to ration it, but it was a blood thinner. That would be dangerous for the first twenty-four hours.

“How is the pain?” You asked as you checked if his pupillary function with your flashlight. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, he had a concussion. A minor one it seemed, thankfully.

“I will be fine,” Marianus managed to say. It was obvious he was in immense pain, and it helped whittle away your resolve to grab the opium.

You took stock of his injuries, creating a mental list in your head. Concussion, cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, a split lip that required stitches, and broken nose. “Do not lie to me. Treatment will hurt. Do you need opium or not?”

Marianus sighed, wincing as his ribs twinged. “I will not say no to opium.”

Well, that made your decision for you.

With Marianus sufficiently numb, you relocated his shoulder first. It would be the most painful, and he took it like a champ. If he was younger, and if you had lollipops at your disposal, you’d give him one. Next, you stitched his upper lip back together. It would scar, there was no helping it. You assured Marianus it would make him look more grizzled to his men with a small smile. That earned you an amused grunt in return, the opium loosening his uptight attitude ever so slightly. Finally, you set his nose. It took a bit of time — the sun had set a while ago — to make the splint in order to keep the bone in place. After this, all Marianus would need is time, patience, and to be kept as far away from the emperors as humanly possible.

“Marianus,” You began. Now that you were done wiping his face clean of blood, you were sitting on the floor next to the lectus as you forced him into conversation to keep him awake. A few minutes ago, you sent a nearby praetorian to fetch Aelius to help Marianus down to his bunk. The blood coating your skin made your hands feel tacky. When you pressed your fingers together, they stuck for a moment before snapping away with some minor pressure. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You want to know what I saw.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His head was lolled to the side, looking down on you with a bit of affection that could be described as paternal if you examined it enough. Absentmindedly, he played with your hair.

You nodded. “Yes, why were the emperors so angry with you?”

“Their father, the former emperor, Septimius Severus, used to beat those two bloody when they were children,” Marianus said, more blunt than the topic needed. You couldn’t help the startled noise you let out, nor the sharp raise of your eyebrows. He waited for you to respond, but when you didn’t, he continued, “He brought Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla on a military campaign, and I served under him during this time. Emperor Severus called me into the command tent. I am not sure if it was purposeful, or if he forgot I was coming, but he was in the middle of disciplining his boys when I walked in.” Marianus took a deep breath, his one good eye squeezed shut. It was the most emotion you had ever seen from him. “The hope on Geta’s young face when he saw me walk in still haunts me. I could do nothing. He was my emperor and their father, what could I have done?”

This explained a lot. Empathy welled in your chest, wrapping around your ventricles like a heartworm, squeezing as tight as it could. You should hate them for what they did to Marianus. He was right, what could he have done? Stop the emperor when he was a mere soldier? That was a good way to die.

Unfortunately, you could see the emperors’ point of view too. Abuse left scars, especially when it came from a parent. While yours never hit you, it would be a lie to say they weren’t, at the very least, toxic. Even that had made its mark. You couldn’t imagine what kind of deep scars Caracalla’s and Geta’s father left on their minds.

“Poor treatment from your parents… It can manifest in—”

Marianus recognized that look in your eyes and stopped playing with your hair, his expression stern. “Stop. Do not try to justify their behavior, medicus. They are grown men now.”

“I was merely saying that I…”

“Those are dangerous thoughts,” He muttered. Then, contrary to what he said, “I cannot imagine what a child could do that could ever earn that severe of a punishment. If my children looked at me with that amount of fear, I would never forgive myself.”

Thankful for the change in subject, you grabbed a hold of it like a fish with a hook. “You have children?”

“I do. It is why I wanted respite in Rome. I wanted to see them again.” Before you could respond, Marianus let out a short sigh. The opium had loosened his tongue more than you had expected. “There are times where I find myself wondering if Rome would be different if someone dared to protect them then. It is too late for that now.”

“Is it?” You asked. After the words left your mouth, you clamped your jaw shut. “Sorry, I— I am merely—”

“You pity them,” Marianus finished. “Your pity will not save them.”

“It is not pity!” You exclaimed, sitting up a bit straighter. “I am merely wondering when the last time they had a friend was. Everyone needs a person to trust, especially after being hurt by someone who was meant to protect you. I—” When you looked up, you saw Marianus’ bruised face. His broken nose and the stitches on his lip, his one dark eye swimming with remorse. You remembered who did this to him and guilt pooled in the back of your throat when you found you didn’t hate them for it. “I apologize. They hurt you and I am making excuses for them. It’s wrong.”

“I wish I realized before,” Marianus murmured as he tugged a strand of your hair.

You blinked at him. “Realized?”

“You are not too soft for the military, you are too soft for Rome. I should have never brought you here.”

Before you could respond, Aelius entered with a soft knock. When his eyes landed on Marianus, his jaw dropped. “Centurio Marianus!” He rushed over to the two of you, wringing his hands in front of his chest. “What happened?”

“The emperors happened,” Marianus grumbled. Slowly, you helped him into a sitting position, one arm around his shoulders, his hand in yours.

Aelius pursed his lips, displeasure evident, though he said nothing.

“It would be best to keep him far away from the emperors for now,” You said softly. Now that Marianus was up, you began to give Aelius your instructions. In case he forgot, you reached down to grab a wax tablet that you used to write down everything he needed to know. “Do not let Marianus sleep tonight. If he falls asleep, fetch me immediately, I do not care what time. Every few hours, he must gently cough, or take a deep breath to prevent fluid from building in his lungs. He is not allowed to move without help or supervision until I deem him healed enough to do so. In order to get better, he requires rest. Everyday, I will come to the barracks to check on him, he is not to come here. Finally, for an hour each day, ice his ribs and his eye with a cold compress to reduce swelling.”

Aelius nodded along, even if he was clearly overwhelmed by your instructions. When he opened the wax tablet you gave him, he was unable to hide his amused snort. “Your written Latin is… very bad, my friend.”

You felt yourself deflate. “Is it truly so poor?”

Aelius waved away your concerns, a bit of sweat forming on his brow. “I can understand it, that is all that matters.”

“Right,” You sighed. “When I visit to check on Marianus’ health, I will bring medicine. Do you think either of us can get ice from the ice house?”

“It is considered a luxury item…” Aelius trailed off.

You nodded. “I will get it then. We are in a palace with emperors, they can afford to let me have a little ice for my friend.”

“Is that wise?” With a grimace, Aelius nodded towards Marianus’ battered form. “You have seen what they are capable of if they are displeased.”

A frown pulled at your lips. You were very aware of what the emperors were capable of when they were even mildly upset. The thought of earning Geta’s anger, or Caracalla’s again, made you start to shake. You quickly steeled your resolve. While you were not the strongest man in Rome, you would be what you needed to be for your patients. This was the least you do after not stepping in to help Marianus. You could get him ice for the swelling, he deserved that much.

“I am certain.”

Marianus, while still high, had enough of his faculties to whack you on the back of your head as he passed, helped along by Aelius. “Do not be foolish, medicus.”

“I will always be foolish for my friends,” You responded with a determined tilt of your chin. Both men stopped at the door, Aelius’ smile fond, while Marianus tried to frown at you despite the softness in his eyes. You waved them out the door and into the hallway. “Shoo, shoo. Your medicus prescribes rest!”

With an echoing chuckle from Aelius, you only slipped back inside your clinic when they were both out of sight.

You felt better knowing Marianus wasn’t dead. Infinitely better, though the knowledge he gave you about the emperors sat heavy in your chest. It was wrong to blame Marianus for their father’s sins. There was nothing he could have done to help them, nothing he could have done to save them. A soldier could never hope to stand up to an emperor, especially not when it came to his sons. While you didn’t remember the details, Roman society was very patriarchal. The head of household, a man, was in charge of disciplining his children however he saw fit, and to question that — at least, out loud — would go against the very foundations that Rome was built on.

Still, you remembered your own life. The real one that felt so distant now, as though it were decades since you last lived it. You remembered the tutors, the teachers, the coaches, all of the adults in your life who watched you run yourself ragged at your parents' behest. Not once did they step in, even if you knew they pitied you. A part of you resented them for it. If you doubled — no, <i>tripled</i> — that resentment, you could see why Geta reacted to Marianus the way he did. It didn’t make it right, not in a million years, but understood in a way that you wished you didn’t. You would feel better if it was easy to despise the emperors for hurting your friends. It wasn’t, though. Your heart bled with every beat.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you began to clean up your clinic. You carefully put away your surgical instruments, grateful that you didn’t have to use them, while humming a small, modern tune under your breath. It was your favorite song, and a bit of sadness panged in your chest when you realized you had forgotten the lyrics to the bridge. You frowned and paused your organizing. If only you had your phone, or a charger, or even an mp3 player, you could listen to it as a reminder.

There was a lot you missed about reality.

As the days passed, however, you found yourself falling into a new routine, one that was more comfortable than it ought to be. Your fingers twitched as you continued to clean. Tonight, you would sleep. Maybe you would wake up in your apartment again, surrounded by your nest of blankets and pillows, to a brand new day.

The thought shouldn’t make you feel so miserable.

A shriek ripped you from your reverie. It was a woman’s, high-pitched and shrill, followed by the thunder of footsteps down the hall from the emperors’ rooms. You carefully placed your tools down on the nearest flat surface and jogged out of your clinic and down the hall towards the commotion. If someone was hurt, it was your duty to fix it. From the sound of it, there was either an assassin or an elephant rampaging down the halls.

You weren’t a particularly brave person, that much was evident from how you reacted with Marianus earlier. Despite this, you also knew when your skills were needed. You didn’t know what the difference was, being unable to step in while your friend was beaten, versus sprinting in the direction of such a loud cacophony of terror. There was one there, that much you were sure of, though you were too focused on your duty to truly analyze it.

When you turned the corner, there were a handful of people outside of Caracalla’s bedroom doors. Slaves, if you had to guess, likely ones who attended to him while he was in his chambers. From inside, there was the sound of glass shattering and furious screaming, most of it coming from Caracalla himself. His Latin was too sporadic for you to understand, spoken too quickly or too furiously for you to pick apart the sentences as you normally would. Every so often, you could make out a frantic ‘—away from me!’ or simply a furious roar, followed by more sounds of objects being thrown.

You met the eyes of a cowering woman, and when she realized it was you, relief bloomed across her features. “Medicus! We were about to fetch you!”

“What’s going on? Is Emperor Caracalla being attacked?” You asked, peering at the ornate doors to his chambers.

She shook her head, eyes wide and terrified. “No, no, it is another one of his outbursts. No one can find Emperor Geta! You are the only other person in the palace who has calmed him.”

Circling you, she placed her hands on your back and began to push you to his room. Your feet scrabbled against the floor in an effort to get her to stop, but she was stronger than you expected.

“H— How do you know about that?”

“The praetorians gossip more than the slaves!” With a final push, you were nose to nose with the double doors leading to Caracalla’s bedroom, the sounds of his fury growing louder by the second. “Hurry, before he grabs a blade.” When you looked over your shoulder to meet her eyes, they were glassy with tears. “Please.”

You had failed Marianus, you didn’t want to fail again. Steeling yourself, you gave her a nod and gently pushed open the doors to slip inside.

Caracalla’s room was in complete disarray. Incense and their holders were knocked over, scattering ash onto the floor. Sheets and blankets were strewn everywhere, ripped off the canopy bed in a frenzy. There were two lectī settled by an open window, one tipped over on its side, while the other had stuffing coming out of the cushion from where it had been ripped open. There were only three people left behind. Two were hiding in an adjacent room, while one was frantic, his gaze leaping to the exit every few moments.

In the middle of it all was Caracalla, his face red from screaming. Instead of his usual imperial garb, he only wore a thin, off-white tunic that hung loosely on his frame. A few drops of blood dotted the fabric. His breathing was sharp, each one a heaving gasp, and his face was wet with tears. In his hand was an empty metal chalice that he was waving with wild abandon at the people left behind with him. Caracalla was barely coherent, his speech choppy and hard to follow. What you could make out was, in the context of what was happening, bizarre.

“You will stay away— And liars, all of you, liars and snakes. You’ll sell me out, tell him about me! You’ll get me in trouble and I’ll— Keep away from me!”

When the door shut behind you with an audible click, he whipped around to where you stood. You barely had time to blink before you were struck in the forehead with the cup, thrown from his hand with unfortunate precision. It hit your skull with a metal clang, hard enough for stars to erupt behind your eyes. With your hand cradling your head, and your ears ringing fiercely from the strike, you rubbed the forming knot with your fingers. It hurt more than you expected and you stumbled a few paces to the side.

When you opened your eyes, Caracalla was charging at you. The squeak that left you would have been embarrassing if you had the cognition to think about it. One of his fists were raised to hit you, and even to your untrained eye, you were able to recognize he had very little combat training. Or, if he did, he was too out of it to utilize any of it.

You had seen Caracalla when he was angry, and he was not angry right now. He was utterly terrified.

His body crashed into yours, pushing you against the wall as he managed to strike you once in your temple before you were able to grab his wrist. For once, you pronounced his title correctly. “Caesar! It’s me!”

“Snake!” With his other hand, he knocked the side of the head once more with the heel of his palm.

You struggled to keep him at bay. When you managed to stop him from hitting you, he began kicking at you from below. This time, when you spoke, your accent slipped through, heavier than usual, “Ceasar! Caesar! Calm down, please, calm down!”

Miraculously, he froze, his chest heaving as his red-rimmed eyes searched your face. With harsh fingers, he grabbed a handful of your hair and jerked you closer to him, his eyebrows twitching together. Pain lanced through your scalp at the rough treatment.

