#he asked to speak with me at the end of the day and I thought a parent had complained about the movie

[parfaitblogs]

state of grace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your cat has taken liking to your friend with benefits, and you begin to battle with the consequential feelings. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff (18+ for suggestive content) tags: established friends with benefits. reader has a cat. your cat likes him more than you :(  avoidant!reader for like a teensie second. it's okay happy ending. the happiest possible ending actually. fade to black. word count: 1.9k a/n: sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things. like a cat. :) im a dog person. idk why i wrote this.

Seventeen times.

That is how many times Spencer Reid had found residence at your apartment in the past month alone, taking up the space on the other side of your bed. Thirteen of those times he had stayed the night. Six of those times, he had come for sex. The other eleven? He had come because you needed a friend. 

Or, rather, your cat did. 

You had discovered you weren't any more complex than your average man, at the end of the day. Human beings are at their core created to love and be loved, and by extension, to want and be wanted. You wanted Spencer, and you were wanted by Spencer. For both your friendship, and the intimacy your relationship provided. 

But you did not love him, and he did not love you. 

Cat's are anything but fickle creatures. A lot of your best friendships were centred around whether or not your cat developed a liking to the person or not. Oftentimes, your fleeting relationships came down to the odd sixth sense the animal had for disliking the worst people. That, and your one night stands were never a crowd favourite within the walls of your apartment. And yet; Spencer Reid. 

He was nothing short of charming. In a sort of dorky way, yes. But whatever socially romantic skills he lacked, he most certainly made up for by giving you the best of just about everything in bed. A small part of you wants to claim it's human instinct to know how to worship the person meant for you, but the logical reason is probably his eidetic memory knowing exactly what he's doing after a singular trial run. Entertaining the thought of being his soulmate was not a wise choice.

He most certainly was your cat's, though. The Ragdoll always jumping down to greet him the second he stepped foot in your apartment, usually resulting in the break of a kiss and a five minute intermission before the two of you could do anything. 

At first, it was an inconvenience. Your cat had never taken such a liking to a person you'd brought home before, and it was jarring to watch a man you were partially trying to undress, stop everything to pet your cat. Now, it is simply endearing. You've stopped trying to steal Spencer's attention before the cat does, and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer's priority list will always be the feline, then you. 

Today was, seemingly, no different. Despite the dull ache between your legs and the fact that this visit had started as something as obscene as Spencer calling from his work bathroom to ask if he could come over after for he was, and you quote, in dire need to touch you (among many other things), whatever those needs were, were put on hold. 

You smile regardless, leaning against the edge of your couch as he crouches down to meet Po — yes, like the panda — his hand immediately reaching out for the cat to run his head along. 

Spencer's head lifts to look at you. "Morgan thinks Po isn't a real cat, and we've just got a name for your—um—" his brain catches up to his mouth mid sentence, and he's stammering his way to silence. 

"Please tell me you defended my cat's honour," you retort.

"I did! I even showed him the photo I took of him while you were in the shower last week. He thinks it's a different person's cat."

You shake your head in disapproval. "Unbelievable. Your coworker thinks we've named my pussy."

"That's just Morgan."

"I wish Po could speak English. Then he could hear this nonsense, and stop loving you more than me," you grumble, and Spencer's lips twitch up into a smile, as he situates himself on the floor, the cat climbing into his lap.

"Actually, he technically can. Cat's can understand up to thirty-five words in whatever language you train them in. Also, when they meow, they begin trying to mimic the sound of certain human words. It's their vocal tract that prevents them from literally speaking English," he explains.

But, you're too invested in the way his long fingers are delicately running through the cat's hair, to both respond, and really pay any attention at all.

You had had fleeting thoughts about real feelings for Spencer two months ago. Brushing them off as loneliness and your need to satiate the hopeless romantic within you, you'd forgotten about it up until this recent week.

