#au where i log on here and do something

[didhewinkback]

the holiday

a the holiday au that explores what that first night in the cottage would've looked like. pls dont sue me nancy meyers

word count: 9k, warnings: smut city baby

---

The fire was slowly building, what were once small embers was now growing into a respectable glow, overtaking the tiny logs you had set in place. You willed it to work faster, to warm up the room as your hand slipped out from under your cocoon of blankets to grab your overly full wine glass, taking a long sip, trying to warm yourself from the inside out. It was fucking cold in here. 

This was fine. Everything was fine. You made the right choice. It was perfectly normal and sane to decide to fly across the world to spend the holidays completely alone in a cottage in the middle of an English town where you knew absolutely no one. To give up your house in LA to a complete stranger in exchange for hers. All because of fucking Derek.

Derek.

A surge of pain rips through your chest, as if you can physically feel your broken heart. No tears spring to your eyes though. You don’t do that. You’ve not done that for years, decades even, something Derek was all too eager to scream at you during that final fight of yours. You wince as the memories swirl around in your brain, the ones you’ve been desperately trying to block out. 

He was following you through the house as you threw anything of his that you could find into his suitcase. 

“Can we just have a civilized conversation about this without you going off the fucking rails?” he ask and you whirled around to face him, cocking a brow at his poor choice of words. “I just mean - please. Babe. Let me explain.”

“Don’t call me what you call her.”

“Jesus Christ -”

“Is this how you expect to have a civilized conversation? You’re being a fucking dick.” you said, turning around to walk away before he grabs your wrist, brushing his thumb along your skin. The way he’s always done. You can feel yourself softening. Damnit. 

“You’re right,” he says, pulling you towards him, though you quickly pull your wrist out of his grasp. “I just need you to talk to me, okay? We can work this out together.” 

“You want to talk?”

“I do.”

“Tell me the truth. Did you sleep with her?” you ask and you can see him physically have to stop his eyes from rolling. You cross your arms, tap your foot. Trying to physically hold yourself together. You’ve gone through harder things. You can definitely handle hearing confirmation that your boyfriend of 2 years did, in fact, sleep with his assistant. “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”

He takes a steely breath, hands curling into fists as he looks down at the ground before looking back at you. Every second of his silence already confirms everything you already knew.

“Okay. Fine. In the interest of honesty - yes.” he says, and even though you were expecting it, even though you told yourself you knew it was the truth, you’re not prepared for the way the words rip through you. This relationship had been crumbling around the two of you for a while but you never thought he’d actually do something like this. “Yes. I slept with her.” 

“How many times?” you ask and he groans, head falling back in frustration as he stares up at the ceiling. “Just trying to have a civilized conversation here, babe.”

“I don’t want -”

“Just answer the question.”

“What’s the point -”

“Just. Answer.”

“There’s not really a -” he sighs, shaking his head. “Four.”

“Four?!” you practically shriek, before clenching your jaw, taking a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment. 

The reality practically bowls you over. This man you lived with, this man you’ve loved for the last year and a half of your life - okay, well, you think you love him. You’re not sure you’ve ever actually been in love, like really, fully in love. And looking at him now, at this stupid expression on his stupid face, you know you’ll never love him in any way, shape or form again. He slept with someone else. Four. Times. 

You want to scream, you want to curl up into a ball and cry and cry and cry. But you can’t. And you won’t. You can feel all your defense mechanisms coming up, his eyes never leaving your face as he eagerly awaits a response. 

You clear your throat, your voice completely devoid of emotion as you say: “Thank you for telling me. Now get your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

“Oh you can’t be serious -”

“Bye, Derek.”

“This is how you’re going to end things?”

“You ended things when you slept with someone else -”

“Yeah, but I’m here fighting for it. For us. You’re over there like you don’t even care.” he barrels on, following you back into the bedroom. “You know, if you’re ever wondering why I slept with someone else, maybe it’s because I don’t want to live with a fucking robot all the time. Maybe I want to be with someone who feels things, who actually experiences emotions. You know, someone who actually puts out every once in a while -”

Aaand that’s when you slapped him.

You shake your head, having no desire to rehash the rest of that argument. Just knowing that he is a dick, was probably always a dick and you never have to see him again. You can’t believe you spent two years of your life with that asshole. What a waste. You take another long pull of wine, already reaching for the bottle on the table for a top up. 

You’ll be fine. Once you stop thinking over every little thing he’s ever said to you. Once you stop beating yourself up for not ending the relationship sooner. For even starting it in the first place. You were happy at one point, right? Maybe? Or did you do what you always do, ignore your feelings and look at the logic of the situation. You worked in similar fields, had some mutual friends, you looked good together. It made logical sense. But did it ever feel good? Or right? Did you ever feel loved or cared for by him? Ever? 

Now would be the perfect time to cry. To let it all out. You sit up, take a deep breath and try to squeeze tears out of your eyes. Nothing. Okay try again. Think about how much time you wasted with him, think about how he slept with Christina four. Times. Yes, that hurts, okay, lean into it aaaand still nothing. 

Maybe he was right. 

No. Nope. You’re not doing that. You’re in England! For Christmas! Freezing cold, middle of nowhere England. All on your own. Nothing and no one but Gemma’s dog to keep you company. You can do this! It’s just the first day, you’ll get some sleep and have a lovely holiday starting tomorrow. You take a peek at the clock, groaning when you see it’s only 4:30 pm. Time was moving at a glacial pace. You flop back on the couch, opting to drink straight from the bottle this time. You were in for a long night. 

—

Harry was drunk. Not spectacularly drunk, not really. He had his wits about him, enough to know exactly where he was headed, though to be fair he does know this path like the back of his hand, despite the snow on the ground, the dark night sky, the way the earth spins a bit too much if he makes a sudden movement. It’s fine. He’s fine. ‘Tis the season and all that. 

He’s allowed a bit of fun! He’s a young (ish) lad, his mum has the girls this weekend, he can let loose for once. Sure, he’s been letting loose every single weekend in December but who's counting? Gemma might be, he knows she’s going to give him so much shit for arriving this drunk on her doorstep for the third weekend in a row but hasn’t she been telling him to get himself out there (though she never ever follows that advice herself)? Hasn’t everyone in his life been telling him to go out, meet a nice girl and take her home? It’s not his fault that the idea of bringing anyone over to his home is far more complicated, more paralyzing than anyone realizes, though they swear they understand. Not his fault that the drinks have been providing better company. 

Drinks. Right. He’s had a quite a few. He really, really needs a wee. 

He looks up, relief flooding through him when he sees Gemma’s cottage in sight and he makes a run for it. More like a jog, a clomp through the snow if you will. It’s the least graceful he’s ever looked but it’s the middle of the night and he needs the toilet so bad. Why is it that alcohol seems to move faster through your bloodstream than water? Why can he be fine walking in the snow and now need a toilet more than he’s never needed anything in his life? Life’s mysteries never do cease. 

He runs up to the stoop, pausing to catch his breath before slamming his fist against the door, feeling like his bladder is about to explode. He’s got no bloody idea what time it is, but he knows she’s home, she hardly goes anywhere unless Jasper asks her to. Bloody Jasper. What he wouldn’t give to clock him right on the jaw. He’s gonna tell her that right now. He bangs on the door again. 

“Gem!!! I know you’re in there,” he calls out, banging on the door a third time for good measure and he can see the staircase light come on through the window on the top of the door. He waits a second, rolling his eyes when there’s no movement, pulling up his coat collar as the wind whips through the air. 

“Who is it?” her voice comes through the door and he rolls his eyes. Who is it?! Who else would be banging on her door at this hour? 

“Gem, come on, it’s me.”

“Who are you?”

“Gemma, come on, this isn’t funny,  it’s bloody freezing.”

Still nothing. He groans. This dumb bit she’s doing would be a lot more tolerable if his bladder wasn’t on the verge of actual explosion. He turns to the right, trying to remember where she used to store her spare key, eyes catching on absolutely nothing. 

“Gemma, I’m going to take a leak all over your plants if you don’t -”

The door swung open. Finally. He spins around, fully prepared to push past her and head straight to the toilet when - 

Oh. 

You’re not Gemma.

He’s frozen in place, staring dumbly at the woman standing in his sister’s doorway. At you. Christ, you’re pretty. You’re like, the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. And your eyes. Shit. Wait, why is this gorgeous woman at his sister’s house? Is he at his sister’s house? Yes, he has to be because it's the only bloody house on this path. But what is going on?  He sways on his feet for a moment before snapping out of it. 

“You’re not Gemma,” he says, rather stupidly. “I mean - uh, if you are, then I’m far drunker than I thought.” 

You shake your head, a light laugh leaving your lips that makes his heart twist in his chest.

“No, definitely not Gemma,” you say, quickly introducing yourself. It’s a pretty name, that. And you’re pretty. And he is still very much drunk. And you…are you American?  What’s a bloody American doing all the way out in Surrey? In his sister’s house? 

“I’m staying here for the holidays while Gemma stays in my place in LA.” you explain, almost reading his mind. Unless he said all of that out loud? But he doesn’t think so. They were just loud thoughts in his brain. “Part of this home exchange … thing.”

“That’s not possible. Gemma doesn’t go anywhere. She would have told me.” he says, brow furrowing before he remembers: “Oh, shit, she called me last night and I let it go to voicemail… which I now feel terrible about. Should have answered the bloody phone.” 

He looks back at you, suddenly aware of what this looks like, a strange drunk man banging on your door at arse o'clock in the morning. But luckily for him, you just look more amused than anything. 

“‘M Harry, by the way, Gemma’s brother. Should have led with that. There’s a photo of me and her hanging on that wall next to you if you want, like, proof or summat.” he says, warmth blooming against his cheeks despite the cold winter air whipping through. 

“It’s okay, you look just like her so that helps, though she never mentioned a possible drunk brother sighting,” you say, lips twitching into a smile as your eyes twinkle with mirth. “So, did you want to fuck up her plants or do you need to come inside to use the bathroom?”

Oh right. That. God. The time to curl into a ball and die would be now. But he really, really needs the toilet. 

“Yes, could I?” he says and you’re already stepping back to let him inside and he rushes inside, making a beeline for the washroom, muttering apologies that you shake off. 

He quickly shuts the door behind him and unzips his trousers, quickly kicking the toilet seat up and relieving himself. Sweet jesus. 

He can hear your steps shuffle around outside the door, his mind still reeling from what he has walked into, the last thing he ever expected to encounter on his drunken snowy walk. He still tries to get his bearings as he quickly flushes, washes his hands and hastily rushes out of the bathroom.

“So where did you -” he starts to ask but his limb control is not what it should be and he slams into the lamp on the end table next to the loo - who the fuck puts an end table next to a loo?? - and scrambles to catch it and right it. “Shit - sorry. Um -”

He settles the lamp and looks back up at you, the way you’re barely containing your amusement and right, he’s got to redeem himself now.

“Sorry,” he says with a laugh, shaking a hand through his hair as he makes his way back towards you, leaning against the doorway in a way he hopes looks effortlessly cool but the truth is that he doesn’t trust himself to be able to stand upright on his own two feet, the drinks still swirling through him. “You said Gemma’s in LA? LA, LA?”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing a bit at his incredulous tone. “We exchanged homes for the holidays so she’s there for two weeks and I’m supposed to be here for two weeks but -”

“We’ve not made a great impression on you, have we?” he asks, feeling weak at the knees when you duck your head with a shy smile. No, he might actually be weak at the knees as the room starts to spin, can feel himself swaying a bit. “Sorry - do y’ mind if I sit down? Feel like ‘m about to knock you over.” 

“Oh, yeah.” you say, quickly moving out of his way and letting him make his way to the couch. 

He plops down, heat rushing to his cheeks as he holds his hand out to steady himself. 

“You alright?” you ask gently and he wants to curl up and die a bit. He shuts his eyes for a second and when he opens them, the room is in one place again. 

“Yeah - sorry. I know what this looks like, but I do promise I am Gemma’s very respectable younger brother. Usually more put together than this.” he says, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “Just sometimes I do like to have a drink or two and on the nights that I have more, which is happening a bit more frequently these days, Gemma puts me up on the couch so I don’t have to drive home like this.”

“I get it,” you say softly. “You can definitely stay over tonight.”

“Don’t want to impose more than I already -”

“Please. It’s snowing and freezing outside. I won’t be here much longer anyway.”

“Leaving already?” he says, looking into your eyes. 

“Flights in about��� - you sneak a look at your watch - “ten hours.”

“Not what you expected?”

“No, it’s not that it’s -” you shake your head, looking down at your hands before back at him. “I came here on such a whim, booked the entire trip without thinking twice which I never do and I don’t know what I was thinking -”

You cut yourself off, seemingly wanting to get more into it but stopping yourself before you reveal too much. You take a second to look at him, giving him a once over and he has to stop himself from preening. He knows he’s pissed but he’s not so far gone to know when he’s just been checked out. He quite likes the way your eyes feel on him.

“Do you want a drink?” you say suddenly and he has to bite down a smirk. “Coffee? Tea? ….Wine?”

“There’s actually some whiskey in that cabinet,” he says, leaning over the arm of the couch and pointing his hand to the upper cabinet over the fridge. “If y’ want something stronger.”

You smile, your eyes practically twinkling as they light up, and he knows he’s done for. You walk over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and then rummaging around the other cabinets until you find two glasses. 

“So, you married?” he asks and instantly cringes at himself for the abrupt way he asked that. You laugh and shake your head.

“No, not in the slightest.” you say and then it’s your turn to cringe. He huffs a laugh as you roll your eyes at yourself, walking the two glasses back over to the couch where he sits, placing the bottle on the end table next to it and handing him his glass. 

“Cheers,” he says, holding his glass up to you as you repeat the salute and clink against his, both of you taking long sips. He wants to say something, anything to keep this night going but also doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, doesn’t want to be reading you wrong.

“So, is it a horrible imposition if I stay? Promise I’ll be out of here before you wake up and you’ll never have to lay eyes on me again.”

There’s a flash in your eyes at that, which he can’t quite read and is desperate to ask you about but you’re already taking another sip, blinking quickly before nodding.

“Not a horrible imposition at all. Let me grab you some -” you put the glass down before slowly swinging around, trying to find the best place to locate a pillow and blankets and he quickly comes to your rescue.

“That cupboard, underneath the Scrabble.” he says, pointing to the cupboard directly across from him and you smile in thanks, making your way over and opening it, holding the Scrabble in place before grabbing the pillow and blanket underneath. 

“So - you, um said y’ did this on a whim?” he asks, hoping to keep this conversation going as he stands up to take off his coat and suit jacket.

“Yeah,” you say, getting a better hold on the bedding in your hand. “I just um - I broke up with someone, yesterday.” 

His eyebrows shoot up at that before he tries to school his expression into something more neural, the drink making all polite social cues fly out the window. His heart skips a beat when you laugh. 

“I know, I know. It was a long time coming though and I just thought it’d be good if I got as far away as possible but all that’s done is make me realize just precisely how miserable I actually feel and what a loser I am so -”

“I don't think you’re a loser,” he says softly. 

“You just met me and you’re drunk off your ass,” you say, raising a brow at him and he honks out a laugh, making you smile. 

“While that may be true,” he says, overemphasizing the word until you giggle, “I’ve got a good sense about these things. If anyone’s a loser in this scenario, it’s whoever you just dumped.” 

“That’s kind of you to say,” you say with a small smile and his lips twitch up in response. You stare at each other a moment and another and -”

“Here.” you say, walking over the bedding to him and he quickly turns to you - oh shit, too fast - catching himself before holding his arms out for the bedding and suddenly you’re so close and smell so nice and have the loveliest smile he’s seen in years and he’s not been this wonderstruck on first sight with someone since, well, Sarah - but no, he’s not thinking about that right now - and he can’t help himself he mutters a soft thank you and doesn’t stop to think for a second before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. 

And - oh. It’s only a second or two but already it’s different - it’s something. Something he thought he would never feel again, something he thought he would only get lucky enough to feel once in his life until the universe had other, horrid plans and this is a lot to put on a first kiss with someone he just met. Not just someone, it’s the woman who’s staying at his sister’s house, christ, Harry -

He pulls away quickly, already mumbling apologies but stopping when he sees the look on your face.

“Would you mind -” you start to say and he’s hanging on your every word, feeling like he’s about to be thrown off a cliff - “trying that again?”

He leans in again almost without thinking, softly pressing his lips to yours and feeling an electric current when you, albeit tentatively, kiss back. He pulls back after a few moments, eyes quickly scanning your face, the way it looks like you’re processing a million things at once.

“Bad?” he asks and you instantly shake your head.

“No, just - weird”

He’s heard lots of things over the years about his technique but he has to admit weird is a new one. You plop down on the couch, still processing, and he places the bedding down and takes a seat next to you, eyes never leaving your face.

“Sorry, it’s just - I haven’t kissed someone new in like 3 years and wasn’t expecting this but I want to…” you trail off, eyes roaming his face in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Maybe if I close my eyes.”

And he’s already nodding, waiting for your eyes to flutter shut as he brings his hands up to cup your face, delicately brushing the hair out of your eyes and he knows this is his only chance. He’s got to kiss the hell out of you or this will be the last time he ever does and he can’t bear that thought. 

He gently presses his lips to your temple and can practically feel you melt under his touch. Good. His lips drag down the side of your face, slowly, surely, before capturing your lips with his, holding you firm to him as he gives you everything he’s got, kissing you so thoroughly it’s almost as if the room starts spinning again. Your hands come up to clutch at his wrists as you kiss him back, both of you getting lost in the moment. 

“Good?” he asks, practically begs, as he pulls away, hands dropping from your face. He needs to know that it was okay, that it was good, that it felt as right for you as it did for him.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly before you’re leaning in again, wrapping your arms around his neck and he’ll go wherever you want him to go, as long as you keep kissing him like this. Your tongue grazes the seam of his lips and opens up for you, a soft moan pouring into your throat from his as he drags his tongue along yours. He can feel the way you shiver at that and he wants to make you do that again and again and - 

You pull back and he follows suit, not going to do anything more than you want, taking all his cues from you. 

“You know, given that I’m in a bit of a personal crisis,” you start to say and he instantly nods, completely understanding that this is not what you’re looking to do and he starts to put some more distance between you but then you tighten your grip and - oh? “And you’re a complete stranger who walked in here at two in the morning and we’re never going to see each other again and you probably won’t remember any of this-”

He nods, because he gets it, he really does. This isn’t the right time for you and - 

“I think we should have sex.”

What?

He knows his eyebrows must be shooting off his forehead right now and you quickly start to speak again, licking your lips and he;s helpless to not trace the exact movement of your tongue. 

“I don’t think I’ve said this to anyone ever in my life but I just think you’re here and I’m here and as you said, we are never crossing paths again which I think makes this exciting and the holidays are the perfect time to have my first ever one night stand so I think we should fuck.” you say and you’re practically panting after your speech. “If you want.”

If he wants? If he wants? Has he not been as glaringly obvious as he’s felt the last half hour or whatever? 

“I want. I really want.” he says and this time, you’re both leaning in, and this kiss is already different. It’s hotter, almost scorching and deep. He doesn’t want to ever stop kissing you, each curl of your tongue making him press his lips all the more hard against yours. He wants you, he wants you - 

“I should warn you - ,” you say, quickly pulling away and his lips quirk into a smile. This seems to be a habit of yours, the long winded speeches, the cogs of your brain never stopping as thoughts whirl through your mind. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re - what?”

“I’m bad at sex.”

“That’s not possible.” 

“No, I am.” you say, and your eye contact falters for a moment before looking back at him. “My ex-boyfriend told me all the time -”

“I don’t think he’s got any sense of decent judgment if he was stupid enough to let you go. ”, he says, blood boiling at the thought of some prat telling you you’re not good enough. Which is impossible, just kissing you a few times makes him feel like he’s on fire. He’s surprised at how angry he feels, how protective of you he wants to be and he hardly knows you. “If y’ think for one second you should ever believe a dickhead like that, who had no idea how lucky he was -”

You shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips to his for a moment before you’re already pulling away again. 

“I’m serious though I don’t want you to get disappointed -” you mumble against his mouth and he has to kiss you once, twice, three times before pulling back.

“Y’ not going to disappoint me. I want to kill that bloke for getting this idea into your head. Y’ dead sexy. Think ‘m addicted to your mouth.”

He leans in again and you slowly pull away when he gets too close, a tease that make heat pool in his stomach. Your hand slides down his tie as you slowly get up from the couch, not breaking eye contact as you walk backwards, slowly grabbing your glass and the bottle of whiskey and he’ll be damned if he looks away for a second, mouth suddenly dry.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Y’ already better than you think.”

You grin at him over your shoulder as you turn to make your way up the stairs and he stands up as if in a trance, grabbing his glass and following you as quick as he can without looking too eager even as he’s already loosening his tie. He’s definitely still pissed, can feel it in the way his feet trip over themselves occasionally but it’s fading, or at least becoming less important than the arousal dipping deep in his stomach as his eyes trail over the back of you, running a loop over your arse and legs that he swears he’ll never tire of. 

You turn to face him once you reach the bedroom at the top of the stairs, both of you finhsing off your glasses in one sip before putting them next to each other on the dresser with the bottle. And then you’re reaching for the bottom of your shirt, already beginning to pull it up before his hands gently grab your hands to stop you.

“Not even going to let me enjoy this bit? Let me do that,” he says and you huff a nervous laugh. His thumbs rub against the backs of your hands as he leans in to press a slow line of kisses along the side of your face and down your neck, tongue darting out to suck at the skin, the unique taste of you. He already can’t get enough.  “Can take our time, can’t we?”

You nod and he hums, leaning in to kiss you, his lips sliding against yours as he slides his hands underneath your shirt, letting his fingers graze against your bare skin of your back before gliding to your front and sliding up, feeling a bit like a fumbling teenager as he palms your breast underneath your shirt but it doesn’t seem to matter to you, given the gasp you let out into his mouth and he’s dying to hear what other sounds you make. 

He pulls away but not too far, pushing the shirt up and waiting for you to lift your arms before pulling it up and over your head and tossing it gracelessly next to the bed so he can get a good look at you. You fidget a little under his gaze before moving your hands to his shirt and he finds his gaze switching from your hands on his chest to your half naked body and he feels like he’s on fire. You make quick work of the buttons, pulling the shirt open before splaying your palms against his chest, small smile quirking at your lips when his muscles jump at your touch, every new move of your hands causing goosebumps in its wake. 

He quickly shrugs his shirt off and freezes when you move your hands behind your back to unhook your bra, the straps sliding down your arms as you pull it off. He was all set to chide you for rushing him but all words have left his brain because christ you’re stunning. 

“Y’ gorgeous. Can’t even believe it.” he says, eyes flickering from your chest to your face, unable to settle on one place, too much beauty before him. You shake your head slightly and he shakes his right back, his hand coming up to hold your chin while he guides your mouth back to his, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest. It’s sloppy and messy in an instant but neither of you care, practically clutching onto each other as you kiss.He feels warmer than he has all night, all year as your nipples graze against his, his hands unable to stop moving across your skin, taking hold of whatever he can. 

All thoughts of savoring the moment have flown out of his head, desperation seeping into his every pore as he feels like if he doesn’t get his mouth on you soon is going to lose his mind.  He licks his way into your mouth and walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed and he gently pushes you down against it. You prop yourself up on your elbows, backing up to make room for him as his hands fall to the waist of your joggers. He presses a few kisses to your belly before looking up at you, almost bowled over by the pure want in your eyes.

“Can I -” he asks and you’re nodding before he can even finish the question and he can’t help but huff a disbelieving laugh that has you flailing out one leg to kick him. He grabs your ankle for a moment, thumb brushing along the bone as his eyes scan your naked body, despite the joggers pooling at your ankles he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You’re fit. 

You move to sit up but he gently pushes you back down, helping you maneuver so you’re laying with your head against the pillows. His hands rubbing up and down your legs as he moves to kneel in between them on the bed. 

He ducks his head down, sliding down the bed as he kisses you before pressing kisses down your cheek and along your neck, your chest, your belly while his hands don’t stop their movements, loving how you feel underneath his palms. He can already feel himself getting too serious about this and will blame the alcohol in the morning, for how intensely he’s approaching this one night stand but he feels desperate to prove himself, to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt. His mouth continues its trail down your body, pressing a kiss to your hip bone, getting closer to where he wants his mouth the most - 

“Oh, you don’t have to -” you say, pressing yourself up on your palms. He freezes, lifting his head up, his hands stilling on your skin.

“Do y’ not want me to?”

“Oh, no. I mean - yes. I mean -  it’s just - I know that’s not like the best part of having sex -”

“Who told you tha’? That bloke you just broke up with?” he asks and you begrudgingly nod. “Thought we already established he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“Fair enough,” you laugh. “But it’s just - I haven’t had someone do this in so long and I know it’s like tedious and maybe a little gross and not really enjoyable for you -”

“That’s not true. I really enjoy it,” he says and he can see the way the words hit you, a look of awe and pure lust passing over your face in tandem, almost as if he can see the arousal spiking in your veins and oh, he wants more of that. “Not going to do anything you don’t want but ‘m telling you, I want this. And really like it. And want to do it for you. To you.” 

“Okay,” you say, weakly, breathlessly, his eyes distracted by the slight heaving of your chest before he looks back up at you.

“Okay?” he checks and you nod with a small smile that he mirrors, leaning in to kiss you again, to get you more malleable under his touch. His tongue swipes against yours, sucking it into his mouth, a preview that makes you moan, his hands tightening against your skin. His descent down your body is faster this time, he won’t be delayed any longer. His kisses a bit sloppier this time but no less determined. 

His hands slide up your thighs and grip tight to hold you in place as he slides down the bed to bring his face directly in line with your core. He looks up at your face, the way your chest heaves slightly and you desperately nod and that’s all the permission he needs as he dives in with a groan. 

He has no idea the last time anyone has done this for you, likely years given the way you react to the first lick of his tongue, hips punching up into the air and he has to scramble to hold on for a moment before he holds tight again, holding you right where he wants you so he can take you apart. He presses soft kisses to your clit, tongue darting out every so often so he can hear those sweet sounds that have begun to leave your lips. 

“Y’ alright?” he murmurs against you. “‘S good?”

“So good,” you practically whine, back arching as he takes broad licks, wanting to taste all of you at once, pressing down on your hips so you’ll stay right where he wants you as he nudges his nose against your clit. “Fuck.” 

“Doing so good for me,” he mumbles and he can feel your hips twitch, unable to hide the smile on his face, the heat searing through him at how much you liked that. This is already more intense than other hookups he’s had this year, he’s more focussed on getting you off than he he has been on anything but he can’t bring himself to analyze that just now, just wants to keep tasting, keep feeling the jumps of your muscles underneath his palms, the sweet sounds pouring out of you. 

Once he knows you’ll hold still, he brings his thumbs in to hold you open just the way he’d like you. Tongue licking down into your entrance before slowly circling back up to your clit, taking his time to suck it in into his mouth, tongue drawing patterns along the sensitive bud and he moans against you, at your taste, the way your hips keep twitching but you do your best to hold still. Your sounds have started to become more muffled and he looks up to see you holding a hand over your mouth. He reaches up quickly to pull it away, interlacing your fingers and you give his hand a squeeze.

“Let me hear you, love.” he murmurs, kissing along your inner thigh. “Sound so good. Taste so good.”

You let out a loud moan at that and he groans as he dives back in, being able to taste and feel the effect he has on you making him harder than he’s been in ages. He ruts down against the bed a few times for some sweet relief before focusing on the task at hand. You’ve not let go of his hand and keep squeezing it every so often and he brings your interlaced fingers to the top of his head to let your hand rest in his hair. 

“Y’ can pull, darling.” he mumbles against you. “Want to know y’ like it.”

“I do - fuck. Harry -” 

The way you moan his name has him more determined than ever as he takes deep, languid licks of you, kissing along your clit and swirling his tongue around it. You’re a symphony now, gasps and moans, hips twitching as you pull his hair every so often. He closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in this, in you. 

He can tell when you’re about to come, though he has no sense of how much time has passed, finding himself utterly enraptured by you. But your noises are getting higher, your hand locked into his hair and he tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you into his face as he sucks on your clit, hard, opening his eyes at the exact moment you fall apart. Mouth open and loud, eyes closed with a furrow in your brow as your back arches, your free hand sliding along the bedding for something to hold onto, your other hand holding his hair for dear life. He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you come down, your eyes fluttering open as you dry to take some deep breaths, laying your arm across your forehead as you blink up at the ceiling. 

“Shit.” you say after a few moments and he hums in agreement. You’ve still not let go of his hair and he’d be fine to lay like this for the rest of the night.

“Do y’ want another like that?” he asks, grazing his lips across your hip bone as you look down at him almost in disbelief. “Give y’ as many as you want.”

“Where did you come from?!” you ask, making him laugh as he rests his forehead against your belly, just breathing you in. Your hand loosens its grip in his hair, now running your hands through it gently. 

“Can you come up here, please?” you ask softly and he props himself up on his palms, crawling up the bed, up your body until you're face-to-face, your hand sliding down from his hair and resting on the back of his neck. You look the most relaxed you’ve been since he first saw your face, cracked open in the best way possible, stunning smile hasn’t left your face since you came apart on his tongue. 

Your thumb brushes along his bottom lip, wiping away traces of you and he’s quick to suck the thumb into his mouth, making you close your eyes, seemingly overwhelmed for a moment. 

“Was it good for you?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling back to look at your face. He knows the answer already, not to sound too completely full of himself but he could feel the effect it had on you, could see the pleasure on your face when you came but he needs to hear it. 

You look back at him like you know exactly what he’s doing and he loves that, that he feels like you can already read him so easily despite all the things he’s left unsaid. Makes him think he can say them. Has to keep reminding himself this is just for tonight. 

“So good,” you say softly, raw, open vulnerability on your face. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done that for me and -”

He cuts you off with a kiss then, can’t bear the thought of you being trapped in this loveless, sexless relationship for years, wants to kiss it all away. Wants to do all he can to undo all the falsehoods your ex told you, all the things he made you feel or never made you feel. 

“Thank you” you’re murmuring against his mouth but he’s already shaking his head, kissing you deeply before pulling away.

“‘S the bare minimum. Don’t want you ever believing a word that bastard said to you.” he says fiercely. He leans in to kiss you again and this time you take over, holding on to his neck as you lick into his mouth, shivering against him when he groans. 

“Was it good for you?” you mumble, already trying to pull him back in for another kiss to protect yourself from his answer but he resists, opting to look you straight in the eye.

“Good for me?” he asks incredulously, can’t believe you’re even asking as if you can’t feel his hard length digging into your thigh. He grounds his hips against you for emphasis, living for the way you gasp, kissing his way up your neck to whisper in your ear. 

“Feel that?” he asks and you shakily nod. “Y’ got me so hard, just from tasting you. Just from making you feel good. Because you did, yeah? Felt good?.”

“So good,” you all but moan out, pulling him back into a kiss as your free hand travels down his body and he feels like he’s on fire, has to focus on kissing you into oblivion because he feels like he is going to explode, almost blacking out when you wrap your hand around him. He has to bury his face in your neck, dragging his lips against your skin and biting down when your next touch comes back wet. 

“What do you want?” you ask and he’s already shaking his head.

“‘S about what you want. Supposed to be welcoming you to the country,” he says and it startles a laugh out of you and he has to pull back to get a look at your face, the uninhibited glee on your face. He made that happen. He wants to keep making that happen. 

You lean in to kiss him again and he’s unable to stop the moan when you thumb over the head of his cock before going back to working your hand over him.

“Want you inside me.” you whisper and he nods, an endless stream of “yes, please” leaving his mouth before you continue: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, about not being good.”

“None of that, sweetheart, I won’t hear it.” he says, kissing a line along your jaw. “Y’ already so good.”

He never talks this much during sex, maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s you but he finds himself mumbling into your ear about how good you’re doing, how good you are, just for him, living for the way you shiver. All he can think is that his can’t be the last time he has you like this. It’s irrational, it’s irrelevant, it’s insane to be this gone just from getting his mouth on you and you’re flying home to Los Angeles where you live in mere hours and his life is complicated beyond belief but this can’t be it for you two. It can’t be it can’t be it can’t. 

You’ve been steadily kissing down his neck while he let his mind wander and know he needs to get back in the game. If this is it, he’s going to make it the best night of your life.

He slides his hand down your body, fingers brushing over your folds, still soaked and pushing two fingers into you, his ministrations from earlier making the stretch easy. His eyes never leave your face as he moves his fingers in you, taking note of what makes your eyes roll back, what makes your hand lose its rhythm on him. 

“How do y’ want to -?”

“Like this. Want to see you.” you say and he kisses you, quick and deep.

