#even though they were self-destructive as fuck

[soft-crimson]

I think my comfort movie is Christiane F. and that's kinda fucked up imo

[dw-flagler]

funny how much victoria places squarely on the shoulders of tattletale. she COULD HAVE STOPPED THE ENDBRINGERS AT ANY TIME but she DIDN’T just so that leviathan could KILL MY FAMILY. honey you sound insane.

[wabblebees]

.

[cosycafune]

SINFUL DEVOTION

0.9k words. you're a deity, something sylus can't have. yet, here the two of you are -- recklessly fucking each other. an impossible power dynamic crackles between you two, but the forbidden sexual deeds make sylus' devotion tragically sweeter. he's the closest he can ever be, but it's almost not enough. you're to be rightfully worshipped, not coddled. 1/??? masterlist.

acts: unprotected sex, mating press, breeding kink, degration, rough sex, praising, creampies, devotion, forbidden love, begging, worshipping, hickeys and more.

a/n: this is supposed to be short bc it's a prologue. I'm actually so obsessed with him, that it hurts.

A deity, the embodiment of the unfathomable, that’s what you are. However, that status is disregarded now – tainted by a devoted Sylus. The strings of fate, intimacy and your sinful hearts swell and suffocate you two. Even though you both carry the gift of destruction, pain, control and leadership, this moment opposed everything you both stood for.

Nonetheless, you and Sylus carry a sexual franticness, insatiable lust and an unestablished base for you both. Desperation, humiliation and longing clings to the two of you. This intimate moment, where you’re folded into a degrading mating press, begging Sylus to pound you harder, dissolved your unreachable status.

Men like Sylus were ones you avoided, but he had sweetened and buttered you enough for you to have him so deeply within your guts – filling you up with his fruitful seed. Over and over and over again, you allowed yourself to be subjected to Sylus’ sexual reign – crying out his name. Worship seeped from your lips consistently, fuelling Sylus’ high ego drastically. 

Even though you sang his name, sex-drunk, he always devoted himself to you – whenever you were both sexually sober.

Currently, your lewd cries are captured by his ears as he glances down at you – grinning mercilessly while he pounds into you. Sylus held no sexual mercy for you, pouring his feelings, his heart, his thoughts and his genuine nature into each thrust. Deep down, you knew this forbidden form of art was his way of self-expression – due to you attempting to resist him. Through your swollen cunt, your cries of pleasure, your troubled breaths and orgasms, you let Sylus almost express his thoughts.

“Sy’, more!” Weeping, painfully overstimulated, you beg for more – overwhelmed by his harshly snapping hips.

“Aren’t… you greedy?” Hazily questioning you, lust-coated, Sylus lazily grins at the power imbalance between you two – relishing your celestial features scrunching.

“P-Please…breed me,” Humiliating yourself, begging Sylus, you gift him desperate, teary eyes – your eyes rolling back at his thick cock kissing your cervix.

“I’ll..destroy myself…just for you, “ Sylus declares through a deep thrust, feeling you tighten around him – fuelling the forbidden fruits that adorn you both.

“Ngh! ‘Gonna cum! ‘Too much!” A trembling mess, you lewdly bellow – vigorously shaking as Sylus sets an inhumane pace. 

Content, he burrows his deepest within you – unwilling to free you from his intoxicating physique. A physique that swells your every thought with his gigantic dick, his crimson eyes, his ivory hair and the yearning that marks him. The end of your world is seconds from drawing near, but Sylus’ presence smearing you is all you could think about – choppily breathing.

“Handle…it!” Gruffing commanding you, moaning, Sylus batters you with his pace – satisfied at you attempting to push some of his ample cock out of you.

“Can’t…hold,” Mentally blanking, your body strangled with warmth, a moan tears out of your throat – leading to you intensely finishing.

Right now, the only thing that mattered to you was Sylus, his cock and the longevity of his pounding. 

“S-Same,” Pricelessly trying to hold out for you, Sylus lowly responds to you – slamming his cock so deeply within you. 

Mellowly, his large balls would pulverise your bubble butt – drawing more attention to your soppy cunt, your mewling and his whimpering and grunting. Yet, this notion encouraged Sylus more – throwing almost everything he had on the line for the addictive taste of you. Sure, the two of you are fucking in one of his bases – surrounded by many dangerous clients that want you. However, he can’t bring himself to care right now – cock-bounding you so deeply. 

Sylus divulged as if you were to crumble beneath him, leaving him with fleeting winds.

Yelping, you jolt at Sylus’ cock hardening into you. Sylus is an absolute mess, panting whilst his furrowed brows knit closer. Longing for more, he drives his cock impossibly in you – watching you mischievously. Not once did he break eye contact, continuing his mean mating press – enjoying the warmth of your fluttering cunt. An hour had skimmed by, but you both refused to care.

“D-Don’t…want to lose you,” Wavering, Sylus mutters – thrusting deeply before he finishes within you. 

Devoted to you, Sylus can't help but grow lonesome – noticing the pitiful truth that lingers: you’re mentally unable to be his. Even as he plugs you with his baby batter, you’re still something greater than he ever is – surpassing him indefinitely.

Someone who’s destined to reconstruct and rule the world. However, Sylus wanted to hold more than sinful devotion.

Love. He wanted you to admit your heart, but you hid behind your painful status.

Collapsing mentally against you, Sylus swiftly pulls out of you – smitten at the sight of your swollen cunt plump and spilling with his thick seed. Naturally, this was your most vulnerable state – but you allowed Sylus to admire it. After all, the two of you have only this moment to express yourselves – before the chaotic night comes to an end.

“Sylus, we…can’t be here for long?” Regally speaking, slightly exhausted, you feel Sylus crumble into your arms – longing to be held.

“‘Can’t we…stay like this a little longer?” Desperate to be held and cared for by you, Sylus slyly begs you – his whiny question swaying you.

“Just a bit, but the deal at the masquerade ball isn’t going to make itself,” You speak, running your fingers through Sylus’ ivory locks – wanting to coddle him all night.

Knowing this is forbidden, you conceal your care behind your exhaustion – desperate to confess to Sylus. However, you’re unable to confess your heart – aware it’ll lead to your status as a powerful deity being your demise.

“If you insist, sweetie,” Vulnerable, a sinner within your arms, Sylus snuggles into your breasts – airily speaking.

Sinful devotion, but at what cost?

__

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! Hope you're okay :D

First your writeing it's so good and i love it, and this is mu first time asking you for a request :)

So idk if you aleady did this, i don't remember reading it but i wanted to know how do you think Damian would react when he finally meet his brothers partner?

When JASON borough you home, Damian wasn’t certain whether he was seeing the same perpetually annoying Jason, especially when he watched him look at you as though you were the only one in the room.

It was something completely new, for as long as Damian could remember Jason was a man who held great resentment and anger within himself, which often resulted in making him prone to rash decisions and act out on his self destructive tendencies. So seeing him smile with you, laugh with you, joke with you was a side to him that only Dick had told him stories about.

Damian wasn’t fond of trusting anyone outside of his own family, but he’d be stupid to not see that you were an extremely positive influence on Jason, and soon found himself hoping that his brother wouldn’t be the one to fuck this up via self sabotage. However he didn’t have to fear that being the case when he saw the way Jason seemed more at peace by your side then he ever did in his entire life, his shoulders were no longer hunched and the furrow in his brow was less prominent, his jaw was no longer clenched and is more relaxed.

It was as though Damian was looking at a completely different person and he couldn’t help but find himself being thankful to you for having such unwavering patience with Jason and secretly hopes that you continue to do so for the nearby future. Damian could clearly see that you helped Jason through the moments that he wouldn’t dare bring up to his own family and while that hurt, he’s glad that Jason wasn’t alone with his thoughts anymore and was able to carve out a future with you.

‘They’re good for you Todd.’ Damian said once you were out of earshot.

‘I’ve known that since the moment they didn’t shy away from my scars and brokenness.’ Jason told his little brother.

‘You’re not broken.’ Damian corrected as he saw the look upon Jason’s face as he looks at you play with Titus, ‘ you’re healing.’

When TIM brought you home Damian didn’t know that he even got a partner, he didn’t bother to think that Tim was capable of engaging in a romantic relationship with anyone, given how co-dependant he was with that stupid laptop of his.

Damian understood that Tim and himself didn’t have the best of relationship, it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly ideal for two people who were meant to be considered ‘siblings’, but Damian didn’t want him to be mistreated by anyone regardless.

So when he began to take notice how you took care of Tim without it being overbearing or controlling in the slightest, you made sure he ate properly and took adequate rest whilst letting him uphold his responsibilities. You trusted Tim to take care of himself when you knew you were out of your element and he trusted you to keep ahold of his heart no matter what, and Damian could see that in the way you would boast about Tim as though he was gods gift to humanity; Which to you he very much was with a side order of sarcastic wit.

You reminded Tim that he was more then what he could give to other people, a lesson that Damian truly believed Tim needed to learn and if he learnt that through your relationship then that was good enough for him.

‘I didn’t know you were capable of being in a relationship.’ Damian told Tim and he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Thanks Damian, much appreciated.’ He said sarcastically.

‘You didn’t let me finished Drake,’ Damian told him before continuing, ‘however I’m…glad that you found someone who makes you sees your worth.’

Tim smiled softly. ‘Thanks Damian.’

When DICK brought you home, Damian was quick to follow you throughout your visit to the manor in hopes of getting a good gauge of your character, he valued Dick as his brother and wasn’t just about let him date anyone he decided to pick up from the side of the street one day on a whim.

Damian wasn’t exactly trusting towards you at first -despite the many stories Dick had told him about you- genuinely thinking that by next week Dick would’ve dumped you and bring home another one of his short lived romances, and seeing as how commitment wasn’t exactly a thing Dick was well known for. So he wasn’t expecting much to come out of your visit but when he saw just how happy Dick was with you, holding your hand, practically glued to your side and just acting like an human version of a puppy dog whenever he was with you it was almost sickening; well it was but you get the point.

Not once did Damian see Dick’s adoring eyes wander from you, he was completely entranced by anything and everything you said as though it was gospel. You both were the epitome of lovesick and Damian didn’t know whether he should be happy that it seems as though Dick found someone whom he could be genuine with and no be judged, or be grossed out by how much pda you do.

It was a tossup between the two but Damian found himself gaining some form of respect for you throughout the day and soon would in your corner for most of your playful disagreements.

‘Oh come on Damian, you’ve barely known my partner for a day and now all of a sudden your pally pally?’ Dick whines as Damian stood by your side.

‘So? It’s obvious they’re the one in charge of this relationship.’ Damian replied and you could’ve busted out laughing at Dick’s expression afterwards.

[ghstzzn]

princess treatment | c.yj & k.th

pairing(s): choi yeonjun x f!reader x kang taehyun genre: smut, one shot, friends with benefits, porn with context warnings/tags: unprotected sex, threesome, multiple orgasms, rough sex, degradation, oral (m! rec), manhandling, mean doms!taejun, fingering, double penetration, yeonjun is taunting and chatty, taehyun is just mean. petnames (baby & princess) name calling (slut, whore & bitch) ++ clubbing, drinking … word count: 3.8k oops

summary: the birthday girl gets what she wished for.

You had two ideas in mind for how this night could end; either it ending with you blacking out and waking up with possible alcohol poisoning, or with you ending up in a stranger's bed getting the best (most mid) dick of your life.

Again, you had. 

Now, you found yourself playing with fire. Two tall, scorching hot fires. 

A dumb smile played on your lips as you went back and forth between Taehyun and Yeonjun throughout the night. Bending over to softly speak into one of their ears under the claim that the clubs music was too loud, or your touch that lingered on their arms and chest, giggling at whatever they said–even bending over in your tiny black skirt as you reached for your cup of overpriced liquor that you accidentally left on the other side of the table.

You’ve had your fair share of the two men, not knowing ever where your relationship stood with either of them. But, you couldn’t care less, you were young and having fun–plus, everyone and their mothers were aware that you occasionally fuck one of the two best friends. What they don’t know is that it’s been at least a month since the last interaction, physical and verbal, with both of them. 

It wasn’t a huge falling out with them, but it was awkward and eye opening (and very self destructive.) Simply put, you woke up one day and realized you needed to stop fucking two of your closest friends. Though, it didn’t go well with either Yeonjun or Taehyun.

The two were adamant about the entire situation not even meaning anything to them, and that friends could fuck and share their girls without any strings attached or hurt feelings. And while you agreed, you couldn’t hide the disappointment that lingered in your chest. After that conversation, you slowly distanced yourself from the two, hoping that fate would take it into its own hands and fix your friendship for you. They would regularly reach out to you and you wouldn’t always ignore them (you also took Yeonjun in a bathroom at some random house party but no one needed to know.)

You also couldn’t deny the way your body continued to crave them with each. passing. day. It was frustrating–the way you were scared of losing them but still had sinful dreams of them taking your body like it was nothing. Both of them. 

God, you needed them again. 

Tonight started out weirdly. One of your best friends, Yunjin, jokingly suggested you invite the two to your birthday party at the club, but the suggestion turned serious when she said, “wait, but like, what if they actually come?” “Plus, they’d surely open their wallets if they did show up. Just do it!” 

You should’ve expected them to show up though, they were or are some of your closest friends.

It was awkward for you at first, but it wasn’t long before your mind cleared and realized that; fuck it, its your birthday and you deserve to have a little fun. Your plans from earlier completely thrown out the window as your third eye opened and your chakra lined up (a.k.a you totally just wanted to fuck with the two the entire night, again, it’s your birthday and you’re just a girl afterall.)

“How much have you had to drink?” Taehyun asks, his hand on your knee as you sit as close as possible to him in the booth.

“Honestly, not much at all.” 

Taehyun nods slowly at your reply and you just send him a tight lipped smile. A new song starts playing, making you gasp and shout how much you loved this song. Before Taehyun could say anything, you stood up, using his upper thigh to help you stand. He takes a deep breath as he watches you skip away into the crowd, throwing your arms around your friend's neck. His gaze leaves yours, only to find Yeonjun who flickered his eyes between your figure and his own. Taehyun quickly gulps the rest of his drink down before standing, a plan forming in his own mind.

You knew exactly what you were doing

And if you thought they’d have moved on from you–oh, were you dead wrong.

You were quick to notice Taehyun's figure moving around the club, you couldn’t pin down his stone cold expression, whether he was upset or not–no one could know.

You tried to follow your eyes to where he was headed, but the crowded dance floor made it almost impossible. Taking a few deep breaths, you silently decide to tone it down and go back to dancing, hoping to avoid Taehyun and Yeonjun for at least an hour–or the rest of the night. 

But maybe your not-so-innocent game has backfired on you.

You didn’t know how much time passed, but the dance floor was starting to wear you out and you definitely needed a five minute breather. Tapping Yunjin's shoulder, you quickly shout that you were going to go grab a drink, she sends you a thumbs up and you squeeze your way out of the crowd. 

As you near the bar, you notice Taehyun and Yeonjun sitting next to each other. You reach the bar, quickly ordering a water and some random vodka mix. When you turn your head, your eyes meet Yeonjun's, who leaned back against the bar with an arm thrown over the back of the bar stool, sending you a sweet smile. Taehyun followed his line of vision, his eyes scanning over your body as he notices you. The bartender returns with your water and other drink, and feeling pressured by the two men’s gaze, you slowly make your way towards them.

“Ah, there’s the birthday girl!” Yeonjun greets you, “Where have you been, princess? Missed you over here.”

You set your drinks down next to theirs on the bar, throwing a thumb over your shoulder towards the dance floor. “Dancing. It hasn’t even been a full thirty minutes since I last saw the both of you.”

Taehyun takes a swig of his drink before replying, “Thirty minutes drags by when you aren’t running your hands all over the both of us every five minutes.”

You shyly avert your gaze from him, earning a chuckle from Yeonjun.

“Are you guys enjoying your night?” 

You face Taehyun again, expecting an answer from him. Yeonjun stands from his stool, stepping behind you, his breath hitting your ear. You shiver at the sudden closeness.

“That’s what you're curious about?” Taehyun questions, leaning back in his seat.

“Well, I-” 

Yeonjun cuts you off, “What happened to the handsy girl from earlier? Thought you were gonna come over here with more obvious neediness.”

You only bite your bottom lip in response, suddenly feeling hot with Yeonjun's hands ghosting over your waist and Taehyun's gaze burning into you. “Obvious?”

Taehyun lets out a dry laugh at your meak response. You couldn’t linger on his reaction with Yeonjun's fingers trailing down your back, his eyes falling on the miniskirt you were wearing. Suddenly, he pushes you towards Taehyun, softly but still enough to have you stabilize yourself with your hands on his thighs. 

“What’s wrong, princess? Feeling okay?” Taehyun asks. You look at him with confusion written all over your face.

Did he miss how Yeonjun practically threw you at him?

“I’m… fine?” You remove your hands from his thighs, earning a look from him that you can’t quite read.

Yeonjun lays the back of his hand against your cheek, his chest flush with your back. 

“You sure? You’re feeling hot,” he presses, “we should get you home.. Don’t want you getting sick here on your birthday, no?”

You turn halfway to face Yeonjun, blinking at both men. Taehyun was mumbling something about telling your friends that you’d be leaving and grabbing your bag while Yeonjun softly brushed a piece of hair behind your ears, smiling widely at you. 

Sat in between the two in the backseat of an uber, you fiddle with your bag nervously. Yeonjun made small talk with the driver as his hand laid on your thigh, his pinky finger drawing circles right under the hem of your skirt. Taehyun on the other hand had his arm rested against the car door, eyes fixed on your exposed thighs. You only stared straight at the windshield in front of you.

The drive back to Yeonjun’s high rise felt almost suffocating, and not exactly in a bad way. The stunt they pulled back at the club was enough to tell you what was happening next, but when you read their faces–you only see emotions that make you want to apologize.

Leaning into Taehyun slightly as Yeonjun continues his conversation with the driver, you catch his attention, “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to gh-”

“Doesn’t matter now–we can talk about it later if it bugs you that bad.” He cuts you off. You nod and settle back against the seat, Yeonjun’s hand squeezing your thigh as he shoots you a small smirk. He leans back into the seat, ending his conversation with the driver, who ends up turning the radio up.

“You’ll show us how sorry you are, won’t you?” His lips graze your ear, each word sending goosebumps down your neck. 

When you don’t reply, he only asks again, traveling his hand further up your skirt reaching his fingers under the band of your flimsy underwear. You breathe out a small yes, drawing a chuckle out of Yeonjun, who places a kiss against your head.

“Good girl.”

Suddenly, Taehyun is grabbing your hand and helping you out of the car. The journey up to the apartment is a blur as you’re too busy trying to steady your pounding heart.

As soon as you enter the apartment, he throws your bag and any other belongings he was carrying onto the couch while Yeonjun has his hands firmly on your waist from behind. 

“I mean, seriously.” Yeonjun is barely centimeters away from your ears, his hands sliding up your waist to grab at the end of your skimpy top. “One moment she's completely ghosting her two best friends, and the next moment she's all over them like a whore.”

You gulp at his words, the insult going straight to your core. “That’s not–I wasn’t trying to gho-”

“Oh, no baby, it’s okay~.” There’s a pause. “Right, Taehyun?”

You look up from the ground, suddenly inches away from Taehyun. You were now sandwiched in between the two men.

“Get out of that head of yours. You’re the only one convincing yourself that this is wrong.” He repeats the same words spoken the night you brought it all up to them.

The one button holding your entire shirt together was undone in an instant and Yeonjun dragged the top down your arms slowly, making sure to trail his fingers along your skin.

“I’m sure she can make it up to us.” Taehyun replies flatly. 

“Don’t worry, baby, it’s your birthday–it’ll be enjoyable for all of us.”

Standing just in your miniskirt in between the two men only made you grow hotter and wetter. The tension and cold air makes your nipples harden and by instinct you bring your arms to cover yourself–but Yeonjun is quick to grab them, shoving them behind your back.

“Just do what you're best at and take it, yeah?”

Taehyun steps out of the way as Yeonjun pushes you by your trapped wrists towards his bedroom. As soon as you enter, he shoves you, letting go of you in the process. You sit at the edge of the large bed clenching your thighs together, the wetness in between them is starting to become uncomfortable.

Yeonjun lets out a mocking laugh, “sitting so pretty for us, so cute how you know your place already. Giving me deja-vu right now, princess.”

He walks closer to you, standing directly in front of you, grabbing your chin and tilting it upwards at him. Yeonjun jerks his chin up, motioning for you to scoot back and you obey with zero hesitation, leaning back on your elbows towards the middle of the bed. He quickly runs his hands up your thighs, grabbing the band of your panties and yanking them off in one swift moment. 

“She’s so wet, Taehyun.” He runs a finger down your soaking slit. “You were thinking about this back at the club weren’t you?”

You whimper as his fingers tease your core, slowly trailing from your clit to your hole. 

“Answer him.” Taehyun speaks up from behind you. You feel the bed dip and a hand wrap around your throat, his thumb pushes your chin up, forcing you to stare up at him. “Did I stutter? Answer his question.” 

He releases your chin and you look back at Yeonjun, who continues to play with you, an amused look on his face.

“Y-yes. Since the club…” You buck into his fingers. “Just wanted you both–so badly.”

Yeonjun shoves a finger inside of you, quickly curling his fingers drawing a gasp out of you. He was clearly pleased with your reply.

“What a whore..” Taehyun replies, voice low. “Ignored us for almost a month but quickly crawled back to both of us for some attention.”

His hand remained on your throat as Yeonjun kept pumping his fingers inside of you, adding another to stretch you out perfectly for them. You whine and lean back into Taehyun.

“Must’ve missed us badly, huh? Cunts squeezing my fingers like crazy.”

You choke out a moan when Yeonjun’s fingers curl into your sweet spot with each thrust of his hand, he smirks and lays his thumb on your clit, pushing you closer to your release.

“Mmm–more, please!” You whine out. He presses his thumb harder into your clit, jerking it in circles while he continues to work his fingers inside of you. 

You bite your lip and gasp out loud as you cum onto his fingers, he continues these actions until you're shaking against Taehyun, who still has a firm grip on your throat–his other hand teasing your nipples.

Yeonjun pulls his fingers out of you, tapping your lips with them. “Suck.”

You let him shove his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on him as you wrap around his digits. 

“So dirty.” Taehyun says, watching intently as you suck on Yeonjun's fingers desperately. “Turn around.”

Releasing Yeonjun's fingers, you slowly turn around, settling on your knees. Taehyun lifts himself off the bed, yanking his belt off and slowly unbuttoning his slacks. He lets go and motions for you to crawl to him. “Wanna keep putting that mouth to use?”

You nod, unzipping his pants and yanking them down along with his briefs just enough to release his hardened cock. He takes your head in his hands and moves you slightly as you pump him. Taehyun grabs your wrist and brings it to his own mouth and spits, wrapping your hand tightly around his cock. 

You continue to pump him before bringing your head down to take him in your mouth. Before you could do so, your hips are being lifted harshley and Yeonjun kneels behind you, grinding into your wetness with his own cock. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Taehyun yanks your hair down to him. 

Yeonjun lets out a breathy laugh as he enters you, stretching you out so well as Taehyun pushes his cock into your mouth at the same time. 

You groan around him, slowly bobbing your head and wrapping your tongue around him. Yeonjun thrusts into you once more, finding his pace. The force of Yeonjun slamming into you has you throwing a hand against Taehyun's thigh, his hand in your hair stabilizing you even if it did hurt. 

Your whimpers send vibrations through Taehyun's cock, making him throw his head back in pleasure. Eventually, with the pace Yeonjun set, it becomes too much and Taehyun's left to fucking your mouth on his own.

“Can’t even put that useless–fuck! Mouth to work.” He groans, shoving your head down on his cock. Tears fall down your cheeks at the roughness of both men. “Have to fuck you like a bitch, huh?”

Yeonjun continues to pound into you, smacking your ass harshly as Taehyun degrades you. 

“She can’t have it any other way~.” Yeonjun calls out from behind you, letting out his own string of groans. 

Taehyun suddenly thrusts into your mouth, causing you to choke around his cock. He only lifts your head to repeat the act. “Gonna swallow like a good girl?”

You nod quickly and he thrusts a few times before releasing deep into you mouth, you quickly force yourself to swallow so you don't start choking. Taehyun slips out of your mouth and releases your hair, dropping your head straight into the mattress. 

Yeonjun take this advantage to fuck you more roughly, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress. “Waited weeks for this–fuck, baby, taking me so well.”

“Mmm–cumming!” You practically scream against the comforter of his bed, “Please please please.”

Immediately, you’re regretting even speaking up because Yeonjun quickly pulls out, ripping away your second orgasm. You weakly lift yourself up, “W-why? Was so close..”

“Shut up,” He says as he flips you over, “Y’talk too much.”

He enters you once more with one swift thrust, sliding in out of your wetness at the same pace as before. “You should be more grateful, Y’know? Shouldn’t–ah.. even let you come at all.”

Your release quickly builds back up with the new angles Yeonjun thrusts into you at. Gripping his forearms, you whine something almost incoherent as you cum around his cock. He only continues his pace until his hips are stuttering.

Yeonjun quickly pulls out, pumping himself a few times before his warm seed is landing on your tits and stomach. 

You barely get a second to breathe before Taehyun is sitting you up from behind. You let him lift you, your naive mind thinking they were done with you, bringing your own hands to wipe at the cum covering your torso.

Yeonjun smacks your hands away, “looks better that way.”

Taehyun continues lifting you up until you're settled on your knees once more and Yeonjun shoots you a sly smile, tapping your cheeks with his fingers before spinning you to face Taehyun. 

You give him a confused look as he spreads your legs with his own, lining his cock up to your entrance. 

“You didn’t seriously think we were done, did you?” He asks with a low voice, grinding his tip over your sensitive bud. “Wanna act like a slut–you get fucked like one.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before sliding inside of your warmth, but he doesn’t move. Taehyun only sits still as if he was waiting on something–or someone.

Your eyes widen when you feel Yeonjun prodding at your entrance, “nngh–wait! Wont fit” 

You turn your head to face Yeonjun, who doesn’t pay attention to your cries. Taehyun roughly grabs your chin to face him again. 

“Don’t complain, you’ll take it.” 

“It won’t.. You guys are t-too big.” You whine out.

Yeonjun coo’s at you from behind, slowly sinking his cock into you. Hot tears fall down your cheeks at the stretch. “Awe ~. Too big, huh?”

“Don’t act like you don't know the words to make this all stop.” 

Yeonjun finally bottoms out inside of you, ripping a loud groan from your throat at the feeling of being stuffed full. Your head falls against Yeonjuns shoulder as Taehyun slowly starts to move. 

Your body jolts with each thrust delivered from both men inside of you. Nothing but moans and whimpers escape your lips–never feeling this full in your life. Yeonjun and Taehyun were practically splitting you in half with both of their cocks, and you’re sure they aren't holding themselves together any better right now. 

Taehyun hisses as he sets a pace for him and the man thrusting from behind, “s’fucking tight.”

You grip Taehyun's shoulder, an attempt to stabilize yourself because despite being sandwiched between the two–you still felt like you were going to fall over at any moment. You attempt to pull yourself to sit up straight, but two thrusts that were delivered was enough to knock you back into Yeonjun’s chest, who lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You like this? Being filled so good–,” Yeonjun growls into your ear, “letting us fuck you however we want?”

You whimper in response, grip tightening on Taehyun’s shoulders. 

“Can’t even respond,” Taehyun mutters, grabbing your cheeks roughly, “use your fucking words. Wanna hear it–tell us how good we’re fucking you.”

“Yesyesyes! S-so good, wanted this–fuck!” 

“C’mon, baby, it’s not that hard.”

“Wanted it for so long..! Both of you–ah. Like this.” Your words are just as pathetic as the moans you let out. “Please, fuck!”

The grip Taehyun has on your hips is bruising as he continues to thrust roughly into you, Yeonjun doing his best to keep up with his friends pent up aggression, despite his second release nearing. 

“Fuck–gonna cum.” Yeonjun pants. “Inside her.”

Taehyun slightly slows down as Yeonjun’s thrusts get sloppier. It’s not long before he’s stuttering and releasing inside of you, not wasting a second before pulling out to save himself from the overstimulation due to Taehyun's brutal pace. 

The man still inside of you groans loudly before taking the chance and pushing you down onto the bed, manhandling your legs over his shoulders sloppily and fucking you deep into the mattress. Taehyun lands a smack onto your thigh and moves his other hand to your clit, rubbing at it with his thumb. 

Your stomach bubbles up with the familiar heat and you cry out at the sensation. You try your hardest to alert the man of your orgasm, and you aren’t even sure if you could get the words out before clenching around him and cumming hard. 

Taehyun continues to fuck into you, chasing his own release. You plead and whine that it’s too much but he doesn’t slow down once. His hips start to stutter as he bends your legs into your body, sloppily thrusting as he nears his orgasm.

“Fuckkk–.” He groans out before releasing deep inside of you. Taehyun rocks his hips a few more times before slowly pulling out, dropping your legs and sitting back on his knees to catch his breath.

“Took it like a whore, didn’t you?” You hear Yeonjun ask you, mockingly of course. Too tired to respond, you only pant and nod your head, giving him the response he wants.

“Good girl.” He chuckles. “Just means you can take more.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Disenshittify or Die”

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Last weekend, I traveled to Las Vegas for Defcon 32, where I had the immense privilege of giving a solo talk on Track 1, entitled "Disenshittify or die! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification":

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=54861

This was a followup to last year's talk, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification," a talk that kicked off a lot of international interest in my analysis of platform decay ("enshittification"):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rimtaSgGz_4

The Defcon organizers have earned a restful week or two, and that means that the video of my talk hasn't yet been posted to Defcon's Youtube channel, so in the meantime, I thought I'd post a lightly edited version of my speech crib. If you're headed to Burning Man, you can hear me reprise this talk at Palenque Norte (7&E); I'm kicking off their lecture series on Tuesday, Aug 27 at 1PM.

==

What the fuck happened to the old, good internet?

I mean, sure, our bosses were a little surveillance-happy, and they were usually up for sharing their data with the NSA, and whenever there was a tossup between user security and growth, it was always YOLO time.

But Google Search used to work. Facebook used to show you posts from people you followed. Uber used to be cheaper than a taxi and pay the driver more than a cabbie made. Amazon used to sell products, not Shein-grade self-destructing dropshipped garbage from all-consonant brands. Apple used to defend your privacy, rather than spying on you with your no-modifications-allowed Iphone.

There was a time when you searching for an album on Spotify would get you that album – not a playlist of insipid AI-generated covers with the same name and art.

Microsoft used to sell you software – sure, it was buggy – but now they just let you access apps in the cloud, so they can watch how you use those apps and strip the features you use the most out of the basic tier and turn them into an upcharge.

What – and I cannot stress this enough – the fuck happened?!

I’m talking about enshittification.

Here’s what enshittification looks like from the outside: First, you see a company that’s being good to its end users. Google puts the best search results at the top; Facebook shows you a feed of posts from people and groups you followl; Uber charges small dollars for a cab; Amazon subsidizes goods and returns and shipping and puts the best match for your product search at the top of the page.

That’s stage one, being good to end users. But there’s another part of this stage, call it stage 1a). That’s figuring out how to lock in those users.

There’s so many ways to lock in users.

If you’re Facebook, the users do it for you. You joined Facebook because there were people there you wanted to hang out with, and other people joined Facebook to hang out with you.

That’s the old “network effects” in action, and with network effects come “the collective action problem." Because you love your friends, but goddamn are they a pain in the ass! You all agree that FB sucks, sure, but can you all agree on when it’s time to leave?

No way.

Can you agree on where to go next?

Hell no.

You’re there because that’s where the support group for your rare disease hangs out, and your bestie is there because that’s where they talk with the people in the country they moved away from, then there’s that friend who coordinates their kid’s little league car pools on FB, and the best dungeon master you know isn’t gonna leave FB because that’s where her customers are.