His voice was distant, “Alga?”

“Yes, yes, it is me. Medicus Alga.” Your head throbbed in tune with the beat of your heart. Welts from where Caracalla hit you had begun to form, and if you weren’t so preoccupied, you would have prodded at them. In an effort to get through to him, you thickened your accent considerably, “Your green-haired, foreign physician. It’s me, Caesar.”

He looked ready to argue, his hands fisted in your hair. “You’re here to— After pater… And he—”

You felt your heart sink. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together as to what was happening. Keeping your voice soft, you gently reached up to untangle his fingers from your hair. “I’m here because I was worried. You seem very upset.”

His grip loosened for only a moment before they were like a vice once more.

“You’re here to hurt me, like everyone else! I smell it on you, I see it on your face!” With each word, he shook you, making your vision spin. Instinctively, you wrapped your fingers around his wrists to try and pry him off of you. “Pathetic! You’re pathetic!”

“Caesar, I’m not!” It took everything in your power to keep your hold loose on him while he jerked you around. Your thumbs rubbed circles against his radial artery and tears sprung in your eyes when he knocked against one of the bruises on your head. “Caracalla! I swear it, I will never hurt you. Caracalla, Caracalla, Caracalla.”

You spoke his name like a mantra as you let go of his hands to reach for his face. His lips pulled back into a snarl. When your hands drew near, he flinched. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking down his face, and his grip in your hair so tight, you were sure he’d rip out parts of your scalp. It wasn’t until you cradled your palms against his cheeks did his grip loosen once more. Despite the pain radiating in your temples, you tenderly wiped away a few tears.

“It’s going to be okay, I’m not mad. No one’s mad at you. I swear to you, I’m not mad,” You cooed to him, the same way you would to a frightened dog ready to bite. “I’ll take care of you, yes? What is it that you want? Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

Caracalla’s face crumpled, his sniffle thick and watery. “I want my brother.”

Finally, he let you go, his wrists flopping against your shoulders as he wrapped his arms around you. Though your head throbbed fiercely, you loosely draped your own around his neck and began to play with his hair. The motion seemed to calm him further as he slumped against you, the weight of his body dragging you down to the floor. With your back pressed against the wall, nearly flattened under Caracalla, you began to soothe him however you could. After some clumsy fumbling, you settled for one hand toying with messy strands of his red hair, the other rubbing between his shoulder blades. When you looked up, the three who had been cowering earlier watched their emperor weep with unreadable expressions.

“Go now,” You said. “This is no show.” Before they left, you decided to ask, “And, if you would please fetch me chamomile from my clinic, and honey and boiling water from the kitchens, I would be grateful.” It was slaves you were ordering around, and it made your tongue taste sour. You tacked on a final, polite ‘please,’ to make the guilt easier to bear.

The trio looked at you, then at Caracalla, before disappearing into the hall. You breathed a sigh of relief, slowly rocking the man in your arms back and forth. Your chest felt damp from where he buried his face, and you were sure you were coated in more snot and spit than you usually wished to be in this late at night. He was trembling in your arms, each sob silent as he clutched himself tight against you.

It wasn’t until he went slack did you start to worry again. Caracalla wasn’t moving, though he was breathing, and he was no longer crying. His arms were loose around you once more. Gingerly, you pried him away from you. A string of snot connected him to your tunic, and you swiped under his nose with the linen to clean him up, if only a little. He didn’t look at you, his eyes foggy and gaze distant.

“Caesar,” You tried. No response. Swallowing hard, you went another route. “Caracalla.”

That worked. His pupils darted toward yours. A hint of pink caught your eye when his tongue dabbed at his dry lips. “Are you real?”

He was dissociating, you knew what that felt like all too well.

“Look around the room for me, Caracalla.” You continued to say his name, it seemed to keep his attention better than anything else. “List five things you see.”

His jaw worked up and down as his gaze darted around the room. With a small smile, you hooked your index finger under his jaw and closed his mouth. “Speaking out loud is not necessary. Tell me, only if you want to. Listing in your head is good enough. Now, five items you see.” You waited a moment before speaking again. “Four things that you can hear.” Another half-minute passed before Caracalla swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You took that as your sign he was done. “Three things that you smell.”

“I smell you,” He murmured.

Despite yourself, and the pain in lancing through your skull, you laughed. “I pray that I smell good.” Caracalla didn’t respond aside from a small hum. You continued, “Two things you can feel.” His thumb brushed across your tunic before he began to run his palms up and down your arms. “Good, very good. One thing that you can taste.”

When he glanced at you again, he seemed much more aware. His lips twitched into a smile, showing off his teeth. “Blood. I bit my tongue, medicus.”

Caracalla seemed to expect something from you. What it was, you didn’t have the faintest idea, but a flicker of disappointment crossed his face when you didn’t move. “Do you feel better, Caesar?”

There was his anger again, his eyes narrowing. “You are not to leave. I demand you stay.”

“I was not going to leave,” You assured him. He relaxed into you, his ear against your breast as you began to stroke his hair. “I only want to help you. If staying helps, I will stay.”

“Good,” He muttered.

You weren’t sure how long you held Caracalla. Not enough for him to fall asleep, despite his breathing beginning to even out. The only reason you knew he was awake was because he was staring up at you, sharp blue eyes latched onto yours. He was searching for something, and whatever it may have been, he seemed satisfied with what he found. As you tugged gently on strands of his red curls, he dragged his thumb over the most prominent welt on your forehead. You sucked in a sharp hiss when he pressed into it — and distantly, there was this screaming, nagging realization in the back of your mind you didn’t have time for — and Caracalla furrowed his brows.

He was too hard for you to decipher, not without decades at your disposal.

The door cracked open before you could even begin to truly figure him out, and Geta’s head popped into view, peering cautiously into the room. When his eyes landed on you, his brother in your arms, his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. The expression hardly lasted more than a few seconds before Geta remembered himself, schooling his features back to distanced anxiety. You could tell that, too, was forced. From the concern welling behind brown irises, he was beside himself with worry.

“Caesar,” You greeted with a small nod. “Emperor Caracalla was asking for you.”

In your arms, he looked ready to argue. Once he looked at Geta, his relief was palpable. “Brother.”

“You made a mess again, Caracalla,” Geta said, his voice even as he took in the state of his room. Then, he turned back to you, taking in your frazzled appearance, from the messy state of your hair, to the raised lump on your forehead. “A big mess.”

Behind Geta, a woman shuffled into the room. In her arms, she held the items you had requested earlier: honey, boiling water, and chamomile. With a grateful smile, you gestured to the table beside Caracalla’s bed with your chin. She looked to Geta for permission, only obeying when he nodded. Once she was gone, you took this as your cue to finish up.

“Up we go.” You braced yourself against the wall as he heaved Caracalla to his feet. Even as you led him to his bed, he continued to cling to you. You pulled back the thick, woolen blanket, and with an insurmountable amount of care, you pried him off of you. With three downy pillows, you propped him into a sitting position and ignored his frustrated glare when you stepped away.

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” Caracalla began.

The best you could, you poured the boiling water over the chamomile to allow it to steep. When you had the free time, you should see if you could find an item in the kitchens to help you make better tea. “Your brother is here, you don’t need me anymore.”

You glanced over at Caracalla and almost screamed when you found Geta hovering over your shoulder. He pointed to the honey. “My brother has a sweet tooth. Put a lot of honey in it or he will not drink it.”

“Yes, Caesar. That is good knowledge to have.”

The amount of honey you put in Caracalla’s chamomile tea should have been illegal. Only when Geta tapped your wrist did you stop. You blinked, a little confused at the contact. It wasn’t often he touched you. In fact, you were sure this was the first time he ever had. He seemed to realize this with a strange little frown, and pulled back to wipe the pad of his finger on his robes, as if you had dirtied him. You tried not to look as offended as you felt.

With the tea in one hand, bowl of honey in the other, you moved to sit on the edge of Caracalla’s bed. He wrinkled his nose at the tea. “I do not want any of your elixirs tonight, medicus.”

“It’s chamomile. It will calm you,” You insisted. As you began to hand the cup to Caracalla, you froze, remembering that he was an emperor. He wouldn’t consume anything without it being tested first, and he was too fragile for you to introduce another variable into the room. A small sigh huffed from between your lips. You supposed being poisoned on top of everything else from today wouldn’t be so bad.

Without being asked, you took a sip. Standing at your side, Geta watched you, staring at you like you were an enigma to him. You paid him no mind. “Eugh, this is incredibly sweet.”

“It is as I like it,” He said, reaching for the cup.

You pulled away before he could reach it with a small tsk. “There is a saying in my country, Caesar, one I am sure you will like.”

“I doubt he will enjoy foreign nonsense,” Geta said, though his words lacked bite.

“Do not speak for me, brother,” Caracalla snapped. Softer now, he fixated back on you. “What is the saying, Alga? I want to hear your foreign nonsense.”

Dipping the spoon into the jar of honey, you scooped up a decadent pile and held it out for Caracalla to take. His fingers brushed yours when he did, and, for some reason, it made your cheeks warm. He looked at you expectantly, your silence as you worked out how to translate causing him to purse his lips into a pout.

“A spoonful of honey helps the medicine go down,” You finally said.

Caracalla cocked his head to the side before he shrugged. In a single bite, he downed the entire spoonful with nary a flinch. His sweet tooth must be truly unmatched. Even watching him drink your unfathomably sweet tea made a shiver go up your spine.

“What does that mean?” Geta asked as Caracalla loudly slurped his drink.

A part of you was surprised at the question. Caracalla not understanding was one thing, but you were under the impression the proverb was self explanatory. Maybe Geta wasn’t as smart as he made himself out to be. A flicker of amused fondness curled in your gut before it was quickly snuffed out.

“It means making a task that you dread more enjoyable by adding a pleasant aspect. Taking medicine is never fun, however, adding a spoonful of honey to the situation makes it easier to swallow,” You explained with a small smile. Geta hummed and said nothing more, even as he kept his eyes fixated on you. It was clear there was something he wanted to say, and you had a good idea what it was. With a small smile, you brushed your knuckle against the back of Caracalla’s hand to get his attention. The contact was quick, you still weren’t comfortable being openly physical with him yet, but having him cling to you earlier helped. “Is it okay if I talk to Emperor Geta about what you went through earlier? I believe I know the root cause, and I am sure he is worried. If you say no, I will not speak on it anymore. You have my word.”

Caracalla blinked at you, almost surprised, then waved you away with a flick of his spoon. “I don’t care what you do, Alga, so long as you make my nightly medicine from here on out.”

“Every night, Caesar. Happily.”

After promising Caracalla you wouldn’t leave the room without his permission, you and Geta stood, huddled together, across the room from his bed. It was a bit difficult navigating through the sea of broken glass. Thankfully, you both managed with no injury. The last thing you wanted to do tonight was pluck shards from Geta’s feet. Caracalla watched the two of you from afar, neither pleased nor angry, simply some odd middle ground between the two.

Geta was the first to speak, his arms crossed. “You would tell me what you know, with or without my brother’s knowledge.”

“Let’s not start this again.” You were far too tired to mince your words, your tunic sticking to your chest, still wet from Caracalla’s tears. “First off, has your brother experienced any trauma in his life?”

If you didn’t already know the answer, the shadow that passed over Geta’s face would have told you everything. “Traumatic?”

“Witnessing the death of a loved one, experiencing a tragic accident, I…” You swallowed hard. This was dangerous ground you were treading. “An assault at the hands of a parent?”

Geta let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look happy about your knowledge, though he held his tongue for his brother’s sake. “How is this related?”

“When the mind experiences trauma, there are many ways it can adapt to protect you. Unfortunately, it is not always as helpful as intended. In an effort to protect you from experiencing a similar negative event, it can cause… problems.”

“Speak plainly, medicus.”

“When Emperor Caracalla is presented with certain stimuli, it can bring forth a bad memory. His mind will force him to relive an event that terrified him as if it were happening all over again. Is there anything that seems to set him off?”

Geta glanced at the spilled incense and frowned. He looked too tired to be truly angry despite his dark eyes being harder than usual. “I had this particular scent discontinued. It was pater’s favorite.”

Well, that explained what triggered him. Geta’s lips twitched, it was clear he hadn’t meant to give that much information away. You decided not to comment on it any further to let him believe that you had missed the mention of his father entirely.

“There are other symptoms of this disorder—”

Geta stopped you with a raise of his hand. “I am already aware my brother has a disease of the mind.”

“Do you know the symptoms? Do you know the treatments? Do you know how to help him long-term?” You countered, trying to keep your voice gentle.

Drawing up in height, Geta tilted his chin down at you. “Do you?”

“I— I know enough. While I am a doctor of the body, I can help treat him as best I can. So long as I am your physician, I will always do my best. Of that, you have my word.” Your next words came out stilted, awkward, as you played with your fingers. “<i>Caesar</i>, if you experienced a similar event, it is very likely you have the same disorder. It simply is manifesting differently. I can—”

“I no longer wish to discuss this.” With a sweeping motion, he gestured to Caracalla, who had fallen asleep, the empty cup on his chest. “I will tell my brother I dismissed you. Go, now.” His gaze flickered to the visible welt on your forehead. “Take care of your injuries.”

Geta didn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he turned and sat on the edge of Caracalla’s bed, resigned to a sleepless night of watching over his brother. You overstepped, you knew you did, but it needed to be said. As much as you were Caracalla’s physician, you were Geta’s as well, and his wellbeing was important to you.