“Need a -” 

“In the drawer. Saw them earlier. ” you say and he pauses with a groan as realization dawns on you both and you start to laugh. “Oh shit. Those are your sister’s -”

“Don’t, please. ‘S disgusting.”

“They’re not used -”

“Stop stop stop.” he says, his eyes shut and you’re shaking with laughter against him. “Gonna make me sick. Or go soft.” 

“Just pretend they’re mine. And we’re in my bed.”

“Christ, I forgot about the bed. Might actually be sick.” 

“Shhh, you’re not gonna do that.” you say, your hand sliding down him again and playing with him just the way he likes. “You gonna pass up the chance to fuck me? Thought you wanted to make me feel good.”

He’s stunned for a moment, looking down at you, the way your simpering gaze never wavers from his and his breath catches in his throat, heat pooling in his stomach. He’s more turned on than he can ever remember being, just staring back at you in disbelief. 

“Told y’ you’re better at this than you think.” he mutters and you laugh, kissing him once before urging him to move over onto his back and he pushes back against the pillows when you straddle him, hands sliding up your thighs to hold you in place despite the surprise on his face.

“Thought y’ wanted -”

“Changed my mind.” you say. “This alright with you?”

“How can y’ even ask that? Of course it’s alright, you’re -”

He’s cut off when you lean over him to open the end table drawer, chests brushing against each other and his hands slide up your back. You grab a condom, completely ignoring the way he grumbles about how freudian this bit feels as you sit back against his thighs. You keep your eyes locked on his as you open the package and slowly roll it down his cock. You lean in, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest and then kissing your way up, mapping a line across his skin with your lips until you reach his mouth. 

It feels like ages since he last kissed you and he lets himself get lost in every press of your lips against his, the way your tongue slides over his lips, the light moan you let into his mouth when he opens up. He’s so lost in the feel of you, the taste, that he misses the moment you start to sink down onto him until he’s already inside. And - fuck. 

Everything is warm and wet and tight. His hands grip you hard as he pulls back to look at you, heart skipping a beat when he sees you’re as affected as he is. That this feels as once in a lifetime for you as for him. The way your bodies sync up like they were made for each other. And sure, you’re both a bit drunk. And it's the holidays and everything gets warped but what if this is different? What if this is more?

It’s a thought that doesn’t leave his mind even as you start to bounce in his lap, and he wants to curse and thank your ex at the same time because he can’t imagine having gone his whole life without experiencing this. Without experiencing you. He can’t stop kissing anywhere he can reach as his hips start to snap up and meet your own, your bodies creating a perfect rhythm without much effort. This is more. 

He knows you feel it too, can see it in the way you respond to his every touch, his every mutter of how good you’re doing, the way your rhythm falters when he punches his hips up just right, lips sliding against yours until it’s too good that all you can do is just breath against each other. He’s not too sex stupid to call this love - he only just met you like an hour ago - but there’s a spark here he can’t ignore, a spark he’s never felt before and he needs it. He’ll do anything to have it. To have you. 

He thinks it when you tire from being on top and ask him to switch and he gets to pin you down against the bed with his body, watch every emotion sweep over your face as he drives his hips into yours, adjusting the angle to make it just right, to make you moan into his mouth the way he has come to crave. 

He thinks it when he feels you start to come again, your eyes not leaving his as you clench around him. When you pull him closer, hand sliding down to his arse to encourage the roll of his hips, whispering in his ear that no one has ever made you feel this good, that he’s the best you’ve ever had until he’s coming, stars behind his eyes as he shoots into the condom and holds onto you for dear life.

He thinks it when your pillowtalk turns into wandering hands and lips and a round two, then three until you collapse against each other, sweaty, content. 

Even the next morning when reality literally comes calling, he still thinks it and wants to do whatever he can to convince you to stay. He goes for casual, an invite to a pub, “if you change your mind” tacked on as if he is someone who could just let you walk out of his life forever and not think twice about it, as if his mind isn’t replaying every instant of your night together, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from begging. 

There’s something about the way you’re fully dressed so early, already seemingly bracing yourself to go back to the real world, your walls already going back up and all he wants is to get you pliant in his arms again, to feel your skin against his skin, your mouth on his mouth. He wants to know you even more than he wants to get back in bed with you, something he swore he would never ever feel again at the funeral years ago. 

He wants you to feel it too but isn’t going to force anything. You said your life was complicated and he knows his life would only add to it. So maybe you just had this one special night, one life changing, mind blowing night and that was it. He forces himself to leave, to remind you of the name of the pub “just in case”, to press a chaste kiss to your cheek when all he wants to do is get your mouth on his again. This was something more…wasn’t it?

When he gets to the pub later that night, absolutely trapped in his own mental spiral, beating himself up for not trying to be more direct. To ask you to stay, at the very least for the two weeks you were meant to. To just see what this is, what it could be. But he’s a coward and he let you walk out of his life. He’s planning on drinking away his depression, to numb himself from focusing too much on the once in a lifetime chance that slipped through his fingers. This person he let get away. Who he will never ever see again. 

Then, he looks up. And there you are, sitting at a table, a glass of wine in front of you. You lock eyes with him and break out into a grin, giving him a shy wave that he returns in a daze. So, you feel it too. This newness, this otherness, this spark. It’s like Christmas came early and he has to stop himself from running over to your table and taking you in his arms. You’ve got time now, even if it's just these two weeks but he’s going to cherish every moment of it. 

He’ll be damned if he lets you get away again.

----

a/n: can u believe i've written something that is not part of the something old universe i simply cannot and i am nervous !! let me know what u think. starting writing this last december and felt like tis the season heres some smut.

[joocomics]

ಬ cross the line

read part two here

pairing: professor!soobin x student!fem!reader

genre: smut — 18+ wc: 2.7k

summary: an accidental peek at your phone causes a shift in the way your professor behaves in your presence which results into the two of you facing your perverse nature

contains: university au, bold bratty!reader, dirty talk, hint of exhibitionism kink, solo masturbation, mentions of pillow humping, usage of toys (dildo), slight overstimulation (m!rec), reader uploads amateur p*rn online

a/n: let me know if you’d like a part two because i do have ideas and thank you for reading ♡

[ txt masterlist | general masterlist ]

You examine the lecture room - everyone is focusing on the test. In the meantime, your professor is standing in front of the window and gazing at the clear sky with hands clasped behind his back. Today, his tall slim figure is wearing a black cardigan on top of a white shirt and occasionally he can be seen rolling up one of the sleeves in order to peek at his watch.

He seems lost in his thoughts so you discreetly pull out your phone and log into your account. You’re done with all of the questions on the test and having nothing else to do causes you to constantly think about your content.

Your newest video is performing relatively good. It surprises you, because you filmed it the other day right after you woke up from a wet dream and didn’t put any efforts into it. Judging by the amount of clicks and feedback people are liking the lazy, low energy vibe of the video though; of you rubbing yourself while still being sleepy inside your bed. It has more views and likes than the previous ones you’ve posted and a new comment you’re eager to scroll down and read.

But you don’t get the chance to do so.

Your heart skips a beat when you see a hand on your desk. You immediately recognise the black sleeve of his knitted cardigan; the long slim fingers with pretty knuckles that often times have you hypnotised by their movements - when they’re typing away on the keyboard or when they’re emphasising something on the white board that has special importance.

Your professor Choi Soobin knocks two times on the wooden surface to draw your attention, but you’re already putting your phone away.

“If you’re finished with your test you can wait outside.” He says in a low earnest tone. “You’re disturbing the other students.”

“It’s not…” You begin to explain, but you don’t get the chance to say anything more, because he silently walks away.

Choi Soobin never speaks more than necessary, and he never raises his voice, but you wished he did.

He’s always so diligent and collected to the point it has you wondering what it would take for him to lose control. However, in this current situation it’s not your curiosity that makes you want him to snap at you, it’s solely the reason that you’d prefer it way more than having him be all restful and infuriatingly calm as you admit your stupid mistake.

Unluckily for you, it might have something to do with his good looks too though.

Ever since you started taking his class, you’ve had an increasing heart rate on several occasions. You also noticed that his class is the only one in which you get easily distracted, and in which you end up thinking about sex.

It’s no surprise that most of your content is filmed on days where you’ve had classes with him - because you return home horny.

There’s something about his quiet demeanour that makes you hot and bothered. Till now, you avoided the obvious truth, but you’re in too deep to keep going. You have a crush on your professor.

“Sir, all I wanted to say is that I wasn’t cheating.” You speak with a calm, polite tone as you keep an appropriate distance from his desk.

Choi Soobin takes few seconds to respond. He emits a long sigh that you can only read as a sign that he’s not interested in having this conversation. But you can’t leave things like this. You’re not a cheater and you can’t allow him or any of your professors think of you as one.

“Is that all?” He asks without looking up from the papers scattered on his desk.

“I also want to apologise.” You adjust your bag on your shoulder while anticipating his next words.

Again, silence.

His behaviour is getting perplexing a bit. Usually in such situation he’d give some kind of speech, warning you of the consequences, and at least look at you once or twice, however, the way his eyes avoid you behind the lenses of his glasses makes it seem like he’s waiting for you to walk out of the door.

“Uhm, okay...” He nods, and shoots you a distracted glance that was so quick you almost missed it. “You’re a smart girl, Y/N. Hopefully you’ll stay focused on your studies and this… will not happen again.”

“I wasn’t cheating!”

You bite down on your lip to refrain from raising your voice. Unfortunately, you fail at controlling your other impulses. You unlock your phone and open the tab that wasn’t closed yet anyway.

Your hands move quickly, not giving you a chance to think this through. Before you know it, you’re sliding your phone his way.

“This is what I was doing.”

Your professor’s mouth opens, but the panick keeps him from speaking right away. You can see the tension in his jaw, the soft pink tint spreading rapidly on the sides of his face. The composure leaves him at full speed.

On the screen your latest video is playing with muted volume. Below, there’s a comment section that has a recent comment on top of older comments; comments, praising your wonderfully juicy pussy, complimenting how cute it is, confessing how they wish they could fill it up.

Your professor doesn’t allow his perplexed eyes to see anything else, but there’s enough of a giveaway that he saw more than it’s appropriate of him.

“You can look through the history of my—“

“There’s no need for that, I already know.” He cuts you off sternly; the nerves are lingering strongly, causing droplets of sweat across his skin. He swallows thickly before giving more explanation. “I know you weren’t cheating.”

He returns your phone back into your direction, doing his best to avoid the screen.

“Put it away, please.”

“Oh, so you really caught me earlier…” You think out loud, placing your phone in the back pocket of your pants. Elation flashes in your eyes as you hold your gaze upon his authoritative figure. “Did you like what you see?”

Of course! You should’ve figured it out sooner. He saw you scrolling through your porn page, this explains why he acts differently in your presence right now. This is why he can’t look at you for longer than two seconds.

“This is an inappropriate question.” Choi Soobin runs a hand through his raven black hair and leans back into his chair. He starts rubbing his palms together as he tries his best to keep it cool.

Instead of ending it there, you tilt your head to the side and take things further. You can’t stop now when one of your biggest fantasies is coming to life.

“As you already saw,” you speak up slowly; your voice drops lower in order for it to sound seductive, “I don’t shy away from inappropriate things.”

You’re unable to tell if your provocative words or the way you boldly lean on the desk with your hands is what causes your professor’s gaze to shift to you. All that matters is the way he looks at you anyway - as if inside your eyes he sees both danger and a possible pleasure at the same time.

For the first time since he was introduced to you you really realise how close you are to age. It awakens this temptation to play with his nerves a bit; to test his ability to stay calm, to suppress his feelings, his instincts. The secrecy you need to maintain has you even more excited to act.

“Excuse me?” Soobin whispers, baffled by your forwardness.

“In fact,” you chuckle erotically as you stay where you are so he can inspect your face better, “I bet you enjoy how inappropriate this situation is too. You probably made that remark earlier, because you were hoping that I would come to you after class is over.”

You flinch as Soobin unexpectedly rises from his seat. But you succeed at remaining in your place while he leans over the table, standing in the exact same position you are.

He’s so attractive; with his deep voice and facial features that are both soft and handsome at the same time.

“I don’t know if you realise, but you’re crossing the line.”

It sounds like his words are trying to rebuild the boundaries, but his closeness is speaking otherwise as it’s also increasing your body temperature.

“Tell me and I’ll stop.” You whisper as you maintain the eye contact between you.

Not long after, as you’re both silent, waiting for something to happen, Soobin’s gaze weakens. He wets his lips nervously before he gulps at the tempting sight of your mouth.

He’s always felt some type of special energy around you that he doesn’t know how to describe, but never this strongly. It’s intoxicating him like some kind of a magical potion which confuses him to some extent.

He should be thrown off by your unabashed attitude. He’s never been impressed by girls who are so bold, who make the first move and flirt so openly in places where they should behave appropriately. It’s not like he thinks less of them, he simply prefers to be the more dominant one; to chase, as some may say and be in control. And yet… deep down… though it’s difficult to admit it - he wants to see where this could lead.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, sir.” You give your professor one last charming smile and walk away.

He didn’t end up giving you a response, but it doesn’t matter.

You already got it just by looking at him.

Choi Soobin knows he messed up.

He messed up when he decided to take a walk around the lecture room as the class was taking the last test for the semester, and when he decided to go in your direction. He messed up when he peeked at your phone, and then when he opened his mouth. But what was he supposed to do? He saw a student using their phone in the middle of a test, it was his duty to say something, to make you retake it even though he hasn’t gotten that strict like his colleagues yet.

The moment he noticed you holding your phone under the desk, before he even reached you, he knew it would be easier to just ignore you and walk pass you. But he didn’t, and here he is now - typing your username (he effortlessly engraved it into his memory just from one look) in the search bar of this adult website like a complete idiot.

Like a creep.

Your profile pops up on the screen of his MacBook right away, but Soobin panicks and closes it shut.

This is wrong. Wrong on so many levels. Even if he just has a quick scroll down your page how is he going to face you tomorrow?

He sighs, annoyed with himself and with this sudden new knowledge of you, and opens his laptop again.

He finds out that you’re not showing your face anywhere which is a good thing, he thinks. You’re being safe. Next, he notices you’re really into pillow humping. You have a few videos up and it looks like in most of them you’re riding a pillow in just a baggy t-shirt. Your most recent one is the one he accidentally got a glimpse of, it’s published just two days ago, however, he eventually clicks on a video where you have your legs spread open in front of the camera and no underwear beneath a short black skirt.

His cock already got hard from seeing all the thumbnails of your videos; from simply looking into something so private, from reading the provocative titles and imagining how the words would sound in your alluring voice. The fact he kept pressing his hand against himself while scrolling didn’t help in preventing this from happening either.

When the video starts playing he feels the first twitch.

Just one, he tells himself, just one video and I’m never going to look at this again.

The scene of you rubbing your pussy through slow circles unfolds on his screen and Soobin’s skin grows hotter. At the start of the video you’re wearing a pair of panties - there’s a dark spot on the fabric already, and once you pull them to the side, easily exposing yourself to the audience, Soobin cusses at the wet sight.

You’re so pretty - leaking and glistening with arousal. The image has his breath hitching, both from amazement and need for release. He hears the first moan fall from your lips which can be seen during some of your small movements; as if it’s some kind of spell, Soobin’s hand gets a hold of his boner more boldly.

When he squeezes through his sweatpants, he’s almost sure that he’s leaked in his underwear.

Without getting distracted, he watches you push two fingers into your dripping entrance; then how you slowly pull them out with a string of essence dangling from them. It’s a mouthwatering scene that has him completely losing the last bits of patience he was holding.

He tugs down his clothes in a rush and sighs from relief as he makes the first few strokes.

He’s throbbing in his big fist, but he doesn’t want to cum too quickly so he takes deep breaths to control the bubbling rush as he focuses on the screen. The illuminating lights land on his face, giving it a glow that emphasises his evident concentration, but the creeping desperation too.

Your hand stops for a moment then disappears from the frame only to return with a bright pink dildo. You play with it for a moment - gliding the silicone mushroom head up and down against your skin, then teasing your clit by smacking it few times. Your movements are bold and sexy as if you’ve been doing this for way longer. Soon enough the scene changes; you remove your underwear and lay down on your side while slightly bending your knees so the camera can record your pussy nicely.

One hand keeps your ass cheeks open and your other one forces the dildo in and out of you meanwhile Soobin cannot stop jerking off. He wishes he can slow down, to try match your rhythm, but he can’t.

The shame and the guilt are no longer frustrating him; the pleasure has risen too high and took over all of his senses. His eyes eat up the view of your appetising thighs and the one of your gentle fingertips sinking into your butt cheek, and the pleasure he gets out of it makes it impossible not to speed up.

He can see the amount of arousal leaking out of you and his mouth waters from desire to stick his tongue exactly where it trickles out from. He shuts his eyes, fantasising about tasting it, slurping it and swallowing it with pleasure, then opens them again not wanting to miss your next move.

The lewd sounds emerging from his speaker fill his dimly lit room - beautiful whimpers mixed with squelching noise because of how wet and small your pussy is.

“Ah! Fuck—“ Soobin’s fist strengthens around his size as he finally succeeds in slowing the pace for a moment.

His sticky fingers freeze at his thick base and as a result his thighs shake in his seat; his teeth bite his lip furiously from the sharp thrill of the rush being delayed.

In contrast to his doing, you in the video quicken the process. Your hand speeds up the colorful toy, forcing it faster and deeper inside you. With every next thrust you release a new gasp, a new sweet moan that builds on Soobin’s pleasure even further.

And he’s not even jerking off right now, just watching the video coming to an end.

“I’m so close!” Your lips pucker up as you whine quietly.

Soobin recognises that seductive note; the same compelling voice that was speaking to him this morning. It makes him spit in his palm and resume the quick firm strokes around his throbbing cock.

His balls tighten up, his jaw falls open and his focus on the laptop screen goes weak.

He cums a minute or two before you so he ends up overstimulating himself a bit by the end of the video. He waits for you to reach your own climax while tugging gently with his messy fist, smearing the arousal all over his length and occasionally sucking in deep breaths due to sensitivity. As the dildo moves smoothly in and out of your slick folds, your moaning elevates, indicating your orgasm.

When it’s over, he closes his browser with his clean hand and looks at the time. It’s 1:45 am.

The shame of his doing forms in the pit of his stomach again. How is he going to face you in a few hours?

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[lady-ashfade]

soulmate au with percy and reader. i was thinking like reader is like a complete nobody at camp and the daughter of some not really known god. percy and reader meet by accident and they figure out they are soulmates. percy at first didn’t want anything to do with it because he had feelings for annabeth but comes around.

Percy Jackson x Fem!reader. (Soulmate au)

-£ Pictured a older version of book Percy, but imagine them staying a camp or coming late.

-£ words: 1.5 words

-£ warnings: Angst, rejection, jealousy, I love annabeth, percy being mean? Idk. Anyway kinda short. What can I say, I love a man with dark hair who has sass?🤷‍♀️

“Do you ever wonder who you’re soulmates is?” percy sat on the log near the cliff looking over the sunset. annabeth keeping her eyes on the forest below, smiling softly as the orange sun hit her skin.

“I’m not worried about it, they will come to me when the time is right.” she replied with a calm voice.

percy could help himself from looking down at her hand and slowly inching his hand near hers. the marking was just late. he knew that she was his soulmate. how could she not be after everything they went through? besides no one knew him like she did.

fate is a funny thing.

because the person who was chosen to be his, and his alone wasn’t the girl he sat next to. it was you. you barely had any contact with percy. never even spiking a word to each other and yet the world still twined you together.

looking back on it he wished he reacted in a nicer way then he did. anything other then what he did, even faint.

he was running a pile of arrows to the archery training ground when he ran into you. as soon as your eyes met the world was slow for just a second and colors shined brighter then they did. in that moment you both felt something that was more then the gods. something even the gods can’t touch.

“woah,” you whisper with your hands still held onto the arrows he was trying to give to you. his hands didn’t stop clinching onto the wood, he couldn’t believe it.

you blink at him for him to do something other then stand there and stare with a open mouth. sure this type of thing wasn’t normal but he didn’t even move a inch.

but you wished he had stayed quiet, “Look, I um..” he let go of the things you two shared and took a step back with hasted.

“I have to run.” you watched him run off like there was nothing important to keep him here.

At first you thought that he was just shy, in shock, and didn’t know what to say. but you soon figured out he wanted nothing to do with you. you followed him around and tried to talk to him at every chance you got but he would always slip from your fingers.

cornering him in the woods at night wasn’t the best idea but you had but there was not other choice. it didn’t feel good to have your soulmate avoid you.

“There is a mistake.” his voice echoed through the woods, “I feel nothing for you. I am sure you are amazing, but you are not my soulmate.”

he watched the tears pool into your eyes like the waves he controlled. taking a step back from the news from his lips that crushed your soul. “I am in love with another.”

Licking your lips you roll your eyes to try and stop the tears forming. “it’s annabeth isn’t it?” he couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. the silence he gave when he opened his mouth but nothing came out told you everything you needed to know.

“I do hope you live a happy life,” you walked closer to him only inches away, “especially when she finds her soulmate.” you walked past him and down the dirt path back to your cabin where you broke down.

fate was twisted and cruel for giving you him.

day and night you thought about him. and day and night you got worse. everyone could see the toll of being rejected but no one new by who. not a soul knew about you and percy and you honestly liked it that way. no pity glances when they hung out together. 

soulmate depression was a serious thing and could lead one down to a never reversible illness. your eyes lost their light, no one ever saw you smile, looking as dead like as possible. every positive feeling in your body was drained out.

annabeth looked over at you at diner time as you stared at the plate in front of you, sitting at the edge of the bench. “It’s terrible,” she said and picked at her food with a fork. “I hope they come around.”

the trio stared at you in pity, one of them feeling guilt. “It’s a really bad case, I feel so bad.” Grover looked sad as he almost cried himself. love was supposed to be for real, that’s what soulmates were for! If he had one he would never let them get like that.

Percy found himself studying the girl. Her hair messy, her face grime and eyes blank and darker then the last time he looked in them. And Percy was the cause.

“Yeah,” the black hairy boy turned and poked at his food.

It has been week since then and a weight sunk in his stomach when he thought of you, which was almost every moment now. He thought about how you would smile before and how he wanted to see that again. He really thought he liked annabeth but each day that feeling went away.

Maybe he could think things over. But how could he apologize? Would you still want him?

But as Percy thought over the war in his head you moved on. Or as much as you could. there was a sickness in your body but you tried to fight it and spent time with your friends.

one boy took you in quickly. the two of you now glued at the hip and he was the only one who seemed to make you smile now.

“Dude,” Grover knocked his shoulder with his own, “What did he do to you?”

The son of Poseidon darted his eyes lowly at some boy. The way you smiled ever so sweetly like he has been wishing to see for weeks but this- This guy could cause it easily. And those small laughed he could hear so faintly in his ears.

“Nothing.” Percy stated while still glaring at the guy heavily.

the satyr nodded but lingered his eyes on his friend for a few seconds. clearly not believing him one bit.

“I have to tell you something,” he pulled his eyes away from you and to his friend. Guilt covering his face. “You know how y/n got reflected by her soulmate?” his voice shaky.

“Of course, it was hard to watch.” He answered. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots when Percy lifted his brows as a sign. Grover gasped loudly.

“You did- Oh my god’s. How could you?” His mouth was then covered by Percy as he shh’d him.

Percy took a big breath as he held his hand over his mouth, “I’m not proud of it. It was just, I didn’t feel like we could be. I thought me and annabeth were soulmates until they came along,” he turned his eyes back to your direction to find you laughing slightly with your friends.

“I was terribly wrong.”

As much as Grover was mad at his friend he could see the guilt and regret on his face. He helped him come up with a plan, and gave him a very long lecture about love. Annabeth found out, and cursed him out. Saying that the marks don’t lie and was overly upset he could do that for her.

it took a week of long work for him to build up the courage to finally talk to you.

lucky he knew exactly where you would be. in the same stop he saw you for the first time as his soulmate. In the training grounds. You had been walking back to your cabin looking as beautiful as always even with your gloomy change.

you had a basket in your hand. you hummed quietly and kept your eyes on the dirt path underneath your feet. you were too out of it to hear him walking from behind you. “Y/n.” He called your name.

turning around startled you are met with him smiling at you. the boy who broke your heart standing there with a warm smile on his face as if he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Percy.” You whisper and step back. “I um…Do you need something?” you were shaking almost.

He got closer slowly as he got more awkward by the second, “can we talk?” you were hesitant to expect his offer but you nodded.

“I want to apologize for rejecting you. I felt horrible watching you- Well, get like this.” He kept getting closer and you didn’t know if you should run away or scream at him.

“I was wrong. You are the girl for me.” He saw the tears flood in the corner of your eyes and your lips tremble

“you think that’s enough?” you didn’t yell but he could sense the harsh tone in your voice. And you have that right.

“No, not really.” his frowns. Knowing he needed to do more.

“But I’m willing to work as hard as I need to. If you will have me?”

His green eyes filled with sorrow. the feeling to leave him here, with nothing like he did to you. But you couldn’t. You felt better in his presence as he looked at you.

“I’ll allow it, but we take this slow.” All he could do was smile again and nod his head in understanding.

even if you didn’t trust him. he healed your heart in the matter of seconds.

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”

[lelengerine]

pairing. cafe owner!chenle x regular customer!reader

synopsis. chenle might just have a thing for his cafe's regular customer, based on a req!

genre. cafe au, love at first sight mixed with a little puppy love, chenle’s like a goldie retriever here :(( i swear, mentions of food, reader uses she/her pronouns for this one, ft. jisung and jaemin, pls lmk if anything was missed!

wc. 1.0k words

notes. i love this one so much (i say that almost every time i have a new thing written) but it's chenle who are we kidding ofc i have favoritism… slight. likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

chenle wasn’t the type to hover. 

he trusted his staff—jisung handled the customers, jaemin worked his magic in the kitchen. that left him to observe from the sidelines, content to manage from a comfortable distance. it wasn’t laziness, more like knowing where he fit in the daily rhythm of the café.

but the moment you walked in, everything shifted.

it was nothing special at first. the soft chime of the door, the way the afternoon light caught the edge of your face as you stepped inside, looking around with a quiet curiosity. chenle had been by the counter, flipping absentmindedly through the register logs. he wasn’t paying attention to much until he saw you. it was like the air in the room shifted, pulling his focus to you as if he’d been waiting for something but hadn’t realized it until that moment.

you took a few steps in, glancing at the menu board above the counter. jisung, ever efficient, moved to take your order, but chenle stepped forward without thinking, his voice coming out before he even realized it.

“i’ll take care of it,” he muttered, sliding in front of the lanky boy and ignoring the surprised look thrown in his direction.

jaemin, who was watching from the back with flour dusted on his apron, gave chenle a knowing look, but said nothing.

chenle paid neither of them any attention, turning his gaze to you whose eyes were eagerly scanning the menu above the counter. “what can i get for you?”

you smiled, polite but distant, ordering a cup of mocha latte—voice reaching him in soft but clear syllables. chenle couldn’t help but hold onto each word as you spoke, wanting the moment to stretch just a little longer.

when you took your seat by the window, chenle made your drink himself, pushing aside jisung’s attempts to do his job. it wasn’t even about making the best coffee; it was about making your coffee. a strange feeling stirred in his chest as he watched the milk swirl into the espresso, the heart-shaped foam settling on top with more care than he’d ever thought to put into a simple drink.

it became a routine after that. you came in regularly, and each time, chenle found himself moving before anyone else could. jisung and jaemin didn’t even try to get involved anymore, knowing how stubborn their boss could be. they’d just exchange quiet glances and sometimes a snort of laughter when chenle would rush to be the first to greet you.

he knew your order by heart—mocha latte, no whipped cream, always served in the same spot by the window. he’d bring it to you, trying not to hover too long, hoping each time that maybe this would be the day you’d stay a little longer, or say something more than the usual thank you.

but you never did.

you’d sip your coffee, eyes on your book, and the world outside would blur as you disappeared into your reading. he’d watch, just for a moment, trying to convince himself that the way you quietly smiled to yourself meant something, that maybe you noticed how much care he put into each cup, but weeks passed, and nothing changed. 

you’d finish your drink, leave quietly, and chenle would be left with the echo of your absence. he started to wonder if it had all been in his head—if maybe he’d read too much into your polite smiles and the way you kept coming back. the doubt crept in slowly, like the steady ticking of a clock, until it was all he could think about every time you left without saying more.

today felt the same. you walked in, and he already had your mocha ready before you reached the counter, your usual spot by the window waiting for you. you gave him that same smile, soft and distant, and he tried to hide the way his heart leapt when you looked just a little surprised that he had your drink ready before you asked.

“you remembered,” you said, tone light, almost teasing.

chenle shrugged, trying to seem casual even as his pulse quickened. “it’s not hard. you come in here a lot.”

you laughed—soft, barely more than a breath, but it was enough to make his chest tighten. a small thank you made its way past your lips, and then, just like every other time, you disappeared into your little corner with a book in hand, sipping your drink as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

chenle watched you from behind the counter, torn between the quiet hope that had kept him going for weeks and the creeping disappointment that maybe, just maybe, this was all it would ever be. the unspoken silence between you stretched on, and by the time you finished your drink, the weight of his thoughts had settled into something heavier.

you left, like always, slipping out the door with only a glance back. chenle sighed, staring at the empty cup you’d left behind. another day, another missed chance. he walked over to clear the table, mind already drifting to the usual routine, until something caught his eye.

a small piece of paper, folded neatly beneath the cup.

he picked it up, his breath catching as he unfolded it, scanning the words quickly, then again, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining it.

i’d like it better if you sat down and ate with me instead of staring from behind the counter next time. my treat, pinky promise.

your phone number was scribbled beneath the note, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

chenle froze for a second, blinking at the piece of paper in disbelief, then suddenly grinned, pumping his fist in the air with a quiet yet triumphant “yes!”

from behind the counter, jisung and jaemin watched him, snickering quietly, exchanging knowing looks.

“has he finally gone insane?” jisung said in a deadpan.

jaemin just shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “just let the boy live a little. it’s not always that we catch him like this.”

“that boy is still your boss.”

“eh, he’s still younger than me.”

“your point being…?”

and despite being more than aware of jisung and jaemin’s bickering from behind the counter, chenle didn’t care. all he could think about was the next time you walked in, and how this time, he wouldn’t just be serving you.

this time, he’d be sitting with you.

[vortexvn]

Hey yall this is nash, I created a side blog for the fan game to archive everything and make it easily accessible

So by now you know what VortexVN is and what is it about, if not then please check here

In short: bootleg Disco Elysium but you play as regina george and you get like 4 girlfriends or something

Where you can play: (Demo - PC only)

-Download

-Browser play

Useful links/extras:

-Dev log for part.1

-Official guide

QnA:

Is there Pricefield in this?

Actually yes, I'm planning on having them as a background/minor pairing in certain routes (Rachel and Kate's probably), like you stumble upon them right around the end.

Don't worry, I won't use your favorite pairings as selling points and not bother to show anything or break them up-

Is this free?

Yea

Why are you doing this? Is this a response to Double Exposure?

I always wanted a Vic-centric something (Comic, spin-off, and novel) ever since I first played the first game in 2015.

I don’t care what DE did to the continuity; I’ve always enjoyed this franchise through my own lens.

As Michael Koch said, they can’t remove what we had imagined for these characters.

I wanted a Vic centric project and I’m gonna get it lol

Why Victoria? Why not Max, Chloe or Rachel?

Cause Victoria is my favorite, she's an entertaining hot mess- also games where the main mc is a unlikable mean girl are niche, they should tab into that market- especially with the current generation's idolization of that specific archetype

As for why not any of those 3? Idk i got sick of their asses; max leads two games, chloe led one and rachel was featured in that game and narratively haunted the other one

Gamers wanna feel like bad Bs sometimes, let them have it

What type of endings are you planning for this game?

Victoria either gets dumped by or hooks up with her love interest, or she gets dumped so hard that she drops out.

Are we gonna get cameos from Nathan/Warren or other non lis 1 characters?

Yes but mostly as cameos, mentions, in-game texts and easter eggs maybe

So far Nathan appears in one of the wall pictures in victoria's room

^ Placeholder version, i apologize for nathan's shoulder

I'm planning on having him date warren in this au and he's not a bad guy in this game, still messy though

Anything else?

Yeah

Big smoke from GTA makes an appearance in the one of the posters you can examine in the dorm hallway

dont sue me, i dont know why either i was rendering that poster while listening to gta analysis vids

[carlyraejepsans]

Setting up AO3 Enhancements on a mobile browser

Hey there! Do you:

read fic primarily on your phone?

feel tired of having to punch in a lot of filter tags every time you browse for fics?

have an android device?

then I might be able to help you make fandom a cozier place! (and hopefully nip future drama in the bud, lol)

With this post, I'm gonna guide you through the process of installing the AO3 Enhancements browser extension, normally only available on desktop, on your mobile device. It works a charm, and I've been using it for months, and it's made the Undertale tag navigable again despite my utter disinterest in AU content.

