#five stringed violin

[savagewilderness]

The way Louis says “Oh dear…” gets me every time!

[the-grays-of-ink]

Here’s a picture of a half size violin, which is 0.2 inches longer than the viola I started on, next to my current viola. How time flies! I don’t miss my twelve inch, but I did have fun with it!

[axetivev]

— Summary: After your performance and fan meetup, a guy asked you out on a date. Though, your manager wanted to refuse. You, being a solo musician with nothing much better to do decided to accept his date. You thought he might be a random fan that paid a lot to go on a date with you. Little did you know, he was a popular idol!

— Warnings/Tags: Smut + Fluff, Oral sex (oc!receiving), Ridding, Ass slapping, Porn with Plot, Photography, Obsessive Oc, Taking Pictures without Consent, Hair pulling, Overstimulation.

— Words: 4.8k (God...)

— A/N: okay... ill do three ocs for now. i actually had many ideas for creating another oc. but this is enough for now. at least, since i had my own desires to write other characters. that's all really. also... there's parts of this fic that's inspired by @sooniebby. (hope you don't mind, heh) as my usual. I hope you enjoyed this fic !!

— Pairing: Oc!Sato Hiroshi x Male!Reader

The sound of music echoed through the empty studio, you stood there alone, companied by a violin over your shoulder as your dominant hand gliding the bow to the strings—your other hand, your fingers moved gently as you played Canon in D. You closed your eyes—letting the music consumed you for a moment, until you stopped.

“[Name],” a voice of a woman entered the room. Her tag in her suit was clear as day—Yamada Haruka. Your manager. “The agency is going to do held a huge performance next month! Are you in?”

Haruka was the woman who was like an actual mother to you. Unlike your actual mother—you first met her after a few weeks you dropped out medic school for wanting to be a violist, your mother never supported that idea in the slightest. Not to mention that she barely even supported you other then being a doctor. Kicking you out and cutting all contact.

You found yourself playing with the same violin you loved since high school—the last thing from your father remains. Even though life was rough, you played music endlessly with an open heart. Money slowly coming and after five months of you solo and having some experience, you found Haruka in a cemetery looking down at a grave—two of them. Actually, you stop mid track. Your heart wanted to approach her, but your mind said something so absurd like it was came from a cartoon; “What if she was a ghost? Capturing it’s pray by acting someone grieving?”

But you ignored that thought, even it felt weird to comfort a stranger. You stood beside her, placing your hand over your shoulder as you read both names that are carved on those stones.

Yamada Sakura — Yamada Fuuji

You look down at the woman who’s still kneeling down as she wiped her tears. Her business suit was messy, she pulled out a handkerchief as she tried to wipe her tears, her make up was messed up her tears. You didn’t want to ask—well, you just wanted to comfort her. But it ended up snowballing into her asking you to join the music company she was in—“you had potential!” was all she said. That alone, you never obtained from your mother.

Back to the present day. You sat across Haruka, she pulled out her phone, showing it to you. The poster of your agency from Instagram—that you and a popular female idol group had a show in Tokyo—with some other idol groups that had a possibility of preforming. That group had a big name. Like, 30 million worth big—your eyes slowly flickered over that group, Twilight, from the agency Hymnn.

Even though Hymnn is a big agency, most of their assets come from their male idol group—Twilight, which was filled by five members. But you sometimes questioned yourself, how could they get such good looking men? You remembered that time, somehow. Haruka allowed you to go out with your old friends, which was spend to watch Twilight’s performance. The screams of their fans was enough to make you go deaf, if not thanks for you forgetting to pulled out your earbuds.

“Again…?” You pouted, you look at Haruka with your classic puppy eyes—which Haruka replied with a pinch on your cheek. “Ha—ru—kaaaa!!”

“Kiddo, you’ve skipped your show for three times in a row. Everyone is practically coping over your posts with grave yards!” Haruka slightly pulled your cheek before releasing your skin, making you whine as you straighten up.

You suddenly remembered the last time your preformed was eight months ago, your agency’s both Instagram and Twitter accounts that had your last performance was filled by your fans spamming grave yard emojis and dead roses. You didn’t expect your fans could be so desperate for your comeback, it’s laughable but also sad at the same time.

Haruka leaned back against the navy couch, her right hand moved to take the glass of water over the table. The silence stretched for a moment, you just stared at your manager’s phone in your hand. Mindlessly scrolling to the pages of your agency, when you stopped at the last post of yours, your eyes slowly read on who liked your post.

Liked by TwiHiroshii.

“TwiHiroshii…?” You muttered under your breath. You gave Haruka’s phone back, back to the original topic of you preforming. You nodded your head. “Okay then, guess I’ll perform on the show.”

Haruka’s face slightly lighted up as she straighten up. “Well then! I’ll informed you about everything about the event later on, I’m going in a meeting. Food is in the counter, don’t forget to practice. See ya kiddo!”

Haruka practically ran out of the studio, you sighed while shaking your head amusingly. Even though she was in her mid 40s, she’s sometimes like a teen like you do even at your 20s. Well, since Haruka isn’t here. Procrastinating sounds like a great idea…

You opened your Instagram, you barely opened your socials. Which sounds unrealistic but hey, at least you had a life. You checked your notifications, your eyes slightly widened when that same account liked all of your posts. You stood up from the couch and moved you way to the counter as you scrolled on your fyp, there’s already a plate of curry that’s still hot. You took a chair and sit down.

You clicked on the TwiHiroshii account, you aren’t really surprised that it was Sato Hiroshi, the member of Twilight. But why does he liked your posts? You thought it might be a mistake, but what mistake that made him liked all of your posts?

Some fans of Twilight reached out to your account. And you finally checked your followers, you titled your head. Since when your followers was 940k? The last time you checked or even remembered, you only had 500k-ish. You slowly looked through your posts, your most popular post was of you in the stage of your last performance. Holding your violin—your face was stoic, unlike the actual you behind the face of many. You looked at the comments, which was somewhat concerning.

_Shar. 3w

HIROSHI LIKED [NAME]’S POSTS!?

acheron’swife 2w

i’m going to make a fic out of them…

ㅤㅤ@ acheron’swife 1w

DID IT!!!!! HERE’S MY AO3 !! *****

Hiroshifann!! 1w

Hiroshi love men ! ? I mean…. If it’s [Name]… They matched hello!?

HiroLennisthebest!1! 2d

Hiroshi x [Name] suck… but cool ig

—Starlight!— 2w

CARNIVALVIOLIN IS DEFINITELY THEIR SHIPNAME!1!1! 🎡🎻

[Name]’sbutth0l3 5d

Hiroshi tops. I saw everything.

Your spoon fall into the plate, just in time as the door opened wide—you jolted to see Haruka crossing her arms to her chest as she leaned to the door frame, there’s one thing in her face; she doesn’t looked amused at all. Your face turned red—fast.

“SORRY—!”

When the day of your performance. You were behind stage, your performance was placed last. You heard from people were screaming and singing the lyrics of the female idol group who preformed before you. Their fans’ screams was loud. Full of energy.

“Violin tuned?” Haruka came up from the blinds, her face was weary. You nodded to her question, a weary smile formed between her lips. “Get ready, your time to shine…”

You nodded your head, as Haruka gave you a thumbs up, the female idols already off the stage. You slowly emerged, your eyes slightly widened seeing the many people sitting there screaming your name. their eyes were practically beaming at your figure—holding a violin on your left hand and the bow at the right. You bow down in front of your fans as you get into position.

You poured your heart to your violin; specially with the song your original song. Your fingers gliding beautifully to the strings like when you were in the studio. You closed your eyes and held your breath—the bow was dancing with the strings. The slow rhyme was calming—until you paused your bow, doing the killer move. You exhale, your hand instinctually moved where your bow met with the A and E strings—even with the AC of the stage was at it’s lowest, you still feel yourself sweating. You can’t mess this up. You can do it, [Name]!

As you ended up your song by holding the bow that still pressed with the strings. You felt your fingers and hands sweaty as you opened your eyes, your eyes met with the crowd. They all shout.

It's not like her shouting… it’s genuinely people shouting and screaming at your name like gold. Cheering at your name.

You bow down, giving everyone a smile that could probably blinded people. Your eyes still scanned around the crowd. Your fans were in a mixed of man and woman, but your eyes landed on someone.

You aren’t sure, but you suspected it was a guy. He swears a black hat from NY Yankees, he wears a black mask. But you saw his hair was ash blonde—maybe it was dyed, covering his identity, and he was holding a paper banner.

“ 好き, [Name] !!! ”

— SaHi

A moment you stared at that specific figure. Who’s even SaHi? But thanks to Haruka’s voice coming from your earbuds, you suddenly snapped and rushed to the back stage. Meeting Haruka and a black haired man talking to each other.

“I’m sorry, I got a little distracted. Yamada-san.” You bowed—trying to act like a professional. “Is there something in the matter?”

Haruka slowly moved your attention to you, she smiled as she shook her head. “It’s nothing! However, I forgot to mention that you’ll had a fan meet-up!”

You honestly wanted to whine, but seeing Haruka’s face? You can’t let down your mom—manager! You put down your violin to the closes table as you rolled your shoulders, damn. Sure playing one of the hardest instruments is sure painful. You put on your smile, Haruka seemed hesitant for a moment. But you nodded your head, you still see it however. Her worried expression.

“Alright then!” Haruka declared, clasping her hands to each other. “[Name], the idol group is still having their meet-up. I suppose you can wait here.” She said, as she gave you a bottle of water.

“Will it took a while?” You asked, talking the water from Haruka as you drank. She shook her head. “Maybe 15 more minutes. Are you… okay with it?”

Ah, maybe that’s why. She’s just worried that you actually don’t want to… but you don’t want to see her sad! You nodded your head. Giving her a thumbs up.

Seems like she was relieved…

Fan meet-ups. You usually don’t like socializing, but fan meet-ups is actually fun…

You just sit there, comfortably with fans coming to you and praising you—some, even. Give you gifts! Who doesn’t love free goodies? Not to mentioned the artists that drew you, their arts are always good no matter what.

And seemed like your fan meet-up this time never changed. Well, many more because of your fans increasing. Some of your fans gave you snacks, candies, chips you name it. Hats? Everything! Even somehow free clothing. The line was kinda long until you met the same guy before. He doesn’t change in any way too. But the audacity that he didn’t bring you gifts… such an insult!

“You—uh… [L.Name]-san?” He spoke, his voice was rather deep. Sounded a bit… familiar. But, where?

You looked behind him—no one was there. You looked around and found most of your fans were already gone, you were slightly confused by how fast they were gone. But what can you do about it? It’s their choice. You then bring back your attention to him—a smile formed kn your lips.

But before you could say something—he cuts you off. “Let’s go on a date.”

Well that was sudden.

Haruka, who was suddenly behind you glared at the guy, her left arm was covering you. As if she protected you from a beast. “Sorry, young man. But I should apologize that [Name]’s schedule is—”

“Hell yeah. Let’s go then!” Haruka’s head immediately turned to you. You can see her visibility get angry at you, you smirked, pulling your puppy eyes. “Haruka!! Please…?”

“I won’t procrastinate during training for a week I swear!”

“Two months.” Haruka said sharply.

“But—”

“Two months.”

“I—fine…. two months….” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. You saw Haruka and that hat guy having a conversation, you’re honestly too tired to care. You took a KitKat bar from a female fan earlier menacingly bite the middle part.

You took your phone that was beside the cat plushie your fan gave, you sighed as you opened Twitter. Scrolling for a moment, a post—a very recent one opened. The post is from the Twilight account, basically stating that their comeback will be delayed because of “personal” reasons. You tapped on the Twilight’s Twitter, the first thing you saw was their banner concluding their five members.

Kaguya Mizukii, Sato Hiroshi, Yamato Lenn, Furukawa Tenma, Furukawa Junn. You believe, is from the oldest to youngest member.

Mizukii was the oldest—well, from his appearance. He looked like he was 26, and the leader of Twilight. Sato Hiroshi, well you suspected to be two years older then you, he was known to be the most popular member, but was known to be somewhat rebellious. Lenn was known to be the quiet one in the group, with the title joke; “the quiet kid”. From his appearance? Maybe… a year younger then you.

Furukawa Tenma and Junn were siblings, the seconds most popular. They weren’t twins, and fans sometimes fight over who shall take the second most favorite, which. Took crown by two of them.

While you were distracted on your own world, just staring at Sato Hiroshi. You heard a loud slam—stacks of Yen was in front of your eyes, you don’t know exactly how much. But you knew it was stacks of ¥10,000, your eyes beamed, but then you heard Haruka cursed under her breath. “…Deal.”

“Great!” That hat guy smiled under his mask, his hand grabbed your wrist as you shamelessly took the money. He practically dashed out from the fan meetup, you still had money in hand and wearing your dress suit.

How much money does this guy pay to go on a date with you?

You theorized it’s actually more, perhaps. Before those stacks of ¥10,000, he already payed Haruka before but she still refused. But he still insisted of trying. Well, you don’t know much about the outside of music… music and music.

Sitting on a random guy’s car sure is something… sure—he rides a Honda. Nothing very expensive or whatever, maybe he doesn’t want to flex his money. Sitting on the left, your eyes scanning around the front. Looks… too clean.

“No offense but…” As that guy stared the car, you awkwardly rubbed your nape. “What’s your name?”

The guy stared at you for moment—before he let out a laugh, hitting his knees. You didn’t seemed to be amused, just stared at him… dumbly.

“Call me Hi…Kazuki!” Kazuki smirked under his mask, starts his car, and moved at the speed of light—atleast, I thought he drove his car in the speed of light.

First date, on a carnival….

It’s not bad or anything, but going to a carnival isn’t really in your list to go on dates. But seems like Kazuki liked carnivals, you can’t lie, honestly. You felt excited yourself since you never really been to events. Twilight’s concert was honestly your first.

The sun already turned to the beautiful moon—the colorful lights lighting the grass. And many people running around and some going on dates, your eyes scanned around you. You swore your younger self would be jumping to go on somewhere like this, even though. You sometime hated the outside world. Kazuki then came out from the car—still using his clothes from your concert earlier.

“Eh? First time?” Kazuki grinned as he slipped his arm over your waist. You slowly nodded to his question as you then mentality thanked yourself that thought you’re popular, you’re not extremely. “Something caught your eye, babe?”

You’re face slowly reddened—but you fake a cough as you slowly looked around, the games here looked so modern… “How about that one?” You pointed at a game, with ducks in a something like bowl.

When the two of you were near the game—there’s the huge sign on top of the stripped red and white. “DUCK POND!”. Kazuki looked at the owner, a quick talk and you were then given a stick with a hooked end, Kazuki slowly pushed you forward. “Do I need to explain this to you?”

“…I can do it myself.” You pouted at his words, with trembling hands. You barely even took a single duck. Even some people around you looked at you with a lot of questions in their minds.

You were inexperienced for this! You pulled out your tongue, trying to focus. Which was broke when a flash from a phone flickered, you turned your head. Kazuki looked at you, he pulled out his index and thumb like a gun and pointed at you. Where was the light came from…

“I give up.” You sighed defeated, giving the stick to Kazuki.

Kazuki smirked, rubbing his covered nose with his mask. “Watch, and learn. Pretty boy.”

You mostly tried to ignore his last words. But he lean to your ears. Whispering in a low tone that was enough to make you shiver; “Don’t blink.”

Thankfully, you didn’t. But your jaw nearly dropped seeing… 7 ducks at once in the hook. Kazuki looked at it—rolling his eyes, muttering about only getting 7 ducks. The owner’s face isn’t far behind like yours—is this actually humanly possible? But the both of you can’t really answer.

“Here ya go, old man!” Kazuki gave the stick at the owner. He gulped nervously as he nodded, he immediately gave you a teddy bear—not too big nor small. You haven’t get anytime to say thank you—but Kazuki already dragged out away to the next stop.

After many games later. You sat tiredly on the bench near by where Kazuki played an game of shooting, you looked at the ash blonde guy—he doesn’t look tired at all!? He sat next to you, dango in hand and other prices from his winnings. You were about to take it with your hand, but he was insisted that he feed you. So you just allowed him.

The dango was sweet—but not overpowering. Like a typical dango, Kazuki looked at you, you slightly took a peek over his eyes��raven. Kazuki titled his head, he played a smile under his mask.

“Is there something wrong with my… face?” He pointed a finger out at himself. You shook your head. “Nothing…”

“I just… noticed you have raven eyes.” You look at his eyes, you swore you saw his cheeks flushed. But you smiled sweetly—at least, that’s what Kazuki sees. “It looks good on you.”

Kazuki slightly shifted from his seat. His hands trembled, you don’t know what he was going to do. Does people flustered like this or is it just Kazuki? You tried to reached your hand at him, but he froze on spot.

The wind blew behind you, it was harsh. Perhaps, there would be rain sooner or later. The wind blowing your hair and Kazuki’s hat, his hair is indeed ash blonde… but somehow, his mask also from the second harsh wind that blew from Kazuki’s back—wait.

Sato Hiroshi—!?

“IS THAT SATO HIROSHI FROM TWILIGHT!?” There’s a girl screaming from a distance, you look at Kazuki—no. Hiroshi. He immediately grabbed your wrist, speeding at the speed of light. You then hear some phone clicking—and people shouting “CARNIVALVIOLIN IS REAL!?”

You were seated in the middle by Hiroshi, he didn’t even think twice once to start his car and drove off—in the middle seat, you were praying for ATLEAST, he didn’t break any traffic rules. Because it would most definitely be a nightmare…

You honestly had so so so many questions. Well, you understand that why Hiroshi lied about his name, he’s famous. But from many questions, why does he wants you!? You swore you were average, but guess people have their own opinions…

Hiroshi carried you, to what you thought might be an apartment—with so much staff that was staring at you. Even some, trying to talk to Hiroshi but he brushed them off, he practically rushed to the elevator and ran to his room—and make you flop on his bed. As much as you want to put a serious face, it failed miserably by how much his room has you. From your albums and merch, basically everything.

For a moment he just stare—his eyes were blank. The awkward silence stretched, just your eyes and his raven eyes staring at each other. The silence wouldn’t be broke if you didn’t say something that’s kind of stupid; “Did you bring the stuff from the carnival?”

Your lips then straighten, Hiroshi just stared at you for a good couple minutes, he let out a chuckle, shaking his head amusingly.

“Of course,” he said, sitting next to you. Hiroshi then turned his gaze to the wall in front of him, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry. I panicked earlier.”

Hiroshi stared at the floor, his eyes slowly flickered when you sat up next to him. He was mostly silent, he just watched your movements. You hesitantly grabbed his hand, intertwining them with yours, your similar smile formed on your lips that made Hiroshi giddy in his heart.

“Being an idol is a nightmare for you, huh?” You leaned forward, Hiroshi’s nose and your met. “Don’t worry about it, though—we are popularity different. I understand what you’re going through.”

“Sometimes, idol’s life can be more heavy then a violinist, therefore; please… warn me next time.”

Hiroshi stared at you, his smirk was gone—non insight. You weren’t sure what’s going on in that mind of his, but you just smiled at him. Hiroshi looked from the top of your head and knees, his face just reddened even more as he closed his hips.

He huffed—sounded annoyed. But you can’t really find any sense of that, he gripped your wrist. “I—I don’t need this bullshit anymore��!” With a single hand, he grabbed both of your wrists and crossing them. He leaned forward to pressed his lips against yours—it felt rough. You thought it would at least be soft, guess you’re wrong.