So you’re stuck, because even though FB use comes at a high cost – your privacy, your dignity and your sanity – that’s still less than the switching cost you’d have to bear if you left: namely, all those friends who have taken you hostage, and whom you are holding hostage

Now, sometimes companies lock you in with money, like Amazon getting you to prepay for a year’s shipping with Prime, or to buy your Audible books on a monthly subscription, which virtually guarantees that every shopping search will start on Amazon, after all, you’ve already paid for it.

Sometimes, they lock you in with DRM, like HP selling you a printer with four ink cartridges filled with fluid that retails for more than $10,000/gallon, and using DRM to stop you from refilling any of those ink carts or using a third-party cartridge. So when one cart runs dry, you have to refill it or throw away your investment in the remaining three cartridges and the printer itself.

Sometimes, it’s a grab bag:

You can’t run your Ios apps without Apple hardware;

you can’t run your Apple music, books and movies on anything except an Ios app;

your iPhone uses parts pairing – DRM handshakes between replacement parts and the main system – so you can’t use third-party parts to fix it; and

every OEM iPhone part has a microscopic Apple logo engraved on it, so Apple can demand that the US Customs and Border Service seize any shipment of refurb Iphone parts as trademark violations.

Think Different, amirite?

Getting you locked in completes phase one of the enshittification cycle and signals the start of phase two: making things worse for you to make things better for business customers.

For example, a platform might poison its search results, like Google selling more and more of its results pages to ads that are identified with lighter and lighter tinier and tinier type.

Or Amazon selling off search results and calling it an “ad” business. They make $38b/year on this scam. The first result for your search is, on average, 29% more expensive than the best match for your search. The first row is 25% more expensive than the best match. On average, the best match for your search is likely to be found seventeen places down on the results page.

Other platforms sell off your feed, like Facebook, which started off showing you the things you asked to see, but now the quantum of content from the people you follow has dwindled to a homeopathic residue, leaving a void that Facebook fills with things that people pay to show you: boosted posts from publishers you haven’t subscribed to, and, of course, ads.

Now at this point you might be thinking ‘sure, if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product.'

Bullshit!

Bull.

Shit.

The people who buy those Google ads? They pay more every year for worse ad-targeting and more ad-fraud

Those publishers paying to nonconsensually cram their content into your Facebook feed? They have to do that because FB suppresses their ability to reach the people who actually subscribed to them

The Amazon sellers with the best match for your query have to outbid everyone else just to show up on the first page of results. It costs so much to sell on Amazon that between 45-51% of every dollar an independent seller brings in has to be kicked up to Don Bezos and the Amazon crime family. Those sellers don’t have the kind of margins that let them pay 51% They have to raise prices in order to avoid losing money on every sale.

"But wait!" I hear you say!

[Come on, say it!]

"But wait! Things on Amazon aren’t more expensive that things at Target, or Walmart, or at a mom and pop store, or direct from the manufacturer.

"How can sellers be raising prices on Amazon if the price at Amazon is the same as at is everywhere else?"

[Any guesses?!]

That’s right, they charge more everywhere. They have to. Amazon binds its sellers to a policy called “most favored nation status,” which says they can’t charge more on Amazon than they charge elsewhere, including direct from their own factory store.

So every seller that wants to sell on Amazon has to raise their prices everywhere else.

Now, these sellers are Amazon’s best customers. They’re paying for the product, and they’re still getting screwed.

Paying for the product doesn’t fill your vapid boss’s shriveled heart with so much joy that he decides to stop trying to think of ways to fuck you over.

Look at Apple. Remember when Apple offered every Ios user a one-click opt out for app-based surveillance? And 96% of users clicked that box?

(The other four percent were either drunk or Facebook employees or drunk Facebook employees.)

That cost Facebook at least ten billion dollars per year in lost surveillance revenue?

I mean, you love to see it.

But did you know that at the same time Apple started spying on Ios users in the same way that Facebook had been, for surveillance data to use to target users for its competing advertising product?

Your Iphone isn’t an ad-supported gimme. You paid a thousand fucking dollars for that distraction rectangle in your pocket, and you’re still the product. What’s more, Apple has rigged Ios so that you can’t mod the OS to block its spying.

If you’re not not paying for the product, you’re the product, and if you are paying for the product, you’re still the product.

Just ask the farmers who are expected to swap parts into their own busted half-million dollar, mission-critical tractors, but can’t actually use those parts until a technician charges them $200 to drive out to the farm and type a parts pairing unlock code into their console.

John Deere’s not giving away tractors. Give John Deere a half mil for a tractor and you will be the product.

Please, my brothers and sisters in Christ. Please! Stop saying ‘if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product.’

OK, OK, so that’s phase two of enshittification.

Phase one: be good to users while locking them in.

Phase two: screw the users a little to you can good to business customers while locking them in.

Phase three: screw everybody and take all the value for yourself. Leave behind the absolute bare minimum of utility so that everyone stays locked into your pile of shit.

Enshittification: a tragedy in three acts.

That’s what enshittification looks like from the outside, but what’s going on inside the company? What is the pathological mechanism? What sci-fi entropy ray converts the excellent and useful service into a pile of shit?

That mechanism is called twiddling. Twiddling is when someone alters the back end of a service to change how its business operates, changing prices, costs, search ranking, recommendation criteria and other foundational aspects of the system.

Digital platforms are a twiddler’s utopia. A grocer would need an army of teenagers with pricing guns on rollerblades to reprice everything in the building when someone arrives who’s extra hungry.

Whereas the McDonald’s Investments portfolio company Plexure advertises that it can use surveillance data to predict when an app user has just gotten paid so the seller can tack an extra couple bucks onto the price of their breakfast sandwich.

And of course, as the prophet William Gibson warned us, ‘cyberspace is everting.' With digital shelf tags, grocers can change prices whenever they feel like, like the grocers in Norway, whose e-ink shelf tags change the prices 2,000 times per day.

Every Uber driver is offered a different wage for every job. If a driver has been picky lately, the job pays more. But if the driver has been desperate enough to grab every ride the app offers, the pay goes down, and down, and down.

The law professor Veena Dubal calls this ‘algorithmic wage discrimination.' It’s a prime example of twiddling.

Every youtuber knows what it’s like to be twiddled. You work for weeks or months, spend thousands of dollars to make a video, then the algorithm decides that no one – not your own subscribers, not searchers who type in the exact name of your video – will see it.

Why? Who knows? The algorithm’s rules are not public.

Because content moderation is the last redoubt of security through obscurit: they can’t tell you what the como algorithm is downranking because then you’d cheat.

Youtube is the kind of shitty boss who docks every paycheck for all the rules you’ve broken, but won’t tell you what those rules were, lest you figure out how to break those rules next time without your boss catching you.

Twiddling can also work in some users’ favor, of course. Sometimes platforms twiddle to make things better for end users or business customers.

For example, Emily Baker-White from Forbes revealed the existence of a back-end feature that Tiktok’s management can access they call the “heating tool.”

When a manager applies the heating toll to a performer’s account, that performer’s videos are thrust into the feeds of millions of users, without regard to whether the recommendation algorithm predicts they will enjoy that video.

Why would they do this? Well, here’s an analogy from my boyhood I used to go to this traveling fair that would come to Toronto at the end of every summer, the Canadian National Exhibition. If you’ve been to a fair like the Ex, you know that you can always spot some guy lugging around a comedically huge teddy bear.

Nominally, you win that teddy bear by throwing five balls in a peach-basket, but to a first approximation, no one has ever gotten five balls to stay in that peach-basket.

That guy “won” the teddy bear when a carny on the midway singled him out and said, "fella, I like your face. Tell you what I’m gonna do: You get just one ball in the basket and I’ll give you this keychain, and if you amass two keychains, I’ll let you trade them in for one of these galactic-scale teddy-bears."

That’s how the guy got his teddy bear, which he now has to drag up and down the midway for the rest of the day.

Why the hell did that carny give away the teddy bear? Because it turns the guy into a walking billboard for the midway games. If that dopey-looking Judas Goat can get five balls into a peach basket, then so can you.

Except you can’t.

Tiktok’s heating tool is a way to give away tactical giant teddy bears. When someone in the TikTok brain trust decides they need more sports bros on the platform, they pick one bro out at random and make him king for the day, heating the shit out of his account.

That guy gets a bazillion views and he starts running around on all the sports bro forums trumpeting his success: *I am the Louis Pasteur of sports bro influencers!"

The other sports bros pile in and start retooling to make content that conforms to the idiosyncratic Tiktok format. When they fail to get giant teddy bears of their own, they assume that it’s because they’re doing Tiktok wrong, because they don’t know about the heating tool.

But then comes the day when the TikTok Star Chamber decides they need to lure in more astrologers, so they take the heat off that one lucky sports bro, and start heating up some lucky astrologer.

Giant teddy bears are all over the place: those Uber drivers who were boasting to the NYT ten years ago about earning $50/hour? The Substackers who were rolling in dough? Joe Rogan and his hundred million dollar Spotify payout? Those people are all the proud owners of giant teddy bears, and they’re a steal.

Because every dollar they get from the platform turns into five dollars worth of free labor from suckers who think they just internetting wrong.

Giant teddy bears are just one way of twiddling. Platforms can play games with every part of their business logic, in highly automated ways, that allows them to quickly and efficiently siphon value from end users to business customers and back again, hiding the pea in a shell game conducted at machine speeds, until they’ve got everyone so turned around that they take all the value for themselves.

That’s the how: How the platforms do the trick where they are good to users, then lock users in, then maltreat users to be good to business customers, then lock in those business customers, then take all the value for themselves.

So now we know what is happening, and how it is happening, all that’s left is why it’s happening.

Now, on the one hand, the why is pretty obvious. The less value that end-users and business customers capture, the more value there is left to divide up among the shareholders and the executives.

That’s why, but it doesn’t tell you why now. Companies could have done this shit at any time in the past 20 years, but they didn’t. Or at least, the successful ones didn’t. The ones that turned themselves into piles of shit got treated like piles of shit. We avoided them and they died.

Remember Myspace? Yahoo Search? Livejournal? Sure, they’re still serving some kind of AI slop or programmatic ad junk if you hit those domains, but they’re gone.

And there’s the clue: It used to be that if you enshittified your product, bad things happened to your company. Now, there are no consequences for enshittification, so everyone’s doing it.

Let’s break that down: What stops a company from enshittifying?

There are four forces that discipline tech companies. The first one is, obviously, competition.

If your customers find it easy to leave, then you have to worry about them leaving

Many factors can contribute to how hard or easy it is to depart a platform, like the network effects that Facebook has going for it. But the most important factor is whether there is anywhere to go.

Back in 2012, Facebook bought Insta for a billion dollars. That may seem like chump-change in these days of eleven-digit Big Tech acquisitions, but that was a big sum in those innocent days, and it was an especially big sum to pay for Insta. The company only had 13 employees, and a mere 25 million registered users.

But what mattered to Zuckerberg wasn’t how many users Insta had, it was where those users came from.

[Does anyone know where those Insta users came from?]

That’s right, they left Facebook and joined Insta. They were sick of FB, even though they liked the people there, they hated creepy Zuck, they hated the platform, so they left and they didn’t come back.

So Zuck spent a cool billion to recapture them, A fact he put in writing in a midnight email to CFO David Ebersman, explaining that he was paying over the odds for Insta because his users hated him, and loved Insta. So even if they quit Facebook (the platform), they would still be captured Facebook (the company).

Now, on paper, Zuck’s Instagram acquisition is illegal, but normally, that would be hard to stop, because you’d have to prove that he bought Insta with the intention of curtailing competition.

But in this case, Zuck tripped over his own dick: he put it in writing.

But Obama’s DoJ and FTC just let that one slide, following the pro-monopoly policies of Reagan, Bush I, Clinton and Bush II, and setting an example that Trump would follow, greenlighting gigamergers like the catastrophic, incestuous Warner-Discovery marriage.

Indeed, for 40 years, starting with Carter, and accelerating through Reagan, the US has encouraged monopoly formation, as an official policy, on the grounds that monopolies are “efficient.”

If everyone is using Google Search, that’s something we should celebrate. It means they’ve got the very best search and wouldn’t it be perverse to spend public funds to punish them for making the best product?

But as we all know, Google didn’t maintain search dominance by being best. They did it by paying bribes. More than 20 billion per year to Apple alone to be the default Ios search, plus billions more to Samsung, Mozilla, and anyone else making a product or service with a search-box on it, ensuring that you never stumble on a search engine that’s better than theirs.

Which, in turn, ensured that no one smart invested big in rival search engines, even if they were visibly, obviously superior. Why bother making something better if Google’s buying up all the market oxygen before it can kindle your product to life?

Facebook, Google, Microsoft, Amazon – they’re not “making things” companies, they’re “buying things” companies, taking advantage of official tolerance for anticompetitive acquisitions, predatory pricing, market distorting exclusivity deals and other acts specifically prohibited by existing antitrust law.

Their goal is to become too big to fail, because that makes them too big to jail, and that means they can be too big to care.

Which is why Google Search is a pile of shit and everything on Amazon is dropshipped garbage that instantly disintegrates in a cloud of offgassed volatile organic compounds when you open the box.

Once companies no longer fear losing your business to a competitor, it’s much easier for them to treat you badly, because what’re you gonna do?

Remember Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator in those old SNL sketches? “We don’t care. We don’t have to. We’re the phone company.”

Competition is the first force that serves to discipline companies and the enshittificatory impulses of their leadership, and we just stopped enforcing competition law.

It takes a special kind of smooth-brained asshole – that is, an establishment economist – to insist that the collapse of every industry from eyeglasses to vitamin C into a cartel of five or fewer companies has nothing to do with policies that officially encouraged monopolization.

It’s like we used to put down rat poison and we didn’t have a rat problem. Then these dickheads convinced us that rats were good for us and we stopped putting down rat poison, and now rats are gnawing our faces off and they’re all running around saying, "Who’s to say where all these rats came from? Maybe it was that we stopped putting down poison, but maybe it’s just the Time of the Rats. The Great Forces of History bearing down on this moment to multiply rats beyond all measure!"

Antitrust didn’t slip down that staircase and fall spine-first on that stiletto: they stabbed it in the back and then they pushed it.

And when they killed antitrust, they also killed regulation, the second force that disciplines companies. Regulation is possible, but only when the regulator is more powerful than the regulated entities. When a company is bigger than the government, it gets damned hard to credibly threaten to punish that company, no matter what its sins.

That’s what protected IBM for all those years when it had its boot on the throat of the American tech sector. Do you know, the DOJ fought to break up IBM in the courts from 1970-1982, and that every year, for 12 consecutive years, IBM spent more on lawyers to fight the USG than the DOJ Antitrust Division spent on all the lawyers fighting every antitrust case in the entire USA?

IBM outspent Uncle Sam for 12 years. People called it “Antitrust’s Vietnam.” All that money paid off, because by 1982, the president was Ronald Reagan, a man whose official policy was that monopolies were “efficient." So he dropped the case, and Big Blue wriggled off the hook.

It’s hard to regulate a monopolist, and it’s hard to regulate a cartel. When a sector is composed of hundreds of competing companies, they compete. They genuinely fight with one another, trying to poach each others’ customers and workers. They are at each others’ throats.

It’s hard enough for a couple hundred executives to agree on anything. But when they’re legitimately competing with one another, really obsessing about how to eat each others’ lunches, they can’t agree on anything.

The instant one of them goes to their regulator with some bullshit story, about how it’s impossible to have a decent search engine without fine-grained commercial surveillance; or how it’s impossible to have a secure and easy to use mobile device without a total veto over which software can run on it; or how it’s impossible to administer an ISP’s network unless you can slow down connections to servers whose owners aren’t paying bribes for “premium carriage"; there’s some *other company saying, “That’s bullshit”

“We’ve managed it! Here’s our server logs, our quarterly financials and our customer testimonials to prove it.”

100 companies are a rabble, they're a mob. They can’t agree on a lobbying position. They’re too busy eating each others’ lunch to agree on how to cater a meeting to discuss it.

But let those hundred companies merge to monopoly, absorb one another in an incestuous orgy, turn into five giant companies, so inbred they’ve got a corporate Habsburg jaw, and they become a cartel.

It’s easy for a cartel to agree on what bullshit they’re all going to feed their regulator, and to mobilize some of the excess billions they’ve reaped through consolidation, which freed them from “wasteful competition," sp they can capture their regulators completely.

You know, Congress used to pass federal consumer privacy laws? Not anymore.

The last time Congress managed to pass a federal consumer privacy law was in 1988: The Video Privacy Protection Act. That’s a law that bans video-store clerks from telling newspapers what VHS cassettes you take home. In other words, it regulates three things that have effectively ceased to exist.

The threat of having your video rental history out there in the public eye was not the last or most urgent threat the American public faced, and yet, Congress is deadlocked on passing a privacy law.

Tech companies’ regulatory capture involves a risible and transparent gambit, that is so stupid, it’s an insult to all the good hardworking risible transparent ruses out there.

Namely, they claim that when they violate your consumer, privacy or labor rights, It’s not a crime, because they do it with an app.

Algorithmic wage discrimination isn’t illegal wage theft: we do it with an app.

Spying on you from asshole to appetite isn’t a privacy violation: we do it with an app.

And Amazon’s scam search tool that tricks you into paying 29% more than the best match for your query? Not a ripoff. We do it with an app.

Once we killed competition – stopped putting down rat poison – we got cartels – the rats ate our faces. And the cartels captured their regulators – the rats bought out the poison factory and shut it down.

So companies aren’t constrained by competition or regulation.

But you know what? This is tech, and tech is different.IIt’s different because it’s flexible. Because our computers are Turing-complete universal von Neumann machines. That means that any enshittificatory alteration to a program can be disenshittified with another program.

Every time HP jacks up the price of ink , they invite a competitor to market a refill kit or a compatible cartridge.

When Tesla installs code that says you have to pay an extra monthly fee to use your whole battery, they invite a modder to start selling a kit to jailbreak that battery and charge it all the way up.

Lemme take you through a little example of how that works: Imagine this is a product design meeting for our company’s website, and the guy leading the meeting says “Dudes, you know how our KPI is topline ad-revenue? Well, I’ve calculated that if we make the ads just 20% more invasive and obnoxious, we’ll boost ad rev by 2%”

This is a good pitch. Hit that KPI and everyone gets a fat bonus. We can all take our families on a luxury ski vacation in Switzerland.

But here’s the thing: someone’s gonna stick their arm up – someone who doesn’t give a shit about user well-being, and that person is gonna say, “I love how you think, Elon. But has it occurred to you that if we make the ads 20% more obnoxious, then 40% of our users will go to a search engine and type 'How do I block ads?'"

I mean, what a nightmare! Because once a user does that, the revenue from that user doesn’t rise to 102%. It doesn’t stay at 100% It falls to zero, forever.

[Any guesses why?]

Because no user ever went back to the search engine and typed, 'How do I start seeing ads again?'

Once the user jailbreaks their phone or discovers third party ink, or develops a relationship with an independent Tesla mechanic who’ll unlock all the DLC in their car, that user is gone, forever.

Interoperability – that latent property bequeathed to us courtesy of Herrs Turing and Von Neumann and their infinitely flexible, universal machines – that is a serious check on enshittification.

The fact that Congress hasn’t passed a privacy law since 1988 Is countered, at least in part, by the fact that the majority of web users are now running ad-blockers, which are also tracker-blockers.

But no one’s ever installed a tracker-blocker for an app. Because reverse engineering an app puts in you jeopardy of criminal and civil prosecution under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, with penalties of a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine for a first offense.

And violating its terms of service puts you in jeopardy under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act of 1986, which is the law that Ronald Reagan signed in a panic after watching Wargames (seriously!).

Helping other users violate the terms of service can get you hit with a lawsuit for tortious interference with contract. And then there’s trademark, copyright and patent.

All that nonsense we call “IP,” but which Jay Freeman of Cydia calls “Felony Contempt of Business Model."

So if we’re still at that product planning meeting and now it’s time to talk about our app, the guy leading the meeting says, “OK, so we’ll make the ads in the app 20% more obnoxious to pull a 2% increase in topline ad rev?”

And that person who objected to making the website 20% worse? Their hand goes back up. Only this time they say “Why don’t we make the ads 100% more invasive and get a 10% increase in ad rev?"

Because it doesn't matter if a user goes to a search engine and types, “How do I block ads in an app." The answer is: you can't. So YOLO, enshittify away.

“IP” is just a euphemism for “any law that lets me reach outside my company’s walls to exert coercive control over my critics, competitors and customers,” and “app” is just a euphemism for “A web page skinned with the right IP so that protecting your privacy while you use it is a felony.”

Interop used to keep companies from enshittifying. If a company made its client suck, someone would roll out an alternative client, if they ripped a feature out and wanted to sell it back to you as a monthly subscription, someone would make a compatible plugin that restored it for a one-time fee, or for free.

To help people flee Myspace, FB gave them bots that you’d load with your login credentials. It would scrape your waiting Myspace messages and put ‘em in your FB inbox, and login to Myspace and paste your replies into your Myspace outbox. So you didn’t have to choose between the people you loved on Myspace, and Facebook, which launched with a promise never to spy on you. Remember that?!

Thanks to the metastasis of IP, all that is off the table today. Apple owes its very existence to iWork Suite, whose Pages, Numbers and Keynote are file-compatible with Microsoft’s Word, Excel and Powerpoint. But make an IOS runtime that’ll play back the files you bought from Apple’s stores on other platforms, and they’ll nuke you til you glow.

FB wouldn’t have had a hope of breaking Myspace’s grip on social media without that scrape, but scrape FB today in support of an alternative client and their lawyers will bomb you til the rubble bounces.

Google scraped every website in the world to create its search index. Try and scrape Google and they’ll have your head on a pike.

When they did it, it was progress. When you do it to them, that’s piracy. Every pirate wants to be an admiral.

Because this handful of companies has so thoroughly captured their regulators, they can wield the power of the state against you when you try to break their grip on power, even as their own flagrant violations of our rights go unpunished. Because they do them with an app.

Tech lost its fear of competitin it neutralized the threat from regulators, and then put them in harness to attack new startups that might do unto them as they did unto the companies that came before them.

But even so, there was a force that kept our bosses in check That force was us. Tech workers.

Tech workers have historically been in short supply, which gave us power, and our bosses knew it.

To get us to work crazy hours, they came up with a trick. They appealed to our love of technology, and told us that we were heroes of a digital revolution, who would “organize the world’s information and make it useful,” who would “bring the world closer together.”

They brought in expert set-dressers to turn our workplaces into whimsical campuses with free laundry, gourmet cafeterias, massages, and kombucha, and a surgeon on hand to freeze our eggs so that we could work through our fertile years.

They convinced us that we were being pampered, rather than being worked like government mules.

This trick has a name. Fobazi Ettarh, the librarian-theorist, calls it “vocational awe, and Elon Musk calls it being “extremely hardcore.”

This worked very well. Boy did we put in some long-ass hours!

But for our bosses, this trick failed badly. Because if you miss your mother’s funeral and to hit a deadline, and then your boss orders you to enshittify that product, you are gonna experience a profound moral injury, which you are absolutely gonna make your boss share.

Because what are they gonna do? Fire you? They can’t hire someone else to do your job, and you can get a job that’s even better at the shop across the street.

So workers held the line when competition, regulation and interop failed.

But eventually, supply caught up with demand. Tech laid off 260,000 of us last year, and another 100,000 in the first half of this year.

You can’t tell your bosses to go fuck themselves, because they’ll fire your ass and give your job to someone who’ll be only too happy to enshittify that product you built.

That’s why this is all happening right now. Our bosses aren’t different. They didn’t catch a mind-virus that turned them into greedy assholes who don’t care about our users’ wellbeing or the quality of our products.

As far as our bosses have always been concerned, the point of the business was to charge the most, and deliver the least, while sharing as little as possible with suppliers, workers, users and customers. They’re not running charities.

Since day one, our bosses have shown up for work and yanked as hard as they can on the big ENSHITTIFICATION lever behind their desks, only that lever didn’t move much. It was all gummed up by competition, regulation, interop and workers.

As those sources of friction melted away, the enshittification lever started moving very freely.

Which sucks, I know. But think about this for a sec: our bosses, despite being wildly imperfect vessels capable of rationalizing endless greed and cheating, nevertheless oversaw a series of actually great products and services.

Not because they used to be better people, but because they used to be subjected to discipline.

So it follows that if we want to end the enshittocene, dismantle the enshitternet, and build a new, good internet that our bosses can’t wreck, we need to make sure that these constraints are durably installed on that internet, wound around its very roots and nerves. And we have to stand guard over it so that it can’t be dismantled again.

A new, good internet is one that has the positive aspects of the old, good internet: an ethic of technological self-determination, where users of technology (and hackers, tinkerers, startups and others serving as their proxies) can reconfigure and mod the technology they use, so that it does what they need it to do, and so that it can’t be used against them.

But the new, good internet will fix the defects of the old, good internet, the part that made it hard to use for anyone who wasn’t us. And hell yeah we can do that. Tech bosses swear that it’s impossible, that you can’t have a conversation friend without sharing it with Zuck; or search the web without letting Google scrape you down to the viscera; or have a phone that works reliably without giving Apple a veto over the software you install.

They claim that it’s a nonsense to even ponder this kind of thing. It’s like making water that’s not wet. But that’s bullshit. We can have nice things. We can build for the people we love, and give them a place that’s worth of their time and attention.

To do that, we have to install constraints.

The first constraint, remember, is competition. We’re living through a epochal shift in competition policy. After 40 years with antitrust enforcement in an induced coma, a wave of antitrust vigor has swept through governments all over the world. Regulators are stepping in to ban monopolistic practices, open up walled gardens, block anticompetitive mergers, and even unwind corrupt mergers that were undertaken on false pretenses.

Normally this is the place in the speech where I’d list out all the amazing things that have happened over the past four years. The enforcement actions that blocked companies from becoming too big to care, and that scared companies away from even trying.

Like Wiz, which just noped out of the largest acquisition offer in history, turning down Google’s $23b cashout, and deciding to, you know, just be a fucking business that makes money by producing a product that people want and selling it at a competitive price.

Normally, I’d be listing out FTC rulemakings that banned noncompetes nationwid. Or the new merger guidelines the FTC and DOJ cooked up, which – among other things – establish that the agencies should be considering whether a merger will negatively impact privacy.

I had a whole section of this stuff in my notes, a real victory lap, but I deleted it all this week.

[Can anyone guess why?]

That’s right! This week, Judge Amit Mehta, ruling for the DC Circuit of these United States of America, In the docket 20-3010 a case known as United States v. Google LLC, found that “Google is a monopolist, and it has acted as one to maintain its monopoly," and ordered Google and the DOJ to propose a schedule for a remedy, like breaking the company up.

So yeah, that was pretty fucking epic.

Now, this antitrust stuff is pretty esoteric, and I won’t gatekeep you or shame you if you wanna keep a little distance on this subject. Nearly everyone is an antitrust normie, and that's OK. But if you’re a normie, you’re probably only catching little bits and pieces of the narrative, and let me tell you, the monopolists know it and they are flooding the zone.

The Wall Street Journal has published over 100 editorials condemning FTC Chair Lina Khan, saying she’s an ineffectual do-nothing, wasting public funds chasing doomed, quixotic adventures against poor, innocent businesses accomplishing nothing

[Does anyone out there know who owns the Wall Street Journal?]

That’s right, it’s Rupert Murdoch. Do you really think Rupert Murdoch pays his editorial board to write one hundred editorials about someone who’s not getting anything done?

The reality is that in the USA, in the UK, in the EU, in Australia, in Canada, in Japan, in South Korea, even in China, we are seeing more antitrust action over the past four years than over the preceding forty years.

Remember, competition law is actually pretty robust. The problem isn’t the law, It’s the enforcement priorities. Reagan put antitrust in mothballs 40 years ago, but that elegant weapon from a more civilized age is now back in the hands of people who know how to use it, and they’re swinging for the fences.

Next up: regulation.

As the seemingly inescapable power of the tech giants is revealed for the sham it always was, governments and regulators are finally gonna kill the “one weird trick” of violating the law, and saying “It doesn’t count, we did it with an app.”

Like in the EU, they’re rolling out the Digital Markets Act this year. That’s a law requiring dominant platforms to stand up APIs so that third parties can offer interoperable services.

So a co-op, a nonprofit, a hobbyist, a startup, or a local government agency wil eventuallyl be able to offer, say, a social media server that can interconnect with one of the dominant social media silos, and users who switch to that new platform will be able to continue to exchange messages with the users they follow and groups they belong to, so the switching costs will fall to damned near zero.

That’s a very cool rule, but what’s even cooler is how it’s gonna be enforced. Previous EU tech rules were “regulations” as in the GDPR – the General Data Privacy Regulation. EU regs need to be “transposed” into laws in each of the 27 EU member states, so they become national laws that get enforced by national courts.

For Big Tech, that means all previous tech regulations are enforced in Ireland, because Ireland is a tax haven, and all the tech companies fly Irish flags of convenience.

Here’s the thing: every tax haven is also a crime haven. After all, if Google can pretend it’s Irish this week, it can pretend to be Cypriot, or Maltese, or Luxembougeious next week. So Ireland has to keep these footloose criminal enterprises happy, or they’ll up sticks and go somewhere else.

This is why the GDPR is such a goddamned joke in practice. Big tech wipes its ass with the GDPR, and the only way to punish them starts with Ireland’s privacy commissioner, who barely bothers to get out of bed. This is an agency that spends most of its time watching cartoons on TV in its pajamas and eating breakfast cereal. So all of the big GDPR cases go to Ireland and they die there.

This is hardly a secret. The European Commission knows it’s going on. So with the DMA, the Commission has changed things up: The DMA is an “Act,” not a “Regulation.” Meaning it gets enforced in the EU’s federal courts, bypassing the national courts in crime-havens like Ireland.

In other words, the “we violate privacy law, but we do it with an app” gambit that worked on Ireland’s toothless privacy watchdog is now a dead letter, because EU federal judges have no reason to swallow that obvious bullshit.

Here in the US, the dam is breaking on federal consumer privacy law – at last!

Remember, our last privacy law was passed in 1988 to protect the sanctity of VHS rental history. It's been a minute.

And the thing is, there's a lot of people who are angry about stuff that has some nexus with America's piss-poor privacy landscape. Worried that Facebook turned grampy into a Qanon? That Insta made your teen anorexic? That TikTok is brainwashing millennials into quoting Osama Bin Laden? Or that cops are rolling up the identities of everyone at a Black Lives Matter protest or the Jan 6 riots by getting location data from Google? Or that Red State Attorneys General are tracking teen girls to out-of-state abortion clinics? Or that Black people are being discriminated against by online lending or hiring platforms? Or that someone is making AI deepfake porn of you?

A federal privacy law with a private right of action – which means that individuals can sue companies that violate their privacy – would go a long way to rectifying all of these problems

There's a pretty big coalition for that kind of privacy law! Which is why we have seen a procession of imperfect (but steadily improving) privacy laws working their way through Congress.

If you sign up for EFF’s mailing list at eff.org we’ll send you an email when these come up, so you can call your Congressjerk or Senator and talk to them about it. Or better yet, make an appointment to drop by their offices when they’re in their districts, and explain to them that you’re not just a registered voter from their district, you’re the kind of elite tech person who goes to Defcon, and then explain the bill to them. That stuff makes a difference.

What about self-help? How are we doing on making interoperability legal again, so hackers can just fix shit without waiting for Congress or a federal agency to act?

All the action here these day is in the state Right to Repair fight. We’re getting state R2R bills, like the one that passed this year in Oregon that bans parts pairing, where DRM is used to keep a device from using a new part until it gets an authorized technician’s unlock code.

These bills are pushed by a fantastic group of organizations called the Repair Coalition, at Repair.org, and they’ll email you when one of these laws is going through your statehouse, so you can meet with your state reps and explain to the JV squad the same thing you told your federal reps.

Repair.org’s prime mover is Ifixit, who are genuine heroes of the repair revolution, and Ifixit’s founder, Kyle Wiens, is here at the con. When you see him, you can shake his hand and tell him thanks, and that’ll be even better if you tell him that you’ve signed up to get alerts at repair.org!