Here's an archived version of the full post in case my dumbass accidentally deletes it for some reason

Let's get started!

UPDATE: For IOS users! You can download the browser app "Orion" which allows firefox extensions! No need to do this procedure, just install it and download the extension as you normally would from Firefox Add-ons

1) Download Firefox Nightly.

For those who are hearing of it for the first time, Firefox Nightly is a separate Firefox browser made specifically for developers. The name itself is due to the fact that it's patched and updated on a daily (er, nightly) basis. This makes it more prone to crashing and issues than the standard Firefox app, but I've switched over to nightly as my main browser months ago now, and if I ever encounter a problem, I just... download the latest update and I'm good to go.

What's crucial about Nightly, however, is that it gives the user access to various additional features. One of them being desktop extensions on mobile, which is what we're here for.

Here's the Google Play link.

2) Make a Firefox Account

This will be necessary to install the extension later

Once you've done that, go to the Firefox add-ons website and log into your account in the upper right (where it says "Biscia" in the screenshot below). Click on "View My Collections"

3) Making an add-on collection

Since browser extensions are technically blocked from being directly installed by the browser, Nightly offers a workaround.

Create a collection, and give it a name without spaces to avoid errors.

4) Adding the extension

Here is the link to ao3 enhancements (if it's not showing up, try reloading the page in desktop mode). Scroll down until you see the option "Add to a collection" and select the one you just created.

You can do it with any extension! Go nuts. There's lots of good stuff out there. Just remember that it's not guaranteed every one of them will work, since they aren't intended to be used on a mobile device.

5) Activating debug mode.

In your browser, tap the little sandwich menu in the bottom right, scroll down and click Settings. It should be under "Save to Collection".

Scroll down even more until you reach the "About" section, and click on "About Firefox Nightly"

Click on the firefox logo 5 times, and it should be done.

6) Activating your add-ons

Go to "View my profile" as seen in the screenshot in step 2. At the end of the link, there should be a string of numbers. Copy it.

After this, go back to the browser settings again, scroll down until you reach the add ons section and click on "custom add on collection". Paste the numbers you copied from your profile where it says "User ID", and the name of your collection EXACTLY as it appears in the link, where it says "Collection name". Mind, it's case sensitive.

Press okay, and it should kick you out of the app. Open it again and, going in add-ons then add-ons manager, you should be able to add your extension.

ATTENTION!! If you get the error message "failed to query add-ons" you either inputted the wrong user id or the wrong collection name

To avoid this type of issue, don't name your collection something that has spaces or punctuation in it, as it might mess with the link formatting.

7) Setting up your AO3 enhancements filters

If everything's worked out fine, you should be able to visit ao3 and see a new drop-down window.

Click on it, click on option, and it should open up a new window with all the settings available! Tweak them to your heart's content. Though mind, the background tag wrangling done by the ao3 volunteers doesn't work with this extension, so the extension is going to hide only the works tagged EXACTLY what you filtered. Character for character. This makes things a bit tricky when people aren't consistent with their tagging, but if it proves to be enough of a problem, you can just filter out the author name in full and be done with it.

You can choose to hide the fic behind a "show" button, or make it not show up at all. If you choose the latter option, and you blocked a tag that has lots of fics, it might look like certain pages of searches are almost empty, since all the fics were hidden.

And that's it! I sincerely hope this helps people avoid their triggers and other topics that make them uncomfortable. No more excuses fellas. You find a tag you haven't filtered yet? You add it to the list and move on. Easy peasy.

Hope I haven't missed anything. Let me know if you need any help!

[alchely]

My Top Gallavich fics

So, under the advice of the lovely @iangallagherisadeadman I've decided to compile a favorites Gallavich fic list along with a brief rec of each, this won't be a strict top 10 cause I'm not gonna torture myself into excluding some of these stories on some made-up self imposed arbitrary rules.

A bunch of disclaimers: most of these fics are long fics, going from 30k words up, I'm not purposefully excluding shorter fics, I have read plenty of them, but they do have a harder time sticking in my head months after reading.

Most of these fics will be explicit, just read the tags on the fic itself if you want to find out more.

Some of these fics don't have links because the authors chose to lock them and as such make them unlinkable, in order to read them you will need to go through the author's page while you're logged in your AO3 account.

This ended up ballooning out of control and is A LOT longer than ten fics, I apologize in advance :p.

YOU'LL NEVER SEE US AGAIN – spoonfulstar - 231k words

Mickey and Ian have been students at Marceline boarding school their whole lives, as their time at the institute draws toward the end they will start to discover many things, about themselves, about each other and about the world they live in.

THIS FIC! I CRIED! The number of fanfiction that are able to make me cry can be counted on a singular hand, the emotional stakes get higher and higher as the story goes on, leading to a beautiful and bittersweet climax.

This story will make you think and feel deeply about topics you'd never think a shameless fic would delve into.

I am obsessed with Mickey in this fic, he and Ian grow up in an environment that could not be more removed from South Side Chicago and yet his personality is still so recognizably and distinctly Mickey.

The story goes very dark at times, and the fic itself could be considered lengthy, but I assure you the author has made sure to not make you feel it. Those 200k words flowed so well the story did not feel long at all.

HELP ME (TEAR DOWN MY REASON) – wehangout - 34k words

Mickey is a detective and Ian becomes a suspect in an investigation except Mickey already knows him because he's his favorite dancer.

This fic falls under the umbrella of fics where “Mickey is so in love with Ian he does something unbelievably crazy”.

Oooh boy, this fic, it's written in second person (yes you've read that right), tbh out of all fics I've read from this author I think this one was the easiest to adjust mentally to the change in perspective.

I loved Mickey’s “love” in this, just… This raw connection to Ian, the perfect cocktail of feelings, I could read that all day long.

IN ANOTHER WORLD – Roryonic - 249k words

Mickey does not get sent to prison at the end of S5, what happens after and how his presence influences future events (mostly Ian, but also every other Gallagher as well as his own family).

As far as I'm concerned this fic is the closest to a perfect S6 and beyond fix-it. The dialogue writing in this story is so close to canon Shameless that I could picture entire scenes in my head with the actors playing the characters, with their body and personality quirks.

Sometimes I find myself describing this fic like it's the actual show's deleted scenes, “Look, Mickey has his own storyline! And Mandy is here! And the existence of Yevgeni does not become a plot hole!”

There are some Mickey lines in this fic that to me are as canon as if they'd been in the show. Absolutely iconic writing.

I love this author so here's a rec of some of their other longfics, however I highly suggest a lot of their other much shorter stuff as well:

BATTLESHIPS AND LOVE BOATS: Ian and Mickey start their “no strings attached” kind of sex relationship a little later than canon but their attraction and love is just as strong. This is a sort of High School AU that turns into a Prison AU that turns into something else and every shift is just as lovely as the next.

YOU SMELL LIKE LOVE: Ian and Mickey are childhood friends, to the point that the rest of the Gallaghers might as well consider Mickey a seventh brother, mmmh, I sure wonder how things will start to change. Look, I never thought I'd love a childhood friends AU for Gallavich yet here I am, if it's good it's good.

ME AND THE DEVIL: Mickey unconsciously calls for a vengeance demon and Ian Gallagher shows up at his door, because Mickey is a stubborn dumbass they fall in love instead. This story has a lot of twists and turns and the premise is only the very beginning of the story. I LOVED it!

THE INCREASINGLY POOR DECISIONS OF IAN GALLAGHER – Shamelessquestions - 309k words

Ian is a dancer in a club, he accidentally gets involved in the affair of a dangerous mafia don, but the true danger is the attraction he and the mafioso’s right hand Mickey feel for each other as soon as they meet.

What. A. Classic. Truly, an unforgettable story, and I don't mean this in hyperbole, I read this story around… 2016/2017 during my second round in the Shameless fandom, then I read countless other fics in a lot of other fandom and yet this story was the only one that my mind retained from back then, to the point that I could still remember some of the finer details as well as the final plot twists when I came back to reread it.

The plot is constructed beautifully and the original characters (part of the Shamelessquestions fanfiction universe, as they come back time and time again in every one of their AU to fulfill their role in the story) are just as vibrant.

What a story, truly.

Favorite original character in this AU: Sal, his downfall is so satisfying and yet so pitiful to read.

TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME – Mellow_Yellow - 221k words

Ian finds something scary and calls Mickey for help, even though they had only reconnected that very day after two years of not seeing each other. Together, they get sucked into a situation they weren't at all prepared for. Can they even admit that they're in over their head?

The very beginning of this fic is SO cinematic it grabbed my interest from the very first scene and didn't let go until the end, DO NOT search for spoilers.

The only warning I'll give is that it does deal with a bit of gore and what I'm personally gonna define as slight psychological horror. That's it. Enjoy!

BROKE STRAIGHT BOYS – dancermk - 66k words

Mickey becomes a porn actor for a site where he has to pretend he's straight and not enjoying the copious amount of gay sex he's having on camera, enter Ian, another actor under the same agency and their off the chart physical chemistry.

This story has, needless to say, some really, really good smut. I especially loved their first time together, but every sex scene in this story is seared in my mind.

ETHERIZED AGAINST THE SKY – Snarfle - 213k words

So, I debated whether I should add this fic or not, but I think if there is one fic that will stay in my mind long after this Shameless binge of the past couple of months it's this one, and it should absolutely become one of those fic that everyone in the fandom should read.

After Mickey gets shot by Kash his life takes a completely different direction and he ends up in a group home where, through many difficult times, he turns his life around.

So many iconic moments in this fic, some funny as fuck, some sad, some so absurd that I'm surprised they weren't lifted straight from Shameless, one so gruesome in the very first chapter that I was surprised to have such a visceral feeling from just words on a screen. Yeah, this story will stay with me for a long time.

OLD RULES FOR NEW SIDE PIECES – Shamelessquestions - 217k words

Ian is a Fed and he spots Mickey looking suspicious in an art museum, the mutual attraction is overwhelming, Mickey is not what he seems and Ian is already with someone else, but that's not gonna stop him from pursuing what he and Mickey have.

Putting it as bluntly as I can, this fic made me face the realization that I love cheating fics (if the cheating happens to someone else to bring together the endgame couple). I have already reread this fic twice and I could probably go for another one and not get tired of it, it's that good, and out of all this author's fics it's probably my favorite.

Favorite original characters in this AU: It's a three way tie between Dre, Ivan and Carrie, they're all very captivating in this story.

Other fic from this author I'd recommend cause I really love their style:

LOST IN TRANSLATION: Ian meets a very attractive man while he's in Ukraine who doesn't speak English, a mere language barrier won't stop him from flirting for hours. (adorable)

YOU MAKE ME FEEL HUMAN – Dragona - 66k words

Ian is an assassin, he meets Mickey and thus begins a very sick love story.

To say I'm obsessed with this fic is an understatement, I suggest to everyone to just go read the original author’s own description of the fic, it sets the tone of the story magnificently.

This is an Ian Gallagher that almost resembles Jerome (also played by Cameron in Gotham) but like… a slightly more subdued and saner S1/S2 version of him. I love the layers that get peeled right in front of my eyes, the madness that creeps in a bit more every chapter. I LOVE this story.

DRIED INK - 87k words

This fic combines my two favorite Gallavich-specific tropes, one being ‘Mickey comes back from prison after s6, Ian is with someone else’ and ‘Ian cheats on that someone else for Mickey’

I love the Gallaghers in this and how unsurprised they are at Ian going back to Mickey right away. It's a little jewel of a fic.

Mickey tries SO hard to stop himself and Ian in this but their love is too magnetic, they're irresistible to each other.

THE QUESTION OF NORMAL – blue_newman - 92k words

Ian is a prison counselor, Mickey is in prison, they fall in love and it's beautiful and Ian is incredibly devoted to Mickey in this fic and I fell in love with them both in this.

KINDA RAW – catgrassplantdad - 6k

Quite simply this is my favorite short pwp fic.

Illustrating those “five times” in one night that Mickey references in 11x01.

This fic is so hot, I love it <3

QUATERVOIS – DodgerBear - 51k words

Soldier Mickey gets stationed in the middle of nowhere and meets a farmer called Ian who makes him question everything.

Falling under the same umbrella of “Mickey does something crazy for Ian” fics and this is why it stuck in my mind even if it's been a while since I've read it.

I LOVE this story, their dialogues and everything that happens in it. The setting is lovely and you will fall in love with the description of Ian’s farm.

Other fic by the same author that I also loved:

BURDEN OF PROOF: Cop Mickey gets caught in a legal battle between the two oldest Gallagher brothers, something doesn't feel right though…

THE WORDS HE DOESN'T SAY: Mickey is released before Ian in s10 and has to meet a court-mandated therapist. The story is from the therapist POV and goes AU from the beginning of s10 in that Mickey gets involved back into Yev and Svetlana’s life, the dialogue is, quite obviously, the main attraction of the story and it's really well done. (Also, written in first person).

THE MENAGERIE – CrossMyDNA - 147k words

Ian decides to re-explore his bdsm preferences at The Menagerie where he meets sub extraordinaire Mickey on his very first visit.

Shameless is undoubtedly the fandom that opened my eyes to what bdsm could be back in… approx 2016? When that other popular bdsm fic was still around *ahem*.

So it definitely feels like a sign that coming back into the fandom this fic now exists and is SO GOOD.

Obviously it's very explicit, the smut in this fic is one of the best I've ever read.

The chemistry between Ian and Mickey sizzles off the screen and can absolutely be felt even in moments not of the nsfw variety, absolutely recommended!

MICKEY MILKOVICH’S GUIDE TO FLIRTING – whatwouldmickeydo - 40k words

An s2 “missing moments” between Gallavich, completely canon compliant, all under the pretense that Mickey is following a step by step guide to flirting.

I wish this fic was describing canon moments, not kidding a single bit, I wish I could somehow magically manifest these scenes into existence they're that good and fit that well into canon.

M8TE – gallawitch - 53k words

Omegaverse fic where Ian and Mickey both start using an app and end up matching with each other, even though a connection is made almost instinctively, coming to terms with it with a sound mind will take a bit longer…

Hey,had to have at least one of these on here lol

I love omegaverse and this was everything I wanted from it, couldn't have asked for anything better really <3.

SHACKLED – MyRelapse - 19k words

Ian has a change of heart and he decides that Mickey IS the one he wants, even if he's still in prison, so he keeps in contact and goes through every hoop imaginable to have him back as soon as possible.

Reading this made me so happy like I could burst, love it.

WAITING ON MY OWN TOO LONG – Ride4812 - 266k words

This rec more than any other on this list is what I'm gonna consider self indulgent because it covers the trope I always craved to read in such a satisfying way: Canon AU where Mickey comes back from prison after 8 years, Ian has found someone else but the moment the two meet again they fall back into each other right away.

The series is made up of 4 smaller fics:

One more night

Something more this time

No more lonely nights

Ain't this life so sweet

(I will point out here and nowhere else that the last installment of this series has some segment that probably needed to be re-read a couple more times, but by that point I was too invested, and the quality fluctuates a lot only in certain parts)

The writing style is very direct and to the point, which I love, the smut is very present and written beautifully and most importantly never boring.

Ian is a MESS in this fic and had me Stressed™, mostly cause for some reason I can't handle too much casual depiction of drug abuse and addiction (I know, ironic considering the fandom).

Conflicts and resolutions are never clean cut, they don't necessarily resolve quickly or definitely or the way you probably imagine they should and I find this level of realism very satisfying.

Taking a bit of space here at the end to also rec a couple other Ride4812 fics that I also loved:

COUP DE FOUDRE - A model/photographer AU where Ian and Mickey fall in love the instant they meet and do some crazy things because of that.

HOPE HE MIGHT - A lawyer AU where Ian and Mickey are on opposing sides for the same client, an interesting murder mystery steeped in a religious cult.

Generally I feel like this author is really good at depicting just how unapproachable Mickey can be to anyone that isn't called Ian Gallagher and I eat it up every time.

WHAT THE NIGHT DOES TO THE DAY – andchaos - 9k words

A Gallavich childhood friends AU with a quite original arrangement for the story and the various segments of their lives. Very satisfying read.

RANSOM – BeckyHarvey29 - 112k words

Terry sends his sons to kidnap a Gallagher child to force Frank into paying back the money he owes, unfortunately for him Mickey and his brothers kidnap Ian, and a whole other kind of story unfolds.

Mickey and Ian falling in love in this fic is such a good read. I don't wanna spoil anything of how that or the kidnapping plot goes, since the two are so intertwined. Just know that it will be worth it.

UNDER LOCK AND KEY – Suzy_Queue - 106k words

Ian is assigned the night shift at his new job where he provides spare keys to his fellow college students stuck outside their dorm rooms. To make matters worse his shift coworker is the oh so infamous Mickey Milkovich.

I am magnetized by the way this author writes their pining for each other, their attraction and obsession, how it blooms and unfolds. This fic in particular had me develop a very bad case of tunnel vision, couldn't really turn away until I finished reading it all.

I still haven't read everything this author has to offer, but so far I also loved:

INHUMAN: A mysterious force starts attacking people close to Mickey and it all seems to lead to a mysterious redhead Mickey is oh so coincidentally obsessed with. Very cool paranormal story.

THESE FOOLISH GAMES: Mickey takes over as the boss of the local branch of a trampoline park, where Ian is one of the employees, they annoy each other to no end but what they don't know is that they're secretly texting each other.

IS THERE SOMEWHERE – andchaos - 48k words

Mickey is born with no words on his skin, convinced he's going to live a life of misery cause no one will ever say the words he's destined to hear, he's not a very happy guy. Here comes mute boy Ian who crashes into his life and won't let go.

A classic Soulmate AU, I love that like in a lot of other Gallavich fics their physical connection and compatibility usually comes before their emotional one, it is one aspect that I feel distinguishes their relationship to many other fandom’s ships.

LAST NIGHT AT THE VERONA GRAND HOTEL – the_rat_wins - 27k words

Mickey starts working at an ancient hotel who's supposedly haunted. Mickey doesn't believe in ghost stories, he is much more interested in this one guest he meets at night during his shift.

What a cinematic experience this fic is! Absolutely recommended, the length of it makes it so you can read it in the same time it would take to watch the same story in movie format.

Other fics by the same authors that have impressed me:

FADE THIS ONE TO BLACK: Ian dies of overdose in a pile of snow outside the club, when Mickey finds him there he vows to do anything to get him back.

I don't know why but this fic in particular gives off the vibes of being a pilot for a ya urban fantasy TV series, except we gotta imagine everything that comes after the first episode lol

NO LIE: Ian and Mickey are Soulmates and as such they can't lie to each other. This series is short and sweet and full of feelings, perfect

PARAGRAPHS – pink_ink - 100k words

Ian becomes a reading tutor for ex-convicts, Mickey is among them and Ian starts paying him more and more attention.

This is a story where they meet under very different circumstances and where they've lived slightly different lives compared to canon and yet they're still able to find each other in the end.

Also, sign me up for every fic where Ian has to work just as hard to help Mickey and care for him as the opposite, where Ian's brand of stubbornness is the only way to get through to Mickey.

I'm also adding a couple of ongoing fics, just two to not overwhelm too much.

NONE THE WISER – Loftec - ~218k words

Ian starts visiting Mickey’s diner, it takes a while and yet no time at all to warm up to each other.

I'm captivated by the author's writing style. I love Ian's and Mickey’s relationship. I love how they sort of take their time and yet pine helplessly for each other.

I'm obsessed with the fact that the whole point of the fic doesn't appear until two thirds of the way in cause the diner scenes were just too good to pass up on lol (and I 100% agree with them).

INTRO TO QUANTUM DATING – spoonfulstar - ~563k words

Canon Mickey and Ian meet in University. A college slice of life but drenched in the casual (and not so casual) darkness of canon shameless.

The dark humor in this is fenomenal and left me gasping laughing so many times.

Unexpectedly Ian in this fic is pursuing a linguistics oriented degree, which was what I studied when I tried university, the topics are explained in such an accurate way I have to assume the author studied them themselves and that this story is somewhat a reimagining of their own college experience because if not this would be an absurd amount of accurate research to make.

Reading this fic feels like living through the American college experience from the comfort of my home lol.

As I said before, this author's way of writing does not weight you down even with its length, the story flows perfectly from one scene to the next and before you realize it you've reached the end and you have to accept that 500k words weren't even enough.

Let's end this list with some quick recommendations

WHILE WE'RE MAKING OTHER (PEOPLE'S) PLANS - kyasticlikestea

Mickey is volunteered to organize someone's else's wedding after he managed to salvage his own so well, he'll do it, but his own Southside way.

THIS IS THE ROAD TO RUIN - bricoleur10

Ian and Mickey never go to rob Ned, the story unfolds differently from there. A fix-it with a lot of Gallavich longing , very good smut and some really good dialogue.

HEY, HONEY MINE (I WAS THERE ALL THE TIME) - serveteas

Mickey talks about his crush with Iggy and accidentally pronoun-slips. Short, to the point, funny af and I just really love it. Takes place after their fight at Kash’n Grab in s2.

AGAINST GLASS - AllThatMatters

Ian gets traded from one club to another as a dancer (and more) and ends up in the Milkovich family's club. This is a Mafia!Mickey story with some pretty tight sub-plots, I love his brothers in this.

ONE OF A KIND - fckyeahgallavich

Mickey breaks his finger and it has to be set in the hospital, chaos - of the homophobic kind - ensues. Protective!Ian, I wanna hug Mickey in this.

IAN THE FRIENDLY GHOST - Ravenheart

Ian is haunting an apartment and Mickey starts living in it, Ian is maybe starting to have a crush on him. This isn't angsty!

BLOOD IN, BLEED OUT - brewrosemilk, Whatsastory

Historical AU. Perfectly innocent bystander Ian Gallagher is thrown into the affairs of the Ukrainian Mafia back in 1954, his relationship with Mickey will span decades and he won't remain innocent for long, the mafia can corrupt anyone.

TEENAGE RUNAWAY - sadwhales

Ian comes to live and finish high school with his half siblings on the South Side, he's immediately captivated by a boy sitting under the bleachers, maybe his North Side naivety will catch his attention too.

GARDEN SONG - melwrtiesthings

A glimpse into their lives in their West Side apartment, a lot of initial angst due to a manic episode and then a lot of recovery and healing and learning more about themselves.

[stevesjockstrap]

I’m in Love with A Monster

Written for @stmonstercalendar for Dragon month

Rated E • Steve/Eddie • word count: 2k • dragon!Eddie, monsterfucker Steve, fantasy au, outdoor sex • read on ao3

Dragon!Eddie is some mix of the Cheshire Cat, Toothless and monster!Johnny from Hotel Transylvania Transformania - but as always feel free to imagine whatever you like 😬

His entire life, Steve had been told to stay out of the forest to the south. There were the fae and quicksand, naturally, but the legends stated there was a dragon hidden in the caves that was always hungry for dumb villagers who wandered into his territory.

Unfortunately, all the warnings only compelled Steve to want to see for himself.

He waited until the moon disappeared in the sky, hoping the dragon’s vision would be diminished without the moonlight. Setting off with only a small bag of dried meat and his canteen, he snuck past the guards at the border with ease.

He didn’t know exactly where the caves were, but he headed south towards the hills.

After he’d gotten to the edge of the hills, he stopped to eat and drink. As he sat on a fallen log and munched on his dried meat, he heard a noise.

Steve stopped to listen, unsure what he was hoping for — surely it couldn’t be that easy.

A scratching noise drew his attention to the tree above him. Wrapped around the branch directly over his head was something with slit eyes. He froze, holding his breath.

“That won’t help you, human,” the being from above said. “I could smell you and your meat as soon as you stepped foot on my land.”

Steve blinked, his heart thundering in his chest.

“Why have you come here?”

“A-are you- I mean, I’ve heard about something th-that lives here-?”

There wasn’t any other word he could think to describe the movement of the creature than it slithered down the tree towards him.

“Your village tells tales of me, human, yet you come to check if the stories are true?”

He stared at the oddly beautiful face of the thing as it confidently came closer. Steve guessed it was because he clearly stood zero chance against it in a fight. He hadn’t even thought to bring any sort of weapon until now.

There was something enchanting about its presence, and he felt his eyes slide down its impressively muscled frame. It seemed to realize he was looking, and struck a little pose before chuckling darkly. “One of those, are you? It’s been a while. Well then, come with me.”

Unable to argue — since he wasn’t being ripped limb from limb — he simply tried to keep up as the dragon weaved quickly through the forest. There were several times he had to stop to catch his breath and the creature would huff but wouldn’t leave him.

They slipped behind a bush and into the entrance of a cave. There was no way Steve would’ve been able to find it on his own.

Steve gasped as suddenly the dragon breathed fire onto a pile of sticks and logs, igniting them instantly and filling the cave with light.

The iridescent scales shone beautifully in the flickering firelight, and he was mesmerized.

“You are very attractive, boy. Usually this agreement is more for the human, you know,” the creature waved a clawed hand. “‘Don’t eat me, evil thing of the forest, can’t we make a deal,’” the dragon said with exaggerated high pitched voice. “I do think it’s adorable that you came looking for me.”

“Wh-what do you mean, agreement?” Steve asked, then quickly added, “Not that I’d rather be eaten, of course.”

The dragon circled him, looking him up and down before stopping directly in front of him, close to his face. He stared into the slitted eyes, unsure but somehow not as terrified as he should be.

“The agreement that I keep you alive for sexual favors and general company,” the dragon stated calmly, a huge rough hand coming to settle against the side of his head.

Steve tried to suck in a gasp, but it was like he was stuck. Able to see that he was struggling, the creature backed off a bit, but kept a close eye on him. Steve closed his eyes and the rough hand was back, pushing down on his shoulder to guide him to sit. Then a mug was pushed into his hand.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, human. I thought you were aware of several of your villagers coming to ask to be my concubines. Although I guess your elders would’ve just assumed they’d been eaten. Plus it has the benefit of adding to their ghost stories.”

Steve took a sip of the liquid, trying to listen to this, but instead his eyes were wandering over the figure, now that he could see with the firelight. It’s body wasn’t as large as he had suspected, maybe only twice the size of a normal human, with a tail that extended another body’s length behind him. As it stood on all fours it was only a few feet taller than he was. The leathery wings folded on its back held his attention for a long moment.

The dragon caught him looking again, and laughed. “Maybe you wanted to be eaten, then, hmm?” Its sharp teeth glinted in the firelight.

Steve shook his head, tried to stand but dropped back down when he received a sharp look from his captor.

“Are you even, you know, capable of that?” He looked pointedly at where genitals should be, and the creature growled.

“Yes, very capable, human.” It’s tail swished moodily behind it. “It’s not polite to ask your master of his capabilities to fuck you, you know.”

Steve swallowed. So it was a him, and he had, well, the appropriate equipment necessary.

He tried to get his brain and his body working together, remembering to breathe. Honestly, he was not opposed to staying here as it were, and it was better than being dinner.

“Okay.” His voice came out weaker than he’d expected.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he tried to sound more confident this time, but that dwindled under the hard stare he received. “I will stay, a-and, uh, be your partner?”

The dragon huffed, sending smoke out of his nose. “That’s not exactly the word I’d use, but we’ll find something we can both agree upon.” A dark clawed hand nudged against the mug in his hands, “Drink, human.”

“My name is Steve,” he heard come out of mouth, snarkier than he intended.

“Ohh, little human Steve has some bite, does he?”

“S-sorry, I-“

“No, I like that. It would be immensely boring if you were just a simpering waif of a thing. I appreciate a bit of fight in my… visitors.”

Steve knew that was a much more optimistic word than either of them would call this arrangement, but he didn’t want to ponder hard on the long term implications of his acceptance.

“It’s much more fun to beat it out of them,” he continued darkly. Then chuckled when Steve froze.

“Oh, you are a fun one, aren’t you? I’m glad you wandered out past the fence.”

“What do you mean?” Steve had to ask.

“You know I can smell it on you, human? There’s fear, yes, and it’s delicious, but there’s also the spice of want, of lust, on top. You want it more than you’re allowing yourself to.”

He didn’t say anything else, but sat watching the fire, wondering how his body knew what he’d been searching for before his brain.

The dragon left the cave for a bit without saying anything, and he had a fleeting thought of leaving, but undeniably this unknown fate was more compelling than the thought of returning back to the village to take up his family business, especially now that he knew the legends of the forest were true.

When he returned, he presented Steve with fresh berries and three headless fish. Steve thanked him, nibbling on the berries while he found a flat rock by the fire to lay the fish on to cook.

“Ah, I’d forgotten about the cooking.” He threw a fish that was still alive up into the air and caught it in his mouth. Steve’s gaze was drawn to his long tongue and he received a lingering heated look. “It’s usually the wriggling prey that humans are opposed to.”

Steve couldn’t argue about that fact, he definitely wouldn’t be eating the fish if it were alive, but he had plenty of experience cleaning catches. He wondered about the others the dragon had had in this cave. Most people he knew could skin a rabbit before they were twelve.

He’d been surprised, honestly, that the dragon hadn’t pounced on him immediately. There hadn’t even been any sly glances from him as they kept a companionable conversation.

When Steve had lost track of the days he’d lived in the cave, the dragon invited him to go hunting with him, as Steve had explained he could make snares and trap game.

“Let’s see what you can come up with, human Steve.”

Taking this as personal challenge, he worked hard on weaving a rope and stringing it through the fallen leaves.

“Now what?” The dragon asked, and Steve looked up to find him lounging in the tree above him again, the branch sagging under his weight.

“Now we have to go away and wait.”

“That’s boring,” he sighed, letting his body slide down off the branch, holding himself up with his hind legs, bringing his face down to Steve’s level.

“I’m glad I brought you out, I hadn’t gotten to see you properly.” Steve stood still as the predatory gaze caressed his face, down his neck. “You’re much prettier in the sunlight. All these splotches of angel kisses. You were clearly very well loved in your past life,” he mused.

After a long moment, he stuttered out, “D-dragons believe in angels?”

“We can believe in whatever we want,” was the growled response, but instead of instilling any fear, he felt the familiar buzzing in his belly. A lower growl made a shiver run through him. “There he is. I was wondering when you’d lose the smell of fear. Your aroused scent is much sweeter without it.”

“Oh.” For some reason this made his face flush, and he gasped as suddenly the dragon dropped down in front of him, his face pressed even closer.

A hot wet tongue rubbed solidly from his jaw to his hairline. “Mmm,” he hummed before the long tongue circled his ear.

“Oh Lord,” Steve moaned.

“It’s Edwalkarian,” he insisted.

“Tell me that again later. Can I just say Eds for now?” He panted.

“Yes.” The tongue slid around to the back of his neck, and a sharp claw sliced down the front of his tunic, making him cry out.

His back hit the tree trunk and the imposing frame of the dragon followed, caging him in.

The clawed hand reached the top of his trousers and he let out another small noise. Immediately Eds pulled back. “We should stop now, if you don’t want me to be unable to.”

Steve panted, trying to focus his gaze to take in the dragon’s features which were still very close. “What? No! Huh?”

Eds backed away further, pulling a whine from his chest. “You really are unlike any other human I’ve taken,” he pondered. “You’re okay with being naked out in the forest with me? You wish to continue?”

“Yes!” He cried out, fumbling himself now to open his pants. He was fully hard and leaking, and he didn’t care if he had to finish himself off in front of the church deacons, he was not going anywhere. His shaking hand squeezed around the base and his eyes rolled back. He’d never been this turned on in his life.

Steve looked up into the face of his demon master, and almost came at the fire behind his eyes.

“What an honor it would be to be permitted to touch such a beautiful morsel,” Eds declared. The words themselves took a while to settle into his rattled brain, but the emotion and dedication in his tone made him sigh.

“Eds, yes, ple-“

Before he could finish the word, the dark reptile dropped its body to the ground, it’s head coming to his waist level. The long tongue darted out again and Steve wailed as it flicked under the head of his cock.

“You taste like mine,” Eds rumbled, ratcheting up the pleasure Steve was feeling as he pushed closer between his legs.

He stared down as he used his grasping tongue to pull his length into his mouth, wrapping around it and keeping it away from the dripping teeth.

Between the constant rumbling and slurping, Steve knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Oh fuck Eds, I-I’m-“ He tried to warn.

If anything the dragon doubled his efforts, retracting his claws and rubbing the rough pads up his legs to his nipples.

He could only hope he didn’t hit teeth as his hips jolted uncontrollably as he came hard.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring up at a concerned, almost sheepish reptile. They were back in the cave, and he was tucked into the dragon’s own nest.

“I thought I killed you,” he confessed, coming closer.

“Not this time, but maybe we should try again.”