When yours lips parted, Hiroshi grabbed your shoulders—with force that’s enough to not actually hurt you, he placed you down on to the floor. Putting you on your knees, you look straight—a huge tent was in sight. How big is even this is..?

You felt Hiroshi’s hand moved to the back of your head, slightly making you leaned forward. You gulped, slowly yet hesitantly, your hands slowly unzipped his pants, Hiroshi’s cock was in front of your face, it’s shadow hovering over your head. You gulped nervously, but Hiroshi was impatient.

“C’mon, use your mouth. Don’t you know how to give someone a blowjob?” He huffed, he pulled your forward, the veins of Hiroshi’s cock was touching your nose.

You let out a quiet sigh, you place your over Hiroshi’s hips. You opened your mouth, Hiroshi looked down the moment your mouth was wrapping around his glans, slowly moving your way down to take his dick shamelessly. He pulled out his phone when you slightly gagged by his cock, thankfully, his phone isn’t in flash like earlier in the carnival.

“Use your fingers to open yourself.” Hiroshi command, he put down his phone and with his right hand—he pulled your hair as his cock was hitting at the back of your throat.

You can deny him… but you were horny, using your left hand, you swiftly opened the button of your pants. Your fingers slipped under your boxers, inserting your index and middle finger. You choked out a moan, sucking Hiroshi and opening yourself up is weird, well. You’ve opened yourself up before. But doing this both at the same time is weird.

Weird but you liked it.

Hiroshi then pulled your mouth from his cock, precums slowly coming from the slit of his glans as he used his thumb and index, he gently pulled your tongue out. There were some of his precums in your mouth, your face was red—Hiroshi ‘s eyes narrowed at your mouth. “Stood up.”

Hiroshi looked at you the moment you stood—his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you over his lap, his cock was in front of your clothed stomach, Hiroshi then pulled down your pants and throwing them to the floor. With your lower now bare, he ripped the dress shirt—the buttons scattering everywhere. Your hand grabbed his wrists but your chest is now bare. It’s unfair… he’s still using his jacket!

A smirk played on Hiroshi’s lips as his hands moved over your hips, lifting you up. He moved you where your hole and his dick brushed over each other, you shivered by that. Hiroshi slowly pushed you down over his cock, his glans were inside of you—it stretched you out so much. You didn’t measure it would stretched you this much, but thanks to his precums, at least. It doesn’t hurt.

Hiroshi’s hand grabbed your ass and squeezed your flesh, before he landed aloud smack that made you whined. You swore it would leave a mark, so Hiroshi gently soothed the sting with his hand. He whispered sweet nothings, he thrust his hips upwards—making you whimpered.

His cock was big, thick and enough to rubbed over your prostate. Your mind was fuzzy, his hands were all over you too… his lips kept pressing to your neck with his unforgiving pace, his fingers traced your body like it was a hidden treasure. Your own dick twitched, moans you struggled to keep down kept spilling from your lips.

And Hiroshi knew, he looked at your cockdumb face, he hummed softly next to your ear as he rested his chin over your shoulder. He stopped his face, Hiroshi’s free hand slapped your ass—a finger entered your hole, you hissed as you moved at your own pace since, well. He isn’t moving and you were desperate to cum.

Hiroshi’s finger was next to his cock, your hands gripped to his jacket when you finally—come undone. A loud moan that you didn’t expect came from your lips, you were a whimpering—whining mess. You stained Hiroshi’s jacket you knew was expensive as fuck. But you’re too tired, at least. For now.

You tried to shifted—trying to get a comfy position when you felt warmth filling your hole, you twitched as Hiroshi pulled out his cock from your puffy hole. You let out a silent whine, Hiroshi looked down. Damn, he sure made a mess out of you, he was about to apologize when he saw you already sleeping in his hold, he fisted his hand, trying not to go horny.

“Good… good night.”

The morning from the window of Hiroshi’s room was annoying for you, do all idols woke up so early in the morning?

You sat up, your body was sore as fuck. Hiroshi was sleeping beside you, hair messy and his arms wrapping around your waist. You tried to pray him off—which ended with a tightened grip. Well, that was useless.

You turned your head over your phone that was charged on the nightstand, you suspected who do it was Hiroshi, but you just shrugged, thinking about it later. You opened your phone, the amount of notifications?

Haruka (mom, lmao) 10 hours ago

Missed Called

Haruka (mom, lmao) 10 hours ago

Missed Called

Haruka (mom, lmao) 10 hours ago

Missed Called

You forgot about Haruka. Shit—! You slightly panicked, Hiroshi groaned when you squirm, his arms tightened once more—making you nearly unable to breath.

“Hiros—Sato-san! Please, get of me. My manager—” Hiroshi leaned forward to placed a kiss over your lips, silencing enough as he pulled the kiss. Pressing his finger over your lips.

“…Just Hiroshi. Please,” he begged, his voice was deep. Maybe from his sleep, Hiroshi sat next to you, giving you his jacket as he stood up. “Get ready then, I’ll bring you to Yamada-san.”

You sat there dumbfounded as Hiroshi then walked away to his kitchen, opening his fridge calmly, like he didn’t do anything lewd last night with you.

Hiroshi fun facts — !

🎡 — Hiroshi canonically fly to the Philippines, because he heard in a fast-food restaurant that shall be unnamed were having a collab with you, and actually paid the restaurant to buy the cutouts of you.

🎡 — Hiroshi, being the horny and creepy man that he was, goon to your pics. And, unfortunately for Tenma, he saw him and Hiroshi just... shrugged. Continuing his lewd act.

🎭 — taglist : @onementally-unstabel-kid @starrykie @carnalcrows (lmao you didn't specify so both tagged it is)

[kxsagi]

Good morning, kxsagi. This is my second request and time for something funny. May I request: Blue Lock boys/men serenading Reader in the middle of the night in front of her apartment after a big argument. Cue Reader's neighbors throwing various household appliances at the boys/men. Characters: Chigiri, Yukimiya, Reo, Sae.

Bonus: Who has the perfect singing voice and who sings to the tune of 'off'?

P.S: Character list also applies to my previous request.

“𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: may this love find me 🧘🏻‍♀️

ft. chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei

chigiri hyoma

he shows up in a floor-length black coat, red hair slicked back, carrying a literal violin case like he’s about to perform with the tokyo philharmonic. 

stands under your apartment window like it’s romeo and juliet and dramatically tunes his violin at 2:06 AM. 

begins playing a thousand years with the solemnity of someone who’s lived through two world wars. 

whispers up at your window between phrases: “i’m sorry i called your skincare routine ‘excessive.’ i was lashing out. your serums are divine.” 

you peek through the blinds. your neighbor across the hall opens their window, yells “IT’S NOT EVEN THURSDAY,” and throws a bag of frozen dumplings. he dodges with an elegant twirl, doesn’t miss a beat. 

finishes the song by dramatically dropping to one knee, rain (from someone’s leaky AC unit) pouring down on him like it’s a movie scene. 

“please forgive me… i moisturized for you.” 

yukimiya kenyu

shows up in a turtleneck and a beret, carrying his acoustic guitar and looking like he just stepped out of a french indie film. 

stands under your window and softly croons a love song he wrote himself, called galactic destiny. 

“our energies collided in the constellation of fate...” 

his voice is breathy. emotional. you’re 90% sure he’s crying. your cat is watching with judgment. 

“i still believe in our spiritual link… even if you said my cologne makes your eyes itch.” 

some guy on the third floor screams, “TAKE THAT WEIRD SHAKESPEARE SHIT HOME!” and hurls a half-full bottle of body wash. 

yukimiya catches it, sniffs it, and smiles. “jasmine and mint... they have taste.” 

continues playing while crouching behind a parked moped for cover. ends the song with a whisper: “we were always written in the stars.” 

mikage reo

you hear commotion outside and think it’s a delivery truck. no. it’s reo... with a hired string quartet. 

four men in tuxedos are playing a sweeping instrumental while reo stands center stage, holding a bouquet and dramatically belting just the way you are, but off-key. 

“MY LOVE! i know i said you were being dramatic, but i meant it in a cute way!” 

he steps forward for the chorus and slips on someone’s garden hose. immediately recovers with a jazz hand flourish like nothing happened. 

someone yells “GO TO BED, RICHIE RICH!” and throws a keurig machine. reo ducks. it explodes behind him. 

“STILL RICH ENOUGH TO BUY ANOTHER ONE, LOSER!” 

you scream his name from the window. he looks up, eyes sparkling. “are those tears? did i win?” 

you yell, “NO, THAT’S STEAM FROM MY INSTANT NOODLES.” 

itoshi sae

shows up holding a tiny bluetooth speaker over his head, playing baby come back on repeat. 

dressed like he was pulled out of bed – hoodie, slippers, bedhead, emotionally vacant expression. 

says nothing for the first five minutes. just stands. staring. speaker held like it’s part of a sacred ritual. 

finally mutters: “you were right. i do sleep better when you’re next to me. that’s... annoying.” 

you crack your window open, about to speak. someone from 2F yells “THIS ISN’T THE NOTEBOOK, ITOSHI” and launches a broom. 

it bonks him square in the back. he grunts. doesn’t even flinch. just adjusts his hood and says, “you done?” 

still doesn’t leave. just stands there as the song loops and loops. 

your neighbor tries throwing a slipper. sae finally looks up and mutters, “you throw like my 6-year-old cousin.” 

isagi yoichi

shows up holding an ukulele, googled chords five minutes ago. his phone is literally taped to the neck so he can read lyrics. 

“uh, i know we fought. but this is me saying i’m dumb... in music form.” 

starts strumming can’t help falling in love, and it is... so bad. you’re wondering if he’s dying or if he’s just tone-deaf. 

the guy upstairs opens his window: “YOICHI, I HAVE WORK IN THREE HOURS.” 

a sponge cake hits him in the shoulder. isagi doesn’t even blink. “this is the pain i deserve. i accept it.” 

plays the rest of the song slightly offbeat, his voice cracking like a broken recorder. 

finishes with: “please text me back. i can’t sleep. i tried cuddling my pillow and it insulted me.” 

itoshi rin

shows up with a cheap karaoke mic plugged into his phone. no backup dancers. no theatrics. just deep, painful regret. 

“this is stupid,” he mutters, then starts whisper-singing drivers license like it’s a confession in a crime drama. 

he looks physically ill trying to express emotion. “i miss you. i hate that i miss you. but i do. it sucks.” 

the old man across the street throws a half-eaten melon pan and yells, “GROW A PAIR!” 

rin stares at the pastry, then at you. “do i keep singing or do i fight him.” 

“you’re doing great,” you say, sobbing and laughing at the same time. 

“... shut up,” he mutters, cheeks pink. 

nagi seishiro

shows up in mismatched slides, pajama pants, and the hoodie you left at his place. looks like he rolled out of bed, forgot why he was outside, then remembered mid-yawn. 

brought a tiny keyboard he downloaded a piano app for five minutes ago. sets it down on the curb, squats, and starts plunking the keys like a toddler discovering sound. 

“hey... you up there? i came to… music you back into my life or whatever.” 

begins playing my heart will go on, but he only knows the first five notes. loops them. over. and over. and over. 

pauses to scratch his head. “ugh, this is so tiring. can’t you just forgive me so we can go back to sharing a blanket and eating cereal?” 

your upstairs neighbor opens her window and screams, “PLAY SOMETHING REAL OR GO HOME.” 

someone throws a remote control, which hits him directly in the forehead. he blinks. “ow.” 

lays down on the sidewalk. still pressing random piano keys while flat on his back. “baby, my head hurts. also, my soul. come down?” 

you yell, “YOU’RE NOT EVEN SINGING!” 

“i know. that’s for people who want to live. i just want you.” 

kaiser michael

brings a whole speaker setup with colored LED lights. ness is standing next to him with a mic like this is eurovision. 

kaiser opens with: “i know you’re mad, but i figured you couldn’t resist a man with this much jawline and jazz.” 

begins singing perfect by ed sheeran in german. ness harmonizes. badly. 

“baby, i’m dancing in ze dark– NESS, STAY ON KEY.” 

someone from 4B chucks a rice cooker. ness screams. kaiser DODGES and CATCHES IT ONE-HANDED. “you could’ve cracked my highlight.” 

turns back to your window, still holding the rice cooker. “was that a sign you want me to make dinner?” 

you yell, “NO, IT’S A SIGN TO SHUT UP.” 

“same thing,” he shrugs, then adds, “you still love me.” 

karasu tabito

no shirt. bluetooth speaker in hand. pants look like they were pulled on during a fire drill. is clearly mid-breakdown. 

starts playing a slow jam while doing interpretive body rolls across the sidewalk. 

“babe, i know i messed up when i said your playlist was trash, but i was TALKING OUT OF FEAR.” 

tries to moonwalk. trips over a bike. recovers by body-rolling again. 

someone flings a laundry basket. it hits him and bounces off like he’s made of rubber. “GOOD AIM, BRO,” he calls. 

to you: “please. just come downstairs. i brought strawberry gummies and emotional damage.” 

shidou ryusei

shows up in a fur coat and heart-print boxers, holding a megaphone and a rose between his teeth. 

“BABY, I’M HERE TO MAKE NOISE, BAD DECISIONS, AND WIN YOUR HEART BACK.” 

starts screaming the lyrics to bleeding love at top volume. not singing. SCREAMING. 

someone chucks a blender out the window. he catches it like a football. “DAMN, YOU GOT ARM STRENGTH. WANNA JOIN MY TEAM???” 

you stick your head out the window: “WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING???” 

“PROVING THAT I’D RISK BEING BLUDGEONED FOR YOUR LOVE.” 

“YOU’RE AN IDIOT.” 

“YOUR IDIOT. NOW GET YOUR SEXY ASS DOWN HERE.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n #2: @store-lover made this pic and it's perfect for kaiser's

[shelovesosa]

PATIENT 001. SUGURU GETO

patient!Suguru x f!officer!Reader

Contains : MDNI, Dark (?), personality disorder, SMUT, explicit sex, obsessive, possession, Fingering, oral ( f receiving), p in v, dirty Talk, Making out, mental institution.

cw:13.5k

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering every so often like they were struggling to stay alive. You hated that sound—it reminded you of hospitals, of cold spaces where people were forgotten. This job wasn’t supposed to feel like that. But after five months at Ishimura Psychiatric Facility, you were starting to forget why you’d come in the first place.

You moved down the corridor, past rows of numbered doors with observation windows sealed shut. Some rooms were quiet. Others were not. Screams had become background noise. Whispers, too. The night shift had always been your assignment, but lately, it felt like something was watching from the corners of every hallway. Something unseen. Not ghostly—but human. Raw. Unstable.

Tonight was different.

A file had been handed to you at shift change, its tab labeled in thick black ink: GETO, SUGURU – WARD 12B. You’d never heard the name before. Unusual, given how closely the staff gossiped about patients—especially the difficult ones. But when you asked, they avoided eye contact. One nurse simply said, “He’s new. You’ll see.”

You didn’t like the way she said it.

Ward 12B was restricted to high-risk patients—those with unpredictable episodes, violent histories, or, in rare cases, special classifications. Suguru was marked as the latter. “Split personality,” the notes said. “Unknown trauma. One compliant. One... less so.”

You stood in front of his door now, clipboard pressed against your chest.

Through the tiny glass square, you saw him. Black hair hung loose around his face, long and unkempt. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the wall. His hands rested on his knees, fingers twitching slightly as if playing a piano only he could hear. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

You knocked once. Firm, but not threatening.

His head turned.

You expected aggression. Or maybe emptiness. But his dark eyes met yours with a calm stillness, like deep water—quiet but capable of drowning you.

You opened the door slowly, stepping in with practiced caution. “Suguru Geto?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze shifted to the floor.

“I’m Officer Y/N. I’ll be assigned to monitor your behavior this week.” You kept your voice neutral. Not too soft. Not too firm.

Still nothing.

You checked the file again. 'Subject One: Reclusive, nonverbal, avoidant tendencies. Often presents first.' You wondered what that meant exactly. “Are you comfortable?” you asked.

He blinked once. Slowly.

You moved a little closer, cautious but curious. There was something magnetic about his presence—even without words. He had an elegance to the way he sat, an eerie calm that didn’t match the harsh lines of the institution.

And then, without warning, his lips moved.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured.

The voice was soft. Like a violin string drawn slow and low. You blinked, heart tapping against your ribs.

“Why not?” you asked.

He tilted his head to the side, expression unreadable. “Because he likes girls like you.”

Before you could ask what that meant, his body jerked. It wasn’t violent. More like a ripple passed through him. His posture shifted, relaxed. Then a slow smirk spread across his face.

And the second he looked at you again, you knew he wasn’t the same.

“Well, well,” the new voice said—deeper, smoother, cocky. “Finally. Someone worth looking at.”

You took a step back.

“Suguru?” you asked, more to ground yourself than him.

He grinned, pushing himself off the floor with too much ease. “Depends on who you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

His whole demeanor had changed. Gone was the quiet boy facing the wall. This one walked toward you with a swagger, a spark in his eye that dared you to stop him.

You should’ve pressed the emergency button on the wall. You should’ve called in backup. But something about the shift—something about him—made your breath catch instead.

“I’ve been bored out of my mind in here,” he said, circling you like a predator. “But you… you're interesting. Pretty. I like your eyes. Bet you’re fun when you’re off duty.”

He was close now. Too close.

And then just like that, he turned away, laughing as he threw himself back on the bed like none of it mattered.

“Tell the doc I’m fine,” he said. “Better, even. Now that you’re here.”

You watched him, unsettled. The way his energy flipped. The way your pulse raced.

Suguru Geto wasn’t a patient. He was a storm. And you were standing in the eye of it.

You requested the night shift yourself.

It wasn’t protocol for an officer to stay stationed outside a single patient’s room—but after what happened during your first encounter with Suguru, the supervisor made an exception. “Observe and document,” he said. “Only intervene if necessary. And don’t speak unless spoken to.”

You wondered how long that rule would last.

Ward 12B was quieter tonight. Most patients had been sedated after dinner. The hallway lights dimmed automatically after ten, casting everything in soft hues of green and blue, like the inside of an aquarium. You sat just outside his room, back against the wall, journal in hand. The door was closed but unlocked, observation glass at eye level.

Inside, Suguru was pacing.

Not the arrogant one. Not him.

This was the quiet version again.

His steps were small, calculated. He walked the room like it was a cage, tracing the same path over and over, fingers brushing along the wall as if feeling for something invisible. You couldn’t tell if he knew you were watching—but you felt like he did.

You wrote it down.

10:24 p.m. – Subject pacing. Silent. Facial expression neutral. Possible distress?

He suddenly stopped.

You froze mid-sentence.

Then he turned—slowly—and stared straight through the window. His eyes met yours with the same unreadable intensity as before, and even through the glass, it felt like his silence could crawl into your skin and rearrange something inside of you.

Your hand tightened around the pen.

He moved to the door.

Then he knocked.

Once. Twice. Three soft taps.

Your heart stuttered. You stood, hesitated, then cracked the door open half an inch.

“Yes?” you asked.

His voice was different now. Not the flirt. Not the mocking tone. Just a whisper.

“Can I ask you something?”