Now, on to the final way that we reverse enhittification and build that new, good internet: you, the tech labor force.

For years, your bosses tricked you into thinking you were founders in waiting, temporarily embarrassed entrepreneurs who were only momentarily drawing a salary.

You certainly weren’t workers. Your power came from your intrinsic virtue, not like those lazy slobs in unions who have to get their power through that kumbaya solidarity nonsense.

It was a trick. You were scammed. The power you had came from scarcity, and so when the scarcity ended, when the industry started ringing up six-figure annual layoffs, your power went away with it.

The only durable source of power for tech workers is as workers, in a union.

Think about Amazon. Warehouse workers have to piss in bottles and have the highest rate of on-the-job maimings of any competing business. Whereas Amazon coders get to show up for work with facial piercings, green mohawks, and black t-shirts that say things their bosses don’t understand. They can piss whenever they want!

That’s not because Jeff Bezos or Andy Jassy loves you guys. It’s because they’re scared you’ll quit and they don’t know how to replace you.

Time for the second obligatory William Gibson quote: “The future is here, it’s just not evenly distributed.” You know who’s living in the future?. Those Amazon blue-collar workers. They are the bleeding edge.

Drivers whose eyeballs are monitored by AI cameras that do digital phrenology on their faces to figure out whether to dock their pay, warehouse workers whose bodies are ruined in just months.

As tech bosses beef up that reserve army of unemployed, skilled tech workers, then those tech workers – you all – will arrive at the same future as them.

Look, I know that you’ve spent your careers explaining in words so small your boss could understand them that you refuse to enshittify the company’s products, and I thank you for your service.

But if you want to go on fighting for the user, you need power that’s more durable than scarcity. You need a union. Wanna learn how? Check out the Tech Workers Coalition and Tech Solidarity, and get organized.

Enshittification didn’t arise because our bosses changed. They were always that guy.

They were always yankin’ on that enshittification lever in the C-suite.

What changed was the environment, everything that kept that switch from moving.

And that’s good news, in a bankshot way, because it means we can make good services out of imperfect people. As a wildly imperfect person myself, I find this heartening.

The new good internet is in our grasp: an internet that has the technological self-determination of the old, good internet, and the greased-skids simplicity of Web 2.0 that let all our normie friends get in on the fun.

Tech bosses want you to think that good UX and enshittification can’t ever be separated. That’s such a self-serving proposition you can spot it from orbit. We know it, 'cause we built the old good internet, and we’ve been fighting a rear-guard action to preserve it for the past two decades.

It’s time to stop playing defense. It's time to go on the offensive. To restore competition, regulation, interop and tech worker power so that we can create the new, good internet we’ll need to fight fascism, the climate emergency, and genocide.

To build a digital nervous system for a 21st century in which our children can thrive and prosper.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

Image: https://twitter.com/igama/status/1822347578094043435/ (cropped)

@fak3r@mastodon.social (cropped)

https://mamot.fr/@fak3r@mastodon.social/112963252835869648

CC BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed.pt

[chunksworld]

Double Fantasy

NewJeans Minji x Male Reader | (Tags: Smut)

A/N: Apologies for the long hiatus, ya boi was busy with life. Also, thank you @kaedespicelatte as always for beta reading. ————————

“My room. I’m giving you 15 minutes or we’re never doing this again.”

Kim Minji be damned.

You hate how every ounce of self-respect you have flies out of the window when it comes to her, as if you’re nothing but an outlet for her carnal desires (as she was to you). And perhaps you are—maybe it was just part of your delusion to think that she perceives you differently than the hundreds of men that shamelessly ogle her. That she views you more than just that guy that fucks her so good she struggles to keep that mouth of hers shut. But who are you to complain? Every encounter with her leaves you starstruck, wanting for more, tongue tied—as if she commands an unquantifiable amount of gravity that leaves you speechless literally and figuratively. As much as your brain is telling you that she’s dangerous, that everything that’s happening between the two of you can jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard for, it’s the thrill that keeps you coming back time and time again.

I mean who would’ve thought that the two top students on campus would be engaging in such unholy acts? Not when everyone (your professors included) think of you two as the embodiment of the values that this very institution was established upon. The beacons of hope that would serve as inspirations for the rest of your peers, that through hard work they can attain the level of success that you two have. That couldn’t be any more farther than the truth however. Certainly your after school hookups with her inside empty classrooms, behind the bleachers, and inside the gym showers would beg to differ. But it’s not like you have any morals, that disappeared eons ago when you found yourself down this treacherous path of self-destruction in an attempt to alleviate the stress that comes with such expectations and responsibilities.

On the surface their perception of you two is true; students that constantly receive top marks in every subject and find themselves involved in as many activities and clubs as possible. Racking up awards was just second nature, as you would always receive the highest recognition much like she did over the years. It was only natural for a rivalry to spark between you and her; a byproduct of your competitiveness and your desire to come out on top. It was friendly at first, you would congratulate each other and encourage the other to do better next time. But it soon became ugly, the once wholesome banter turning into horrifying insults that you wouldn’t even think to come out of your mouth—needless to say you both became jealous of each other, of how successful the other one became.

You could say it was a petty affair, one that was exacerbated by the fact that everyone was pressuring you two to continuously be the best—a mental strain that proved to be too much. It was something that only happened behind closed doors though, everyone still thought you had an amicable relationship with her when everything was actually already falling apart. Yelling and screaming and arguing, truly an ugly sight. You would often talk about how you couldn’t stand how condescending she was towards you every time you made a mistake and she in turn would talk about how much she hates your ego. But it also involved even the smallest of things including how you thought her boyfriend was a dick because she would rarely see him (she claimed he was busy all the time but you knew better).

And with two extremely combustible elements in constant interaction with one another, an explosion was bound to occur. After months and months of arguing, it finally happened. It was midterms week and you two were extremely stressed (it didn’t help that you were only getting on average two to three hours of sleep and consuming an unhealthy amount of energy drinks). Oh, and that dick of a boyfriend she had broke up with her. She was inconsolable to say the least— but when you brought up how much you didn’t like him and blamed her for dating him in the first place like the asshole you were, that's when things took a turn. You know you fucked up, that it was a line crossed and that such words should have never been uttered. But instead of receiving a resounding slap on the face, you found yourself kissing her. 

Or rather, Minji kissing you. And any sane person would react by trying to pull away in shock but you couldn’t find yourself doing it. Perhaps this was something that was bound to happen. All of those arguing and bickering, maybe it was just a ruse. The urgency, the passion, the look of desperation in her eyes; they told the story. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was something more. Whatever it is, she needed you as much as you needed her. She was coming off a terrible breakup and you, well—you would be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find her attractive because who didn’t? There’s a reason why she’s rejected at least half of the male students, and you definitely don’t miss the way some of them would glare at you because of how suspiciously close you were to her. 

In that aspect, a part of you considers this a small victory; especially when she grabs you by the collar and pulls you in deeper, as if the thought of letting you go would be the end of her. It was intense and as much as your senses were firing from all cylinders, your brain was telling you that this wasn’t right. You were supposed to hate her, she was your mortal enemy. What would everyone think? That the two top students were hooking up with—close the fucking door before I change my mind. Right. Every rationale you may have had was gone in an instant. The prospect of a classmate, a member of the maintenance crew, or worse—a staff potentially catching the two of you never crossed your mind. Not when you had her bent over the desk at one point screaming you’re fucking me so good and don’t stop while you rearrange her guts. Or when you had her pinned against the wall and pumped her so full of cum that she finally gave you her number after because she wanted you two to do it all over again.

Did the room reek of sex? Sure. That’s why she’s made it a habit to bring a bottle of air freshener to mask the scent during your subsequent “study sessions.” And were people starting to notice how you two would frequently stay up late despite not always having a busy workload? Definitely. But you could care less. In fact, nothing else matters. You were addicted to her in more ways than one, not romantically however. That was something she made abundantly clear the day after—clearly she was one to establish boundaries which you respected. Yet here you are, frantically putting on some nice clothes and making yourself smell nice with that twenty dollar bottle of perfume that she hates. Fuck it, why even bother? Your clothes will be thrown to God knows where the moment you enter her place anyways. At least put on a face mask, especially since you’ll be sneaking your way to her dorm once again and you don’t want another close encounter with the security guard.

Fortunately there wasn’t any problem, your disguise actually worked this time around but you still have to be cautious. It’s a quick elevator ride yet it takes forever, maybe it’s because you two haven’t had sex in the past two weeks and you’re just dying to get a taste of her again, to feel her irresistible body against yours. Look around before knocking on the door three times and fortunately you didn’t have to wait any longer. Minji hastily pulls you inside and grabs you by your hoodie for a kiss—immediately you get a taste of her favorite cinnamon lip balm. Her strength (which still surprises you to this day) forces you to move backwards and you find your back pressed against her door. Hands roam each other’s bodies and you groan as you feel her fingers cup your bulge. Fuck, why are you so hard already? 

You’re not one to just let her do what she wants so you avoid her chasing lips to plant yours on her neck, biting and nipping on her smooth skin while your own fingers creep underneath her shirt. “D-Don’t fucking mark me. I—shit—I’ve got a presentation tomorrow.” Minji finally speaks and you would’ve gladly granted her wish but with the way she’s leaning her head back, it didn’t seem like her words were matching her actions. Much more so when you grab on the hem of that same shirt and pull it up and she willfully raises her arms so you can remove it. And before you even get the opportunity to appreciate her body, your sweatpants are already being pulled down. Help her out by kicking that obstructive garment away; in fact you end up removing your hoodie as well which only leaves you with your boxers on and it barely conceals your raging desire for her. 

“This is your fault. Your fault for making me wait so damn long.” You don’t miss the way she bites her lips at the sight of your bulge, even as you make your way further down with your mouth and proceed to mark her collarbones and her cleavage. Her deft fingers continue to distract you however, pulling your boxers down and wrapping her cold digits around your throbbing and pulsating cock. The effect on you is immediate as you can do nothing but lean your head back and groan shamelessly. Minji smirks, especially because this is one of the only few times she has the upper hand on you; when you’re just putty in her arms and rendered breathless by her actions. It gets even worse when she slowly begins to pump you, drawing more precum out of your tip with how badly you just want to ravage her. 

“You poor thing.” You can feel her hot breath against your ear, sending more shivers down your spine as she’s decided that it’s now her turn to leave marks on you. It’s apparent that Kim Minji is just as possessive as you, even though neither one of you wants to reveal your dirty little secret to everyone. “Guess you couldn’t last that long without me, huh? Were those pictures I sent not enough?” Of course they weren’t, no amount of thirst pics of her in her underwear can satiate your endless lust towards her. Nothing can replace her hands, the way she can just work you to submission and make you so impatient. “I can’t blame you.” Her teeth sink into your jugular like a vampire. “I’ve been thinking about how much I want you to rail me into the bed, to make me moan so fucking load, to make me choke on your cock. Will you do all of that for me?”

You’re ashamed by how much that turned you on, as if a switch has been flipped inside you. You don’t miss a beat and lift her up by her waist which makes her squeal; her legs wrap around you while you carry her towards her bed. No more foreplay, you almost throw her onto the bed before yanking her shorts and her panties in the process. They’re discarded along with the rest of your clothing somewhere in the room. Her bra follows suit as well—you can’t believe she’s had it on for this long. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I want to put a load in you. Until you’re filled with so much cum that all you can think about is my cock.” You spread her long legs open and it’s clear that everything she said is true; her clit is puffed and her inner thighs are already drenched with her juices. 

Kneel in front of her and carefully position your length inside her. “Gonna fuck you now.” Through gritted teeth, Minji nods; her fingers gripping your biceps while her legs are already pulling you in. You sink into her further and further, drinking her moans and whispered curses until you bottom out inside her. She still feels so good, so  tight, so warm. You have to silence her mouth with a kiss because her moans are increasing in volume as you gradually increase her pace. “So, so fucking good. You’re gonna drain me dry.” Feel her nails digging into your shoulders and back, you’re definitely going to feel the sting of the scratches she’s leaving tomorrow morning but that’s not your concern for now. A bite of your bottom lip further confirms that she’s in an equal state of euphoria and you respond by continuing to fuck her with the same pace and intensity.

You’re careful not to make the bed creak but that’s fortunately an art that you’ve already mastered given the circumstances. But even with her luscious thighs wrapped around you, it’s not enough to have her drunk on your cock, you want her to beg for it like her life depends on it. You pause for a brief moment much to her verbal disappointment before pressing her legs against her chest to effectively fuck her in mating press. You know it’s her favorite position because an uncharacteristically loud moan escapes her mouth the moment you resume your fucking, your fingers gripping the bedsheet for support. “F-Fuck! Please, keep fucking me. So—damn—big!” You’re going to have to kiss her again because she’s slowly losing her grip on her surroundings, only focused on how much you’re pounding her into the bed.

“This is what you wanted, right? I bet not even your toys can fuck you this deep.” Minji doesn’t answer but her body responds for her; a particularly deep thrust has her clinging on to you for dear life. Her breasts pressing up against you and followed by the rest of her body. Bury your face on the crook of her neck, inhaling her addicting scent as you can feel her tightening ever so slightly around your cock. It’s becoming more of an effort to thrust inside her now, especially when you’re fucking her balls deep with every motion of your hips. Only broken sentences and curses are leaving her mouth at this very moment, along with shameless moans of your name as if she’s not afraid to reveal to everyone just how much the model student is getting dicked down by her fellow model student.

Maybe she isn’t. Maybe that’s part of the thrill after all, the aspect of getting caught. But that’s not your worry at this moment; not when that said model student is beginning to tighten even more and her breathing is becoming more hurried. You pull away to look at her facial expression and it’s painted with nothing but lust. The way her face is misted with sweat, her eyes closed, and her mouth open. It’s clear that her orgasm is just right around the corner. “C-Coming! I’m so fucking close, don’t you dare fucking stop.” You don’t care that your abs are burning, that’s what those 7 AM workouts in the gym are for. It’s for moments like these, when her nails are damn near close to breaking your skin and tears are starting to well on her eyes. It then becomes your goal to break her, like you always do during these sessions.

And it’s during another particularly deep thrust that her orgasm hits her like lightning, her pussy becoming unimaginably tight as if she wants you to join her in her euphoria as well. She’s almost crying, her body twitching uncontrollably as you pin her down to the bed. Tears eventually do fall due to the overwhelming pleasure, that makeup that you’re only noticing now is completely destroyed. Her juices begin to soak your length and the sheets underneath. She’s biting her lips so hard that it’s starting to bleed, get rid of the blood by giving her open-mouthed kisses. But you’re so focused on helping her come down from her high that you don’t realize that you’re about to explode as well, Perhaps you might, because you’re starting to throb madly as you continue to fuck her through her powerful orgasm. 

You spread her legs as far as you can, pistoning into her with no abandon. More of her juices stream out and you’re almost apologetic because of the mess that she’s going to have to clean up. But it’s really hard to focus on anything else when her pussy is still pulsating, continuing to urge you to join her in her orgasm. “Need your cum inside me, don’t you dare pull out.” It’s not like you had any intentions to in the first place, not when her suffocating warmth is begging to drain your balls for everything it has. The tension is building, rising, culminating—one animalistic growl after you bottom out and you’re pumping ropes and ropes of semen deep inside her. It floods her walls, it overflows, and you just can’t stop pushing it as deep inside her as possible. To make sure that her womb is completely filled with your cum and nothing else. It’s downright euphoric, the way her name leaves your lips like it’s a mantra. The way all of it triggers a smaller, second orgasm from her—truly wringing you dry.

It takes minutes for your movement to come to a halt, and by then your orgasm has completely subsided and so has hers. You feel her arms pull you in for a kiss, a much slower and passionate one compared to earlier. As if she’s saying thanks, because her voice is probably already gone. Or perhaps she’s just preserving her energy because if there’s anything you know about Minji, it’s that one round is not enough for her. If that’s the case then you better get a quick rest. Pull out of her and watch your excess semen drip out of her and down to her thighs. It’s truly a sight that you’ll never get tired of time and time again. Even more so when she takes a finger and takes a sample of your combined juices. It doesn’t take too long for your cock to become fully erect once again despite your orgasm just mere minutes ago.

There’s no time to contemplate though as Minji saves you the trouble because the next thing you know her perfectly shaped ass is raised and facing you, her arms bracing herself on the bed as she clearly shows you what she wants. “Need you to cum in me again, can you do that for me?” There’s no more time to waste, take a glance at the bedside clock and it’s already way past midnight—any noise at this hour would further alert people. You quickly kneel behind her, positioning your cock once again inside her pussy but this time in a much swifter manner. But despite all of the lubrication she’s so much tighter in this position. Grab on her ass for support and leverage as you begin to thrust, it’s a sight to behold that is her curves and back covered with sweat and her hair becoming a disheveled mess. 

She’s much more silent this time, thanks to the fact that her moans are being muffled by the pillows. This slow tempo also gives you time to recover, though it’s clear that she wants you to be rough with her once again with the way she’s moving her hips in a back and forth motion. Fine, if that’s what she wants then that’s what she gets. Just thirty seconds is all you need to recover, especially when you’ve got that heavenly view in front of you. You grab her by the arms and pull her upright until her back is pressed against your chest, your hands palming her breasts as you suddenly increase your pace. It’s your favorite position because not only is her body pressed against yours but you can view everything about her up close—her ruined mascara, her swollen lip, the dried tears on her face. 

Your fingers slowly creep up to her neck as you fuck her with all of your remaining strength, quieting her with more kisses—also because you just love kissing the hell out of her due to how irresistible and soft her lips are. She might’ve had another orgasm already but you’re too far gone, too caught up in chasing your own that you don’t notice. Either way, it only takes ten minutes this time for you to unload whatever remaining load you had (which is surprisingly a lot considering that when you pull out, a copious amount of semen is dripping out of her now swollen pussy once again). Now you’re truly spent, crashing on her twin sized bed that can barely fit the two of you so you always end up cuddling post sex. And as crazy as it sounds, this is the part of this whole ordeal that you’re oh-so-afraid of. Will she hear how quickly your heart beats when her head is resting on it? Will she find out that you’re slowly starting to wish that there was more between you two? Despite the fact that it’s an incredibly terrible idea that could have major implications in your future?

“Take me out to dinner first.” Minji is the first one to break the silence and the words that come out of her mouth completely terrifies you—it almost makes you jump out of the bed.

“What?”

“I’m not stupid.” Minji looks up to you, then places a gentle kiss on the hickey she left on your neck. “We’ve been hooking up for five months and you’re telling me there’s no way you haven’t fallen in love with me yet?”

Maybe you have.

Then you remember how angry you felt when her boyfriend broke up with her and you couldn’t do anything about it; you just wanted to barge inside her room and hold her in your arms and apologize for being such a dick and you couldn’t. You wanted to tell her that she deserves better because she truly does, but whether it was you that deserved to take that place in her heart you didn’t know. You were mortified at the thought of your relationship only remaining at such a stage—even though she made it crystal clear that she didn’t want anything to develop between you two. But it’s all in the past now—which begs the question: have you truly fallen in love with her? It only takes one look at those eyes and the way her lips curl upwards and how she fits so perfectly in your arms and how you wish you could be with her forever and how it all completely fucks up your equilibrium.

Yeah.

Of course you have.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

love(rs) and war | f. odair

masterlist

summary: request here — when you signed up to become a solider in the rebellion, you never expected to be plagued with dirty thoughts of your boyfriend, finnick. who would have thought someone could make tactical gear look so good? you aren’t too sure your self-control is strong enough to make it through the night, but things take a turn when you take a shift on watch.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, smut, thigh riding, manhandling, possessiveness, jealousy, unprotected p in v, risk of being caught, dirty thoughts/talk, mentions of war, angst, singular use of y/n please forgive me, gale, slow-burn-ish, emotional sex, teasing, fluff

notes: everyone say happy birthday to @odairsaurora

word count: 12.8k dear god

Becoming a soldier in the rebellion against the Capitol came with a lot of certitude and not exactly the good kind. The likelihood of encountering death was extreme. Making it out alive was possible; making it out unscathed wasn’t. Even if you survived, you would be left with a life-long mental scar as a reminder of everything you have endured.

You knew all this when you signed up.

Even with all that knowledge, there were still countless uncertainties. Like not knowing where you would be laying your head to rest at night. Not knowing if you would even survive to be given the chance to rest at night. Being in a constant state of fight or flight. Always looking over your shoulder to make sure a squad member hadn’t been lost to a Peacekeeper or a pod or a mutt. Making sure you hadn’t lost the love of your life. Finnick.

But those uncertainties were predictable in combat—an oxymoron you had managed to wrap your war-torn mind around.

Something you never could have predicted was the lust. The overwhelming, all-consuming desire for Finnick that had engulfed you like a tonne of bricks the moment the first explosive pod went off and your sense of safety plummeted six feet below the ground.

Fire erupted in the air between the two buildings Katniss had shot her arrow through. Everyone was crouched together, watching in awe as they witnessed the sadistic lengths Snow was willing to go in an attempt to keep the rebels from reaching him. Your heart was beating so fast and every loud boom caused by the destruction had you recoiling in on yourself.

Finnick too was watching beside you, wearing a boyish grin as his shoulders shook lightly with suppressed laughter. He always was more favourable to dark humour, finding hilarity in situations others would find disturbing. You found it strangely attractive.

As you stared at him, the initial shock of the explosion started to wear off until it was no longer registering in your mind. All you could focus on was the dangerous curve of his lips, wishing they were somewhere on your body. Anywhere.

When he realised you were staring at him, his smile dropped and was replaced with a look of concern. He leaned towards you, voice a whisper though loud enough to be heard over the blaze in the distance, “You okay?”

You weren’t sure how to tell him your body was pulsating with fear, adrenaline, and desire all at once, so you nodded and hummed a pitchy, “Mhm.”

You suspected it had something to do with the dangerous situation you were in. The possibility that any moment with him could be your last. With this information, your body seemed to switch into survival mode, only ‘survival mode’ seemed to mean it yearned to spend every possible second you had left with him. Which, yes, included wanting him to fuck your brains out every time he merely looked in your direction.

And the uniform, Jesus Christ, the uniform... Whoever designed it was a miracle worker. Quite literally.

In your eyes, nothing could have made Finnick look more attractive than he already was. That man radiated unparalleled beauty even on his worst days. But the second you saw him dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear you knew you were sorely mistaken. He looked so commanding. So gorgeous.

So dominant.

Never, absolutely never had you been more attracted to anyone than you were to Finnick right at the moment. You felt like you had reverted to a younger version of yourself, the one before you were in a relationship—shy, flustered, and stuck in a state of constant lewd daydreams.

He was adorned in straps and pockets for weapons and equipment, chest protected by sleek black armour. The only skin he had uncovered was from his neck up and his hands, making that tiny sliver of exposure so much more alluring than it should have been. His right thigh was strapped with a gun holster that cinched around his muscular thighs. You couldn’t pinpoint why this made you so desperate to sit in his lap or straddle his thigh and just—

“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said Lieutenant Jackson, pulling you from your thoughts. “We need to find somewhere to settle in ‘til the morning. Streets’ll be even more dangerous at night.���

Nods of agreement echoed around the group. Messalla, you believed his name was, had mentioned there being a place nearby that could be used to camp out for the night. From avoiding hidden pods and scaling over rubble, it was clear what should have been a fifteen-minute journey would turn into an hour-long expedition.

Not that you were complaining.

Sure, that sounded selfish, but nobody was perfect, right? You were certain anyone else would feel the same if they got to spend an entire hour admiring their partner—who just happened to be Finnick Odair—looking incredible whilst doing something as ordinary as walking. His black cargo pants kept tightening around his thighs with each smooth step he took. He kept alternating between holding his trident beside him and over his shoulder, muscles flexing through the thick material of his jacket each time he switched positions.

Sometimes you accidentally found yourself falling behind in pace, a subconscious desire to just watch him walk. It would take him a few seconds before he realised you weren’t beside him anymore and then he would look back to find you staring in a flustered daze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just regaining my energy,” you had replied.

He must’ve known it was a lie. He had to. Though if he did, he didn’t say anything about it, just simply raised an eyebrow and held out his hand for you to take, which you did.

His fingers interlaced with yours. “I can carry you if you want?”

“Thanks, but I think I might die of mortification.”

He laughed something deep and beautiful in response, voice vibrant as he spoke, “At least it’d be in my arms.”

It was such a disconcerting sentence, but the sound of his voice was so alluring that you were conflicted between feeling distressed and turned on.

Eventually, you ended up finding the location Messalla was talking about, discovering that it was a ransacked cocktail bar nearing the outskirts of the city. Everyone was quiet as they settled in, the atmosphere heavy with both purpose and apprehension. Not Finnick though. He was his usual lively self, managing to pull a few responses from various squad members with his charming banter, even gaining a few small smiles here and there.

It took everything in you not to jump into his arms and crush your lips against his whenever he wrapped a large hand around your waist as he stood beside you during briefings about strategy and navigating the city. He kept asking if something was wrong, kept giving you these funny looks in response to your strange behaviour, but you refused to tell him. It was wrong. Positively immoral.

You eventually sat together on a long leather stool, shoulders pressed up against one another, his hand wrapped innocently around your thigh in a need for constant connection. He kept trying to make conversation with you, but you could barely muster up a single sentence in response. Not with his hand touching you so. Not with him looking like that.

His hair was dishevelled in the most perfect way that not even a prep team could attempt to reconstruct it. In any other circumstance, your hands would have already found their way into his golden locks, tugging and scratching lightly to coax a pleasured sigh from his lips. In any other circumstance, your lips would have already attached themselves to the exposed skin of his neck, tracing the length of his artery with your tongue so he would be tilting his head to the side in a silent plea for more.

In any other circumstance, you would be sitting in his lap, hearing the rough material of his attire rustle against yours as you felt him thrust in and out of you.

You crossed your legs.

“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

You blinked back into existence. Finnick was staring at you, his hand now interlocked with your own and stroking the side of your palm with his thumb. A ray of golden setting sunlight painted a strip of light across the lower half of his face, across his mouth. Your gaze flickered between his eyes and lips, lingering longer and longer on the latter. They stretched into a sweet, reassuring smile. He must have thought you were anxious.

“It’s okay to be scared, you know,” he continued. “Everyone here is scared. I’m scared. I know it may not look like it because I’m just so effortlessly calm and collected—” His expression morphed into faux-arrogance for a moment, lips smirking and eyes sparkling with smugness, and your stomach did a somersault “—but I am. So it’s okay to admit that you are too. I just need you to talk to me.”

You felt so guilty like you had just committed the worst crime in the world. He was on an entirely different wavelength to you, all concerned about your wellbeing meanwhile your thoughts were running rampant with lust. It bordered on nymphomania. You felt like the worst person alive. Why were you thinking about sex in a time like this? Why did Finnick have to be wearing tactical gear? Why, why, why, why, why?

The sudden need to confess was overwhelming and the way he was looking at you so intently wasn’t helping. Then his hand was back on your thigh and kneading it gently in encouragement.

Your thighs squeezed together. God help you if he felt it.

The confession was threatening to burst from the tip of your tongue: You just look so fucking sexy right now and I’m afraid that if I don’t feel you inside me soon I might actually die but I’m also terrified to tell you because I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way when we are literally in the middle of a war and the fact that you are so oblivious is turning me on so much more so please take me into a supply closet and fuck some sense into me before I lose my fucking mind—

Woah.

Could it be the effects of a pod? Did the Gamemakers release some sort of invisible gas that acted as an aphrodisiac which was lethal without relief? If that were true, wouldn’t everyone else be in the same boat as you were? Wouldn’t everyone else look as flustered and rigid as you did right now? Wouldn’t Finnick?

No. It was just you. Somehow that made it even worse.

Finnick’s brows arched inwards as he awaited your response. Your mind flashed back to another time when his brows were arching and lips were spilling filthy obscenities due to your own manipulation. Jesus fucking Christ, your stomach felt so tight it ached. You were throbbing at the thought of it.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The words were rising into your throat no matter how hard you tried to swallow them. Your mouth opened to speak, disregarding all the consequences that came with admitting such a thing in such an inappropriate situation. And then the sound of an engine in the distance suddenly cut you off.

Everyone moved onto their feet, on alert due to the incoming vehicle.

“Stand down everyone. It’s friendly,” said Jackson.

You weren’t too sure ‘friendly’ had been the right term as you watched Peeta step out of the rover Coin had sent him in.

His arrival brought with him a heightened sense of tension. There was no telling what state of mind he was in or when he was going to snap and become the violent hijacked version of himself. Finnick had decided to take on the responsibility of assigning himself Peeta’s guard to make sure he didn’t cause harm to anyone in the squad or himself. Also because that’s just who Finnick was. Selfless and kind.

And where Finnick went, so did you, meaning his already highly protective nature over you increased monumentally. He never let you out of his sight, always kept you within arms-length, and always kept a hand somewhere on your body. You really, really did try to contain yourself. You tried to suppress the heat flushing your entire body. Tried not to sigh every time his fingers pressed into your waist the slightest bit or whenever he curled his hand around your inner thigh and gave it a territorial squeeze as you sat beside each other on the leather couch. But it was so hard when he was acting so dominating over you.

Even Peeta who was aloof and struggling with his sanity half the time seemed to notice Finnick’s sudden possessiveness.

“Afraid I’m gonna try and take her off you, Finnick?” Peeta had said.

It was meant to be a joke, but the tone of his voice was so flat and devoid of life, it made you feel a little uneasy.

Finnick’s hold on you tightened ever-so-slightly and his jaw clenched. It must have been so strange for him. You hadn’t known Peeta before moving to District Thirteen, but Finnick did. You had heard stories of the boy who enjoyed baking and painting, who was known for his love for Katniss and his kindness that never wavered even when thrown into an arena and forced to murder other tributes.

That was the boy Finnick knew; the person in front of him now was a stranger.

Peeta must have sensed the tension he had caused as he averted his gaze. “Kidding.” And then a few seconds later, he murmured, “Sorry.”

You felt terrible watching as the little life he had in his eyes seemed to deflate even more than they had as he internally berated himself. How awful it must be to not have control over yourself, to be a broken shell of the person you once were. You couldn’t imagine the same happening to Finnick—the light he exuded dimming to a cold, dark, pale glow. The mere thought of it had your heart threatening to break in two.

Finnick’s grip on you relaxed and his eyes grew softer. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, empathy pervading his voice. He was quiet for a short moment before he started smiling softly to himself. “But Peeta—” Peeta’s attention was back on him “—just for future reference: sharing is caring is not a concept I apply to Y/N.”

For the first time since his rescue, you saw Peeta smile back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

**********

Darkness had finally veiled the city, drenching the bar in ominous shadows and beams of silver moonlight. Silence filled the room apart from the occasional startled gasp or yelp as multiple squad members awoke from horrific nightmares. The very back of the bar was scattered with various sleeping figures, most lying on the floor in an attempt to remain unseen from any potential passers-by outside.

It was your shift on watch, hours twenty-two hundred to zero-one hundred. You were sitting on the same leather stool as earlier but now it was positioned so that you had a clear view of the streets outside.

Finnick had tried to convince Boggs to let him take your shift for you, being his usual chivalrous self and all. But much to his dismay, not even his charm and million-dollar smile could persuade that man. Then he offered to join you, but you refused. Spending time alonewith him atnight would have been disastrous; even during the day, you had a hard time keeping your feelings under wraps.

The final stretch was coming up with twenty minutes to go. The boredom was a killer, leaving you to alternate between scanning the streets and glancing over to where Finnick slept. Well, knowing him, he was probably wide awake worrying about you being left alone for three hours, picturing different anxiety-inducing scenarios behind his closed eyes.

One of his legs was arched whilst the other was extended flat on the floor. He had an arm behind his head acting as a pillow and his other hand was lying on his stomach, fingers subtly tapping in a wave-like pattern.

Definitely awake.

That little detail certainly fuelled your imagination, knowing he was right there lying awake with you on his mind whilst everyone else was probably asleep. What really had your mind buzzing was the fact that the hem of his jacket had ridden up, just barely exposing the tanned skin of his torso and the contour of his v-line which led down to his—wait, was he smiling?