They were not good people, but you didn’t need to be good to receive care.

It wasn’t until you were in the hall, prodding at your aching skull, did that horrible realization dawn on you. The one you had been swallowing for weeks, the one that you kept locked away in the back of your mind where it couldn’t hurt you, the one, oil slick, eel, writhing against your brainstem.

In a daze, you walked back to your clinic, eyes unfocused and hand picking away at one of the knots on your head. Everytime your fingernail scraped against the raised skin, a shock of pain radiated down your neck. Again and again, you scratched and felt, and scratched and felt, until the only thing you could think was—

If this is a dream, then why do I feel pain?

A/N: Oh my god. Okay, so, funny story, but this is not only the most words I’ve written for a chapter over all of my projects ever, along with being the fastest I’ve written this much. What are these ginger twinks doing to me??? This authors note is going to be a little long because I feel like I have a lot to explain here. So, for starters—

Nucēs relinquō! That’s a Roman proverb that directly translates to “reliquish the nuts.” A lot of childrens games were played with nuts back then and it basically means to give up your ties to childhood and grow up. Caracalla was basically calling Aelius childish there. It’s also a fun little reference to one of the possible titles I had for this fic “Algās Relinquere” Ignore the conjugation on that one. Anyway.

Why Geta let Marianus live. This is hard for me to convey in the text because the fic is not from his point of view, but basically, he wants Marianus to experience life like he did. To never know when the next beating will come, only that it’s coming. Dying would be too kind and too easy, Geta knows this from personal experience. He’s vindictive and angry, and something, something, cycle of abuse. There’s a lot to be said here that I’m definitely planning on touching on later.

Another fun fact, but playing with Caracalla’s hair helps soothe him so much because it reminds him of Dondas. She’s around, I just haven’t found an organic place to introduce her. Because, um, Alga is going to see a whole ass monkey and wojack point at her. Also if you’re wondering where Geta was because no one could find him, he was brooding. Skulking around with an evil ass Eeyore cloud following him. He had much to think about.

Lastly. Two warnings I feel morally obligated to share about this fic. One. The smut is going to be fucking weird, I must say. Geta’s a freak, Caracalla’s a freak, I’m a freak. It’s freak city in here. All the smut will be properly tagged and warned, and also skippable, yay! A few of the wilder kinks I’ll probably end up touching on will be medical / surgical roleplay and a bit of blood / pain stuff from Caracalla. I’m not an avid smut writer, so I can’t guarantee if it’ll be good, but it WILL be strange. Two. Alga’s ‘I Can Fix Them’ disorder just might win. I have character development planned for Geta and Caracalla, and I don’t want to be all love conquers all, because they’re both eternally fucked up people, but they DO get character development. They will get marginally better. Just a heads up.

Now, the real last thing. Oh my god, I would love to hear y’alls thoughts on this chapter. I was at this shit in my google docs like a blacksmith at a forge. Hanmering away at this molten steel like my life depended on it. I’m both proud and nervous to share this one, and I am so, so curious to know how people feel about it. Comment, reply, send an ask on anon, but seriously, it makes my DAYYYYY. I start glowing and flying like Spongebob in a goofy goober rock, I’m so serious.

Okay, done for real this time. Hugs you!!! Thank you for reading as always, bye bye!!!

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra

[frostedclock-writes]

Crimson Magnolias

Part 6

----

Warnings: rated R for mature audience, Hanahaki Disease, one sided romance, Alastor x female reader, not beta read.

----

You glance back. The little egg creatures were following at a very close pace, if you stopped for a moment they would slam right into your heels. You make a small hum and look back ahead as Alastor's long legged pace was slowed for your easement. The chatter from the eggs was like having a gaggle of children following the two of you to an overlord meeting. You were under the impression that he was going to get rid of the small things but you don't know how he planned on ditching the eggs.

" Is that your ears or your hair? I can't tell!"

" Why are you so tall, Mr. Bossman?"

" The lady is pretty! Why do you smell like flowers all the time, Ms. Boss lady?"

" Can I play with the microphone?"

" Are the two of you married? "

" Are we there yet?"

You were almost thankful when Zestial, the oldest sinner that you knew still walked hell, appeared. His slender and tall frame towered over you, making even alastor appear short in comparison. You kinda droned out their conversation about overlord niceties one might call it, you walked quietly on the otherside of Alastor. You forgot what it was like walking with Alastor, or any overlord with a reputation. Sinners and imps alike avoided the pathway the two took and some began to run in the other direction.

Alastor's reputation even carried past his years of absence. It was a bit amazing. You have a feeling if most overlords were to disappear for as long as he did and return, well most sinners would think he would have went soft by now. They would be dead wrong. More than likely in a literal sense.

Even if you did finally tell Alastor how you felt, do you even belong at his side? You aren't anything special, you don't have power or fame. Most would see you as plain perhaps, even an easy target. You weren't exactly a fighter either.

"Y/N? Cher?" Alastor's voice brought you back into the conversation as the group of you arrived outside the Carmine tower.

" Oh! Ahah sorry, must have lost myself in thought." You smile and hope the excuse passes.

Alastor made a small hum in his throat. " Ah, well come now. We shouldn't be tardy." The elevator door slid open as he approached it, Zestial stepped inside and Alastor waited for you at the threshold of the elevator.

You stepped inside before him and he stood in front of you as the doors attempted to close but the egg creatures were in the way. Alastor took his microphone cane and pushed them out of the elevator, he made a tut.

He looked to the egg boiz and smiled a few inches wider. " Stay here and guard the door. "

Salutes and 'yes, Mr. Bossman's sounded off. Okay kinda endearing you suppose. They were like perfect minions in the nickelodeons you used to go to when you were alive, they could occupy Oswald or some such. The elevator door closed soundlessly and the chime sounded as the floors were passed. Alastor's hums filled the space with a soft tone and crackles like a radio station you couldn't quite catch the signal of.

Something shifted by your feet.

Oh.

An egg boi stood confused as he looked out the glass window of the elevator. His little black hands pressed against the glass and he looked down, the buildings shrank as you all reached the top floors. You take your eyes off of him for a moment as a loud chime signaled the elevator had reached the top floor. The solid door opened and the stark white tiles and walls of Carmine's building shined like someone had recently came and waxed the floors. Zestial bent his head a little as he exited first, you looked to Alastor for a moment and saw his elbow extended for you. You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you loop your arm with his.

Your other hand came and rested on top of your own, you glance at the side of Alastor's face. His monocle hid a bit of his eye from this angle, but his smile was soft and his brows relaxed. Not often do you catch this expression, even before. It was always nice to peek and see his mask slip just a little. It reminded you of the man you met one day in a speakeasy.

Other overlords began to spill from the other elevators and made their way into the conference room set up for everyone. You took a small breath as your footsteps fell in line with Alastor's. You felt a few eyes on you but then they quickly left, you spotted Rosie. The cannibal overlord looked over with a bright smile seeing Alastor, and then her pitch black eyes seemed to shift focus to you. Her smile stretched a little wider. You let your arm slip from Alastor's as the two of you approached the table. Alastor's fingers snapped and a chair for you appeared just a tad behind where him and Rosie.

You take the seat and place your hands in your lap. Fuck, why did you agree to this?

Because Alastor asked.

Yeah.

Shit.

Your head spun a little as powerful beings in hell all gathered in the same room and a projection of lost 'assets' on the projected screen. The door from an office in the back opened and three people came out towards the head of the table.

Camilla Carmine. A gorgeous woman who walked in pointed shoes that looked just as deadly as any weapon that hung in the conference room. They glowed faintly like they had an ethereal aura about them, angelic steel of you had to hazard a guess. She began to address the room, then her eyes settled on Alastor. And for a moment darted to your presence near the window.

" Alastor. So you've come back. "

" Ahahh yes, I have been gone for some time now. I'm sure you've all been wondering~" Alastors chipper tone replied.

" Not really. But good to have you back. " Camilla said bluntly and uninterested.

A record scratch told you that it definitely irked Alastor. Seeing as the two things he was hoping to stir up the meeting didn't exactly pan out how he had hoped. Camilla had brought her - daughters? - with her, and they sat like you. They were off to the side and remained quiet. And his own presence was quickly written off as the matriarch of the Carmine family began to spill off jargon that you didn't quite understand in terms of Overlord controls and assets in the upcoming extermination. It kinda made your head spin. Definitely not your wheelhouse of expertise, but it seemed everyone else seemed to be following along just fine.

The door slammed open and your eyes shot over to a small woman talking on a phone. You recognized her. One of Vox's coconspirators, what was her name? Viola? Victoria?Violet? No, it was something to do with fabric... Ah right Velvette, Vox had mentioned her if you were mistaken. She was a little firey bearcat, she came in like she had better places to be and was even outspoken about it. What does 'come to represent' mean? Like represent the Vees? Wasn't that obvious?

When she chuckled the angel's head on the the table. The overlords all began to murmur to one another about the still bloody head. Was that an actual exterminator? It sure looked like one, the blood was gold like ichor dripping onto the table. You looked up back to Velvette as she strode across the table. Despite her size, she held herself like she was the one who ran hell. Camilla cut her respectless tirade towards her and Zestial. She avoided the question the fashionista had put forward to her. The angel. It was almost obvious that Camilla knew something but clearly wasn't going to reveal it.

" This meeting is over. " Camilla turned and her arms were crossed, her daughters looked at her in worry or perhaps shock it was hard to tell with the pair.

Velvette hopped off the table and tossed her loos strands from her pigtail over her shoulder. She made a scoff of a laugh, " Be safe getting back to the retirement home. "

You blinked. Was overlord meetings always so quick?

" What a productive meeting." Alastor rose to his feet and so did everyone else.

You followed suit and you glanced over towards Camilla and Zestial making their way to the back office again. Alastor stayed where he stood for a moment. He gave a you a gesture to keep going so you turned and went towards the door. You made a surprised squeak as you feels an arm lace through yours andpulled you into a tall side. Rosie, the scent of flowers and rotton meat reminded you of Venus flytraps.

" Y/N! Oh dear it had been too long. You've missed my last two tea parties. I had to make due with Susan for an ear to talk off. " Rosie snorted a laugh and she waved her hand dismissively. " I see you have a lot to catch me up on~" she cooed in a teasing voice.

" I... Uh have no clue what you mean. " You make a small laugh.

" Mmmhmm, word is you are staying with Alastor in that little hotel the Princess of Hell is running. "

"N-Not with HIM per say. I have my own room, I work there for a few dollars is all. "

" Mmmhmm," her pitch black eyes looked right through you. " Well, what sort of things do you do then?" Her smile widened a little.

" Well... Not much so far but.... Oh no don't you look at me with those big eyes like that. Rosie!" You felt the heat rising to your cheeks. " I needed some funds and he offered a job. " You knew what she was thinking and now you wouldn't be able to get out of Tea Time with Rosie. You can already hear her questions now. Hopefully she will take mercy upon you.

She covered her mouth with her hands and made a soft giggle. " I only tease darling. " Her expression softened. " I know how it must be for you right now darling. " Her hand rested on your lower back in a comforting gesture. " You really should get some of it off your chest."

Off your chest. Out of your chest.

" Rosie... " You whispered.

"I apologize, ladies, for my absence. " Alastor manifested behind the two of you in a melt of a shadow. " Hope I didn't miss anything too entertaining." He strode to the elevator door and pushed the button. His hand blocked the door to let you and Rosie through.

" Oh nothing just us clucking like two hens. " Rosie quickly covered and made a laugh. "Alastor, you really should have told me you made it back to town. I would have had a meal or something made for all of us to celebrate. "

Alastor laughed as he stepped inside, the elevator doors closed behind him. " Ahah, no need for that. Though, I might take you up on that meal soon. You do always have the most delectable selection on meat. Besides..."

You had slowly relaxed your shoulders. Then, Alastor had grabbed a hold of them, one on each side. He put his face cheek to cheek with yours. Oh shit. Shit. He felt so warm and his skin was soft against yours. Could he feel your heartbeat? It felt like it was pounding hard to the surface of your skin.

" Y/N here greeted me so warmly that one could forget that they were gone for seven years. " Alastor let go of you as the elevator dinged and signaled it's opening.

Rosie chuckled behind her hand and that sharp tooth grin was mischievous. " Is that so? Well so good you have someone who waited for you like that. " She stepped outside the elevator and glanced towards the massive clock tower. " I should get back to my people. Let's talk soon. "

Alastor waited for you to exit before he did himself. For a moment you realized the little egg that had went up with you and Alastor didn't come back down. But the thought quickly fled as you returned you focus to Rosie. " Oh, yes, and let's catch up.... Next week?" You ask, when you get a nod, you bid your goodbyes.

Rosie walked down, you watched until her large hat became nothing but a dot on the end of the street before she turned. The sound of trash clattering brought you back to the moment, the egg creatures had began to rummage and play around in the filth and garbage of the dumpsters. You crinkled your nose, their little suits already getting stains from the leaking bags and and other viscera found in Hell's garbage. You were glad you weren't in charge of guest laundry.

" Y/N, dear. " Alastor spoke up with a light hum to his voice. " You seem distracted today. Is my company not entertaining enough?" He tilted his head, you could hear a couple of cracks come from his neck.

You make a laugh. " No, nothing of the sort." You look at him for a moment longer. The way his eyes seemed to trace your face and search through your soul. It made your throat tingle.