You stepped in cautiously. He was barefoot, standing near the wall where he’d been tracing his fingers. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he didn’t want to take up space.

“You can ask,” you said, “but I might not answer.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Do you… remember dreams?”

You frowned. “Sometimes.”

He looked away. “I think I had one. But it didn’t feel like mine.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak in his own rhythm.

“There was a garden. A white dog. It had something in its mouth… something bleeding.”

The room felt colder suddenly.

You stepped closer. “Was anyone else in the dream?”

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but then—something changed.

His body stiffened.

And then he blinked, and when his eyes opened again—

There he was.

The flirt. The player. The storm.

“Oh come on,” he said, a smirk curling on his lips. “You really bought into that tortured poetry thing? The whole bleeding dog in a dream act?”

You stepped back immediately.

“Did you fake that?” you asked, voice sharper now.

“Does it matter?” he said, tilting his head. “You came in. You’re here. That’s all I need.”

He stepped toward you, slow and unhurried. A hunter with time to kill.

“I get it, though,” he said, eyes raking over you like you were something to be unwrapped. “You like the broken ones. The quiet boys with sad eyes. But what about me, huh?”

He was in front of you now, so close you could smell the faint traces of lavender soap they made all patients use. “What if I’m the real one? What if I’m the part you should be scared of?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

And then—

“Step back,” you said, voice firm. “Now.”

His expression flickered. Not with fear. Not even surprise. With interest.

Then he smiled.

“Mm. There she is,” he purred. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

He backed away without a fight, hands raised in mock surrender. But even as he retreated, his eyes never left yours.

“I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart,” he said as he dropped back onto the bed. “One of us will.”

You closed the door. Locked it behind you this time.

You leaned against the wall, pulse hammering in your ears. And though you were alone in the corridor, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still staring.

And somewhere deep inside your chest, a quiet question stirred—
Which one of them was real?

The alarms went off at exactly 3:03 a.m.

Your pen dropped. A red strobe light blinked above the hallway. Loudspeakers echoed down the tiled corridor:
“Code White. Patient absence detected. Sector 12B. All units respond.”

Suguru’s room.

You were already running.

The hallway bent like a crooked spine under the flickering lights, your boots striking hard against the ground. It wasn’t possible. You had locked the door yourself. You had checked it twice.

But when you reached Room 12B, the truth was staring you in the face.

The door was wide open.

Inside, the bed was empty. Sheets undisturbed. No signs of a struggle. The camera in the corner blinked a dead red light—offline.

One of the nurses skidded into the room behind you, pale-faced. “Security’s sweeping the floor,” she said breathlessly. “They think he triggered the breaker for this wing. Half the feeds are down.”

You swallowed hard. “No. He didn’t trigger anything. He planned this.”

Suguru Geto was not just another patient.

There was no time to wait.

You grabbed your flashlight, clipped your keycard to your collar, and moved quickly toward the East annex. It was a dead-end hall, closed off since the renovations last winter. Most staff didn’t go near it anymore. Too cold. Too dark. Too... off.

But something tugged at your gut. A whisper in your spine.

You found the door half open.

Inside, the lights were out. The smell of mold and dust hit you immediately. Paint peeled from the walls in long gray ribbons. Every instinct screamed to call for backup, but something kept your hand away from the radio.

Something about him.

You stepped inside.

“Suguru,” you called softly, sweeping your flashlight across the old rec room.

Silence.

Then a shadow flickered past the beam.

You turned quickly. “Suguru!”

A breath. A shuffle.

Then you saw him—sitting cross-legged on the floor behind an overturned table, like a child hiding from the world. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and for a moment… he looked small.

It was him again.

The quiet one.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” he said softly.

You didn’t move. “Why did you leave your room?”

His eyes barely met yours. “He said he wanted to find her.”

“Her?”

He nodded. “The girl from the dream. With the bleeding dress. He said she’s here.”

You crouched slowly, careful not to get too close. “Suguru, there’s no girl. Just staff. You’re safe here.”

His fingers curled around the edge of the table. “He said she was hiding in someone. Wearing their face. And if we didn’t find her—she’d find us first.”

Goosebumps bloomed up your arms.

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and asked, “Is it you?”

You opened your mouth, but something in his voice made your chest tighten.

Before you could speak, he flinched. His hands gripped his temples. A pained groan escaped his throat.

“No, no, not now—stop—don’t—”

He lurched forward, body seizing briefly, then—

Gone again.

When he looked up this time, the smirk was back.

“Well damn,” he said, stretching his neck like a wolf waking up. “I leave for five minutes and you chase me down? I knew you’d miss me, sweetheart.”

You stood slowly.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, voice lower. “Disappearing. Playing games.”

“Who said it’s a game?” he murmured, standing up. “Maybe I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

He stepped closer. Closer than he had any right to.

“From him,” he whispered.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Aren’t you him?”

He smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The next morning, the order came down from the director himself: "Subject 12B will now be under direct observation for a 48-hour period. One-on-one assignment. No exceptions."

You didn’t argue.

No one else wanted the job anyway.

You sat outside his door again, only this time it was propped open. Two cameras were reinstated, one inside, one outside. Security was on edge, murmuring about how he could've slipped out unnoticed. But they didn’t understand.

He hadn’t slipped.

He’d chosen to disappear. And that was worse.

Suguru lay on his bed now, arms folded behind his head, one ankle crossed over the other like he didn’t have a care in the world. The flirt was awake.

“You know,” he called lazily, “I liked last night. You, chasing me through the dark. You looked hot holding that flashlight.”

You didn’t answer.

He grinned at your silence. “Still mad?”

“I’m not here to entertain you.”

“Ouch,” he said, mock wounded. “And here I thought we were finally bonding.”

You flipped a page on your clipboard, noting his behavior. “Why did you run last night, Suguru?”

He rolled his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “You’re not talking to the right me for that answer.”

“I think I am,” you replied quietly.

That stopped him.

He sat up slowly, gaze sharpening. “Interesting. You think I’m lying?”

“I think you know more than you pretend.”

He laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “That’s rich. You’re stuck with me for two days, and now you think you’ve got it all figured out?”

“I don’t,” you said. “But I’m not scared of you.”

He stood, and just like that, the air in the room changed.

Not violently.

But deliberately.

He walked toward you—not quickly, but with purpose, like every step had meaning. You held your ground.

He leaned in, so close his breath hit your cheek. “Maybe you should be.”

And then—like flipping a switch—he stopped. His shoulders dropped. His mouth opened slightly, as if startled by the distance between you. His hand reached out and hovered near your arm, not touching. Just trembling.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the soft voice said. The quiet one. “I didn’t want it to go this far.”

You froze.

“You’re back,” you whispered.

He looked down at his hands like they didn’t belong to him. “Sometimes I wake up and he’s already done things. Things I don’t remember.”

Your voice softened. “Can you feel him before he comes?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s like… a shadow under my skin.”

You didn’t speak for a moment.

Then: “Do you want help?”

He blinked, then looked at you, truly looked. “Would you help someone like me?”

Your chest tightened. “I think you’re already helping yourself. You just don’t know how to finish.”

A pause.

Then he sat down on the edge of the bed again, hunched forward, hands clasped tightly. “He likes you. I can feel it.”

“I know,” you said.

“But I think… I think I do too.”

You didn’t write that part down.

You stayed later than your shift required. Not because you were ordered to, not because anyone asked—but because something in Suguru’s eyes when he said “I think I do too” kept echoing in your chest. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it wasn’t nothing, either.

The night nurses noticed your silence. The way your fingers hovered over the call button just a second too long before retracting. One of them offered to take your place for the watch. You said no.

You weren’t ready to let anyone else in the room with him yet.

It was nearly midnight when you returned to his door.

Suguru was awake, curled in the corner of his room like a boy who had never learned to sleep properly. He was drawing something with the stub of a pencil—images of hands and mouths, abstract and jumbled, like memories he didn’t understand. You stepped inside without speaking.

He didn’t look up. “I knew you’d come back.”

“I told you I would.”

He set the pencil down, slow and deliberate. “Not everyone keeps their word around here.”

You sat in the chair by the wall. “I’m not everyone.”

He nodded once. “No. You’re not.”

There was a long stretch of silence between you, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt like shared breath. Like dusk pressed between two people who had nowhere else to be.

Then he spoke again.

“Sometimes, he dreams,” he said, voice low. “And I see the pieces when I wake up. He’s not just a monster, you know.”

You blinked. “He?”

“Him. The other me.” Suguru glanced up, hesitant. “He remembers warmth. A woman’s hands. A name he never says. I think… I think something happened to him. To us. Before all of this.”

Your throat felt tight. “Did you ever try asking him?”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “When he comes forward, I disappear. And when I come back, he’s already ruined something.”

You stared at him for a long time.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt you,” you said carefully. “I think he wants you to be seen.”

Suguru’s lips parted. He didn’t respond. Not with words.

But then, in the stillness of the room, he asked the smallest question yet:

“Can you stay?”

It broke something soft and trembling inside you.

You nodded. “For a while.”

He closed his eyes. For once, he didn’t twitch. He didn’t curl away from your presence. He just breathed, and for a moment, it felt like a ceasefire inside his chest.

You didn’t know how long you sat there. Time passed differently in the presence of someone fragile—slow, sacred. It wasn’t until you shifted in your seat that the air changed.

He stirred. But it wasn’t him anymore.

Not the quiet one.

The eyes opened sharper this time. Darker.

“Well,” the flirt drawled, lips curling, “you two getting cozy now?”

Your shoulders tensed. “Don’t ruin this.”

His head tilted. “Ruin what?”

“Whatever that was. The way he trusts me.”

He leaned forward. “Don’t get confused, sweetheart. You think he trusts you? That shy little part? He’s just a boy clutching at whatever light’s nearby. But me?” His grin widened. “I choose to want you.”

You stood. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s better.”

You walked to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, without looking back.

“You always do,” he called after you.

But his voice followed you out like perfume—sweet, thick, and dangerous. And for the first time since starting this job, you questioned if staying close to Suguru was saving him…

…or ruining you.

You arrived earlier than scheduled. You told yourself it was to check paperwork, review the footage, confirm medication dosages. But none of that explained why you brought coffee for two—one black, one with cream, the way he liked it when he was the one sitting in control.

Suguru was sitting on the windowsill when you entered.

The flirt was gone. You could tell before a word passed between you.

This was the quiet one—shoulders hunched, knees tucked to his chest, gazing through the reinforced glass like he was searching for someone outside. You gently set the coffee down beside his bed, but didn’t call his name.

You waited.

After a long silence, he spoke.

“I remembered something.”

Your heart skipped.

You crossed the room, crouched down beside him, your voice low. “Tell me.”

“It wasn’t a garden. Not really. The one in the dream.” His eyes stayed fixed on the window. “It was a backyard. Fenced in. Grass too tall. And there was a dog… It didn’t have anything in its mouth. It was just barking. Loud. Over and over.”

You said nothing, letting him unravel it on his own.

“I think… I was hiding. Under a porch or something. Small space. Dirt and wood. I remember the smell.”

His hands curled around the windowsill, knuckles pale.

“There were footsteps. Someone yelling. Not at me—at someone else. A man.”

You asked gently, “Do you remember the words?”

He hesitated. Then:

“You’ll ruin him.”

A chill crept up your spine.

Suguru’s voice broke on the next sentence. “I think that’s when it started. The split. The silence. One of us disappeared to survive, and the other one stayed to fight.”

You reached out slowly, hand brushing his sleeve. “You didn’t ruin anything. You survived.”

He turned to look at you then—and there was something raw in his eyes. Something real.

“I don’t know who I am without him.”

“You’re still Suguru,” you said. “Both sides are. You don’t need to choose between them. You need to understand them.”

You didn’t realize how close you were until his forehead touched yours, just barely, a soft press like a truce. You didn’t pull away.

But the second it became still—too still—you knew.

He was back.

The flirt’s voice brushed your ear like smoke.

“You’re making this harder for him, you know.”

You froze, breath caught.

“You think he needs your comfort? He doesn’t. He needs me. I’m the reason we’re still alive. I’m the one who fought.”

You pulled back, angry now. “You’re also the one who scares him.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I scare you, too. Don’t lie.”

You stood, jaw tight. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?” His grin twisted. “Then why do you flinch when I smile?”

You didn’t answer. You walked to the door.

But before you left, his voice softened just enough to stop you.

“You can’t save him from me,” he said, quiet now. Honest. “You’re already choosing. And I don’t like to be second.”

You didn’t turn around. You just left the room.

But your hands trembled the whole way down the hall.

It started with a locked drawer. You weren’t snooping. You were looking for a form—routine, harmless. But when you found the drawer in Dr. Kaede’s office slightly ajar and a corner of Suguru’s file sticking out, something in your gut twisted.

You told yourself it was protocol. You told yourself you had clearance.

The folder was thicker than any other patient’s. Thick with redacted pages, notes scratched out violently, timestamps missing from observation logs.

And there, tucked between transfer papers and medication schedules, was a name.

Naoe Geto — listed under guardian/contact, then struck through.

No parent information. No emergency contact. No birthday. No photo on file.

But the handwriting on the back of one note caught your eye.

Split began after second incident. Patient exhibited knowledge of injuries sustained while in fugue state. Second personality claims responsibility. Violent protector instinct triggered. Suppress with sedatives until further review.

The date? Four years ago. At his last facility.

And scribbled at the bottom, almost too small to read:

He remembers more than he says.

You returned the file carefully, heart thundering in your ears.

That night, you didn’t sit outside his door. You stepped in and stayed.

Suguru was humming to himself, pacing. The flirt again—smirking, restless, aware of his own gravity. He looked over his shoulder when you entered, all arrogance and gleam.

“Back for another late-night confession?” he asked. “Or are you finally giving in?”

You locked the door behind you.

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

“I found your file.”

His smile slipped.

“I know about the second incident. About how he blacked out, and you took over. You protected him.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback.

You walked toward him, slowly. “You’ve always been trying to protect him, haven’t you? That’s why you act like this. You’re not just angry. You’re afraid.”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you stopped him from seeing something he couldn’t handle. I know you keep people away because if someone gets close enough to hurt him again, he won’t come back.”

His breath hitched.

You stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth rolling off his skin.

“I know you’re not a monster, Suguru. Not this version. Not the other.”

He blinked. “Why are you saying this?”

“Because I see you. Not just the quiet one. You.”

The silence between you was sharp, trembling.

Then, so softly it nearly broke you: “No one’s ever said that to me.”

Your hand reached out—just a little. Not touching him. Just there. A choice.

And he made one too. He stepped forward. Not to tease. Not to flirt. But to press his forehead to yours, breathing hard, shaking slightly. No armor. No sarcasm.

Just him.

“If you keep this up,” he whispered, voice raw, “I don’t think I’ll want to give him back.”

Your heart cracked.

“I’m not asking you to.”

The letter arrived on your desk the next morning.

To Officer Y/N L/N:
Your recent assignment to Patient 12B is being re-evaluated. There is concern of emotional enmeshment and compromised objectivity. Effective immediately, you are to cease direct overnight monitoring.
—Dr. Kaede, Chief Psychiatrist

You read it twice, then folded it once and tucked it into your coat.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a warning.

You sat with it through the day—through stale coffee, through clipped conversations with other staff who now watched you a little too closely. The institution could always tell when someone got too close. It had rules for this.

“Keep your distance.”

“Don’t talk like they’re people.”

“Don’t get attached.”

But they didn’t know Suguru like you did.

They didn’t see what you saw.

That night, you returned anyway.

The nurse at the front desk barely looked up as you passed. You weren’t scheduled. You didn’t care.

You entered his room quietly. The lights were dimmed. Suguru sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered, fingers interlaced like he’d been waiting hours without moving.

He didn’t look up when you spoke.

“They’re trying to pull me off your case.”

A beat.

Then: “Figures.”

It was the flirt. He looked up slowly, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, but it was worn down now—frayed around the edges. Less armor, more exposed wire.

“You told me to stay away once,” you said. “But neither of you meant it.”

“No,” he said softly. “We didn’t.”

You sat across from him, closer this time. He didn’t pull back.

“They think I’ve compromised the boundary,” you said.

He leaned forward, eyes shadowed. “You did.”

Your breath caught.

“You’re not supposed to care about me,” he murmured. “Not either of me.”

You held his gaze. “But I do.”

He exhaled, like something inside him unclenched. “Then you’re more dangerous than I thought.”

You reached for his hand—not the quiet one’s, not the flirt’s. Just Suguru’s.

He let you.

And for a moment, he was silent. Utterly still.

Then he said, “He’s scared, you know. The other me. Scared if you keep coming back, I’ll disappear.”

You squeezed his hand. “And what about you?”

He met your eyes.

“I’m scared you’ll stop.”

The next morning, they moved him. Not far. Just a different wing. A different door. A new guard on his file. But they didn’t tell you. You found out when you showed up for the night shift and his room was empty. And on the whiteboard where his name used to be, someone had written in red:

RESTRICTED. DO NOT APPROACH.

You weren’t supposed to be in Wing D.

It required clearance you didn’t have anymore, a keycard that had been quietly deactivated the morning they moved him. But you were still wearing the uniform. You still walked like you belonged.

That was enough to bluff the new intern at the checkpoint.

You found his room near the end of the corridor—glass window, reinforced lock, nothing personal inside. Cold and clean, like he’d never been there at all.

He was sitting on the cot, knees drawn up, eyes glassy and still.

It was the quiet one.

But something was off.

You stood there for a moment, waiting. Expecting his gaze to shift, to lift at the sound of your voice. Waiting for recognition. The tiny flicker that always bloomed in his face when you entered.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping inside. “They didn’t tell me they were moving you.”

No response.

He didn’t even look up.

You tried again. “I brought you something. It’s just a drawing pencil. They wouldn’t let me bring the coffee.”

Nothing.

“Suguru?”

His head turned slowly, mechanically. He blinked once. Then again.

And then he asked—

“Who are you?”

You stopped breathing.

You moved closer, carefully. “It’s me. Officer L/N. I’ve been with you since the beginning. You—” your voice faltered, “you remember me.”

His expression didn’t shift. “I don’t.”

A pause. His hands trembled.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You crouched down in front of him, heart hammering. “No, no. You’re just confused. This is part of it. Sometimes memories slip when one of you retreats. You just need time.”

He flinched at that word. One of you.

“Are there others?” he asked, voice fragile.

Your stomach sank.

He didn’t even know.

Someone had done this. Pushed him down so deep the fractures closed over. Someone had sedated him—or worse. He looked like a painting that had been scrubbed clean.

Empty.

You reached for his hand slowly. “You’re safe. I promise.”

But he pulled away.

“I don’t know you,” he said again, firmer now.

And you knew, then. He wasn’t lying. Whatever piece of him had remembered you—had needed you—was gone.

Or worse, buried.

You left the room in a blur, biting down on the scream in your throat. As the door locked behind you, you saw it: a camera in the corner blinking red.

Someone had watched the whole thing. Someone wanted you to see what happened when you got too close.

You didn’t sleep that night. You went home, sat in your car until the windows fogged, then sat some more. All you could see were his eyes. Vacant. Soft-spoken. Blank.
Who are you?

You knew he had two personalities—two sides trying to survive in a world that never gave them the tools to feel safe. But this wasn’t a shift. This wasn’t natural.

It was a wipe.

You returned the next morning in civilian clothes. No badge. No keys. Just questions.