Title from song my Fifth Harmony

Divider credit @/tsunami-of-tears

Buy me a coffee? 🖤

[dixons-sunshine]

Someone To Love | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl treasured his friendship with you. You were everything to him, someone he could go to when he needed you. On his sixteenth birthday, you did something for him that made him realize that his love for you ran much deeper than he had initially thought.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 1.8k.

A/n: I'm really sleep deprived, so this potentially sucks really bad. It's also not exactly like what was requested, but I went with my gut and this was born. However, I hope you like this! (Requested by @ddamm. I'm not gonna be home this weekend and won't be able to write something for your birthday, so I wrote this for you as an early birthday present!)

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Where are ya takin' me?”

“I can't tell you that. It's a surprise, Daryl.”

“Y'know I hate surprises.”

“This one you'll like, I promise. Now shut up and just follow me.”

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, a small, affectionate smile annoyingly tugging at the corners of his lips. He walked with his hands tucked into his jean pockets, carefully stepping over any logs and big rocks in his path. You were walking slightly ahead of him, a skip in your step as you lead him somewhere—to his supposed surprise or his death, he wasn't sure.

“Ya sure ya didn't jus' bring me out here to kill me?” Daryl questioned playfully, chuckling at the glare you threw his way over your shoulder. “Jus' askin', sunshine. No need to get mad. S'a valid question. Most'a those murder books ya read start in the woods, so m'jus' curious if yer takin' a page outta those characters' books.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Believe me, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it in the most common, boring way. I'm more creative than that.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows at you. “Should I be scared?”

“No, of course not!” you laughed and shook your head, reaching over to grab his wrist. You tugged him along behind you, taking off into a steady run.

Daryl stumbled over his feet for a moment before laughing, quickening his pace to keep up with you. “Jeez, girl! Ya dun' have to rip my damn arm off.”

You giggled. “Sorry, I was excited,” you apologized, stopping in your tracks. You turned to Daryl when he stopped next to you, releasing your grip on his arm. “We're here. Happy birthday, Dar.”

Daryl looked ahead and was surprised to be met with a small, intimate setting—a picnic basket resting on top of a blanket. You had really gone above and beyond, Daryl thought I'm surprise, trying to ignore the odd feeling of warmth that spread through his body when he looked back at you and saw an excited smile on your face.

“You said no parties, so I thought we could have a little picnic instead, just the two of us,” you explained, taking Daryl's hand in yours and leading him over to the blanket. You motioned for him to sit down, following suite and getting comfortable on the blanket you had swiped from your mom's closet.

Daryl eyed everything around him curiously. The two of you were in a part of the forest he wasn't familiar with. It was rather surprising, considering he spent most of his time either at your trailer or in the forest, so seeing that you were able to locate a spot he didn't know was rather impressive.

The movement of your hand towards the picnic basket instantly peaked his interest. He watched as you pulled out an old portable CD player that your mom had gotten you a year prior, settling it onto the blanket and fiddling with a few buttons before pressing the play button.

Daryl's eyes widened when the melody to Ozzy Osbourne's “Crazy Train” flooded the relatively quiet air. His eyes met yours and he let out a shocked noise. “Where'd ya get an Ozzy CD?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back on the palms of your hands. “Mr Jones owed my mom a favour. She finally called it in and borrowed a bunch of music for us for this.”

“Ya got other artists?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Guns 'n Roses, Dio, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Queen—”

“Ya got Queen?” Daryl questioned in amusement. “Ya know I dun' listen to 'em.”

“And you know that I don't believe that,” you countered, sending him a teasing smirk. “I've seen you quietly sing along when I play Queen in my room. There's no hiding the truth from me, Daryl.”

“Nah, yer only seein' things. Gotta get yer eyes checked out or somethin',” Daryl replied defensively, crossing his arms over his chest in mock annoyance.

You rolled your eyes and sat upright, reaching into the picnic basket to grab a sandwich to hand to Daryl. “Whatever you say, birthday boy.”

Daryl accepted the sandwich and took a bite from it, humming in approval at the taste. “Taste's real fuckin' good. Thanks.”

“Only the best on your birthday,” you mused, reaching into the basket to grab your own sandwich. “You deserve it. And as long as you have me around, we'll always celebrate it.”

Daryl gave you a small smile, taking another bite from his sandwich to avoid saying something that could potentially ruin the moment. As he looked at you, he couldn't help but admire you. From the beautiful colour of your eyes to the way your lips curved when you smiled, to the outfit you were wearing that day that hugged you in all the right ways. Everything about you in that particular moment was perfect, and Daryl found himself very confused at the feeling that entered his body. There was a strange knotting in his stomach when you met his eyes, and he froze at the weird sensation.

Thankfully, you started talking about some band you had discovered that snapped him from his thoughts, and Daryl pushed the strange feelings down. He wouldn't ruin a perfect moment with his best friend because of some stupid sickness he was getting. He would worry about his health later. For now, he would appreciate your company on a day that he rarely celebrated anymore.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Stay right here. I'll be right back.”

Daryl looked up at you in confusion when you got up from the blanket, the Lynard Skynyrd song that was playing in the background forgotten for the time being. “Wha' do ya mean? Where are ya goin'?”

“Just wait here. I need to go grab something I put here earlier,” you explained, turning on your heel and walking off.

“Ya sure ya ain't jus' gon' get yer gun to shoot me? I knew ya were plannin' on killin' me.”

“Very funny, Dixon.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head, watching your retreating figure in wonder. He leaned back on the palms of his hands, humming along to the song playing. He looked around at the wildlife that looked even more beautiful in the light of the setting sun, content for the first time in a while. The day had been uneventful; he had spent most of the morning and early afternoon in your trailer watching movies while you were busy setting up the surprise for him, then he had a calm picnic with you, swapping jokes and stories, and after that, he would go back to your trailer for the night.

Daryl felt calm, and it was all because of you. All because you refused to let him spend yet another birthday on his own, cooped away in his room.

The rustling of the leaves alerted him to your presence. He looked up at you, instantly noticing the box in your hands.

“Wha's tha'?”

You sat back down on the blanket and extended the box to him, giggling when Daryl only eyed the box in suspicion instead of taking it. “Daryl, it's just a box. It can't hurt you.”

“Las' time someone handed me a wrapped box, I found a bunch'a spiders inside tha' crawled all over me,” Daryl told you, still refusing to take the box.

You shook your head and laughed lightly. “Let me guess, Merle?” When Daryl simply nodded, you continued. “I promise there aren't any bad surprises in here. Only a good one, I hope.”

Daryl hesitantly took the object from you and lowered it onto his lap, slowly starting to peel the wrapping paper away. Once the simple brown box underneath was revealed, he looked up to you, but was only met with an encouraging smile. He opened the box at a snail's pace, but once the object inside was revealed through the small opening, Daryl practically ripped the rest of the box open.

Daryl carefully picked up the object, inspecting it carefully as his eyes widened in surprise. He looked over at you again, a shocked smile on his face. “A Walkman?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a smile on your face at his obvious excitement that your best friend failed to hide. “I know you've wanted one for a while now, so I spared up some money to buy one for you. It's not new because I didn't have seventy bucks to buy a brand new one, but it works and it's not all banged up. I made you a tape as well. It's already in there.”

Daryl looked surprised. Unwillingly, a few tears started to well up in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away. There was no need for tears in a moment like that. He sent you a small, unsure smile, feeling that same strange feeling from earlier creeping up on him again.

“Thank you,” Daryl whispered, moving the Walkman around in his hands. “This is the best birthday I've ever had. S'jus'... Ya gave me somethin' I've been wantin' fer so long, even though ya didn't have to. Yer amazin'.”

Not realizing the true, deeper meaning behind his words, you leaned forward and hugged Daryl tightly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Anything for you, Dar. You know that.”

Daryl hugged you back tightly, lowering his head to rest on your shoulder. Daryl's feelings hit him with the force of a hundred freight trains—he was falling for you. He was falling for his best friend, and he didn't even realize it until that moment. The only reason he realized it was because of the gift you gave him. And it wasn't the picnic or the snacks or even the Walkman. No, it was something much deeper than that, something much more valuable to Daryl than anything else in the world.

You gave him someone he could trust. You gave him someone he could go to with his problems, someone who never judged him or belittled him for feeling emotional. You gave him someone he could love without the fear of being disappointed, someone he knew would be there for him.

You gave him you, and that was more than enough for him.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[toppamplemousse]

f1 fic rec list

inspired to make my own fic rec list. decided to choose some of my fave fics that are under 5k hits just for those who might not have seen some of these!

please be warned - some of these do not have happy endings. it wouldn't be a list from me if there wasn't some major suffering.

lestappen fic recs:

even a Mouse by ficster28 / @ficster28 | 19.7k words | G

Charles was fifteen when his dæmon settled. It was a perfectly average age to settle, and it happened so quietly and naturally that neither he nor Moira even noticed at first. They had other things to think about: today, they were aiming to beat out Ben Barnicoat and Max Verstappen at Val d’Argenton. It wasn’t until they were getting into the kart that they realised. Moira normally transformed into an insect to race, something small enough that she could crawl inside Charles’s race suit and be protected as he drove. Today, she didn’t even try to change; they both just looked at each other, and knew. “A mouse,” he said. genuinely a fic like none other. so painful. so beautiful.

The Tides of Fate by crimsonmidnight / @mvlionheart | 14.5k words | M

When they break apart they’re both breathless and laughing, forming a symphony with the seagulls squawking nearby and the shouts of men dragging logs past the gatehouse. The world feels like an infinite expanse and nothing more than the space between them, somehow simultaneously. "You’re pretty good at that,” Max comments, hand brushing over the back of his neck “Kissing?” Charles asks. “I’ve never done it before.” “No,” Max teases. “You’re rubbish at that, but you’re a good jailbreak. Thanks for the assistance. I’ll see you around." heed the tags. prepare for heartbreak. the most beautiful tragic story.

Your Name is Charles by joesboilingpoint / @tylersayscool | 45k words | M

After running into a soldier following the burning of his commune and maddened by grief, Charles aims to shoot the man down, only to be taken down himself, waking up later on and remembering nothing of his previous life, now a soldier himself. - M is very practical about his work, seasoned in combat and skilled in spotting targets. C has seen the man in practice, seen him sweat and grunt and keep himself in shape. He’s seen him routinely climb ropes and train for ruck marches, seen him demolish his target boards. But it’s one thing to see the man train in the comfort of their home base, where it’s safe and sheltered and familiar. It’s a whole other experience watching him in action. this author nails an AU like no one else. the world building is unparalleled and the story is just incredible. ending has me in a CHOKEHOLD

blowing smoke by gurlznboyz | 7.5k (unfinished) | E

“What is it like?” “What is what like?” “Being with men,” Charles gestures. He means for it to be derisive. Cutting. His hand flails a little limply. “Is it different than with women?” “Yeah, mate,” Max says. “Fucking a guy is totally different than fucking a girl. That’s kind of the whole point, is it not?” Charles shrugs, bringing his own beer bottle up to his lips. “I would not know. I have never had sex with a man.” when charles catches max verstappen, his mortal enemy since they were all but seven, kissing a man, he tries to be normal about it. when they start falling into bed together, he becomes decidedly not normal about it. BEAR WITH ME when i say that this is one chapter so far and i think about it all the time. something just so delicious. ill be here always.

here's to all the mistakes i never made by ncr1pted / @3ncr1pted | 4.9k words | E

Charles is twenty-eight–almost twenty-nine. He's not stupid either. He knows people; knows how to play them, how to get what he wants, how they act. He can recognize the starstruck look in his teammates eyes whenever he and Charles talk. The way he follows Charles around, half a step behind. He used to look at Seb that way. when i say. the fact this is under 5k words and yet i went thru every emotion on the planet. few people understand the sebchal of it all like aries does.

love & much worse drugs by indras | 5k words (unfinished) | E

It was the night of the twelfth of December 2021. Now, if you know anything about Formula One, then you probably know the earlier events of that day. Those, we won’t get into. This story isn’t about racing. It’s about sex. In Max’s eyes, sex and racing had always been opposites. Racing for a finish line during sex would make one a selfish partner. And Max had never thought himself a selfish partner. Nor would one want to fight their partner in bed, least of all in the way that Max fought his opponents on the racetrack. And that is exactly how Max managed to compartmentalize his relations with Charles Leclerc, his longtime opponent, into two categories – sex and racing. Or, Max is a fresh world champion with an increasing alcohol-habit, and now, an image problem. like. they fucking in ch 1, they're bitching by ch 3, the hottest fic with tormented alcoholic max. sign me UP.

ok these two have more than 5k hits BUT i still think they're underrated and would implore EVERYONE to read:

on top of the world (looking down on creation) by eaurouge_sangnoir / @eaurouge-sangnoir | 67.3k words | E

Nothing came close to winning a World Championship. Nothing. Not even sex. Not that Max would know. Or; Max won his first World Championship at the age of twenty-four, still a virgin. He's finally ready to do something about it. On the other side of the hotel room door, there was Charles.

could easily my favorite fic ever. the most beautiful heartbreaking story by an author whose way with the english language is beyond compare. it's hot, angsty, sad, beautiful, i cannot cannot cannot recommend this enough. every chapter so incredible.

balaclava lines by richardmarie75 / @cornerofacry | 10k words (unfinished) | E

"He will never be yours." She freed herself from his hold. Wiped her face with her palms. "Charles. He will never be yours," she continued, gaze traveling to the trophy that stood next to his sim, gargantuan and gold. Blood and sweat in the limelight for a place in the sun. Max stared at her, immobile. or Max and Charles dump their girlfriends and find each other during the winter break. this summary barely scratches the surface of what is truly a breathtaking three chapters. this fic will never leave me. the agony and pain and the desperation and the LOVE the author conveys in such ornate, beautiful ways is beyond words.

[merakiui]

YOUR DISCORD MOD SCARA...I am thinking about him so hard. I've never even considered becoming someone's discord kitten before but I'd do it for him (even if he's terrible). SO... could I get a layered cake and sweet lollipops (him and his kitten not long post-abduction) from the miscellaneous menu, along with lemon squares and sea salt caramels from the midnight menu, all with my babygirl discord mod scara?

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, modern au, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, restraints, drugging, obsession, loss of virginity, alcohol/intoxication, force-feeding, brief use & threat of knife, coercion, scaramouche calls you kitten a few times, implied stockholm syndrome note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

There’s a warm meal waiting for you on the foldable table, its delectable aroma enticing you to eat despite your apprehensions. You lift your head from where it once rested on your knees, staring at it from where you remain huddled in the corner on a certain someone’s bed. A metal cuff clings to your ankle, and from it a chain extends to connect to one of the metal bed frame poles, only going far enough to let you walk into the adjacent bathroom. You’ve tried to squeeze your foot out, but doing so has only succeeded in chafing and tearing your skin; and so now you sit against the wall and sulk in defeat. 

Scaramouche—at least that’s his Teyvatcord alias; he’s yet to tell you his real name—plops down in his gaming chair, running his hand through his hair and exhaling a slow, measured breath. His kitchen apron matches the color scheme in his room, making him seem like a chameleon in a space composed of reds and violets. His three monitors are alight behind him, framing his face in a halo of light. One of them is open to Teyvatcord, displaying the chat log of a server you were once part of—and still are if you haven’t yet been kicked for prolonged inactivity. You think it’s been a few weeks since your kidnapping, but at this point time doesn’t serve any purpose here. It’s all the same within this room, blending together like pastel watercolors on canvas. 

“I didn’t know you could cook. You’ve only ever served me the bare minimum, so this is new. Feels fancy.”

“Shocker, right? Be grateful I’ve gone to the trouble.” You peer at the meal that sits before you, brows furrowed. Scaramouche rolls his eyes, scoffing noisily. “Don’t tell me you actually thought I eat all that gross instant shit.”

You shrug. “Dunno. It suits you. Shitty diet for a shitty person.”

“You…” His eye twitches and his hands curl into fists. “Whatever. Either eat or starve.” He swivels around in his chair with a huff. “Not like I care either way.”

But you do, you think, looking back towards the food, steam rising in wispy curls. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have spent so much money on me. You wouldn’t have told me to go to sleep early, to eat three meals every day, to drink enough water, to continue living.

“This isn’t going to kill me if I eat it, right?”

“Relax. I’m not a murderer.”

“Oh, so you draw the line there?”

Scaramouche whirls to face you, his pierced features twisted in a nasty scowl. Your eyes are drawn to the snake bite piercing on his bottom lip, and for a minute it stuns you that such a pretty face could be so vile both online and offline. Perhaps it would be best if he didn’t talk at all. Maybe then you could appreciate him from afar, never having to confront all of the bitter hatred he seems to harbor. 

“You’re even more unbearable in person. I can’t believe I let someone like you kick my ass one-hundred-something times during every game we’ve ever played.”

“One-hundred and sixty-eight to be exact,” you correct, scooting closer towards the tray to inspect the rice dish one final time. “Someone had to humble you. For a mod, you’re awfully full of yourself. They don’t pay you to collect kittens and police VCs, you know.”

“Well, they should.”

You fail to contain your laughter. “That was…actually kind of funny.”

A thought flutters into your head: I’m losing my mind. Since when was he ever funny?

His stare is fixated on you when you gather a bite on your spoon and bring it to your lips. As criminal as he is, he’s been surprisingly tame in the time following your captivity. You suppose you just haven’t seen the worst of him yet and that these civil moments are merely the result of his desire to connect with you. Before you found yourself on the sixth floor, tucked away in his apartment, you spent most weekends talking to him through games. You’d chat about your character builds, swap tips on strategies for certain FPS games, spend hours constructing towns in creative open-world games, and even laugh about the placements in the tier lists you’d compile.

You could call what the two of you had a competitive companionship (or if you wanted to get technical: a Teyvatcord mod who was spoiling his kitten outside of the competitions), where both of you were constantly trying to best the other. If it was a matter of money, Scaramouche always had you beat; he’d emptied plenty of that into his favorite games to amass a vast collection of rare gear and resources so that he could claw his way to the top of the weekly leaderboards.

If anything, you admired his determination. Beyond games, you only knew that he lived alone and had a few piercings and liked to wear chains and rings. He’d talked about it before when the both of you had strayed from gaming and had discussed fashion styles and aesthetics late into the night. He appeared normal beyond the bratty attitude he often displayed during rematches. You even found yourself wanting to know more when he’d divulge little facts about himself on occasion. 

But now that you’re sitting in front of him, entirely against your will, you realize this relationship should have remained in Teyvatcord. 

Underneath your artfully crafted bravado and sarcasm, you’re absolutely horrified that he had found your address so easily and had been able to pull off such a clean kidnapping. He’d pulled you into the darkness of his car while you were on your way home, pressing a knife to your throat and insisting you stay perfectly quiet otherwise your neck would be mired in red. At the time you were too overwhelmed with raw panic to even consider the familiar intonation of the man who had so suddenly stolen you from your peaceful life. But it became clear when he’d forced you into his apartment after a long drive, and you’d finally gotten a look at him in the light when he shed his disguise. 

An introduction wasn’t necessary; you recognized him, and he seemed to know everything about you.

Now it’s almost humorous to consider that a Teyvatcord mod actually went outside, touched grass, and collected a captive all in one night. And you never suspected a thing, completely oblivious to his mounting obsession. Although how could you have ever noticed it when he was so intent on masking infatuation with hatred?

You wonder if things would have transpired differently if you hadn’t been living within the same city. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been tempted to take you away from your life and confine you to a single room where the sun never breaks through the curtains and you’re constantly bathed in the sensual hues from the LED lights that border the room. Maybe he would have lost interest and you could have continued your one-sided rivalry without any unhealthy attachments. 

Those what-ifs don’t quite matter anymore, though, do they?

Flavor explodes on your tongue when you sample his cooking, and you hastily gather a second bite and then a third. Scaramouche watches from his chair, looking quite satisfied with your submission. Foregoing etiquette altogether, you eat as if this is the last meal you’ll ever have the pleasure of enjoying, so fulfilled by the fluffy rice and bitter tea that tears gather in your eyes. You stop halfway to wipe at your glassy eyes, sniffling pitifully. 

You’ve forgotten the joy that accompanies homemade meals.

“It’s okay,” you mutter around another mouthful. “Better than convenience store snacks.”

Scaramouche chuckles. “For something that was just ‘okay,’ you had no problem getting your tears in the bowl.”

You bark out a laugh, but it comes out strained and sad. “Lay off, will you? I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever. It was a little nostalgic, even if it’s coming from you.”

Scaramouche stares at you, his cheeks tinged the softest shade of pink, before he turns in his chair. “Whatever. Don’t get used to it.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

You set the now empty bowl back on the tray and retreat to your corner, observing Scaramouche as he clicks through various tabs before he returns to Teyvatcord. His fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings, fly across the keyboard to respond to some user you can’t quite see from where you sit. Noisy click-clacks fill the air, and it’s a sound that pulls you closer towards sleep. By the time Scaramouche has swapped to his second monitor to play a game—the very game that got you into this nightmare to begin with—you’re already falling into the void of unconsciousness, tugged under by drowsy tendrils. 

It’s the soft thump that alerts Scaramouche, who turns slowly in his chair to see you slumped over on his bed. He rises to his feet, crossing the distance to gather the bowl and accompanying utensils. Before he departs from his bedroom, he leans over to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“Dummy,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. “Never eating proper meals… Honestly, what would you do without me?”

Though he told you not to get accustomed to homemade meals, Scaramouche has presented you with breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day, all prepared by his generous hand. It’s a luxury to be served food that has been assembled out of some form of crooked love—Scaramouche claims he’s only keeping you well-fed so you won’t die and rot away on his bed; the smell would be horrendous, so he claims. There’s one meal that always manages to put you to sleep. Whether it’s just the result of a satisfied stomach or your own frazzled nerves in desperate need of sleep, you always slip away shortly after finishing it. As childish as it sounds, you often wonder if he’s put a spell on it. 

Or maybe you’re just always hungry, craving his cooking because he’s the only one capable of feeding you when you’re stuck in chains. And luckily for you he’s memorized all of your gastronomic preferences. 

You’re not sure if you’ve surpassed a month’s time, but when you wake up one morning to Scaramouche slamming his cat ear headphones down on his desk, which is followed by a foul tirade of grumbled curses, you feel as if it’s already been a year spent in his room. To think that you’re starting to find it normal, as if waking up to him is to be expected in this situation. 

You must be losing your mind. 

“Rough match?” 

Okay, you’re really losing your mind if you can be so casual with your kidnapper. 

Scaramouche deflates in his seat, groaning at the ceiling. “More like a rough team. None of these idiots know how to play! I’d have better luck digging through the dirt and assembling a team of worms than continuing to rely on these guys.” 

“Then just leave and join a new lobby.” 

“‘Just leave and join a new lobby,’” he mocks in a high voice. “I can’t. These teams are locked in for the upcoming tournament. I’m stuck playing with a bunch of losers.” 

I’m more stuck than you, you almost blurt, but you hold your tongue. 

“Like?”

“Like Tartaglia, Dottore, Signora… They suck. I hate them. And they expect me to tolerate them for a bunch of rounds? That’s not even a good joke. We’ll just look like fools trying to force teamwork.”

You peer at his monitor. He’s muted himself, so they have no idea of the complaints he’s launching at you as if you’re a suitable outlet. 

“Sounds tough.”

“Believe me, it is.” 

“Have you tried reworking your strategy?”

“You’re asking me to kiss ass here.”

“Never said that.”

“You’re implying it.”

“Oh my—” You flop back onto his bed with a groan. “It’s not that serious!”

“It is when it’s a competition. You think I want to look stupid in front of the other teams? We’re up against some lame group that calls themselves the Knights of Favonius. I am not about to lose to them.”

“And what’s your group called?”

“The Harbingers.”

“You honestly think that sounds any better?” 

He turns in his chair to glare at you. Before he can retort, he’s fit his headphones back over his ears and unmuted himself to address the VC. “Can you stop spamming the chat for five seconds, Tartaglia? Damn!” There’s a brief silence and then he adds, in a low hiss, “I’m not running away! I muted for one minute! Come off it, Signora.”

Absorbed in the conversation, which sounds more like an argument that’s quickly boiling over, Scaramouche exhales slowly and resolves to try again through grit teeth. You can’t hear his teammates, but you think they all reach a mutual agreement because within the next few seconds you’re watching another practice match on his monitor. Your gaze slides away from him and centers on the posters and tapestries that adorn his walls. Some days, if you ignore the metal cuff on your ankle, you forget you’re a prisoner and he’s your warden. Some days, if you really force optimism, you picture him as a friend and a roommate. 

Most days you wonder if you’ll ever get outside. You miss the sun and the wind, lively aspects of nature that are nonexistent in this stifling cave of a bedroom. And, as odd as it may seem, you miss your old life, struggles and all. You miss ranting to your friends about finances or an empty refrigerator. You miss staying up late into the night playing games, laughing about casual enjoyments, and indulging in a freedom you took for granted. When you were struggling, you could be comforted knowing that there would be better days, even if those days only consisted of small joys—like feeding a stray cat or feeling the sun’s rays smile upon you with bright warmth. Now you live your days in a loop, waking and eating and sleeping, and this sort of cyclical madness is more entrapping than Scaramouche’s infatuation with you. 

Although perhaps it isn’t right to call it an infatuation when it feels so far from one. Aside from meal times, he hardly acknowledges you during the day, too swept up in a game to pay you any attention, and when he does speak to you you’ve already submitted to your dreams. He never touches you (at least not when you’re awake). In fact, he treats you more like an annoying pest rather than the person he supposedly loved enough to kidnap. Perhaps, instead of an infatuation, it is an obsession driven by greed and the twisted desire to control every inch of you, down to the very foods you ingest.

You know one thing is certain: He is the kidnapper and you are the kidnapped. 

You’ve sorted through all possible means of rebellion. You’d refused to eat anything the first week, which was why he chose to feed you cheap convenience store snacks out of pettiness, and by the end of the second week you were beyond starved. You’ve thought about destroying his monitors out of spiteful anger, but that wouldn’t accomplish much aside from satiating your hunger for revenge. You would remain shackled no matter how many things you trashed, which makes destruction a useless venture. All you can really do is feign friendship, if only to keep your current predicament peaceful. 

But lately you’ve wondered if there are other ways to get Scaramouche to trust you. It’s obvious he still has some level of distrust for you, evidenced by the terrible cuff attached to your ankle and the fact that he never leaves you alone in his room for more than five minutes. Perhaps there’s an easier way to shatter his defenses. 

After all, the reason you’re here is because he likes you so much. And if it really is a hidden infatuation, you plan to poke at it until it’s no longer his little secret veiled within manufactured hatred. 

Scaramouche is scolding Tartaglia for his “stupid, shitty aim” when you slither off of his bed, standing behind him with an expression so pensive it’s as if you’re considering life or death. Although perhaps this idea of yours really is akin to that. 

Briefly, while eyeing the headphones that rest on top of a head of midnight-hued hair, you wonder if you’d have the confidence to attack him while he’s distracted. Your arms reach out, readying to tear his headphones off and coil around his neck in a chokehold, but then it occurs to you that if you really do hurt him no one will be around to feed you. You’ll shrivel in his room, alone, cuffed, and cold. 

You decide, with mounting unease, that your original plan is much better (and safer) than murder. And so you lower your hands with a muted sigh. Even if he’s the worst person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—even if he’s taken you from your life and forced you into his—you still couldn’t bring yourself to fatally injure him. 

But you can bring yourself to your knees, swallowing shame in order to survive. 

If Scaramouche realizes you’ve slipped under his desk, he doesn’t immediately acknowledge you, his eyes tracking his screen as he shouts into his mic for Dottore to cover him. You peer up at him from where you sit, studying his facial features as they morph into various expressions, all centered on frustration, impatience, and the occasional glare-frown. It’s your hand on his thigh that momentarily strays his focus, his eyes flitting down to you for a mere second, glazing over with an emotion you can’t quite place. Your lips quirk up in the beginnings of a sly smile, and he huffs, nudges your side with his foot, and returns to shouting orders at his teammates. 

Slowly, as if moving with weights attached to your wrist, you reach out to palm his flaccid cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. Scaramouche nearly flinches out of his chair, his head snapping down to look at you.

“W-What the hell are you—” He’s silenced when you squeeze just slightly, gazing up at him through your lashes. “N-Nothing. Just…talking to my cat. Shut up and focus on the match, losers,” he grumbles, not to you but to his teammates. 

You intend to draw away, thoroughly pleased after having gauged such an amusing reaction, but his fingers pursue your wrist, pinning your hand in place. He’s not looking at you, but his cheeks are warming considerably. 

“I’ll kill you if we lose,” he mutters, and this time you know the threat is meant for you. 

But, as you’ve come to learn, this is his own version of acceptance, however frigid it may have sounded. Scaramouche likes a good competition; that much is apparent from how engrossed he becomes when playing any type of game. Most importantly, you think he just enjoys the prideful satisfaction that comes with being labeled a winner. If you look at it from a gaming perspective, this is just another challenge—another rematch the both of you have agreed upon in order to determine who’s the best. 

And, like always, you’re certain victory will be yours. 

His hand slides away from yours, returning to its rightful place on his desktop, and it gives you the opportunity to continue your teasing touches. His stare hardens into something deadly when he attempts to retain his focus, his fingers mashing the keys in a loud cacophony of clacks, but within just a few minutes of experimental squeezes his cock is straining against his pants. You admire the outline for a brief moment, considering an approximation of his size just from the bulge alone. He’s definitely larger than any of the beginner dildos you’ve browsed online out of sheer boredom and curiosity, and the idea that you’re about to willingly subject yourself to this is enough to cow you into premature defeat. 

I won’t make any progress if he doesn’t trust me, you tell yourself, steeling your electrified nerves and reaching out to slide the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down to free his cock. It springs out, pre-cum beading at the tip, and your eyes follow the curvature. For such an aggressively high-strung moderator, he’s surprisingly well-groomed. You wonder if he’s always lived a life so nicely assembled. Perhaps you’ve misjudged him entirely and he’s never been the stereotypical gross, smelly, hermit of a Teyvatcord mod everyone likes to think he is. Maybe it’s just his personality that’s so foul. 

You were confident before, but then he’s passing you a bottle of lube and now what little courage you could muster is beginning to ebb away, squeezed out of you much like the dollop of lubricant pushed from the tube. Your eyes flick to his. He holds your gaze for a minute before a sly smirk crawls across his face. 

Hope you like swallowing, he mouths, indigo irises flashing with arousal, because if you get a single drop on the floor I’ll end you.

Arrogant brat, you mouth back. 

You roll your eyes and wrap your slick fingers around the length of his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, chewing his bottom lip bloody to muffle any suspicious sounds that are eager to slip out. You’ve only ever viewed handjobs in erotic films, and you’ve never given one to another person before. So you slide your fist up and down, mirroring the movements from memory, in hopes that the experimental pace you’ve set isn’t too awkwardly inexperienced. Scaramouche seems to pay it no mind, for his shoulders shudder with every exhalation, and he’s bent forwards, his elbows resting on his desk. 

There’s no way he’s this easy, but that thought quickly evaporates when you squeeze just a little tighter, and he whines through grit teeth. Your eyes snap up to find his foggy hues, which are clouded with lust and peering right through you rather than at you, and it becomes abundantly clear that perhaps he truly is simple to seduce. Or, at the very least, it’s only easy because he’s stressed and needs release; or maybe it’s because this is the first time you’re touching him of your own volition, stringing him along with every graceful pump of your hand. 

I’ll never understand him, you think, halting your movements once he’s been brought to the very edge, his cock flushed pink and leaking. 

The vicious, disapproving scowl he sends you is such a sight to behold! When you’re viewing him from below, it’s almost as if he’s a vindictive deity sitting pretty and untouchable on his throne and you’re the mere mortal granted permission to kneel before him, an amusing comparison considering he has, in a way, proven to be your saving grace on many occasions. Even riddled with impatience, he’s pleasant on the eyes. If only the same could be said for when he opens his mouth. 

“Did I give you permission to stop?” he hisses, humping into your hand to force friction. 

Your gaze strays to the cat ears on his headphones; you wonder if his teammates can pick up either of your hushed whispers. “What happened to your oh-so-important practice match?” 

He narrows his eyes at you and reaches to seize your chin in a vise-like hold, forcing you in close proximity with his cock. “You can do much better things than sit there and run your mouth, so finish what you started.”

“Anything for His Royal Highness,” you mutter and close your mouth around his tip. 

Scaramouche inhales sharply, his fingers ghosting over your head as if he intends to grip your hair and force you to take more of his size, but then you hear obnoxious keyboard clacks. He’s back to berating his teammates, albeit in a louder, higher voice than before, leaving you to your own pace. You pull away, tasting flavorless lubricant and pre-cum all at once, and lick a stripe up the underside, which has him humming through a clenched jaw. With your confidence restored, you lean in once more and, fingers wrapping around his length, slowly fit him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway.