He snapped his head back into place and made a tut. He seemed like he was about to say something when the elevator sounded another passenger was about to be let out. You look over and see the egg boi waddle over. He placed a hand on your shoulder and his smile widened.

" One moment. Could you be a dear and gather the other ones from their.... playpen?"

" Oh... Sure?"

It was a bit abrupt but you do as he asked and go over to the dumpster. While you told the egg boi to get ready to go, you glanced over and saw Alastor speaking with 'Frank' as the others called him. He seemed to get in a rather good mood after Frank told him something then he spun back to you and the lined up minions.

" Well! Shall we get back to the hotel? " Alastor spoke chipperly as he extended his arm for you to take.

You raise an eyebrow and take his arm. "What was that about?" You ignore the tightness in your throat

" Oooh nothing of your concern right now, cher. " A laugh track played behind his chuckle.

" Well it certainly put a pep in your step. " You chuckled.

" Well the news was quite.... Lovely I suppose. " He flashed you his slightly yellowed teeth in a sharp grin. " Makes one glad to be dead. " He laughed again.

Alastor began to hum a tune you remembered belonged to Duke Ellington. You could close your eyes and for a moment you were back on the streets of the French Quarter, and he was walking you home after a night of libations and dancing. Your palms used to sweat a little and you were always worried he would feel it and not want to hold your hand again.

You open your eyes and Hell returned to your vision. Hazbin Hotel in flashing neon above a rough looking building. You took a breath, your lungs rattled a little and the sulphur in the air mixed with the ginger in an acrid way. Alastor's steps stopped and you looked over at him, his large ears were perked up and he patted the top of your fingers with his hand.

" This weekend we shall celebrate, perhaps cut a rug like we used to. I know I could use a bout of good ol'fun. Saturday Night. I'll even bake us a nice meat pie for the evening. " Alastor told you.

Your heart squeezed hard in your chest. Dancing with Alastor again, you almost couldn't breath. Perhaps just the two of you in his broadcast room with a bottle of whiskey and jazz music. Then your brain clicked. Saturday. Oh no. Oh dear.

"O-Oh I have plans this Saturday. Maybe we could do it on Sunday?"

A record scratch. You saw an eyebrow twitch. He hadn't expected you to have someone else on your dance card, one might say.

" Plans? What sort of plans? "

" I... Have a date. "

Alastor's eyes narrowed a bit and his ears were now pulled back. " A date? " He adjusted his monocle. " You had never seemed interested in such things before. " He seemed to be more speaking to himself than you. " I don't recall you having any suitors when we alive.... And you always refused the riff-raff that came around down here. "

'That's because of you, Alastor. All I ever wanted was you to look at me like I was the only thing around. And I loved for the moments it seemed like it might have been true. ' You thought, keeping the words in your throat with the clump of petals you swallowed down.

You make a small laugh. " Well, I thought a change of pace might be good for me. Give it the ol' college try."

He was quiet for a moment. Alastor then made a hum and opened the front door of the hotel. Feedback from a microphone underlayed his next words. " Then, I suppose we should reschedule. Sunday it is. "

" Alastor...are you... Are you jealous?"

He changed his tone and he moved inside the hotel his arms slipped from yours. " No! Why would I be jealous of that infernal picture box?"

" How do you know that it's Vox? " You ask pointedly. Following close behind his heels. " It could have been anyone. I could have a hot date with Husk." You say and gesture towards the bar as his pathway took you past the addition to the hotel.

Husk looked up from cleaning a glass and furrowed his eyebrows. " Ah no, don't drag me into this shit. " He pointed at you. " I ain't getting in the middle of..." He gestured at the general area of you and Alastor. " Whatever this shit is. "

Alastor made a sharp laugh. " Need I continue? Vox is below someone such as you, Cher. I'm just being a good friend." He looked at you as he puthis red tipped fingers against his chest in a smug stance he took when he didn't wish to be pushed on a subject.

Friend.

Petals were clogging in your throught. You swallowed as hard as you could. It was impossible right? He was just worried that you would stop hanging around here. Stop paying attention to him. He couldn't be jealous in the way that you wanted him to be.

" You.... You .. " Your throat burned. Acrid ginger touched your tongue. " You're such an ass sometimes. " You storm past him and head for the elevator. You needed to get to your room and you didn't care if you got stuck in a metal box at this point.

" Y/N. " Alastor spoke up as you passed him. You felt fingers brushed against your shoulder as you stormed past.

You ignored him and held the coughs down as you got to the elevator. You slammed on the button and pushed it several times to close the door up. The doors slid shut and the box wiggled as it began to move up. You let out your first cough and then it felt like a dam broke at that moment. Petals fell with every little cough or scratch you tried to clear out of your throat. The taste of blood mixed with it and you felt your stomach clench tightly and painfully and you vomited. Red mixed with white petals and whole flowers fell into the ground of the elevator. You dug your nails down the door and leaned your forehead against the cold metal.

The elevator felt like it shook hard as it came to an abrupt stop, halfway between the third and fourth floor. Your eyes shot to the dial above the door.

Shit.

Shit.

Fuck you right?

taglist: @boldlyenchantingfox22 @sirens-and-moonflowers @phoephan-123 @girl-nahh-two @kerosene--lamp @l3rittany @lunamoonbby

[egrets-not-regrets]

Period

Lenora gets woken up by a worried Erriox.

Author's note:

*Dialogue spoken in the Gothic language are bolded and italicized.*

This takes place early in Lenora's and Erriox's relationship, before Erriox started living with her. Also, there's a reason why baseline human reproductive biology is included in the "Welcome to Ancient Terra" information package.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams, @yurihasurunbara

“Lenora!”

“Wha-!” Lenora woke up with a start when Erriox barged into her room. Her eyes squinted at him in sleepy confusion, her brows furrowed in worry, “What’s wrong?” she asked. 

In the next second she was face to face with the Iron Warrior. Lenora was about to scoot back but was held firmly by armoured gauntlets. To her utter embarrassment, he started to sniff her like a curious dog, his hot breath ghosting over her skin causing goosebumps to rise. 

“Are you injured?” Erriox asked, sniffing, moving down her torso. 

“Erriox! Stop!” In a panic, Lenora leaned back and pushed at his face, “Back off! I am not injured!” she exclaimed.

Unmoved, Erriox replied, his voice tinged with frustration, “You are bleeding. I can smell it.” 

Once he mentioned the bleeding, Lenora understood, though she wasn’t sure how to explain it to him, “Bleeding? Oh… I’m on my period… uh…, menstruating, shedding blood and the build up of my uterine lining?” Struggling to explain it to the kneeling Astartis in front of her. She shrugged, “I don’t know the translation. Sorry.”

Female shedding blood from between her legs… menstruation… Erriox remembered reading something about it in the “Welcome to Ancient Terra" package while he was still recovering from his injuries at the hospital. Menstruation, when the female human shed the uterine lining from their womb… he remembered wondering why they (new Astartes to ancient Terra) were required to learn about baseline reproduction at the time. They weren’t apothecaries so they shouldn’t need to know these things. On the other hand, it was probably a good idea that they had that information in there, considering his next step was to take Lenora to the base apothecary. If he didn’t stop and think it through. 

But wasn’t it a painful affair? Erriox looked at his bonded, frowning, and replied, “I had read about this phenomenon in the welcome package, but are you not in pain?”

Lenora chuckled and patted his gauntlet, “It is different for each woman. I am lucky that periods are not too painful for me, but normally I get very tired, minor headaches, and become a bit more irritable for the first few days.” 

She held a tired smile, “I just need rest.” Just then, she had another thought, “How did you get in here?” Lenora was sure she had locked the door. 

His nonchalant answer made her face pale, “Your lock was easy to break.”

Seeing her uneasy expression, the Iron Warrior settled down beside her bed and gently pushed Lenora to lay down again, “Do not worry. I will watch over you while you rest.”

“The door…” she muttered. 

Erriox huffed and pulled up the blanket to cover her again, “Rest, Lenora. I will repair it.” He will repair what he broke, but that flimsy lock couldn’t keep out enemy Astartes should they decide to target his bonded. He’ll rebuild the door to be more secure later once he can gather the materials and equipment to do so.

Knowing it was an argument she couldn't win, Lenora relaxed and leaned her head against his armour, appreciating its coolness. She sighed and closed her eyes, “Ok. Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure how long Erriox stayed with her that night, but she couldn’t help but smile at the sight the next morning when she went Into her kitchen. A cup of cooled tea and a large chocolate bar sat on the table, and as she looked to the side, the deadbolt on the door was fixed. 

[noona-clock]

Library Cupid 📚💘 - Part 1

Hiiiiiii

Can you do like a fanfic about kang haneul? I’ve been thinking about a college au, maybe?

Thankssss so much💕💕

Here you go, @greenbumbumpeaxch !! Thank you so much for being my first official request since coming back 🥺 I really hope you enjoy this, and I would love to know what you think 💜

Genre: College!AU, Library!AU, Fluff

Pairing: Kang Ha Neul x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1 | Words: 2,105

It had all started with a very simple question on Ha Neul's first day working at the campus library. The question was really nothing out of the ordinary -- a question any competent retail employee would ask a customer, especially when books were involved: Can I help you find something?

But the answer (a somewhat weary "I can't find what I'm looking for" from an unknown face that has no bearing on this story whatsoever) eventually led Ha Neul to recommend a somewhat obscure historical fiction novel to the exhausted student in need of an escape from their studies.

Not even three days later, the same student returned, their eyes brighter and more eager, asking for another recommendation.

As the weeks passed, more and more students began seeking Ha Neul out to ask for book recommendations, and before the end of the semester, he had gained a reputation as the Library Cupid.

He had applied for an assistant position at the library in the first place because he was an avid reader. When he wasn't doing homework and studying for his Psychology major classes, he was reading any and every book that caught his interest. Being around books both relaxed him and brought him immense joy, so working in the library on campus was the perfect fit.

And, as it turns out, his penchant for reading anything with a compelling story regardless of genre meant that he was keenly adept at recommending a book for pretty much anyone who asked.

It made Ha Neul incredibly happy.

It also made you fall for him, but we're getting ahead of ourselves!

The first year or so of playing Library Cupid was just your average "If you're looking for this specific genre/trope/writing style, you might like this book" situation. A student came in asking for something to read, and Ha Neul would recommend a book. A simple transaction. Tale as old as time, really!

But then things started to get a bit more interesting.

One day, as Ha Neul was reshelving some English Literature resource books, he noticed a young lady standing a little farther down the aisle. Instead of perusing the shelf in front of her or paging through one of the several books stacked in her arms, though, it looked like she was peering through a space left between two textbooks.

Ha Neul didn't say anything out loud, but the scene definitely piqued his curiosity.

So, with as much stealth as he could manage, he left the aisle and began a survey of the nearby areas.

The most obvious thing to catch his eye was another person -- seemingly another young lady -- in the next aisle over. She was standing in just about the same spot, so it would've been easy for the first person to see her through the hole in the shelves.

Now, this could mean one of three things:

Young Lady One has a crush on Young Lady Two.

Young Lady One is stalking Young Lady Two.

Young Lady Two is bullying or harassing Young Lady One, and Young Lady One is keeping watch and waiting for a chance to leave without Young Lady Two seeing her.

Honestly, Ha Neul had learned it was best to never assume anything, so he quietly tiptoed back to his original spot and shuffled up to Young Lady One.

"Hi," he whispered. "Can I help you with something?"

The young lady jumped a little, but when she turned to face him, her eyes widened. "Oh," she whispered back. "Are... are you the Library Cupid?"

Ha Neul's lips curved into a somewhat bashful grin. Knowing that he had a campus-wide reputation like this was both thrilling and mind-boggling at the same time. "Yes," he confirmed with a small nod.

The girl then fumbled around with the stack of books she was holding, precariously sliding one out and handing it to him.

"Women in Love, D.H. Lawrence?" Ha Neul mumbled as he haltingly took the book from her. "What --"

"Can you," she interrupted, lowering her voice even more. "Give this to the girl in the next aisle over?"

Ha Neul looked back up at her and began to say 'Oh, I'm not that kind of Cupid.'

But the look on her face -- so hopeful and eager -- stopped him.

It was now clear that situation number one was in play here, and Young Lady One was requesting that he actually play Cupid.

...You know what, hell yeah!

The task was easy enough, and it was his job to assist people in the library, wasn't it? Technically, he was assisting this person in the library.

So, he nodded in agreement before pressing his index finger to his lips to signal his promise to keep it hush-hush.

Three weeks after he effortlessly recommended and handed Women in Love to Young Lady Two, both young ladies strolled into the library hand-in-hand.

Success!

And, from there, things just kind of snowballed. Ha Neul continued to make book recommendations to whoever asked, and he also did some matchmaking on the side.

But Ha Naul harbored a secret throughout all of this.

While he had a pretty good track record when it came to matchmaking via books, he had never actually been in love himself.

He'd had crushes here and there, but his academics had always kept him plenty busy -- and now that his job at the library took up much of his free time, it had become even more difficult to fit in any sort of relationship.

Plus... he just hadn't found The One yet.

And not even The One in a soulmate way. Just 'The One' he could potentially fall in love with. Someone to be his first love.

Sometimes it bothered him and made him sad, but most of the time, he was too busy to think about it. He was also surrounded by books most days of the week, and how can someone really be sad with so much to read, right?

Actually, that's exactly how you felt, as well.

You didn't want to say that you'd had a lonely childhood, but... Your parents had both worked in the medical field (they still did to this day), and you were an only child. The moments the three of you spent together as a family were few and far between.