You waited until the security guard at the front turned to chat with the front desk nurse, then slipped into the restricted records room using a code you weren’t supposed to remember.

Room logs. Observation footage. Medicine schedules.

And one word that shouldn’t have been there:

Midazolam. A sedative. Strong. Memory-altering in high doses.
Not standard for patient 12B.

And the signature beneath it?

Dr. Kaede.
No time. No consultation. No counter-signature.

You backed away from the file like it had burned you.

That night, you returned to Wing D. This time, you weren’t sure what you’d find. But as you stood outside his room, peering through the window, you could feel it before you saw it.

He wasn’t sitting on the bed. He was pacing again. Not slow. Not confused. Predator-smooth. Controlled. Angry.

You unlocked the door quietly. He didn’t look up at first. Then, slowly, he turned. And there he was. The flirt. The fighter.

“Oh,” he breathed, voice ragged. “So they didn’t kill you.”

Your chest rose. “You remember.”

He blinked hard. His smile cracked at the edges. “Not all of it. Just enough to hate what they did.”

You stepped inside.

“I found your file,” you said. “They’re drugging you.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I figured, when I woke up and felt like I’d been replaced.”

You moved closer. “They’re trying to erase the split. Force you back into one person.”

He laughed bitterly. “Good luck with that.”

“You fought your way out,” you whispered. “You remembered me.”

His voice dropped to something darker, something real. “How could I forget the only person who’s ever seen both of me... and didn’t run?”

And then he stepped closer. Close enough for your breath to catch.

His hand hovered near your face—but didn’t touch. “You’re not scared of me anymore.”

“No.”

“You should be.”

“I know.”

And still, you didn’t move.

His fingers brushed your wrist lightly, almost reverent. “You stayed when he forgot you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

His throat bobbed with the effort not to feel too much.

“You’re the only reason we’re still here.”

You looked up at him, steady. “Then help me fix this.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I will,” he said. “But you need to understand something.”

You waited.

“If they try to take you away again…”
His eyes burned now, no smirk, no grin—just a promise.

“I won’t let them.”

It started with a sketch. You found it under Suguru’s pillow during a routine sweep. Not hidden well, not meant to be. A page torn from the corner of a therapy notebook. Charcoal smudged, lines rushed.

It was of you.

Not perfectly — the face only half-finished, your expression a little too calm, like he wasn’t sure how to draw your fear or your fire. But your posture, the slope of your shoulders, the softness in the way you seemed to look back — it was unmistakable.

You shouldn’t have kept it.

But you did.

You folded it once, tucked it into your jacket, and said nothing.

That night, when you visited, the flirt was gone. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, gaze fixed on the wall. He was murmuring to himself — not words, just sounds, like his mind was pacing too fast for his mouth to keep up.

You stepped inside quietly.

“Suguru,” you said gently.

He looked up. Startled. Not at the sight of you — but like he hadn’t expected to exist in the room at all.

His voice was thin. “You’re back.”

“Always.”

He blinked slowly. “He draws you when he misses you.”

You paused. “You both do.”

A flicker of something crossed his face.

“I see him sometimes,” he whispered. “Not as a voice. More like… a pressure. A breath on the back of my neck. When you leave, he comes back.”

You nodded. “And when I return?”

He hesitated. “He wants to touch you.”

The words hung heavy between you.

“And you?” you asked, voice quiet.

He didn’t answer for a long time.

Then: “I want to know what you smell like when you’re not in uniform.”

Your heart stuttered.

It wasn’t a flirtation. It was longing, honest and pure — a sensory detail that told you how closely he watched. How deeply he wondered.

“I want to know if you laugh when no one’s around,” he added, softer. “If you ever cry in your car. If your hands shake when you take your coffee.”

You knelt down beside him, heart aching.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to,” he whispered, almost ashamed. “I’m not supposed to want you like he does.”

“And yet…”

“And yet,” he repeated, eyes locking with yours, “I do.”

There were no jokes now. No smirks. No distance.

Just Suguru. The quiet one. The wounded one. And the man who, slowly, was letting love become more terrifying than madness.

He reached for your hand — timidly, trembling.

You let him.

And in the silence, you knew the truth neither of them dared say yet: They were both falling for you. And if the institution found out? They’d tear him apart to fix it.

You were called into the conference room without warning.

The door shut behind you with a final-sounding click, and Dr. Kaede was already seated at the far end of the table. A cup of untouched tea steamed beside her stack of files.

She didn’t look up when she spoke.

“Have a seat.”

You obeyed.

She opened Suguru’s file. You saw your own handwriting in some of the margins — updates, behavior notes, even small observations like ‘Responded to touch. Flinched when asked about mother.’

Dr. Kaede tapped her pen against the page.

“We ran a cognitive persistence scan last night after your visit.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You weren’t authorized to—”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Officer.”

You folded your hands in your lap, steadying your voice. “What did you find?”

She finally looked at you.

“Splintering.”

A cold silence filled the space.

“You said there were two,” she continued, “but now we’re seeing evidence of cross-memory bleeding. Flashes from one self appearing in the other's memory lane. Inconsistent emotional anchors. Even dream contamination.”

She paused.

“In simple terms: he’s losing cohesion. The lines between them are thinning.”

You gritted your teeth. “Because you’re forcing them to disappear.”

“No,” she said. “Because you are.”

That stunned you.

“What?”

“You’ve created an emotional link,” Kaede said flatly. “Both personalities are attaching to you. It’s destabilizing him. You’re not a tether — you’re a mirror. And it’s breaking him.”

You stood up.

“I’ve helped him.”

“No, you’ve complicated him.”

She flipped a page, and your breath caught. A scan. Brainwave activity. The two distinct rhythms — the shy one and the flirt — once clean and separate.

Now? They were overlapping. Bleeding into each other.

“If this continues,” she said, “they will consume each other. And when that happens, the core self — whatever’s left of the original Suguru Geto — may disappear entirely.”

You whispered, “So stop the sedatives. Let him balance naturally—”

“We can’t,” Kaede snapped. “If we let this run wild, he’ll either collapse into a singular violent state… or he’ll vanish mentally. Empty.”

Your throat tightened.

“And what’s your solution?” you asked, bitter.

She didn’t blink.

“Separation. Effective immediately.”

“No—”

“He’s being moved to a high-security psychiatric transfer facility tomorrow morning. No visitors. No staff continuity. No more contact.”

You felt the ground tilt.

“You’re erasing him.”

“I’m saving what’s left.”

That night, you didn’t sneak into his room. You ran. Suguru was waiting. Not pacing. Not joking. Just waiting. And when he saw your face, his smirk vanished instantly.

“What happened?”

You fell into him. Into his arms. Into everything. And he caught you like he’d known this would be the night.

“They’re taking you,” you said. “They’re transferring you tomorrow.”

His jaw clenched.

“No.”

“They said you’re breaking down. That the memories are bleeding. That you’ll disappear.”

His voice cracked. “That’s not true.”

“It’s happening, Suguru. You’re merging.”

He was silent.

Then, like it hurt to say it: “He knows.”

You pulled back, heart racing. “What?”

“The other me. He told me last night… in a dream. Or a memory. Or both.” His breath shook. “He said if we fall apart, he hopes you remember us.”

Your hands gripped his shirt. “Don’t let them take you. Fight.”

He looked at you then, really looked — and something terrifying flashed in his eyes.

“I will.”

They came for him at 5:47 a.m.

Two guards. No warning. No sedatives this time—just hand restraints and a tight escort schedule to a black-window van waiting at the back gate of the facility.

You weren’t on shift.

But you were already there.

You had slept in your car again, slouched beneath a thin coat and a thick ache in your chest, eyes locked on the red-lit loading zone outside Wing D. You hadn’t blinked since 5:00.

The moment you saw the guards open his door, you moved.

You didn’t knock. You didn’t hesitate.

You intercepted them in the hallway—almost threw yourself between them and Suguru. One of the guards reached for his baton, and the other barked your name.

“Officer L/N,” he growled. “Step aside.”

“No,” you said. “You’re making a mistake.”

Behind them, Suguru stood still. But his eyes— His eyes were alive. Not glassy. Not blank. Lit with something burning.

“Y/N,” he said. One word, soft and low.

And you knew. It wasn’t just him. It was them. Both of them.

His expression shifted before your eyes. From wide and trembling… to dark and furious. The way he used to smile when he was about to say something dangerous.

“I warned them,” he muttered.

The guards moved to grab him. Then everything unraveled.

He yanked free before they could clamp down. One guard stumbled. The other shouted, reaching for a syringe.

Suguru ducked, twisted, slammed his elbow into the man’s ribs. A breath later, he was standing behind you, chest to your back, arms around your waist, breathing hard.

“Which one are you?” you asked, half-whisper, half-prayer.

His lips brushed your ear.

“Both.”

You froze.

The shy one had never touched you like this. The flirt had never said your name with such reverence. And now—

Now they were here, at once. Sharing space. Sharing voice.

“I can’t leave,” he said, and it sounded like a confession. “Not without you.”

You turned to face him. His pupils were blown wide, his hands trembling against your waist.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “Run.” And he did.

They issued a facility-wide lockdown five minutes later.

Wing D swept. Doors sealed. Alarms wailed. You stood near the empty hallway where he had last touched you, heart in your throat, the echo of his voice still humming in your skin.

They didn’t know where he went.

But you did.

There was one place Suguru had always studied on the map during his sessions. One door that was never locked properly. One stairwell that fed straight into the woods behind the east wall.

He was coming back. For you. Or maybe he never left.

They put you in the observation room. No handcuffs. No lawyers. Just four white walls, a camera in the ceiling, and a chair that wobbled slightly when you sat.

You’d been here before — when new hires were trained, when patients were questioned under sedation. But you’d never been the one being watched. Dr. Kaede entered without knocking.

She looked at you like you’d murdered someone.

“Where is he?”

You didn’t answer.

She dropped a manila folder on the table — inside, timestamped screenshots from hallway security cams. Suguru gripping your waist. Suguru whispering in your ear. Suguru not resisting.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

You lifted your chin.

“I helped someone who was being hurt.”

She scoffed. “You helped a violent schizophrenic with identity fragmentation escape a federally regulated psychiatric ward.”

“He’s not violent,” you snapped.

Her eyes sharpened. “Not yet.”

Silence stretched thin between you. Then, Kaede opened a drawer. She pulled out something small. A folded note.

She tossed it in front of you.

“We found this taped under your desk this morning.”

Your blood ran cold.

You opened the paper.

It was torn from the same therapy journal. Charcoal pencil. One line scrawled in the center in familiar, messy handwriting:

Did you miss me, pretty girl?
– S

You bit your lip to hide the tremble. He was here. Still inside. Still watching.

Kaede grabbed the note back. “He’s unstable. Unraveling. And somehow, he’s still managing to access restricted wings, unmonitored corridors, and empty offices without being seen.”

You looked her dead in the eye.

“Maybe you trained him too well.”

That night, another note. Slipped into the back of the file you weren’t supposed to touch anymore. This one was neater. Smaller handwriting. No signature.

I remember your voice better than my own.
That’s how I know I’m still me.

You pressed it to your chest and cried for the first time since he left.

In the days that followed, the staff began whispering. Files disappearing. Lights flickering. A staff phone found with the entire photo gallery wiped except one: a blurry picture of your back, seated at a desk.

The institution was haunted. Not by a ghost.
But by someone who refused to disappear.

The nights were getting colder in the halls of the institution. Too quiet. Too still. The other staff spoke in hushed tones when you entered. Some stared. A few avoided you entirely.

You weren’t sure if they pitied you, feared you, or blamed you. But none of it mattered. You were searching for Suguru. And he was leaving breadcrumbs.

That morning, you returned to the records room. You’d watched the same tapes again and again — footage from his therapy sessions, logged by date, dull and repetitive.

But something kept pulling you back to Session 18A.

You remembered it only because it was the first time he’d gone completely silent for the full hour. No eye contact. No movement. Just sitting there, breathing.

Until the last three seconds.

You hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe because you were already looking away. Maybe because you were trying not to get attached.

But this time, you leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowed.

Just before the feed cut, Suguru raised his hand.

Two fingers to his temple. Then his lips moved — barely.

You replayed it again. And again. No audio. But you didn’t need it. Because you could read his lips now.

“I won’t forget her.”

That night, you stayed late. You shouldn’t have. The halls had emptied. Wing D was under double surveillance. And yet— You heard footsteps. Not the rhythmic stomp of a guard. Barefoot. Light. Deliberate. You turned the corner.

And a hand gripped your wrist.

The moment you saw him — truly saw him — everything in your body locked up.

Suguru. Shadowed in the dim hallway light.
Barefoot. Breathless. Beautiful in a way that felt wrong.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist — tight, possessive. Not enough to bruise, but close.

“Hey,” he whispered, like he hadn’t been hiding inside these walls like a phantom. Like he belonged here, in this moment, with his breath on your cheek and a thousand secrets in his eyes.

You said nothing. Because all the air had left the room.

His fingers slid slowly from your wrist to your palm. They lingered there, tracing the line where your lifeline curled inward — like he was learning you by touch, memorizing you by feel.

“I thought I lost you,” he said.

His voice was raw. Hoarse. Like it belonged to a different man entirely — not the flirt, not the quiet one.

Something in-between. Something new.
Something dangerous. And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was possessive. Sharp. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to brand you from the inside out. He tasted like static, like adrenaline and regret, like all the nights you’d spent thinking about this when you shouldn’t have.

His hand slid up your spine, cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer — until your body arched against his chest, until there was no space left between you.

And you kissed him back. Harder. Wilder. Because you weren’t afraid. You wanted this.
You wanted him.

Even if he burned you down with it. When he pulled away, his breath shook.

“I’ll go,” he murmured, eyes still locked on your mouth. “But only if you come with me.”

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded. And you ran.

You got him out using an expired visitor pass, a hoodie, and nerves made of trembling steel.

You avoided the cameras. You lied to Kaede’s face. You cut across the east corridor while the security team was busy searching the supply wing. You kept his hand in yours the entire time, your grip trembling but firm.

By the time you reached your car, the sun was beginning to rise. He sat in your passenger seat — hood over his head, head against the window, silent.

You didn’t speak until you hit the highway. Only then did you look at him and whisper, “You’re safe.”

He didn’t answer with words. He just reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

You didn’t bring him to a motel. You brought him home. Your apartment had never felt like a crime scene before.

But now, with Suguru standing in your hallway — soaked in shadows, wearing your brother’s black hoodie and not blinking — it felt like you’d crossed a line you could never uncross.

He didn’t speak. He just stood there, chest rising slowly, like he was trying not to snap.

You shut the door. Locked it. Exhaled. Then turned. And he was on you.

Suguru's dark eyes drank in every inch of your body as he pinned you against the wall, his chest heaving with barely contained desire. His calloused hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingers trailing fire across your sensitive skin as they inched their way up your side. Suguru's mouth found your throat, his lips brushing against your racing pulse before he dragged his teeth over the delicate flesh, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access as your hands fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Suguru smiled against your skin, a wicked curve of his lips that made your heart race and your core throb with need.

"Still think I'm just sick?" he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Still think you're just helping me?"

Before you could respond, Suguru captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your parted lips to claim you thoroughly. He kissed you like a man starved, like you were the air he needed to breathe, the sustenance he craved. Your fingers slid under his hoodie, nails raking down the scars etched into his muscular back as you clung to him, losing yourself in the heat and passion of his embrace.

Suguru's hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he lifted you effortlessly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carried you down the hallway, his lips never leaving your skin, tasting and teasing every inch of your throat and jaw. By the time he laid you down on your bed, you were both breathing heavily, desire pulsing through your veins like liquid fire.

Suguru knelt over you, his dark gaze roaming your body, taking in every curve and line as if committing it to memory. Slowly, almost reverently, he peeled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His calloused fingers skimmed over your collarbone, down the center of your chest, coming to rest just above the waistband of your jeans. Suguru leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your sternum, his tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat before trailing lower, over the swell of your breasts.

Your nipples pebbled under the thin fabric of your bra, straining against the confines of the lacy cups.

Suguru's fingers deftly unhooked the clasp of your bra, tossing it aside to reveal your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. "Fuck, Y/n," he breathed, his voice rough with desire as he took in the sight of your naked flesh. "You're perfect. Even more beautiful than I imagined." Suguru leaned down, capturing one stiff peak in his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before sucking hard, sending jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as he lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between suckling and teasing, bringing you to the brink of madness with his skilled mouth and hands. All the while, his hips pressed against yours, the hard, thick ridge of his erection evident even through the confines of his jeans.

Suguru's hand slid down your stomach, popping the button of your jeans and lowering the zipper with deliberate slowness. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, tugging your jeans and panties down your legs in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him. Suguru's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your naked body splayed out on the bed, his gaze lingering on the glistening flesh between your thighs.

"Spread your legs for me, Y/n," Suguru commanded, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. "Let me see this pretty pussy, so wet and ready for my touch."

Suguru's eyes flashed with hunger as you slowly spread your legs, revealing your slick, swollen folds to his intense gaze. "Fuck, baby," he growled, his voice strained with desire. "Look at this perfect little cunt, so fucking wet and ready for me." Suguru leaned in closer, his calloused fingers brushing against your inner thigh, making you shiver with anticipation. He traced the seam of your sex teasingly, not quite touching where you needed him most, before finally dragging his fingers through your slick arousal.

"Suguru," you whimpered, your hips lifting off the bed as you chased his touch. Suguru smirked, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking your essence from the digits. "Mmm, you taste divine, Y/n," he purred, his voice a low, sensual rasp. "I could get addicted to the taste of your sweet cunt."

Suguru settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your aching sex. He leaned in, his tongue parting your folds in a long, slow lick, savoring your flavor as he teasingly circled your clit. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure exploded through your body, your fingers fisting in Suguru's hair.

"That's it, baby," Suguru encouraged, his voice a low, rough murmur against your sex. "Don't hold back. I want to hear all those pretty sounds spilling from your lips as I taste this sweet little pussy." He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking the sensitive nub hard as two thick fingers pushed deep inside your tight, clenching channel.

Suguru's fingers pumped in and out of you, curling and stroking your inner walls as he lapped and suckled at your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The room filled with the obscene sounds of your moans and the wet, lewd noises of Suguru's mouth on your sex as he devoured you like a man starved. Your thighs trembled, your toes curling as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your lower belly, ready to snap at any moment. Suguru could feel you getting close, your walls fluttering and gripping his fingers like a velvet vise as he worked you towards your release with skillful, relentless motions.

Suguru could feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he pushed you closer to the edge. He looked up at you, his dark eyes glinting with triumph and hunger as he watched the pleasure play out across your face. "That's my good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Come for me, Y/n. Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my fingers as I make you fall apart."

With that, Suguru sucked your clit hard, his fingers pumping faster, stroking that special spot deep inside you with each thrust. Your body seized, your back arching sharply as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You cried out Suguru's name, your voice echoing off the walls as ecstasy consumed you, your sex clamping down on his fingers like a silken vice.

Suguru groaned against your flesh, the vibrations of his voice prolonging your pleasure as he worked you through your climax with skilled, relentless strokes. He didn't stop until your body went limp, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Only then did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal as he crawled up your body, a look of dark satisfaction etched into his handsome features.