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but you swore his lips were curving into a small smirk. But that would mean he knew you were staring at him…

You turned back around to the streets, blushing deeply.

“No,” you murmured to yourself. “You’re just tired.”

Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. But as you stared out into the night air, the only image that plagued your mind was one of Finnick fucking Odair smirking.

Goosebumps washed over your body, sensitive against the rough material of your attire. First, he was smirking, then he was taking you into his arms, then he was kissing you, caressing you, sliding a hand beneath your shirt, into your pants. You almost reached the part you enjoyed the most, but a troubling noise pulled you from your thoughts. A pair of footsteps.

Heavy and purposeful, they came from behind you.

Oh god, you thought, feeling the anticipation build exponentially inside you. He saw me looking. He knows. He knows what I’ve been thinking all day. He knows. What am I going to do? What am I going to say? What—

“Hey,” a deep voice said quietly.

You looked up to find Katniss’s blue-eyed counterpart standing beside the couch.

“Gale?”

Oh, thank god.

“Yeah.” He sat down beside you with a soft grunt. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Even he knew you were expecting Finnick. You shook your head at him as if the idea was absurd, but in reality, you were a little disappointed. Although your shoulders were only just now dropping back into a relaxed state, you found a deep part of yourself actually wanting Finnick to come and find you out. The anticipation, harrowing as it was, was also exhilarating.

All you could think about was him interrogating you, pulling answers from your lips with just a stern look. Towering over you in his black tactical gear, muscular arms crossed and shoulders broad. Teasing you in an unforgiving tone for thinking such dirty things about him even though you knew he was having the exact same thoughts.

Gale shifted beside you and you suddenly realised you had spoken in well over a minute.

You cleared your throat. “Can’t sleep?”

He stared straight ahead, breathing out a half-hearted chuckle as though your question was a fleeting amusement. “Course not.”

Gale was alright. He was a little too headstrong and insensitive at times, but he wasn’t terrible. Pretty much anyone who wasn’t Snow or stood with Capitol was alright in your books. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, didn’t like him one bit.

“You know if Finnick sees you, you’re in for it, right?” you warned, giving him a short glance.

“He doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

Your eyebrows raised, inhaling a deep breath as you recalled their brief history. The first time they met, Gale had believed Finnick was in love with Katniss—something the two of you found humour in almost religiously—and therefore, spent most his days shooting glares and making snide comments towards him.

It came as quite a shock to Gale when he discovered it wasn’t Katniss who Finnick was in love with, but you. How he hadn’t realised sooner was beyond the both of you as you and Finnick were pretty much attached to the hip. He got there in the end, at least.

First impressions were everything though. After that, Finnick never really grew to enjoy Gale’s presence too much. During field training for the rebellion, Fate decided to spur on their little feud even further by having you be paired up with Gale for training exercises. Neither of you was very happy about it in the beginning, wanting to be with each other’s loved ones instead. Shockingly, your shared time together sparked up a small friendship.

Finnick wasn’t the most approving.

“He thinks you like me,” you said.

He looked at you, brows furrowed. “I do like you.”

See? Even Gale couldn’t comprehend what you really meant because of how ridiculous it was. You shot him a knowing look.

His expression morphed into one of understanding. “Oh, as in like you like you. Really? Does he not know that I li—”

“Like Katniss? Yes, I’ve told him many times.”

“Well, I guess some people just won’t be told.”

You scoffed, recalling how he had the same way of thinking not too long ago. Oh, how the tables have turned. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Gale laughed quietly, nodding as his gaze moved back to the darkness. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Your head whirled to the side, heart jolting in your chest.

There Finnick was, standing beside the stool as he smiled politely at you and Gale, his eyes burning with anything but civility. Your heart dropped at the sight of him. Down into your stomach and then even further below in between your thighs.

His lips twitched as he looked between the two of you. His piercing eyes settled on yours for a moment; the way you gulped was almost comical.

“No,” Gale said cautiously. “Just passing time.”

Finnick nodded indifferently and averted his gaze as though he hadn’t a worry in the world. You knew better though. You knew there was a fire scorching just below his skin, boiling in his bloodstream—the common symptoms of jealousy. They were symptoms you knew all too well. People often had trouble keeping their eyes off him back in Thirteen. Sometimes their hands too. That’s when your jealousy turned to loathing. A feeling you and Finnick both shared whenever it happened.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you?” he asked, although it came out more like a command.

Was it wrong to find Finnick being jealous so attractive?

“Actually, I, uh,” Gale stammered, pushing himself up onto his feet, “I should probably be getting some sleep.”

You couldn’t blame his slight panic. Finnick could be incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be.

Gale shot you a tight parting smile and you mouthed an apology in return.

“Wise choice,” Finnick said as Gale walked past him and began making his way to the back of the bar. You were surprised neither of them knocked shoulders as he did. Though Finnick did add a sarcastic “Sweet dreams!” as you both watched Gale disappear into the shadows.

You turned back to Finnick to see him already looking at you, pride gleaming in his eyes. What a man.

“You’re such an ass.”

He smiled at you humorously. “Only to him.”

You shook your head. “He doesn’t even—”

“Like you? Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, and a flash of a smile graced your lips at the way he cut you off the same way you did Gale. Always so in tune with each other. Honestly, it was a wonder you ever managed to have a conversation with one another. He sat down beside you, his legs brushing against yours. “Call me possessive. Maybe a little obsessed too.”

“A little?”

“Okay, very.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, smiling openly now, “the feeling’s mutual.”

He returned your smile with one of his own and for a second, for a tiny splinter of a second, you had a flicker of hope that you might be able to handle being alone with him after all.

“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” he murmured warmly.

Then his hand was sliding onto your thigh, fingers curling and kneading innocently.

It was like a fiery aura suddenly reignited around him, both magnetising and disastrously alluring. Your eyes widened slightly from his touch. That overwhelming attraction from before returned with a tenfold increase in intensity. It was so powerful that you had to look away.

A deafening silence settled between you. Despite this, your thoughts were thunderous; so loud that it was impossible to tune them out. He had to know what he was doing to you, how he was making you feel—it was practically scrawled in bold red writing across your forehead.

Your arms were folded over your lap, afraid that if you moved them you would lose control. You glanced at Finnick to see him staring out at the shadowed buildings with a thoughtful gaze. His jaw was set in place, angled perfectly like it had been chiselled with a file. That spot where his jawline and neck connected was just begging for the touch of your lips. Or was it the other way around?

Your eyes fell further to see his other hand resting on his own thigh, clad in now-tightly-fitted black cargo pants.

Big, veiny hands. Big, muscular thighs. Big, throbbing…

Oh, no, this was all too much. You were supposed to be fighting a war, not your own damn carnal urges.

“You’ve barely spoken to me today,” Finnick suddenly spoke in a gentle tone. The guilt increased. “If you’re feeling like this is too much to handle then there’s no shame in going back home.” Shame. Guilt. Too much. “We can return to base and get a hovercraft back to Thirteen. Both of us. I’ll be right by your side. Always.”

God, you loved him so much.

“I love you so much,” you accidentally exhaled.

His expression morphed into one of puzzlement, reflecting what you felt on the inside when the words slipped past your lips. “I love you too?” he chuckled.

You quickly tried to recompose yourself. “But—uh, it’s—it’s not that.”

“No?” He tilted his head. “What is it then?”

On the outside you were composed, disregarding the hot pink flooding your cheeks, although it was probably too dark to be seen. But on the inside, panicked mantras ricocheted from every corner of your mind over and over. A war between two sides, two voices that said, “Tell him” and “Don’t tell him” was raging. You were starting to grow tired of the constant indecision, the ever-present need to confess, and the unrelenting tightness in your stomach you felt whenever you so much as thought about him.

So finally, you decided to create a side of your own. You were going to show him.

Your eyes dropped to the hand curled around your thigh and you inhaled a silent deep breath. Tentatively, you unfolded your arms and moved to rest your hand on top of Finnick’s. He remained still, only watching your movements with curiosity. Your gaze trailed up his arm, over his broad shoulders, the tempting length of his neck, the sharpness of his jaw, and then finally landed on his hypnotically green eyes.

He was looking at you and you were looking at him. There was no point in trying to conceal the fervent darkness manifesting in your gaze nor how it kept dropping to his soft pink lips. He noticed. You knew he did because he too was starting to succumb to the darkness and, fuck, did it look incredible on him.

You hadn’t meant to do it—squeezing your thighs around his hand. It was just, the ache was growing too much for you to handle without relief, and he looked so damn good.

Finnick’s eyes squinted ever-so-slightly at your revealing gesture and they seemed to impossibly grow a shade darker.

“What have you been thinking about?” he asked slowly.

And it was at this point you were certain that he was finally coming to some understanding. It was easy to tell from his twisted smile and scrunched brows, the way he spoke as though he was baiting you into giving an answer he already knew.

Your lips parted as you stared up at him, finding your breaths to become shaky and slightly heavier as the tension thickened. Finnick’s fingertips pressed firmly into your inner thighs and you let out a quiet gasp.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“Hm?” he pressed further.

Somehow the space between you and Finnick had closed drastically without you even noticing. His face was five or so inches away from yours, peering down at you with a smirk he was trying to repress. He smelled of sea salt and smoky debris though still had a hint of that one rich scent of cologne you always found so intoxicating.

“I’ve been…”

He was closer now. You could feel his breath fanning across your skin.

“You’ve been…?” he enticed, knowing he was making it so much harder for you to conjure the words.

Your hand was clutching his because if he so much as shifted a millimetre, you would lose it. You couldn’t move. Your eyes were on Finnick’s lips, watching as they grew closer and closer. How could he expect you to tell him anything when you were immobilised from his touch? How could he tease you so when you were very obviously having a hard time keeping yourself composed?

Instinctively, your head was beginning to tilt forward to give him easier access, even though you knew he wouldn’t give you anything unless you gave him an answer first. But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The words were there on the tip of your tongue, but they wouldn’t leave your mouth. And you were absolutely certain of this when the warm touch of his soft lips grazed your own.

It was too much. Too much and too wrong.

“I’m thinking…” you began with a whisper, feeling your lips ghost over his, “it’s your turn to keep watch, Solider.”

His eyes snapped up to yours as you pulled away.

Without a word, you rose to your feet, feeling Finnick’s hand slide off your thigh; for a split second, you regretted your decision. You turned away, inhaling shaky breaths as you attempted to round the corner of the leather stool. Anxiety buzzed through your entire body and rightfully so, because just as you made it around the bend, you heard a pair of rushed footsteps trailing after you.

Suddenly, an arm was wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you backwards.

A startled gasp made it halfway past your lips before a large hand was clamped over your mouth. The other, which had forced you backwards, was splayed across your lower abdomen—very much lower, mind you—and had your back trapped against the firm torso of your capture.

Your heart was already thrumming like a hummingbird inside your chest, but it just about gave out when you felt the hard length pressed against your backside.

Finnick’s words were hot in your ear. “That’s not fair, sweetheart,” he spoke, his tone disapproving and full of false offence. “You’ve been giving me the eyes all day, yet you can’t even admit it when I ask nicely?”

Horror ran cold through your blood and your eyes widened.

He must have sensed the rigidness in your body as the next sound that came from his mouth was a low chuckle. “What, you thought I hadn’t noticed?”

You were in shock. Borderline catatonic in his arms. Every time you crossed your legs whenever the pressure between them became too much. Every time you fell behind the group to watch him walk. Every time you stared at him imagining that he was pounding into you or had his mouth between your thighs. He knew. The whole fucking time, he knew.

The hand covering your mouth lowered to your neck and held it gently, thumb stroking a delicate trail over your skin as Finnick awaited your response. You were hastily scanning the room in front of you, praying that all its occupants were either dead asleep or blinded by the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to,” you squeaked out. “I tried to—to control it.”

Your head was turned abruptly and suddenly shadowed green eyes were peering down into your own.

“You didn’t mean to,” he mocked. “That’s what you tell yourself, sweetheart, but every time you looked in my direction, you were dragging me towards you.”

His hand, which was on your stomach, lowered a quarter inch and your own hand went flying to prevent it. Not because you didn’t want him to go any further, but because you were scared of having an… audible reaction that might reveal both you and Finnick to the group.

“And deep down that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he continued.

Your lips were parted though not a single word could pass them. Your inner brows were cinched upwards, the speechlessness evident in your expression. Finnick quickly realised this was the case and his eyes twinkled with mischief under the moonlight.

He lowered his head into the space between your jaw and shoulders, pressing an agonisingly slow kiss to your neck. Your head automatically tilted to the side, a soft sigh escaping your mouth as your eyes closed.

He then returned to hover beside your ear. “Wasn’t it?” he asked again, the sound smooth like warm honey.

And you couldn’t help but submit to his trickery. “Yes,” you whispered, leaning into his chest as a silent plea for more.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes fluttered open. “What?”

His hand dipped much further below your lower abdomen and landed on the place which would surely have you both sent back to Thirteen if caught, but only for a fleeting moment. Before you had a chance to react, he had spun you around to face him.

From the way he was looking down upon you—so penetrative and depraved—you knew exactly how the night would end. For better or for worse. He was holding you tightly against his body, the only parts of yourself not touching him were your lips, although that would undoubtedly soon change.

“Tell me,” he said, lowering himself until his lips found your jaw, “what you’ve been thinking about—” Then he placed another kiss on the side of your neck “—all day.” And then he pressed another to your collarbone.

Your fingers had found themselves delving into his hair as he continued leaving hot kisses across your skin. The struggle to keep a whine or soft moan from slipping past your parted lips was excruciating. Finnick could definitely feel your struggle from the way you were lightly tugging at his hair.

“Tell me,” he repeated against your skin and you accidentally let a heavy, pleasured breath escape.

There was no point in denying him now.

“You just look so good, Finn,” you confessed.

You were certain you could feel him smiling into each kiss he placed. He only hummed to encourage you further, so you did.

“I’ve—I’ve never seen you in all black before or in tactical gear. And the way you’ve been acting towards me, so serious and protective and…” The word dominant was on your tongue, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak it aloud. “Seeing you like that really…” He finally lifted his head from your neck, lips now a deep peachy shade, gaze awaiting your words. You lowered your eyes bashfully for a moment before returning them to his. “…turned me on.”

He was grinning now. His head had tilted an inch to the side as though he hadn’t quite expected you to actually admit your thoughts. Where the sudden surge of confidence came from was unknown, but you welcomed it nonetheless. Finnick’s mouth opened to speak but it was then in that very moment that you decided why the hell not just get it all out at once?

So, you stood on your toes, placed a hand on the back of his neck, and brought him down to your lips to cut him off. You kissed him deeply, sensually, in a way that would muddle his thoughts and give you time to continue your confession. When you were done and saw that slightly dazed look in his eyes, you knew it had worked.

“I’m not finished,” you whispered.

All he could do was scoff quietly in disbelief. Hell, even you were in disbelief of yourself.

“At first, I thought somehow you had done it on purpose. You do love to tease me, don’t you?” you asked, although it was rhetorical. “But then I realised it wasn’t your doing. It was the designers back in Thirteen who I had to thank for putting you in something like this.” You slid a hand up his torso, over his chest, and then down the length of his bicep, and he watched you every step of the way.

“Maybe I should thank them myself if this is the effect it has,” Finnick said.

You kissed him again and he seemed to understand the meaning behind it: shut up. He nodded, smirking humorously, and you continued. “Do you know how hard it was for me to sit beside you and do absolutely nothing?” you asked, but he knew better than to answer. You pressed a hand to his chest and slowly began walking him backwards. “You did, didn’t you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back his words. He always liked being in control. But it was your turn now. He stared down at you, thoughts of sin visible in his eyes as you spoke.

“You knew the whole time,” you said. “But, you know, the idea I had of you being so clueless turned me on even more.” You continued walking him backwards until his legs hit the edge of the leather stool and he was forced to sit down and have you look down upon him. He looked good like that, you thought. “Especially whenever you put your hand on my thigh.”

With that being said, you lowered yourself onto Finnick’s thigh, straddling him with one leg on either side. Your hands were holding onto his broad, broad shouldersandhis arms automatically wound around your waist. He had this strange look on his face as he gazed up at you, a mix of admiration and love and… submission? Yes, submission.

You pushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers affectionately combing through the soft bronze strands. He only watched you in silence. Finnick Odair had never been rendered speechless in his life. Having it be first done so by you only made him love you so much more. He would daresay he was proud.

“Every time you put your hand on me, I imagined this,” you said, putting more of your weight on his thigh until you could feel the blissful pressure between your own. A hot shaky sigh left your mouth. “I… I imagined you holding me like this, looking at me the way you are right now.” A little smile stretched across his lips. “I didn’t think it would actually happen. Not like this. This is wrong.”

Finnick dragged your body closer to him and you suppressed the urge to moan. His brows were furrowed together with a look of firmness. “There’s nothing wrong with you loving me,” he finally spoke. “Nothing wrong with me loving you, either.”

“But in a time like this? A place like this?”

He didn’t miss a beat as he smirked and shrugged. “We just have to be quiet about it.”

You stared at him for a moment. He made it sound so simple, like doing something like this could be done with ease. There was a large group of people—soldiers, no less—thirty feet away from you. Yes, they were sleeping and, yes, the darkness was too blinding in the back of the bar to see a foot ahead of you, but still, if anyone somehow saw, that would be the end of your dignity.

Finnick seemed to notice the distant look in your eye. His hands moved down to your hips and he tensed the thigh you were straddling, holding you down on his leg as he bounced it once. The sound that came out of your mouth, a noise of shock and pleasure, almost made him laugh. What it did do was make him even harder than he already was.

“You’ve tortured me all day, Finnick,” you whined, pressing your forehead to his.

He brought a hand to your cheek, stroking the line of your cheekbone with tenderness. “And what is it that you think you have done to me every single day since we first met, sweetheart? I just had to make sure there wasn’t a power imbalance in this relationship, that’s all.”

“You’re cruel.”

“So cruel,” he agreed with the slightest teasing pout. “I’m just horrible, aren’t I?”

To emphasise his point, he brought both his hands back to your hips, held you down, and slowly began rocking you back and forth over his thigh. Your stomach dropped and pulsed and, christ, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had turned inside out altogether. A moan, too loud for your comfort, left your mouth. You couldn’t help it. This was exactly what you had been daydreaming about all day.

“You are,” you whispered with a shaky breath. “Horrible, cruel, and—and incredibly frustrating…”

He tsked his tongue. “I know,” he cooed, continuing to force your hips to grind on his thigh. “Should I make it up to you?”

“I might go crazy if you don’t.”

He wore a lopsided grin. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

And as suddenly and beautifully as stars could collide, your lips were on his. It was like a bout of adrenaline had surged through your body. Your hands were in Finnick’s hair, desperately pulling him closer all while tugging at the strands so he would leave those deep, pleasured sounds on your lips.

His hands were everywhere. They had left your hips because it was clear that you were now doing to work of getting yourself off for him and now he was grasping at any place on your body he could reach. He had encircled your waist and pulled you tightly against him. He had held you by the back of the neck, by the jaw, by the neck. He had managed to undo your ponytail, letting your hair fall around your face like a barrier from the outside world.

He had slid his hands under your jacket and left a trail of warmth up your spine, fingers pressing into the ridges of your shoulder blades as his tongue factored in to deepen the kiss. You would never get used to it—how he managed to make every kiss and act of devotion feel like the first. You would never get used to Finnick’s love.

You held onto his shoulders, grinding yourself down over and over, feeling the firmness of his thigh and the roughness of your pants rub against your clit. Your lips parted from his for a mere second as you moaned. It felt so good yet still, you knew it could be even better. It was all too much—the sensations, the risk, the way Finnick looked—and still not enough. You wanted to be closer to him.

Your leg which was in between his was rubbing against his cock each time you moved. Even through all those layers of clothing you could feel it, hard and aching. All those sounds you knew he was keeping locked up inside, the deep guttural groans, the shaky moans, you wanted to hear them. Fuck, you so desperately wanted to hear them.

“Finn…” you sighed contently as you broke away from his lips.

Hips still grinding, you peered at him through your lashes. His eyes were closed, eyebrows scrunched together as though he were suppressing the pleasure he was feeling. Anywhere but here, you thought, why couldn’t we be anywhere but here?

“Finnick…” you whispered again.

He slowly opened his eyes, and you leaned your forehead against his. A heavy exhale left his body, one he must have been holding in. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighed and reached a hand up to cup your jaw. “I love you so much. Do you know how much I love you?”

Bombs were going off in your chest, each one exploding with every thump of your heart. It was fitting considering your circumstances. Finnick was so beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, and you loved him with every inch of your entire being and you wanted to say the words because this very well could be your last night alive together, but you weren’t too sure if you could speak without making any other type of noise.

So, you brought your lips back to his once more, kissing him oh so deeply and reverently. I love you, I love you, I love you. And then his touch was gone entirely.

You had slid off his thigh, now on your feet as you looked down at him. He looked almost pained to have you out of his arms and you were certain you looked the same, though it wouldn’t be for long. After a quick scan of the dark surroundings, you deduced that there was no way anyone could see you from the back of the bar. You returned your gaze back to Finnick.

Eyes unrelenting from his, you began slowly dragging down the zipper on your jacket. As it fell to the floor, you moved on to pulling your undershirt over your head. Finnick’s attention never wavered. He followed each and every movement you made, his chest inflating more heavily with each deep breath he took.

After unbuttoning your pants and letting them slide to the floor, you stepped out of the pile of clothing, completely bare except for your underwear and bra. It wasn’t exactly warm nor cold but being so exposed in the dead of night in a place you were supposed to be keeping watch while under the watchful wandering gaze of your love was bound to shroud your body in chills.

You hugged your arms around yourself.

Finnick simply looked at you as though you were the most, if not, the only beautiful thing that had ever graced the earth.

“Come here,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

The confidence you had previously felt simmered down into meek submission the second you had stripped bare in front of him. So, as you walked towards him, you couldn’t help but feel the timidness reveal itself in each of your steps. Your hand glided into his and he gently pulled you forward, guiding you to straddle his entire lap instead of just his thigh.

You could feel him pressing into you, his cock separated by mere millimetres of fabric from where you needed him most. It felt even more intimate to have his clothing against your exposed skin; you could feel the warmth of his body trapped within the threads of his pants and jacket and it seemed to ease your nerves.

He reached between your bodies and started to unzip his own jacket, but wasn’t the main reason you were in this position because of his clothing? Why would you want him to take them off?

Before he could unzip, you placed your hand over his. “No,” you said. “Leave it on.”

His eyes flickered silently between yours. “No one’s ever told me to keep my clothes on before,” he said, and you could tell by his confused smile that he was unsure whether to feel amused by the irony of your actions or saddened by his past with the Capitol.

It was easy for you to decipher your own feelings—your heart ached for him.

You leaned forward and took his face into your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then both his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally to his lips. All you could do was hope he felt the immeasurable love you placed into each one.

“You are just as attractive with your clothes on as you are when they’re not,” you whispered.

And it was true. If he at any point decided he no longer wanted you to see him naked, you would respect it, you would understand it, and honestly, it just wouldn’t phase you. Because you knew that he would react the same if the roles were reversed. Because your love for each other surpassed the bounds of your physical bodies and you were certain at the dawn of time, he and you were two atoms revolving around one another with the same amount of gravity and reverence you shared now.

Finnick’s hands were now gliding up and down your back; it was like he was setting a fire beneath your skin. His eyes were staring into yours, so full of emotion that you weren’t sure whether or not you should continue.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Finn,” you said, “and we’ll stop.”

He shook his head and offered you a small smile. “I want this,” he said, earnestly. “I want you, sweetheart. Right here. Right now.” And then he was holding your face in his hands as well, bringing you closer. “Always.”

Just before his lips found yours, you whispered in response, in agreement, “Always.”

He was kissing you again, smothering you with love. You had never thought suffocation could feel so heavenly. Over and over, his lips captured yours, each movement deepening the kiss, making it grow in power until you were both gasping for air each time you had a brief respite.

You had only realised you were rolling your hips again when both you and Finnick were moaning into each other’s mouths and your clit started to grow sensitive from the friction of his bulged pants. It really didn’t take long at all for your stomach to begin tightening with pleasure.

You held onto his shoulders, using them to grind yourself faster on his lap as your need for release grew wilder by the second. But no matter how hard or fast you moved, it still wasn’t enough.

“I can’t wait anymore,” you murmured against his lips.

Your hands dropped down to the lower half of his body, pulling up the bottom of his jacket to reveal his belt. You fumbled with the clasp, hastily trying to unbuckle it. Finnick noticed your struggle and lifted his hips into your pelvis—dear fucking god—making it easier for you to tug the belt from the loops of his pants.

“Eager, huh?” he said with a smirk.

“You say that—” The belt hit the ground with a clink, and you winced “—as if you aren’t as well.”

“But I’m not the one with my hand down your pants, am I?”

You wanted to respond with some witty remark about not even wearing any pants, but you had already unzipped his flier and had your fingers curled around his cock. He cursed under his breath.

A winning smile stretched across your lips. “You were saying?”

You watched as his cock sprung past his flier, the length riddled with veins coming from the base and lining up to his warm pink tip which was already coated in a light shine. You would’ve made some teasing comment but given the soaked patch you had left over his groin, you decided otherwise.

As you stroked him up and down, Finnick wiped his hand over his mouth, muffling a groan into his palm. God, he was even worse than you. You loved it.

There was something so alluring about him being covered head-to-toe in black while having the most intimate part of himself exposed. Even more so when you were nearly naked in comparison. The scarce uncovered parts of his body had you feeling compelled to reach out and touch him. Your hand twisted around his cock with each pump and as it did, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to the hot skin of his neck.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

You sucked, he sighed and tilted his head to the side, and then you sucked again. The knowledge that the next day what you two had done would be obvious from the colours of red and purple hadn’t occurred to you yet. You just wanted to taste him. Taste the salt and sweetness of his skin, the unique flavour that made Finnick Finnick. And you wanted to feel him. Badly.

Leaning back, you found that his eyes were already on yours. It was clear at that moment you shared the same thoughts—and they were both dark and lustful. The emotional atmosphere from before had long since disappeared.

“I need you, Finnick,” you said.

He said nothing. He did nothing, all except for wearing the faintest expression of amusement as he stared at you. Why must he always make things so difficult for you? And why did he always look so good doing it? You increased your grip around him, giving his length another pump in the hopes he would react. All he did was swallow some noise of gratification.

Your stomach was pulsing with a burning desire, leading all the way down to your cunt which contracted around nothing.

“Please,” you begged, your other hand gripping onto his jacket. “It hurts.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he slowly scanned your body. If he continued looking at you that way, you thought you might actually ruin his pants with how wet you were. You were worried if he did nothing, if he simply stared at you like he was, you would come just from the heat of his gaze. And you didn’t want that. You wanted to come with him inside you.

He inhaled deeply and looked away as if your plea was something he genuinely had to ponder. The nerve he had. Then he looked back at you with the sexiest—or so you deemed at the moment—smile you had ever witnessed.

“Well…” he began, “you know how much I hate seeing you in pain.” Relief flooded through your entire body. He nodded his head as a gesture for you to sit up. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Without a second thought, you rose to your knees with the help of Finnick’s hands which were beneath your thighs. You were desperately fiddling with your underwear, unsure of how to go about taking it off. You tried to push it to the side, but the material wouldn’t stay; getting off of Finnick’s lap to take them off seemed unthinkable now, so having felt hopeless, you whimpered.

“Here,” Finnick said, and then he effortlessly ripped the fabric apart and pulled it from your body, exposing your heat to the tepid night air.

Shock came and left within milliseconds, your mind being too preoccupied with other matters to contemplate his sudden actions. Besides, going commando for the next few days didn’t seem too bad a price to pay for what was about to happen.

You guided his cock to your entrance, feeling the tip just barely push through your slick folds. The both of you watched as you sunk down on him, engulfing his entire length inside you and just as such, you both let your heads fall back and let out a quiet synchronised moan in response.

“Every time,” Finnick whispered ambiguously.

Though he didn’t need to elaborate for you to understand what he meant. Every time somehow managed to feel even better than the last. Every time you would forget how much you actually needed each other. Every time he was inside you, it felt like you were home.

“I know,” you breathed in response.

His hands were on your hips, acting as a guide as you rose, feeling his cock glide through your tight walls before you swallowed him whole once again. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck, chest brushing over his with each movement you made. It then came to your attention that the only piece of clothing you had left on was your bra.

The small amount of fabric hardly served you any purpose any more, considering the rest of your body was already on show for the whole world to see. Finnick seemed to have the same idea; he reached one hand up your back and used it to skilfully unhook your bra and slide it off your shoulders. Was it already mentioned that he did all of this one-handed?

Reality quickly set in when your bra fell to the ground—you were riding Finnick, completely naked, in the middle of a rebellion, while at heavy risk of being caught. Anyone else might have thought those string of words to be shameful, disturbing even, but for some odd reason, you no longer seemed to care. About any of it. All that mattered was that Finnick was inside you and he loved you as much as you loved him. Nothing else bore any significance.

You leaned back, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you had to close your eyes, hands still digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled and rose and sank, over and over. Finnick took this as an opportunity to bury his face between your breasts, leaving harsh kisses and moans that vibrated into your skin and hardened the peaks of your nipples.

Your fingers had tangled within the waves of his hair, unconsciously pushing him further into you because the things he could do with his mouth, things as simple as kissing, felt breathtaking. Literally. At this point, you were practically gulping air into your lungs because it felt like he was stealing your breath with each touch his lips made to your chest.

“Oh, god,” you whined, looking up to the sky above as if the heavens could somehow replenish you. Although, you weren’t sure they would be holding you in the highest regard in a moment like this.

Finnick was buried deep inside you as you stayed seated on his cock, unable to find the strength to push yourself upwards anymore. Now you were just rocking yourself indulgently back and forth on his lap, feeling his tip curve repeatedly into your walls and his pants rub harshly against your ass. The muscles in your stomach began tensing and you knew what was soon coming.

Your moans had started out breathless and soft, but as your movements continued, they began rising in pitch, in interval, and in volume. Finnick had no choice but to—heartbreakingly—leave your breasts and return to your mouth to stop the sounds from slipping out, however much they made his aching cock throb.

When it seemed like you had gotten yourself under control, he broke away from your lips to say, “Gotta stay quiet, baby, or else we’ll—” And then he quickly kissed you again to dampen another moan that he noticed was about to escape “—get caught.”

You gave him a sheepish look, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. “I know, I’m sorry,” you rushed out in a single breath. “I can’t help it. Y’just so deep inside me. Feels so—”

He jerked his hips up, cock thrusting harshly and purposely up into you. Of course, you gasped loudly. That son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head to the side.

You sighed, shaking your head at him. “Asshole.”

He laughed and you could feel it rumbling in your own chest. His eyes were both sea-green and pitch black with darkness as he stared at you through the messy strands of hair strewn across his forehead. Believing he had no idea what he was doing to you all day was idiotic. Of course, he had known. Everything he ever did was in an attempt to rile you up and it always worked.

He knew he was attractive. He knew you found him painfully attractive. Fuck, why was he just so goddamn attractive?

“Hang on,” he said, tearing you from your thoughts.

“What?”

Your stomach lurched and suddenly your body was in the air. Technically, Finnick was still holding you in his arms, but still, you were in the air. Both his hands were curled beneath your thighs as he had stood up from the leather seat, hoisting you over six feet off the ground.

“Finnick!” you exclaimed with a half-whisper.

You were clinging onto his neck in fear of plummeting to the concrete ground. But, come on, this was Finnick. In what universe would he ever cause you any harm?

“Well, I’m not going to let you do all the work,” he said before kissing you sweetly, causing both your grasp on him to loosen and your body to practically melt into his. He pulled away once more, grinning like the devil he was. “If that’s alright with you?”

Your body bounced in his arms as he secured his hold on you and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“More than alright,” you said.

He pressed a light kiss to your nose and whispered, “Good,” and suddenly your back was up against something hard and cold and the brief light-hearted atmosphere had vanished.