He'd been over every single day, sometimes for sex, oftentimes for a movie and dinner (which was usually a bowl of pasta you had overestimated while cooking). And every single time, you'd developed an overwhelming anxious pit in your stomach when watching him interact with Po, your heart fluttering the entire time, mind running rampant on domestic thoughts you should be squashing. 

Should be, but weren't. 

You'd tried to put it down to the motherly instinct you had over the animal. Seeing somebody else treat him with as much love and care as you did was endearing — it wasn't a Spencer Reid specific trait. Yet, here you were. 

"I feel like the benefits of this relationship have changed," you say, seating yourself in front of Spencer on the floor, Po lifting his head to look at the person behind the sudden movement, before he let it rest back on Spencer's thigh. 

"To what?"

"My cat," you huff, and Spencer laughs.

"He is my favourite benefit thus far," he muses. 

"The feeling is definitely mutual," you nod your head to Po, whose eyes were now shut, seemingly quite comfortable disregarding all your personal plans and taking Spencer's attention.

"Animals don't usually like me," he comments. "I don't know why Po is different."

Oh, you had a few ideas why.

"Maybe he's exercising the keep your enemies closer life motto," you offer, and Spencer's eyebrows shoot up in faux offence. 

"This is unadulterated love," he protests. "He does not think of me as an enemy."

"That's what he wants you to believe," you hum, pushing yourself up on your legs. "Well, since plans have been rudely interrupted, do you want some dinner?" 

"Sure," he answers, though his attention is back on Po. Clearly so, for he says, "I'll get to our original plans after we eat, don't worry," almost absentmindedly.

It's the kind of thing that makes you forget you're in the room with the dictionary definition of a nerd. You know it's only because sometimes he says what he is thinking without thinking. It doesn't do anything to help the ongoing internal battle about your feelings for him. 

Or maybe he does know exactly what he's doing.

"You should get a cat," you say, heading into your kitchen to find something for the two of you to eat. "You seem to like them enough."

"Why? I have yours."

"I'm not going to be around forever," you reply, unthinking. "I mean, one day we're gonna have to end this because the other has found someone they want to be with. Properly. It wouldn't be fair to keep a friendship."

He falls silent, and when you lift your head, you see he's staring at you with an almost confused frown on his face, which triggers your own confusion to appear. His scratching of Po's head has been interrupted, and you're starting to question what was wrong about what you had said. 

Sure, you're pretty sure you have feelings for him, but as far as you knew, they were one sided. Right?

"I didn't—I thought—" he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, then continues. "I thought that had changed this past month."

"What do you mean?"

"I just—I've been here for things other than sex a lot. I thought you knew I liked you, and you were subtly trying to tell me you liked me too. I'm starting to sense I misread that."

For a profiler, he was incredibly awful at reading you. 

"Yeah..." You slowly nod your head, but it's the deepening of his frown that has you rushing to add, "I mean, I—I do. Like you. I'm kind of embarrassed that was obvious. But I didn't think you liked me outside of having sex with me. I wasn't trying to communicate my feelings. I was trying to hide them."

"Oh," he falls silent again. "So the times I’ve been here in the past month weren’t makeshift dates?"

"They weren't intended that way..." you trail off. "Did you see them as dates?"

"Kind of, I guess," he's back to running his fingers through Po's fur, just to keep his anxious hands busy. "They don't have to be, if you don't want them to. I just thought this feeling was mutual and we were... I guess, dating."

"The feeling is mutual," you quickly correct him. "I know that now. I didn't think we were dating because I didn't think you liked me back. Changing our relationship kind of needs to be a conversation."

"Right," he breathes out, an awkward smile painting his lips. "Is this the conversation, then?"

"I guess?"

"So now we're dating."

"If that's what you want," you nod, head feeling a little fuzzy.

"Is it what you want?" he presses. Always the gentleman.

"Maybe," you muse, leaning forwards against the kitchen countertop. 