"Fuck, Y/n," Suguru growled, his voice rough with desire and something deeper, more primal. "Watching you come undone, feeling this sweet little cunt squeezing my fingers...it's everything I've ever wanted. You're everything I've ever wanted."

Suguru captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire and emotion into the embrace. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the musky, slightly sweet flavor of your combined essences making your head spin with lust. As you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands slid under his hoodie, nails raking down the scars etched into his muscular back. Suguru hissed into your mouth, his hips pressing harder against yours, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against your sensitive, throbbing sex.

Suguru broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain control. "I need to be inside you, Y/n," he rasped, his voice strained with the force of his desire.

Suguru's hands made quick work of his hoodie, tossing it aside to reveal his scarred, muscular torso. His abs rippled as he leaned down, kissing and nipping at your collarbone, trailing lower to lavish attention on your breasts once more. Suguru's calloused fingers skimmed down your sides, hooking into the waistband of his jeans. He stood up briefly, unbuttoning and shoving them down his powerful legs along with his boxers, freeing his thick, hard cock.

You gasped at the sight of him, your eyes widening as you took in every inch of his impressive length. Suguru was large, larger than any man you'd been with before, and the thought of him stretching you open sent a thrill of both excitement and trepidation through you. He crawled back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs, the head of his cock nudging teasingly against your entrance.

Suguru's dark gaze locked with yours, his eyes blazing with hunger and a fierce, almost possessive intensity. "I've wanted this for so long, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, rough rasp. "Dreamed of this moment, of finally being one with you. I know I'm not...I know I'm not the man you deserve. But fuck, I need you. I need to be inside you, to claim you, to make you mine in every way possible."

With that, Suguru surged forward, the thick head of his cock parting your folds and pushing inside your tight, slick heat. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as you were stretched wide around him, your walls clenching and fluttering around his invading length. Suguru groaned, his hips pressing forward until he was buried to the hilt inside you, his heavy balls coming to rest against your ass.

"Fuck, Y/n," Suguru panted, his voice strained with pleasure and something deeper, more primal. "You feel incredible. Like this is where I belong, like I was made to be a part of you." He started to move, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, setting a deep, powerful rhythm that made the bed creak beneath you. The room filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin.

Suguru's hips rolled in a steady, relentless rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you felt every ridge and vein as he claimed your body. One of his hands slid under your knee, hiking your leg up and back to change the angle of his thrusts, allowing him to drive even deeper into your core. The other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you in place, pinning you beneath him as he took his pleasure from your willing body.

"Y/n," Suguru growled, his voice a low, rough rasp in your ear. "You're mine now, do you understand? This sweet little cunt belongs to me. Your pleasure, your ecstasy...it's all mine to give and take as I please." To emphasize his words, Suguru circled his hips, grinding his pelvis against your sensitive clit, sending sparks of electricity shooting through your nerves.

Suguru's mouth found your throat once more, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh as he marked you, branding you as his. You could feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his muscles as he loomed over you, dominating you, consuming you with the force of his desire. Your fingers slid up his back, nails raking down the scars etched into his skin as you clung to him, losing yourself in the raw, primal passion of his lovemaking.

Suguru's hand slid between your bodies, his calloused fingers finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in hard, fast circles. "Come for me, Y/n," he demanded, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "I want to feel this pussy spasm around my cock as I fill you up, as I pump you full of my seed. I want to feel you come undone, knowing that you're mine, that you'll always be mine." His words, combined with the relentless stimulation of your clit and the deep, powerful thrusts of his hips, sent you hurtling towards the edge of another shattering orgasm.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the bed as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. "SUGURU!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls as ecstasy consumed you. Your sex clenched and fluttered wildly around Suguru's pistoning length, gripping him like a velvet vice as you came undone beneath him. Suguru groaned, his hips stuttering as your walls massaged his cock, bringing him closer to his own release.

"That's it, baby," Suguru growled, his voice strained with pleasure and something darker, more primal. "Milk my cock with this perfect little cunt. Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, begging for my cum." He slammed into you with renewed vigor, his balls drawing up tight as he chased his own end. The room filled with the obscene sounds of your moans and Suguru's grunts, the creaking of the bed, and the slapping of sweat-slicked skin against skin.

With a final, brutal thrust, Suguru buried himself to the hilt inside your still-fluttering sex. His body shuddered and tensed above you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he found his release. "Fuck, Y/n!" Suguru roared, his voice echoing off the walls as hot, thick ropes of his seed painted your insides, filling you up until you could feel it seeping out around his throbbing length.

Suguru collapsed against you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He pressed sloppy kisses along your shoulder blades, his lips brushing against your sweat-damped skin as he slowly came down from his high. "Y/n," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...fuck, that was incredible. You're incredible." He lifted his head to gaze down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of awe, wonder, and something deeper, something that made your heart ache in your chest. “This,” he whispered against your collarbone. “Is the only time I don’t feel insane.”

And you clung to him. Because you understood. You were his anchor. And he was your undoing.

You woke with his hand already on your skin.

Fingertips sliding across your hip, tracing the shape of you beneath the sheets like he was mapping out something he couldn’t risk forgetting. His chest pressed into your back, warm and heavy, the steady rise and fall of his breath syncing with yours.

“You didn’t leave,” he murmured.

You didn’t open your eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

“Even now?” he whispered against your neck. “With them looking for me? With everything I’ve done?”

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his — the shy one, for now. The one who rarely spoke. Except now, when it was only you and him. When it was dark and quiet and dangerous.

“I don’t care,” you whispered.

He kissed you again. Slower this time. As if he knew he didn’t have to fight for it anymore.

The knock came midmorning. Two short raps. Measured. Military.

You looked up from the couch, heart stalling.

Suguru emerged from the bathroom shirtless, towel slung low on his hips. He paused when he saw your face. When he heard the knock.

Your eyes locked. Don’t say anything, don’t move, don’t breathe— A voice called through the door.

“Officer L/N? Dr. Kaede sent us. Have you seen any unusual activity? A… possible suspect who may have followed you off campus?”

You stood slowly, pulling on your cardigan to cover the marks still blooming on your skin.

Suguru didn’t speak. He didn’t blink.

But his whole body had gone still — like a predator cornered.

“Hold on,” you called back, keeping your voice steady.

You crossed the room. Pressed your hand flat against Suguru’s chest. His heart was hammering like it would burst. But he didn’t move. Not until you tilted your head toward the hallway closet.

Without a word, he slipped inside.

You turned the lock on the door and opened it two inches.

Two men stood outside. Both in uniform. Both looking at you like they already knew the answer.

“We’re just checking in,” one said. “Dr. Kaede said you’ve been... emotionally compromised since his escape.”

Your mouth went dry.

“I’m fine.”

The other officer glanced over your shoulder.

“Anyone else here?”

“No.”

Pause. Then:

“You smell like cologne,” he said slowly.

You smiled thinly. “I’m not dead.”

They didn’t laugh. Eventually, they left. You locked the door again, hands trembling — and then opened the closet.

Suguru stepped out slowly. And for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then his hand gripped your chin. Firm. Unyielding. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You lied for me,” he whispered.

You nodded.

“You’re mine now,” he said. “You understand?”

Your pulse jumped.

But you didn’t pull away.

“I was yours the moment you kissed me.”

That night, he didn’t sleep. You woke to find him at your window, bare-chested, silhouetted by moonlight — a ghost outside his own reflection.

“They’re going to find me eventually,” he said.

“Not if I keep hiding you.”

He turned to you, and his smile was sharp. Cold.

“No,” he said. “I won’t let them touch you.”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Protective. Possessive. You should’ve been afraid.

Instead, you stood. Crossed the room. And kissed him like it would be the last time.

Because even if the world burned, you knew he’d burn it for you.

You noticed the shift before he even opened his mouth. Suguru was different that morning.

Not in the way he sometimes switched — from brooding silence to teasing flirt. No. This wasn’t either of them.

This version was still. Focused. Like something inside had clicked into place and started humming.

He sat on your living room floor, legs crossed, his eyes fixed on nothing as sunlight spilled in through the blinds.

“Did you know there’s a locked room under the south wing?” he said.

You blinked, coffee halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

“In the institution. Beneath the therapy levels. There’s a staircase behind the archives. They keep it bolted shut.”

You set your cup down slowly.

“I only remember pieces,” he continued. “Flashes. A woman in a red coat. Bright lights. The smell of iron.”

Your stomach twisted. “Kaede wears a red coat sometimes.”

His eyes flicked to you.

“So you’ve noticed.”

That afternoon, when you returned to the institution under the guise of picking up a report, Kaede was at her desk.

She looked up from her screen, smiling warmly. Always the same.

“Officer L/N,” she said. “Surprised to see you. You��re on leave, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag a little too tightly.

“I left something in records. Just one file.”

Kaede tilted her head, then reached into her drawer and handed you a visitor clearance tag without question.

So easy. Too easy.

You waited until the floor was mostly empty. Evening fell like a warning outside the windows. The fluorescent lights above buzzed low. You slipped past the therapy rooms. Past the records office.

Then — just like Suguru said — behind the file cabinets, there was a door. Old. Steel. With a security pad. You typed Kaede’s birthday.

It clicked open. The stairs creaked downward into darkness. You flicked your flashlight on.

Dust. Cold. The walls were cement, and the floor beneath your boots was lined with rusted tiles. But then… photos. Dozens of them. Mounted behind glass along the hallway like a museum no one was meant to see.

Test subjects.

Some had names. Some just numbers.

And there, near the end of the hall — a young boy with long dark hair and hollowed eyes.

Subject 5C: Geto, S.

You stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest.

Below the photo was a note:

“Alter induced via stress-amplification. Dual personality results unstable.
Progress suspended following patient breakdown.
Memory suppression advised. Contact: Dr. Kaede Nakamura.”

You turned cold.

You didn’t sleep that night. When you returned home, Suguru was waiting for you. He didn’t even ask if you found it.

“I saw the file,” you whispered. “I saw you.”

“I know.”

You paused. “Why didn’t you tell me you were experimented on?”

He tilted his head. “Because I didn’t know until last night. Something triggered it. Maybe being near you. Maybe being free.”

His gaze darkened.

“They tried to erase me. Split me in two. Then lock away the pieces.”

You reached for him — and he caught your wrist, pulled you into his arms.

“They didn’t just break me,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “They made me forget who I really was. But I remember now.”

“And who are you?” you whispered.

He smiled. Slowly. Sharp.

“Something they’ll never be able to contain again.”

The first time Kaede asked if you were okay, it didn’t feel like concern.

It felt like bait.

You stood across from her in the break room, clutching a cup of tea you hadn’t touched, trying to act like your heart wasn’t pounding. Like your skin didn’t still bear Suguru’s fingerprints beneath your clothes. Like the weight of his breath against your neck wasn’t something you still craved like oxygen.

“You’ve been… distant,” she said. “Quiet.”

“I’m just tired.”

Kaede smiled — too small. Too knowing.

“Funny. Officer tired, therapist curious.”

You blinked. “I didn’t know you were a therapist.”

“I didn’t say I was,” she replied gently, stirring her tea. “But I know a trauma bond when I see one.”

You froze.

She didn’t look at you.

“Careful who you let in, Y/N. Especially if they were once kept locked behind steel.”

Your throat went dry.

That night, you barely made it through your front door before Suguru pulled you into the dark and kissed you like it had been days instead of hours.

You tasted desperation in it. Hunger. The threat of losing something he didn’t even believe he could keep.

“You saw her today,” he muttered, dragging your jacket off your shoulders. “Kaede.”

You didn’t answer.

“Did she say something?” His tone sharpened. “What did she ask you?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then something changed in his expression — something softer, almost pained.

“She’s going to take you away from me.”

“No,” you whispered. “I’d let them lock me up with you first.”

He pulled you into him. Hard.

He didn’t speak. He only watched you—watched the way your lashes trembled, the way your lips parted slightly like you’d already begun to surrender.

“I could ruin you,” he whispered against your ear. “You’d still beg for more.”

You didn’t deny it.

Your fingers reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The scarred line near his ribs, the slope of his collarbone—every inch of him was a story he hadn’t told you yet, and you were desperate to learn it with your mouth.

He leaned down and kissed you—slow, deliberate, consuming.

His lips were warm and soft at first, but then his teeth grazed your bottom lip, biting just enough to make your breath hitch. You could taste the ache behind it. His tongue swept against yours, and something low in your body responded like a lit fuse.

“You still think I’m dangerous?” he asked, voice ragged.

“I hope you are,” you whispered. “I want to see what it feels like.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you to the floor like you weighed nothing. The carpet burned soft against your spine. His body caged you in, heavy and grounding, his hands roaming like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Suguru's hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist as he knelt before you. His calloused fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. "Lift your hips for me, Y/n," Suguru commanded, his voice a low, rough rasp. You obeyed, lifting your hips off the carpet as he peeled your panties down and off, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze.

Suguru's hands slid back up your thighs, pushing your skirt up further as he settled between your legs. He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, working his way steadily upward. Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against your sex, teasing you with the promise of his touch. Suguru smirked, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he watched you squirm with anticipation.

"Suguru, please," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer. Suguru chuckled, the sound low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your sex. "I want to savor every moment of this."

Suguru's hands slid under your skirt, gripping your ass as he massaged the soft flesh, pulling you closer to his mouth. He leaned in, his tongue parting your folds in a long, slow lick, savoring your flavor as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue. You cried out, your head falling back against the carpet as pleasure coursed through your body, your nails digging into Suguru's shoulders.

Suguru's fingers pushed deep inside your tight, slick heat, stroking and curling in a way that made your eyes flutter closed, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. He worked you with a skillful, relentless pace, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Just as you felt your climax building, Suguru pulled back, leaving you aching and empty. He stood up, quickly shedding his shirt and tossing it aside, revealing his scarred, muscular torso. His hands slid up your body, pushing your skirt down and over your legs, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him.

Suguru's eyes raked over your naked body, dark and hungry as he drank in every curve and line. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice strained with desire. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined. I could spend hours just looking at you, touching you, worshipping this perfect body."

He settled onto the carpet above you, his muscular frame caging you in, his skin searing against yours. Suguru's hands slid into your hair, tilting your head back as he claimed your mouth in a searing, dominating kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, stroking and teasing, exploring every inch of your mouth as he poured all of his pent-up desire into the embrace.

Suguru's lips trailed down your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he latched onto the sensitive flesh of your breast. He sucked and nipped, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he teased the stiff peak with his teeth. You gasped, arching into his touch as jolts of electricity shot straight to your core. Suguru's hand slid down your stomach, his fingers teasing through the slick folds of your sex, stroking your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

"Suguru," you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy. "I need you. Please, I can't wait anymore." Suguru chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with wicked promise as he looked up at you. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to give you exactly what you need. I'm going to fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll forget your own name. The only thing you'll remember is screaming mine as I ruin this tight little cunt for anyone else."

With that, Suguru settled between your spread thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging teasingly against your entrance. He gripped your hips, pulling you down onto him as he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, slick heat with one powerful thrust.

"Fuck, Y/n," Suguru groaned, his voice strained with pleasure as he started to move, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that made the carpet creak beneath you. He loomed above you, his muscles flexing and rippling with each thrust, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

Suguru's hips rolled in a steady, pounding rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you felt every ridge and vein as he claimed your body with deep, powerful thrusts. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, changing the angle of his assault, driving even deeper into your core. The new position allowed him to hit that special spot inside you with each snap of his hips, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body.

"Suguru," you cried out, your nails raking down his back, leaving red lines in their wake as you clung to him, losing yourself in the relentless pace he set. Suguru groaned, his voice rough and strained as he felt your walls clench and flutter around his pistoning length, gripping him like a velvet vice.

"That's it, baby," Suguru growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Take this cock, take every fucking inch of it. This cunt was made for me, made to milk my dick dry." He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit, sending sparks of electric pleasure shooting through your nerves.

Suguru's hand slid between your writhing bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles. "I can feel you getting close, Y/n," he rasped, his voice a low, wicked murmur.

Your body tensed, your back arching off the carpet as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your sex clamping down on Suguru's length, gripping him like a silken vise.

"SUGURU!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls as ecstasy consumed you, your vision going white behind your eyelids. Suguru groaned, his hips stuttering as your walls massaged his cock, bringing him closer to his own release. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice strained with pleasure.

Suguru's body shuddered above you, his muscles flexing and tensing as he fought to hold back his own climax, wanting to prolong your shared pleasure. He captured your lips in a searing, desperate kiss, pouring all of his hunger and desire into the embrace. His tongue conquered your mouth, stroking and teasing, as if he were trying to devour you whole.

Breaking the kiss, Suguru trailed his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point before he bit down, marking you as his. "I want to fill this tight little cunt with my cum, Y/n," he rasped against your skin, his voice rough and strained. "I want to pump you so full of it that it takes days for it to all leak out. I want everyone to know that this pussy belongs to me now, that I've claimed you, ruined you for anyone else."

With that, Suguru redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming into yours with a force that rocked you both. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your wanton moans filled the room as Suguru chased his release, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your still-fluttering sex.

"Fuck, I'm close," Suguru panted, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against your neck. "Tell me you want it, Y/n. Tell me you want to feel my cum flooding your womb, marking you as mine." His words sent a dark thrill through you, your core clenching around him at the filthy, erotic image he painted.

"I want it, Suguru," you gasped out, your voice ragged and needy. "Please, fill me up. I need to feel your cum inside me, claiming me, ruining me for anyone else." Suguru let out a guttural groan at your words, his hips stuttering as he felt his climax approaching rapidly.

"Fuck, Y/n!" Suguru roared, his voice echoing off the walls as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. His body shuddered and jerked above you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as thick, hot ropes of his seed painted your insides, flooding your womb just as he had promised.

Suguru collapsed against you, his muscular frame pressing you into the carpet as he struggled to catch his breath.

he sat up, breathing heavy, the moonlight cutting across his bare back.

“She wants me dead,” he said finally. “She’s covering her tracks. Everything I remembered… she’ll make it disappear.”

You reached up and traced the lines of his spine with your fingers. “Then we make a move before she does.”

He turned, eyes narrowing.

“You’d help me?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I already have.”

[hwallazia]

ARCH MY BACK LIKE THAT VIOLIN – 최산

⋆ synopsis. chosen to perform a violin solo for a xmas recital, he practices tirelessly at home. the haunting melody fills the air, but it’s the way his fingers move masterfully over the strings that stirs something deep within you, leaving you shifting in your seat. when his sharp gaze locks onto yours, he realizes exactly what kind of performance you’re craving—and he’s more than ready to deliver.

pairing. boyfriend! san & fem! reader.

wc. 2,8k

warnings. soft dom! san, slight switch! san towards the end tho, praise kink, slight teasing, begging, pet names (my love, princess, sannie & more), san refers to reader’s tits as his girls <3, nipple play/sucking, unprotected sex (we don’t sponsor that here!), clit play, finger fucking, masturbation (f! receiving), big cawk! san, bulge kink, dacryphilia, breeding kink, creampie, san makes reader squirt for the first time!! (but not the last tho heheh)

nic’s notes ⋆ yesss she’s here, third ff of the xmas event! i had such a good time writing thisss, i insanely love violinist! san ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

“love, it’s pretty late. c’mon, let’s go to sleep.” you soothed warmly, peeking from the door as you stared at the standing figure of your boyfriend.