Finnick’s body was pressed against yours, trapping you between himself and the concrete pillar which was behind you. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hardplace. His much wider and taller frame made you feel incredibly small in comparison, almost vulnerable in his strong arms, and you loved it. He had you completely concealed from anyone’s view, should they have regrettably walked by, which meant you would at least have a moment’s notice before your virtue was shredded to bits.

Now, back to being stuck between hard places. You hadn’t even noticed he had slipped out of you until he was holding himself in his hand, keeping you propped up against the wall with nothing but his other arm and his body strength, and was thrusting back inside you.

Blood was nearly being drawn from how hard you were biting your bottom lip because Finnick didn’t give you a chance to prepare yourself. His hands were digging into your ass and he was suddenly fucking you so hard, you were worried the concrete behind you would crumble under pressure. You were worried your willpower wasn’t strong enough to hold back the filthy moans threatening to tumble out.

How could you be quiet when all you wanted to do was show him how euphoric he was making you feel?

“How’s that, huh?” he asked roughly. “You like that, sweetheart?”

He was hitting just the right spot inside of you, angled perfectly and thrusting deeply. The skin of your back was scratching against the rough concrete surface with each of his thrusts and maybe it made you a little fucked up to admit it, but the pain of your skin being rubbed red raw while being fucked senseless was exhilarating.

Your head fell back against the wall, so hard the world was suddenly spinning on an axis. It was perfect. Finnick was perfect. Everything was perfect. Your eyes fluttered shut and everything of any other significance disappeared.

That is the only reason you allowed yourself to moan as loud as you did.

“Fuck!”

A large hand had been slapped over the entire lower half of your face and your own also jerked up to cover it in instant regret. Your eyes snapped wide open to see Finnick staring at you with the same visible alarm. You looked over his shoulder to scan for any sign of disturbance but after a few seconds, it became clear no one had heard you.

You looked back to Finnick, who, mind you, was still thrusting in and out of you though with a little less vigour. He was very clearly trying not to laugh. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

You smiled against his hand which he took as a sign to lower it back to beneath your ass. First, you were grinning, then you were trying not to laugh and obviously failed, and then you were both trying to stifle your laughs together as if he wasn’t quite literally fucking you against a wall. The only thing that could break your spell of laughter was the need to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another unwarranted moan.

Finnick pressed his body further against you, smiling wickedly as his cock pushed deeper inside you. You whimpered, fingernails creating red crescent moons on the back of his neck. He didn’t mind.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured.

You leaned forward to press a trembling kiss to his lips. “Love you too, Finn.”

“Mm,” he hummed, gratified.

Your legs, which were curled around his hips, tightened around him. If there was any way to bring him closer, you would have done it. If there was any way a person could crawl under someone else’s skin and live in their body, you would have been the first to do it. You would have been one with Finnick, wholly and devotedly. That was how much you needed him, how much you cherished him.

Whenever he was inside you, you truly were home.

You were clinging onto him in every way possible. His soft lips were back on yours, gluttonous with love and ardent lust. Your frantic hands were sliding over every part of his body they could reach. Your walls were contracting around his cock; even then, you were pulling him in further. It was all very messy, but it all felt very right.

The protective armour over his chest was rubbing against your bare breasts as your body bounced in his arms. The added stimulation was rendering you restless. That tight, blissful burn was starting to work its way up from your cunt and into your lower stomach, and you couldn’t stop moving. Your legs tightened and loosened around Finnick’s hips. Your chest expanded and inflated shallowly. Your fingers were practically clawing at Finnick’s clothes.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said breathlessly, and then your eyes were staring into his. A strand of hair fell across your face and he brought up a hand to tuck it back behind your ear. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “You can let go.”

Your knuckles were turning white from how hard they were grasping onto his clothed biceps. Like a beating heart, your lower body started pulsating—your stomach, between your legs, your thighs, all the way down to your toes. You were so close to spilling over the edge that everything suddenly became too overwhelming.

Tears sprung into your eyes, both of pleasure and sadness. Pleasure for the way he was making you feel as he thrust into you. Pleasure for the certainty that he loved you as you did him. But sadness for the uncertainty that this could be the last time you expressed your love for each other so intensely. Only the uncertainty wasn’t actually uncertainty.

Somewhere deep, deep inside you, there was a nagging feeling that this really was your last night together. Of course, you couldn’t rely on a nagging feeling as a tell for the future, but it was so strong. It felt so real.

You pulled him forward and crushed your lips to his, immediately falling into a smooth syrup-like rhythm with one another. It tasted sweet for a moment, a dessert consisting of whines from you and restrained groans from Finnick. But then a tear slipped from your eye and the sweetness turned salty.

Finnick pulled back to see the light shine coating your cheek.

He understood. He felt the same way.

“I love you so much,” he said, tenderly wiping away the tears on your skin.

Then he was kissing your shoulder, kissing across your collarbone, kissing up the fragile skin of your neck, the bone of your jaw, and finally back to your lips. Every kiss ravaged your entire being. His cock was curving right up into that sensitive cushiony spot inside you, sliding in and out of you and bringing a heightened sense of bliss each time. You could barely breathe.

It was too much. He was close too, you knew it. Beads of sweat were starting to collect in the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead; his body leaned further into you, gradually losing strength as his own pleasure grew. He was staring at you the way he always did when he was inside you. Sinfully. Lovingly. And, God, he was breathing so heavily, his grunts and suppressed moans kept slipping through. It was heaven.

Another tear slipped from your eye; from which emotion, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter because you felt incredible. Your whole body was buzzing, the tears kept slipping out, and your reddened parted lips kept letting shallow breaths and choked gasps escape.

“Fuck, I love you,” Finnick said again in a raw, shaky voice, and you wished you could’ve responded but he had already pressed his lips to your forehead and suddenly you were coming.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth agape though releasing no noise. You could feel your walls squeeze around his length, covering his cock entirely in sweet white fluid as he hastily continued slamming up into you. His head had fallen to your shoulder, mouth connected with your neck to muffle the guttural sounds he made into your skin as he too filled you up with his own warmth.

You had gone limp in his arms and somehow, he still managed to keep you upright. Existence sort of vanished for a moment or two. Everything and everyone were gone except for you and Finnick. You were pressed so hard up against one another that you were sure any second you would melt into one being.

Eventually, you started to come back down, and your mind started to fill with thoughts once more. Finnick had stilled inside you, catching his breath as he rested against your shoulder. He was trembling, skin warm and damp with sweat against yours. You put your hands on his shoulders, signalling for him to put you down so he could at least regain some amount of strength.

But you hadn’t realised your own problem. As soon as he helped you slip down onto your feet, your weakened legs buckled and gave out beneath you. Before the hard concrete ground could welcome you into its unforgiving arms, Finnick dropped swiftly and caught you in his first. He fell to his knees, cradling your naked form over his lap, arms shaking ever-so-slightly.

A horrible blush overcame you. Your hair was a mess, your face was coated in a light sheen, and you were still naked.

“Sorry,” you whispered, sheepishly.

He shook his head, smiling down at you as though you had nothing to apologise for. His brows did that little scrunch you found so adorable. “You okay?”

You nodded. Had anyone been able to witness the way Finnick Odair looked when he was gazing down at the person he loved, you were certain they would also agree that they were more than just okay. He looked like an angel. It wouldn’t be surprising if a pair of wings suddenly sprung out from his back.

Overcome with love, you reached up to his face, fingers gliding across his jaw. His dimples somehow deepened even more than they already were. You had never seen someone so happy in your life, especially within the confines of a war.

“I wish I could find a more profound way to show my love for you,” you whispered.

His lips twitched and it was as though you could feel his own heart leaping with affection in his chest. His eyes flickered between your own and you knew he was going to say something either witty or something that would have made your knees buckle had they not already done so.

“You don’t need to,” he said. “Your existence is profound enough.”

A few seconds went by before you understood his words—he could feel the immense love you had for him just from your mere existence. You didn’t need to do anything for him to see it, to feel it, or hear it. All you had to do was be by his side, to share the air he breathed. All you had to do was look at him and he could feel the power of it.

You rose into a sitting position, feeling Finnick’s arms curl protectively around your torso. Tears threatened to fill your eyes, but you willed them away. Instead, you planted a gentle kiss on his lips. When you pulled away, a light breeze blew against you, blowing your hair over your shoulders and forcing you to lean further into Finnick’s warm embrace.

“How about we get your clothes back on, hm?” he spoke softly.

You smiled cheekily in response. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me to put my clothes on before.”

His lips stretched into a lopsided grin, eyes looking down at you with a playful glint as he recalled the very similar conversation you had earlier.

“Well, there’s always a first time for everything, isn’t there?” he teased, fingers lightly tracing the skin of your waist.

Finnick had assisted you with gathering your scattered clothes, even helping you with putting them back on despite your insistence that you were quite capable of doing it yourself. Secretly, you enjoyed it—the silent affection, the lingering touches as he pulled each piece of clothing over your skin. Even doing the simplest things together felt incredibly intimate.

As your arms slipped through your jacket sleeves, Finnick moved in front of you, zipping it up the front and moving on to clipping the overlay buttons. He had this look of pure concentration; anyone would think he was solving the world's hardest puzzle, not buttoning up a jacket. It was adorable.

“Finnick?”

His concentration didn’t waver. “Mm?”

There was a knot growing in your stomach, and it wasn’t the pleasant kind. You had felt it moments before when you were still up against the pillar, and as time ticked away and a new day was closely approaching, it only grew more potent. Every time you looked into Finnick’s eyes, it felt more imminent. Like an impending doom.

The only plausible explanation behind the feeling was one you couldn’t speak aloud. You couldn’t even ponder it for a second, fearing the weight of it would crush the fragile makings of your heart and soul.

You scanned his face, taking in every single feature you had grown to worship. “If I go back home at dawn—” Now his attention had flickered to you “—will you come with me?”

His hands stilled, momentarily confused by your words. This mission was his chance to finally gain back some sense of power that had been taken from him by Snow. Within the next few days, he would be watching Katniss shoot an arrow through the president’s heart and see the life leave his eyes. A few days prior, that would have been more important than anything.

But as he looked into your eyes and saw the life twinkle in the gloss of your irises, the love they held, the future they revealed—a future with you and him together—he quickly realised nothing was more important. And the intense pleading your gaze revealed absolutely shattered him. Nothing could ever be more important than you.

Finnick tenderly cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll follow you anywhere, sweetheart. You know that.”

And it was like a massive weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Like a dark ominous cloud looming overhead had finally dissipated and left you with an immeasurable amount of relief. You didn’t know what had caused the feeling or why it had been strong in Finnick’s presence, only that it felt right to be going home and have him come with you.

He leaned forward and kissed you gently, adoringly, and it took everything in you not to melt into his embrace. Your hands held onto his wrists, feeling his pulse thump with life beneath your fingertips. You loved him. You loved him so much that ‘love’ wasn’t even the right word for it anymore.

What he had said earlier came to mind­—how your existence was enough proof of your love for him. That seemed right.

“I exist for you, Finn,” you whispered.

The stars above were twinkling in his sea-green eyes, almost like little specs of bioluminescent plankton. You would happily drown in them if it were possible.

Finnick pressed his forehead against yours, arms snaking around your torso to hold you tightly against him. “I exist for you, too.”

The two of you returned home the next morning. And as the years went by, you continued to exist for one another back in District Four, free from judgement, from tyranny, from the Games.

You simply revelled in existence.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

These Tender Hearts Beat as One

Aemond x widowed!female character

Summary: Aemond reunites with his childhood friend, a former ward of his mother || Word Count: 7k || Warnings: too much fucking backstory lol, p in v sex, breeding kink

Aemond could always tell when his mother was stressed. Out of all her silver-haired children, her second son had seemed the most adept at knowing before she even knew herself. All that remained was for him to discover the root of her worries, and calm her ever-heightening nerves if he could.

When Aemond was stressed, angered or oftentimes merely bored, nothing truly compared to the feeling of riding Vhagar, splitting through the air above King’s Landing to stretch her large, tattered wings. His beloved dragon appreciated the exercise in any case, restless from her days fought in wars, it was some consolation for him that flying was just as therapeutic for her as it was for him.

But when his dear mother was stressed, it was rooted in self-destruction, picking ceaselessly at her fingernails ‘til they were bloody and sore. And though he bit his tongue, not wishing to replicate the behaviour of his grandfather, sometimes it felt near impossible not to say anything, not to ask what was on her mind. So that whatever was swirling around her head with panic, could instead be shared out, and therefore less weight for her to carry.

Had Aegon done something perhaps?

Was there more trouble with Rhaenyra?

Or perhaps his father had said something to upset her, which seemed the most likely. Even in his sickly state, he was still capable of unknowing cruelty.

Even at five and ten, Aemond understood this.

His mother remained quiet, and it was not ‘til he sought out the company of his dear friend, that the truth became clear.

She had been his mother’s ward for little more than three years, and already Aemond had witnessed her enter the Keep as a clumsy, loud child and blossom into what many would consider a young woman already grown, though she was little older than Helaena. 

Her age in comparison to him had never once strained their friendship. In fact, at first, when Aemond was still freshly scarred emotionally by the trauma of losing his eye, he had remembered clapping his lone eye on her and scowling, thinking of her little more than a quarrelsome child. 

And, as Aegon had put it, ‘aggressively annoying’.

Which, at the time, was true enough. And yet it did not deter her from trying, Aemond would allow her the compliment of that.

She was much like him, a child created and born as a sort of secondary plan in case the first did not come to pass. A mere second daughter, and not only that, but bumped even further down the chain by her three older brothers, the eldest already wed with several children of his own. It was made abundantly clear by her own parents that she was merely another nuisance and therefore when placed into the care of the Targaryen royal family, the look of relief on their faces somewhat angered him, coupled by the manner in which they left with a goodbye that rivalled his own father’s attitude towards his children.

His empathy for her situation had drawn him to her, despite his stubbornness in wanting to pretend he did not crave friendship, especially from a girl. And her own stubbornness surprised him when he discovered she did not blindly seek the acceptance of any similar-aged child, she set her sights on Aemond alone and did not relent until eventually, he came to her instead.

He found a camaraderie with her that he had yet to find with his other siblings, feeling very much like friendship with her was more natural and spontaneous, where the ones with his family were calculated, planned and rooted in a cold necessity to keep up appearances. 

Not that she cared much for appearances. 

Her Septa berated her for what seemed like every other day for turning up to her needlepoint lessons with dirtied skirts and stray petals in her tangled hair, all from chasing one another through the bushes of the Keep to find some entertainment. Yet, even in the face of punishment, her smile never faltered, and insisted that it was all a bit of fun.

She somehow managed to inject her bright personality into his otherwise darkened life.

Because of her, there was beauty in everything. There was serenity in sitting in the Godswood and watching the petals settle in the breeze that ran past his neck and made him shiver. There was a startling allure when he introduced her to Vhagar for the first time and her hand ran across her darkened scales, seeing her expression lift in sheer wonder, experiencing her bewilderment as if it were the first time. And there was virtue in the innocence of their relationship, and how his heart began to swell with a childlike sense of belonging in her.

The unconditional power of her friendship he was sure was all he ever needed. In the way she always uttered, dragged away for her lessons in etiquette, but beaming at him.

‘My friendship is always yours,’ she would say, like a mantra.

‘Just as mine shall always be.’

He thought for a long while that he was the most hideous person in this world, not least since Aegon had dragged him to the brothels only a few years before. And yet when he shared a chaste kiss with her under the Weirwood tree. Clumsy and impractical and yet all magical all at once, he thought that when he was older, stronger, he would ask her to be his wife.

Aemond could feel the anxiety seeping off her as soon as he stepped into her chambers. Like she had a lot on her mind but not the courage to open her mouth and say it.

“What is it?”

His heart lurched into his chest when she lifted her head, swallowing her feelings and taking a deep, shaky breath.

“My sister has succumbed to a fever. She is dead.”

Aemond sighed, as if absorbing her grief. But when he took one step forward to comfort his friend, she shook her head, “there is more.”

Her tone of voice alone was enough to set every nerve on edge. Aemond stood as if stuck to the flagstone floor, and realised that the once clumsy, small girl he had once known was acting very much like a young woman now. Worlds apart, despite being stood before her.

“I am to honour the planned betrothal with Lord Lefford, under my father’s orders.”

It was the only moment Aemond remembered wanting to vomit with nausea, he had not felt such churning in his gut even on the day he lost his eye.

She sat, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction to the news, knowing perhaps in her own heart the feelings that were shared between them. And Aemond felt his churning nausea turn to anger, at how easily she had allowed her will to be broken by a command from her father, which in his opinion, she need not obey. She was, after all, a near half a decade younger than her sister, and the man in question older than her own father.

How could she have given up like this so easily.

“You will go through with this?”

He did not mean for his tone of voice to appear accusatory, but when he saw that wide-eyed helpless expression, he knew immediately it had.

“I can hardly argue with my father, Aemond.”

He felt his fists clench hard in his hand, fingernails creating crescent shaped indents in his flesh that reddened, his reply is stiff, “you simply act as if you have no choice in the matter.”

“Not all of us get one.”

“You cannot leave.”

“I must,” she insists, her voice breaking somewhat at the look of disappointment and betrayal on his face, “please do not make this more difficult than it already is, Aemond.”

“I am not the one making this difficult,” he replies flatly, his head throbbing with an incoming migraine, “If you are as much my friend as I am yours, you will not leave me.”

She could feel herself stepping towards him, drawn by some invisible force for comfort that he was not yet providing. She knew he could be capable of being cruel, but to be on the receiving end after all they had gone through was heart-breaking.

And though she was a year his senior, standing so small before him, she felt so much a child.

“Aemond, please-” she begged, reaching out for him and wincing when he pulled away, his brows drawn together in disgust.

“Marry him and I shall never speak to you again.”

Her hand dropped to her side as if limp, as if all life had drained from her body as well as the colour from her face. Her lip quivered, “you can't mean that.”

He looked in her eyes, the raw grief of watching her slip away filling him with an unmistakable bitterness, though for what? Her? Himself? Their friendship? He could not put it into words.

“I mean every word.”

That is the last memory he has of her, looking every bit as broken as he'd intended her to feel. In the days that followed, as her family arrived once more to steal her away, Aemond felt the gnawing grip of regret when he chose not to see her off at the courtyard, watching from his window as she scanned the space around for her good friend's presence and didn't find it.

It was then Aemond began to hate himself for every bit of cruelty enacted against her from him. Her carriage disappeared into the distance until it was nothing, leaving a pit of pain in his heart.

Not a day passed that Aemond did not at least think of her and wait for any correspondence to arrive, with his name etched into the paper in her curved, feminine handwriting.

But as he'd feared, she had taken his words to heart, and no letter ever arrived, and eventually, it felt no use counting the days and moons since he'd last seen her.

The guilt would eat away at him for years, the memory of her pained expression etched into his vision. Even as he grew into a man, it would never fully fade, though he was quick to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that she was no longer the same girl he had loved so much, not since she chose her own fate.

In an attempt to fill the hole she'd left behind, he busied himself with the sword, intent with some level of obsession at becoming the most skilled swordsman in Westeros. 

Aemond would train for hours at a time, the dull ache deep within him pushed away by the strain of sparring drills and intense workouts with the sword. Though even in the midst of training, his thoughts would always be in the back of his mind, taunting him with the guilt that he felt, the shame of how he had treated her at the end.

By itself, it was not enough, but even burying his nose in books did not blur that heavy ache. But it did not mean he could not at least try.

Which is why he sighed in annoyance as he sat by the fireplace in his chambers, a large tome opened in his lap and two knocks rapped at the door.

“Enter.”

He did not tear his attention away as the maidservant entered with a short and quick curtsy, hands clasped, “Your grace, Queen Alicent has requested your presence.”

That alone was enough to draw his attention away from his reading. His mother did not request him for a small matter.

He had wondered if perhaps Aegon had managed to slip out of the Keep again, for yet another one of his excursions into Flea Bottom, and send him to retrieve his brother.

Perhaps his mother finally thought enough time had passed and he was much of a man to suggest a marriage proposal. For some reason, the thought made him ill.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” he heard his mother say in a muffled tone once he was announced.

Aemond raised his gaze to his mother, relieved to see her calm, and dare he say, happy.

“Aemond,” she greeted softly, her smile gentle and her touch on his arms comforting, “do not look so forlorn.”

“You wished to see me.”

“I did,” Alicent beamed, clasping her hands at her front, “Come.”

He could not help but give a puzzled expression as he walked beside his mother through the winding halls of the Keep, wondering perhaps why her behaviour was so different than usual. A sort of anxiety fed through her, but not the self-destructive kind. 

“We are to receive some guests today. I would like you to greet them.”

Aemond quirked a brow, confused and somewhat annoyed in equal measure, “I am not accustomed to greeting-”

“They have travelled a long way, so remember to be courteous,” Alicent added, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles, which only served to confuse Aemond further. His mother led him to the top of the staircase of the empty, echoing foyer and instructed quickly, “do be a gracious host, Aemond.”

He did not have a mere moment to question her, before he was watching the back of his mother disappear down the very same hallway they had just walked together. All he managed was a baffled shake of his head, as if by some miracle this was all some mad dream he had conjured. He questioned why on earth his mother would allow him to greet these esteemed guests alone, out of all her antisocial children.

But ever dutiful, he descended the stairs, hearing the low voice of Ser Westerling greeting whomever was arriving in a warm, formal tone, with their silhouettes casting blurred shadows onto the flagstone floor. Aemond’s feet were planted firmly on the step without even realising it.

This esteemed guest was no stranger to him.

Though the years had matured her gracefully, Aemond is sure he would recognise her anywhere, as she looked every bit the same as that day he regretted seeing her carriage leave King’s Landing. She stood tall, her cape fastened at her front with her house crest nestled in the middle, her dark skirts framing her womanly figure as her eyes trailed the details of the Keep that had changed since she had last been there.

Aemond stared wordlessly, the emotions so long buried resurfacing as if they had never left. His breath felt hot, his mind struggling to accept what his lone eye beheld before him. That she was here after so many years separated, in the very flesh, and yet he was unable to utter a single word.

She wandered about the space, commenting to the young woman beside her, who carried a child no older than three in her arms, how it had all looked so much larger in her youth. So he took this moment where she had not yet noticed him to look upon her with wonder, frozen entirely in place with the unexpectedness of her return. His mind raced with the thoughts of what this meeting could mean, for him, for her, and for their future; and he could not deny the strong tug of guilt in his chest for how he had treated her all those years ago, and how her renewed presence only made them more real.

Clearing his throat as he approached, the lady beside her noticed him first, “Prince Aemond,” she greeted with a curtsy, prompting her also to lay her eyes on him once more.

“Your grace,” she smiled warmly with a quick curtsy, with such a formality that made his heart ache.

He craned his head to bow lightly at her, “My Lady,” he replied with some stiffness, before gazing once more into her friendly, soft eyes and allowing his shoulders to relax, “I wondered perhaps if you would recognise me.”

Her laugh made his stomach flip, “I do not think I could ever forget you. Though I must confess, I wondered the same for myself.”

Her smile could not be described as anything less than perfect and a feeling that he harboured for her so long ago began to creep back in before he could stop it, “my Lady, I must apologise right away.”

But she shook her head, looking down at her hands, “it was a long time ago.”

He did not wish to upset her further by mentioning such an incident that had harmed his pride since, but knew that her memories of it were just as vivid as his own, “And I have not forgotten. You did what was expected for a lady in your position, and yet I was too selfish to understand that at the time. Please forgive me.”

He could not take the desperation out his tone, no matter how hard he tried. And still, she smiled sadly at his words.

“You must know that I did not wish to leave you.”

“I do,” he replied quickly, the memories of his guilt burning a hole in his throat, trying to hide the bitterness he felt towards himself, “I must confess - I have missed you greatly.”

Her hands clasped at her front, she blinked slowly and swallowed thickly, “I have missed you too.”

The silence stretched between them. Years of separation and longing had left them both yearning, but lacking the courage of knowing what to say. Aemond cleared his throat, his hands behind his back with anxiety, seeing that her ‘favoured’ husband was still not yet present.

“Are we to receive your husband as well?” he asked with some stiffness, or perhaps bitterness.

She cocked her head ever so slightly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, until a small smile of realisation graced her features, “I regret to inform you I am recently widowed.”

In any other situation, Aemond would have been mortified at her reply. But with her smile came a rush of realisation himself, and hope swelled in his heart, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping to all the gods that she could not see the way his thought ran wild in his head, and made his breeches tighten, “Widowed-” 

“Indeed. I am sorry to disappoint you, my Prince. In truth, I have just come out of mourning,” she nodded, biting back another coy smile, showing in her mannerisms that it was no great loss to her.

“I am sorry for your loss, my Lady.”

She shook her head softly, “my husband left a suitable will, so that my child and I live comfortably and so there is no need for me to pursue future marriages should I not wish to.”

Her careful wording was not lost on him, and Aemond could not help the sense of glee at this new and recent change in her life, the bitter anger at having lost her to some decrepit old man years previous seemingly dissipating. And yet despite this, he attempted to keep it hidden, not wishing to seem disrespectful to her late husband.

“Might I present you my daughter,” she added, taking the child from the woman beside her into her own and resting the shy young girl on her hip. The child’s wide-eyed innocent expression unapologetically took all of Aemond in, as children often do, and he was reminded very much of his dear friend when she was small.

She was the image of her mother, save for the slightly lighter hair, with every feature of her etched into her daughter’s youthful face. And the reality of such similarities made him feel both joy and sorrow all at once.

“She is beautiful.” His voice was quiet, seeing the child in her arms was shy and reserved, unlike her mother, but thankful somewhat that her little one was not in the slightest alike to the man she had been forced to marry. Looking into the eyes of her child felt much like staring at the girl he once knew, and with that, a rush of affection.

Aemond thought, that in different circumstances, this child could have been theirs, a shared expression of their affections for one another. That all those years ago, had her father not coerced her into honouring her late sister’s betrothal, that she and Aemond would have their own children by now.

Before he could think too long, the small girl whined in her arms and she put her down immediately, the little patter of childish feet nearly had Aemond break into a grin, watching her run off with the nursemaid chasing behind.

“I am afraid she is a curious little thing. Like mother like daughter I suppose”, she smiled brightly.

Aemond nodded, the rush of memories bringing a wistful smile to his face, “Like mother like daughter,” was all he managed to reply, watching the mischievousness unfold. Yet, once the child and the nursemaid had left them alone, she chuckled softly, feeling his heartbeat slow in pace with hers.

“May I confess something to you, without fear of judgement?” Aemond asked, his heart thudding as she nodded in return, “You may think me foolish, but I must confess that my mind still lingers on the memories of our time together, and I have found no way to erase the feelings they carry with them - your return to King’s Landing has only reinforced them,” he confessed, looking into her warm gaze, “for now, when I look at you, I cannot help but feel just as I did then.”

He watched her swallow thickly, and take a deep, meaningful breath, like what she was going to say would be heavy, “and, what feelings are those, might I ask?”

His heart felt as it was beating so fast it was cracking his ribs, throat closing with anxiety. The feelings he had tried so hard to hide with a mask of bitterness now overflowing with terrifying intensity. Yet, to say such feelings out loud to her, someone he had trusted so much in his youth, made it feel all the more real. And as he stared into her eyes, he wanted nothing more than for her to share them, despite their years of absence from one another.

“That I love you - and have from the moment I met you.”

The words came out quickly, and as soon as he uttered them he felt his cheeks grow hot, knowing her response was either one way or the other and that he, a man so long disconnected from his own feelings, hiding them with his pride for so many years, was now opening up his vulnerability. 

He wanted her to love him. So desperately.

She sighed quietly in relief, “I have loved you as well. And I was saddened to have left you - and will forever be vehemently sorry for that.”

Though his relief was palpable, but he shook his head first, “You were right then, and always have been, that you had no choice or opinion in the matter. Therefore, I will accept no apologies.”

Her eyes glistened with emotion at his words, and when Aemond stepped forward and took her cheek in his palm, her breath hitched in such a way he was sure they would spill forth in tears. But the strong person she had always been, she held them back.

“I feared - you would not desire me,” she confessed quietly. 

Aemond smirked, “It may take more than a few years of separation to extinguish what was once there. I have loved you since that day beneath the Weirwood Tree, and I will love you until this life ends and the next one begins.”

She gave a watery smile at his sweet words, “though I have been wed once already with a child?”

He was silent for a moment as he considered her question, and not a bit of him even wondered whether it were possible, “my love is no fickle thing,” he smiled, “in time I hope I may become as close as a father to her as I may become a husband to you.”

He watched as her unshed tears formed a constellation on her eyelashes, but a relieved smile graced her delicate features. Aemond could not remember the last time he had been this close to her, able to detect the delicate scents brushed through her hair and the way her cheeks warmed at the close proximity between them, and undeniable tension.

The thought of kissing her, having her to himself, made something arousing tighten in his breeches, to his embarrassment.

He drew in a breath, leaning forward to capture her lips, but both drew back a pace suddenly.

“My Lady! Would you care to join us for supper this evening,” Alicent smiled brightly, as if knowing some great secret seeing them both stood straight and blushing. And she had to take a moment to think and stammer out her reply,

“Oh - yes, I would be delighted-”

“Wonderful! I shall see you to your chambers,” the Queen beamed, giving Aemond a sideways glance as the two women he most respected in life walked alongside one another.

He felt as if the entire evening was a true test of his will and determination. Aemond is certain Alicent meant no ill will by inviting the woman he unequivocally loved to supper with his family; but as he sat beside her, remembering how close he had been just a few hours before, it was almost as if everyone around him was aware and simply dangling the situation in front of his face.

And he cursed any god that existed that Aegon was not drowned in his cups that night, as he usually was. On this night, he was frustratingly lucid and hyper-aware.

Helaena, at first, was impartial to the sudden get-together, but as soon as she and Helaena saw one another, it was as if no time at all had passed. They were, of course, the same age when she had been his mother's ward, and as well as with Aemond, had formed a close friendship.

The princess was of course eager to catch up, and even invited her up to dance, to which she happily obliged as Aemond watched from his spot at the table. It was nice to see Helaena happy for a change.

A sorrowful thought had occurred to Aemond that both his friend and Helaena were pressured into marriages and motherhood far too young. And seeing them very much acting like young girls with one another, only exacerbated this feeling.

They talked quickly with excitement, planning to have their children meet up with one another and play in the gardens. And while they were engrossed in conversation, Aegon slid next to his brother, with a knowing smirk on his face.

“She is just as animated as I remember,” the young prince smirked, raising his eyebrows at Aemond over the rim of his cup.

“I will hear none of your depravity about her.”

Aegon threw him a faux-offended expression, “I had not even got there yet. Do you have such a low opinion of me?”

Aemond ignored him and sipped his own Dornish Red.

“You wish to marry her.”

“And you are perceptive.”

“Gods, I love it when you compliment me.”

“And insufferable.”

“What makes you think grandfather will allow you to marry her anyway? He's a dry old cunt, he will not care if you love her or not. He would have you wed to some plain-faced twat from who-knows-where.”

For one infuriatingly brief moment, Aemond had to concede that Aegon was probably right. And with one restless finger tapping against the table, he glanced over at his mother and grandfather suspiciously squished together on one end of the table, leaning towards each other and whispering in low voices, with Otto Hightower looking at his beloved friend from beneath his brow.

They were talking about her. Discussing her. And by the expression on his grandfather, analysing her.

Aemond felt his heart beat faster at the prospect that they were speaking so secretively about her without her knowledge. It seemed a stark contrast to the way the two women on the other side of the table were laughing and smiling brightly, something so rarely seen on Helaena’s face nowadays.

“She is no maiden, that is for certain. Though if you are lucky, perhaps only the first three inches of her have been tainted by Lefford’s withered old cock.”

Aemond wrinkled his nose at Aegon’s depraved quip, despite his somewhat polite request for him not too. Perhaps he’d expected too much courtesy from his elder brother. Or perhaps, more likely, with the exciting renewed presence of Lord Lefford’s widow, Aegon felt the need to perform, and exaggerate his usual unfortunate traits of his personality.