So, you'd had to become independent pretty quickly and learn to fend for yourself.

From a very early age, you'd figured out that fictional characters were almost guaranteed to be there for you when real humans couldn't be.

It had started with television, back before you'd learned to read. You'd watch children's shows, of course, but one evening after your babysitter had fallen asleep on the couch, you'd accidentally changed the channel to a well-known serialized crime show.

Something about it had sucked you in almost immediately, and you had refused to watch anything else for years.

Later on down the road, during one of your class's library days at school, you'd discovered a novel based on that very same television show -- the same characters and everything! When you'd skimmed the summary on the back (skipping over some words you didn't know), you'd realized it was basically just a written version of an episode.

It was a few grade levels too difficult for you, but you'd checked it out immediately.

And so began your obsession with reading. Specifically, reading mystery and crime novels.

And, honestly, your obsession with libraries, too.

Your parents didn't have time to take you to the public library very often, but whenever you finished an assignment early or had a free period in school, there was only one place to find you.

The school librarians in elementary, middle, and high school had gotten to know you well; in fact, you very quickly discovered that librarians were one of the few real (meaning non-fictional) people you could count on to always be there for you.

Since you spent so much time reading and in libraries, one would think that when it came time for you to go to college and choose a major to study, you would've picked something like literature or library sciences or even creative writing.

You had contemplated those for a bit, but ultimately, your heart had pulled you to your other love: forensic science with a minor in criminal justice.

But, of course, you continued on your tradition of visiting the school library as soon as you moved to campus.

The only problem was that the campus library wasn't incredibly well-stocked with mystery and crime novels. At least, not ones you hadn't read yet.

Don't get me wrong! You had no qualms whatsoever with re-reading books. In fact, you'd done it countless times! And you'd watched the whole series of your favorite show -- all 28 seasons of it -- about three times over at this point! If you were particularly fond of an episode, you'd definitely watched it at least ten times.

But still.

It was nice to get some variety every once in a while.

Today was not one of those days for variety, though. You had just searched the Mystery/Crime shelves and come up empty-handed -- as far as new books went, that is. You had checked out two novels you'd already read several years ago.

You let out a soft sigh as you walked through the front door of your campus apartment, jumping a little when your roommate walked right by you.

"What's with the sigh?" she asked as she headed to the kitchen with a pile of her dirty dishes.

"Oh," you murmured. "Nothing, really. Just nothing new at the library."

After she set her dishes into the sink but before she turned the faucet on to begin washing them, she said, "Hey, why don't you ask Library Cupid?"

Her words made you furrow your brow with confusion. "Ask who?"

"Y'know, that guy who gives book recommendations," she clarified.

Oh, right. That guy. Did people really call him Library Cupid?

"I... think I'm good," you nodded. "I know what I want to read, it's just that the library doesn't have much of it."

As she reached for the faucet handle, she paused and tilted her head slightly. "I mean, he does work at the library. Maybe you could ask him to put in a request for more mysteries."

...Now, why hadn't you thought of that?

"That's... a great idea," you replied, nodding slowly. "Thanks!"

Your roommate started on her dishes after that, though she did look entirely too pleased with herself.

Since you were the kind of person to think relentlessly about a task until you actually completed it, you decided to head back to the library after finishing your homework for the day. The assistant your roommate had talked about -- the Library Cupid -- seemed to be there whenever you visited in the evening, so it was most likely that his schedule matched yours: classes in the morning and afternoon, work in the evening (although your work was purely academic at this point).

Not that you'd been keeping track of his schedule, of course. You were just observant, as any forensic scientist-to-be worth their salt should be.

Thankfully, when you stepped through the door into the main lobby of the library, the place seemed fairly empty. From what you could tell, this guy was pretty popular; the last thing you wanted was to wait in line for something as simple as requesting a book. It would be worth it, of course, but...

Before you could even continue your thought, you saw the very person for whom you were looking: Library Cupid himself.

...Yeah, you still weren't sure about that name. You would make sure to catch a glimpse of his name tag before you left.

He had arrived at the front desk with an empty book cart, so he had most likely just finished shelving the latest returns. You were experienced enough in a library to know it was a perfect time to interrupt and ask a question -- mainly because you wouldn't really be interrupting at all!

As you walked toward the desk, you began to script out your interaction in your head. If you didn't figure out exactly what you were going to say before you said it, your words always came out in an embarrassing jumbled mess, especially when you were talking to a stranger for the first time. You'd lived through too many mortifying exchanges where your muddled sentences had kept you up at night!

Little did you know that, while the conversation you were about to have wouldn't keep you up at night, it would change your life.

[amatoryscripts]

Never Let You Go

Pairing: Soft yan! Caleb x Fem! reader

Summary: You've had back-to-back missions lately, and Caleb's getting fed up and concerned. Not only is he worried, but he also hates that he hasn't been able to spend more time with you lately. When Jenna calls, saying she needs you on a mission with the team, he doesn't like the idea and intervenes with you going.

Warnings/tags. MDNI +18: Soft yandere Caleb, forcing you to stay home, poor baby cares too much, obsessive and possessive, unprotected sex, use of "baby girl" "princess" "baby" "pretty girl", MC giving him the silent treatment,makeup sex, biting, so good he tears up.

Lately, every time you turn around, a call from Jenna would come through about a mission that would take up hours of your day, sometimes even longer. How often you've been disappearing in the last two weeks was becoming concerning. Especially to Caleb, who has noticed this the most. How could he not? Every time you two had plans to be together, you had to cancel because of a last-minute mission due to wanderers lurking around. It didn't help his anxiety when you'd video call him after these missions; you'd be bruised up and getting bandaged by the medical techs during a majority of these calls. It pained him to see you in those conditions, as if his own heart could feel all the bruises and wounds you've accumulated on your body.

He always tells you that you can say no to a mission once in a while. Seeing you relax on his couch, reading one of your books while he made you food was a more enjoyable image than seeing you covered in blood and injured. Despite him asking you to do so many times, you refuse. Your response would always involve your worries of not being there for your team and helping to save those around. You were always putting other people first. Sometimes, he wishes you were as selfish as him.

Today was supposed to involve a relaxing date night at his apartment. The plan was to eat dinner and watch the movie they didn't get to last time cuddled up on the couch. In the kitchen, he was cooking a new dish you've been craving to try for a while. Oyster Rockefeller paired with lemon rice and sauteed Korean cucumber. When you mentioned your interest in it, he took note of the dish and garnered the ingredients for the day he knew you two would be together. This is the only thing he's been looking forward to all week.

You sauntered into the kitchen wearing one of his t-shirts and shorts. You've always liked wearing his clothes, but he especially likes it, thinking it makes you two feel closer. Plus, he thought it was cute when you'd hide half of your face and body in his shirts when sitting down. You rest your head against his back, taking in the smell of the seasonings invading the air. "Smells good," you hum, wrapping your arms around his torso. Caleb smiles at your embrace, wanting you to stay attached to him like this all the time.

"I should be done in the next hour or so," he informed you, sautéing the aromatics. He could tell how happy you were that he was making this dish for you. He took pleasure in doing things like this. He didn't mind it one bit, relishing in your happiness and the way your face lights up when he would take care of you. You're very independent, but take advantage of the way he wants to do everything for you. Sometimes, you wonder if you're taking advantage of poor Caleb, but he would always respond with how his only wish in life was to make yours as easy as possible.

"I was thinking we could also play Mario Ka-" You were cut off by the sound of a call trying to get your attention. Caleb already had a clue of who it could be. He puts down the knife he was using to split open the cucumbers and watched as you took the phone out of your pocket. It was Jenna, as always.

"Don't answer it," his low and dark tone caught you off guard for a split second. He knew Jenna was gearing up to swoop you away, once again, to go fight off wanderers they could take down by themselves without you. He didn't understand why they always needed to involve you in all these missions.

"Caleb, I have to," you remind him, letting go to answer the phone. As you turned around to pick up the call, you suddenly felt your body be immobilized. "Huh?" you grunt, trying to move but to no avail. Caleb walks in front of you, taking the phone from your hand. He was using his evol to keep you from moving and answering the phone. His arms swing over your shoulder, covering your mouth with his hand as he answers the phone.

"Hello?... Hi, Jenna... sorry she can't come to the phone," you muffled through his hands, trying to get him to stop. Your eyes demanding for him to let you go. "She's actually pretty sick... yeah, it must be a stomach bug. Poor thing can barely even speak," he smirks, looking down at you. "I'll tell her you hope she gets better. Bye now," he hangs up the phone and places it on the counter. He continues to keep you restrained but removed his hand so you can speak.

"Caleb! Why would you do that?!" You press as you watch him go to lock the front door and return to your side.

"I don't think you should go on that mission," concern and domianance coats his voice as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. She knew he hated her going on missions, but to basically keep you hostage irked you in so many ways.

"That's not really up to you," you struggle. Caleb's overprotectiveness was nothing new to you. He's always made it known that he would never let anything happen to you and would always protect you. You appreciate and even love that he feels this way, but it didn't mean he could stop you from making your own decisions. "Let me go." Your tone is firm as you stand your ground.

"Only if you promise to stay here and let your team handle everything," he attempts to bargain with you, hoping you'd give in easily. Your stubbornness was the real threat to him. He wouldn't put it past you to try and run out of the apartment as soon as he let you go, attempting to join your team in their fight against the wanderers terrorizing wherever Jenna wanted to send you off to.

"I can't leave my team behind," you retort, thinking about how your absence might affect them. They were strong, and you had faith in them, but that didn't mean you were okay with the idea of not being there when they might need you.

"They'll be fine," he assures you. "But I won't be if you come back hurt again. It took you days to recover last time, and now they're trying to send you back out there." His voice is tender, wrapped with a hint of frustration. The last thing he wanted to see was you covered in bandages with blood soaking through and bruises not caused by him decorating your body.

He wasn't wrong. You weren't fond of coming home all banged up, but you took this job to protect people, something you want to do. If that meant sometimes getting hurt, then so be it. "Caleb, I'm strong enough to protect myself. I don't need you treating me like glass. I'll always get a scratch here or there, but it comes with the territory, and I accepted that. You need to do the same." You didn't get this far by being fragile. Jenna put you on her team for a reason, and Caleb needed to start seeing you as someone strong and capable, not the little girl he would protect from bullies and danger 24/7.

He stayed silent, cupping your face and staring into your fiery eyes. He just wants to keep you like this. At his whim and safe from the cruelties of outside. Was that so wrong? Wanting to keep you locked away being only with him?

"You can't keep me from doing my job," she sighs, knowing he was just scared of losing you again. They both shared that fear, so she understood him well.

"I can try," his assertion not wavering, standing strong in his goal to keep you here. "You're not leaving. You're going to eat dinner, and we're going to watch the movie like we planned, okay?" All he could think about was how this interruption was ruining this time meant for you two to be alone.

You were silent, your frustration consuming you as you stared at him with narrow eyes. You knew trying to run off would be futile. He looks the most determined she's ever seen him. Jenna already thinks you're sick, so what's the point? After another few seconds of staring each other down, you give in. "Fine," reluctance infuses your words, knowing he wouldn't back down. He drops his evol, and you move your shoulders around, relaxing your body.

At the dinner table, you weren't talkative like usual. Your attention was on the food, not looking up at Caleb once. You were too upset to properly enjoy the meal. Normally, you'd be showering him with compliments as you stuffed your face from happiness. At this moment, you were picking at the food, taking small bites as you worried about your team, wondering how the mission was going.

Caleb stabbed his plate, picking up a piece of the oyster on his fork, watching you ignore him. "I'm doing this to keep you safe," he suddenly says. You didn't look up, pushing a slice of cucumber in your mouth. He could even make cucumber taste amazing. You keep the praise to yourself, listening to him attempt to make you understand why he did what he did. "It drives me crazy when you're risking your life for others. Doing it back to back too often is insane." He grips his fork, which begins to bend slightly from his strength. "You can really hurt yourself if you keep pushing your body like this. I wouldn't forgive myself for letting you go out there to get hurt."

Still, you refused to acknowledge him, pushing the rest of your food around. As the silence continued, the sound of your phone receiving a message echoed. You checked the notification and saw it was from Tara, hoping you got well, while also informing you that the mission was a success and everyone was fine. That message made you smile for the first time since you sat down.

"I'm assuming you received good news and everyone's limbs are intact. Happy now?" You frown at his comment. You hope he didn't think she would forgive him easily because everyone was fine.

"Yeah, it's good to know I can stop feeling guilty for worrying about my teammates when I should've been there for them!" You hiss, standing up abruptly and marching into the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stays at the dinner table, not touching his food anymore from a loss of appetite. He didn't like it when you got like this. It made his heart crumble when you'd give him the cold shoulder and shut him out. All he wants is to be near you and make you happy. Now you were pissed and shutting him out. His worst fear, right below losing you forever. You were scary in this state, going from being sweet and loving to an eruption of anger.

You stayed in the room, covering yourself with the shirt you wore. holding your phone inches from your face as you caught up with your teammates. You heard Caleb leave the apartment a few minutes after you got up from the table. Curiosity about where he ran off to did creep around your mind, but you were still annoyed at his behavior. When you checked in with the last member, you felt better than earlier, knowing everyone got out without being heavily injured. Even if Tara confirmed this with you earlier, it still didn't feel right not checking in with them.

A knock at the bedroom door interrupts your scrolling through your Moment feed. You close the screen as you watch the door slowly open, a small, plushed brown bear poking it's head through the crack.