He's watching you, and for a second you let the silence fall over you, fearful that you've just discouraged him enough to ruin things between you. He carefully takes Po off his lap, the cat running into your room the second his paws hit the hardwood floor, and he's standing up to move over to you. 

"I don't like maybe," he frowns. "Yes or no?"

You blink, realising he was evidently too anxious of your genuine response to have any recognition to your poor attempt of a joke. 

"Yes, Spencer. That's what I want," you're breathless as you speak, and you're thankful for the relieved smile that stretches across his lips.

"That's what I want too," he answers. 

"Yeah, I figured." Your second attempt at a tease lands, and he huffs a small laugh, which warms your heart. "Do you still want dinner?"

He had somehow gotten closer to you throughout the awkward enough conversation, and he was sliding his arms around your waist. Something he had done many times before, yes, and yet this time it was feeling much more intimate, and your heart was thrumming against your chest a little harder than usual. 

"Maybe it can wait?" he offers, ducking his head down, lips ghosting over your own. "I don't have a bothersome cat keeping me preoccupied from you, now."

Despite yourself, you poke a finger into his chest and say, "Don't insult Po."

"I'm not. Just merely stating an obvious fact."

"I'll call him back in here to preoccupy me."

"He has selective hearing. And he likes me more than you."

Your lips drop into a frown, lower lip jutting out, and Spencer is quick to try and kiss it off within seconds of noticing it. 

"I'm sorry. That was mean. I promise he doesn't like me more than you," he says, though his voice is too amused to be entirely sincere. 

"That was mean," you agree with a firm nod. "You're very mean to me, Spencer Reid."

"I know, I'm awful. Can I make it up to you, sweet girl?"

Well, when he asks you like that.

"Mm..." you hesitate, but he's already guiding you around, walking you backwards, through your apartment and towards your bedroom. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hands that were around your waist hike your shirt up, his lips still kissing against your skin despite the intense multitasking he was forcing upon the two of you.

"Thank you."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[runnning-outof-time]

“You Came.” “You Called.” | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Solomons Sister!Reader

Summary: Tommy Shelby and (Y/N) Solomons despise each other…….or do they?

Warnings: language, slight sexual situations, weapons, threats

Word Count: 1304

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t as long as the others have been. I need to get these requests finished and this is what I was able to come out with. I hope you’ll still enjoy! Also I’ve tried something a little different at the end - hopefully you’ll participate and not be too mad at me for it! :)

A/N 2: Oh and this is the story where the Solomons!Sister won the poll — I’m not sure if it’s angsty enough…I tried my best with it. Also I’m sorry if Alfie seems ooc here…it’s been a bit since I’ve written him and I’m rusty.

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! — I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THE STORY!

comment/message me if you’d like to be tagged!

"You came," she sounded surprised.

"You called," his response was nonchalant.

"Yeah, but I didn't call you."

The story of Tommy Shelby and (Y/N) Solomons is a long, complicated one.

To give a quick summary: they first met the day that Tommy showed up at Alfie's 'bakery. She was the first to greet him and instantly was able to realize that there was more to his motives than what he was letting on.

She was cautious when dealing with him at first, but his charm soon enough chipped away that hesitant exterior she'd put up.

Neither could help but cross the line one late evening after a successful business dinner.

She thought that that would be the end of Tommy Shelby. But now he'd shown up at her door...when she was expecting her brother.

"Where's my brother?" (Y/N) asked, looking to either side of the doorway, hoping that Alfie would be close by.

He wasn't.

"He's busy," Tommy answered.

"So he sent you?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

"Not exactly," he shook his head.

"I'm not understanding what you're saying. Ollie told me that he'd take a note down for Alfie and that he'd inform him as soon as he became available." (Y/N) was confused now.

"I saw the note," he began, "took it upon myself to see what was needed to be discussed."

(Y/N)'s jaw just about dropped. "Tommy, why did you...would you, you shouldn't, you..."

"My name was on the note, love," he cut off her attempt to string words together.