“‘Tis almost as worse as our dear sister being wed to me.”

“I am certain there is nothing worse than that,” Aemond replied quickly, behind the rim of his cup, failing to keep his gaze from forever drifting to the figure of her from across the candles and ornaments.

Aemond found himself captivated by the way she moved, the subtle grace in her gestures that spoke volumes of the woman she had become. Gone was the innocence of youth, replaced by a quiet strength and resilience that only seemed to enhance her beauty. He couldn't help but notice the way her laughter rang out like music, filling the room with warmth and light. It was a sound he had missed more than he cared to admit, a reminder of simpler times when they were just children with the world at their feet.

But now, as he watched her twirl across the dance floor with Helaena, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence. It was as if she had blossomed into a flower, her petals unfurling to reveal a depth and complexity that left him breathless.

He attempted not to move too quickly once the festivities were over, afraid of showing her in his actions his desperation to be close to her as he offered his arm, “might I see you to your chambers, my Lady?”

She gave a shy smile that morphed into one of amusement, and Aemond is sure he felt something akin to that stomach-flipping sensation when he was flying out on Vhagar when her hand rested on the inside of his forearm, “Very well.”

Aemond chose to ignore the low snicker of his elder brother, showing him his back instead, with the woman he loved on his arm.

“You are aware I know this Keep better than I do my own home, and am perfectly capable of finding my chambers myself?” she said with a teasing lilt.

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. "Forgive me, my Lady. It seems my chivalry gets the better of me in your presence."

Her laughter rang out, filling the silence with warmth. "Chivalry or a desire to prolong our conversation, Prince Aemond?"

He felt a surge of joy at the playful banter, grateful for the opportunity to spend even a few moments alone with her. "Perhaps a bit of both, my Lady. Though I must admit, the thought of your company is a temptation I find hard to resist."

She looked at her feet, as if to hide the rising warmth to her face, “I must confess, it is nice to once again be somewhere familiar, with the company I admire most. When my husband was alive it could often get rather lonely.”

Aemond fell quiet for a moment, swallowing thickly, trying to navigate his feelings in the midst of a difficult situation, “I hope that he was kind to you.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes revealing a depth of gratitude that stirred something within him. "He had his moments," she admitted with a small smile, "but kindness was not his strongest suit. Still, I suppose I cannot fault him entirely. He provided for me in his own way."

Aemond could sense the underlying weight in her words, the unspoken struggles she had endured beneath the facade of mere cordiality. He didn't need to ask to know that her late husband had been less than supportive.

"You deserve far more than just provision, my Lady," he said earnestly, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.

Aemond could almost feel his heart sink as he had realised they were stood before her chamber doors, her hand slipping from his arm, and yet a fire stoking fierce then at the thought of an invitation inside.

She clasped her hands delicately, her warm eyes meeting his with a gentle intensity. "I couldn't help but notice Queen Alicent and the Lord Hand engaged in such ceaseless conversation," she remarked, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I do not wish to presume—"

Aemond, catching the subtle implication in her words, swiftly interjected, "I cannot claim to know their exact sentiments." His gaze met hers, offering reassurance without a hint of desperation. "But I refuse to allow something as trivial as their approval to deter me. I've already endured the pain of losing you once."

There was a quiet determination in his voice, a resolve that mirrored the fire in her own eyes. In that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding, a mutual agreement to pursue their feelings despite the potential obstacles that lay ahead.

She nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your courage is admirable, Prince Aemond. But we must proceed cautiously. The court is a web of intricate politics, and our actions could have far-reaching consequences."

Her words were crafted in such a way that reminded him of her personality in their youth, understanding of the repercussions and yet boldly standing tall in the face of them. And with her small, mischievous smile, he knew all the same that whatever she uttered was only done so to extend her cordiality.

"I understand," he replied, his tone tinged with determination. "But I cannot ignore what my heart tells me."

"Nor can I," she admitted softly, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve.

Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging in the air. Then, with a subtle shift in her demeanour, she turned towards her chamber door. Without a word, she reached out and gently pushed it open, leaving it ajar. A silent invitation hung in the air, enticing Aemond to step inside.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he watched her gesture, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Without hesitation, he took a step forward, drawn irresistibly towards the open door and the promise of privacy within.

With a shared glance filled with unspoken understanding, Aemond turned towards her chamber doors, crossing the threshold into the privacy of her chambers, where their hearts could speak freely without the constraints of the outside world.

She spoke quietly, her face illuminated warmly by the soft flicker of candlelight. "I hope you do not think less of me for this," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "You can imagine, for me there is no great ceremony in it."

Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at her words, his gaze filled with an understanding that transcended mere words. "I could never think less of you," he replied softly, his voice brimming with sincerity.

Aemond slowly closed the distance between them, their expressions never wavering, his steps deliberate yet gentle. He reached out, his hand cupping her face tenderly, as he gazed into her eyes with an intensity that spoke of his deep affection. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a timeless embrace. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across their intertwined figures, bearing witness to the union of two souls bound together by love and longing.

Her lips parted to whisper, “I do not wish for you to do all of this out of guilt-”

She caught herself when his thumb traced her cheek, waiting for him to answer, “I do not make this bid out of remorse. I wish to be with you, and I wish to make you mine.”

Aside from the crackling heat of the fire within the hearth, her breath was all that was audible between them, coming heavier from between her lips as his thumb feathered down her cheek and to her bottom lip, caressing the skin there. After that, he felt her eyelashes against his cheek flutter when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with a tenderness usually unbecoming of his personality.

Years of longing had each of them pressing closer to each other, lost in the sound of their soft kisses, and Aemond felt his clothing below his waist become tight with need once he caressed her tongue with his and pried her lips apart like the petal of a flower and tasting the sweet nectar within.

Her hands that had found his shoulders slid over the sleek leather to his front, tenderly and gingerly pulling the buckles apart to loosen his doublet. Her actions, instead of spurring embarrassment, renewed a deep-rooted vigour beneath, and Aemond’s new task was to pull at the laces of her dress behind her, and pull the fabric that had hidden her body from him.

He felt her shiver, pulling the heavy dress from her shoulder to pool at her waist, pushing them as fervently off her as he was able, “was he at least good to you,” Aemond asked in a whisper, his breath hot at her neck while she pulled at the laces of his breeches. 

“I do not wish to speak of him,” she answered with determination and confidence, but a breathless, wanton whisper herself, wanting nothing more than to consummate years of harboured affections masked by friendship, “I only want you.”

Her words had his heart stutter in his chest, pulling her now almost bare form atop him as he sat back onto the bed, with her hair loosened like this and her shoulders blossoming with gooseflesh, he found that he was incapable of keeping his hands at his sides and explored the shape of her feminine body beneath the shift she wore. 

Even the sheer motion of her brushing against his hardened member and her breasts filling his palms could have been enough for Aemond, but there was no returning at this point. She sighed against his lips as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shift to ruck the thin fabric up around her hips, squeezing the flesh of her thighs to pull her closer onto his lap.

Warmth bloomed at her cheeks, but it did not deter her as she reached between them and smiled at Aemond’s loud moan, stroking his rapidly hardening length in her palm, focussing her attention towards the velvety tip. 

She lifted herself in his lap, fingers threaded at the hair at his nape as if to anchor herself to him, and both sighed with the utmost relief of their union once he pressed himself into her, and she sank her warmth onto him, enveloping him with her body. Her lips parted at the stretch, somewhat prepared and yet the intrusion still stealing the air from her lungs.

Foreheads pressed together, Aemond's hands gripped her at her waist, pushing his hips up into her as hard as he could to sink deeper inside her, “I have dreamt of this - for so long - being with you like this -” 

A faint sheen glimmered on her collarbones as she slowly moved her hips on him, Aemond's legs parted somewhat, widening hers and opening her up more so he could rock up into her with her rhythm. The closeness of their position had the blunt head of his cock massage that sensitive patch within, her eyebrows knitted together in sweet pleasure.

“That's it -” he cooed quietly, almost watching the way she moved with admiration and curiosity, her tight, silky walls squeezing his length with every thrust of herself down. He felt her arousal coat the base of him, and the sound of their ever-quickening coupling filled the otherwise quiet chambers.

She held onto his shoulders, the amber glow of the fireplace picturing her expression in the most arousing way Aemond had ever imagined. Pulling her shift down her chest, he groaned lowly at the sight of her breasts and took one in his palm and mouthed at the other, taking her stiffened nipple between his lips in a way that made a shuddering moan slip past her lips.

“Gods - I would adore to watch you swell with my child - would you like that -”

All she could do was nod feebly, words unable to occupy her mouth where soft, sweet sounds of pleasure were pouring out. Aemond smirked, grazing his teeth over her bud.

“yes, you would like to serve your husband - give him children, wouldn't you - fuck-” his voice strained at the effort it took to hold himself back, his hands sliding down the column of her back to her plump backside, palms gripping tight and guiding her rhythm onto him, over and over.

She moaned loudly, the motion of being pulled back and forth and yet still impaling herself on him driving the fat head of his cock into the deepest and most forbidden parts of her.

“Aemond -”

“And once you have one - I'll fuck yet another one into you - keep you fat with child” his breathing grew ragged and shaky, “- take it - like a good little wife should-”

“Yes - yes-” she breathed quickly, the words slipping out without realising what they were for, her blind acceptance of being his wife, or the rising waves of pleasure coursing white, hot through her body.

He felt her squeezing him and hastened both of her rhythms, dragging her back into his lap and pushing up into her wet heat ceaselessly. Both the numbing ache of her peak and her bud rolling against his body in quick succession had her hands gripping around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her limbs flooded with warmth.

“That's it, ābrazyrys -”

“Gods, Aemond-” she squeaked, completely overcome and possessed by the heights of pleasure rolling through her, the endless rhythm of him fucking up into her only prolonging it.

Her tight walls squeezed him so deliciously that Aemond's heart leapt into his throat, completely surprised as he pulsed thickly and spilled within her, his lone eye tightly shut. His own fulfilment had his hips twitching, shallowly pushing his seed into her, and hoping that it took.

Even once he was completely spent and exhausted, softening inside her, neither moved, and he simply felt her tender fingertips at his shoulders in light soft circles, massaging him. And thought, that this is how it always should have been, had he fought for her.

Her breath fluttered against his skin, herself tired in exertion from their shared pleasure.

“I was a fool - for allowing you to slip from my grasp.”

She sat up, to look down at him, her face flushed, hair in messy waves, looking every bit as beautiful as the day he'd lost her.

But she smiled, her finger tracing the pattern impressed on the leather of his eye patch, “you may have been a fool,” she started.

Her finger hooked beneath it, and lifted it away, her expression unchanged as her thumb stroked the indent of the scar at his cheek. Aemond felt his heart soar in a way that almost felt terrifying.

“I never slipped from your grasp,” she uttered gently, “my heart was always yours.”

Aemond brushed her hair from her features, her words sending waves of ecstasy thrumming in his veins.

“Just as mine shall always be.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @emmaisafictionwhore @minholy223

[wndaswife]

Wanda returns to bad habits after her breakup with you.

Tags: references to smut, lot of angst!, self-destructive habits, toxic relationship, abuse, possibly triggering topics, unhealthy sex, cheerleader!wanda, references to fem!reader

Word count: 2438

Before being with you, Wanda didn’t know that there was any other way of having sex. In fact, she didn’t think sex was something one could even tie emotional connections to. 

You and Wanda never had sex until she was the one who brought it up, nearly two months into the relationship. Granted, in the beginning, Wanda never regarded it like a real relationship, taking your feelings for her for granted, using your love for her as entertainment. 

She was uncertain when you first had sex; you asked if she was feeling alright, if you were making her feel good, and you were gentle, taking time to run your hands over her body and get to know her in ways you hadn’t before. 

It made her feel so seen, so thought of. 

Wanda wondered about a lot of things for the first time when she watched as you kissed down her body, carefully undressing her and treating her delicately. 

When she laid on her back, her hip bone became more prominent and casted a shadow over a birthmark she had on her left hip, making it seem like it disappeared. Would you notice it while you were taking your time unbuttoning her pants and kissing her lower stomach?

She felt her bottom lip tremble and the back of her nose tingle with incoming tears when you pressed a kiss to it, your thumb brushing against it softly as you descended further. 

In some way, it felt good to have her clothes taken off of her so harshly her thighs burned briefly against the denim waistline of her jeans, to have nails digging into spots you would kiss tenderly, to know her body only ever belonged to you in the way you took her because she was only treated so harsh when she wasn't with you.

Wanda wasn’t close to the boys she slept with, though after being with you she didn’t quite have the same interest in being with as many as she used to. 

Vision was the only one Wanda had enough energy to see. He intellectualized his violence, at least — tried to explain that he couldn’t help but want to claim her and make her his. When he was able to pull at her hair, bend her how he wanted, slap her, spank her, redden her skin and bruise her flesh while he claimed her until he was fatigued, she belonged to him. 

She understood the rationale, enjoyed the distraction of being someone else’s rather than belonging to herself, or having to come to terms that she didn’t know herself enough to be anything on her own, or to be forced to realize that in her lack of herself, there was a lack of you too.

Why didn’t you fuck her until she was telling you it was too much? Why didn’t you make her question whether she’d reached either her threshold of pain or pleasure when she told you to stop?

Which she never did, because she never had to. 

It was miraculous the things you could read in her body — the twitching of her hips away from your fingers or a furrowing of her eyebrows.

You knew when she had enough, and when she needed more. 

Why didn’t you treat her like everyone else did?

“Was Y/N boring?” Vision asked, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s body and pulling her against his side. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head to the side to press a kiss to her lips. 

Wanda felt a pain in her chest when anyone mentioned you; the only role you had in her life now was when other people brought your name up. She was only able to interact with you through discussing her time with you in the past tense. 

“No,” she answered. “She wasn’t boring.”

He reasoned, “She didn’t know you at all.”

Wanda didn’t know whether she wanted to protest and give away what was special about her relationship with you to someone else. But then he added, “The CD she put together for you, the poems and all those dull gestures — you don’t like that.”

“And you know me better?” Wanda retorted, frowning and attempting to pull away from him slightly, only to be pulled back by how his arm wrapped around her shoulders completely. 

“I know how to treat a girl.”

She held back a scoff, mostly because she wasn’t interested in arguing about you; you were too precious of a memory to discuss in argument. 

You were a memory that was hers and hers only. 

But she couldn’t help but come to your defense, for a part of her did want to talk about you, to keep you in her life that way. 

“She tried her best,” she said, leaving out the part that you’d tried your best in spite of how terrible of a girlfriend she was to you, how she used you and your feelings for her to entertain her friends. “She cared.”

Some time close to the end of the first month you were together, you put together a CD of songs for her. Wanda had never been given something like that before, didn’t understand the significance nor what you were trying to do by gifting it. 

‘For Wanda,’ it said — so simple.

She didn’t think twice before giving it to her friends.

One of them put it into their laptops and they listened to it together, wanting to see what kind of things you put together for her for your sham relationship Wanda hadn’t been putting any effort into, though a part of her was curious in a way that her friends weren’t. 

After the first two songs, skipping through most of them to get a general idea of your effort, they moved onto something else, even resolving to throw the CD out. 

Wanda argued that that would’ve been a bad decision in case you asked about it or wondered where it had gone. 

When she got home, she put it into her own laptop, her chest filled with a feeling she couldn’t explain but often felt around you when she looked through the songs and found that a majority of them were ones you or she had mentioned before. She remembered you asking if she’d ever heard of some of them. 

She listened through the entire CD that evening, laying in bed as she did. 

It felt like every word was made for her, and it felt special; you listened to all of them too, picked them out, and put it together just for her. 

She loved them all. 

Vision’s expressed contorted. “Cared about what?”

“Cared about me,” Wanda spoke quietly. 

When she thought of you, the way you made her feel, the way you cared for her, Wanda wasn’t able to do it without the inevitable following of pain. 

You cared for her like no one else had ever, treated her so gently and loved her selflessly, and now you couldn’t, and now you didn’t. 

But to voice it out loud, to speak it out into existence that she had known your love, and more than that, to know that it was no more, felt different than just reminiscing, allowing her memory to form your love into a reality in which, maybe, you just didn’t love her as much as she remembered you did. 

As much as she knew you did. 

Did she ever make you feel loved?

One afternoon, the day the two of you were planning on going out for a picnic, you came to her apartment looking conflicted and confused and upset. One of Wanda’s friends had told you about how the relationship was initially meant to be a joke, that Wanda was dared to go out with you once one of her other friends noticed that you were into her.

The things you were told and then repeated to Wanda made the things she had done to you so much more real, for in the beginning, she didn’t quite take things seriously, so the terrible things she had done almost didn’t exist.

It almost felt like she had done it all to someone else.

For her, the relationship didn’t really start until she started falling in love with you.

Suddenly, you knew that she had cheated on you several times during the first month you were together, that she had shared your poems and the CD with her friends, that she repeated all the sweet and thoughtful things you did for her to them.

At the time they meant nothing to her — how could you love her, anyhow, how could the things you did mean anything to you?

They thought the dedication and feeling you put into a fake relationship was funny. Maybe they also couldn’t fathom Wanda as deserving of that kind of love either.

Wanda never thought it was funny so much as she thought it was absurd. It was as if someone was speaking a different language to her.

“How did she care about you?” Vision asked, sounding slightly defensive. “Did she treat you like I do?”

What a fucking joke, Wanda thought, for him to place himself in your likeness, even by distant comparison.

Wanda was becoming irritated, and she would’ve much rather when he told her that she was made for getting slapped around, forcing her to swallow the truth that she liked when he did. 

But her mind flooded with memories anyways in spite of her annoyance at Vision’s prodding. 

You’d called her beautiful before, so it wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, but there was once after you’d had sex for the first time that Wanda often thought about. 

She was laying on her side, cuddled close enough to you that she could lay the back of her hand against your stomach, close enough that your hair brushed against her forehead when she adjusted her head on her pillow. 

The both of you were under her blankets. She felt warm, wrapped in your body heat as your arm draped around her naked waist. 

Your arm unwrapped itself from her and Wanda opened her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping, but she liked how it felt not to talk and not to go anywhere — just to be close to you. 

She thought you might be leaving, but instead your hand came to her cheek, your palm warm from how it had been laying against her lower back. 

You brushed her hair away from her eyes. 

She couldn’t explain the way you looked at her; it wasn’t with any sort of intention to dominate or claim or dissect her. 

You were just looking at her, taking her in. 

At that moment, she felt a sort of pressure to perform, wondering if she should smile or blush or ask what you were looking at, but she could only look at you back, in silence. 

You’re so beautiful, you said. 

“She treats me nothing like you do,” Wanda presently told Vision, slightly resentful as she spoke. She was silent for a moment before adding, “She… made me feel special, and important.”

He could only scoff. “That’s pathetic.”

How could it be pathetic, the way you made her feel? The gentleness of your hands, the curiosity in your eyes, how loving your kisses were, how you made her feel beautiful.

Wanda laid, bored and as pathetic as Vision had said, as he unwrapped his arm from around her and turned her onto her stomach. 

Maybe if she was able to hate herself enough, she could prove you wrong, recall the memories of your love and see you as a liar or as deluded, in order to deal with the fact that she no longer had you.

Vision was good at it — making her feel deserving of hatred and filth. He would hurt her and spit the most degrading insults at her, and he’d tell her how wet she was getting, how he could feel her twitching around his cock, slap her across the face and feel her tighten, pull her hair and feel her pushing her ass back against him.

She felt the hatred and the degradation and the objectification, and each time, hoping that it would recode her body, recondition her skin to know only violence and hurt. But each time it only reminded Wanda that the feeling running through her wasn’t what she felt with you.

You’d never do these things to her, never make her feel this way.

Everything that distracted her from you could only ever be defined as a lack of you.

Anything different from you, wasn’t you.

To remedy that, she tried to think of how you might react to seeing her this way. She only felt shame; you’d think she was a monster, as fucked up like Vision had said.

If you saw the things she let happen to her, listened to the words she got off on, would you still love her, think she was beautiful?

Once, Vision asked if maybe Wanda would’ve liked you more if you’d treated her like he did. Maybe she wouldn’t have fucked around with your feelings for her if you treated Wanda as he knew she deserved.

The idea of those horrible words coming out of your mouth, the anger and the violence and the disgust, made Wanda nauseous. She remembered going home the night he suggested it and throwing up. 

You would never.

You’d never.

She tried to redefine you, thinking that maybe if you hated her you would, that you fantasized about hurting her, but even then, Wanda couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t because she didn’t only see you as the way you loved her, but as who you were.

You were kind and gentle.

Every time she left Vision’s place, she thought every moment of her interactions with him over, trying to hate herself for things he did to her and things she let him do because she liked them. She wanted to go back to when the things you did for her meant nothing, when your love was a language she couldn’t understand.

But she couldn’t erase any of it from her memory, couldn’t rewrite it, couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen.

Anything she felt and experienced after you broke up with her was only an absence of you.

Wanda wondered if you often thought of her, or if she even crossed your mind. Maybe you were glad to have gotten rid of her. She hoped you hated her, so that way she could imagine that she didn’t cause you pain.

She hoped you might just forget about her altogether.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Nini, what about vampire Fyodor x vampire hunter reader (〜^∇^)〜 like you’ve been assigned to hunt down and bring the head of Fyodor Dostoevsky to uhh.. a king idk.

So you track Fyodor down and instead make a deal with him. You won’t kill him and actually let him feed off you and he lets you fuck him (ゝз╹)

At first he’s hesitant. A well ranked hunter coming to him and proposing a friends with benefits arrangement sounds pretty suspicious, but hearing the offer that you let him feed off you makes him agree since it’s an easy meal and he was planning on betraying you later on.

Thats until he’s bent down on all fours and being pounded like wild animals in heat. The vampire is so touch starved that he can’t handle the pleasure and tries biting anything he can (let’s just say you were left with a bunch of bite marks) After that experience he traps you in his manor and begs you to stay with him, maybe he turns you into a vampire as well

-🍮

I had so much fun writing this haha, and I had to brainstorm trying to fill in some plot holes

Dom!reader x sub!vampire!fyodor

Warning: teasing, pet name (lil’ vamp), pegging (I use dick), a tiny bit of dacryphilia, biting, hierophilia (blood), vampirism, contract sex

Edit: I think I’m based towards fyodor, this ended up so long again-

You were a mercenary, one specified in hunting down those bloodsucking monsters known as vampires. Your name was infamous among the humans and vampire race, known for your amazing methods and efficient execution. Though you don’t care much about fame, the only good things about it is it lands you many missions. Which is why you’ve been summoned to the castle of a faraway country, one that resides close to a forbidden forest.

These mysterious forests are strictly forbidden due to vampires living within them. It’s always dark and quiet in those places, befitting their taste. So you might think it’s alright if people just don’t go into the woods. Sadly something like that can’t be prevented. There are many valuable resources beneath these trees, and everyone is dying to get their hands on those. The price for material from the forest is also really high, and sometimes that’s the only hope for the commoners.

Even though it’s been agreed upon that humans shall not disturb the vampires for they own safety, your client, the king, wanted to raid the forest. He had his eyes set on the wood planted around the mansion of the monster, it had a beautiful dark colour and was very sturdy. Yet out of fear for the power of the entity, he didn’t dare set a single foot into the woods. That’s when you come into the spotlight, he wanted you, the most famous vampire hunter, to take care of this. Once the vampire is gone, he won’t be breaking any rules, right?

This was a common case for you, everyone used you to do their dirty work. That’s the life of a mercenary, disposable and self-destructive.

You walked through the lavish halls of the king, meeting him in his throne hall. He didn’t spare you more then one glance, shouting loud enough for his voice to bounce off the walls, “y/n, vampire hunter. I have an honorary task for you. I want you to bring me the head of the demon Fyodor Dostoyevsky and for that you’ll be greatly rewarded.”

Despite it sounding grandiose and imposing you knew how to stand your ground, asking for the exact amount you’ll be rewarded and an advance payment. The king on the other hand refused to answer, saying he doesn’t want you to run off with the money. What a joke, your previous feats aren’t just for show after all. There was no helping it, that’s life. You swallowed your anger and left, rolling your eyes as you prepared to set off.

The home of that demon was grande, almost as huge as the castle, he sure loved luxury. You circled around the house to secure your escape route before heading inside, the door opened with a climatic creak. What a cliche, does vampires not know how to take care of their home? Without sparing it too much thought, you stepped inside and called out for that monster, wondering why the ruler knew his name. They must have a long history between them.

“Fyodor! Heyyy, come out, do me a favour and make this easy.” You yelled, and soon enough, a shadow emerged from behind you. Before you got the chance to turn around, he mumbled with grace and elegance, “Y/n, the vampire’s greatest enemy. The one who pulled out the fangs of Dracula with your bare hand, and forced him to drink the blood of his comrades.” A shiver ran down your spine at his voice, it was low and pretty, enough to stir something inside you.

“That’s an exaggeration, I never did such things.” You turned around and chuckled, staring into his purple eyes. Before you stood a black haired young man with a puffy shirt and fitted pants. He wore many silver accessories, tons of necklaces hung around his neck. His appearance was very eye-catching, pretty features and pale skin, sickly so. “…but I may have a record of flirting with the enemy.” After seeing how beautiful he was, you decided to indulge yourself, flirting with him.

He didn’t pay your words any attention, instead he continued with his speech, “Mortal children strived to be like you, while we use your stories to scare the kids.” You stopped, a sense of pride engulfing you from the inside. “My, I am quite famous after all.” Fyodor furrowed his brows, as if he’s agitated, then he relaxed his expression and said, “I knew you’d come for me one day. And, I’m dying to try out your blood.” After saying that, he licked his lips before covering his mouth with his hand.

You laughed, catching him off guard. The sound of your voice was annoying, he felt like you were mocking him. Then you teased, “dear, do you really think you can touch my blood?” That was clearly a provocation, you looked down on him. He clicked his tongue, glaring at you. The moment you blinked, he rushed over to you, planning on taking you out with one swoop attack. You dodged him with ease, commenting, “not bad, but is this all?” And he ignored your remarks once more.

Seeing how serious he was, you’ll have to stop the joking soon as well. To be honest you weren’t in the mood for fighting, which is why you suggested, “How about this, fyodor-” “I didn’t give you permission to use my name.” He snapped, showing his fangs. “…then, lil’ vamp it is.” You chuckled, noticing how that pet name annoyed him further. “How about a deal? I’ll spare your life and you can have as much of my blood as I’m able to give you.” His pointy ears perked, intrigued by this proposal. It sounded enticing, but there’s nothing for free in this world.

“And what do you get out of this?” Fyodor asked, keeping his distance. He wasn’t going to heed the rules of a deal anyway, especially when made with a human. “Allow me to be a bit crude, but I want you to sell your body to me.” The boy froze in place, eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Were you aware of the implications of your own words? Was this another one of your mockery, your way of insulting him? “What makes you think I’d agree?” He questioned you, staring at your face with his scarlet eyes, trying to read you.

“I’m simply proposing a deal, you can decline or agree, it’s up to you.” Somehow you managed to sound unbothered and cheery despite the situation. No matter how fyodor wanted to decline, he knew this was his chance. If you fought with him seriously, he would eventually lose. Now, with you giving him new opportunities, he had to take them and put it to good use. “I’ll accept this for now, so, show me how sincere you are.” The demon demanded, and you answered with, “my pleasure, please show me to your room.”

Who would have known a day like this would come, where he got shoved into his own room, pinned to his own bed and humiliated in front of a human. It didn’t take long until you got him bend over on all fours, face pressed into his soft pillows. Any of his attempts to overpower you were futile, because you were physically stronger than him. That allowed you to pretty much manhandle him, denying him access to your neck. Once you got him into this vulnerable position, you didn’t held yourself back, asking him one last time if your deal still stands. After he nodded, you went all in.

Now you were breathing heavily while slowly entering his hole. His rim was tight and didn’t allow you any entrance, but you stayed stubborn, gently pushing your way in. “You are so tight, lil’ vamp.” You muttered, occasionally glancing over at him to see how well his reaction is. “Nghhh…! S-slow down, it hurts!” Fyodor groaned, cheeks flushed red as he realized the situation he was in, and that he never shared such intimate moments with anyone before. “…if I go any slower I wouldn’t be moving anymore.” You tried to reason with him, leaning down to press your body against his.

“HnnGh… t-then pull out…” He snarled, glaring at you while he felt your skin against his back, pressing him down, reminding him of your presence. How did things turn out like this? Why was he participating in such vulgar acts with his greatest enemy…? “Do you want me to? Then you won’t get my blood as well.” You whispered into his ear, licking his earlobe and the earring he wore. “Ha-haahhhH…! No, d-don’t.” The boy gasped, and you weren’t sure what he meant. But he seems to be enjoying himself, so you continued.

His hands gripped the white sheets with all the remaining strength he had, his ass reddened as he struggled to take you whole. That poor guy’s entire body was shivering, shaking as he tried to get used to this pressing sensation inside him. He could feel you stretching him apart, rubbing against his squishy walls. You smiled as you observed his efforts, one hand clasped over his hand as you intertwining your fingers with his. He had sharp nails, you could even call them claws. So you were worried that he’d poke holes into his sheets.

Your other hand explored his body, trailing down his spine with your fingertips, brushing over his body as if you were caressing a flower. “Hmm..! Uh-uhhng..! It f-feels weird..” It tickled him, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable, at least he thinks it wasn’t. Next, you stroke his silky hair before grabbing his hip and mumbling tenderly, “you are doing good, don’t worry I plan on being nice for today.” What do you mean for today…?

Soon, your hips met with his, and you stopped moving until you were sure he was alright. “Good job.” You said, rubbing his blushing cheeks slightly. Then you held your wrist right in front of him, inviting him to bite you, giving him your approval. Without any once of hesitation, he sunk his teeth into your flesh, sucking viciously. He was feeling so weak from your actions, he needed that replenishment. Since he was distracted, you took that chance to start moving again, making sure to take your sweet time. Well, he looked like he’d break if you weren’t gentle with him. He had such a slim and frail physic after all. Just look at his waist, it’s so skinny you fear you could accidentally break him into two pieces.

Fyodor suck on your wrist, mind getting cloudy from the taste of your sweet blood. It tasted amazing, and it made him feel all foggy inside. As if he was getting drunk on it, addicted even. He made sure not to waste a single drop, lips pressed against your skin while he gulped down more and more of your vitality. Apparently he was so distracted he didn’t notice you pounding his cute ass, not until it was too late. You fucked him slowly but roughly, each time you’d thrust yourself as deep inside him as you could, feeling him clench around you so sweetly.

“HnMnh, nghh…” the vampire only whimpered meekly as he sipped your blood contently, feeling pleasure blossom everywhere inside him. You eventually quickened your pace, now rutting into him without any care in the world. It was instantly met with his mewling, a high pitched noise as he screamed in ecstasy. Fyodor couldn’t pull his thoughts together, tongue hanging out as some tears rolled down his face.

Then you pulled your wrist away from him, saying, “that’s enough for now. If you want more, you gotta work hard.” His eyes bore such a pitiful look as he begged you for more, face melting as he moaned around you, some of your blood sticking to his lips. “Ahhh… it felt so good, I-i don’t wanna stop..” he admit, hands shaking underneath you, his primal urges kicking in, infesting his desires and hunger.

“What is it that you want, fyodor?” The way you voiced his name made his knees go weak, tremble even. He panted heavily, trying to fill his lungs with air, to keep his composure. “I-I want more blood… I want your blood.” You smiled, seeing him so desperate fed into your own desires. And you felt like if you denied him any longer he was going to cry, considering his eyes were getting watery already. “Then come here, lil’ vamp.” You told him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to you as you sat up, positioning him in your lap.

His first response was to whine as he arched his back forwards, legs turning into pudding as his hands shakily let go of the sheets, now clutching your thighs. “Ah-nGhh.. it’s so- so deep inside me.. it’s so foreign..?” Out of nowhere you turned him over, and he wanted to immediately bite your neck, but you covered his mouth with your palm. “Not yet.” As soon as he understood what you wanted, he wrapped his arms around your neck, bouncing up and down your dick like he was in heat. Your hand was still over his lips, so his moans all got muffled as they seeped through, “mHhnff, HnnGh, hmm…!!”