“lemme practice this just one more time.”

san stood in front of his black metallic music stand, which held the endless sheet music of a christmas carol. swift, feline eyes wandered through the paper as his index finger shifted over it and stopped once his phalange covered a certain bar whilst his palm grabbed his precious, dark wooden violin. he muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite understand, and you stepped into the room, closing the door behind you. “you’ve said that for the past 45 minutes.”

“i knoww.” he whined as he glanced at you pleadingly. after a heavy sigh, san continued. “it’s just that i can’t get this thing right. i keep on messing up the notes and i don’t know why.” in a smooth motion, he left his violin on his desk, right next to its dark brown, matching case.

with a soft sigh, you walked towards him and stroked his sides before your palm reached to cup his right cheek, san immediately nuzzled into your loving hand as he closed his eyes, melting into you.

“my love, you already know how to play it perfectly. the hard part is over—you’ve practiced so much, and it shows.” your calm, soothing voice almost like a lullaby to him. “it’s just the nerves talking right now. tomorrow, once you’re up there, you’ll shine like you always do.” you got on your tippy toes and pressed a small, yet endearing kiss on his rosy cheek. you held his face in your hands. “trust yourself, okay? i believe in you.”

san stole the cute smile plastered on your face with a big, fat kiss. his thin lips melted into yours perfectly as his tongue made its way through your oral cavity —not even asking for permission before enveloping yours in a weird coil. the insides of your mouth tingled deliciously as you felt your limbs numbing from the exquisite and pleasant sensation.

he broke the kiss, yet a string of saliva hung there like a bridge, connecting your bottom lips. your dazed eyes opened and met your boyfriend’s intoxicating, lovely grin. wasn’t that man such a fool for you.

“i love you, y’ know that? so goddamn much.” he whispered right above your lips. he was being careful, afraid that if he even grazed them, he’d dive right in again.

“yeah.” your voice cracked, but you couldn’t care any less. ‘cause that’s the effect choi san has on you, he’d leave you breathless with wobbly legs in just a couple of seconds.

though that kiss may not have lasted long, it felt as if you had traversed the entire milky way in just five seconds.

san chuckled before pecking your reddened lips again. “i’ll just practice this last one. and i promise.” he stuck out his pinky, ready to intertwine it with yours.

you glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “no need to make promises. i’ll just stay here and make sure that it’s actually the last one.”

“fine then.” he headed to where he had left his instrument to grab it again and position it below his chin; slim fingers held the bow and placed it gracefully over the strings. meanwhile, you had made yourself comfortable on the couch placed at the corner of the room, waiting expectantly for your boyfriend to start playing a song.

san’s brown irises travelled across the sheet music once again, before he exhaled, cloed his eyes and started moving the bow masterfully over the strings. a very joyful and beautiful melody began to pour out of the soundbox, the notes reverberated throughout the entire space and created a perfectly charming ambience.

his body swung side to side like a seesaw as he played those notes to perfection, skillful phalanges wandered through the fingerboard, gracefully pressing the tensed strings and emitting those notes he studied so tirelessly.

he looked absolutely majestic. the way his body connected with the music, the way his mind followed every memorized sound and just went along with what sounded and felt right, the way his brows furrowed as he swayed the bow over the strings.

he was one with his instrument, and you loved him so much for that.

as your irises scanned his frame, you mindlessly focused on his fingers, which moved fast, yet calmly over the fingerboard. suddenly, the melodic sound of his violin was overshadowed by the voices in your head, who only screamed how badly you wanted his fingers to hold you, to touch you. by then, the christmas carol would only echo in your eardrums.

you were so drowned in that man’s fingers that you didn’t notice when his cat-like eyes opened and gyrated his rocking body to meet your sitting figure. your thighs automatically pressed against each other, in search of some relief, but it only sent stronger and more consistent sparks into your excited clit. your thoughtless self shifted in your seat, and that’s when san knew.

you were getting off on that.

swift, devilish irises accompanied the sinful smirk that struck his face. he lowered his eyelids once again and purposely skipped a whole pentagram.

he had to help his pretty girl out.

and yet, the man finished the song quickly and perfectly. his eyes fluttered open and glanced at your flustered self, dark irises peered into your warmed cheekbones and dilated pupils.

the melodic echoes suddenly vanished and you blinked, san’s dangerous gaze already burying loving holes into your surprised and anxious expression.

a low hum vibrated through san’s chest. “i’ll give that one to ya. you were right, i actually could do it.” he said before putting his instrument back in its case.

you recomposed quickly, clearing your throat before standing up and wrapping your arms around his neck, closing the space between you and melting into a fondling hug. “of course i was. i’m never wrong when it comes to you.”

his expression softened even more as he kissed the tip of your nose. “cheesy.”

“learned from the best.” your eyes disappeared into two adorable crescent moons as your smile grew wider; cheeks puffing. the sight almost made san’s nose bleed.

he hummed in agreement, and in a matter of a few seconds, something about his stare changed, something that didn’t go unseen by you. before you could scramble through all the possible answers, he bent his knees and reached for the back of your thighs to lift you up. your body jumped from the surprise and your hands quickly clung onto his neck and back when he started walking, carrying you in his arms as if you were a baby.

which was partially correct, ‘cause you were his baby.

“where’re we going?”

“to our bedroom, baby. you said we needed to rest, right?” he replied in a honeyed, yet low tone—the one he knows drives you up a wall. “‘nd i gotta thank my princess for helping me out.” he paused briefly. “it’s only fair i help you back. right, baby?”

thanks to his long steps, you entered your shared bedroom in no time. san cautiously laid your body flat over the mattress, completely sprawled out in front of him.

“h—help me? what d’ya mean?” your blushed face scanned his, and you finally found the arousal lit inside his feline eyes.

“y’ think i didn’t notice you clenching your thighs together when i was playing the violin just now?” he purred into your ear as those fingers you oh so much desired glided over your upper thighs, painfully making their way down in slow motion

“i— i mean, i was feeling cold.” you blurted out. “it’s too damn cold in your studio, you’re mixing things up!”

your whining only made san’s smirk grow bigger. “oh sweetheart, we both know it wasn’t ‘cause of the cold.”

he patted your thigh softly, indicating you to lift your hips a tad. “lemme get you outta these.” you obeyed and he withdrew your black panties smoothly. you reminded yourself to enjoy your last minutes with your short satin nightgown because you knew that it was going to be the next fabric to fly through the air.

“what’re you getting all shy for, hm?” he asked endearingly as he adjusted his position so he could be perfectly between your legs, a strange kind of mercy pouring out from every syllable he mouthed.

“‘s just embarrassing that i’m horny from only you moving your fingers. ‘s ridiculous, i feel like a teenager.” you spouted as the red on your face intensified. quick fingers covered the warmed skin of your face, but even quicker fingers tore them away.

“ohhh baby.” he cooed at you. “and why’s that embarrassing?” he muttered as he swiped his fingers up and down your dampened folds. a delicious spark ignited along your back, making it arch slightly, as goosebumps began to rise at the ghostly touch of his fingertips. “after all,” his fingers stopped wandering around. “you’re getting them wherever you want.”

he whispered lowly and pushed two fingers inside, unhurriedly twisting and turning them around. his digits were dug into a quite familiar place, and san already knew where to guide them. just as if he had studied your pussy to perfection.

meanwhile, you felt full, panting steamy puffs. with your head turning to the side, you mewled endlessly. “ughh sannieee, ‘s too slow.” you complained, your voice barely above a whisper, too shy to meet his gaze, your eyes darting nervously elsewhere.

he tsked and spanked the flesh of your outer thigh softly. “you know better than to ask for things that way, babe.” he spoke in a gravelly manner. “c’mon. be a good girl and look at me.”

with a big gulp, your eyes found the strength to meet his devilish stare. a proud smirk was drawn across his face. “that’s it. now, what do you need, love?”

“f—faster.. please, sannie.” you whimpered softly, praying he’d show some mercy and not tease you throughout the entire night.

because as much as you were embarrassed to admit it, it was true. you needed him. and right fucking now.

“that’s my girl.”

and who is he to deny you your wish. he immediately rammed his slim fingers into your slit, angling them differently every time as he tried to hit all the right places, and that special, gummy spot was soon found and stroked deliciously. a loud cry escaped your lips when he pressed his fingertips against your g-spot. san grunted as your moans sent sparks right to his hardened, restrained cock. he exhaled harshly as he grabbed the corner of your dress. “get this off, wanna see my girls.”

both of you messily got rid of that fabric san would describe as annoying. now, with nothing else that could stop him, he latched his lips onto your perked nipple, sloppily swirling his tongue all around the bud whilst his free hand attended the other one.

he wasn’t going to neglect any part of you.

meanwhile, you were an unleashed whining and writhing mess underneath him. your chest heaved with every breathless sound you emitted. you felt like he was eating you alive, any of his actions saturating every inch of your being, causing your skin to tingle helplessly.

if that was how heaven felt like, you’d beg god to never let you leave that moment.

‘cause fuck. you felt him everywhere. the tip of his tongue and finger gliding over your nipples, his digits pounding your messy, wet pussy, drenched with that creamy white essence. you could sense it all at the same time, and it was about to tip you over the edge.

he pulled away from your swollen nipple for a moment. “i feel you tightening around my fingers. you ‘bout to cum, princess?” he whispered in a velvety tone, one that made your eyes roll all the way back to your skull. and he didn’t let that go unnoticed. “oh you’re so pretty when you’re about to cum, rolling your eyes back. am i filling you up that good, babe?” a loud and broken whimper was all he got as a response, and at that, he chuckled deeply. “guess i am, huh?” he pressed a little kiss on your cheek, which was covered in a light layer of sweat. though san couldn’t care less. “what a pretty girl you are, coming all undone for me. how did i get this lucky, hm?”

something unknown stirred inside you—something that could be compared with the sensation of wanting to pee. an alert rang inside you, and your shaky hands tried to tear san’s hands off your body. “s—sannie. sannie, love. i need to- ngh! please, wait—ahh fuck!” you desperately cried out loud, dying of embarrassment already.

“let me make you cum first, sweetheart. you’re so close already.” he cooed at you before attaching his thumb toyour clit and start rubbing it in circling motions. with a broken scream, you felt liquid gushing out of you in a strange way, like a spray.

you exhaled breathlessly, soundless pants pouring out your mouth. your dazed eyes couldn’t focus appropriately, they just wandered around the room dizzily. after a moment, you could reorganize your thoughts and, at least, muttered an understandable sentence. “wh.. what happened.”

signs of confusion described your expression and san only stood there, wordlessly admiring your state. he blinked twice before speaking again. “you fucking squirted.”

“what? i squirted?”

“yeah you did, attagirl.” he trapped you between his strong, muscly arms, his frame completely covering yours. dark, sinning eyes analyzed every bit of your flushed, blissed-out expression quietly. “now on my cock.”

“i don’t even how i did that, san!” you squealed as your hands reached up to cover your shining face.

“me neither. i guess we’ll just figure it out together.” he hummed lowly. “give me six rounds.”

your eyes shot open as you separated your fingers, your eyes now visible from the crack of them. “six?!”

trembling knees and arms tried their best to support you, but san pounding you from behind wasn’t helping. your jaw hung open as loud cries and broken whimpers escaped your swollen lips helplessly, your eyes could no longer focus, and you had given up on trying to adjust your vision. san grabbed a fistful of your hair and arched your back into a perfect obtuse angle. “that’s fucking it.”

his name left your mouth like an endless mantra. every thought of yours screamed san and how good he was fucking you. “sannie” you blurted out his favorite nickname. “y’r so fucking deeeep.” tears started streaming down your face, and that drove san crazy.

“you crying? ohhh” he cooed mockingly. “y’r so— ugh fucking gorgeous when you c-cry, look at that.”

he let go of your hair and your head fell down immediately. his now free hand reached down your belly whilst he kept on hammering his big cock into your tight, gushing pussy. he pressed his palm flat against it and you lost it. an almost pornographic moan was heard from you. “can you feel me, love? feel me filling your tight little pussy all the way up?” he groaned as he sensed his cock emptying your belly and fulfilling to perfection, not leaving blank spaces. “attagirl. taking all my cock just like that like my good girl.” a loud spank reverberated through the steamy air.

you clenched around him helplessly as your quivering fingers struggled to grasp the messy white sheets. “c—cum, sannie, cum for me, please.”

you were begging for him to come? that immediately pushed san off the abyss. “y’ wan’ me to cum? wan’ me to breed you? ‘s that what it is, baby?”

you couldn’t formulate any answer, only vague and useless mewls poured out of you. so san kept on talking. “answer me, love.” he smashed his hips against the flesh of your wet ass. “i’ll only cum if you s—say so.” he exhaled a whine. he whined. “you’ll let me, r-right?”

oh how have the tables turned.

“yeah, my sannie. fill me up.” you managed to mutter.

“thank you—thankyouthankyouthankyou.” with just a few more thrusts, he emptied himself inside your warm, gummy walls with a loud grunt, coating your cunt in a pretty shade of white. when he pulled out to paint your ass with his shooting ropes of cum, a turbulent cascade sprayed out your pussy, soaking him up.

a proud, slightly tired smile appeared across his face. “i made you squirt again.” he muttered before lying down. he manhandled you like a doll so you could be laying on his chest.

you sighed breathlessly. “you sound like a toddler beating his brother in mario kart.”

he giggled. “it’s so mesmerizing though, being the only one who can make ya squirt like that.”

you lifted your head to look at him with confusion written all over your face. “what do you mean ‘like that’?”

“babe that thing’s a cascade. like it just sprays everything everywh—“ your hands quickly reached up his mouth and sealed it.

“okay babe, we get it. save the detail.” you deadpanned.

| masterlist

[savagewilderness]

“I saw Claudia in an impossible afternoon light she could never survive in. Claudia as Madeleine perceived her. Resplendent. Rendered even more beautiful by her beholder. And I knew then, with all certainty, she would be a better companion to Claudia than I ever had.”

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Talk/threat of violence but nothing too explicit. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,989

A/N: Was working on this on and off since the last chapter and inbetween requests and the Valentines Event. Been feeling rough between a mix of things the last couple of days and decided to get this finished to cheer myself up. As always thank you everyone for your support with everything I post, not just this fic. I appreciate it so much and I hope you enjoy everything this chapter brings.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen(here) | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen(coming soon)

——————

“So all this time you could have been playing and you chose not to?” You paused in your soft playing to look over at Doflamingo as he sat at his desk, sorting through the last of the day’s paperwork he needed to attend to. “There’s a literal room dedicated to and filled with instruments. You could have been playing from the first day you woke up.”

“I could have, yes.” You agreed carefully, glancing at the instrument you’d lowered onto you lap when he spoke. “But I didn’t.” Vergo’s short visit was yesterday but since then you’d kept the violin close by when he revealed it was waiting in your quarters. It hadn’t surprised you that morning when you’d stepped out of your room to begin your lazy paced walk to Doflamingo’s office that you were hoisted over the Warlord’s shoulder. That was the norm now, what did surprise you though was that when you saw his free hand twitch and saw you violin case appear in his hand.

You made no comment about it, you didn’t need to. By bringing it with him, it was clear Doflamingo wanted to hear you play and after not getting to for so long you weren’t going to deny yourself from doing something you loved. So while he worked, you played whatever you felt like while making sure to keep the volume respectable enough. 

“Why didn’t you?” Doflamingo pressed, unsatisfied with your answer. He watched you adjust the violin against your shoulder once more to start playing again and he clicked his tongue, truly only a little disgruntled at your continued independence and complete lack of regard for fulfilling his curiosities or wishes. Your attitude didn’t fill him with the original insult and anger as it had done. He’d grown accustomed to it now that in the time you were sick and spent more of your time sleeping that he found himself missing your spirited and combative nature.

Now it was more of a game, and this was your move. Not giving up, Doflamingo waited until you started playing again before acting. As the music filled the room once more he sat back in his seat and curled his fingers. The feather-tipped pen on his desk sprang into the air and twirled silently, swaying to the music you were creating. Doflamingo’s grin grew as the feather drew closer to you, while you were blissfully unaware. 

Then with another twitch of his finger, the soft edge of the pale pink feather skimmed suddenly against your cheek. Instantly you jumped, your hand jerking and causing a sharp shriek of the bow against the strings to ring out, drowning out the sound of Doflamingo’s laughter. Sharply you snapped your head over your shoulder. You glared at the feather as it wiggled tauntingly in front of you but not touching. Your gaze flickered behind the pen to glower at Doflamingo. “Was that necessary?”

“It’s your own fault.” Doflamingo grinned with an unapologetic shrug, arching his fingers again to  make the feather close the distance with you again and this time it rapidly moved against your neck. With a small huff and reflexive laugh you swatted at the irritating little object. Knowing you wouldn’t be playing anymore, you set the violin aside and shuffled further down the sofa to try and get away from it only to see it lazily pursue you. “Answer my question.”

“Do the people of Dressrosa know they’re being ruled by a complete child?” You asked playfully, while managing to knock the pen of its course momentarily with your violin bow. “I did answer your question. It’s not my fault it wasn’t interesting enough for you, your Lordship.”

“King, not Lord.” Doflamingo corrected, rising from his seat and approaching slowly. When you shifted away from the still assaulting feather once more your back hit against the armrest of the sofa, stopping any further movement. With an effortless and silent jump, Doflamingo cleared the back of the sofa and perched himself on the cushions, plucking the feather out of the air and poising it over your face, tickling your nose. “C’mon your reluctance tells me there’s an actual answer you’re not saying.”

“Your persistence tells me that you’re so bored you’re just looking for any sort of distraction. Even a stupid question is enough.” You responded, lifting a finger to push the pen out of your face. You took in his face as he continued to stare you down, waiting. Finally you sighed. “I didn’t look to play in the beginning because I didn’t own them. They weren’t mine to play.”

“You still sick because you’re not making sense?”

“I like what’s mine, I’ve had this violin for years. I didn’t want to just play any random one I came across.” You said with a small shrug. “It might not entirely make sense but that’s the answer.”

“But they were there to be used. Whatever your reasons, you still should have just taken whichever one you wanted.” Doflamingo told you with his usual relaxed grin. “You see something you want, you take. That’s the only right way to live in this world.”

“Maybe for a King who doesn’t have to lift a finger-at least not in the traditional sense- to get anything he wants.” You explained, reaching up to flick your finger against the tuft of pale pink of the feather he had been using to pester you. “Sometimes it’s more rewarding to get something through earning it or it being given willingly.”

“Such a naive thought.” Doflamingo chuckled, It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this kind of thought or viewpoint and wasn’t surprised to hear it voiced from you. Especially given how your Marine file indicated nothing of a wealthy or noble upbringing. As rational as you were, you still most likely were raised in a  quaint little island somewhere, comfortable enough but still from a working family that foolishly believed in the power and good that a hard day’s work would bring. In a way it was endearing. “Such a shame you haven’t been brought around to my way of thinking yet.”

“Now who’s being naive?” You asked with a light smirk. “Maybe you should come around to my thinking for a change? Might do you some good to entertain another viewpoint for a change.”

———

“You’re serious?” You asked the doctor with a small, hopeful smile. You’d paused your breakfast with Doflamingo when the doctor knocked on the door. “No more infection? None at all?”