"Caleb wanted to say he was sorry and that he misses you. Can he come in?" a high-pitched voice, you assume coming from Caleb, chirps. You couldn't help the small smirk that danced on your lips. You stifle it as you respond. "You can come in".

Caleb's large body pushes through the door, holding the bear as he approaches your side of the bed with the peace offering. "I went to the arcade and saw this little guy," he explains as he holds the bear out for you. You take the gift, examining its little face and soft fur. "Bears are cute and cuddly, but we know they're ferocious when provoked."

"You calling me a bear?" your brows raise in amusement at his comment.

"Absolutely," his response makes you chuckle, almost forgetting why you were mad at him in the first place. You shove your face in the back of the plushies head as you took in how it smelt like Caleb already. He watches you indulge in the bear, looking more peaceful than before.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, sitting beside you. His hand travels to your blanket-covered legs, giving them a small squeeze. "I shouldn't have lied to Jenna and stopped you from going on the mission". You raise your head, listening to what he had to say. " I...I was just scared. I didn't want to see you get hurt again. "I was selfish, not wanting you to disappear for hours while I would be here alone without you while you missed dinner and the movie." His voice was infused with an apologetic tone laced in sadness. You could tell he was just worried and wanted to do whatever he could to keep you protected.

You run your hand over his. "I want you to have more faith in me and my abilities to protect myself". His heart jumps at your touch and the softness in your voice. "I know me being a hunter is worrisome for you, but you have to believe that I'll be okay."

"I do have faith in you. I just can't stop thinking about what would happen if something goes wrong. If a wanderer hurt you or someone else did, I'd go crazy." His grip becomes tighter at the thought. You squeeze his hand to show him that you were there with him and not off getting hurt, trying to bring him back to the present.

"I can't promise I'll never get hurt, and I'll always be in the best condition, but no matter what, I'll always come back to you. That I can promise." He wants to say; How do you know you'll always come back? , but he didn't want to dwell on that thought when you were touching and looking at him with so much promise and affection in your eyes. He didn't want his worries to ruin this moment. Instead, he leaned in and planted a kiss on your lips. It started off soft and innocent but transformed deeper, filled with yearning.

"You promise?" he questioned, breaking the kiss to look at you as he cupped your face, not wanting to ever let go of it.

"I promise I'll always come back to your side," she whispers, leaning back in to continue the kiss.

Heavy breathing and whimpers flooded the silent room. Your face contorted in pleasure as Caleb's fingers worked their way inside of you, pumping at a rhythmic but swift pace, watching how you took his fingers perfectly, coating them in your wet heat. His lips found that delicate spot on your neck as he nibbled and sucked on it, drawing out those sweet moans he loved hearing from your lips. "You sound so cute like this, baby," he comments in a dark, sensual tone. "I wanna hear more." His thumb joins in on the fun, circling over your throbbing, sensitive pearl, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your body jolts and twitches as you cry out for him.

"Caleb! fuck...feels so good," you mewl into his hair, gripping his shoulder tightly, nails digging into his skin leaving behind crescent marks. His fingers could feel your walls tightened around them, signaling how close you were.

"That's it. Cum all over my fingers, pretty. Be a good girl for me, okay? Let me take care of you". He moans into your neck, feeling how hard he was getting from the sounds you were making and the tightness of your cunt sucking him in. His movements mixed with his words, encouraged your peak to shoot through your body, cumming all over his fingers. He slows down, drawing out your orgasm before bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting you on his fingers.

"You taste so sweet," he coos, cleaning his fingers off as if he was desperate to get every last bit into his mouth. "Let me taste you some more," he whispers darkly before dropping his head between your legs. You let out a soft gasp as he connects his mouth to your soaking pussy, wasting no time to lap up your juices and shove the same fingers he just licked clean, right back inside. The combination pushes you further into your pleasure. He's relentless in his goal to drive you crazy. He sucks on your sensitive nub, humming in delight as you lose your words, spilling out whimpers and cries from how he was ruining you. Your fingers found his head and began grasping at his dark locks, pulling at them from the stimulation engulfing your body. He groans in satisfaction, loving when you got handsy like this. "Harder," he commands in a low groan. It didn't take much for you to tug on his hair even more. He made sure of it when he spread your legs wider, giving him the change to fuck his fingers in deeper.

"Caleb!" you call out, your voice soft and trembling. "I'm...ah~', your squealing elicits a wicked chuckle from his throat. "No, no. I can't, I can't." Your face twists as you lose confidence in your ability to cum again for him.

"Yes, you can," he growls, picking up his pace as he continues sucking your clit as your hips buck into his mouth. His fingers curl up into you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch. "You can do it. I wanna taste you cum all over my mouth" he sucks harder on her clit causing a high pitched whine to spill from her lips "Just one more time. Please, baby? I'll make you feel so good, I promise" he pleads for you to let yourself cum on his mouth. You whimper and buck your hips as your release finds you once again, dripping all over his lips as he hums in satisfaction. "Fuck... your such a good girl for me". He finishes lapping up your juices as if he was licking a plate clean.

Your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath, watching him push one leg back to your chest. He wasn't done yet; he couldn't be satisfied until he was buried deep inside of you. He lines his throbbing cock between your legs, rubbing his tip up and down your wet folds. "You want more of me, pretty girl?" he purrs, trying to hold back from slamming into you the way he wants.

You look at him with pleading eyes, nodding feverishly as you bring your arms up to wrap around his neck, wanting the same thing that was clouding his mind. He drops his head down to her ear, gripping her hip tightly as he nibbles and licks her lobe. A shiver infiltrates her body, going down her spine, causing her to push herself up into him.

"Come on, use your words, princess," he insists, pushing his teasing cock between her folds just enough to make her groan in impatience.

" Please, Caleb. I need you," she whines. He drops down to you tits, playing with one while he sucked the nipple of the other, nibbling just enough to make your legs kick and wrap around him from the sensation.

" What do you need, hm?" he smirks, wanting to hear you beg some more. "You need my cock fucking this cute little pussy? you want me to ruin you, baby?" his voice was dark and tainted with lust as he twisted your nipple. " Cause I'll fucking ruin you if you want."

"Yes," you breathe, followed by a small whine. "I need you to fuck me so badly." her plea doesn't become lost on him. He pushes himself into her, groaning from feeling how tight she was around his tip.

"Oh fuck!" he grunts, pushing further into you, watching the way your mouth part and eyes flutter. Once he saw you'd taken most of him, he pulls back slowly and shoves himself back in, evoking a loud cry from you that he soon began to devour, moaning into your mouth as his hips thrust into you. his movements were hungry, wanting his cock to be the only thing you could feel. He breaks the kiss, looking down at you watching how your tits bounced against your chest, gripping your hips tightly pushing them back onto him. "You look so pretty like this, baby. Do you like how I feel?"

You could barely speak, feeling too consumed by him stretching you out. You bit your lips, stifling your cries as your body succumbed to the warm heat spreading through you.

"Answer me, princess," he thrusts into her harder, making her gasp and whine as she grips the side of the bed.

" Yes!" she wails. " Love it so much...please... need more," you pant, catching his purple eyes that have darkened from his craving. He drops into the crook of your neck, lifting your hips up to give him more leverage. He slams into you erratically, the sound of your skin meeting repeatedly dancing in the air, mixing with moans and grunts trickling from both of your lips as the headboard crashes into the wall behind you.

"Wanna stay like this forever" he groans, using his hand to rub circles around your clit, adding more intensity to your body. "Fuck! Wanna always be buried in this tight pussy. Wanna feel you like this all the time." he expresses his desires, occasionally letting out a small whimper from how you were clenching around him. "Never wanna leave you. Never." His thrusts turn sharper as each word escapes him. You feel a drop of water meeting your collarbone, sparking confusion. You look down at him, lifting his head to meet your face. Tears were prickling the corner of his eyes as he looked at you with emotions and yearning flooding his gaze. "Please don't leave me," he grovels, continuing his sloppy movements inside of you.

"I won't," you mutter, kissing his forehead softly. You couldn't help but think of how cute he looked like this. So desperate for her that it brought him to tears.

"Say it," he begs, feeling himself getting closer. "Say you'll never leave me. Say you'll always be here. I need to hear you say it...please." He bites her shoulder, scrunching up his face as his balls tighten, ready to give you all of him. You mewl from his bite, a mixture of pain and pleasure taking over you.

" I'll never leave you, I promise! I promise!" your cries swamp his mind as he finds himself shooting his hot cum deep inside of you, letting your voice permeate his mind. His release is thrust deeper inside as his hips slow down, refusing to pull out. He looks down at himself inside of you movingly slowly, taking in the white ring around the base of his cock, as streaks of his cum drips down your inner thighs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his attention to your lips. Your kiss is soft and saturated with affection. You could tell he's been worried about this for so long. The thought of you leaving one day, always floating and haunting him in the back of his mind.

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise," he murmurs, catching his breath as he crashes on top of you, ensuring he didn't suffocate his precious girl. With his eyes closed, his fingers drew patterns on your warm stomach.

"And I'll make sure to always keep it." You kiss the top of his head, pulling him in closer as you pet his soft head, showing that you would never let go.

[biteyoubiteme]

rosé

yeonjun x fem!reader

warnings:🔞!!! tw:stepcest, don't like don't read!, vibrator use, no penetration, mentions of biting/teeth used, panty-fucking, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 2.2k

an: uuummm so look away I guess I still wont take requests for this kind fic and im not tagging my usual taglist so :p pls don't read if you don't like it

“You have to be joking,” your hand is still caught on the doorknob, frozen in place as you take in the sight of your childhood bedroom. Half the space was covered in boxes, labeled in the sideways handwriting of your step-mother. But everything else was frozen in time as the day you had left for college, frozen as the last holiday you had been back, ugly Christmas sweater thrown at the edge of your bed. Even the lone mattress on the ground from where a cousin had spent the weekend was waiting to be slept in. 

And that is where Yeonjun stood, his chuckle caught between shock and humor. He was holding a half-drunk bottle of rosé, the cap still screwed on the cheap glass. “You're not very good at hiding things,” he shakes the liquid enough to draw your eyes to it. 

“Going through people's things is childish,” you mutter, tossing your bag next to the bed, “shouldn't you be in your own room?” 

It wasn't new to see him around the times that you visited, he lived only a town over, closer than you had stayed when the two of you had dispersed from home. He wanted to stay close to his mom, loved to rub it in your face when you came back that he was the better child. Your parents hadn't gotten married until the last year of high school, too soon for you to really find a connection with your new step-mom in a way that yeonjun had found with your dad. 

“They turned my room into a gym,” he kicked at the boxes littering the space, “they haven't gotten around to clearing out yours but it's going to be the guest room from now on,” 

“No-” you groaned, falling back on your bed, “I don't want a roommate for the weekend, I wanted relaxation,” it's not that you care they are changing things around but it was less appealing to have to know every time you came home you would have to spend it in the same room as any cousin, family member, or, like now, stepbrother.  Some selfish part of you hadn't liked how changed everything had become since the added members in the house had become permanent, your room had stayed yours, and if you had anything left of before it was this. 

“You don't want me around? I'm good company,” you can hear the dip in his voice, the low murmur of it making you shiver. You sit up on your elbows, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Don't take that tone with me,” but it's weak, the both of you know it, testing the line drawn in the sand every time you two had the opportunity. Spending time in such close quarters didn’t help it in the slightest. The two of you had agreed, or you had told him, that you wouldn't push it further than the teasing, and yet… 

Yeonjun’s lip lifts in a smirk, just high enough to show his teeth, calling your bluff. You remember that hazy period in time when the two of you didn't have to keep apart, fumbling kisses shared at a party, hands finding places neither of you wanted to pull away from. It was only a few weeks later when you were told about the engagement, the shock was a bucket of ice water thrown over the two of you. Suddenly flirty glances in class turned to frozen glares and when you moved in that last year together it had felt suffocating. It had been a mix of teenage annoyance and rebellion to avoid him, and you did in the short few months you spent in his company. 

Then you had both gone to college, two separate universities on opposite sides of the city. It had been easy to ignore him but easier still to find it in you to heal the indifference into tolerance. But then you found yourself at a party, the lights low and his smile just like this one now. You couldn't blame drinking, couldn't blame anything except the fact that you wanted to kiss him again, needed to devour him in the way that he had consumed your mind anytime you thought of him. 

You had been the one to stop it before it had gone too far, in the backseat of his car, grinding on him, still chasing his lips even as you said ‘We have to stop’ his soft reply of, ‘We should’ without either of you pulling away. It had been on your mind every time you saw him again, especially now. 

“Fine, but I want a thank you, I found all your contraband that you wouldn't want them to find when cleaning your room out,” he lifted the bottle again, “how long did you have this stashed in the back of your closet?” 

You had forgotten all about the bottle, less so about most things sitting in your closet, drawers, or under the bed. You had moved out your important things, anything left was by mistake or unimportant. “Who cares we are adults, a little rosé is nothing to worry over them finding,” 

“And this?” you didn't know what to expect when he lifted his hand, another lone bottle of some other drink you forgot about was nothing to worry about and yet it wasn't that. There in his hand was a slim vibrator, pink and a foreign sight in his grasp. 

“Yeonjun-” you whisper shouted, the two of you were alone in the house, the bedroom all the way up in the attic space. But it felt like you couldn't scold him loudly, your face flushing, heat spreading all over you. And he chuckled, shoulder shaking as he flicked his finger over the button to turn it on, the soft buzz making you clench your thighs. “Put it away,” 

“Should I? I charged it and it would be a shame not to use it, if even a little bit,” he stalked closer, slow like a prowl, already having his sights set on eating you alive. “And you already look like you want it on you,” you watched the way his eyes flickered down to your thighs, rubbing together as you tried to deny that they were doing so. 