He rode you with fever and need. On one hand because he needed you and your blood on a carnal level, on the other hand due to him starting to enjoy getting fucked by you. After a while you took your hand away from him, now squeezing his waist with both hands, guiding his movements. Fyodor nuzzled against your neck, pleading with you, hoping you’d let him have some of that delicious red liquid again. “Y/n.. ah-huuHhn~ l-let me fed off you..? P-please..♡♥︎～?” You giggled to yourself, entertained and delighted, duty all pushed to the side as you said, “go on, take as much as you need.”

Needless of say, you two shared a long night together, and somehow, both of you ended up in endless love bites. Ops, what’s this? Oh no, his door is stuck! It must be because it’s so old~ oh no, seems you’ll have to stay at the mansion longer than expected… and his impending heat is coming up ♡

My friend send me this after I told them what I was writing haha

[strangersteddierthings]

Beg You to Love Me

"I'm surprised you even remembered, Harrington," Eddie shrugs, hoping he comes off as aloof as he wants to, instead of shaky and unsure like he feels. He was sitting atop the picnic table, arms behind him trying to look as unaffected by Steve's presence as he can, but he's been thrown for a loop ever since Steve emerged from the woods instead of Robin Buckley, like he was expecting.

"Of course, I remember. I- I've never forgotten," Steve whispers, head down and fists clenched at his sides. He looks more like a child being wrongfully scolded than a man defending himself.

The words pull a scoff from Eddie, though. Never forgotten? What the fuck ever. "Right. Something to hold over me, then, if I'd stepped too far out of line? Mutually assured destruction?"

Steve's head snaps up and he looks horrified, which Eddie will admit to almost believing. Steve doesn't seem like the type to join the drama club but his acting's pretty fucking good. "What? No! I would have never- I would never have said anything about us to anyone."

"Right. Sure. Of course. Your own reputation to think about there."

Something like hurt flashes across Steve's face before it frosts over. This is the face he's used to see on Steve. Cold and distant. "I- whatever, man. I don't even know why I thought..." but Steve doesn't finish his sentence. He just shakes his head and turns his back on Eddie, heading back the way he came.

He doesn't know why that sparks a rage from deep within him. "Yeah, that's right. Tuck tail and runaway again!"

"I ran away?" Steve shouts back, turning sharply on his heel to glare at Eddie. "You think that I ran away?"

Eddie just spreads his hands to the empty clearing as if to say 'look at all this room around me you've never occupied'. "You weren't here, were you?"

"Because you told me to not be!" Steve stomps back to Eddie but stops a couple yards away.

"Like fuck I did," Eddie argues back, because he didn't tell Steve to go away. He'd told him-

"'If this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door.' That's what you told me," Steve quotes, "I thought it was pretty fucking clear what you wanted."

"Yeah, I fucking thought it was clear what I wanted," Eddie snarls, lunging from the picnic table, closing those last few feet to get into Steve's face. "Yet here we are!"

"Don't act like this is my fucking fault. Like you weren't the one who forced it to be my fault. My decision-"

"Yeah, it had to be your damn decision! You were dragging it out-"

"-because you were too much of a coward to do it your-fucking-self-"

"-acting like you were. Acting too good to actually slum it with the trailer trash-"

"-so of course I made the choice that was best for me. Because I deserved more-"

"-like what I had to offer you would never be good enough for the goddman King-"

"-than just being your hookup when I wanted to be-"

"-like I wasn't good enough to be your friend, much less-"

"-your fucking boyfriend!"

"-your fucking boyfriend!"

The contrast of this sudden silence that falls following their screaming match that ends with identical sentiments is jarring. Eddie feels wrong-footed and lost. Confusion and hurt mixing in him that he can see reflected on Steve's face.

"What?" Steve is the first to break the silence, drawing into himself. Arms crossing to hold himself at the elbows as he takes several steps back, as if to be able to see all of Eddie will clear the confusion he's feeling.

Eddie just stares back, slack jawed for a moment. That's. What. No, wait. Really, what? "What what?"

"You- you said 'if this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door'. How was I- I thought you- you were breaking up with me!" Steve cries, "you. You said that to make me pick, because you knew I wanted more and you didn't. That's- you were breaking up with me!"

Eddie's in just as much disbelief. "No, you broke up with me! I said if this isn't good enough but, like, I meant if I wasn't good enough. And you left! You walked out because I wasn't good enough to be with you!"

Steve looks stricken and he claws harder at himself, sort of folds into himself like he's going to be sick. "No. No no no, that's- then that means I- it's all been my fault. No no no no."

Eddie stares wide-eyed and frozen as Steve talks to himself. Eddie kind of feels nauseous. There's no way that this is possible. That these last two and a half years of heartbreak have been because of miscommunication. That they both thought the other was breaking up with them and neither actually wanted to.

"Why didn't you- Why didn't you say something?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs at that, sounding a bit hysteric. "Me!? Why didn't you! I wasn't- I wasn't going to beg you to love me like I had with my parents. You were the one who told me I shouldn't have to do that!"

Yeah. He had. When Steve had broken down and cried on his bed, in his arms, wondering what it was he had done to lose his parents' love. Eddie told him it wasn't his fault, never would be, and that he would never need to beg for love from someone who does love him. It was the same advice Wayne had given him when he'd taken Eddie in.

"I already thought you were wanting to break up. You were being so distant, I thought..."

Steve sucks in a deep breath and nods, "Yeah. Yeah I was. I was scared of scaring you away. Of being too much. Because I- what I felt for you was a lot. I was afraid I'd chase you away if I continued to be so clingy. I pulled back, to reign it in but. Fuck. Fuck!"

Eddie drops to a squat. His legs feel like jelly and he can't keep standing. He squats and looks down so his hair becomes a curtain separating him from the reality of the situation, if only for a moment. Fuck is right.

He's spent his junior and first senior year being pissed at Steve. Hurt by him and what he thought happened. And it's- if Steve's being honest, it's all been for nothing. If they both wanted a deeper relationship, they could have had it. They might still be boyfriends if Eddie hadn't been so wrapped up in his Munson Doctrine. He'd been convincing himself Steve was embarrassed of him, and was working on breaking off their- whatever they were. But he hadn't been.

He's thought such terrible things about Steve over the years. God, what has Steve thought of him over the years? No. He doesn't want to know, actually. That's not what he cares about right now.

He lifts his head to see that Steve's plopped himself onto the ground, sitting cross legged, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

"Steve. Steve!" He calls Steve's name out until he looks up, looks at him, "why'd you come out here?"

He laughs again, slightly less hysterically, and he's shaking his head like he can't believe what he's about to say. "I. Fuck, I was coming out here to beg you to love me."

"No you fucking weren't!" his tone is filled with disbelief.

"I was," Steve repeats, sounding amused and heartbroken at the same time. "I really, really was. Graduation's coming and I know you want to get out of Hawkins the second that happens and I'm. I was running out of time trying to get you to notice me again, so I was going to beg."

Notice him again? As if Steve doesn't haunt his every waking thought. As if he doesn't dream of Steve every night while his eyes seek him across the halls and in their few shared classes like he's the goddamn night sky and Eddie is a sailor lost at sea needing the north star to guide him home. Eddie's never not noticed him, and he thinks he has to come out here and beg? "When someone loves you, you don't have to beg."

"Yeah, I know," Steve sighs, defeated, which lets Eddie know that Steve does not, in fact, know. He looks away from Eddie, down to his lap.

Fuck, it's like every fantasy Eddie's had of them making up and then making out has been handed to him on a silver platter and he's blowing it. His words are too vague, too easily misinterpreted. Again. He falls forward on to his knees, hands catching him so he's on all fours like an animal. "Steve. I mean it. You don't have to beg."

"I get it, Eddie," Steve huffs, not looking at him. Not actually understanding.

Eddie starts to crawl the distance between them. Steve looks up then, probably to see what the fuck Eddie was doing with the shuffling sounds and the chain on his belt clacking. Eddie watches Steve's eyes go wide, mouth dropping open to a small 'o'. "See, the thing is, Steve," Eddie says, pulling himself up to be just on his knees to shuffle the last few inches closer. Steve leans back to keep his eyes on Eddie's face, which opens his lap up. "You said you know, but I don't think you do." Eddie brings his hands to rest on Steve's shoulders and Steve lets him. "You don't have to beg." He uses his hold on Steve's shoulders to balance himself as he swings a leg wide, to straddle Steve, then shifts his weight to repeat the process with his other leg before settling himself into Steve's lap. Steve's hands land on his hips and Eddie isn't sure if it's intentional or a reaction to Eddie plopping himself in his laps but he's going to believe it's the first one. "You've never had to beg with me."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and then he collapses into Eddie. Steve's hands on his hips slide up and pull him into a hug, as close to Steve's body as he can get, while Steve shoves his head under Eddie's chin, into the junction of his neck and shoulder and breaths him in like it's the last breath Steve will ever take. "We're so stupid."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, as he lifts one hand to hold the back of Steve's head while the other drops to rub soothingly at his back. "Yeah, we are."

They sit in the dirt, the closest they've been since that summer between '81 and '82. They should probably talk about. They're going to have to, if they want this to work. Full sentences with no hidden meanings, even though the thought of that kind of vulnerability makes Eddie skittish. It's going to be difficult, but it'll be worth it. Steve has always been worth it.

Eddie wants to say 'I love you', just to get it out, in the open, and not just implied, but there's a different first step to take. One that's actually a little easier. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Steve whispers, "I'm sorry. I should have-"

"Shut up," Eddie cuts him off, voice quiet and soft as he can be. "This is, and I cannot stress it enough, a we situation."

The huff of laughter on his skin from Steve feels like the start of something. A new beginning, a start over. A re-do.

A goddamn miracle.

Later, they'll drag themselves apart and up. Make it to the back of Eddie's van in the school parking lot to talk. Going to either's house feel too much, too soon. Their big fight happened at Eddie's home, and Steve's house isn't warm enough for the kind of comfort they want to share.

They'll have a talk. Filled with long pauses, stumbling over words and fears and insecurities because this is the hard part of a relationship. Getting it all out in the open so they can learn if they'll even work. The fear that they aren't going to be compatible anymore looms but doesn't deter. They both want a second chance, to give it a real shot, by the end of that first talk. But taking it slow.

They'll discuss what went wrong the first time (diving in without talking about anything certainly played a big part) and how to avoid that.

But that's later. Right now, Eddie just holds Steve, and Steve holds him back, and it certainly feels like the beginning of something good.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems

[imminent-danger-came]

Macaque: "You did it for yourself! You've become like this, obsessive demon! I told you going against the Jade Emperor was a bad idea, but no, Wukong doesn't listen to anyone! He just does whatever he wants! You put yourself here, not me."

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

-

Macaque: "Still the same Wukong—doing whatever he wants with no regard for others!"

(3x14 Destiny Fulfilled)

-

Macaque: "You're really going through with this?" Sun Wukong: "Correction! We're really going through with this! Like always! Monkey bros getting up to some cheeky mischief!"

Macaque: "Look Wukong, I get you're excited, I do! But- crossing the Jade Emperor's going to have consequences—aaannnd you're not even listening."

(4x02 New Adventures)

-

MK: "Ah! The path of the good guy! Makin' those good life choices?" Macaque: "Every choice has consequences kid—for someone."

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

-

Not listening to anyone has it's consequences!

Sun Wukong: "I know I can never make it up to you. Honestly, I- I never thought I'd live as long as I have let alone be someone's mentor—turns out I'm not very good at it. I guess what I'm trying to say is...I'm sorry MK. For all of it." MK: "It's okay—I can always get another bowl of noodles."

Sun Wukong: "Wha! No! Not the noodles! Ugh! I mean, I'm sorry for being a bad mentor and making you clean up after my mess!"

(3x14 Destiny Fulfilled)

-

Macaque: "No that's YOU! You're the one always running off! Looking for more power, more sources of immortality—you're the one who wouldn't quit while were were ahead! Not the great sage, he's got to drag EVERYONE else into his mess!"

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

-

Wukong's Messes.

[candyeager]

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART TWO 10.1k words

short summary. in which your heartbreak over Mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu. warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic/manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, heavy pining/yearning.

masterlist

Manjiro Sano never hurts you—not physically, at least—though the emotional havoc he's wreaked has left you unraveling. But what you face now is something entirely different. 

Haruchiyo Sanzu's grip is iron-clad, dragging you away from Mikey's door with no regard for your protests. His fingers dig into your wrist like vices, the pressure biting deep into your skin until the pain is sharp and throbbing. It radiates up your arm, but even that ache is dull compared to the hollow devastation gnawing at your chest. The image of Mikey with her—so close, so intimate—burns behind your eyelids every time you blink.

It's as though the world around you has ceased to exist. You can't even register the hallways passing by as Sanzu hauls you through them, his erratic pace nearly causing you to stumble. You feel like a ragdoll in his grasp, powerless, your heart beating out of sync with reality.

Kakucho's voice filters through the numbness. "Sanzu... what are you doing?"

There's concern in his tone, but he stays planted where he is, as if crossing that line would be dangerous. 

Sanzu doesn't slow, doesn't even glance at him. His lips curl into a sneer as cold as the concrete walls. 

"Taking care of a stray," he bites, yanking you closer as though you might slip from his grip.

The words sting, but not as much as what follows.

Kakucho's frown deepens, but he's hesitant. "You sure you wanna do that? She's—"

Sanzu cuts him off, sharp and merciless. "She's nothing. A nobody. Mikey made that pretty fucking clear, didn't he?"

Nothing. A nobody.

Each word hits you with the force of a physical blow. Whatever you were to Mikey, whatever you thought you had—it's been ripped away, stripped down to these ugly truths. 

You're nothing now.

Kakucho's gaze flickers to you, sympathy and uncertainty mingling in his dark eyes. But you can't meet them. You drop your head, staring at the floor as though it holds all the answers you need. Maybe if you don't look, you won't have to acknowledge what Sanzu just said. Maybe you can pretend you didn't hear it.

Mikey doesn't want you anymore.

"Stop this," Kakucho urges, stepping forward now, his movements careful, deliberate. "You're high. This isn't going to end well, you know that."

Sanzu's eyes snap up, wild and feral, like a predator guarding its kill. "Exactly." His voice drops to a venomous whisper. "So back the fuck off before I kill you too."

The tension between them is palpable, but Kakucho eventually steps back, his jaw tight with barely suppressed anger. He's seen what Sanzu is capable of when he's in this state. They all have. 

"Just don't go too far," Kakucho mutters, his voice tight, his eyes flicking to you one last time before he steps aside. His reluctance lingers, but in the end, he's still letting you be dragged away.

Ran, sprawled lazily on the couch, barely lifts his head as he calls after Sanzu. "Mission's at nine. Try not to be dead before then."

Sanzu pays no mind to either of them. His grip tightens, and you're dragged deeper into Bonten's labyrinthine corridors, every step taking you further from any hope of intervention.

He pulls you into a small room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle your bones. A click follows—the lock sliding into place—and you're alone. Alone with him.

The room is stark, clinical, a conference table dominating the space with its polished wood surface and neatly lined chairs. But there's nothing neat about what's happening now. The moment Sanzu shoves you against the table, hard enough that the edge bites into your lower back, the sterile, formal atmosphere of the room is obliterated.

His hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around your throat. The pressure is immediate, your breath catching in your throat as your vision blurs at the edges. You gasp instinctively, hands flying to his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, but he's too strong. His hold tightens further, cutting off more of your air, and panic grips you.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, laced with the stench of drugs. His expression is wild, unhinged, pupils dilated and blown wide with intoxication. But beneath the drugs, there's something else—an anger, a bitterness that has nothing to do with you, but is aimed at you all the same.

"Now..." His voice is low, almost a growl. "What more do I need to do to make you understand? You don't fucking belong here."

Your lungs burn, your head spinning as your fingers claw at his hand. I don't belong here? The thought pierces through your fog of fear. Maybe he's right. You're not sure of anything anymore—not after Mikey, not after what you saw. 

You can't breathe, and everything is turning dark. Sanzu's face, his mocking grin, is the only thing in focus.

Tears well up, spilling over your lashes. But you're not crying because of the physical pain. It's the emotional torment that's killing you. The crushing realization that you are utterly, completely alone. No one's coming to save you. 

Sanzu watches as you choke on your own sobs, and he laughs, low and cold. "Already crying?" he mocks. "I haven't even started yet."

But the tears won't stop. The dam inside you breaks, and you're gasping, sobbing uncontrollably in front of him. You can't take it anymore. Not this. Not after what Mikey's done to you.

"Just..." You choke on the words, your voice broken and hoarse. "Just fucking kill me already."

For a moment, there's silence. Then, his grip on your neck loosens just enough to let you breathe. You gasp, sucking in precious air, coughing as your lungs fight for life. But the relief is short-lived.

Sanzu's face hovers inches from yours, his smirk growing, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. "Kill you?" His tone is soft now, condescending. "Nah. That's too easy."

His fingers trace the curve of your jaw, rough, possessive. "I think I'd rather play with you a little longer." 

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands pressing against your face as tears continue to spill down your cheeks. This feels so stupid. So, so stupid. Mikey's across the hall with his wife, living his perfect life, while you're stuck here with Sanzu—his insane, drugged-up number two. 

What a fucking downgrade. 

Suddenly, without warning, Sanzu grabs your face roughly, forcing you to look up at him through your tear-filled eyes.

"You're pathetic," he sneers before crushing his lips against yours. 

The kiss is brutal, possessive, and filled with an overwhelming heat that makes your skin crawl. You try to push him away, but his weight presses you into the table, your wrists pinned beneath his hands. It's suffocating, just like his grip on your throat.

And then you taste it. Something bitter and foreign sliding past your lips. Your eyes widen in horror as you realize what he's doing.

He pulls back, his lips brushing yours as he whispers, "Swallow."

You shake your head, panic rising in your chest. No way. You're not going to swallow that. You try to spit it out, but his hand clamps down over your mouth, smothering any attempt to resist.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he murmurs, his tone soft but filled with menace. "Be a good girl... and swallow."

His words slither into your ears, so sweet and venomous all at once, poisoning what little willpower you have left. You want to fight him. You want to scream and tear away from him, but you can't. Your body is too sluggish, too weak to resist, and part of you doesn't want to. 

It wants him to be right.

It's easier, isn't it? To let him take control. To stop resisting and just give in, let the numbness wash over you. Maybe then the pain of everything—of Mikey, of the betrayal, of this twisted mess—will fade, even just for a moment.

"I said swallow," Sanzu hisses, his patience thinning. "That. Shit."

You finally swallow the pill, the bitterness lingering on your tongue like a promise you'll regret. The drug settles deep inside you, blooming warmth spreading through your chest like wildfire, but there's no comfort in it. It only intensifies the chaos swirling in your mind—the betrayal, the loss, the desire to escape. It all collides in a sickening wave, leaving you gasping, clinging to the edge of the table as your body betrays you.

Sanzu watches you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl, his eyes dark, wide, and hungry. He's waiting. Waiting for the drug to take hold, waiting for you to crumble.

"Good girl," he breathes, and the words slide over your skin, soft and menacing. His gaze lingers, tracing every tremor in your body, every stifled breath. 

The drug spreads quickly—too quickly. The next thing you know the room is spinning violently, the floor tipping beneath your feet, and you're stumbling as warmth floods your limbs. You try to steady yourself, but your body feels too light, too hot, like you're floating, disconnected from reality. Your breath quickens, panic swelling in your chest as your senses sharpen, every touch, every sound amplified to unbearable levels.

Sanzu's hands are still on you, his touch electric, sending jolts through your skin. You gasp, your heart racing as the euphoria spreads, tangling with the devastation inside you, turning everything into a dizzying blur of sensation. You can barely breathe, and yet, in the haze of it all, a part of you is aware of his gaze, watching you intently, reveling in your reaction.

"First time's always the best. You might cry, you might like it. Who knows?" He laughs, a quiet, sinister sound that rattles through your bones.

You choke on a sob, the tears spilling over as the drug overtakes you, drowning you in heat and haze. Your body feels foreign, your mind too foggy to comprehend anything other than the intensity of it all. You want to fight it, fight him, but there's nothing to hold on to—nothing but him.

And that terrifies you.

"Let go," he murmurs, his voice is low, almost a purr, and you can feel his breath against your ear as he leans in closer. "Let it take over... Forget everything and just feel."

Your body acts before your mind can catch up, your hand clutching the front of his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric. It's an instinctual, desperate motion, driven by something deep inside—a need for warmth, for something to hold on to. You can't explain it, but you crave him now, the heat of his body, the solidity of his presence. You pull him closer, though you don't even understand why, though it feels all wrong.

"Look at you..." Sanzu's chuckle is dark, amused. "Hanging onto me like that. Lost little thing, aren't you? So pathetic." 

But he leans in anyway, his breath brushing against your neck as he speaks. His proximity feels like a lifeline, shielding you from the blinding lights that seem to intensify with every passing second. The room tilts, but his voice anchors you, even as it weaves dirty, degrading things in your ear—things that make your stomach twist, yet ignite something you don't want to acknowledge.

Your heart races, breath coming in ragged bursts. Everything is too intense—his touch, his words, the sensation of your body betraying you. You don't understand this feeling, this mixture of euphoria and humiliation. It's confusing, overwhelming, and yet, you can't shake the craving. The need for more. 

His touch, his heat.

Then, without warning, he steps back.

The sudden absence of him is like a cold slap to the face, leaving you breathless and cold. Your body aches for the warmth he took with him, for the closeness that you didn't even know you craved. You hate it. You hate the emptiness he leaves behind.

He adjusts his waistcoat with a casual smirk, like this was all just a game to him, like your unraveling was just another form of entertainment. 

"You're on your own now," he says, his voice detached, distant. "Enjoy the ride."

And just like that, he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You're left sprawled across the table, the world spinning, lights burning into your skull. Your limbs are heavy, useless, and you try to move, to escape the overwhelming heat and dizziness suffocating you, but your body won't cooperate. You tumble to the floor, the carpet catching your fall with a soft thud.

A giggle bubbles up from your throat, though you don't know why. Everything feels distant, like you're floating, detached from reality. The warmth of the drug mingles with the cold ache of abandonment, creating a disorienting swirl of emotions that you can't make sense of.

And so you lie there, lost in the haze, your body sinking deeper into the plush floor as the laughter fades, leaving only the hollow emptiness behind.

Until, finally, the world pulls you into the darkness of sleep.

Manjiro Sano never cheated on you before. You've known him for nine years—nine long years where loyalty was never questioned, not once. He's never strayed, never looked at another woman the way he looks at you. That was the truth you clung to through all the chaos, the violence, the bloodshed. But tonight, the foundation of that truth crumbles before your eyes.

When you catch him with his wife, it's not exactly cheating, is it? Not when she's the one wearing the ring. Not when she's the one he made vows to. And yet, it feels like betrayal. If anything, you're the other woman now. Your position, the one you held so dearly, has shifted, without your consent.

He's the one betraying her, not you. But that logic doesn't make the pain any easier to bear. It still cuts deep, searing through you with what you had just witnessed in Mikey's office. You thought you were strong enough to endure it, thought you could compartmentalize the ache gnawing at your insides. You were wrong. The sight of them together burns itself into your mind like a wound that refuses to heal.

Until Sanzu forced that pill down your throat. 

The memory floods back, vivid and suffocating. His twisted grin, the roughness of his hands, the way he made you feel so helpless. But now? Now you feel the strangest relief. The aching wound in your chest—the one Mikey and his wife carved out—fades into a distant blur, replaced by a creeping, unnatural numbness. Your mind is hazy, clouded, but in that haze, you find comfort.

The world felt kinder in that numbness. And for a moment, you were almost grateful for the relief Sanzu gave you. Almost.

When you wake up, the high is gone, leaving behind a pounding headache and a body that feels stiff, heavy, like someone drained the life from you. The floor feels strange under your hands, cold and unfamiliar. You blink, trying to orient yourself, and realize you're not on the floor anymore. Someone moved you—you're sprawled across the couch in the executive lounge, a blanket thrown haphazardly over you like an afterthought.

Your body screams in discomfort, muscles sore, your skin aching where his hands had pressed too hard. But the pain is secondary to the memories—Sanzu. That damn pill. The way he—

"You're awake."

The voice cuts through the fog in your mind, and your head snaps to the side. Mikey sits in a chair not far from you, the dim light casting shadows across his face. He's watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes are different. Tired. 

The night stretches behind him through the window, a dark sky lit by city lights. The office is quiet. Everyone else is gone. Even Sanzu.

It's just you and Mikey now.

You don't answer him. The ache in your chest resurfaces, sharper this time, suffocating as the image of him and his wife flashes in your mind again. It hits harder now, with Mikey sitting right in front of you, looking at you.

You push yourself up, your body swaying under the weight of exhaustion and leftover dizziness. Your throat is sore, bruised, where Sanzu's fingers had pressed too hard, too rough, forcing. You reach up instinctively, wincing at the tenderness, and you catch Mikey's gaze drop to your neck.

His jaw clenches. The air between you shifts—heavy, tense.

"He won't touch you again."

His voice is low, soft, but there's a dangerous edge beneath it, one that sends a chill through your veins. You know that tone. It's the tone he uses before someone dies.

You swallow, the reality sinking in. What has Mikey done? What did he do to Sanzu? The thought twists in your gut, unease settling deep inside you, but part of you pushes the thought away. Sanzu deserves whatever he gets, doesn't he? After what he did?

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "Forget about that... He gave me something. A pill."

Mikey's face shifts, unreadable for a moment, then he shrugs. "A pill? X, probably. He does that sometimes. Are you alright?"

That makes sense. No wonder you passed out so quickly. But it doesn't ease the anger boiling inside you, doesn't take away the humiliation of letting Sanzu drag you deeper into his twisted games when you were already at your lowest.

"I'm fine," you bite out, though it feels like a lie. 

Fine? You're far from fine.

The words hang in the air, sharp, bitter, and when you look at Mikey, the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. You're not sure if it's anger or heartbreak that makes it so hard to breathe.

"Mikey..." you begin again, your voice cracking slightly, the words lodged in your throat. It's harder than you thought to say it, because once it's out, there's no taking it back. 

"We can't just pretend like nothing's changed."

He doesn't look at you at first. He just stares at the floor, his jaw clenched tight, as though he's trying to force himself to say something, but can't. The silence stretches on painfully before he finally speaks, his voice so low you almost don't hear him.

"I know things are different." Each word sounds forced, like it's taking every ounce of strength for him to admit it. "But..."

Your heart clenches, your breath catching in your throat. There's always a 'but' with him, isn't there? Always some excuse, some reason why things can't go back to the way they were.

"But what, Mikey?" you ask, unable to stop yourself. It's not anger that drives you this time, but the desperation clawing at your insides. "You have feelings for her now, don't you?"

You watch him as he exhales slowly, his face still calm, almost detached. You wish he would say something, anything, to ease the ache in your chest. But he doesn't.

"I do," he says, his voice distant. It's a confession that feels like a knife to your heart. "I can't deny that. She's... she's gonna have my kid. It's not simple anymore."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You knew it, deep down, but hearing him say it aloud makes it real in a way you weren't prepared for. The sharp, bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the back of your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions from spilling over, but your voice wavers when you speak again.

"And us?" 

The question slips out, soft and fragile, but it cuts deeper than anything you've said before. You're asking about more than just your relationship—you're asking about the nine years you gave him, about the promises he made, about the love you once believed was unbreakable.

Mikey's eyes finally meet yours, and for a brief moment, you see the boy you once knew—the boy who swore he'd never leave you, who promised you forever under the stars when you were both too young to understand what that meant. His gaze softens for a second, a flicker of something almost tender, almost apologetic.

"I still care about you," he says, his voice low but steady. There's no hesitation in his tone, no doubt. But it's not the answer you were hoping for. "That hasn't changed."

But it has. 

The truth of that slams into you with crushing finality. You shake your head, the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating you. 

"Oh, it has, Mikey," you whisper, barely able to get the words out. "You know that."

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with everything left unsaid. Mikey doesn't argue, doesn't try to convince you otherwise. He just leans back in his chair, his hands falling limp at his sides, as though he's too exhausted to fight anymore. There's a defeat in his posture that wasn't there before, as if even he knows this is the end.

You want to scream at him, demand why it took him so long to be honest, why he let things fall apart so silently. But the words won't come. All that's left is the ache, the unbearable knowledge that the man you've loved for nearly a decade is slipping further away from you with every passing second.

Mikey looks like he's about to say something, his lips parting slightly, but then he falters, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he's holding back. 

"Maybe," he murmurs after a moment, his voice so soft you almost miss it. For the first time, he sounds vulnerable. "But I don't want to lose you. I can't..."

His voice breaks, just a little, and that cracks something inside of you too. Because it sounds like the truth, like the rawness of his feelings is finally breaking through the cold exterior he always wears. Nine years together, and this is where it's come to—a place where even his honesty feels too late. Too hollow. You know it's not enough. It never will be.

You don't want to lose him either. You don't want to believe that all those years meant nothing. But deep down, you know it already has. The moment she became his wife, the moment he chose her, you lost this battle. The war in your heart is over, and all that remains is the wreckage of what once was.

"You're already losing me," you whisper, the finality of it sinking in. Each word feels like a dagger in your own chest. "When you started choosing her, Mikey."

Mikey doesn't move, doesn't say a word. He just sits there, silent and still, like he's frozen in time. Maybe he doesn't have the strength to argue. Maybe, deep down, he knows it's true. He's losing you, and there's nothing left he can do to stop it.

You don't wait for his answer anymore. You've spent too long waiting for him to decide, too long hoping for a future that's already gone. The pain in your body—your aching muscles, the soreness from Sanzu's rough touch—it all fades into the background, drowned out by the unbearable weight of your broken heart.

You push yourself to your feet, your legs shaking slightly under the strain. But you don't let yourself falter. You can't, not now.

"You need to figure this out on your own," you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. Your words are an ultimatum, a final plea for him to understand what he's done. 

"'Because I can't keep waiting for you to choose me. I'm not meant to be an option. I'm worth more than that."

There's nothing left to say. The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of goodbye. Mikey doesn't move, doesn't speak, and that hurts more than anything else. He's letting you walk away.

Without another word, you turn and head toward the elevator. Each step feels like a thousand miles, like you're walking out of his life for good. And maybe you are. Maybe this is the end you've been dreading for so long.

The elevator doors close behind you with a soft click, and in the quiet of the enclosed space, the tears finally come. They fall silently at first, warm trails down your cheeks, but you don't wipe them away. 

As the elevator descends, you let the tears flow freely. The weight of the years, the memories, the love you poured into him—it all hits you at once, and you don't stop it. You don't need to hide from the truth anymore.

Manjiro Sano has killed before. The thought of it had once terrified you, the cold certainty in his eyes when he spoke of violence always chilling. 

You know this because you asked him, point-blank, one night when the weight of his world became too much to ignore. He didn't tell you directly, but the silence that followed, the coldness in his eyes, was answer enough. In that moment, the boy you knew, the boy you loved, disappeared into the shadows of the man he had become.

Still, you accepted him. Loved him anyway. You convinced yourself it was the only way to keep him—by accepting all of him, even the parts you couldn't bear to understand. You've always found a way to justify it—his actions, his choices, the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. Because loving him was the only thing you knew how to do. It became an instinct, a reflex, something that felt inevitable.

But now, the uncertainty gnaws at you, harder than ever before. Not just the heaviness of knowing who he is, but the gnawing question of what he's capable of—what he's done to the people around him. 

What he's done to Sanzu.

Your mind races, replaying every detail of your last conversation with Mikey. The hard edge to his voice, the finality in his words. If Mikey killed him, it's because of you, isn't it? Because of what Sanzu did to you. 

If Sanzu's dead, then his blood is on your hands. 