“Completely cleared.” The doctor reconfirmed with their own pleased smile. You let out a sigh of relief. You were only recently getting back into eating proper meals and while your energy levels weren’t what they had been before you’d gotten sick you had felt an improvement; albeit a small one. “It’s still our recommendation that you take things easy for another week or so. Nothing strenuous just yet…” You arched an eyebrow when the doctor’s gaze briefly flickered to your bed. Quickly the doctor cleared their throat and bowed low, mostly in an attempt to hide the blush on his face. “W-well if there’s nothing else needed of me. I’ll be going.“

“Sure.” You said with an amused smiled. “Oh and thank the other doctors for me. It can’t have been easy tending to me for so long.”

“Oh not at all!” The doctor dismissed you with a smile, not used to gratitude. “You were a model patient.”

“I know I was.” You grinned before jerking your head to the man sitting opposite you. “I was talking about him. Sorry he was such a murderous pain in the ass for you all.”

“Don’t apologise on my behalf.” Doflamingo piped up, finally joining the conversation. His grin stretched when you turned to look at him incredulously.

“Okay, apologise yourself.” You challenged, facing him fully. “Own up to your shameful behaviour. Let the self-improvement begin.”

“Not going to happen.” Doflamingo laughed, only to tilt his head when you suddenly kicked his leg, not that it was possible for you to hurt him. It was more of a surprise. 

“Well at least thank him for saving me.” You instructed firmly, reaching for your mug to take a sip. As you peered at Doflamingo from over the rim of the cup you added in an all too sweet tone. “Surely you’re brave enough to stomach offering that small amount of praise.” 

Doflamingo’s jaw twitched slightly at your challenge. He wouldn’t deny the fact that your full all-clear had pleased him and you were becoming more and more like your usual self prior to being sick. Still the fact you were demanding him to be nice to someone who was doing the very thing he ordered him and his colleagues to do. Where was his thanks? Under your unwavering stare and his now restless need to get the still hovering doctor out of your room so he could continue with his meal and day in relative peace. “Yes, yes fine. You all did a satisfactory job, pass on my acknowledgement to the others and get back to work.”

“You’re far, far too kind my King! Thank you.” The doctor praised before quickly making the final steps to the door and leaving hurriedly. When the door clicked closed you let out a short scoff. 

“So heartfelt Doffy, I think you made his whole year with your sincere gratitude.”

“He and his colleagues are all alive.” Doflamingo laughed. “That’s the clearest sign of my sincere gratitude to them and they’re thankful for that every day.”

“Such a calm and loving working environment you’ve created.” You said with a gentle sarcasm as you finished your drink and stood from your seat. “They’re truly blessed to have you ruling them. Speaking of rule, what’s your plan for today?”

“Nothing urgent. Diamanté wants to discuss the next big Coliseum tournament that I’ll have to make an appearance for the opening and closing ceremonies.” Doflamingo stood and walked with you towards your door. “Also have to oversee some weapons shipments at the docks. Why, wishing to join me?”

“Listen to Diamanté ramble on and on for god knows how long?” You asked turning to look at him with a scowl as your fingers curled around the handle but not opening the just yet. “Tempting but I’ll pass.”

“And the docks?” Doflamingo grinned, he’d already anticipated your response to being in the same room as his elite officer. The only one you disliked being around more was Trebol. 

“Maybe, I mean it’ll depend on how long Diamanté keeps y-” 

Abruptly the door opened from the other side and you turned. The edge of the thick door rammed against your cheek. You let out a shocked gasp at the impact but quickly met the panic-stricken face of the servant as they realised what had happened. Behind you you felt the temperature drop as the icy, murderous rage of Doflamingo. Roughly you shoved the servant out of the partly opened doorframe and back into the corridor, ordering them to go before you spun to slam the door closed. You used your body to block the handles and stared hard at Doflamingo as his bloodlust rolled off his shoulders in waves. It had all happened in a couple of seconds, it had been an accident, simply bad timing but all you could think about now was stopping the carnage. He was all but towering over you now, his hand moving to reach behind your back to grab the handle so he could hunt any and all servants in his path until he got to the right one. “Move.”

Defiant as always you pushed his arm away and adjusted your back against the sturdy double doors behind you. Had you not been his soulmate you wouldn’t have even been able to stand in his way or be able to easily move his hand. Then again, this whole thing wouldn’t have been happening if you weren’t his soulmate. He would have killed you long ago at the island he came across you at. Roughly Doflamingo grabbed your upper arm to pull you away and move to open the door but again you negated his strength by throwing your weight back to slam the door closed once more and grip his wrist of the hand on your arm. “Just take a breath and calm down.”

“I’m going to tear them to pieces.” Doflamingo growled down at you, his teeth bared and free hand ready to reach for the door. “Now. Move.”

“You’re overreacting!” You snapped, refusing to budge and you tightened your grip on his wrist when you saw the vein on his head throb harder. “I’m fine!” Even at your insistence he wasn’t listening, with his anger was at an all-time high. When he made another determined move to get you out of his way so he could slaughter mindlessly you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down. Before he could make his move, you made yours and kissed him. You’d originally done so because it was the only thing left you could think to distract him, to give the servant at risk enough time to get out of the vicinity. 

The second your lips connected with his though, it pulled you back to the night you’d both kissed for the first time. The same all consuming feeling came over you both again, lips moving together in a progressively powerful and fiery kiss. Pulling your hand away from his wrist you threaded your fingers into the hair at the back of his head at the same time his hands gripped your hips. Instead of trying to move you away from the door, he stepped forward pressing you against it. Feeling his body against yours you could feel the agitated tension coiled in his muscles slowly begin to lessen as his aggression turned to hunger. You felt it too, same as last time the pull and craving for Doflamingo was instantaneous, for only a second you considered that if anything the feeling was stronger. But still there was that equal hesitance to give in any further into the temptation clawing closer and closer to the surface of both yours and Doflamingo’s restraint. You pulled back slowly from the dizzying kiss and took a breath. 

“Calmed down yet?” You asked, voice soft and slightly dazed. Your fingers in his hair dropped to the back of his neck, moving them slightly to relax the knot of tension still there. Doflamingo felt his eyes begin to close at the action. Just as he’d seen your fingers move masterfully when you played the violin they moved against his tight knot, coaxing it to unwind.

“Stop trying to control me. I’m the King of this place remember?” He forced out with a deep breath, forcing his eyes to open and look properly at your face. Silently he searched for where you’d been hit. With the sound of the impact there had to be a mark…somewhere. “Where hurts?”

“Nowhere. I told you I’m fine.” You explained softly and it was the truth. The only reason you’d gasped was because you were more startled than anything but the door hitting your face hadn’t hurt. There wasn’t even so much as a stinging or dull ache. You said nothing when Doflamingo’s hand lifted from your hip to curl under your jaw and angle your face. He leant in closer and inspected you closely. It was just as you’d said, no mark. No nothing. His eyes flickered to your lips and this close once more your calm breath fanned lightly over his face, pulling him towards you once more. Just before he could make a decision on whether to kiss you again or pull back he heard Diamanté’s voice calling for him through the corridors. “You should go before he disturbs the whole Palace.”

Doflamingo straightened and dropped his hands from you at the same time you did the same and finally stepped to the side to let him go. 

“You know there’s nothing to stop me finding that servant. Right?”

“I know.” You nodded gently, you weren’t an idiot. You knew it was a possibility every day that Doflamingo could kill anyone he wished-not including yourself-and no force in the world could still his hand completely. “At least now if you do, you’ll do it with a clear head and hopefully won’t kill others at random on the way.” From outside you heard Diamanté call again and you rolled your eyes, gesturing to the unblocked door. “Of you go. Kingly duties await.”

———

Doflamingo worked through the day, letting Diamanté talk for a little longer than he normally entertained. He even went with the elite officer to the Coliseum to watch a couple of the matches, needing something to distract him from the still persistent feeling of your lips against his. Even hours later it felt like you were still there, consuming his thoughts of the tempting softness and warmth. When not even a string of bloody brawls was enough to completely take his mind off of things he moved on to the docks, deciding to get the work done. 

Once again he spent a little longer than normal overseeing the weapons being packaged and loaded onto their vessels and sent off to their destinations. It brought him a small amount of enjoyment to see his underlings become paranoid messes, trying to work out why he was observing them so closely and trying to impress him with their diligent hard work. For some though, their attempts at impressing him only brought about clumsy fumbles from their nervousness. Just enough to amuse him, not enough to infuriate him or get them punished.

Finally when the sun began to hang low, casting Dressrosa’s sky into a soft amber he journeyed back to the Palace. As he walked through the corridors he heard the sound of footsteps approach. Looking ahead he watched as a servant turned the corner and into his line of sight. When the servant saw him, their eyes widened and they froze. This wasn’t the usual everyday apprehension that the servants held around him. This was terror. At first he wondered what would be the reason but then it came to him. This was the servant that had caused the incident this morning. Slowly his grin stretched into one of cruel calculation. 

The servant was a trembling wreck, sweat already breaking out along their hairline as they stood rooted completely in place without him even needing to force them to stay. With lazy strides, Doflamingo drew closer to their whimpering form as they awaited their punishment that he silently contemplated handing out as he closed the distance. Quickly he lashed his hand out and then settled it on their shoulder, a deep rumbling chuckle building in his chest as they flinched and blinked in shock when no attack came. Doflamingo leaned in towards the shaking servant. “Since there was no harm done, it seems only fair I let you off with a warning.” He explained smoothly, his words causing only more confusion and panic to shape their expression. “Be warned this is only a one time thing. You step out of line again-in any way I will take great enjoyment in slowly torturing you until you’ll end up thanking me when I eventually kill you. Understand?”

Rapidly the servant nodded, able to have that much self-preservation to pull together enough strength and focus to respond to their King. Doflamingo grinned and squeezed the servant’s shoulder, just enough to make him let out a pained yelp but not enough to cause permanent damage. Lifted his hand and allowed the servant the freedom to finally scurry off but when he was only a couple steps away he tensed his fingers, halting them from going any further. Slowly Doflamingo approached the man again. “You’re probably smart enough to have come to this realisation already but just incase it needs saying…” he began, speaking low and dangerous. Commanding the servant’s complete but frightened attention. “You are never to go near them again. Accident or not your actions need some sort of consequences. Wherever they go, see to it you are always in the opposite direction. Otherwise we’ll count that as the ‘stepping out of line’ thing we talked about.” 

Suddenly Doflamingo rose and continued on his way, deciding to forgo the family dinner in the dining room. Instead he stopped another servant and told them he’d be eating in his own quarters. Stepping inside he shut the door and settled down in his sofa, kicking his legs up onto the cushions and stretching out. With a small groan he tilted his head back and rubbed his temples while letting his eyes close. At the sound of the door opening without being knocked first he let out a scoff. There was only one person brave enough. You. Keeping his eyes shut he listened to you enter and close the door. “Not like you to come to my room.”

“You always barge into my room.” You spoke simply coming to a stop at the back of the sofa. Lazily you folded your arms and looked down at him. “Thought I’d return the favour.”

“That all?”

“Well I was curious about the lack of screams of pain.” You admitted with a small smile that he returned even though he couldn’t see your expression. “Came to investigate. So what did you do with him?”

“Nothing. He’s still alive.” Doflamingo informed you before letting out a small, dark laugh. “Until he messes up again anyway.”

“Wasn’t expecting that. So what made you practice restraint this time?” As you asked you stepped around the sofa and perched on the edge of the cushions, taking the small amount of space available near Doflamingo’s side. Wordlessly Doflamingo shifted slightly, unconsciously making a more comfortable space for you to sit. In doing so his hand settled on your leg but you made no comment about it, instead you were more interested in the answer for Doflamingo’s rare moment of leniency for the servant.

“Didn’t feel like it, too tired.” 

“Liar.” You accused with a smirk. Leaning down you pressed a soft kiss against his lips. This one wasn’t as intense or passionate as the one you’d shared that morning but it still served its purpose in conveying the gratitude you had for Doflamingo’s unspoken reason that he had spared the servant’s life because of you. Pulling back you felt Doflamingo’s stare finally settle on your face when his eyes opened.

“What was that for?”

“Consider it a reward entertaining my viewpoint instead of just doing it your way.” You explained with a playful smile tugging at your lips. From the door to Doflamingo’s quarters a small knock sounded and the servant from the other side called, inquiring if he was ready for his dinner. “I’ll leave you be to eat in peace.”

When you moved to stand you were stopped by Doflamingo’s hand twitching on your leg. Wordlessly you gave Doflamingo a questioning stare. “You came all this way to barge into my room. You may as well make the most of it and stay for dinner.”

Normally your only shared meals together were the breakfasts in your room. But after everything that happened today shifting things yet again, you were losing track of what ‘normal’ meant between you both anymore. There wasn’t much point in refusing his offer tonight after two kisses-both of them being something you initiated- so you nodded and gave him a mostly playful look. “Just dinner, though.”   

“Of course but just remind yourself of that.” Doflamingo chuckled, shifting to sit up. Before he got off the sofa and answered the door for the patiently waiting servant he couldn’t help but whisper in your ear. “Those kisses were all your doing. Not that I minded though.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover , @yagirlsmuchelle , @engenemoazen

[inkspiredwriting]

Wedding Woes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Planning a wedding should be a joyous occasion, but for Five Hargreeves and his fiancée Y/N, it quickly turned into a battlefield of hilarious disagreements. From the moment they decided to tie the knot, every decision seemed to spark a new debate.

“Chocolate!” Five declared, arms crossed, as they sat in the office of Sweet Sensations, the premier bakery in town.

“Red velvet!” Y/N countered, her eyes sparkling with determination.

The baker, caught between the two, held up a tentative hand. “We could do a combination cake?”

Five and Y/N turned to her, then back to each other, shaking their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”

“What’s wrong with red velvet?” Y/N argued, her brow furrowing. “It’s elegant and delicious.”

Five scoffed. “Chocolate is a classic. And I don’t trust a cake that’s named after a fabric.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “What about the design?”

“Simple and clean,” Five said, envisioning a minimalistic cake.

Y/N, however, had other ideas. “I was thinking something with a little more... flair. Maybe some flowers, intricate designs—”

Before Five could retort, Klaus burst into the bakery, trailed by Diego and Luther. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s the cake tasting going?”

Five sighed. “We’re just... debating the finer points.”

Klaus waggled his eyebrows. “Why not go with a giant rainbow cake? It’s festive!”

Diego chuckled. “I vote for something with bacon on it.”

Luther just looked confused. “Do people put bacon on cakes?”

The baker looked like she might faint.

In the end, they settled on a layered cake with alternating tiers of chocolate and red velvet, topped with simple but elegant decorations. It wasn’t exactly what either had envisioned, but it was a compromise—a word that Five was rapidly learning to accept.

Next on the list was the music. Five preferred a live jazz band, while Y/N was leaning toward a playlist of their favorite songs.

“Jazz sets the mood,” Five insisted, adjusting his tie as they met with a potential band leader in their living room.

“Yeah, the mood for a 1920s speakeasy,” Y/N shot back. “We need something more modern, something we can really dance to.”

The band leader, an older gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache, interjected. “We can do a mix, if you’d like?”

Before either could respond, Viktor wandered in, carrying his violin. “Need a musician? I can play Anything you want.”

Five perked up. “Can you do jazz?”

Viktor nodded. “Of course. But I also know some contemporary pieces.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “What about ‘You Are the Best Thing’ by Ray LaMontagne?”

Viktor smiled. “I can do that.”

Five threw up his hands. “Fine, let’s have Viktor play. Just... not too much Ray LaMontagne.”

Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I could DJ! Imagine the fun we’d have with a mix of 80s pop and punk rock!”

Five stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

When it came to decorations, Five wanted sleek and modern, while Y/N envisioned a romantic, rustic theme.

“We need string lights and mason jars,” Y/N said, flipping through a wedding magazine.

Five groaned. “We’re not having a Pinterest wedding. How about something more sophisticated? Like geometric centerpieces.”

“Geometric?” Y/N laughed. “What are we, hosting a math conference?”

Lila, who had shown up uninvited but was enjoying the chaos, added her two cents. “I think you should go with a theme park idea. Imagine—carnival games, cotton candy, maybe even a Ferris wheel!”

Y/N laughed. “Actually, that sounds kind of fun.”

Five buried his face in his hands. “We’re not turning our wedding into a circus.”

In the end, they settled on a rustic-chic blend with some modern touches—fairy lights and mason jars for Y/N, and sleek tableware and geometric designs for Five. It was a mix that surprisingly worked, combining the best of both their visions.

Even the wedding invitations were a source of contention. Five wanted them to be minimalist and elegant, while Y/N wanted something more whimsical and colorful.

“This font is too boring,” Y/N complained, staring at the sample invite. “It doesn’t scream ‘fun.’”

Five rubbed his temples. “We’re not throwing a rave, Y/N. We’re getting married. It should be timeless.”

Klaus, had another idea. “Why not go with a pop-up invitation? Like those 3D books! People would love that.”

Five shot him a look. “We’re not making pop-up books, Klaus.”

Despite the disagreements, the wedding day arrived, and everything was miraculously coming together. Five and Y/N stood at the altar, their family and friends gathered around them. The setting was a perfect blend of their styles—rustic yet sophisticated, whimsical yet elegant.

As they exchanged vows, Five couldn’t help but smile at Y/N. Despite their differences, their love for each other had only grown stronger through the process. It was clear that, no matter the debates, they were perfect for each other.

When they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, and Klaus, predictably, started a slow clap that turned into an impromptu chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Five’s siblings had their mishaps—Klaus accidentally spilled champagne on Viktor’s suit, Lila got into a friendly wrestling match with Allison over the bouquet, and Luther accidentally triggered a sound system malfunction that blasted “Never Gonna Give You Up” at full volume during the toasts.

At the end of the night, as they danced under the twinkling lights, Five pulled Y/N close and whispered, “You know, despite all the chaos, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Not even the part where we almost had a bacon cake?”

Five chuckled. “Not even that. Well... maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Five Hargreeves. Even if you have terrible taste in cakes.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “And I love you, Y/N Hargreeves. Even if you have questionable taste in everything else.”

As they swayed to the music, surrounded by their chaotic but loving family, Five realized that the debates, the compromises, and the occasional disaster were all part of what made their love story uniquely theirs.

And for Five and Y/N, that was all they ever wanted.

[bradleysass]

star - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 670

“Alright, genius,” James said, flexing his fingers over the piano keys. “You guess the song, and if you get it wrong, practice gets extended by five minutes.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him. “You are insufferable.”

“You love me,” James said, grinning. “Ready?”

Regulus adjusted his violin under his chin and nodded. James cracked his knuckles—purely for dramatic effect, because Regulus had spent the last six months drilling proper pianist hand care into his head—and then began to play.

At first, the melody was familiar, and Regulus immediately opened his mouth to guess. But then James did something—a subtle shift in tempo, a dissonant note slipped in where it had no business being—and suddenly, the song was not what Regulus thought it was.

He frowned. James kept playing, fingers dancing across the keys with deceptive innocence.

Regulus had heard James play hundreds of times, knew the way he could manipulate a song to fit whatever ridiculous game he was playing. Still, he refused to be beaten.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “That’s—” He hesitated. “No, wait—”

James snickered.

Regulus scowled. “Mozart?”

James pressed down on the keys with a flourish. “Wrong. Five more minutes added.”

Regulus groaned, adjusting his grip on his bow. “You are a menace.”

“And you, my dear, are bad at guessing.”