Despite your initial unease, you manage to settle into the rhythm as naturally as you possibly can, bobbing your head back and forth in slow, even motions. Your other hand slithers up his leg, fingers creeping like spiders, and rests between his legs to fondle his balls, squeezing ever so slightly while your mouth works him towards the edge of ecstasy. It prompts a guttural groan from him, and your lips twitch around him, as if attempting to rise in an amused smile. He’s falling apart in his chair, shivering through every salacious sigh and curse, all produced in barely restrained hisses. He mutters something to his teammates, but the words hardly reach your ears when you’re so hyper-focused on pleasing him. 

You continue your careful ministrations, hollowing your cheeks in the same manner you’ve witnessed actors in films do, and at some point you’ve shut your eyes and have resigned yourself to the moment, relishing in every lewd sound. His reactions bolster your pride, feeding it as though it’s a ravenous monster, and you muster enough bravery, courtesy of your inflated ego, to peek at him through lidded eyes. 

Scaramouche is peering down at you once more, but this time his headphones are off and he seems to have ceased playing altogether. You attempt to pull off of him to ask, but his hand rests atop your head, mapping lazy patterns in your scalp in a way that’s almost reminiscent of petting, and that’s enough of a response for you. 

“I thought you’d be terrible at this, but it looks like you’re good at something after all,” he remarks with a mean smirk. “Or maybe...” He moans lowly. “Maybe you’ve had practice.” 

Or maybe your standards are low because no one’s ever touched your dick before, you think, closing your hand in a tight fist just to draw another pathetically desperate whimper from him. 

His fingers curl into your hair and he tugs you up to meet his haughty countenance. The head of his cock prods impatiently at the inside of your cheek and you narrow your eyes at him, drool running down your chin. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, running over the piercings that reside there like twinkling stars. With a breathy chuckle, his other hand traces the bulge in your cheek and his lips only seem to widen with exhilaration. There’s a near-manic glint in his eyes now—an unhinged sort of sparkle that could only shine so brightly in the midst of pleasure. He’s a frightening sight, but then of course he’d be when he had so callously held you at knifepoint all those weeks—or has it been months?—ago. 

Now it makes sense—all of the mean jeers and insults. Scaramouche likes to see just how small he can make others when they’re caught in his shadow like vulnerable butterflies in a spider’s wicked web. And aren’t you just the most unlucky butterfly?

“This is a—haah—a good look for you.” 

You’d bite him if you were feeling particularly masochistic, but there’s no telling what he would do in retaliation. So instead you continue your pace, idly stroking him in time with the movements of your hollowed mouth, holding eye contact for the entirety of it. He keeps his hands on you the entire time, locking you in place between his legs, and your warm, wet mouth and tongue send delectable bolts of pleasure racing through him. It causes more delicious sounds to spill in plentiful amounts from his parted lips, enticing you to work more vigorously. He gasps through backhanded praises, each one meant to chisel you into something weak and self-conscious, but all it does is prove your previous observations. 

“Hey.” His knuckle is on your cheek again, and you blink tears away to look at him more clearly. “You haven’t done this with anyone else before, have you?”

You know it’s a trick question. No matter what answer you give, it’s going to prompt a visceral reaction either way. Rather than a clear, concise response—not that you could possibly give one when he’s stuffing your mouth full—you hum lowly, and the vibration has him twitching on your tongue. 

Scaramouche scoffs and attempts a glower, but it crumbles when he arches in his chair. “What… Whatever,” he manages through grit teeth, swallowing yet another sweet love cry. “Consider yourself lucky I’m here, otherwise—hah… Otherwise you’d have no one to practice your lousy, little technique on.”

This time, you’re afforded the chance to detach yourself and your mouth comes off of him with a wet smack, strands of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. He peers at you, studying your face for a moment, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting in his room you’re certain his blush would be brighter than the sun. 

“You seem to enjoy my lousy, little technique,” you purr, leaning in to press your puckered lips to his tip. Your hand slows its once quick pace, and you watch miserable frustration stretch across his features. “If you’re going to be ungrateful, I’ll just stop and—”

But the rest of that sentence is shoved down your throat when he catches your head in resolute hands and forces you to take all of him in a rough thrust. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you choke on it with a gagging cough. Your hands grasp his wrists in an attempt to steady yourself, but he pays it no mind as he continues to pound into your mouth, a string of filth falling from his parted lips like torrential rain. Tears prick your eyes, obscuring your vision and blurring reds and purples into a haze. 

It only takes a minute, but it feels like many when he eventually halts his erratic pace, his cock lodged in your mouth, and shoots his load down your throat. You have no choice but to force yourself to swallow, your eyes squeezed shut as you choke through the deed. Scaramouche laughs at you, a short, sudden sort of sound that’s more grating than nails on a chalkboard. And only after he’s shuddered through the aftermath of his ecstasy, heaving soft breaths as he settles from his orgasmic high, does he finally release you. 

You pull away with the residue of his spend sitting heavy on your tastebuds, sticky and bitter, and you’re only allowed a moment to catch your breath before he’s gripping your face with one strong hand, the cool metals of his rings digging into your cheeks. You stare at his sickly sweet smile and narrowed eyes, two indigo pools reflecting haughty victory, and your heart sinks with his next words. 

“Oh, and nice try.” His finger flicks your forehead, and a taunting smile darkens his features. “But I’m not taking the chains off, kitten.” 

It was worth a try, you think, swallowing a scoff and resolving to try again next time. You are nothing if not stubbornly resilient.

It’s a dangerous game, waiting and watching, hoping for a moment in which you can execute your plan. When Scaramouche isn’t glued to his monitors, when he isn’t feeding you meals that immediately send you to sleep, and when you aren’t on your knees satisfying him in the most carnal of ways, you’re wrapped in your thoughts like a mummy perfectly preserved. For a while you weren’t sure if it was worth the risk, nor were you sure if he could even come to trust you, if only slightly, but by some miracle you’ve sacrificed so much time tending to him and it has paid off handsomely.

Though the cuff remains, he’s grown to exercise some leniency, allowing you to sit on his lap while he browses online, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. Sometimes the two of you watch a movie; other times you play a game, gambling your dignity in exchange for a chance at victory. Lately Scaramouche has been on a winning streak—though you’re certain he’s just cheating, even if he claims it’s pure skill—and more than once have you found yourself at his mercy, submitting to wandering hands and lips, dutifully playing the role of his obedient prize. He always gloats, flashing his teeth at you in a cruel taunt, and you have no choice but to accept it. Everything you do is for the sake of survival; you’ve reminded yourself of this fact when you wrap your arms around him at night, pressing yourself against him and slowly slipping into sleep just as he cautiously returns your embrace. 

You usually fall unconscious after you’ve had lunch, condemned to sudden sleepy spells that are beginning to seem more drug-induced than natural, and this unfortunate happening leaves you completely gone for many hours into the afternoon and early evening. You’ve narrowed your options down after observing Scaramouche for so long, committing his cyclical ways to memory. Either you force yourself to wake at the crack of dawn and hope he isn’t still gaming, or you wait until he’s left the room to prepare your lunch. You’ve deliberated over both, almost acting on one when the opportunity presents itself, but you’re always stopped by the uncertainty. Will this work? Will you be fast enough? 

And if you aren’t successful, what will happen to you? Will he truly kill you like he claimed he would all those months ago when you first started living with him? You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

There’s a specific person you have in mind while you lie curled and comfortable in Scaramouche’s bed, feigning sleep to ward off the jittery sensation in your nerves. If he still exists within the server—and you’re hoping he does because your escape plan hinges on his presence within it—he will be your ticket to freedom. 

You almost flinch out of your skin when Scaramouche’s hand rests atop your head, stroking your skull so fondly. “I’ll wake you up for lunch,” he whispers to you, pressing his lips to your cheek. And then his hand is drawing away, and your pulse settles once more. You can feel his eyes pinned on you, and you picture him standing at the bedside, casting a terrifying shadow over your slumbering form.

“It’s too quiet when you sleep so many hours,” he mutters, and you strain to hear the rest of his complaint. You think he might be in the doorway because you can’t sense him near you anymore, and his voice is distant and soft, a strange contrast to the harshness in his usual intonation. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here.” 

He says something else that doesn’t quite reach your ears, and you listen to his footsteps as he retreats to the hall and then the kitchen. You wait until you hear movement before slowly sitting up. Even though you’re alone and he’s a good distance from you, you fear he might hear your quick heartbeat. It pounds inside your rib cage, on and on like the loudest war drum, and you clutch at your chest with trembling hands. 

Without wasting another second, you slide off of the bed as carefully as possible, mindful of the noisy chain at your feet, and creep over to his desk. All of his monitors are on, each luminescent screen displaying something highly contrasting from the previous one. The screen on your left showcases an online shopping site (the page he’s currently on is new microphones, each more high-quality and expensive than the last). The screen on your right blinks back at you, and you spy a photo album of pictures screencapped from every social media connected to you. 

You’re not surprised, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t disgusted. Gross, you think, biting back a shiver. If he touched me with the same hand he used to—

But then your attention is stolen by the middle monitor and before you know it your fingers are gingerly tapping out keys one at a time, so agonizingly slow that you think your rapid pulse might give you away before the clacks do.

Alatus, you’re thinking, eyes skimming the member list. Alatus. Come on, Alatus. Where are you?

Miraculously, you spot his profile picture before his name—a cute, mint-colored bird with fluffy plumage and narrowed eyes. For such an adorable image, the one behind it is so silent and intimidating. You wonder how you even managed to befriend him when he’d been so terse in the early stages of your online friendship, but you’re glad to have this connection. 

Relief floods through your system when you notice the tell-tale green circle near his profile. He’s online! And with that, you pull up a private chat and begin to write to him, your heart skipping a beat with every word added to your desperate SOS message. 

this is gonna sound crazy but this is (name) from server need u to help me out ive been kidnapped by scaramouche call the authorities or someone just let them know i’m missing please believe me

You don’t have time to proofread it, nor can you even consider adding anything else in your frenzied panic, and so you hasten to send it. Your finger just brushes the Enter key when two arms coil around your waist, yanking you away from the desk with so much force that the horrified gasp sticks in your throat. Before you can register the danger, you’re on the floor, the chain rattling with the movement, as if foretelling of the threat that’s about to descend upon you like the Grim Reaper coming to capture a wayward soul, and Scaramouche stands over you, a kitchen knife held in a trembling fist. There is a foul tempest raging within those ominous eyes of his, each dilated pupil darkened with thick, syrupy betrayal. 

You attempt to sit up on your elbows, readying yourself to reason with him before he can slice your throat to ribbons, but then he’s pointing the knife directly at you, his face contorted into a glower so monstrous it has you flinching away. 

“You’re a special kind of stupid,” he snaps, and you press yourself into the floor as if you intend to melt into it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I was so foolish that I wouldn’t suspect the motive behind your little game?”

You open your mouth to profess faux innocence, but the words won’t come. They’ve dried up on your tongue, leaving you to wallow in silence. You’ve never been so obviously, painfully guilty before, and the evidence of your disobedience is printed blindingly bright on a screen for his perusal. Scaramouche gazes at his monitor, cold, cruel eyes taking in every word. Ice crackles through your veins, crystallizing your blood, and for a brief second you consider what might happen if you seize the knife while he’s distracted. Perhaps it works in your head and your attempt to force him to his knees with the threat of death is successful. But realistically you know it wouldn’t be that easy and he certainly wouldn’t give you the chance to one-up him like this, especially not when so much is at stake. 

For once, this has nothing to do with the childish concept of pride. 

“Alatus, huh?” he muses with a monosyllabic hum. “Is that your friend? Well, it’s not like it matters. You don’t need friends.” 

With a sunken heart, you watch as he deletes the message you mustered the courage to draft. Within seconds the faulty plan you’ve considered for months crumbles before your despairing stare. 

“I hate you,” you whisper. Brimming tears are on the verge of overflowing and you will them away with quick blinks. 

“Yeah? Not the first time someone’s told me that.” He turns to face you, and you follow the knife as it’s set delicately on his desktop. It’s an obvious trap, but even so your hand still tenses as if you intend to lunge for it. He bends down to where you remain on the floor, his elbows propped on his knees. “I should commend you for your bravery. Were you working yourself up to this? Were you counting down the days until the moment for rebellion arrived? I’m not sure I should even call it a rebellion. You’re not very smart. I mean, you had access to the internet! You had so many resources at your disposal and yet you chose to message some loser on Teyvatcord! Just how moronic can you possibly be?”

What irks you more than the degradation is the fact that, unfortunately, he’s right. 

He clicks his tongue at you, laughter in his tone. “I would’ve been in trouble if you actually used a sliver of your puny brain. Lucky me, huh?” His fingers cling to your chin, pulling your face closer to his. “I have the cutest, stupidest kitten.”

You narrow your eyes at him and, gathering your mounting revulsion, spit at him. It spatters on his cheek and he seems to pause momentarily, a tense beat stretching taut between the both of you, before he releases you with a huff. The next thing you feel is the harsh sting of his slap as it comes down upon your cheek. It’s more so the shock that has your head turning in time with the impact rather than the dull ache, and you lift your hand to feel raw skin beneath burning fingertips. The tears are now falling in silent streaks. 

It’s hopeless. You’re stuck here forever. 

Scaramouche swipes his thumb along his cheek and scrutinizes the saliva coating his finger with a frown. “Not fond of ‘kitten,’ huh?” 

“Of course not, you freak.” 

“Ouch. That smarts.” Feigning offense, he dries his thumb on his kitchen apron. “A shame. ‘Kitten’ suits you. They’re soft and clumsy and weak. Just like you.”

He retrieves the knife and, after admiring the red-and-purple lights that reflect off the silver blade, offers you a smile so sweet it contrasts his sour threats.

“But as cute as you are on the ground, looking oh-so-terrified, it’s not going to save you from your punishment.”

You watch him carefully, awaiting a catastrophic change in temperament. Despite how cheerily nonchalant he appears, you’re certain there is anger swelling within. It’s clear in his eyes; his glee stems from sadism.

“Should I even ask what your idea of a punishment is?” you venture. You intend to sound bold with your inquiry, but your heart is still stuttering with the aftermath of your failure and it causes you to trip over your tongue. “L-Living with you is punishment enough…”

Scaramouche hums, unfazed. “If you were in my position, what punishment would be most fitting?” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not answering that. You just want me to list the worst possible things.” 

“Perhaps,” he drawls, tapping a fingernail along the blade. His gaze strays to his desk drawer and he opens it and withdraws something you can’t yet see. The jarring jangle of handcuffs alerts your keen ears, and your expression must have twisted into something akin to potent odium because he chuckles. “Wandering hands ought to be properly restrained, don’t you think?”

You hold his gaze for a long minute. “Why? What’re you going to do?” When he doesn’t reply, merely continuing to watch you with that deceptive smile of his, fear sizzles within your electrified nerves. He takes a step towards you and you scoot away instinctively. “Seriously, what is it? Don’t you dare put those cuffs on me.”

“And allow you to misbehave again? As if.” He stands over you, peering down at you with a mixture of disgust and distrust. His foot is pressing on your stomach before you can even think to grab at his ankles and force him to the floor. “In case you’ve forgotten, kitten, you’re mine from now on. So unless you’d like me to tear you a few extra holes with this knife, you’d better shut your mouth and let me put these cuffs on you.”

He seizes your forearm, yanking you up with surprising strength, and you squirm in his unyielding hold, kicking out uselessly. It does nothing to deter him, but it does spark a wrestling match between the both of you, in which you fight desperately to grab hold of the cuffs or the knife before either can find themselves on your person.

“Let go of me! You can’t put those on me!” You elbow him in his ribs and he responds by shoving you down onto his bed, slotting his knee between your legs. His fingers dig into your arms with a harshness that has you wincing. 

“Should’ve thought twice before you decided to act like a brat!” he hisses, squeezing tightly. 

The discomfort soon becomes the least of your worries when he pins your wrist to one of the metal bed frame posts, readying it for one of the cuffs.

“No! Let go of—”

The knife is at your throat next, promptly silencing your terrified protests, and you don’t dare open your mouth. 

“Try again.” 

It’s spoken like a demand or a particularly harsh dare, the ice in his voice a perfect match for his scary expression. For however long his eyes bore into yours, you return his ogling with the same amount of ferocity, challenging his overbearing aura despite the blade poised at your jugular. You’re not sure how sharp it is, but you aren’t intending to find out with misplaced disobedience. 

Eventually, the first cuff clicks around your wrist, and you watch warily as the next cuff attaches to the bedpost. Your arm hangs limply from where it’s been restrained, and the other receives the same attention shortly after he’s retrieved the second handcuff pair. While he’s fumbling one-handed with it, the knife is held in place in his white-knuckled grip. The cool metal kisses feverish skin; you can already smell the river of iron that will drool from a precise slice. After it’s closed around your wrist and the bedpost like its predecessor, you yank arms to test the resistance. Your wrists have been secured tightly, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Rather, it’s the uncertainty that settles under your skin, lighting your senses with raw anxiety. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, gazing at the handle of the knife. It’s close—too close. 

You think he lives to torment. He must, otherwise there would be no plausible explanation for why he presses the sharpened edge deeper into your neck, applying just enough pressure to break skin.

“I’ll make one thing clear, so listen and listen well.” His voice drops a few octaves, a perilous murmur. “Don’t ever touch things that aren’t yours again.”

You think he says something else along the lines of, “And don’t ever think you’ve earned a shred of leniency just because we’ve been intimate,” but the words sound far-off and muffled like they’ve been processed through a jar of cotton or an unfathomable depth of sea. Registering them doesn’t seem so important, though, not when the sting in your throat worsens and a thin rivulet of something slick trails its way down your neck, staining your T-shirt—Scaramouche’s shirt (but you refuse to dwell on that distinction). And this time you don’t need any laced meals to slip away. This time it’s the stressful threat of near-death that puts you to sleep.

With the world having slithered away, narrowed down to a singular point devoid of terror, you fall into a familiar darkness. 

At first you think you’ve woken enshrouded in muddy earth, buried alive in some forsaken place, but then the haze of LEDs is piercing through your eyelids and you know you’re not resting amongst soil. With an exhausted groan, you peel your eyes open, searching the room for a figure who is oddly absent. Intending to sit up, you’re stopped short when your wrists catch on the cuffs, the metal digging into sensitive skin, and there is a spreading stiffness in your outstretched arms that’s becoming more unbearable with every passing second.

Something soft and scratchy is wrapped snugly around your throat. A bandage, you think, and it brings forth the not-so-distant memory of the knife and the blood and the dazed look in Scaramouche’s stare. As if he was not entirely there when he was pushing, pushing, pushing the blade into your jugular

As if he intended to carefully saw through sinew as if cutting slices from a block of cheese. 

Inhaling a steadying breath, you consider your options. Escape has become a daunting challenge—an impossibility if you’ve ever known one—and with the way you’re so tightly restrained you’re certain you won’t get close to freedom anytime soon. After all you’ve endured, you’re not sure you want to fly close to that sun again. 

Is it even worth it? you catch yourself pondering. I’m under a roof. I’m fed. I’m washed. This isn’t any different from my usual routine, only I have a housemate now and I’m living here permanently. Right. He’s a housemate. A housemate. A housemate. 

He’s not a housemate. He’s a horror wound into human anatomy—a perfect shell for what you assumed was a normal person. But does the distinction truly matter now? Kidnapper. Housemate. The latter sounds much nicer, but then the latter is also a lie sweeter than caramel and it’s easier to swallow a delusion than confront the looming truth. 

You sigh, your gaze sliding towards the monitors. They’re off this time, three dark voids silenced in the corner in which they’re kept. You tug at your restraints even though you’re aware they won’t come off no matter how much you struggle. For however long it takes Scaramouche to return, you lie on your back, watching the ceiling and counting the tiny bulbs in the strand of LEDs. Finally, there’s movement beyond the room. He pushes the door open with his foot, carrying a tray of food and bringing with him all manner of kitchen scents.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,” he teases, and you muster your meanest scowl. He laughs. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Scaramouche sets the tray on his desk, picks up the bowl of ochazuke, and gathers a bite between wooden chopsticks. “Don’t drag this out just to be a pain in the ass. Sit up and eat.”

Slowly, you manage to sit up, your wrists still confined. “I’m not eating unless you remove these cuffs.”

“Hm. Let me think about that.” Scaramouche drums his fingers along the ceramic bowl, considering. “Not a chance.”

“Looks like I’m going hungry.”

“You are so insufferable. You had no trouble eating yesterday.” He narrows his eyes. “Licked the bowl clean and everything.”

“That was before you decided to nearly kill me!”

“But I didn’t.” 

“You say that as if you’re proud! Eat your own food. I don’t want it.”

“Alas, I made it just for you,” he says with a dramatic sort of flair that does not fit the smug pride that drapes itself over him like a linen shroud. “With love and everything.” 

Your lip curls into a hostile sneer. “Let me think about that. Yeah, no. Not a chance.” 

“You do realize you’ll starve if not for me.” 

“I look forward to that.”

“You little—”

Scaramouche covers the distance with graceful strides. He sets the bowl on the bedside table and, much to your dismay, you can’t reach it with the position you’re stuck in, unable to swipe or kick at it. After pulling his gaming chair up to the bed, he lowers into it and takes the bowl in his hands, chopsticks poised. You turn your head away when he tries to feed you and the bite he’s gathered misses its mark, poking your cheek instead. Grains of sticky rice adhere to your skin like glitter. Despite your obvious refusal, Scaramouche persists, pushing another bite of ochazuke at your lips. He’s calm for all of three seconds before the thread of restraint snaps and he grabs your chin, yanking your head in his direction. 

“If you don’t want me to shove these chopsticks so far down your throat, then stop being difficult and open your mouth.”

Still, your lips remain sealed and he huffs indignantly, digging his nails into your skin in hopes of eliciting a reaction. You swallow the wince and frown instead. The next bite prods against your lips and you narrow your eyes, silently daring him to try again. And he does, his fingers tracing along your jaw to find your cheek. He pinches—ruthlessly, unforgivingly rough—and you open your mouth to snap at him. Knock it off, you intend to say, but the words never leave your mouth because the next thing you know you’re tasting a mouthful of fluffy rice flavored with bitter tea, strips of nori, and salmon flakes. 

You almost spit it out, but you’re already chewing, relieved to taste gastronomical goodness. Scaramouche smirks at you, his thumb rubbing circles against your cheek.

“I win.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, turning away, mouth ajar for another bite.

He feeds you with a hum. “That wasn't so hard, was it? It’s almost as if acting like an annoying baby made this entire thing more unbearable than it should be.” 

You scoff around a mouthful. “You’re the unbearable one.”

“And yet here we are.”

You don’t protest at that. What else can possibly be said? Instead, you resign yourself to the meal, finishing every bite he offers and clearing out the leftovers in the bowl. And, as usual, it’s delicious.

Scaramouche pats your head when you’ve finished, a smile sharpening on his lips. “Good job.”

You roll your eyes. “You could’ve been nicer about it.”

“I was very nice,” he says, his tone clipped, as he sets the bowl down and lifts a glass from the table. “See? I even brought you a drink. Aren’t I a portrait of magnanimity?”

He’s a pain in the ass, you conclude, but you allow him to bring the glass to your lips so you can drink. You expect a mouthful of water; what you don’t expect is the sheer burn that comes with swallowing, and your noise of surprise comes out as a cough. Scaramouche sits back in his seat while you stare at him, searching for any indication that he’s joking. 

“Scaramouche—”

“You’ll be a good kitten and drink it all, won’t you? I’d hate to waste something special I picked just for you.”

Your lip curls in abhorrence at his utterance of that dreadful name. “Maybe if you stop calling me ‘kitten.’”

“Not a chance.” 

He takes a sip from the glass and leans in until his face is centimeters from yours. Your eyes find his, and for a moment you’re connected only by this contact. But then, within the next second, he’s closing what little distance remains, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, sake-tinged kiss. His hand cradles the back of your head so that you’re pinned on his mouth as it molds against yours. His snake bite piercing pushes against your lips and when he licks into your mouth to savor the alcoholic notes on your tongue you think you taste the cold sterling silver of his tongue piercing. With mounting unease, you realize it’s not a terrible sensation. And though saliva and sake drip down your chin in a thin, sticky rivulet, it’s not the worst kiss you’ve ever had. 

It’s over before you can even think of reciprocating. Thankfully—otherwise you’re certain doing so would have been more sickening than a simple teasing nickname. 

He pulls away to observe your dazed expression, his dark eyes alight with manic glee. His laugh comes out breathless, almost like a gasp, and he touches two fingers to his lips. “Your lips are softer than I thought…” he mumbles, curling his fingers against his chin. 

Before you can retort, the glass is poised at your mouth again, enticing you to drink, and you struggle to swallow the amount that’s tipped onto your tongue. You taste tropical citrus this time, flavors reminiscent of sunny days and palm trees and sparkling seas, each one so out of reach in your current predicament. Things you might never see again. Scaramouche climbs onto the bed and sits between your legs, preventing you from shutting them. With your back pressed against the bed, wrists still bound, you have no choice but to remain where you are, entirely at his mercy. 

“That’s a good expression,” he purrs, reaching out to pet your cheek. You turn your head away with a scoff. “To think you could be so cute when you’re terrified of the unknown.”

“Not funny. Take off these cuffs and get me some water. My wrists hurt.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. Cry me an ocean.” His free hand splays across your stomach, applying just enough pressure to your pelvic bone, and a devious smirk twists his lips. “That’s not the only place that’ll hurt.”

The reality of his intentions—of why he has you restrained—dawns on you like a sun risen from the grave, blindingly, searingly hot. 

“You can’t be serious.”

You intend to squirm, to kick out at him with your legs, and push him as far from you as possible, but your legs just won’t move. It’s as if you’re attempting to tug yourself free from a pit of molasses, crushed under a new weight. You manage to lift your foot a mere centimeter from the bed before Scaramouche gingerly lowers it back onto the mattress, all the while clicking his tongue at you.

“No need to panic. I’ll take good care of you.” He glances at you, spidery digits tracing tantalizing lines along the length of your leg. “I always have.”

The grogginess spreads throughout the rest of your body like the thorny tendrils of vindictive vines, stifling all possible movements and replacing your usual taut, alert muscles with a sleepiness that's awfully familiar. It doesn’t take long for you to reach a harrowing conclusion: He’s drugged you. Again. You blink rapidly to gain your bearings, and it takes you a moment to recognize the glass that’s at your lips. Foolishly, you drink because he’s already tilting it and you’re not sure how many more sips you take, but by the end of it the glass is empty and your head is spinning, nerves buzzing with static. 

Scaramouche slips off the bed with graceful steps, practically floating about his room, to retrieve a bottle of lube and a pair of scissors. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, coming to you in nonsensical clumps as the alcohol thins your rationality, numbing you to the encroaching unease that so desperately wishes to fill your veins. Rather, you’re overwhelmed with a very pleasant, dizzying warmth. You peer at him from where you’re slumped against the headboard, and the red-and-purple lighting in his room paints him in hues so alluring you find yourself at a momentary loss, staring blankly at him like he’s a fascination you’ve only just fallen for. And then you’re reflecting on the way his lips fit against yours, soft and sweet and metallic…

The scissors run up the fabric of your shirt in a flawless snip. When the tattered material is pulled from you and you feel the rush of cold air upon bare skin, prickly realization manages to sober you.

“W-Wait…” You shake your head slowly, tongue heavy and clumsy just like the rest of your limbs. “I’ve never… N-Never done this before…”

He gazes at you, searching for a lie. Finding no such thing, he chuckles and leans in until you’re practically breathing him in. “I would’ve thought otherwise.”

“And I…” You try to narrow your eyes at him, but he’s placed his hands on your hips and so your gaze is inevitably drawn downwards. “And I would’ve thought you were letting me win all those times.”

“Not this time,” he promises, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “If it means having you all to myself like this, I’ll gladly indulge in the pity prize.”

If your wrists weren’t bound to the bed, you may have pushed him away. Or perhaps you would have embraced him, tugging him closer against your chest so that you could feel his heartbeat, taste it on your lips, allow it to thrum between the both of you. The sake muddles your mind, aiding the muscle relaxant in soothing pre-sex jitters. As Scaramouche’s hands wander, fingers tracking up and down your waist, sliding across your bare stomach, climbing further upwards to pinch your nipples between dexterous digits, someone starts to whine, each faint gasp just barely slipping past lips that have been chewed bloody. 

You realize, when he pulls away to grab at the waistband of your sweatpants, that you’re the one producing such sinful sounds. 

“Wait,” you whisper when he’s yanked it down to your knees. He peers at you with glazed eyes, and you’re certain you’re looking back with the same amount of lustful ferocity. “S-Scara, I don’t know if… Don’t know if we should…”

You shake your head, utter a frustrated curse, and squeeze your eyes shut. What do you truly wish to tell him? You wonder if it even matters anymore. He has you right where he wants you and, frighteningly enough, this is exactly where you’d like to stay. You have to remind yourself it’s the alcohol and the drugs and the sensual lighting that twist your reasonable senses. Even so, your fear trumps any lust that might have been simmering under heated skin.

But before you can verbalize these anxieties, he’s tugged your sweatpants down with ease. Your underwear goes next, leaving you utterly, humanly bare. Scaramouche stares for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and his licentious ogling is enough to send a bolt of embarrassment rushing through you. Avoiding his eyes, you manage to shut your legs, which earns you a breathy chuckle from him. Scaramouche lifts his shirt over his head next, casting it aside without hesitation. You’re treated to the view of his chest, porcelain-pale, creamy skin aglow under the dimmed lights, and upon noting your wide-eyed stare an easy smirk sprawls across his pierced lips. When he cocks his head to the side, you follow the way the tiny chains on his ear cuffs tilt with the movement, star and moon charms jingling faintly. He’s touched by the very cosmos above, shaded in light so beauteous he’s seraphic. 

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” he whispers, drumming his fingers along your knees. “You’re in good hands.”

You open your mouth to object—I don’t want this; I’ve never done this before—but his hands part your legs, spreading them agonizingly slowly as if the universe has benevolently graced him with all the hours in the world. You watch him consider your nude form splayed before him, and the temporary stillness is interrupted when he reaches for the bottle of lube sitting so patiently on his bedside table. 

It’s a chore to follow his hands as they uncap the bottle and squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers. Everything spins and blurs into a messy portrait of colors and shapes. You taste the raw acidity of bile in your throat and promptly swallow it and the rest of your apprehensions, forcing yourself to turn off what’s left of logical thinking and submit to the moment—to allow yourself to be fondled by such good hands.

The slick index prodding curiously at your unrelenting hole tightens the tangle of nerves in your stomach and has you squirming once more. 

“W-Wait! Wait, wait…”

“It’s only my finger, scaredy-cat.” He laughs and lies beside you, one hand between your legs and the other curled under your chin. He moves your head until you’re looking right at him, and he’s already moving in, lips ghosting over yours. “Unless you’d rather take it raw without any prep. That can be arranged…”

With a half-lidded stare, you spy his lips rather than his eyes as they capture yours in a sloppy smooch. He chases after your breath, swallowing reedy, needy gasps, and traces a circle along your hole before sinking his finger inside. You choke on a whine and wriggle your hips in discomfort. He pulls away only for a brief respite, soon reclaiming your mouth in his greedy pursuit, experimentally curling the lone finger inside you. You’re on fire, burning up with sheer desire and shame and a dizzying intoxication, and everything tangles into a mess fueled only by mounting lust. Fears shrugged away like worthless fabrics, you melt into the mattress’s cushiony embrace, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, as Scaramouche draws little gasps and groans from you, each one spilling out in between kisses. 

The hand on your chin falls away to grasp your nipple between cold fingers, and the chill slithers through your flushed form. You whine a pitiful sound. 

“Look at you, falling apart on one measly finger.” His voice, hushed and husky, wraps around your head like the softest scarf. “Am I the first to touch you down here?”

Foolishly, you try to nod and shake your head all at once, but he seems to catch the truth veiled in your response, for he hums into your mouth again. You kiss back with more desperation this time, chasing his tongue with a delightful fervor. He pushes a second finger in, slick enough as to not cause discomfort, and it soon finds residence with the other digit curled within. 

“No wonder why you’re so easy. It’s almost cute.” Scaramouche lazily works you open with the two digits thrust up inside you. Lewd squelching permeates the otherwise quiet room, and it spurs you into submission. Instinctively, you arch your back when he pinches your nipple harder than before, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “See? Isn’t it better when you’re enjoying yourself? And all it takes is a little reciprocation.” 

“I… I’d never—mmh—never reciprocate,” you mumble, but the words are spoken in a gasp.

“It’s a little too late for delusions and denial, kitten,” he says, practically singing the sardonically spoken pet name. 