That thought lodges itself deep in your chest, a weight too heavy to shake. Even after everything—after the drug, the violence, the way he pushed you to the edge—you can't stomach the idea of Sanzu dying because of you.

Which is why you find yourself here again, standing outside Sanzu's condominium in the middle of the night, your heart pounding so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts. 

Mikey's words echo in your mind—his cold, distant voice, the final crack in everything you thought you knew about him. The realization had shattered you in ways you hadn't been prepared for.

It's over.

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but they ring with a truth that you can't deny. The boy you loved, the man you thought you'd stand beside forever—he's gone. And in his place is someone you no longer recognize.

Your feet move almost on their own as you approach Sanzu's door, but a hesitation stops you just before you reach the doorbell. Do you even know what you're doing here? What you want? You aren't sure. But the pull toward him, toward finding out what Mikey's done, is stronger than your doubts. 

With a shaky breath, you press the doorbell. The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated only by the racing of your heart. Each second that passes feels like a lifetime, until finally, the shuffle of footsteps inside tells you someone's there.

The door swings open with a creak, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. Relief washes over you—but only for a second. What replaces it is a sharp stab of pity. 

Sanzu looks like hell. His one eye is swollen and bruised, a fresh bandage covering the right side of his face. His lips are split and caked with dried blood, a sight that twists something deep in your chest. 

His trademark sneer is still there, but it's marred by the pain that's evident in the way he stands, slightly hunched, favoring one side. There's an anger in his eyes, but behind it, you can see the weariness, the vulnerability he would never admit to.

"What the fuck do you want now?" Sanzu snaps, his voice sharp despite the obvious discomfort he's in. He's trying to sound like his usual self, but you can tell the fight has been knocked out of him. He's hurting. Badly.

Your mouth opens to respond, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they die there. Seeing him like this—broken, battered—it's not what you expected. It shakes something loose inside of you. Your eyes scan his injuries, your mind reeling with the knowledge that Mikey did this. The boy you loved did this.

Mikey isn't supposed to be this brutal. Not with his own.

The thought makes your chest tighten painfully, and before you can stop it, the tidal wave of emotion crashes over you. Tears spill from your eyes, hot and unchecked. You thought you'd cried all the tears you had to give tonight, but this time, they come from a place deeper than heartbreak. This time, you're crying for everything—for Mikey, for Sanzu, for the person you've become in all this mess.

Sanzu's sneer fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, replaced by an annoyed scowl. He's trying to hide his discomfort, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. 

"What are you, a child? Stop crying!" His words are rough, but there's an edge of bewilderment in them. 

He doesn't understand why you're here, why you're crying.

But you can't stop. The sobs come hard and fast, tearing through you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. You're overwhelmed, consumed by the realization that Mikey is no longer the man you fell in love with. When did he start to change? When did the violence become more than just a part of his world, but a part of him?

Sanzu watches you, his irritation growing as your sobs continue. He's never been good with emotions—especially not yours.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face and wincing as he touches the bruise. "You're crying over him, huh? You think he even cares?"

His words hit you like a slap, and more tears fall, a pitiful, uncontrollable mess. And in that moment, you don't care. You don't care that Sanzu's dangerous, that he's hurt you before, that he's the reason you ended up here in the first place. All you can think about is the fact that Mikey—your Mikey—is gone.

He's no longer the boy who used to hold you late at night, whispering promises of a future that now feels like a distant dream. He's no longer the man who looked at you like you were his entire world.

He's no longer yours.

Sanzu scoffs, the sound harsh in the quiet hallway. "Fuck's sake, will you stop that whining?" 

But even his sharp words don't reach you. 

When you don't respond, don't even acknowledge him, something in Sanzu snaps. He can't stand it anymore—the emotions, the tears, the fact that you're standing here crying over someone else while he's falling apart.

"Goddammit!" he snarls, and before you can blink, he slams the door in your face. 

The sound echoes in the empty hallway, a loud, final punctuation to the moment. You're left standing there, your body trembling as the sobs finally start to quiet, though the tears continue to stream down your cheeks. You're alone again, and the weight of that reality hits you harder than anything else.

Mikey is gone. And so is the life you thought you'd have.

Manjiro Sano hated seeing you cry. Every time your tears would spill, it was like the world stopped spinning. His face would twist in pain, even if the tears weren't his fault. He once said that when you cried, it felt like he had failed—like he should have protected you from whatever caused them. 

He always pulled you into his arms when you broke down, his touch so gentle it was almost unreal. He would stroke your hair, whispering that everything was okay, hiding you in the crook of his shoulder so you wouldn't feel so exposed.

But that Mikey? That Mikey is long gone.

Now you're standing outside Sanzu's condo unit, your fingers shaking as you try to dry your tear-streaked face. The cold air bites at your skin, or maybe it's the weight of what's happened tonight that chills you to the bone. 

The second time you've cried in front of Sanzu today. 

The first time, his hands were around your throat, forcing a pill past your lips, his eyes distant and clouded with drugs. The second time, there was no pill, no high to hide behind—just bruises, pain, and a door slammed in your face.

You shouldn't have come here, but at least you know he's alive. Mikey hadn't killed him, though something in the pit of your stomach told you it could have easily gone that way. You should feel relieved. Instead, the relief is mingled with anger, a deep-seated frustration that makes your heart pound even harder.

Just as you wipe away the last tear, the door swings open again. 

Sanzu stands in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the dim light inside. His scowl deepens as his eyes land on you, scanning your face like he's surprised you're still standing there. 

Then, without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. His grip is rough, but it loosens as soon as you're inside, leaving you stunned and blinking in the middle of his condo unit.

He disappears into another room and comes back with a box of tissues, shoving it toward you without a word. You take it, still in shock, as your eyes land on the bandage on his cheek. It's crooked, slapped on without much care, and his busted lip is still untreated, blood crusting around the edges, making him look even more broken than usual. You flinch inwardly at the sight.

"Did you get that wound treated?" Your voice is softer than you intended, concern slipping through the cracks in your resolve.

Sanzu glares at you. "What's it to you?"

You ignore his harshness, stepping closer. "You need to clean it properly," you say as your eyes fall to the faded scars at the corners of his mouth, scars you've always tried not to stare at too long. 

"Or it'll leave... a scar."

"Yeah? So what?" he mutters, brushing off your concern as he walks away.

You stare at him, the words catching in your throat. The sight of him—bruised and bandaged sloppily—somehow makes your chest ache in ways you don't fully understand.

"Don't you have any antiseptic?" you ask, turning toward the door. "I'll go buy some if—"

"I have it," he grunts, cutting you off. "Top shelf, next to you. You'd think I wouldn't know how to deal with a damn wound in this line of work?"

You glance at the haphazard bandage on his cheek, clearly not impressed by his self-care. Still, you open the shelf and retrieve a small emergency kit. 

"Then why didn't you treat the cut on your lip?" you ask, your voice a little firmer this time as you sit on the edge of his couch. "Surely you know you need to put antiseptic on it."

Sanzu grumbles under his breath, looking away. "Because... it fucking hurts, alright?"

You freeze for a second, blinking at him in surprise. Sanzu—the man who seems to thrive on chaos and pain—can't handle the sting of a simple cut? It's almost absurd, and yet, in that moment, you glimpse a flicker of something real beneath his usual mask. Vulnerability.

"I didn't think you were afraid of pain," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

"I'm not afraid of it," he snaps, his voice rising defensively. "I just fucking hate it."

There's a childishness in his tone that catches you off guard, like he's throwing a tantrum rather than admitting weakness. The outburst lingers in the air for a moment before you decide to ignore it, reaching for the antiseptic in the first aid kit.

"Let me treat it." Your voice is calm, quiet. An olive branch, if only he'd take it.

Sanzu stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowing. "Forget it," he mutters, brushing you off. "I don't need you all over my business."

"You're a dick, you know that?" you say, watching him limp slightly as he heads toward the pantry. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach.

He doesn't even glance back as he opens the fridge, retrieving a beer. "And I get paid for it," he replies, voice flat, devoid of his usual smugness.

You roll your eyes as he cracks the can open, lifting it to his lips, his pink hair a mess, like he's been through more than just a fight with Mikey. The black shirt and sweatpants he's wearing make him look almost... domestic. It hits you, suddenly—this familiarity, this strange sense of calm despite everything. It reminds you of Mikey, the way he used to walk around your apartment. The way things used to be. 

Your heart twists.

"We broke up," you blurt out, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. It's like ripping off a bandage—quick and painful, but it has to be done.

Sanzu pauses mid-sip, his back still turned to you. You watch as he downs the rest of the beer in one long gulp, crushing the can in his hand before tossing it aside. 

"'Bout time. I'm surprised it took him this long to figure it out," he mutters, but his words lack bite. There's no usual mockery, no cruelty, just... hollow indifference.

You study him, sensing the weight of his own pain, the bruises left by Mikey—not just on his body but somewhere deeper. You want to ask, to probe at the cracks in his usual defenses, but you don't. Instead, you take a breath and shift the conversation.

"I know, right?" You force a smile that feels thin, brittle. "I'm so heartbroken." The sarcasm coats your words, but it can't hide the tremor in your voice. 

"You must be feeling pretty good right now, so why not do me a favor?" You motion for him to sit beside you. "Come sit here and let me treat your wounds."

Sanzu turns slowly, his eyes scanning you as if weighing your request. You can tell he's torn, that a part of him wants to accept the help, even if his pride keeps getting in the way.

You sit there, waiting, knowing that if he needed to push you away, he would've already done it. You don't say anything, just hold your ground, offering him something he's clearly not used to—genuine care.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, he mutters, the words almost begrudging, "Fine. But don't expect me to thank you."

You smile softly, shaking your head as you hold out the antiseptic. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He walks toward you, but instead of sitting next to you, he drops down on the opposite couch, legs sprawled out carelessly, almost as if daring you to come to him instead. You raise an eyebrow, the familiar exasperation rising within you.

"You could at least make it easier for me," you grumble, standing up and walking over. 

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes as you sit down in front of him on the coffee table, closer now, the scent of alcohol faint but present on his breath. He watches you carefully, eyes following your movements with that predatory focus he always seems to carry, even in moments like this.

When you peel back the bandage on his cheek, revealing the jagged scrape underneath, he winces, trying but failing to hide it. You smirk despite yourself, dabbing the wound with antiseptic. 

"You're such a baby," you tease, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

The reaction is immediate. "Am not," he snaps, his voice cutting through the space between you. "Don't fucking call me that again." There's a sharp edge to his words, but you can hear the vulnerability beneath it, the bruised pride of someone who's used to fighting, not being taken care of.

You ignore his outburst, focusing on his wound. This time, you're more careful, your touch gentler as you apply the ointment. His lips press into a thin line, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to sit still. There's something oddly endearing about it, watching him struggle with the idea of being vulnerable, even for a moment.

He really hates being called a baby, doesn't he?

When you finish with the bandage, you move on to his split lip, focusing on the dried blood caked around the cut. He avoids your gaze, scowling as if pretending this isn't happening. 

As your fingers brush against the faded scars at the corners of his mouth, curiosity gnaws at you. Before you can stop yourself, you press a thumb to one of the scars, feeling the jagged line beneath your skin.

Sanzu jerks back, his eyes blazing as he swats your hand away. "What the hell?" he growls, the vulnerability from a moment ago vanishing beneath the weight of his anger.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your hand back. "I got distracted." 

The air between you shifts again, tense and fragile. You can tell you've touched something he doesn't want to share, a part of him that's still too raw, too guarded. And yet, you can't help but wonder what it would take for him to open up—to let you see more than just the surface.

You watch him stands abruptly in front of you, like he's about to bolt. "But I'm not done," you lie, trying to keep him there, keep the moment from slipping away.

He hesitates, glaring at you, but after a second, he sits back down with a grunt. "Whatever, just get it over with. I don't have all night to wait around."

You stay still, your hands resting in your lap as you stare at him, not moving to pick up the first aid kit again. "Can I ask you something?"

Sanzu slouches deeper into the couch, his eyes narrowing at you. "What now?"

You take a breath, steadying yourself. "How did you get those scars?"

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. For a moment, you expect him to laugh it off, to mock you for even asking. But instead, he just stares at you, his gaze cold and distant, like he's weighing whether or not to answer.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. "Mikey gave them to me."

The admission hits you like a punch to the gut. Mikey? Mikey did that to him? You feel your heart sink, your stomach twisting in disbelief. Judging by the faded look of the scars, it wasn't recent—this happened years ago. Long before Bonten. So why...?

"Why did he do that?" Your voice cracks, betraying the flood of emotions rising inside you.

Sanzu's eyes darken, his expression hardening. "I don't fucking remember," he snaps, his tone sharp, like he's daring you to push further. 

But the look in his eyes tells you more than his words ever could. This isn't something he wants to talk about—not with you, not with anyone.

You lower your gaze, staring down at your hands as the weight of everything threatens to crush you again. The urge to cry surfaces, hot tears stinging your eyes. You've cried so much today, and in front of him of all people. It's humiliating at this point. 

You stand, trying to escape the overwhelming weight of it all. "It's done. So I'll just... go," you mumble, stepping toward the door.

Before you can make it far, Sanzu's hand wraps around your wrist, his fingers cool against your skin. His grip is light, almost hesitant. You look down at where his fingers hold you, then back up at him. 

"What is it?"

You can feel your voice trembling, on the verge of breaking. You're so close to falling apart, and he's just... watching.

"Want this?" he asks suddenly, holding up a bottle filled with colorful pills. 

He gives it a small shake, and the pills rattle softly inside. The smirk that spreads across his face now is familiar, predatory. This is the Sanzu you know, the one you hate. 

"This shit's the real deal. The other stuff I gave you earlier was just a trial run." He laughs, that low, mocking sound that makes your blood boil.

Your chest tightens as you stare at the pills, your mind flashing back to the euphoria from earlier. It had felt so good, so easy, like all the pain had vanished for a while. And yet... you narrow your eyes at him, anger replacing the temptation. How could he think you'd ever take anything from him again after what he did?

Sanzu sees the anger flash across your face, and the smirk fades. He lets go of your wrist and looks away, his expression hardening again. "Forget it. Just go."

For a moment, you almost do. You almost walk out the door and leave him behind. But something makes you stop. The way his hand had felt around your wrist, the way his voice had softened when he realized what he was offering. You glance back at him, his body tense as he stares ahead, avoiding your gaze. And suddenly, you don't want to leave anymore.

"I want it," you say quietly, turning fully to face him. "Give it to me."

Sanzu's eyes flick back to you, surprise flashing briefly before his usual sneer returns. "Fuck no," he grunts. "You think I'm gonna give you this just to watch you walk out that door?"

There's a pause. His words hang in the air, and for a split second, his eyes widen slightly, like he's just surprised himself with the admission. He hadn't meant to say that, but now it's out there—he doesn't want you to leave. Not yet. 

He actually wants your company.

You can't help the bitter smile that tugs at your lips. "What, so you can choke me again?" you ask, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

His head snaps toward you, confusion etched into his features. "Huh? No. That's—" He stumbles over the words, almost defensive, like he hadn't considered how far he'd gone before.

Without waiting for him to finish, you plop down on the couch beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. You extend your hand, palm up, eyes fixed on his. 

"Fine. Give me that, Sanzu."

For a moment, he doesn't move, his gaze searching your face. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips again—the same smug, infuriating expression you've come to expect from him.

Manjiro Sano has warned you more than once: avoid Sanzu when he's high. The fact that you were Mikey's girlfriend has always been enough to keep Sanzu from crossing certain lines when he's sober, but when the drugs took over, his already fragile self-control shatters. 

The warning always carries weight, like a veiled threat that lingers at the back of your mind, but tonight... tonight, you don't care. You're too numb, too broken, and the reckless part of you craves the release Sanzu offers. The part of you that wants to forget Mikey. 

The pill between Sanzu's fingers gleams like forbidden fruit, a dual-colored capsule that promises escape. His grin is lazy, predatory, as if the thrill of watching you self-destruct is part of his form of entertainment. Without a word, you reach for the pill, swallowing it down without hesitation. The bitter taste lingers at the back of your throat, but the anticipation of oblivion drowns out any second thoughts.

Within minutes, the edges of reality begin to blur. The room shifts, the walls breathe, and the floor ripples like water beneath your feet. Colors bleed into each other, swirling in dizzying patterns that make you feel weightless. The cool marble floor presses against your cheek as you lie sprawled on the ground, your limbs heavy yet disconnected from your body.

Above you, like a ghostly shadow, Sanzu lounges on the couch, watching you with an intensity that both unnerves and thrills you. He takes a pill of his own before the next wave hits you—stronger this time, pulling you under completely.

For a fleeting moment, you let everything go—the pain, the heartbreak, the memories of Mikey's distant eyes as you walked away from him. All the weight of your unspoken love, of your shattered heart, evaporates in the fog of euphoria. It's terrifying how easy it is to forget, to lose yourself in the numbness. But somewhere, deep in the pit of your soul, the fear lingers. 

What will be left of you when the high wears off?

When you wake the next morning, reality presses you down like a vise. Your head pounds, each throb a reminder of the drug still pulsing through your system. The soft morning light filters through the unfamiliar room's windows. You blink, disoriented, trying to piece together what happened. 

Right... Sanzu. You were in his condo last night, and this—this must be his bedroom.

As you shift, the soft rustle of sheets draws your attention, and your heart leaps into your throat. Sanzu lies beside you, his face buried in the pillow, his hair a wild mess of pink strands. He's half-naked, the blanket draped loosely over his hips, and for a moment, panic seizes you. 

Your fingers instinctively brush over your clothes—still on, thank God. Relief washes over you, but it's fleeting. The haze of the previous night is still there, muddy and unclear, and you have no idea what happened between the two of you after you'd lost yourself to the high.

Whatever it was, it doesn't seem like you had sex with him. At least... you hope you didn't. Two people who are really high wouldn't bother to put their clothes back on after sex, right? 

You sit up carefully, the bed creaking softly beneath you, and that's when you notice them—his scars. Lines of jagged, raw skin crisscross his back like a violent roadmap of his past. Some scars are old, barely visible against his pale skin, while others are fresh, still healing from whatever recent chaos he's endured. 

You know that Sanzu lives in violence, that it clings to him like a second skin, but seeing the marks so intimately, so vulnerably laid bare before you—it stirs something inside you. A deep, unsettling pity, but you quickly shove it down, pushing it past the ache in your chest.

Your shift your gaze to the floor, where the bottle of pills lies tipped over, colorful capsules scattered across the marble floor. How many did you take last night? Too many, you're sure. You feel their lingering effects, the way they dull the edges of your thoughts, how they slow your movements. 

Shaking off the grogginess, you move toward the door, eyes landing on the katana propped up against the wall. A glint of steel in the early light. 

You pause, your hand gripping the door handle. The memory of what Sanzu did before flashes through your mind—the way he choked you, forcing the first pill down your throat. Mikey has punished him for it, but still, you felt guilty enough to treat his wounds. Then, stupidly, you let yourself get high with him again. Willingly.

But the anger still simmers under the surface. All those cruel words over the years, the taunts, the smirks, the way he looks down on you. He's infuriating. And this... this is your chance to get back at him.

Without thinking, you walk over to the katana. The hilt feels cool and foreign in your hand as you lift it, the weight of it surprising you. But you don't hesitate.

As you drag the katana behind you, the metal scraping loudly against the floor, the sound reverberates in the silent hallway. Each step feels like defiance, like a rebellion against everything Sanzu represents—the control, the twisted power he holds over you.

In the basement, you find the garbage bin. Without a second thought, you dump the katana in, the clang of steel against metal echoing in the empty space. It isn't enough to truly hurt him, but it's enough to piss him off, enough to make him notice.

And that's what you want, isn't it? To get under his skin the way he always gets under yours? To make him feel something—anything—that isn't amusement at your suffering?

As you walk away, a small, bitter smile tugs at your lips. You know this won't end well. You're playing with fire, and Sanzu is dangerous when pushed. But the part of you that's still reeling from Mikey, still wounded and desperate, craves this chaos. You want to see what will happen when Sanzu finds the katana, want to watch the fury flash across his face. Because for once, you aren't the one falling apart.

Maybe it's madness, or maybe it's something deeper—a need to reclaim some form of control in a world that's stripped you of it. Either way, you aren't running anymore.

You'll face whatever comes next, even if it destroys you.

Manjiro Sano haunts you everywhere. He's with you in the empty bed, a ghost beside you as you stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the dark. When you’re in the kitchen, his voice echoes in your mind, teasing, laughing, pulling you into memories that make your chest tighten with an ache that hasn't dulled. In the mirror, you see him staring back, his familiar, cold gaze mocking you as you brush your teeth, as if daring you to forget the life you shared with him.

It's been weeks since the breakup, but the weight of nine years doesn't just vanish. You were naive to think it would be easy to let go. After all, you didn't just lose Mikey—you lost the future you had envisioned, the dream of always being by his side, no matter what. 

You'd never loved anyone else, never felt the safety of another person's arms. You never had a reason to think you'd need to. And when you first learned about the arranged marriage three years ago, you foolishly believed that nothing could ever come between you and Mikey, that love would always win. However, reality had other plans.

Eventually, it all became too much. So, you made a decision. You packed your things and left the apartment you had once shared with him, that place filled with memories—of laughter, of love, of a time when he was truly yours. But now, those memories felt like weights pulling you under, drowning you in a past that you could no longer live in. 

So, you found a new place, a smaller apartment far away from that suffocating ghost. You didn't tell anyone from Bonten. Not a soul knew where you were now. It was supposed to be your clean break.

But fate never lets you escape that easily.

Weeks after you've settled into your new life, you find yourself out for a casual walk, basking in the simplicity of a quiet day. An ice cream cone in one hand, a plastic bag of snacks in the other—small, ordinary comforts in an otherwise chaotic life. You're beginning to breathe again, to feel the freedom of being on your own. And then you see him.

Mikey.

He's sitting outside a café, his silver hair catching the sunlight, his posture as calm and unreadable as ever. But next to him is her. His wife. The sight of them together makes your stomach lurch, your heart clenching as if gripped by an iron fist. She's laughing, and though Mikey's face is still as cold and impassive as always, there's something different about him. Softer. He looks at her in a way that sends a sharp pang through your chest. 

He's moving on.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels like it's tilting on its axis. You need to get out of here. Now.

Before you can make your escape, though, you spot them. Ran's lazy, amused expression is the first thing you notice, his sharp eyes locking onto you with that all-too-familiar smirk. 

"Well, well. Look who it is," he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. But it's the presence next to him that makes your blood run cold.

Sanzu.

The moment his gaze lands on you, the air around you thickens. His eyes narrow, his lips curl into a sneer, and you know. He knows. You can almost feel the anger rolling off of him, simmering beneath the surface. You've crossed a line with him, and now, you'll pay for it.

Your heart hammers in your chest, panic seizing your throat. The plastic bag slips from your hand, the ice cream falling, forgotten, as it splatters against the pavement. You don't even care. All that matters now is getting away.

You turn and run.

"Oi!" Sanzu's voice slices through the air, sharp and dangerous. "Stop running!"

Like hell you will. 

You know what he's capable of, and you know there's nothing holding him back now—not Mikey, not anyone. Not after what you did. The memory flashes in your mind—the clattering of metal, the weight of his katana in your hands as you threw it into the trash. The reckless satisfaction of it all.

You can hear his footsteps behind you, the sound growing louder with each passing second. He's faster than you remember, and your chest tightens in fear. Sanzu is dangerous even when he's calm, but this? 

This is personal.

The crowded street is a blur as you dash through it, weaving past confused onlookers, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. Dignity is the last thing on your mind right now—you're running for survival. And yet, amidst the chaos, a ridiculous thought crosses your mind: If I die today, I'll die looking like shit. No makeup, no cute clothes, just sweat and terror.

You can feel him gaining on you, the heat of his rage practically burning at your back, and desperation grips you. You need to think fast, or you won't make it. That's when you spot the riverbank up ahead, the water glistening in the distance. 

Without a second thought, you sprint toward it, your feet barely touching the ground as you throw yourself into the icy water. The shock of the cold steals your breath, but you don't stop moving. You swim, forcing your body through the water, the chill biting into your skin. 

When you finally break the surface, you gasp, a fleeting moment of triumph swelling in your chest. You've escaped.

Or so you think.

Your heart sinks when you see him standing on the riverbank, his figure dark and ominous against the bright sky. Sanzu is already peeling off his blazer, his eyes fixed on you with a predator's focus. There's no hesitation as he tosses it aside and kicks off his shoes. Of course, he's going to follow you. Of course, he's not letting this go.

You should have known better.

Sanzu dives into the water without a second thought, cutting through the current with frightening speed. And that's when it hits you—he isn't just chasing you out of anger. He's chasing you because you've crossed a line you can never uncross. Because Sanzu doesn't follow any rules, doesn't have any boundaries. 

And neither of you are sane enough to stop now.

< part two ends >

author's notes. heyy beloved sanzu kinnies <3 i'm so so happy & grateful for all the love you showed to part one of BNT that i decided to bless you guys with twice as long part two hehe :D hope you guys enjoyed it! i've got some fun stuff planned for sanzu and y/n in the next part... so please stay tuned! also, i'd love to hear your thoughts so do leave some notes & comments!! tysm for reading guys! stay awesome ☆(>ᴗ•)

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies @bontenbabyy @risheliette @loveantonnlee @sukunas-bitxh @honeygonebads-blog @r3yk @soilaluna @l1ttl3m1ss666 @novv @slvdsjjk @miffysoo @qyoongi @drakensdarling @ask-the-insect-hashira @awkwardaardvarkforever @thebiggestlovergirlever @shinichirolover @kyyuuuuu @meowww1041 @kiasnotforever (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

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[rosenclaws]

Hi!! I’d love to see you do the prompt “Don’t tell me you love me unless you mean it.” with Logan! Was thinking of the reader who’s so self loathing of her own powers opening up for the first time towards Logan 🥺

warnings: angst/fluff, Logan has interesting teaching methods lol

600 follower drabble masterlist

wc: 1.2k

a/n: So this also...turned into more than a drabble oops. I got carried away I can't help it asdflk;h. Anyways I totally got inspired by ATLA for some of the logan pep talk if u can tell lol.

The mansion was so lonely. It shouldn't be but it is. Especially for you. Brought here as a child you grew up here. You were excited, hopeful that maybe you could start a new life here. But then your powers went haywire.

Just when you thought things could be different your emotions got the better of you. Fire raged through the mansion and you couldn't stop it. The more you panicked the worst it got.

When the flames were put out all you could see was the destruction that ravaged the once spotless mansion. It was an accident. Charles knew it and so did everyone else but that didn't stop the whispers, the fear. You never wanted this.

You did all you could to suppress your powers for years. Leaving the school and never looking back. Years passed and you managed to live a quite life. You went to work and went home. It was a lonely life but you couldn't hurt anyone so it you learned to live it.

Then one day you got a letter from Charles. It was a matter of such importance that you had no choice but to return. It was weird being back.

It was in the dead of the night that you found yourself alone. Just as you remembered. This time wandering through the halls of the mansion. Your fingers traced the familiar paintings and furniture. A frown coming over your face as you trace the faint scorch marks that still remain.

"So those were you." A deep voice startles you.

You feel a light flame escape your fingertips as you shove you cross your arms and hide your hands away. There stands Logan with a cigar in his mouth. You breathe a sigh of relief as you lower your arms.

"Sorry, didn't meant to scare you." He holds out his cigar and you roll your eyes. He's been trying to get you to use your powers, to light his damn cigars because he's too lazy to reach into his own pocket.

"Come on, just a little flame." He says with a smirk.

"Can I help you Logan?" Though you're glaring he can see that small smile.

You and Logan were unlikely friends as you put it. The two of you understood each other. Understood the want to hide away. Don't get close and you won't get hurt. Even with that mantra somehow you were each others exception.

Maybe it was stupid but having Logan was nice. He was nice in his own weird way. Looked out for you, joked with you on the rare occasion. Plus he was easy on the eyes, but you don't let yourself go there. Love...it's just not meant for you. You don't do love and neither does Logan. Even if you want it, even if sometimes he finds his way into your dreams.

"Nope." He gestures for you to follow him so you do. Walking quietly through the halls until he leads you outside. A chill washes over you step outside.

"Just a little light for me sweetheart?" Okay the first time was charming but now it's getting annoying.

"Will you quit it." You snap. Logan raises an eyebrow and you sigh. Sitting down on a bench and looking down at your hands.

"You know I don't use my powers anymore."

"I know."

"So why do you keep asking?" He shrugs and sits down next to you.

"Because, I think you're being ridiculous."

"Excuse me?" You scoff. You clench your fists as you glare at Logan.

"So what you burned some wood big deal. That really all it takes for you to run?"

You're hurt and confused where the hell this is coming from. You thought he'd understand you but clearly you were wrong.

"You know what Logan fuck you." You hiss as you stand up.

Logan grabs your wrist before you can walk away and in a fit of anger you push him away. Flames coming out of your hand and hitting him square in the chest. You gasp as his flannel catches fire. Without thinking you press your hand and kill the flame.

"Logan I-"

"Stop." He grabs your wrist and points to an empty fire pit.

"Light it."

"Logan I can't."

"Yes you can sweetheart," He tilts your head towards him. Looking at you with a sparkle in his eye.

"Trust yourself." You take a deep breath and send a fireball into the pit, lighting it up.

Your hand tingles as you use your powers for the first time in a long time. You wait for the other shoe to drop. For the fire to rage past what it's meant to be but it never does. Slowly you hold your hand out focus, the fire slowly gets smaller until it's snuffed out. You stare at your hand in awe. Control. You had control.

"Fire is destruction." Logan interlaces your fingers with his. He's got this smile that you've never really seen before.

"But it's also life, it's beautiful. You're beautiful." You bite your lip as he squeezes your hand. There's a fear that you'll burn him without thinking but he heals. You can't hurt him.

"Why are you helping me?" Why does he care this much? He didn't have to do this, you're not a student and yet here he is. Pushing you past your worries.

"I..." Logan tries to find the words. You're right he doesn't do this but he did for you because, well because..."I love you sweetheart."

Your eyes cloud with tears as you take in his words. He doesn't mean it can he? I mean, it's does he understand what that means. What it means to love you.

“Don’t tell me you love me unless you mean it. Please." You don't think you could handle it. He's already got your heart and it won't take much to crush it.

"Are you doubting me? I'm over a hundred years old I know what love feels like." Logan brushes your lips with his thumb, he's not great with words but he knows what he feels. No one can tell him any different.

Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses you. He smells like cigar smoke and he tastes like honey. The kiss a little rough, you can tell he's trying to hold back. To be gentle which he's not always great at. You pout when he breaks the kiss, already wanting more.

"Later." He promises after noticing the look on your face.

You walk back through the mansion hand in hand. It's better at this hour, no prying eyes and whispers. For now it's just you and him. Though something does cross your mind as you reach your room.

"Did you...Were you trying to make me mad on purpose?" He smirks and pulls out another cigar from somewhere.

"It worked didn't it?" Unbelievable.

"You're an idiot Logan, what if I couldn't control it? What if I burned down the mansion, again?!" Logan rolls his eyes and kisses you again. Pushing you against the door. Your thoughts turn to mush as he kisses your neck.

"You aren't the monster you think you are." He whispers and you freeze. His words hitting you like a brick. Logan knows what it's like to be a monster, a weapon. He's the monster if anything. But you? You could never be. Not in his eyes.

Before he leaves he hands you his cigar. You shake your head and laugh. Holding out your hand you produce a small flame and he lights his cigar.

"Was all this just so I could give you a light?" You ask teasingly. Logan chuckles and presses another kiss to your cheek.

"Absolutely." As much as you want to invite him in your room, you decide to wait. Rushing anything with Logan is the last thing you want. You want the time to be together. A good fire needs to grow before it becomes a roar.

"Goodnight Logan."

"Goodnight sweetheart."

Your fingers slowly unlace as he walks away. You don't want him to go, fearing that this is just a one off night. There's no way you can have control so easily but then he looks back at you. He's got this look on his face that makes you feel like everything is going to be alright and for once you believe it.