James started playing again, this time something that sounded vaguely like Clair de Lune but also maybe Chopsticks, and Regulus glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I swear on your entire record collection, if you don’t play properly—”

James launched into a suspiciously classical-sounding rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, jazzed up just enough to be unrecognizable. Regulus dragged a hand down his face.

“James.”

“Yes, love?”

“I am going to kill you.”

James beamed. “You have to catch me first. But before that—five more minutes!”

Regulus let his forehead fall against the side of his violin in defeat. He was never getting out of here.

James, emboldened by Regulus’ clear suffering, leaned into his dramatics even more. He switched up the melody again, fingers gliding over the keys in a way that made the song sound almost baroque, almost cinematic. It was enough to make Regulus second-guess every single piece of music he had ever studied.

“I hate you,” Regulus muttered, shifting his grip on his bow as James grinned wider.

“That’s not a guess.”

Regulus inhaled sharply, determined to get this right. He focused, tuning out James’ smirk and the way his fingers wove expertly through each note. He knew this—he knew he knew this—but James was deliberately adding unnecessary flourishes to throw him off.

James could hardly contain his laughter when Regulus finally took a breath and said, “Bach?”

“Wrong!” James cackled. “Five more minutes!”

Regulus groaned again, letting his head fall back in frustration. “This is absurd.”

“This is fun,” James corrected, fingers still flying across the keys. “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you’re not a little bit entertained.”

“I am not.”

“Liar,” James singsonged.

Regulus scowled. “This is a waste of time. We were supposed to actually practice.”

“We are practicing. I’m playing. You’re listening. That counts.”

Regulus glared at him, jaw tightening. “Fine. But if we’re extending practice, you’re going to suffer through it, too.”

James barely had time to react before Regulus brought his violin up and started playing a series of deliberately screechy, off-key notes that made James wince dramatically.

“Oh my God, Reg, what is that?”

Regulus didn’t answer, simply continued drawing his bow across the strings in an aggressive, discordant manner. James flinched at every note.

“Regulus, please,” James begged, pressing his hands over his ears. “I take it back! I repent!”

Regulus finally stopped, lowering his violin with a victorious smirk. “Good. Now, can we actually practice?”

James, still recovering from the auditory assault, sighed. “Fine, fine. But only if you admit that I’m a musical genius.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

James grinned. “Close enough.”

[thecuriousbeauty]

Calm after the Storm- Harry Styles x reader blurb (Fluff!)

Word count: 1.7K

Synopsis: When a late night thunderstorm brings up memories of a past accident, Y/N finds herself spiraling, until Harry races home to be her calm in the chaos.

________________________________________

You’d thought maybe, just maybe, you’d grown out of it.

The fear.

You are older now. Stronger. You could parallel park and file taxes and take your vitamins regularly. But then the storm rolled in, as sudden and uninvited as always, and the fear was back before the first rumble even fully settled into the sky.

The memories hit harder than the thunder.

You remembered the way the car had spun. The rain is like a waterfall on the windshield. The truck’s headlights. The scream you hadn’t even known was yours until someone pulled you from the wreckage, shaking and glass-dusted. That was two years ago now. No broken bones, but plenty of scars where no one could see.

You’d never really told Harry the full story. Just that you weren’t a fan of storms. That they made you feel small. On edge.

And tonight, they were worse than ever.

The wind howled. The rain slapped the windows in sideways bursts. Your power flickered twice. You sat curled on the couch in one of Harry’s hoodies, clinging to a throw blanket like it was a life raft, phone clenched in both hands. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until it caught in your throat when the thunder cracked again, so loud it made the house creak.

He should’ve been home by now.

Your fingers shook slightly as you tapped on his name in your favorites. The phone rang once. Twice—

“Hi, love.”

His voice, so familiar, warm and raspy, it crackled softly through the speaker. You exhaled, like your lungs had finally remembered how to work.

“Where are you?”

“‘Bout five minutes away. Got caught behind some flooding, had to go around.”

You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead. “You should’ve waited it out, Harry. It’s, it’s getting worse.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you sounded scared when you texted. I didn’t wanna leave you alone in this.”

You swallow thickly. “I’m fine, I just… I hate this. And I hate that you’re out in it. What if-” You stop yourself. The words feel too close to that memory.

Harry’s quiet for a beat, then says gently, “I’m being careful. Promise. Not speeding. Driving like an old man. Even played that weird rainy day playlist you made to keep me calm.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, watery but real. “You mean the one with Norah Jones, Phoebe Bridgers, and SZA?”

“Yeah. Had me in my feelings and everything.”

You sniffle, pulling the blanket tighter. “You’re really only five minutes away?”

“Closer now. Turning onto our street.”

The relief is instant. Your body, tense as a violin string, begins to slowly unclench.

“Keep talking to me?” you ask softly.

“Of course, baby. Always.”

He tells you about the old man with the bright yellow poncho walking his dog in the storm, and how he saw a kid trying to catch raindrops with his mouth. Just small things. But his voice is like a tether keeping you grounded.

Then headlights spill through the rain-soaked windows, and you scramble off the couch, bare feet cold on the hardwood as you rush to the door.

By the time you open it, he’s already halfway up the path, soaked to the bone. His curls are dripping into his eyes, hoodie clinging to him like a second skin. But he’s smiling. That Harry kind of smile. Soft and full of light, like you’re his favorite thing to see.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand like a peace offering. “Told you I’d make it.”

You don’t answer. Just throw your arms around him, not caring that his clothes are wet and freezing. He drops his keys, wrapping you up like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the warm trail of a tear slide down your cheek, and Harry pulls back just enough to cradle your face in both hands.

“Love,” he murmurs, brows furrowed. “Talk to me.”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I just… storms make me feel like I’m there again. In the accident. I didn’t tell you everything before.”

He doesn’t press. Just thumbs the tear from your cheek, waiting.

“It was raining. Really bad. I lost control on the freeway. I didn’t hit anyone, but the car was totaled, and I remember the lights, the noise, how fast everything happened. And then just... silence.”

You breathe out shakily.

“And now every time it storms, it feels like it could happen again.”

Harry pulls you close again, tighter this time, hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he says softly. “That must’ve been terrifying.”

You nod against his chest, soaked fabric cold against your skin, but the warmth of his arms is enough to steady you.

“I’m here now,” he says, voice firm. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He kisses the top of your head and gently ushers you inside, toeing the door shut behind him. “You must have been really scared waiting for me huh?”, he mumbles, looking at you like he wished he could make your memories go away. You nodded, then pulled away slowly, realizing he needs to change. 

“I’ll keep it in mind now. I’ll make sure I’m with you if there’s a storm like this. Or try to get you as soon as possible. Hate the thought of you being alone, baby.”, he delicately traced his thumb on your cheek and you give him a small smile. “You’re sweet. Um, you should change babe, you’ll get sick.”

“Nah, I’m superman. But I’ll be back in one minute, okay?”

He disappears just long enough to change out of his wet clothes, reappearing in fresh sweats and a dry tee that clings to his chest in the best way.

He lights your favorite candle, vanilla and sandalwood and pads back over to you, tugging a thick comforter off the couch. You don’t even have to ask. You both curl up on the floor with pillows and tea, like you’ve done a hundred times before.

“D’you want me to put something on?” he asks, nodding toward the remote. “We can watch one of your comfort movies. Or that bakery show you like. The one where they all cry over soufflés.”

You smile faintly. “No, this is good. Just… stay here.”

He does. Of course he does.

His fingers find yours beneath the blanket, slow and soft, like they’re learning the shape of your hand all over again. He’s humming under his breath. You tilt your head toward him.

“What is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That song you’re humming.”

He grins. “Just something I sing sometimes when I can’t sleep.”

You nudge him. “Sing it.”

He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, his voice low and soothing as he starts to sing, quietly at first:

“Don’t you worry 'bout a thing, my love The storm’ll pass, and the sky’ll clear above I’ll be here, arms wide and open You’re safe now, no more hoping…”

You blink slowly, leaning into him. His voice is rich and smooth, wrapping around you like another blanket. His hand strokes your hair as he continues, voice dropping to a murmur near the end:

“Close your eyes, it’s just the rain Nothing here can cause you pain You’ve got me, and I’ve got you That’s all we need to make it through.”

When he stops, there’s silence. Thick, warm, safe.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Harry turns his head and kisses your temple, then your cheek, then your lips. Slow and deep like he’s pouring everything into it.

“I love you more,” he murmurs. 

Outside, the storm begins to soften. The thunder, distant now. The rain, more of a lullaby than a threat.

You must’ve dozed off again at some point, lulled by Harry’s heartbeat and the scent of sandalwood and tea. When you stir next, the windows are streaked with quiet rain, no lightning in sight. The room is golden and calm.

Harry’s still there, of course he is. His hand is resting on your hip, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your sweatshirt. He’s watching you with this look that makes your chest ache a little, like you hung the stars.

You blink up at him, lips twitching into a sleepy smile. “Hey.”

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, voice still all hushed and cozy. “Storm’s passed.”

You glance toward the window, then back at him. “Really?”

He nods, nose brushing yours. “Guess you can stop shaking like a little leaf now.”

You laugh, swat him lightly. “I was not.”

“Oh, you were,” he teases, grinning. “Thought I was gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap and sing lullabies for the next ten hours.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, really smiling, and Harry catches it, tilting his head.

“There it is,” he says softly.

“What?”

“That smile.” He taps your cheek with his finger. “Been lookin’ for that all night.”

You duck your head, cheeks warming, and he tugs you close again, arms around your waist like he never plans to let go.

“Y’know,” he adds, a mischievous glint in his eye, “next time it storms, I might fake some thunder sounds just to get you to cuddle me like that again.”

You gasp. “You would not.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Don’t tempt me. Might even get one of those thunderstorm sleep apps and play it on loop.”

“Harry!”

“I’m just kidding, love.”, he coos, rubbing your nose with his. He didn’t need to say that. He was trying to lighten up the mood about it, and you appreciated it. Jokes were one way to deal with it.

You’re laughing now, really laughing, bright and unfiltered and so full of love.You push his chest playfully. “You’re such a menace.”

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”

And as you lie there with him, wrapped up in candlelight and laughter and the last soft sighs of the rain, you realize that maybe storms aren’t so scary anymore.

Not when he’s the calm that always comes after.

_________________________________________

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher

(Do let me know if you want any changes made to the taglist!)

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[iheartmira]

"violin practice" - luka x reader

✧︎ ✧︎ ✧︎

the violin rested in your hands, its polished surface cool beneath your fingertips, but the bow trembled ever so slightly. your grip was too tight. again. luka, standing beside you with his own violin poised effortlessly at his shoulder, let out a small hum. not of frustration, not of disappointment, but something… amused.

"are you trying to strangle it?" he teased, golden eyes flickering toward you as he lazily leaned against the music stand. the soft candlelight in the practice room made his pearl chains glimmer, the bow at his collar swaying with his subtle movements.

your ears burned. "i- no! i just-" you loosened your fingers, attempting to adjust, but it still felt unnatural, awkward, clumsy. unlike luka, whose very existence seemed to be made for the stage. he was the most talented, the most admired. you… were still struggling with basic notes.

you dared a glance at him, half-expecting exasperation. after all, he had repeated the same instructions at least five times. instead, you were met with something entirely unexpected.

a smirk.

he placed his own violin down, stepping behind you with the effortless grace of someone who had conquered the stage countless times. before you could react, his hands, fingers marked with that deep, unnatural purple, settled gently over yours.

"you’re nervous," he murmured, voice low in your ear. "that’s why you keep stiffening up."

you swallowed hard. "i just… don’t want to waste your time."

luka chuckled softly, his breath brushing against your skin. "oh? do you really think i’d be here if i didn’t want to be?"

you hesitated, gripping the violin tighter, and luka clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "there you go strangling it again." his fingers ghosted over yours, adjusting your hold, guiding the bow with an effortless fluidity that you could only dream of achieving.

"this isn’t a battle," he continued, his voice teasing yet firm. "the violin won’t obey if you try to force it. it needs… persuasion." his fingers curled around yours, a slow, measured movement. "like this."

with his help, the bow glided across the strings, coaxing out a warm, rich note, something you could never produce on your own. it was mesmerizing.

"see?" he murmured. "much better."

your breath hitched. he was still so close. his warmth, the scent of rosin and something faintly sweet, the way his golden eyes lingered on you rather than the instrument… it made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with nervousness.

"luka…" you started, but hesitated.

he tilted his head, expression unreadable. "hm?"

"i just… i don’t understand why you’re being so patient with me."

for a moment, luka simply studied you. then, his lips curled into something softer, still teasing, but not cruel. "maybe i like seeing you flustered," he admitted, stepping back just enough to meet your eyes directly. "or maybe i like the excuse to spend time with you."

your heart stuttered. "you-"

"now," he cut you off, smirking as he straightened, lifting his violin again. "shall we try that again, or do you need me to hold your hands a little longer?"

your face burned. luka only chuckled.

somehow, despite the nerves, despite the countless mistakes, you found yourself smiling.

✧︎ ✧︎ ✧︎

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[chillentertainer]

inspired by @searchingforserendipity25's amazing post, here are some of my silly ideas i banged out this fine snowy winter evening (shout out climate change because snow in texas!)

The one where the Pope discovers that magic is real and that Thomas Lawrence is a wizard. Except are you really a wizard if you haven't used magic for about half your life (the answer is yes because Lawrence uses it expertly to save Benitez's life)

The one where Bellini is down on his luck and in desperate need of money so he gets a sugar daddy. And that sugar daddy is Tedesco. They don’t discover the other’s true identities until decades later when they run into each other in Rome. 

The one where there is some kind of natural disaster which traps Tedesco and Benitez in the same room for hours on end. By the end of it, at least three (3) kisses, two (2) orgasms, and one (1) blowjob has been exchanged. They’re still “enemies”. But now Tedesco is inexplicably Benitez’s #1 private supporter and nearly bit off a bishop’s head when they spoke ill of Innocent 

The one where they are exploring the final frontier on a starship and the captain suddenly dies. So now they must elect a new captain. Also this mysterious officer shows up out of nowhere and apparently he used to work with refugees from the Federation-Klingon war?

The one where Thomas Lawrence is a painter in the 1800s and struggling to find artistic inspiration when Vincent Benitez, a fellow painter, arrives in town. 

The one where Thomas Lawrence endures a string of assassination attempts that he hides with increasing difficulty from the Pope, until his car literally Blows Up, and a piece of shrapnel narrowly misses a vital organ. Benitez is Not Happy about this. Ray does a little investigating because he’s also Unhappy someone tried to blow up the only Englishman he likes and finds out that one of the Cardinals is still paranoid about the simony list… 

The one where they’re in a symphony and the conductor just died and now they need a new conductor. Lawrence plays first violin. Sometimes he wishes his hands literally fall off before he has to pick up the violin and play again. 

The one where the plane crashes a la Yellowjackets! 

During these two months, Lawrence will offer himself up as food five different times. Bellini will begin to wonder about his friend’s mental health. Tedesco is the only one who seriously does want to eat Lawrence. (He's a hungry bitch who went through food scarcity as a child, can you blame him?)

Lawrence and Benitez will stare at each other longingly over the campfire for four weeks. Ray will notice these gazes and be reminded of the time he went and saw Portrait of a Lady on Fire by himself after a close friend recommended it to him and that close friend died before Ray could ask why they told him, a Bishop of the Catholic Church, to see a period drama about lesbian French women. Now he understands. 

Bellini and Tedesco will argue and then fuck it out thrice. They will be secretive and nonchalant and everyone will know because Bellini is limping and Tedesco appears unusually happy. Also sound travels far in a quiet forest. 

Tremblay will take over certain survival tasks twice because he was a Boy Scout in his youth, only to accidentally almost poison the soup with hallucinogenic mushrooms. Benitez catches this mistake just in time, but Tedesco isn’t listening (he’s too busy scripting out the next fight between him and Bellini) and takes a bite. While he doesn’t die, he instead has a vivid dream where he and Bellini turn into slime and merge into a giant slime puddle. He wakes up with an erection. Death is preferable in his opinion. 

And finally, Lawrence’s mild fever will worsen considerably one night, to the point of fatality, and he will hold Vincent’s hands as he confesses all of his sins and love for Vincent, though he knows he shouldn’t feel this way, but he does he does he does, and please use my body to survive and continue God’s work, and Vincent tearfully agrees, only for Ray to shout aha! because he got the damn radio to work and contacted the rescuers.

[lemonwisp]

Brief little idea of what should have happened in season 4

First up: what they should have made Allison wish for in the reset

• getting Claire and Ray back

• bringing Dave back (because she was miserable without Ray and she knew about Klaus’s heartbreak)

Instead of like a 6 year time jump it should have been a year or two. So we can see them still settled in but also still struggling to get a normal life, some are doing better than others Liz

I think Ray should have died instead of leaving Allison.

Klaus would still be living with Allison and Claire but Dave would also be there and helping Klaus through sobriety as well as comforting Klaus when they have a hard time because they are still a germaphobe.

Sparrow Ben still goes to jail, Luther still becomes a stripper, and one day Sloane walks in and they fall in love all over again. Viktor still has a bar, and Diego and Lila still have Grace but they are struggling as new parents and maybe that would put a strain on their relationship, and Diego would be a cop.

Five wouldn’t be working for the CIA, he’d probably be still freaking out about an impending apocalypse that may or may not happen.

We see them all walk away from the park or whatever then we’ll meet again starts playing we get a little montage of their lives and having issues because they don’t have any ids or anything and just basic domestic life, Diego and Lila at the hospital with their baby, Allison and Claire at Ray’s funeral, a game night with Allison, Claire, Klaus, and Dave. Five having a little cabin and there is a string board thing and writing all over the walls, he’s passed out and a cup of coffee is spilt on the table. Viktor is playing the violin at a pub in Canada. Ben is getting arrested for the crypto scam.

Anyway they come together for the birthday party and that sorta stays the same after Klaus has the marigold they still wander off but of course Dave follows after him and Klaus relapses and after Klaus yells at Claire Dave stays with Claire and Klaus gets drunk then comes back home and Klaus and Dave have an argument about Klaus yelling at Claire but Dave also feels bad for Klaus and it causes an internal conflict as he wants to help Klaus and Claire, while Klaus and Dave fight Claire runs away and gets kidnapped by the Jean and Gene.

Jennifer thing still happens but how Ben died in the original timeline was that his powers killed him and he gets like ripped apart by the tentacles (because that is more shocking then Reggie who obviously wouldn’t hesitate to kill one of the kids)

Five and Lila still get trapped in the subway but there is no romance, and they run into brelly Ben (cause yk that scene in season 3) and there is a big face off between the two Ben’s and brelly Ben wins because he’s an icon but Jennifer also dies as a result of the attack.

After that Ben is like covered in blood but klaus still runs up to him and hugs him when they reunite and klaus cries and gets emotional and then ben

Allison is on a mission to get Claire and realizes that her daughter is more important than being famous

Luther and Viktor talk to Reggie

Everyone thinks they are going to die, Dave proposes to Klaus with the dog tags they find in ep 1.

Then idrk im not a writer, but they all get to live happily ever after (maybe Abigail dies and klaus summons her so she can tell Reggie that she didn’t want to be alive again) and they still have their powers but they can control them now and occasionally team together to stop bank robberies and such

Klaus and Dave get married because that’s what I want and then group dancing