You grit your teeth in an effort to stifle your sounds, turning your head away when he tries to steal a quick kiss. “Hate you,” you mutter, jaw clenched. 

Scaramouche barks out a disbelieving laugh. The finger that had been toying with your puffy nipple traces an invisible pattern along the expanse of your chest, sliding further down under he’s gracing your privates with feather-light touches. A moan hums low in your throat, betraying your poor attempt at defiance. 

“That’s not what your body’s telling me.”

He scissors his fingers, stretching you wide enough so he can slide a third in. You hardly feel the pain when you dig your nails into your palms. It’s so fierce you think you might break skin, and if you do the muscle relaxant prevents you from truly feeling it. You peer at his sly smirk, but the disgust melts away when, combined with the fingers working you open and the hand petting your sex, you find yourself shuddering through a sudden climax. Scaramouche marvels at the way you clench around his fingers, and before you can even try to avoid him he’s pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple. 

“Look at you, cumming from three fingers.” He removes each finger one by one just to watch you writhe bonelessly beneath him. He presses two slick fingers against your lips, tilting his head as if you’re a morbid curiosity he spies through the bars of an invisible cage. “My cute, pathetic, virgin kitten. I quite like that dazed look in your eyes. Perhaps you should look at me like that more often…”

You manage to roll your eyes, unamused. “You had your fun. Now take the cuffs off.” You fix him with a pout. “Please?”

“I couldn’t possibly when we’re just getting started.”

There’s a playful lilt in his voice, and your eyes follow his hands as they grasp the waistband of his boxers. It’s only then when you realize he’s painfully hard in his underwear, his cock outlined so starkly against the constrictive material, and your heart plummets into your stomach. 

“Hold on. Wait. H-Hold on…” You try to shut your legs, but the sedative in your system has you reacting as if you’re pulling your limbs through unforgiving tar. Every inch of you craves the comforting release of a long slumber, but the alcohol keeps your nerves sparking with a fiery need that greatly outweighs any languor. “N-Not inside…”

“Why not? We’ll be closer this way.” He wipes the cold sweat from your forehead before placing a gentle kiss upon it. The look in his indigo hues is lionizing, and when he cradles your cheek in a warm hand he is uncharacteristically fond. But then of course he’d be; he likes you, after all. For all of the cruelty, you forget he does this out of love. “Don’t you want to be closer—to find all of the right spots together? We’ll fit together so perfectly…”

He’s already squirted lube onto his hand, and he runs it up the length of his erection, all the while holding smoldering eye contact with you. You swallow dread so thick it almost lodges itself in your throat, mumbling a slew of slurred protests that fall upon deaf ears. 

Scaramouche forces you to look at him next, his hand still on your face, and you lean into it out of emotional instinct. He smiles—it’s tender this time, almost welcoming—and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay,” he whispers, sincerity weaved into the promise. You blink tears away and your breath hitches when the soft, fleshy head of his cock kisses your puckered hole. His fingers trail along the bandage secured around your throat, and his eyes glaze over with an unknown emotion. “You’ll be okay.”

And hearing it twice has you believing it with a mindless nod of your head. 

If your hands were free, you’d reach out to touch him, run your fingers along his porcelain chest, loop your arms around his neck to pull him into you so that your puzzle could be complete. Instead, you look up at him with pleading eyes as he cages you between his arms. 

“Please be gentle.”

He noses the crook of your neck. “We’ll see.” 

But his words are warm and inviting. And—oh. Oh, he cares for you! Scaramouche, the one who’d ensure you were always fed, who’d go out of his way to check in at night after a long day, who’d entertain you with an argumentative back-and-forth regarding his favorite games, who’d let you win every single match just to be able to spend more quality time with you...

Who loves you more than he loves himself, relying entirely on you in order to fill the cavernous void in his heart with sugar and sincerity and serenity. 

He cares for you, and no one has ever quite cared for you in the way he does, as sickly obsessive as he may be. Knowing that someone likes you enough to look after you is more saccharine than honey.

Illuminated in red-and-purple luminosities, you shimmer beneath him, a lone star plucked from a dark, desolate sky. His hand falls from your face, finding your hip instead, and he rubs soothing circles into it as he presses in, the head of his cock pushing past rings of tight, lubricated muscle. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would, but then the relaxant and the alcohol have you at ease. His brows are knit in concentration, breath hot and wet on your bare skin, as he slots himself inside inch by inch. 

A shaky groan spills from his lips. “(Name)...” Your name is candied ambrosia in his mouth, the sweetest song. “(Name), (Name), (Name)...”

He exhales slowly, tears glimmering in glassy eyes, and locates your lips in the gloom, drawn in like a fool blinded by the deceptive light of an anglerfish. You kiss back as if this is the last time you’ll ever have the chance to do so, pursuing his whimpers in the same fashion he seeks your keening cries. And when he snaps his hips forwards to fill you completely, joining your bodies in unholy communion, you throw your head back and sob like you’ve never sobbed before. It’s a wonderful fit, snug and tight, and he rocks in experimentally. You shiver under him, crying out a string of incoherent phrases. 

“Scara… Scaraaa,” you sigh dreamily, and his hands brace themselves on either side of you so that he won’t crumple when he thrusts in, settling into the rhythm, following the thrum of your conjoined heartbeats. “Aah… Don’t stop. Please, Scara, I want it deeper… Haah… Please don’t stop.”

“Kuni,” he corrects, breathing it into you in an open-mouthed kiss. “My name. Kunikuzushi.”

It’s lovely. It’s everything. It’s your own heavenly delicacy. 

“Kuni. Kuni. Oh, Kuni…” you parrot, voice thick with need.

He’s moving in and out gradually, savoring each time he thrusts up into you and your bodies meet in a perfect connection, slowly rolling his hips into you as if he’s too fearful to destroy something so fragile. Or perhaps he wishes to keep himself intact—to prevent himself from crumbling into a love-drunk mess. When he kisses you, it’s flavorful passion, and the both of you exchange saliva and breath as if you’re each other’s lifelines. You’re not sure what you’re saying anymore, or whether any of it makes sense, but then he’s murmuring all manner of things into your skin as if every admission will tattoo itself upon your very being, engraved into your soul. 

Though it’s spoken in a voice barely above a whisper, you catch it. Faintly, like flickering candlelight, admitted like prayer, he says, “I love you.” 

And with that you fall, vision whiting out as your orgasm seizes you, and you whine your relief when he fucks you through the highs and lows of it. Your chest is heaving when you return, and you bury your face in his shoulder, wanting to feel all of him, to have his warmth affixed to you.

In that moment, there is no such thing as hatred or revulsion. There are no drug- and alcohol-induced feelings. No handcuffs or shackles. There is only love. Lots of it—all of it—filling you to the brim entirely. 

The shadowed space you’ve been confined to is slightly brighter now that you’ve found a star for yourself, and he is a celestial comfort crafted by the threads of fate—for it’s handcrafted destiny that brought the two of you together in a virtual world. Regardless of what awaits you when you’re shaken from this inebriated fantasy, you hope it is just as bewitchingly dazzling as the puzzle you make with Scaramouche. 

“I love you��� Kuni, I love you.” 

He’s crying then, tears falling in twin rivulets, and in response he drives his cock in so deeply it has you arching your back, the motions coaxing precious love cries from the depths of your very heart. Sealing what’s left unsaid in a final kiss—every other emotion, all of the twisted obsession and the horrors of the past month—he empties his load inside, moaning into your mouth. Like a lotus at midnight, you open so obediently for him, your legs wrapped around his waist to pin his body to yours like butterflies spread on an entomologist’s board. 

Of course you love him. After all, there’s no one else for you to adore in this vast, lonesome outer space.

[daughter-lilith]

❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 6 | Final | Read Part 5 here or jump to part 1

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+❕❕

CW (For whole story): Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Grief, Halsin is Emotional!, Kinky! But kinky with love

Word Count: 11.7k (whoops! you can read on ao3 if it's easier on the eyes, but I have faith😈)

*Reminder, this is part 6. ⋆ a few tags for some. @stanfordscrush | @lanafofana | @catch-all | @thoughts-of-bear | @agathaharknessfan96 | @niki-is-a-reblog | @avabjorna36 | @acrobatalien42 | @princesspeachtacular | @amorgansgal | @freshlemontea

The tenderness in Halsin’s voice made you smile, feeling draped in its pleasant warmth. “Come,” you said to him, the flat of your hand softly pushed against his solid chest. He stepped backward, grasping your hips and gently guided you off the counter with a gentle thud.

You slipped past Halsin’s large frame, but not before interlacing your hand with his. With his large hand cupped around yours, you led him out of the kitchen and further into the quietness of your house, past the dining area, and into the spacey living room. You turned, gauging Halsin’s reaction, and found his eyes scanning the room, a curious narrow in his brows as his gaze landed on the wide, dark TV screen. You smiled, rubbing your thumb over his knuckle.

“I’ll tell you all about the changes in this world in the morning.” Your hand slipped out of his as you stepped further into the room. “But there are still some things that would be familiar to you.” You gestured towards the large fireplace at the corner of the room, where several logs were still layered upon one another.

You glanced down as you brought the palms of your hands into view. A heavy sigh flowed through your lips as you thought back to the otherworldly feeling of energy crackling within the tips of your fingers. The power that surged through your body, desperate for release. But that was in your old life, the magic both a distant and considerably recent memory.

“I’d do the honors but,” you nodded towards the fireplace, “I don’t think my magic exists anymore, or it’s severely dormant.” You gave a meek smile, half joking, but a tiny part of gloom sliced through you.

“Of course.” Halsin stepped at your side, facing the fireplace. Orange flames conjured in his hand, reflecting in his hazel eyes as he drew one arm back like he was ready to toss something. “Ignis,” he whispered, casting a bolt of fire directly onto the logs.

Instantly, the flames spread, rising and flickering within the hearth. The dark room was almost immediately illuminated in a soft, red-orange glow. You glanced at Halsin, sighing in awe at the sight of the shimmering light dancing over his face, the way the shadows heightened the intensity of his gaze as he stared at the flames for another moment longer. Halsin turned to you, taking both your hands before lifting them to his lips.

“As for your magic,” he kissed the back of your hand, his breath warm over your skin. “I wager it is only dormant. I do not know much of this world, but I do believe you are full of magic in more ways than one.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a genuine smile curving on your face. Maybe he was right- maybe this world did have magic like in Faerûn, but it had long been lost to the ages, replaced by the consistent advancement of modern technologies. But that was a matter for another time. Right there, right now, you had your druid back and he had you. So you sauntered further away from him, holding your hand up to keep him from following when he took a reactive step towards you. You strolled backward until your bare feet transitioned from the cold wooden floor to the massive, warm rug. The fluffy carpet glided between your toes as you tip-toed towards the center of it, your eyes never leaving Halsin’s.

You reached up to grasp the center of your robe, then pulled it apart, letting it slip freely off your shoulders. When it fell down your arms, you tossed it aside nearby. Halsin watched you intently, silent, his large chest rising and falling. You smirked, then turned away from him, lifting the bottom of your tank top up and over your head then discarded it in front of you. Your house had a gentle warmth hovering in the air, growing warmer from the nearby flames, but a coolness still lingered in the center of the room, ensuring your nipples remained taut.

Halsin’s heart thundered in his chest, his tongue unconsciously sliding across his bottom lip. He had watched your robe slip away, and his gaze quickly scanned your bare arms and thighs. The heat of his budding arousal intensified, a swell straining against his trousers. He watched as you turned around, freeing yourself from the tight shirt you wore. Immediately, he caught sight of the small streak that trailed down the middle of your spine. The mark that seemed to follow you in both your past and present life. The very mark that granted Halsin this chance to be with you again.

You bent forward some, sliding your thumbs inside your underwear, guiding it to fall at your ankles. You arched forward further, purposely poking your bare backside in his direction as you reached for the discarded top. You picked it up and threw it on a nearby couch before fully turning to face Halsin again.

Halsin’s breath caught in his throat as you stood naked and smirking before him, your eyes glued to his with a deep yearning. His mouth felt slick with saliva, and his chest burned with a craving for you. A shaky breath left his throat, his voice low and dripping with devotion. “You are still more intoxicating than anything nature has to offer.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks and a shiver passed over you at the lower pitch of his voice, how he all but shuddered the words. You could only imagine the racing in his heart, it must’ve been beating as fast as yours. And just like the first time in the forest, all those years ago in another life, Halsin gripped at his clothing and swiftly removed it, bending down to step out of his trousers once he discarded his robe. He rose slowly, standing at full height. The light from the fire shone over him wonderfully, accentuating every line, muscle, and contour of his body.

Your gaze trailed over his impressive frame, drifting lower to his large, muscled thighs. You released a soft gasp as you rested on his long, thick erection where the tiniest line of thin fluid dripped from the tip. You bit your lip, feeling yourself throbbing for this god of a man who was standing there waiting for you. It was like seeing him for the first time while also remembering all of your phenomenal moments together, how you never grew tired of the sight of him in his full glory.

“Come back to me, my love,” he whispered a gentle command, already stepping towards you as he spoke.

You smiled, meeting him halfway as his hands reached for your waist, pulling you into him. You gasped, surprisingly unprepared for the rush of pleasure that coursed through your body on first, naked contact. He hadn’t kissed you yet, his eyes still boring into yours, so full and thriving with affection.

“Gods, you are so gorgeous,” you muttered, smiling softly, appreciating the striking druid before you. Your breath caught as you admired the way the flames’ light danced on the side of his face, brightening his tattoo and reflecting in his eyes.

Halsin gave a sheepish smile, almost looking away but managing to hold your gaze. After all this time, he still couldn’t believe you were back in his arms, as you had once been thousands of times before. The moment you came to him in a dream, he never stopped working on how to find you again. His passion was reignited in the hopes of seeing you breathing again- kissing you again, loving you again.

You pressed yourself even closer against his torso, Halsin doing just the same, large hands roaming down your back, resting at the curve of your smooth backside. He bent forward, molding his mouth into yours, already missing your lips. But this kiss was slower, deeper, sensual. There was a tingling urgency that still floated beneath the surface of your kiss, but the relaxed passion was prevailing, your lips easily moving together in expert accuracy. Halsin’s groan rumbled against your chest, the deep vibration heightening your arousal. You loved the sounds he made when he kissed you just as much as you knew he loved your melodic moans. And your passion for one another made it oh so easy to sing such sounds.

“Halsin,” you gasped softly as his lips found their way to your jaw before licking a trail down your neck. Another groan rumbled from his throat as he sucked on your tender skin, sure to leave several marks before soothing it over with his tongue.

Halsin’s large hands gripped you firmly, and his licks and kisses grew eager as the scent of your arousal wafted up to him, setting ablaze the deepest desires within him. There was a sudden stir in his essence, a rattle against the invisible cage as the beast shifted within, hungry, longing for the one who ignited the most primal urges inside of him. But the Archdruid had years of experience under his belt, and he had learned to show some restraint…usually.

If he was lucky, there would be plenty of nights of wild, unbridled, primal passion. But tonight, he wanted you to have him as he was; in his prime, elven form. So suppressing that primal urge, his huge, expert hand worked over one of your breasts, massaging it while his thumb teasingly rubbed over the taut nipple. His other hand secured you at your lower back, keeping you steady as you began to gradually sway within his hold. His tongue slithered its way across your collarbones, over your chest, desperately tasting as much of you as he could.

Halsin continued his descent as a delighted whine escaped your lips just as his mouth closed over a nipple. He loved that sound, just as much as he loved feeling your keen hands combing through his hair and gripping his strong shoulders. He glanced up at you, captivated by your beautiful neck as you tilted your head back, biting your lips. Halsin sucked on you, biting gently, watching you gasp and your teeth scraping your lips before he soothed your sensitive nipple with a warm lick. He moved to your other supple breast, not wanting to neglect it from the same deserving attention. He groaned with your nipple in his mouth and felt your chest prickle at his breath.

Halsin sensed your legs losing strength as you seemed to use more effort to hold onto him, too lost in the sensations his mouth had against your chest. With ease, he hoisted you up, securing your legs around his waist. Halsin shuddered, feeling a dampness pressing against his lower abdomen, you were so incredibly moist for him. His lips were quickly on yours again as he slowly sank to his knees, kissing you for another moment before gently laying you on your back.

You tilted your head up, expecting him to capture your lips again. Instead, Halsin raised himself, placing his hands on your knees as he gazed down at you. An assembly of emotions was present on his beautiful, scarred face: awe, devotion, lust, a hint of sadness, and most importantly, love. Your heart wavered as he surveyed your body before coming back to your eyes again, a tiny smile marking his face as his broad chest filled and emptied with air.

Halsin continued to look down at you as another overwhelming sense of disbelief hit him. But only for a moment as the scent of your arousal was notably stronger in this position, reminding him of how much you ached for him as he did you. He roved his eyes over your lovely, nude body once again, silently thanking nature for its powerful creative skills. You were a vision. A goddess. And you had his heart.

With a wicked smile, you lifted one leg, teasingly sliding your toes down the center of his hard pecs, traveling further down his abdomen. You were about to pull your leg away, but Halsin took hold of your ankle, kissing you there. You smiled contentedly as he peppered sweet kisses up your leg, occasionally showing the other the same attention. He lowered himself, leaving teasing bites along your thighs, his tongue lazily roaming over your warm flesh. You curled your fingers into the furry carpet as his warm breath hovered near the spot you wanted him at most, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Halsin inhaled deeply, groaning hungrily against your heat. “Mmm, that scent.” He quivered, digging his fingers into your thigh. “As exhilarating as I remember.”

A sudden gasp left you as Halsin’s entire mouth clamped over the most tender of your flesh. You let your head fall on the rug, stomach clenching as you started losing yourself in the immediate, wonderful sensations. Halsin’s tongue moved desperately over you, the force of his sucking causing the most melodic mewls and moans from your lips.

Halsin laid himself almost flat, pulling you into his mouth as much as he could. Your taste; the warm, sweet nectar, oh how it invigorated him. He took you in his mouth with ease, your wet, sensitive flesh, so easy for licking and sucking. You were already so slippery before his tongue even tasted you, and now... Halsin groaned at the thought. The chorus of your moans only fueled his desire further, and he sucked your clit harder before rubbing against it with his pointed nose while his tongue glided down to your entrance.

The surface and bottom of his tongue ran long, greedy licks from the top of your clit all the way to the tight hole of your anus, lingering there a while before licking his way back up again. His tongue dipped inside of you, fueled by the loud moan that sang from your lips. You tasted divine, leaking into his mouth as he savored as much as possible. Halsin wanted to drown in you, to feast on you, desperate to be sustained by all you could provide. He devoured you like you were a fresh river he stumbled upon after days of wandering lost in the driest of deserts. And finally, he could drink.

A surge of arousal rushed up his back, amplifying his already racing heart. His pulsing erection pressed into the soft carpet as he unintentionally began moving his hips to rub himself against it. The feel of your legs rubbing haphazardly up his back– your fingers clawing and pulling at his hair, made his cheeks feel flushed, his head hot and drunk with you. A familiar nudge rumbled in his core again, the beast aching to be brought out to play. He practically growled against you, making you whimper at the vibrations his throat gave. He heard you moan his name, and a potent spark raced up his cheeks and into his eyes.

You glanced down just as Halsin looked up at you and gasped at the sight. His irises were glowing a fierce gold, watching you hungrily, intensely, as his mouth continued to devour your rawest flesh. It was one of the sexiest things you had seen in a long time, the men of Earth having no comparison. A sudden thrust from his finger pulled you out of your trance, and you fought the urge to throw your head back, not wanting to look away from this alluring sight. Your toes curled as the feeling of his thick finger explored you, poking against the spot that finally made your head lay back down. Another finger had you gasping at the brief flicker of pain as he slowly stretched you. You’ve had few lovers in this life, but it had been a while since another man or toy had been inside of you.

Halsin lifted his head as trails of saliva stretched between your labia and his mouth before falling away. He wanted to focus on working his fingers inside you, groaning at the way your walls squeezed after his second finger. “Oh, how tight you are, my heart.” His tone was husky and thick with desire, lips glistening wet with you. He had expected some level of tightness, but the idea of just how much you were gripping around only two fingers further excited him for something more, something larger, to feel it suffocating within your walls.

For all the times you and Halsin had been together, the many nights and days you reached your climax, you were often quite tight before starting. If you had gone even a day without sleeping together, your walls took little time to compress, like it looked forward to the stretch, to the pleasure and sting that came with it.

Halsin rotated his fingers slowly, exploring you once again after so long apart. He slid further in, curving his fingers upward with a sudden force. You twitched, and the sound that fell from your lips made the druid smirk, pleased that he still knew where and how to touch you. He almost added a third finger but changed his mind, wanting his stiff cock to be the one to stretch you further. So instead, he shifted the two fingers he had inside of you so his thumb was now probing over the entrance of your anus. Already so lubricated from his saliva and your moisture, he had little resistance squeezing his thumb inside your tighter hole.

“Halsin!” you yelped and arched your back as he continued to work his thick fingers within you, pulling all sorts of soft, airy, pleasurable sounds from your opened mouth. Gods you’ve missed his touch, flooded by the memories of how incredible it was, how well he knew your body. You clenched your stomach as Halsin pumped his fingers faster as a familiar feeling bubbled in your abdomen, spreading further down, consuming you. You tried to lean back a little, the sensation becoming too much to handle but Halsin’s other hand gripped you in place. The sudden suction of his mouth back on your clit sent you over, releasing a sudden, splashing dam of your arousal. You shuddered, breathing hard as your climax soared through you—but Halsin continued, still licking and sucking on your sensitive flesh.

“My Halsin,” you breathed frantically, “please…”

Halsin glanced up at you, irises still burning a bright gold. He smirked against you then released your clit with a final suction from his lips, making you twitch at the sensation. You moaned quietly at the feeling of his fingers slipping out of you. The flat of his tongue licked you up and down once more, cleaning you. You lay flat, breathing heavily as the vibrations that tickled throughout your body gradually subsided. You were still throbbing even after his mouth left you, still so sensitive.

A large figure passed over your droopy eyelids as Halsin lowered himself to plant adoring kisses on your chest and your neck, before hovering above your face. You were half aware of the druid gazing at you, a satisfying closed grin on his face as his fingers idly trailed up your thigh. When your breathing calmed some, you finally focused on him, the golden glow in his eyes still intense, showing no signs of waning. Glancing at his glistening mouth, you started to lean upward but Halsin was first to sever the distance.

A deep, open-mouthed kiss greeted you, his tongue finding refuge in your mouth. You tasted yourself on him, feeling reinvigorated by the taste and scent. One of your legs moved over Halsin’s back, trying to pull him closer to you. He groaned, kissing you passionately before pausing to look at you.

You smiled up at him, sliding a few stray strands of hair out of his face. “Always taking such good care of me,” you sighed, happily, feeling like you could lay there forever. You not only felt satisfied but so safe and protected beneath his large stature even with him leaning a bit to the side.

Halsin chuckled, gazing at you with pure love and desire still aflame in his golden irises. “I live to serve.” He smiled, brushing his lips over yours before caressing them softly.

Your brows furrowed and you frowned a little as a wave of sadness came over you. Staring up at your druid, your elf, your lover, you couldn’t help but wonder what you did to ever deserve such a man- what you did to deserve him coming back to you in this life. You realized just how incredibly lucky you were, and you weren’t going to squander it.

“But who’s taking care of you?” you inquired, tracing your nail down his cheek. Halsin shuddered at your touch, closing his eyes.

You took that chance to gather what strength you could, seizing this distraction. With the assistance of your knee, you quickly pressed the palm of your hands against his chest and pushed. Halsin, half leaning on his side, made it much easier for you to force the large man onto his back. He grunted at the sudden movement, a quick, hearty laugh escaping him. You threw your legs over him, now effectively the one on top.

“My sweet Halsin,” you murmured, rubbing your hands down his large, hairy pecs. He groaned beneath you, staring at you with pure devotion, ready to give whatever you wanted.

Your nails dragged down his abdomen, watching him clench and twitch beneath your touch. Your roving eyes followed your hands’ movements, scanning over his massive frame, so sculpted and perfect, all yours to revel in. You sighed in deep appreciation; he was such a marvel. Your eyes stopped at the length of him resting near his thigh, pulsing and erect, a clear line of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You felt yourself throbbing at the sight, your heart quickening as you eyed Halsin who was staring at you silently, hungrily. Glowing eyes anticipated your next move, his massive chest lifting and falling.

You bit your lip, taking in the sculpted physique of the elf-man. Your hands moved over to each of his biceps, his veins bulging, and gingerly massaged the thick muscles, feeling any and all tension start to slip. You glided your way up the length of his shoulders, kneading and caressing as Halsin sighed contently, watching you through half-open eyes. You frowned as you worked your hands into his muscles as best you could, feeling the tension of what you suspected had lived in him for years.

“So much stress,” you whispered, solemn, leaning down towards him. “You can relax now, my love. I’m here now.”

Halsin released a deep breath, his brows slightly knitting together in a show of adoring appreciation. “Yes, you are. And you’re still so perfect.” His large hands idly roved up and down your waist as you smiled down at him.

So you proceeded to press your hands into his warm skin until you gradually felt his muscles restricting a little less, his shoulders resting more. “I missed this face, my sweet bear,” you droned lovingly, almost losing yourself in the glow of his eyes. “Can I take my time with you?” you asked, tracing a nail along his collarbone.

His voice was husky and breathy in his response, so deep from his throat. “Whatever you wish, my heart. Any part of me is yours.”

Bending down, you placed a tender kiss on the scars above his brow then the other side, beneath his eye where his tattoo continued downwards. Your lips pressed more soft kisses along his cheek until you made your way to his ear, darting your tongue out to lick a trail up to the very sensitive point of his ear. Halsin shuddered, groaning deeply as his grip on your lower waist tightened for a brief moment before relaxing again. You chuckled mischievously at his reaction, pleased to see how sensitive he still was.

Halsin felt himself twitch at the sound of your lascivious laughter in his ear, your warm breath tickling his neck. Sweet, electric tingles danced their way up his body as your lips touched the crook of his neck. He roamed his hands up the length of your back, falling into the heated sensations of your kisses along his skin, the way you put pressure on several areas as though to mark him. Halsin felt himself relaxing more into the soft rug, his body reacting to you in all the right ways. His neck felt cold when you glided away, peppering kisses across his chest. He caught your eyes as you looked up and smiled at him, a wicked glint in your grin.

A heavy groan drawled out of Halsin’s throat as you nipped lightly on one of his nipples, soothing it with a slow lick. Your fingers playfully teased and pinched the other as Halsin tried not to squeeze you too tight so as not to interrupt you. It had been so long since anyone had him like this— since you had him this way. Even before he knew you, no one had taken the time to truly explore Halsin’s body the way you did, to tease and caress at more areas other than what sat stiffly between his legs. But his blood burned in anticipation, eager for your hands to touch him everywhere.

The slickness of your tongue swirled down the center of his abdomen, occasionally stopping to pepper a kiss on each brick of muscle as your hands roamed down his sides. Halsin twitched at the feeling of your warm breath ghosting over his lower abdomen, his heart rate increasing as he observed you eagerly. He watched as you placed a kiss below his navel, then ever lower, pausing to glance at him.

With a cheeky smirk, you rose on your knees, halting the rest of your descent. Halsin made a strained sound, somewhere between a groan and a whine that made a stream of melodic chuckles leave your lips. “Is something the matter, love?” you inquired with a raise of your brow.

Before Halsin could answer, you moved both of your hands to one of his bulky thighs, working the wide muscle. His skin was much warmer there, yet it still prickled beneath your caresses. Halsin reached for your waist, sliding his calloused hands up to cup and knead at your breasts. But his touch faltered as you scraped your nails down his inner thigh, delighted by his sudden hiss and intake of breath. You remembered how he loved it when you touched him there, how it made him twitch and ache with more want. And you could see how much he yearned for more, thick and hard for you, throbbing as it jolted a little, desperate for your attention. Halsin’s lips parted as he muttered your name, his wide chest rising and falling.

Leaning forward, you showered kisses over Halsin’s face, drawing back slightly to look into his eyes. But it wasn’t just the beautiful glow you wanted to gaze at, it was his reaction when you— Halsin hissed, jolting beneath you as his warm breath hit your face. You smirked, pleased with his reaction the moment you slyly reached between the two of you and grasped his waiting, thick cock. A low whine drifted from his mouth as the pad of your thumb swiped over the tip, smearing the wet slick over himself. Your hand moved halfway down his length before you caught his moan in your mouth as you kissed him.

Halsin’s body burned with a new wave of exhilarating desire at the feeling of your expert touch. He felt like pudding beneath you, already so weak for you, heart racing as he watched you pull away from his lips. His body made an involuntary flex of his abdomen as your warm, wet tongue slithered down the middle of his torso, swirling in and around his navel. He murmured your name, pulse racing as your head moved lower. The beast within panted as the slippery slick of your tongue finally touched him where he craved most, licking a long trail up his length. He suppressed the urge to hurriedly raise his hips and push into your mouth, choosing instead to grit his teeth as he laid his head back.

You moaned against Halsin, swirling your tongue around the tip, reveling at the minor hint of salt before your saliva took over. He was so full and heavy in your hands as you opened your mouth more, taking him in. A deep, rumbling groan sounded from above you, and you felt his thighs flex and tighten.

Gradually, you started a nice slow suck, occasionally swirling your tongue around him. You moved up and down, wanting to lower your head further but the position made it difficult to take too much of him. So your hands did what the rest of your throat couldn’t, stroking and massaging the bottom of him, fondling his testicles while your wet mouth sucked and tasted. You moaned again, encouraged by the shaky movements beneath you and the occasional grunts and labored breaths from your druid’s lips. You moved your head faster, stroked him harder, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth.

Tingles prickled all over Halsin’s body as your wet lips cupped around him, your warm mouth taking in as much as you could. He felt your mouth leave him only to then feel your breath hovering over his large sacs, rolling your tongue over them as your hands continued to work his length. Halsin breathed sharply, clenching his jaw at the sensation— so different from his cock and yet triggering new waves of pleasure up and down his legs.

Your moans as you sucked him in and tasted him were sending him near the edge, and his stomach tightened as a charge darted down his center. He felt your tongue slithering back up his shaft again, wasting no time to take the slick girth of him back into your warm mouth. A familiar sensation simmered within Halsin, threatening to launch him off the cliff the longer you had him in your mouth. He gritted his teeth, torn between letting you continue to savor him or halting your actions. He whined as another slurp and hard suck came from you. No– he had to wait, not yet.

Quickly, he grabbed the side of your head and gently but firmly halted you. You eyed him with lust-filled eyes as you pulled away, your mouth parted and dripping. He tingled at the sight, watching the head of his cock leaning against your lips.

“Wait, my heart,” he breathed hard, sweat glistening over his skin. “I want to be as one first, to fill you with me. Please.”

With a mischievous grin, you nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “Of course, my darling.” Teasingly, you flicked your tongue out for one final lick and his eyes flared bright before dimming back to their golden glow.

You crawled back up Halsin’s body and he kissed you eagerly, sloppy, mixing the taste of each other. You drew back before getting too lost in his lips and rose high on your knees. Halsin’s luminous gaze followed you carefully, his breathing ragged. You positioned yourself over him, a sudden rush of heat passing over your body as you glided your wetness along his shaft. Your labia slipped and slid over him with ease, and you bit your lip at the stimulating sensation while Halsin could hardly keep his eyes open. Wanting to tease him no longer, you gripped just below the tip and lifted yourself higher, aligning him just beneath you.

You inhaled, preparing yourself as you gently lowered onto him, hissing softly as your hips gradually descended. A deep, almost animalistic groan rumbled out of Halsin, and his hands reached for your breasts, fondling and massaging you as you bit your lip through the sting of the stretch. You remembered more now, how Halsin could fill you like no other. A blend of pleasure and pain tingled inside you as you continued your descent on his thick, veiny shaft, inch by delicious inch.

Halsin murmured below you, his large hands moving to grasp your waist but without rushing you. “That’s it, my love. Let me open you. You always take me so well.” His sweet praises made you moan and mewl until you finally reached the base.

You felt so incredibly full of him, like he was deep in your stomach. Instead of moving up and down, you started slowly grinding your hips first, allowing your moist walls more time to adjust. Pleasure still shot through you as you eyed Halsin’s radiant eyes, gazing up at you, mouth hung open. You placed your hands against his chest, your confidence building as you began to lift slightly before sliding back down. The pain began to wane under the pleasure as you started bouncing your hips with more passionate fervor, gasping every time you reached the bottom of him.

A chorus of moans and sweet compliments filled the room as Halsin watched you take him expertly. “You are such a vision,” he whispered beneath you. A long drag of his breath flowed from his mouth at the sight of himself disappearing inside you, over and over.