“We said we wouldn't,” you whisper, hands twisting in the sheets as he leans down nose so close to bumping yours, breathing in the same air. 

“We said we shouldn't, that never stopped us before,” the last syllable is pressed right to your upper lip, the ghosting of his mouth like sweet temptation against yours, “and all I could think about since the last time was that we shouldn't have stopped, because now you're all that's ever on my mind and you're never even around to rectify that,” he leans in closer, on hand bracing beside you on the bed while you try to keep even a hairs distance from falling into his trap because once you slipped up and found yourself caught you knew you wouldn't even try to escape. “Just one kiss, please,” 

“Just one-” You couldn't even get the words out before he was on you, pressing his mouth to yours, seeking to consume you. Your hands shot out, pulling on his shirt locking him in place as he fell on top of you hardly even trying to keep his distance but you wouldn't even give him that once his lips were on yours. The two of you worked so well together, every little touch was sending sparks up and down your body. You opened your legs instinctively for him, wanted him to fit against you, slot himself in your personal space even if it was only for the length of one kiss. But that wasn't what it was, this wasn't the simple peck but a feast of pent-up want and need reduced to a single moment as if you hadn't indulged before. 

He was hot and hard, grinding against you until you were gasping into his mouth, sloppy kisses now working down your throat as he nipped at your skin, teeth looking to find every sensitive spot you had. He wanted to devour you even if he shouldn't, and you were no better. It didn't matter if you said just one kiss, the two of you knew what it meant, you had said it before and you had him on the verge of finishing untouched in his jeans but he would finish this time, he wanted to reach that spot with you. 

And you wanted it too, not caring about your previous intentions as soon as he was pressed so close to you. He reached his hand down between you two, vibrator on as he pressed it right against your clothed clit, the vibration muffled with all the fabric and yet you gasped, hips bucking up to meet the sensation. “Oh,” his open-mouthed kisses warm against the skin on your throat, your hands sliding up to his hair, twisting your fingers in the strands. He pulls away for only a second, hands falling to the waistband of your pants, needing to get them off of you. “We can't-” 

“Please- I just wanna see how wet you are for me,” he begs, forehead pressed to yours feeling your nod more than seeing it. He pulls your pants clean off, leaving you in the nearly transparent white panties you have on. Yeonjun groans at the outline of you clear as day as the fabric clings to you. He doesn't hesitate to press the vibrator right back over your clit. You try to snap your thighs closed, the one less layer making it so much harder to not react. 

His free hand comes out to trace over your cunt, fingers circling up and down as you throw your head back, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Now look at that,” he runs one finger between the fabric of your panties and your aching center, the digit coming away slick as he lifts it to his mouth to taste, your brows scrunching together as you try to hold back your whine. It's a drawn-out moan that comes from him, “You taste as good as you look,” he presses the vibrator harder on your clit, “let me fuck you- please-” 

“We shouldn't-” you try but it's caught in your throat when he clicks up the vibration, free hand back to running up and down the outside of your panties. 

“Please,” he whispers like it's ripping him apart, not being able to sink into you when you look this good. He presses his pelvis closer to you, his bulge perfect for your grinding hips to try and find a steady pace on. “Please,” he lets his hips drag along with the word, your lip caught between your teeth as you try not to cry out but it's impossible to deny him, especially when he's promising to not put it in, and you know if you say no he will stop and if you say yes you wouldn't stop him even if he did try to do more. And all you wanted was more. 

You nod, needing more of him, needing to feel something more if anything at all. He pushes his hand into his pants, tugging out his cock, veiny and slick with bubbling precum, wrist working to give it a few loose drags. You're whimpering at the sight, wishing to say to hell with not having him just fuck you into the mattress. And you almost do say ‘fuck it’ the second he presses his tip right to your covered entrance, the slick of your panties only causing him to slip, the length of him rubbing over you. 

“I won't- I won't,” he's screwing his eyes closed, shaking his head as he convinces himself more than he's telling you. Just brushing against you, feeling the vibration hitting right under his tip as he grinds down on you makes it so much worse. Every sound he's making is desperate and whiny, echoing in the room as he presses his free hand into the mattress, keeping you pressed down and in the circle of his arm. He can't control the way his hips move, just chasing the high of wanting to be in you and the feel of you so close and yet so far. 

He tries to press his tip back in, properly fucking into your panties even if there is little give before he's back to slipping and grinding back down on your cunt, clicking up the vibrator until you can feel it sending sparks all over your body, the ache in your belly turning into a blinding light before you tremble, tugging him closer to you as much as you can get. “I'm- I'm cu-” It's only a moment before your orgasm crashes into you, your body trying to pull away from the vibration and yet being stuck in place with the weight of Yeonjun over you.

And he doesn't stop or pull away, whimpering as he jerks, cock twitching right before he's spilling ropes of white all over your stomach, t-shirt a mess of it. It's not until he pulls away the vibrator, clicking it off, that he's stopped the slow dribble of cum from shooting out. 

Both of you are breathing hard, Yeonjun's face now pressing into your neck to try and hide, hips still moving, languid as he softens. “Never again,” you try to say, but both of you know the truth, especially when you're running your fingers through the hair at his sweaty temple. 

“Of course, never again,” he mutters but he's leaning right back in to kiss you. 

taglist for those who asked lol @beomiracles @beombunni and im tagging the wonderful @thetxtdevil bc she is the one who came up with this idea and gifted it to me ily mae thank you so bad-

[ann7av]

I finished The Oleander Sword and I don't mean to overreact but... what the fuck was that ending? One traumatic even after the other in rapid fire?? PRIYA??? MALINI???

As soon as I undoom them from the narrative it's ON SIGHT with the evil saplings

Spoilers for the entire thing:

Also, wtf was that with Rao and Aditya? Brotherly bond? Yeah, sure buddy... nothing else 👀

I actually really like the way the yaksa are written because they're genuinely terrifying and offputting, the "humanoid beings that don't play by human morals" is one of my favorite tropes and this one felt very well done

I've never been so worried about a baby as I was for Padma, and Bhumika losing herself for the greater good was so sjsjjfjsfbffe

The way religion was explored? Yes please

My thoughts? Scattered

Also, the way the twists were somewhat predictable but ended up happening in different ways than I originally expected was very fun, it's been a while since a plot twist had that effect on me

[gomzdrawfr]

Bam bing bong, summary of my doodles in 2024

[screampied]

toji realizes he’s in love with you when he lets you shave his face for the first time,

he’s got the biggest grump of a scowl plastered on his naturally crooked lips. as he’s glowering, he’s also trying to prevent himself from smiling because you looked so cute. your touch with him was gentle—like it always was. after you wiped his face with a dampened face towel, you rub your hands against the lower part of his jaw. “soooo,” you utter, breaking the dead silence as he’s just peering down at you. “tell me ‘bout your day, toji.”

with the palms of your hands tenderly caressing against his chiseled jawline—you smear every part of his chin and cheekbones with shaving cream. even the secluded areas underneath his nose. as you do so, toji tchs. “day was fine, baby. ‘n i told ya i can shave myself.”

“i know i know,” you hum, creating a circular motion with your hands before gently making sure every sector near the lower part of his face was lathered with nice frothy amounts of shaving cream. “wowww, you’ve got such soft skin. skin routine when?”

“ugh, y’er insufferable,” he rolls his eyes. although, his skin was surprisingly clear. toji only had a bit of a stubble, hardly any facial hair but it was growing the more he aged. you took it upon yourself to ask to help him shave and he said yes, not realizing how much he’d soon grow to like it. the feeling of your delicate, warm hands rubbing against his face was somewhat . . soothing. with a deep, heaving sigh, toji’s hooded jade eyes meet yours. he spots your pout and his shoulders lower. “alright fine, i’ll teach you one day. only if ya stop poutin'..”

with a cheeky grin, your little pout falters and you smile. “okay,” and you wait for about a good three minutes to allow the spumous cream to souse everywhere on his pores. it takes a while—and as you wait, you take a moment to stare at his features. toji was definitely easy on the eyes up close. naturally long black lashes of his flicker as he returns your loving gaze, and he avoids eye contact for a moment. perhaps you were making him a bit . . nervous. darkened eyebrows of his arch into an almost sheepish raise while he watches your adorable curious simper stretch further. “don’t be so stiff, what are you, nervous?”

“not nervous. jus’ don’t want ya to cut my face off.” he grumbles in a hoarse tone, ogling intently at you opening the bathroom cabinet for his razor. “you know what y’er doin’ right? i’d like ‘ta keep my face.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. toji’s got a growing smirk tugging against his lips as he gawks you carefully start to shave in the exact sectors of where his facial hair resides. you did lots and lots of research—he knew this because he caught you reading various wikiHow articles on how to shave a guy’s face correctly. toji would never in a million years tell you, but he found that fact entirely adorable. you made sure you knew how to avoid burns and razor bumps. as you’re fixated on his chin, you mumble, “you’ll keep your pretty face, don’t cry.”

“aw, think ‘m pretty?” toji says, and you see the playful glint in his eyes. he’s easing up a bit, and he acknowledges that you were right. right about his stiffness, he was a bit tense. shoulders raised and all, but now—as of late, he’s starting to calm down a bit the more you talk to him. “i’d prefer the term 'handsome' but that works too, i guess.”

you deadpan, continuing your trail against his face—the razor sings out a shrieking tiiiing the more you gingerly shave with soft, gentle strokes.

it’s somewhat relaxing with the way the edges of the instrument adapts to the chiseled contours on his face. the foam starts to come off within each downward stroke and you’re very slow and precise. “okay, don’t be cocky,” you titter, and he feels his heart flutter a bit at how you’re just so dedicated. you’re so focused that your tongue briefly sticks out of your mouth, trying to make sure you do it perfectly. you tried your hardest not to cut him—you were so careful and that simple detail alone could have been enough for him to propose. “you should let me do this more. ‘s kinda fun.”

“eh. maybe,” toji shrugs, his voice coming out in a rough rasp. he doesn’t even realize it but his expressions significantly soften. he was only this way around you. to him, the thought of that was kind of scary. after you start to edge with the precision trimmer and reach underneath his nose and chin, you wrap it up. successfully discarding all of the foamy cream from his face, spotting his now clean jawline, you break away to rinse off the now grubby blades in the sink. “all done?”

“wait— don’t look yet,” you gasp, preventing him from gazing at himself in the mirror. “i still have to do the uh . . what’s it called again?”

toji snickers. “aftershave, baby.”

“aftershave,” you repeat. “right right,” and you’re so cute, kneeling down towards the wooden cabinet directly underneath the sink. you take out the mini bottle, pouring a nice goopy amount into your palm. you let toji wash his face with cold water first, patting it dry, and then you start to bedaub the facial balm in all the sensitive areas against his skin. he adores the mushy texture of your hands making contact with his face as each second passes. toji’s eyeing you, an almost grunt leaving his lips as a thumb of yours gently tickles against his infamous scar. the scar that slants itself near the right side of his lip. “thereee we go,” you give him a soft smile, the aromatic scent of tea tree oil setting against your nostrils. up close, his pores were now all so clear and you stare in awe for a bit at just how charming he was. the moisture that lays against his skin feels a lot more smooth. you grow silent for a moment before your own face softens. “okayyy, ‘m done.”

toji finally glances into the mirror, seeing his freshly new spotless face and he sees your proud toothy grin in the mirror’s reflection behind him. he cranes his neck to the side, feeling the once rough texture of his jawline now soft. he then lets off a tiny exhale. “looks good. y’er a natural,” and he turns to face you, he’s pondering on what to say. oh, your eyes sparkled with such admiration from his praise that it was just adorable. “thank you, sweetheart. for y’know . . takin’ care of me. y’er really . . sweet.”

and with that, his lips inch down to press a warm kiss against the crown of your head. your heart immediately swarms up with a frantic school of butterflies and so does his. toji prepares speak again and it’s an almost inaudible mumble. you could barely even register what he said at first because it was so hushed, but toji gruffs in a low tone. “i … love you..”

“h- huh?”

scoffing, he hides the burning embarrassed flush against his face by pulling you into his broad chest. you giggle at how he just abruptly snatches you close into his warm body before he slings a beefy arm around you. “i said, let’s uh.. do our skin care together later t’night.”

“awww i love you too toj—”

“oh my god, s-shut up..”

[krystella-shifts]

EVERYTHING IS CLICKING FOR ME Y'ALL!!! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

The only post you'll ever need for LOA. Literally.

It's so easy to manifest literally so easy once you do this. JUST SIT BACK AND RELAX, BE IN RECIVING MODE INSTEAD OF CONSTANTLY FEELING LIKE YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING. Yes sometimes it can be hard when you feel panic that you have to manifest as fast as possible but trust me once you TRUST, it'll all fall into your lap at the snap of a finger! Literally. You'll even feel better and happy instead of worrying and feel like waiting forever. The universe/god/your higher self, whatever you believe in is telling you or teaching you that the way isn't through worry, stress, pain, suffering. The way is through ease, love, trust. Once you understand this you'll ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS be able to manifest without any effort. Yes, no need for that 21 days challenge, no need to set a reminder for every hour to affirm, no need to try hard to visualise every teeny tiny detail. Just have this inner knowing and relax. That's the cheat code. How easy is that? You literally have the cheat code and it doesn't require ANY effort outside and the most minimal effort inside.