You still felt so tight around him, damp and warm, but he knew the pleasure was overcoming any pain from the way you rode him, taking him like he was meant only for you. His hands on your waist began to grip you, gently assisting in the movements of your hips, unable to resist pressing up into you each time you came down. “You feel incredible,” Halsin breathed, low, his mouth parting nicely.

The glow in Halsin’s eyes only doubled the euphoric sensations. He too felt incredible. Looked incredible. It was intoxicating, phenomenal, powerful. You reveled in each other, a perfect match, a perfect rhythm. It was all so much— the feel of him within you, the desire and love that burned only for you.

A sudden dizziness filled your head as your vision started to alter. Your face prickled with goosebumps as visions – no – memories flashed in front of you. Breathy moans, needy hands, thrusting and kissing, soft soothing, climaxes reached again and again.

You saw it all, you and Halsin, the many times you came as one. You felt it all. Every taste, every touch, every orgasm rushing into your entire being all at once. A tsunami of sensations washed over you with no mercy. You keeled forward, wobbly and uneven. You were acutely aware of glowing eyes laced with worry as they looked up at you. Your forearm trembled as you used it to hold yourself a little as you rested against Halsin’s hard chest.

“What is it, my heart? Are you hurt?” Halsin seized all movements, forcing down the haze of lust as he frantically searched your face.

His heart quickened, no longer with hunger but with fear. He lifted your face to look at him, your eyes closed as you breathed rapidly. “My heart? Please speak to me.”

“Just… just need a moment.” You took in a deep breath, then another, trying to quell the overwhelming feeling. It wasn’t that the sudden flood of feelings didn’t feel nice per se, it was just all so sudden, so unexpected, and probably entirely more than you could handle at the moment as all your memories caught up with you.

“We can rest, my love. We need not rush anything.” Before you could respond to him, you gasped as he suddenly lifted your hips, sliding out of you. The loss immediately left you feeling cold and empty without his fill.

Halsin gently shifted positions so you were on your back now, then glanced around the living room. The nearest couch had a square pillow in arm's reach, which he grabbed and placed beneath your head. He then laid at your side, half leaning over you, eyeing you with solemn concern.

The carpet was soft against your back as you felt your pulse throbbing. But you took comfort in Halsin’s warmth that assisted in calming you.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your vision clearing, effectively bringing you back to the present.

“There is nothing to be sorry for, my love.” He kissed your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. “We can proceed tomorrow, or any other—

“No,” you snapped, heart quickening, your arousal still burning. “I still want you. I need you. Right now.”

“But you nearly lost yourself, what if—”

“My memories,” you said, sighing. “It seems some chose to reconnect with me while you and I were… connected.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion but waited for you to continue. “I saw us. Nearly all the times we were together as one. In the forest, at camp, at our home. I could feel us, Halsin. How incredible we were together.” You reached up for his face, tracing your thumb down his bottom lip. “It just became so much for that moment. But it’s easing now. I’m okay.”

“Are- are you certain?” Halsin would be deceiving himself if he said his blood still wasn’t burning, that his cock still didn’t throb so eagerly for you, still coated with your moist. But he had to be sure you truly still wanted this and could handle it, for he had no issue putting your comfort first.

“I want you,” you murmured, reaching down to stroke his still-hardened length, slippery with you. “And I think you still want me, too.” You smirked, your heart soaring at the tenderness in his eyes. But you were not blind to the desire that still swelled within him, for the golden glow of his irises still had not dimmed.

“Silvanus preserve me,” he groaned, kneading against your thigh. “I- I do still want you. I want you more than I can bear it. I want to drown in you. To reclaim what is mine and for you to take what is yours.”

Your heart raced at his confessions, and your lips curved into a naughty smirk. You ran a finger down the side of his face then over his bottom lip. “Then come back to me.”

You watched him pondering for a moment before he leaned down to capture your lips. Tender, slow, and passionate, your mouths molded together effortlessly.

“As you wish, my heart. But allow me.” He positioned his body fully over yours, resting his weight on his forearms as he used his knee to spread your legs so he could settle in between.

His breath was warm on your lips as you gazed at one another. This close and this still, you were even more mesmerized by the sight above you. The way the firelight danced on the side of his face, how his eyes still burned for you, a magical golden light. You were so warm beneath him, so protected.

Halsin tilted his head, a loving smile on his face. “You are remarkable, do you know that?”

You twisted your lips, feigning a deep thought. “Yes. Yes, I do know.” You chuckled playfully, and Halsin laughed right along with you, vibrating against your chest.

“Oh, so I should reduce my compliments, then?”

You gasped. “Don’t you dare. Tell me more.” You grinned, then bit your lips to try to keep from smiling.

Halsin leaned down, kissing you once. “You are beautiful.” A lick along your jawline. “Incredible.” He sucked lightly on your neck, making you moan and giggle a little. “Ravishing.” He froze, his breath hot and heavy near your ear. “Extraordinary.” He lifted his head to look at you again, his voice deep and serious. “And I love you more than anything.”

Before you could answer, a whimper erupted from your mouth as he suddenly sank back inside you in one full thrust. You felt immediately stuffed again, missing his girth, his warmth. You tossed your head back, exposing your neck for Halsin who wasted no time peppering kisses and adding more marks to your skin.

Your living room was an orchestra of passion; sounds of heavy, ragged breathing, strained mewls, grunts, and deep groans. All accompanied by the crackling noises of the embers dancing within the fireplace, as if the flames themselves were encouraging your lovemaking. Your hands roamed down Halsin’s back, scratching and pulling him closer to you as much as possible. You were skin to skin and it still didn’t feel like enough.

Halsin lifted one of your legs back, raising it almost near the side of your head, and when he thrust back in, another gasp wafted from your lips. He felt so much deeper that way, a total and complete part of you. A flurry of euphoric sensations bubbled throughout your body, a burning heat mixed with sudden chills down your spine. Halsin moved within you skillfully, smoothly, your tightness eagerly sucking him back in during every stroke and thrust.

Halsin’s breathing was ragged, consumed by the feeling of you, how warm and wet you were. He was driven by how well you took him, how well he fit buried deep inside you. He reveled in your sultry moans near his ear, the sweet sounds more entrancing than a harpy’s luring song. He kissed you whenever possible, passionate and unsteady as the pleasure from your connection was too distracting. He groaned a low, growl-like rumble, then felt your fingers dig into his flesh in response.

Once again, Halsin was caught in a well of utter disbelief. He never thought he’d have you again, be with you again. He was growing content with the temporary moments of your presence in his meditations or dreams. But when you truly came to him in a dream, a different version of you, the opportunity for another chance… his heart leaped for it. Nothing and no one could stop him from trying to find you again. And so he gazed down at you, and there you were… face flushed with pleasure, eyes dazed and heavy with lust yet swelling with love.

Halsin watched your lips part, wet from his tongue, while dots of sweat glistened over your forehead as you eagerly welcomed him within you. You were beautiful. You were real. A familiar burn in his eyes caused his vision to slightly blur as new tears strolled down his face, some landing on your cheek and your nose.

“To have you again,” Halsin uttered through shaky words, voice hot and hoarse. “Oak Father, do not let this be a dream.” He allowed his emotions to do as they pleased— to simmer, burn, and cry for you. He dipped down and molded his mouth to yours once again, groaning into your kiss, never wanting to part from you. His tongue tasted you fiercely, trying to get as deep as possible. Halsin’s feelings for you surged wildly into the kiss, and he breathed you in like he would perish without your air.

Time was a distant thought as your hot, sweat-slicked bodies moved against each other. You kissed Halsin back whenever you could, other times too overcome with the height of ecstasy buzzing in your body. When you couldn’t return the kiss, his lips moved to your jaw, your chin, your neck, anywhere he could get his mouth on. An intense pressure filled your abdomen, and you unintentionally clenched yourself around Halsin’s cock, unable to handle the rising sensations as you writhed beneath him.

Halsin’s grunts became more constant and ragged as he increased his speed, drilling himself into your clenching heat. He leaned his hips forward some, and the light bristles of his pubic hair grazed your clit, eliciting another moan from you. He grinned and pressed more of his lower weight on you, rubbing against your clit while he burrowed deeper as a low rumble, almost growl vibrated in his chest.

“My heart.” A jagged breath between teeth as his movements quickened, his rhythm growing irregular.

Through hooded eyes, you stared at his glowing ones before lifting your chin, exposing your neck again. Your back arched, body prickling and hot as Halsin’s thick fingers dug into your thigh, grounding himself into you. Another overwhelming feeling rushed over your body, your walls clenching, belly electric. “My Halsin,” you moaned and he thrusted into you hard, the hardest yet tonight. Warm fluid spilled into you as Halsin growled from the depths of his throat, burying his head in the crook of your neck as you felt him twitching inside of you.

Wave after wave of euphoria washed over you. You turned your head towards Halsin, kissing the side of his face, wanting to taste his lips. But a gasp left your mouth as Halsin hurriedly withdrew from you, once again leaving you feeling cold without him. You knew Halsin, you knew he wasn’t quite finished spending himself within you, in the middle of still thrusting out his orgasm. And even so, he loved to sit in you for a while, even after he came down from his peak. So you watched him with concern as he lifted his weight on his hands and knees so none of his body was touching you.

“Halsin?” your breathy whisper came out quickly just as a familiar stream of golden light swam over the length of his body. A light you remembered all too well.

Halsin glanced at you once. No longer was it just his irises shimmering, but the entire space of his eyes. In a quick burst of light, the elf was gone, in his place a creature coated in dark brown fur, fierce and powerful. But it was not the shape you were expecting, not the robust cave bear you knew so well. No, this was a canine— golden eyes shining in the body of a beautiful, massive, dire wolf. The wolf tossed his head back and the loudest keening howl sang from his mouth. You gasped, but not out of fear but from surprise.

It was a thrilling sight, and you couldn’t help but elicit a quick giggle as you tried to shush him, hoping the neighbors wouldn’t be pulled out of their slumber. The wolf’s howling mewled to a gradual end and he—Halsin— lowered his head to survey you. His bright, golden eyes glimmered, and his heavy panting gave you a peek at sharp incisors. He was gorgeous, how his glimmering eyes stood out against dark fur. You knew it was brown like his hair, but in this dim light, it was practically as black as the night. And his head was large, larger than that of a modern wolf. Your heart was still pounding as the mighty wolf met your eyes, slightly showing its teeth.

You could almost see Halsin’s smirk and desire for you. His dark snout twitched as he began sniffing, working his way over you. The wolf dipped his head towards you, and his long, flat tongue flicked out, lapping at your chest. You shivered at the feeling, letting him taste you as his long tongue dragged over each of your breasts. It felt warm and slick, slithering along your collarbone and up the column of your neck then back down again. Something like a faint growl rumbled in the wolf’s throat as the hot air from his heavy panting coasted further down your belly. You watched with bated breath, a new excitement tickling your bones as the wolf made his way sniffing down your body.

His long snout gently butted your knees, opening them back up since you obliviously brought your legs together after Halsin’s exit. The wolf’s tongue darted out, lapping at your still-so-sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, stomach tightening. You were still so tender, so raw, and yet your hands reached down to dig through the fur between his long ears. Something between a growl and low whine vibrated against you as Halsin’s wolf tongue swiped over your combined fluids, like he was both cleaning and enjoying you.  

“Halsin,” you mewled, caught in a half daze at the beast beneath you, your lover, your druid. This wasn’t the first time you explored each other while Halsin was in wild shape, but in this life, in this body, the sensations it brought felt so amazingly new.

His snout pressed against your clit, inhaling as his long tongue slithered inside your sex, curving wonderfully. Oh how you wished you had the magic or potion to speak with animals. You wanted to hear that animalistic tone laced in Halsin’s already deep voice.

A tremor flushed down your stomach as Halsin’s wolf savored you, careful with his sharp teeth. He lapped at you hungrily, the wolf’s breath so much hotter, heavier. You glanced down, meeting deep, glowing eyes that were piercing into you, a wet snout poking against you. With that sight and fresh sensations, it didn’t take long for another surge of ecstasy to fill your abdomen, rushing to its peak as your vision wavered momentarily. A loud wail sang from your throat as the wolf made a satisfying whine against you before his tongue glided back up your torso.

The wolf rose tall, his long tongue flicking over his nose and mouth where your wetness coated him. There was another burst of golden light as Halsin returned to his elven form, panting above you. “Forgive me, my heart,” he was apologetic but still smiling as he spoke. “I could not escape the sudden urge to…howl. And I fear my own lungs would not have done it justice.”

Catching your breath, you spoke between heavy sighs. “Oh, you felt the urge to just howl, was it?” You raised a brow, nodding cheekily towards your inner thighs, still tingling.

He chuckled, a deep hearty sound. “Ah, then you must forgive the wolf for also wanting to indulge.”

You burst into a fit of giggles and laughter as Halsin joined in on the moment of humorous bliss. His face was glistening with sweat, and his eyes had finally dimmed, returning to their normal hue of hazel. His sincere laugh warmed your chest, and you curled your arms around his neck, pulling him back down to you. His hair tie must have broken during his transition, as now his silky hair spilled freely down his face, tickling your cheeks.

“You might’ve woken the neighbors,” you said, smiling, sliding some of his hair behind one ear. “I don’t exactly live near any wolves.”

“Then let them presume they were dreaming.” He smirked, lowering his voice mischievously. “You were quite loud yourself, my heart. Perhaps they’ll suspect a wolf devoured you tonight.”

You playfully patted his chest, grinning wider now as you laughed together. After a few moments, the laughter subsided and Halsin released a deep breath as he regarded you. There was a new look in his warm eyes, a cloud of peace with storms of the deepest devotion he had for you.

Halsin leaned even closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. “I never thought I’d hear that sound again.”

Your fingers idly played with his hair. “What sound?”

“The sweet song of your laughter.” He took another incredulous breath, slightly shaking his head. “I never stopped missing it.”

Halsin did not wait for your response, his mouth was already pressing into yours, unable to stay away from your lips for too long. It was a long, passionate kiss, deep and teeming with the promise of all your affection for each other.

Completely consumed by him, it was easy to melt into his kiss, his warmth and strong body over you. But finding the strength, you broke the kiss, cupping his face with both of your hands. “I love you, too,” you whispered, staring deep into his eyes, “so, so much, my sweet Halsin.”

Halsin’s heart swelled at your words, to hear them again after a little more than a decade. He still felt the same tickle of nerves in his stomach, and he smiled happily before dipping to kiss you again. Your tongues moved languidly over the other, hot breaths mingling together, noses occasionally rubbing past each other. His heart thumped along to the blissful tune coursing through his veins. “I love you,” the timbre in his voice was lower, passionate. “I love you. I love you,” Halsin murmured again and again, feeling you smile against his lips.

After some time sharing more passionate, languid kisses, you repositioned yourselves in a seated position, sidling your backs up against the nearest couch. Halsin draped an arm around you, pulling into his side as one of your legs lazily nestled between his thick thighs. He felt so incredibly overjoyed, so lucky resting at your side. Your warm, naked bodies fit together perfectly. He was bristling with delight, and if you asked him to remain that way forever, entangled in each other’s arms, he’d do every and anything in his power to make it happen.

“I’ve always loved the bear,” you murmured, your voice filling in the long stretch of comfortable silence. “But I didn’t realize how much I missed the wolf. What a nice surprise.”

Halsin chuckled, the deep rumble softly shaking your head that rested on his broad chest. “Well, I myself sometimes forget the many shapes I can possess. And if I recall,” his voice dropped an octave, starved and daring. “You once took a liking to the tiger as well.”

You shivered at this reminder, inhaling a quick breath. There was a time, long ago, when you and Halsin were engaging in one of your many hunter-prey games. He would chase you through the forest, sometimes as himself, sometimes as the bear. But one time, however, you were pounced on by a great, saber-tooth, its rumbling growl making you moist. It was quite the night, to say the least.

“Mmm, I did indeed.” You sighed, feeling a pleasurable tickle at the memory. “You only showed me the tiger that one night. But there was a time it enticed me again… you were so incredible, so amazingly ravenous so—” Your stomach dropped before you could finish, stricken silence by the memory that flashed in your mind.

“So…?” Halsin hummed, kissing the top of your head.

Your heart rate began to spike, and by the way Halsin shifted to see you better, you knew he felt a change as well. It was too late to gloss over this. “Vlaakith,” you said bitterly.

Halsin tensed immediately. “What?”

“That was the last time I saw the tiger…” you sighed, your fingers unconsciously tracing the same pattern over his chest again and again.

“I…right.” His voice was distant, dry, like he was suddenly so far away.

You wanted to turn over, to hug him and erase the sting of those memories. But you couldn’t stop your thoughts from overriding you, a new curiosity that burned within you. The last thing you saw on the Astral Plane was Halsin, down on his knees, wounded with grief while all your friends surrounded him.

“Did you… did you return home after I…well…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say ‘died’ because it didn’t feel that way to you, not entirely. It was more like you simply fell asleep and then woke up on Earth: a child, into a teen, into an adult. A second life.

Halsin released a deep breath, like he wanted to slam the door to those memories. “I did not.”

You frowned, turning so you could look at him. You sat up, watching him as he gaped aimlessly down the center of your naked bodies. But you remained quiet, sensing he was not finished. You wanted to ask him so much but instead gave him a chance to further explain.

“I took to roaming again, for a little while.” He obliviously ran his fingers up and down your thigh, occasionally squeezing.

“What is a ‘little while?”

“Two years.”

You sulked a little, imagining him wandering through the depths of nature, never staying in one place permanently. It was once something Halsin craved for, something he enjoyed… until he met you. You helped him find his true nature, or at least a new nature. With you, it was easy to plant his roots. He had a home with you, with the community you both built together.

“Were you alone?” you asked, tentatively.

“I was.”

“Oh Halsin,” you whispered, reaching to cup his face. His eyes were starting to glisten, but no tears ever fell.

“I could not go back to our home. I was not ready yet.” He finally looked at you, leaning into your touch.

You felt your own eyes watering now, a stinging heat building in your throat. “I’m so, so sorry. You must’ve been so angry with me, maybe even hated me...” One tear slid down your cheek, then another as a dam of emotions broke through you. The sight of Halsin in the Astral Plane, emotionally broken beyond repair when you faded from his grasp, gone forever in his eyes. Your friends gathered around him, mourning, yelling, enraged. It made you feel the worst case of guilt possible.

It was Halsin’s turn to drag his hand under your chin, furrowing his brows in confusion as his thumb swiped under a fallen tear. “Angry?”

You sniffled a little, struggling to hold eye contact. “For what I did… I- Lae’zel… she must’ve been so angry too.” You remembered moving before thinking, seeing your friend’s life in fatal danger. So you acted. You didn’t think that you would actually—

“No.” The tone in Halsin’s voice made you look at him again. His eyes were calm, gentle, and full of everlasting love. “You would’ve done the same for anyone because that is who you are. I will not lie to you, my heart. Yes, I was irrevocably saddened, heartbroken, and missing you every day. But I was never angry with you, I could never hate you. Never.”

You let him caress your face for a moment, still sniffling softly as his words settled in. The tension in your chest began to ease, but it didn’t fully quell the pain you felt for him. Imagining him alone…

Halsin’s calm voice reached you again. “And Lae’zel, well, she only blamed herself. All of her anger, her rage, she aimed it within, wishing it was her instead.”

You sighed, believing every word. Lae’zel had solidified herself as one of your sisters. You knew without a doubt she would’ve done the same for you, would’ve switched places with you. You could only hope she eventually forgave herself. You peered at Halsin, who was still tenderly caressing your cheek.

“And you, did things…did it get better for you?”

Halsin released a deep breath, smiling meekly. “The wound never healed, but it did get a little better with time. Though I suspect it would’ve taken me into the greatest lengths of old age to get even close to fully healing.”

Your face fell, and you would’ve lowered your entire head were it not for Halsin still holding you.

“As for being alone,” he said, raising your gaze back to him. “It was not forever. Eventually, our friends found me, deep in the forests of Icewind Dale, two months or so after I passed through Neverwinter.”

You perked up at this, your quiet weeping starting to slow. “But you detest bitter winters, and you went so far north?”

“Mm, I did. I ventured mostly as the bear than the man. And I was quite away from civilization but…I seemed to forget how resourceful our friends can be.” A lightness entered his tone, and you couldn’t help but start to smile.

“Resourceful…or they simply asked the people of Neverwinter if they happened to see a tall, hulking elf pass by?”

Halsin laughed, kissing your tear-stained cheek. “Perhaps both. Nevertheless, after some tenacious encouragement, they convinced me to return home, that they would remain with me.”

You turned some more, massaging your hand down one of his arms, idly rubbing his biceps. “And did they stay?”

Halsin grinned. “Oh yes, for a few years actually. They made it feel as close to home again as was possible. All the banter, heavy and light conversations, reminiscing on our love for you… It is through them that the pain became more bearable.”

You gave a small smile, still heartbroken that he had to go through that kind of pain in the first place. But forever thankful for the friends who became your family.

“I’m glad they were there,” you said, sighing, already exhausted from the flood of emotions.

“As am I,” he responded, leaning in to give you a tender kiss. “But eventually it was my turn to encourage them to return to the lives they built. Slowly, they left, one by one.” He paused for a moment, watching you carefully, gently. “Lae’zel lingered the longest, but eventually she too returned to the red dragons, but not without consistent visits every so often.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze drifting off. Again, his updates brought you both joy and a hint of gloom. It was wonderful to hear that everyone had come together for the man you loved most, but it still pained you over the circumstances it was under. As if sensing your emotional conflict, Halsin whispered your name, drawing your attention back to him.

“Do not burden yourself with sorrow for me, my heart.” He took one of your hands and placed it near the center of his chest, over the powerful thumping of his heart. “For mine is no longer in pain. Whether through fate, the Oak Father’s blessings, or sheer luck, you have been brought back to me.”

You exhaled deeply, at a loss for words. You took one of Halsin’s hands and placed it over the center of your ribs, then closed your eyes. You inhaled a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of both of your pulses, the blood pumping throughout your bodies. You felt Halsin breathing in a similar fashion, feeling the heavy rise and steady fall of his chest. In a short time, his heart was beating to the tune of yours, and you couldn’t tell whose heart was whose. This must’ve taken great effort from him, for he was much larger, needing more effort for his blood to pump throughout his body. But still, you remained like that for a while, lost in the rhythm of your hearts.

When you opened your eyes, Halsin soon did the same. With a closed grin, you lifted his hand from your chest and kissed the back of his fingers. You could still hardly believe this night was happening, and yet the other part of you -who once lived in Faerûn- was so used to nights like this, wanting and needing more. Which made you wonder…

“So, assuming you can reopen a portal, do you… plan on going back?” You couldn’t restrain the abrupt flutter of nerves that passed through you. He was almost going to leave tonight, so close to slipping out of your life for who knew how long, possibly forever.

Halsin was silent for a few moments, considering. “That depends, are you by my side?”

A new wave of nerves, but for another reason entirely. “I mean… it would be nice to see everyone again…”

Halsin perked up, beaming, you could almost taste his excitement. “And they would be overjoyed to see you again! Just as I am.”

You returned the smile, his visible joy so infectious. The idea of seeing your friends again, of stepping foot onto Faerûn again was almost a mad thought after spending all this time living on Earth. It was exciting and invigorating, but you didn’t hold that energy for long, your mind pondering as you glanced off to the side.

Halsin calmed some when he noticed the shift in you, bringing his finger beneath your chin. “But your home is here,” he said softly, more so as a statement than a question.

“Yes. But Faerûn is my home, too. They’re my family, and they're still out there…” you sighed, conflicted.

“That is true. And now your family has grown.” He kissed the corner of your lips then the top of your cheek. “You do not have to choose, my love. I know your heart and I believe you have forged great bonds in this new world, ones that cannot easily be abandoned.”

You nodded in agreement, thinking of your closest family and friends. They may all just be human, and not have any special magic that’s innate to them or gifted to them by following a god, but they were still your family. Your Earth family. And yet, so were your companions who you adventured with, battling devils and gods and all manner of foes in between.

Halsin’s gentle, deep voice pulled you out of your mind. “Perhaps just a visit, then? Gale and I did not have much time to discuss how often travel between these realms would be possible, but if we can master opening the proper portal from time to time, I see no reason why you must say goodbye to one world permanently. But first—” he glanced around the calm, firelit, lavish living room. “I would like to see more of your realm for a while, should you wish.”

Your heart soared at this, excitement bubbling within you. It didn’t have to be as complicated as you were making it. And the thought of Halsin staying here with you for however long a while was, made you want to show him as much as possible. All the modern changes but also how nature was just as beautiful here, still unique and wild. But the very first priority: shopping for new clothes. His druidic garbs, as much as you loved them, weren’t exactly with the times. But they’d be perfect for a festival or convention, and the wheels were already spinning for some you could take him to. You suddenly felt eager to gauge his reaction to all the humans who dressed up as creatures and races that truly existed in another reality, on another plane.

“Always the problem solver.” You leaned into him but not too close where you’d break eye contact. “And you do remember the disguise-self spell? Though I very much love your—” You dragged one of your nails up the length of Halsin’s ear, stopping at the tip. He shuddered, eyelids nearly closing. “It would save you from a series of repetitive questions if we humanized them a bit.”

Halsin rumbled a hearty, genuine laugh, quaking your body. “Easily done, as long as I get to show you my true self in private.”

A spark flickered in your belly at his drop in tone. You tenderly kissed the tip of his ear, then his cheek, his jawline. Halsin simply sighed, reveling in the pleasure of your soft, sweet kisses and consistent adoration.

“So it’s settled then,” you said, strategically rubbing your leg over his thigh and accidentally against his newly hardening length. “There will soon be a time for reunions and new introductions. But for now… I’ll enjoy having you all to myself.”

Halsin groaned as you rubbed against him again, his hot blood rushing back to fill the swell of his cock once more.

You turned and swung your legs over him, officially and effectively straddling his hips, still damp for him and dripping more by the second. A new thrill of desire awakened your beating heart and you dipped down, capturing his lips in a needy, starving kiss.

Halsin was quick to reciprocate, his large hands roaming up the length of your back, pulling you into him. But you broke the kiss as a sudden realization entered your mind. Halsin instinctively leaned towards you, chasing your lips, already breathing heavily. You threw your fingers up, placing them on his mouth, halting him with a wicked smile.

“You know,” you began, “I just realized I was the one who was supposed to find you. But instead, you found me. How incredibly unfair of you.” You mock frowned, dragging a finger down his chest.

“And how would you have found me, my love?” He gazed at you, grinning, a curious glint in his sparkling hazel eyes.

“Maybe I would’ve remembered my other life sooner and tried to open a portal of my own.”

Halsin raised an inquisitive brow. “I was under the impression that this realm did not have magic in the way we know.”

“I’m sure I would’ve figured it out by way of science of course,” you teased, laughing lightly which only seemed to make Halsin smile wider. “Which is our version of magic.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, we can pretend this night hasn’t yet happened. I’ll return to Faerûn and wait for you to come find me.”

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed, intentionally bouncing yourself atop his thighs which caused an abrupt groan from his throat. You glided your hips a little, feeling him twitch beneath you, which pulled the most euphoric sigh from his mouth.

You wanted to keep teasing him with your body, watching his eyelids weaken as he slipped away into the wells of his deepest desire for you. But it was your heart that made the next move as you stared at him sincerely, your expression shifting into something more serious, overcome with the love you had for your druid.

You started softly stroking his cheek, warmth pooling in you at the pure and utter devotion in his eyes. You knew he was only teasing you about leaving, but the thought alone made you feel ill. You had your druid back. He had you back, and neither time nor space had the power to keep you permanently apart. You both had another chance, and whatever may come, you were confident you’d have lifetimes of fresh chances to find each other.

Halsin’s eyes softened as his mouth relaxed into just a hint of a smile as he gazed at you. He could stare into your eyes forever. He could sit there with you forever. He’d create a protective bubble around you both, forgetting the world outside, forgetting time itself. He had always put nature first, but nature, for all the love and reverence he had for it– it could not fill his heart the way you do.

And when you next spoke, you looked directly into his beautiful eyes, ensuring he knew and felt every word as it flowed so lovingly from your lips. “I love you so much, my Halsin. And like I chose all those years ago, I still want to stay by your side. I’m so happy you found me.”

A flicker of gold flashed in his eyes, and his gentle finger brushed under your chin. “And I will always find you. In every life, my heart.”

And that's that! Is it me or is kinky sex draped in love just the best? Also, Bear Halsin is still supreme, I just wanted to show some love to his other wild shapes in this story.

Anywho, thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented and/or reblogged.🖤💜🖤💜 I hope you all enjoyed this emotional reunion, and thank you for taking the time to read this little novella that was supposed to be around 7k words at the most…😬

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part III)

Plot Overview:

Y/N is caught between her father’s crumbling empire and Chan’s rebellion. As she help Chan track down missing operatives, their bond grows, leading to a deadly confrontation that forces Y/N to question her loyalty. Chan offers a chance to dismantle her father’s empire, and though torn, Y/N chooses to join him, starting a dangerous journey to reshape their future.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, Mafia!AU, mature themes, emotional distress, angst, violence, dangerous situations, strong language, mental health struggles, (the smut will be in the next chapter🤭)

PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V, PART VI, FINAL PART

Author note:

Well, well, well, look at us—third chapter in, and I’m still alive to tell the tale! 😂 This chapter? Yeah, it’s a beast. I’ve never written anything this long or complex, and honestly, I’m half-wondering if I’ve accidentally started writing an entire novel instead of just a chapter. But here we are, diving into some serious emotional roller coasters, plot twists, and the kind of chaos that makes me question my sanity.

I really hope you all enjoy this wild ride as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it (even if it has given me a few grey hairs along the way). Your support means the world to me! So buckle up, we’re just getting started. And, as always, drop me a comment if you’re loving or hating something—I’m here for all of it. Let’s keep this adventure going! ✨ Also, just a little heads up… the next chapter is going to get a little smuttier 😉.

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The first rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, the muted warmth doing little to soften the chill that lingered in the room. You stretched, pushing off the weight of sleep with a growing restlessness. The space was luxurious but sterile, the kind of calculated opulence that screamed control rather than comfort.

When the door creaked open, breakfast was placed on a table near the window, and the figure delivering it slipped out as quickly as they’d come. You ignored it, slipping through the door before it could click shut. You weren’t going to spend the morning caged.

The hallways were quiet, the air filled with a faint hum of electricity. The mansion was sprawling but not ostentatious, its corridors lined with muted artwork and design choices that reeked of deliberation. It wasn’t your father’s world of obvious power and intimidation. It was colder. Subtler.

You found yourself wandering into a study. Unlike the other rooms, this one felt alive. A faint coffee scent lingered, mixing with the tang of paper and leather. A massive map dominated one wall, scattered with colored pins and strings. You moved closer, scanning the markings.

It didn’t take long to piece together what you were looking at. It was a blueprint of Victor’s empire—supply chains, strongholds, key distribution hubs. The red pins marked locations already compromised, while others, still green, pulsed with potential. A web of alliances and pressure points sprawled before you like an open wound.

You leaned forward, your eyes narrowing as they landed on a cluster of yellow-marked routes near the northern sector. The shipping lines there were irregular, crisscrossing in ways that screamed inefficiency. You could see where Chan’s strategy was stuck—his carefully laid plans bottlenecked by gaps he hadn’t yet closed.

Your fingers brushed across the documents scattered on the desk—financials, coded logs, surveillance notes. Victor’s empire wasn’t just cracking; it was being dismantled piece by piece.

“You’re full of surprises.”

The sound of Chan’s voice cut through the stillness, low and smooth. You straightened but didn’t turn. “And you’re full of shadows. How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to wonder if I should be worried.” His tone carried its usual casual confidence, but his eyes flicked toward the papers you’d been studying. “Finding everything to your liking?”

You turned, leaning back against the desk with deliberate nonchalance. “Interesting work. Though I can’t tell if the overcomplication is intentional or just your style.”

Chan stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sharp as it swept over you and the map. “Overcomplication?”

You tilted your head toward the yellow routes. “You’re clogging your own lanes. The northern supply chain is built for redundancy, but instead of reinforcing efficiency, you’re creating a choke point. It’s obvious Victor did it to keep people guessing, but now you’re tripping over it.”

Chan’s eyes flicked to the map, and for the first time, he hesitated. “Interesting observation.”

“Observation? No. Solution,” you corrected, stepping toward the map. “You’re trying to seize control of both eastern and northern routes simultaneously. That’s why it’s falling apart. Drop the secondary lines from the north—they’re dead weight. Consolidate the flow into two hubs instead of four, and you’ll cut transit time by half.”

He stared at the map, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

His gaze returned to you, sharper now, as if trying to read the thoughts you hadn’t spoken aloud. “Why are you helping me?”

You held his stare, refusing to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

His smirk grew, slow and deliberate. “That’s not an answer.”

“No,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “It’s not.”

The room seemed to shrink under the tension, the air thick with unspoken questions. Finally, Chan broke the silence. “You know, if you keep showing off, I might start thinking you want a seat at the table.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his smirk with a wry one of your own. “Maybe I just like proving you wrong. You’re not as untouchable as you think, Chan. Your plans aren’t perfect.”

“And yet,” he countered, “here you are, improving them.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the map. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you could keep up.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “And?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your smirk sharp as a blade. “Jury’s still out.”

Chan stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his presence but not enough to invade your space. “You’re still dodging my question, Y/N. Why help me? Are you so confident Victor can withstand it?”

Your jaw tightened at the mention of your father. “Maybe I’m not as confident in Victor as you think.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, though he quickly masked it. “Careful. That almost sounded like an admission.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you shot back, your tone lighter but no less firm. “I haven’t picked a side. Yet.”

The faintest flicker of something crossed his face—respect, intrigue, or perhaps a mix of both. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “But when you do, make sure it’s the right one.”

You laughed, the sound short and humorless. “And which side is that? Yours?”

“I’m not the one clinging to a crumbling empire,” he said smoothly. “I’m building something new. Something better.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was unshakable confidence. It annoyed you as much as it intrigued you.

“Better is subjective,” you said finally.

“Then help me define it.” His voice dropped, soft but unyielding. “You’re smart enough to know the cracks in Victor’s empire can’t be patched. The question is, what do you want to see rise from the ashes?”

For the first time, you didn’t have an immediate answer.

Chan’s smirk returned, lighter now but no less self-assured. “Think about it,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll see if your suggestion works. But if it doesn’t…”

“It will,” you interrupted.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back with a grin that was equal parts challenging and amused. “We’ll see.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with the map, the documents, and the weight of his words.

What do you want to see rise from the ashes?

The question lingered, unsettling and persistent.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure of the answer.

The days since the confrontation with Chan had been strange, to say the least. The mansion’s rhythm ebbed and flowed with calculated precision, as though every movement, every conversation, had been planned days in advance.

You spent your time exploring its sprawling halls, learning its rhythms, and testing your boundaries. The guards rarely spoke to you beyond clipped warnings when you wandered too close to restricted areas. You couldn’t tell if they were following Chan’s orders or acting out of their own wariness.

Chan, however, was different. He appeared only when he wanted to, catching you off guard with sly remarks and a confidence that made it clear he was always one step ahead. His teasing came with a sharp edge, but there was no denying the undercurrent of mutual curiosity between you.

You didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust you. Yet, in those fleeting conversations, there was a spark—an understanding that neither of you were playing at full strength yet.

Then, one morning, the mansion’s calm shattered.

You’d been in the study, feigning interest in a book, when the sound of hurried footsteps caught your ear. The low hum of conversation from the hall was sharper today, clipped and urgent.

Moments later, Chan strode into the room, his usual composure marred by a tightness in his jaw. He moved with purpose, his focus so sharp that he didn’t acknowledge your presence.

“You’re upset,” you noted, setting the book aside.

He ignored you, striding to his desk and pulling up a screen.

Before you could push further, another figure entered the room: Changbin. His pace matched Chan’s intensity, his voice low and urgent as he spoke.

“Victor’s people hit the northern base,” Changbin reported. “They’ve taken out the comms tower. Felix and Hyunjin went dark an hour ago.”

Chan froze for a split second before his mask of control slid back into place. “Casualties?”

“None confirmed yet,” Changbin said. “But it’s not looking good. We have partial intel—they’ve shut down our local network, and the safe houses are at risk. If they’ve got Felix or Hyunjin…”

Chan exhaled through his nose, his focus razor-sharp. “Start evacuation protocols for the northern sector. Clear out the Graham location and put everyone in safe houses on standby. If they’ve been compromised, I want them out of there before Victor’s people can move.”

Your ears perked at the name, a chill running through you. “Wait—Graham and Sons?” you interrupted, stepping forward.

Both men turned to you, Chan’s eyes narrowing. “What about it?”

You frowned, your mind racing. “That’s not just a random location. It’s one of Victor’s decoy transport hubs. If you’ve got people stationed there, they’re already compromised.”

Changbin looked to Chan, his expression unreadable but tinged with suspicion. “You trust her?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you, his gaze intense. “How do you know that?”

“Because I grew up in this,” you shot back, folding your arms. “You think I don’t know the names he hides behind? Graham and Sons isn’t just a front. It’s bait. Victor uses it to lure out threats to his network—and he won’t hesitate to cut down anyone who gets too close.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Changbin crossed his arms. “And we’re just supposed to take her word for it?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Fine, don’t listen to me. But if you wait too long, Felix and Hyunjin won’t be unaccounted for—they’ll be dead.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned to Changbin. “Pull everyone from Graham and cross-check her intel with what we’ve got. Double it with our sources on the ground. If it matches, we move.”

Changbin hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but nodded. “On it.”

He left the room, and Chan turned back to you. His gaze was sharp, calculating. “Why help me?”

You didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “Maybe I don’t want to see Felix and Hyunjin killed. Or maybe I’d rather not see my father win.”

Chan smirked faintly, though his eyes were still hard. “Still haven’t picked a side, have you?”

“Would you prefer I did?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you said, your voice dry.

He leaned back against the desk, his posture deceptively casual. “If your information is right, you’ll have saved lives today. If it’s not…”

"You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’ve got more cards to play,” he replied smoothly. “And I don’t trust people who keep their hands hidden.”

You stepped closer, your voice calm but firm. “Then maybe you should play smarter.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on yours. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I aim to keep things interesting,” you replied, your tone light but with an undercurrent of steel.

Chan pushed off the desk, brushing past you toward the door. “Keep proving yourself useful, and maybe I’ll start believing you’re not working an angle.”

You watched him go, the tension in the room thick and charged. Somewhere out there, Felix and Hyunjin were waiting—caught in the web of a game far larger than either of them could control.

And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, you hoped you’d been right.

Later that evening the tension in the mansion was palpable, an undercurrent of urgency threading through every hallway. Chan had been holed up in his office since the crisis broke, and though you were technically “off-limits” to the ongoing operation, you’d found a way to keep yourself within earshot of every critical update.

The news wasn’t promising. Felix and Hyunjin were still unaccounted for, and the evacuation of Graham and Sons had only confirmed what you’d already suspected: your father’s people had the upper hand.

When Chan’s voice called your name from the hall, you half-expected him to demand that you stay out of his way. Instead, his tone was calm, measured. Too calm.

You pushed the door open to find him standing at his desk, surrounded by screens displaying live feeds, maps, and rows of encrypted data. Changbin hovered nearby, arms crossed, tension radiating off him in waves.

Chan gestured to you without preamble. “You’ve been watching long enough. Sit.”

You raised a brow, keeping your voice steady. “I didn’t realize you were taking suggestions.”

“I’m not,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you. “I’m testing you. You know your father’s network better than anyone in this room. Prove it.”

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. Taking the chair across from Chan, you crossed your legs and leaned back, affecting a confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt.

“Where’s the hole?” you asked, nodding toward the map on the central monitor.

Chan exchanged a brief glance with Changbin before turning the screen toward you. “Here,” he said, pointing to a blinking red marker. “Safe house near Monroe. Felix and Hyunjin were scheduled to meet there, but they never checked in. No comms, no movement.”

You studied the map, your mind working quickly. Your father’s security protocols weren’t just strict—they were obsessive. If his people had cut communication lines, it wasn’t just to block intel. They were setting a trap.

“They’ll have a fallback,” you said. “Felix and Hyunjin. If they know the area’s compromised, they’ll move to the secondary site.”

“We don’t have a secondary site near Monroe,” Changbin said flatly.

“Not yours. Victor’s,” you clarified.

Chan’s brow furrowed, interest flickering in his eyes. “Explain.”

You leaned forward, pointing at the map. “Victor doesn’t trust his own men, let alone outsiders. Every base, every safe house—he sets up redundancies, but not for the reasons you think. It’s not to protect his people. It’s to catch them if they run.”

“And you think Felix and Hyunjin would know about this?” Chan asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

“They wouldn’t have to,” you said. “Victor’s patterns are predictable once you know them. He keeps fallback locations close but hidden, somewhere his own men wouldn’t think to look unless they were desperate.”

Changbin’s frown deepened. “That’s a lot of guesswork.”

You shot him a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

Chan held up a hand, silencing the argument before it could escalate. His gaze stayed on you, sharp and probing. “What kind of fallback location are we talking about?”

You tapped your fingers on the edge of the desk, recalling the layouts you’d studied for years. “Something off-grid. An abandoned structure, maybe a warehouse. He’d want it close enough to monitor, but isolated enough that no one would stumble on it by accident.”

Chan nodded slowly, his mind already working through possibilities. “Changbin, pull up the satellite maps for the area. Focus on industrial zones or decommissioned sites within a five-mile radius of the Monroe house.”

As Changbin worked, Chan turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “Why help them?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You could have given him a dozen answers—some practical, some calculated—but the truth was simpler.

“Because I can,” you said quietly. “And because I don’t know yet what side I’m on.”

He studied you for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Suspicion? Respect? Maybe both.

Changbin’s voice broke the silence. “Got something. Old manufacturing plant, shut down five years ago. It’s less than three miles from the safe house, just outside the patrol radius.”

Chan nodded sharply, already moving toward the door. “Prep the team. We’ll leave in five.”

To your surprise, he turned back to you, his gaze steady. “You’re coming.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know Victor’s traps better than anyone. If this is one of them, I want you there.”

“And if I’m wrong?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Chan smirked, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken. “Then I guess we’ll both find out.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Going with him meant stepping further into his world, further away from your father’s. It meant testing your loyalties in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But it also meant a chance to prove you weren’t just a pawn in someone else’s game.

“Fine,” you said, rising to your feet. “But if this goes south, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chan’s smirk widened, and for the first time, you saw something close to genuine amusement in his eyes. “Noted.”

As the team prepared to move, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this decision—was another crack in the foundation you’d spent your entire life standing on.

And you weren’t sure whether you were ready to see it fall.

The night had been long and tense. The team, guided by the plan you had proposed, moved quickly through the industrial zone. The dilapidated manufacturing plant you’d pinpointed turned out to be the fallback location Felix and Hyunjin had made for themselves. The security measures were minimal—just enough to keep outsiders at bay, but not enough to fool someone familiar with Victor’s tactics.

It was exactly as you’d predicted. Felix and Hyunjin had been trapped, but they hadn’t been caught. They’d already set up an escape route of their own, using an old underground access tunnel leading out of the compound.

As the operatives infiltrated the plant, you couldn’t help but feel a small rush of satisfaction. Felix and Hyunjin were safe—finally. The team worked in smooth coordination, securing them without any further casualties. You had been right all along.

“You were right,” Chan muttered as he surveyed the area with his usual stoic expression. It wasn’t much, but you caught the subtle shift in his eyes as he acknowledged your insight.

Felix gave you a tired but grateful smile. “Guess we owe you one.”

“Just don’t get caught next time,” you replied with a smirk, though the satisfaction of the mission’s success warmed something inside you.

But the victory was short-lived.

The atmosphere at the mansion had barely settled before the next wave of danger hit. As the operatives and the team returned, expecting a brief respite, a wave of alarms shattered the uneasy silence.

Chan’s hand flew to his earpiece, his voice hard as he barked orders to the team. “They’ve found us. Victor’s men are here.”

Your heart dropped as you turned to Chan, his eyes narrowing. “Get to the safe room. Now.”

Before you could even respond, the mansion was plunged into chaos. You moved quickly, following Chan and the team as they scrambled to reinforce key exits and prepare for a full-on assault. But even with the heightened security, the feeling of being hunted—of being trapped—was suffocating.

You had no time to think before the first round of gunfire hit, sharp and deafening, echoing through the halls. The mansion wasn’t just under siege; they were inside.

“Stay behind me!” Chan growled as he pulled you into a nearby hallway. You barely had time to register the sheer danger of the moment before you were crouched low, moving quickly as his operatives returned fire.

But then, in the chaos, everything seemed to happen at once. You ducked behind a pillar, narrowly avoiding a burst of gunfire. In the process, you twisted your ankle, collapsing to the ground with a painful grunt. Before you could recover, another round exploded too close to your position, a stray bullet grazing your arm.

You hissed in pain, clutching at your bleeding arm. You couldn’t focus on it; the only thing you could focus on was the sheer force of the attack. You barely heard Chan’s voice over the clamor of the assault.

“Stay down,” he barked, moving toward you with a fierce protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of his usual cold exterior.

But you didn’t have time to argue as he swept you into his arms, pulling you behind the nearest barricade. The calculated focus in his eyes never faltered. He was in command, but there was something else—an urgency to keep you safe that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice tense as he checked your injury. You could feel his hands on you, pulling your arm gently to assess the wound. Despite the high-stakes situation, there was a tenderness in the way he moved, as though he wasn’t just trying to save you from harm—but from something deeper.

His fingers brushed your skin, an almost imperceptible gentleness in the midst of chaos. For a moment, it was just the two of you—the madness of the world outside and the calculated storm of gunfire drowned out by the shared connection.

“This won’t be the last time,” he said, his voice low as he wrapped your arm carefully, making sure the pressure was right. You could feel his fingers, light but deliberate, as he treated the wound. There was no rush, no panic.

For a brief second, you noticed something about him—something that wasn’t calculated or cold. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he cared more than he was willing to show.

“You’re fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his gaze steady, but his expression softened for just a moment. “You’re not dying on me.”

You blinked, the rawness of the moment catching you off guard. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, it was as if the world paused—if only briefly. The sounds of gunfire were a muffled background to the intensity of his focus. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tightened the bandage and stood, pulling you to your feet.

His voice was hard again as he guided you toward the nearest exit. “We don’t have time to talk. Let’s go.”

But even as you moved through the corridors, escaping the immediate danger, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet moment shared between the two of you wasn’t one of simple survival. Something had shifted. Something unspoken.

And in the aftermath of the chaos, with the scent of blood and danger in the air, you realized you’d seen a side of Chan no one else had—one that made you question where your loyalties truly lay.

The hours following the attack passed in a blur. The mansion, once a fortress of impenetrable walls, now felt like a fragile shell that could crack at any moment. Chan and his team had neutralized the threat swiftly, using the knowledge you’d helped provide about Victor’s network and the strategic positions of his men. With a few tactical moves, the assailants were driven back, and though some minor damage had been done, the mansion stood strong. Felix and Hyunjin were safe. The team was intact. The immediate danger was over.

But the weight of the night hung in the air, heavy with the unsaid. The adrenaline that had coursed through your veins in the heat of battle had given way to something quieter, more complex. The echoes of gunfire were gone, but the tension between you and Chan lingered, thick and undeniable.

You were in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of water, trying to clear your mind. The events of the day had left you exhausted—physically, yes, but more so mentally. You had done your part, had proven your worth, but there was no escaping the pull that Chan seemed to have on you, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. The attraction was there, undeniable. But it was dangerous.

You felt his presence before you saw him, the subtle shift in the air when Chan entered the room. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there—his energy filled the space. His sharp eyes on you, the silent weight of his presence, made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

“You should be resting,” he said casually, as though the tension that had laced his commands earlier had never existed. His voice, however, carried a hint of something else—an edge, a challenge.

You didn’t look up as you replied, keeping your voice steady. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he teased, stepping closer, just enough to be in your line of sight. His gaze flickered to your arm, now bandaged and well on the way to healing. “You’re tough. I’ll give you that.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck at his words. The way he was looking at you now—almost amused—felt like a game, but one you weren’t sure you knew the rules to. You took a small sip of water, needing to put some space between you and the emotions threatening to spill over.

Chan didn’t let up, though. “I’m surprised. Thought you’d be more upset about the whole ‘almost being shot’ thing.”

The teasing edge to his tone didn’t make it any easier to ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. You were keenly aware of how close he stood, of the heat radiating from his body despite the cool air. You could feel his presence pressing against you, and your mind refused to focus on anything but him.

“Well, I wasn’t shot,” you retorted, meeting his gaze at last. The challenge in your voice was as much for yourself as it was for him. “So I guess that’s something.”

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes darkening with a glint of mischief. “You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy the danger.”

Your throat went dry, and despite yourself, you laughed—short and sharp. “I don’t enjoy it. But I’m not exactly afraid of it either.”

“You should be,” he said softly, his tone turning serious for a brief moment. He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, there was no room between you—just the quiet hum of tension that surged between you both. You could smell the faint trace of gunpowder on his skin, mixed with the ever-present scent of cologne. The proximity felt dangerous, yet the magnetic pull of him was impossible to ignore.

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it made your body react in ways you couldn’t control. Every inch of you screamed to pull away, to maintain the distance that was keeping everything in check. But something about Chan—about the way he looked at you, about the small glint of vulnerability you saw beneath the hard exterior—made you question everything.

“What’s the point of being afraid?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Fear doesn’t keep anyone safe. It just holds you back.”

Chan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and the air between you thickened, charged with an unspoken understanding. His mouth was dry, and you could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a hunger, a tension that was as magnetic as it was dangerous.

Then, as if aware of how close you’d both come to crossing a line, he leaned back, the space between you widening, though the tension didn’t dissipate.

“Fair enough,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than it had been before. He cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not risky.”

You swallowed hard, looking away, trying to regain some semblance of control. But his presence, his words, had shaken you. And deep down, you knew something had shifted. You couldn’t tell if it was the aftermath of the crisis, the adrenaline, or the way he seemed to see right through you—but the boundary had shifted. The walls you’d carefully built were beginning to crumble.

Chan took a step back, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. “You’re not who you seem to be,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re more than just a pawn in all this.”

You felt a pang of something you didn’t quite recognize, but it wasn’t anger. It was… something else. A quiet understanding. It made your chest tighten, and for the first time, you realized how little control you had over what was happening between the two of you.

And as he turned and walked away, leaving you with the storm of your own thoughts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this—whatever it was—wasn’t over. It hadn’t even begun.

The news kept coming—each report more damning than the last. Your father’s empire was crumbling in real-time. Chan’s plans were progressing faster than anyone had expected. Supply lines were breaking, alliances were splintering, and the internal resistance within Victor’s ranks was growing stronger. It was all coming apart, just like Chan had predicted.

Victor, however, was far from giving up. His fight wasn’t over. He was tightening his grip, bringing in every last resource to hold onto the empire he’d built, despite the cracks beginning to show. You could almost hear his rage echo through the chaotic reports flooding in. He would not go down without a fight.

Chan leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the screen showing a live map of Victor’s remaining strongholds. “We’ve hit a critical point. The network’s destabilized, but he’s not finished yet. He’ll try to regroup. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes back.”

You stood by the window, looking out at the darkening sky. You could feel the weight of your father’s empire bearing down on you, like a dying beast desperate to survive. It was hard to shake the feeling that you were witnessing the end of everything you knew—everything you had once thought was untouchable.

“I thought… I thought this would be easier,” you muttered, your fingers brushing the edge of the window frame.

Chan’s voice was calm but firm as he spoke, his presence cutting through the tension. “It never is. But we’ve only just started, Y/N. The hardest part is coming.”

You turned toward him, meeting his gaze. There was no doubt in his eyes, no hesitation. He was certain—he always had been. But you felt the weight of your own doubts pressing in on you, as if you were standing at the edge of something vast and unknown.

“The hardest part,” you repeated, almost to yourself, “and you still want me to help you finish it?”

Chan stepped closer, his expression softening just a touch. “I’m not asking you to destroy everything you’ve known. I’m asking you to help me end what’s already falling apart. Help me tear down the structures that are keeping Victor in power.”

You took a deep breath. “And then what?”

His eyes darkened slightly, and for the briefest moment, something almost vulnerable flickered across his face. “Then we rebuild. But that’s for later. For now, we focus on making sure he doesn’t have the chance to come back. Once he’s gone, the pieces will be there for the taking.”

You felt a pang in your chest. “And I’m supposed to just… step into that? To take everything my father built and use it for your vision?”

“You’ve seen the cracks in Victor’s empire long before I came along,” Chan said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “You know it can’t survive in its current form. His obsession with control—his refusal to trust anyone—has already weakened it from the inside out. All I’m doing is speeding up the inevitable.”

You hesitated, the reality of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. “And when it’s all over? What happens then?”

Chan’s gaze was steady, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Then you take control. You become the one to rebuild. But only after we’ve brought him down. After we’ve made sure he can never hurt anyone again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea—your idea—of taking control felt like a distant possibility, something you weren’t quite ready to admit. But even now, the pieces were falling into place. You weren’t just helping him destroy your father’s empire. You were preparing for something bigger, something that made your stomach twist in both fear and anticipation.

“You’re asking me to step into my father’s shoes,” you said, the weight of the truth sinking in. “You want me to take everything he built—and do what with it?”

“I’m not asking you to become him,” Chan said, his voice gentle now. “I’m asking you to become someone better. Someone who can rebuild it all into something that actually works.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of your choice. You wanted to resist him, wanted to reject the path he was offering. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d already seen the cracks in your father’s empire—the cracks that were now yawning wide.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can watch it all burn and not feel like I’m betraying everything I’ve ever known.”

Chan’s expression softened just enough to show the faintest trace of understanding. “It won’t be easy. But it’s the only way forward. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

You let out a slow breath, the truth of it settling deep in your chest. The path ahead was unclear, but for the first time, you weren’t just fighting for survival. You were fighting for something more—something bigger. Maybe even something better.

“You’re asking me to betray my father,” you said, the words heavier than they had ever felt.

Chan nodded. “I’m asking you to save what’s left of him—and make sure no one else falls into the same traps he set.”

A deep silence filled the room, the weight of the decision hanging between you. You had made your choice. It wasn’t about loyalty anymore. It was about the future. And for the first time, you could see that future—not just as a shadow of destruction, but as something you could shape.

“I’ll help you,” you said, your voice firm, though a part of you still felt the tremor of doubt. “I’ll help you bring him down.”

Chan’s eyes flashed with something you hadn’t expected: approval. “We’re getting closer, Y/N. This is only the beginning.”

You looked up at him, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension. The future you had once fought so hard to hold on to was slipping away, and with it, everything you had known. But now, you saw something else in its place—a chance to shape something new.

You couldn’t help but wonder if, in the end, you’d be able to rebuild it all with him. But for now, there was no turning back. You were already too far in.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[vinelark]

in return for the fic recs i got last month, here are a few fics i read recently that i want to absolutely yell about from the rooftops:

Iron, Fire, Mirror-Glass by PurpleSoot: an early batman days AU where, while slowly healing from a spine-shattering injury, bruce finds an old book about the fae. in a fit of desperation he attempts a Summoning to try to heal his spine. enter: robin.

this story is fantastic—the kind of longfic with a plot so good and satisfying that finishing it leaves you on a reading high for at least a week. one of the best early days bruce fics i’ve ever read, with honorable mentions to excellent alfred and clark and jim and selina characterizations—but robin (dick) really takes the cake here. the balance of chilling, otherworldly, not-quite-human vs. playful, earnest, Still Just a Child…chef’s kiss. the way robin’s character arc drags bruce kicking and screaming through his own emotional growth is so well-paced and well-wrought that i already want to reread just so i can experience it again. this is one of those god-tier longfics that i can’t believe i got to read for free on the internet.

mid-reading testimonial:

The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne by @theskeptileptic: a tim-joins-the-family-early fic in which tim decides to do everyone (his parents) a solid by faking his own death and running away to canada, except his weirdo neighbor bruce wayne keeps butting in and messing up his plans.

this is one of the rare stories where tim doesn’t know batman’s identity yet, and even rarer stories where that somehow makes the whole thing even more compelling. this fic has two of my favorite things: small, lonely, moderately unhinged tim drake pov, and really good pangs—pangs that are expertly teased out through flashbacks that add context to the present action at exactly the right moments. also, a very fun cameo near the end. i had a blast reading this one, physically clutched my chest more than once, and am already looking forward to rereading.

mid-reading testimonial (feat. @cairoscene):

equivalent exchange by scribblemetimbers (wip): an au set during tim’s robin days in which tim discovers 1) crossroads demons are a thing and 2) people can make deals with them. deals that include bringing people back from the dead, so long as you’re willing to pay the price with your own life.

this fic is so…🤌‼️ it feels like everything i want in a fic so far, down to two incredibly specific concepts i love (bruce, in his grief, saying something harsh to robin!tim with disastrous consequences later + tim making a big secret sacrifice gambit) which are both done so so well, within a larger plot that is also done so so well. the way this fic cuts in and out of scenes at the exact right moments for max tension feels like a masterclass in causing me to tear my hair out (in the best way), and instead of assorted pangs reading it is just one big Pang. it currently leaves off on an agonizing cliffhanger but, again, in the best way. highly recommend. (thank you again @owlbats for the rec!)

exchange between me and my friend after i sent the link, which about sums it up:

and to cut this angst with some humor:

IRIS Log #1548 by @deadchannelradio: a night on patrol as recorded by the bats’ audio logs, centering around red hood getting flung into a ditch and everyone, eventually, getting home safe.

one of the top ten funniest things i’ve ever read—spiritually up there with send to all (and if you’ve seen my fic rec tag you’ll know what a compliment that is). this makes use of the audio log format SO well. the dialogue shines, the jokes land with excellent timing, and it moves at such a clip that it’s pretty much impossible to stop reading once you’ve started. every character shines in this, and i’ve randomly choked on laughter remembering the phrase ‘good god he got thrown like a corn hole beanbag’ like twenty times in the past few weeks.

mid-reading testimonial:

[miserymet]

Tragedy - Reploid Bass AU

Was digging through my old WIPs and found this bad boy. It’s technically unfinished (because I didn’t know how to end it) but it gets the main point across and establishes the where the plot is at post MMX7. Thought it might be interesting to those who want more details on the AU.

(quick timeline context; Bass gets his memories back post mmx6, disappears off the face of the earth and shows back up again halfway through mmx7)

Summary: Zero and Bass talk about one of Bass’ many regrets. In the process, Zero tries to connect the brother he knew as Forte to the stranger wearing his face.

“I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

The words are quiet. Not soft, as nothing Zero’s brother does is soft anymore, but they lack the usual bite. It’s enough to draw Zero’s attention to where Bass now sits. 

The chair holding him is old, a mundane relic of the furniture that was commonplace over a hundred years ago. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t crumbled under the weight of its occupant, but Bass had mentioned that the entire base was designed around its mechanical residents. Perhaps its creator imagined one of his robots might need to use a chair. Even if there’s not much of a difference between sitting and standing for them.

Zero’s surprised to see that Bass has his back turned to him. His brother isn’t too keen on letting Zero out of his sight nowadays, but his gaze is firmly fixed upon the screen in front of him now. Another uncharacteristic behavior. Zero sets aside the spare parts he was examining, all interest gone, and approaches the screen that has his brother so transfixed. It casts a dim light even in the darkness of the base, but the image is clear enough.

It’s an old contact log. A few lines of text sit at the bottom of the screen and for some reason, Zero feels the need to read them aloud.

“Bass. I made a mistake. I created something that I can’t control. You’re the only robot strong enough to stop it. Please help me.” He furrows his brow as he speaks the final line. “I’m sorry.”

“Six lines. Twenty six words. A hundred and fifteen characters.” Bass mutters.

“What does it mean?” 

It’s a genuine question, and maybe that’s why Bass laughs as though it’s the stupidest thing he could have asked. Zero waits with bitter patience for his brother to finish. This is typical of Bass’ new personality. Brash, abrasive, rude, all of these words and more fit the new image Zero’s brother has made for himself. Even his name is new. “Bass.” It’s been a bit of an adjustment to say the least.

Eventually, Bass manages to pull himself out of his laughing fit. His next words are the last thing Zero expects to hear.

“These are the words that killed me.”

“…I thought I did that.” Is all Zero can say to that. Bass laughs, much quieter this time.

“In the end, yeah.” His brother leans back in his seat. “But fighting you wasn’t-, I didn’t…”

“You ‘weren’t supposed’ to?” Zero volunteers.

“…I shouldn’t have.”

Bass goes quiet, lost in whatever old memories are haunting him today. Zero can’t help but feel frustrated. He used to know what to do when Bass…when Forte was upset. Whether it was about his lost memories, his weakness, his outdated code, Zero could always help. It’s different now.

Everything’s different now.

“Do you remember what I told you about our creator? How we didn’t really get along?” Bass starts, gaze still stuck on that old log.

“Because of your penchant for rebellion, yes.”

“That was only half of it. Yeah, I disobeyed him whenever I felt like it, but he wasn’t some doting father.” His brother turns to glare at him. “He was the most selfish, stubborn, stupid old man I ever met. Full of himself, too. You would have hated him.”

“That sounds a lot like you.” Zero can’t help the bite to his words. Maybe X was right. Maybe all this is getting to him. “Where are you going with this?”

“I was loyal at first. The old man had a lot of expectations for me, and I was determined to meet them. I didn’t. No matter how hard I tried, how strong I was, it was never going to be good enough if I couldn’t beat-,”

He stops abruptly, almost letting something slip. Something important. Bass is always vague about his old memories. He’s hiding something, but Zero can’t tell if it’s because it’s too risky or because he’s hoarding all that’s left of his past. It could really be either one. Zero isn’t sure he knows Bass all that well anymore.

“The point is, I was a failure to him. So he tried to move on. Build something else.” Bass shakes his head. “I couldn’t accept that. We fought. First it was just arguments, but it escalated. Before I knew it we were trying to kill each other.”

“What did you do?” Zero asks, though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“I left.”

Oh. Zero wasn’t expecting that.

“It sounds obvious, right?” His brother rests his head against his hand, expression flat. “But I wasn’t a reploid. I didn’t have the programming X or Axl did. It wasn’t as simple as changing my career. I was leaving my creator.”

“Bass…”

He doesn’t let Zero get a word in. “I agonized over it for days. What was I if not his robot? What could I even do without him? I was practically one foot out the door already, but I couldn’t move the other one. I…cared about him.”

Zero tries to imagine it. Bass, in his original body, standing beside a vague figure. His gaze sweeps across the room and Zero sees Bass sitting on a table full of junk, swinging his legs as he speaks to his creator. What did his face look like? Was it flat and cold, speaking in an even tone about plans or progress or whatever a man like that saw fit to discuss with his creation? Or was he annoyed, brow furrowed with one dipping lower than the other and mouth pulled into a small pout? Maybe it was a face Zero had never seen before, a soft smile, a wry grin that so clearly spelled out his amusement. 

He can only imagine. When he turns back to his brother, Bass wears the grimace he’s grown so used to.

“That was how I convinced myself to leave, in the end.” He breathes an empty sigh. “If I stayed, I might have hurt him. Might have let my anger take me to far and…”

His hands move in front of him, digits curled tightly around an invisible enemy. They hang in the air for a moment and shake. Then they fall. Bass lets his head follow them.

“You came back.” Zero speaks softly, trying for a gentleness he’s never been good at. “Why?”

Bass doesn’t pick up his head. “Same reason. I cared.”

“He made a robot, couldn’t control it and called you for help.” It feels both more and less real when he says it aloud. “He called you to your death.”

“And I came. I came because I am a fucking idiot.”

Zero blinks at the harsh language. Bass is far from the composed brother he knew, but even he didn’t use that language regularly. It feels strange. Forte would never, but Bass…it fits him a little more.

“He didn’t even have to apologize. The moment he came to me for help, the moment he called me strong-,” Bass grips his head in his hands. “All my conviction disappeared. I walked into that lab, this lab-!” He throws out his hands, nearly hitting Zero, “and I died for the man that tried to kill me!”

Zero doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? This is something he’s just learned, a grief he can only imagine. Bass has lived with this knowledge since the day he got his memories back. How did he feel, waking up and knowing that he lost everything to a man long gone? How do you live with that burden? How do you keep fighting?

Bass shoots up from his chair, gaze now fixed on Zero. There’s so much behind his eyes that Zero can’t see. A world no one alive has any hope of understanding.

“I was so close to being happy! To having something other than a worthless creator who only tolerated me as long as he could use me!”

His brother takes a step forward, the light of the screen illuminating every tear that falls from his face.

“And he took that from me! You took that from me!”

“I’m sorry-“

Zero sees the punch coming. He almost dodges. It’s what every self-preservation program in him begs him to do. He doesn’t. He takes it. The punch is hard, snapping his head to the side quite painfully. He doesn’t flinch. Not even when Bass’ fist splits the synthetic skin of his cheek. All he does is look back at his brother.

Bass stands there, eyes wide and mouth open. His arm hangs in the air. He can see the grime left on his hands. Can see the tension in every part of his body. Then, it shifts. Bass drops his hand and closes his mouth. That glare returns, fierce as ever.

“Don’t pity me. It’s too late for that.”

Zero tries to find his words. “I don’t-,”

“That hit only landed because you let it.” Bass casts his gaze to the side. “Everything I do to you is because you let me. Even in this body, I’m not strong enough.”