Now let me explain all the manifestation techniques in more detail.

Every manifestation technique has one goal:

Think about any technique. Affirming, visualising, scripting,etc. All of these are for what? To remind you, you have your desire. YES not to get something. That's why Neville said feel it real is very powerful technique. Cuz that's what happens when we receive something right. But what we do in loa is we feel it rn and get it rn, and because the 3d is in the past, yes it's our past assumptions, that's why we say it's not real. So when we feel it real we already have our desire in the present, but the 3d is not in the present. So don't react to it. Just remember that. And after a few days of having our desire we don't get THAT excited, do we? So when you think about it again you don't have to feel anything or do anything cuz you already have it. AND THEN WE JUST SIT BACK AND RELAX. Again the same conclusion. Cuz that's it!

ALL YOU NEED TO EVER DO:

Decide what you want. And feel having it.

Remind yourself that you have ___ either saying it in your head, writing it down, etc

RELAX. SIT TF BACK. YES YOU DON'T NEED TO DO ANYTHING.

Whenever you think about ___ always remember you have it. And think naturally. How would you think having ___ cuz you do now.

Remember the 3d is a product of your past assumptions. Just like how we see the stars 8 years later of their actual form. Just like it takes 8 minutes for sunlight to reach the earth. If you remember this you won't ask "where it is" you know it is here. And yes u can manifest Shifting too.

Allow it to come to you. I don't chase i attract.

Yes that's what it means. And I am the living proof for that 😌💅🏻✨ I am literally living my dream life and bestie you are too. That's all you need to manifest (aka yourself). It's very simple but if you have any questions feel free to comment and keep me updated on your manifestation journey and success stories cuz I'd love to read them and know if my post helped you 🤭🥂 (atleast you can do that for me, right? ;p)

Love, ... redkittyjellyfish? Wait i need to change my user name 💀 (ps. I changed my user from redkittyjellyfish - Krystella-Shifts (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) )

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[choslut]

# PUSSY TALK !! (vi x reader)

$YNOPSIS. you’ve been feelin’ a little insecure about yourself lately. good thing you have a girlfriend who’s head over heels for you, no matter what! // wc. 2.4k

warnings. insecure!reader, talk of body image + weight, face sitting, spanking (ass + clit), praise, dirty talk, stripping, oral sex, size kink (?), teasing, fingering, begging, squirting, overstimulation, mirrors, awkward aftercare, spooning, pet names

NSFW below the cut. minors, stay away. enjoy your read!

Dresses aren’t your favourite piece of clothing. They never have been and they never will be, and even as you stare at yourself in the floor length mirror of your bedroom, you absolutely hate how this dress looks on you.

When you asked for something flared that would hide your curves, you didn’t expect your tailor to make you look like an overstuffed cream puff. The flared sleeves hang off of your arms like misplaced scraps of fabric, and the material pools at your feet, surrounding you in an unceremonious circle. You look frumpy, you feel frumpy, and nothing in the world could have convinced you that this is the dress you were going to wear to the annual Councillor’s Gala.

“What the fuck…” You turn around to inspect the back, and it’s even worse than you thought. It seems as if the tailor has attempted a daring backless design, but to you, it just looks like a gaping hole, the fabric tight and loose in all the wrong places before messily accumulating just above the apple of your ass. It looks horrible, and if you weren’t insecure enough, this dress makes you feel like a laughing stock. 

And that’s when the dreaded words come out of your mouth. “I seriously need to lose weight.”

Someone doesn’t like that, because out of nowhere, you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and a sharp chin on your shoulder. “And why’s that? I think it looks perfect.” 

Vi loves seeing you in dresses. She thinks they make you look so graceful, no matter what shape you choose. It solidifies the fact that you are her perfect princess, and she will never understand why you hate them when they make you look so pretty. 

She also doesn’t understand this whole weight thing you have going on. If anything, one of the things that first had her on her knees for you was your body, and like now, she always feels a need to be touching it, whether it be stroking your thighs or kissing your collarbone or, like now, wrapping her arms around your perfect waist and pulling you into her chest. 

“‘M not perfect though, Vi,” you grumble, hands running along the sides of your chest and resting over where her hands cradle your tummy. “I look like a creampuff.” 

“Creampuffs are sweet. I like creampuffs,” she says, her eyes making contact with yours in the mirror as she noses your neck. “I like you.”

You roll your eyes and whine. “I know you like me, Vi. But that’s not gonna change the fact that I hate this dress.” 

“Take it off then.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like you’re not going to be stuck in it for three whole hours, playing the part of a member of high society whilst trying your hardest to ignore the obvious stares at the atrocity which is your outfit. You want to tell Vi that it seriously isn’t as easy as that, but you’re distracted by her hands slipping into the open back of your dress. 

“I can help you,” she whispers in your ear, and you can feel the cold metal of her nose piercing against your heated skin. “Take it off, I mean. Relax.” 

“Vi…”

“Can we try something?” She begins to kiss your neck slowly, and you whimper when you feel the rough scar on her lip brush against your heated flesh. “I know you’ve been feeling some way about your body lately, and to be honest, I have no idea why because your body is already so fucking perfect…” Her hands slide up the insides of your dress, and you lift your shoulders automatically as she slips those god awful sleeves off of your shoulders. “There’s something I want you to do for me.”

After all this time, she hasn’t broken eye contact once, and you notice her eyes go dark when she shoves the front of your dress down, only to find your perky nipples staring right back at her. “What is it?” 

“Sit on my face,” she states simply, hands coming round to rub at your tits. “I want all of it, baby. Your whole body. I want you to fuckin’ suffocate me.”

You probably will. You stare at your girlfriend in the mirror incredulously, because there’s no way in the universe that you’re going to sit on her face. Not in a million years, and certainly not today. “No.”

“Give me one good reason why not.” She has a point, because it’s getting increasingly hard to refute her when her hands are making their way underneath the front material of your dress, letting it drop to the floor and revealing your regulation panties. “Go on, give me one good reason why you shouldn’t sit on my face.” Before you can open your mouth to protest, Vi smiles and bites your shoulder. “And your weight is not a valid answer.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “Violet.”

“Yes, baby?” She acts like nothing is wrong, like asking you to crush her skull in between your legs a couple hours before the most important event of the year is a completely normal request. And she continues to act this way, even when she slips her hand into your panties, fingers eagerly in search of your clit. “So what I’m hearing is you don’t want to sit on my face, and you don’t want me to make you feel so good that you forget all about this stupid dress and that stupid gala?” 

Your back arches into her chest when she starts rubbing your clit in small circles, lips widening into a smile as she watches you unravel against her. “That’s not what I said.” 

“So why are you acting like you don’t want it?” She’s taunting you now, fingers halting all movement on your clit and sliding down lower, tips starting to tease your quivering hole. “Because I know you want it, baby. She’s telling me you want it.” 

You hate how Vi can read you like a book. You do want this, but you’re worried, and she makes sure to eliminate of all of that worry by slipping her fingers into your cunt, mouth dropping open in wonder when you begin to crumple against her.

“Vi, please.” 

“No.” Stubborn. “You’re not cumming unless you’re where you're supposed to be, princess. My game, my rules, and no amount of that pretty begging is gonna change that.” 

You bite your lip as you feel her palm grind against your clit, fingers speeding up and continually assaulting your sweet spot. It’s so hard not to beg her to let you cum, especially with the way she’s holding eye contact with you so intensely. 

“Say the words, and that orgasm’s yours,” she mumbles, smile ever present as her fingers alternate speeds. “Come on baby, I know you can.”

You can, you will, and you do. Your pleas to cum are replaced with nonsensical begging and whimpering, your hands futilely clawing at her biceps as you try to rip her fingers away from your weeping hole. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it, just let me cum, Vi, please-”

All of a sudden, the pressure building up inside of you dissipates, and you notice Vi licking her fingers clean as she backs towards the bed. “That’s what I like to hear,” she laughs, sitting down on the bed in a way that has you weak in the knees. “Come take a seat, princess.” 

Embarrassingly enough, that’s all it takes to have you stepping out of the pool of fabric on the floor and crawling onto the bed towards her, legs planted on either side of her hips as you bend over and catch her lips in a heated kiss. It’s loud and it’s messy, her hands sliding up your thighs and onto your covered ass as you grind down onto her knee, tongue intertwining with hers in a clash of passion and need. 

“Good fucking girl,” she groans, squeezing the flesh of your ass before slapping it hard, drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. “Come on, baby, c’mere, come sit.” 

Your hands splay the surface of her chest as you push her back onto the bed lightly, chest heaving gently with every heated breath you take. Vi looks up at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, because to her, you are, and she wouldn’t want to be underneath anyone else. 

“There she is,” she whispers as you situate yourself comfortably on her chest. “My pretty girl, huh?” 

“I’m nervous,” you mumble, hips beginning to move slowly as you plant your hands on either side of her head. “I… don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Trust me, you won’t.” She captures your hips in her strong hands and pulls you further up her body, letting you hover just above her collarbone. “I’ve lifted this perfect body with my own two hands before. What makes you think a little face sitting will hurt me?” 

In a way, she’s right. Vi is strong, more so than most people. If it got too much, she would be able to move you effortlessly, and-

You’re pulled out of your train of thought by the feeling of Vi’s nose nestling in between your legs, rubbing up against your pulsing clit under your panties. “Vi…”

“You’re thinkin’ too much, baby,” she groans, voice muffled in between your thighs. “Just do it.” This time, she doesn’t leave you any time to think, because she’s now mouthing at your cunt through your panties, strong arms wrapping around your thighs and pulling you ever closer. You gasp in surprise, one hand coming up to grip onto the headboard as you fight not to lose balance. 

Another thing about Vi: she’s impatient. And when you hesitate to begin moving your hips, she does it for you, fingers pulling the seat of your underwear to one side and arms pushing you down hard. 

“She’s so wet, baby, I don’t know how you can say you don’t want this.” Her tongue darts out to lick your throbbing clit and you whine, hips stuttering as you stare hazily at the mess of pink hair in between your legs. Vi is staring up at you with lust swirling in her eyes, and you can feel her smile on your cunt as her tongue slides downwards to your entrance. “I mean, she is practically begging me to eat her out. Is that what you want?”

Before you can answer her, you’re caught off guard by her hand slapping at your clit playfully, sending pleasured shockwaves throughout your system. “ ‘M not talking to you anymore, silly,” she laughs, thumbs rubbing at the area she just assaulted. “I’m talking to her, since my girl doesn’t seem to know what she wants anymore.”

“Stop it,” you grumble, but Vi pays no notice, resuming her languid licks on your pussy. Your protests are quickly turned into prolonged whines and whimpers of her name, the pressure once taken from you beginning to build in your core with each shallow thrust of her tongue into your hole. 

“Not until she’s satisfied, angel.” And she means it, because the grip she has on your thighs is nothing next to lethal, and you feel yourself begin to shake as the pressure builds more and more. “And she’s getting close, don’t you think?”

She is. Your head begins to swim and you tangle your fingers in Vi’s hair in an attempt to stabilise yourself but it proves futile, mouth dropping open as you beg her to let you finish. “Vi, please, please, I’m sorry, I-”

“Nothin’ to apologise for, angel, you’re doing a great job.” You have no idea how she still manages to speak when she’s being all but crushed in the trap that is your quivering thighs, but her voice drives you ever closer, your hips grinding down onto her happily awaiting tongue as you chase your orgasm desperately. You want it- no, you need it, and when she begins to massage your ass sensually, you think you might just squirt.

“Vi...”

“Yeah, baby? Is she telling you something?” She loves playing this game, delaying your orgasm as long as possible whilst making it impossible to hold yourself back. It feels like her hands are everywhere because suddenly her thumb is massaging your clit, and you’re begging her like there’s no tomorrow.

She seems satisfied by your begging, because she takes one arm off of your thigh to use her fingers to fuck your needy cunt. “Cum for me baby, c,mon. Give it to me.”

And give it to her, do you, and in gracious abundance at that. Your juices drench her face unceremoniously as you twitch above her, spine shaking as you hold on to her hair for dear life. You’re all but riding her tongue, and she’s moaning profusely into your cunt, the vibrations only heightening your sensitivity. And try as you might, you can’t pull her away, her mouth a suction as she pushes you unforgivingly into overstimulation.

When you’re all but ready to surrender your stability to her relentless assault in between your legs, you feel a strong pair of hands lifting you off of her mouth gently, and light kisses being littered all over the expanse of your thighs. Vi’s mouth travels along your skin lazily, her powdery blue eyes looking up at your shaky form with nothing but love etched into her irises. You barely begin to register the sweet praises she gives you, instead basking in the afterglow of your intense climax mixed with the feeling of her hands stroking your back.

Moments later and you’re laying down on the bed next to her, curled in a foetal position as you fight the army of sleep threatening to overthrow you. “Are you tired?”

“Mhm.”

“Why don’t you… skip the gala? Stay here with me, I’ll cook, and…”

You think the difference between the Vi laying next to you now and the Vi who made you climax to the brink of passing out is a cute one. She’s never been too good with aftercare, instead trying to make awkward conversation in an attempt to divert from the fact that she just rocked your world in more ways than one. “We can stay home. I’ll tell the organisers I wasn’t feeling too well.” That, and the fact that god awful dress made you want to bust a nerve.

Vi smiles at you gently, and you wish you could stay like this with her forever. “Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.”

© this work belongs to choslut. do not copy, translate, repost or feed my work into any regenerative ai system.

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