"Just because it was on the note does not mean you were to be involved!" she couldn't stop her voice from raising, her eyes widening as she spoke. Now she was wondering how Ollie had phrased his note to Alfie. A few beats passed before a sigh escaped her lips. She ran a frustrated hand across her face before asking, "what...what did the note say?" Her thoughts had gotten the best of her.

"It said that you needed to speak about Shelby...had some information you wanted to be made known," he answered her, his eyes boring into hers. (Y/N) opened her mouth to say something but he didn't let her, taking a step inside, making her back up in the process. "What is it you wanted to tell him, hmm?"

His close proximity made her heartrate increase. She was quickly losing her ability to think. "Tommy, I..."

"What really was your goal last night, (Y/N)?" he asked her, his brows raising.

The willpower to keep her hands by her sides and not reach out to take hold of him was leaving (Y/N) by the second.

"I thought your intentions aligned with mine..." he trailed off, raising his hand so that he could run it down her jawline in a slow, teasing manner, "at least it seemed that way when you brought me back here."

Instead of dropping his hand when he reached her chin, he grasped it; taking it between his thumb and index finger so that he could raise her fleeing eyes to match his. This action made the breath get caught in (Y/N)'s throat, and every valid argument left her mind the second her eyes locked onto his icy blue ones. All hope was lost now.

"What are your intentions with me, (Y/N)?" he asked her.

"You know them, Tommy, I.." she couldn't quite string a thought together.

"Tell me."

"I.." she paused again, interally freaking out. Think of something, anything, (Y/N), come on! "I wanted to tell him about you...about us," she decided on telling him a lie, hoping that he would take it as the truth.

"Yeah?"

She couldn't decipher what he was truly thinking from his one word response. His widened eyes didn't help either, other than making her fall deeper into his trap with each second that passed. Now she was wracking her brain to think of ways to sell this.

The last thing she wanted to tell him was that she was going to sell him out...to tell Alfie what she felt his true intentions were.

"Yeah," she breathed, nodding her head as much as she could with his fingers still holding her chin. Sell it, (Y/N)!, her mind screamed before she raised her hands up to grip his lapels. All coherent thoughts flew out the window as she leaned in and kissed him.

This wasn't a loving kiss. It wasn't a slow one, unlike the ones they shared last night. She kissed him hard, hoping that the passion she put into it would be enough to get his mind off of the damn note and seal her lie for good.

His hold tightened on her chin, but he didn't break the kiss. In fact, his other hand moved from his side to her hip, where he began bunching up her skirt in order to make contact with her bare skin.

Success.

(Y/N) also became absorbed by the passion that they both were showing. It was hard not to given the fact that he was Tommy Shelby. The night they shared was one of the best she'd ever had. Conniving business man or not, she would remember it for the rest of her life.

"What in the bloody fucking hell is going on here?!"

What (Y/N) did not remember before getting sucked into this situation was to shut the door to her home.

Her eyes shot open and she became frantic, trying to break the kiss and move away from Tommy as quick as she could. "Alfie!" she shrieked, surprise clear on her face.

"Why're you fucking kissing my sister, mate?!" Alfie asked Tommy, speaking with a seething anger.

While (Y/N) was just about shaking from the shock of her brother showing up, Tommy didn't seem to be phased.

"Alfie he...he was just..."

"No," Alfie cut (Y/N) off, shaking his head and stopping her attempt to cover for the man now standing beside her, "I asked him not you. He knows family is off-fucking-limits, so I want him to answer me why."

Tommy said nothing. (Y/N) shrunk into herself more and more with each passing second. She'd never seen Alfie this angry.

"I said fucking answer me!" Alfie bellowed, drawing the revolver he had tucked into his waistband. He wasted no time in cocking it and holding it in Tommy's face.

Tommy still didn't move; didn't even flinch.

"You're going to fucking answer me," Alfie demanded, his voice low and menacing, "yeah, you're going to fucking answer me or it'll be your fucking brains blown out all over (Y/N)'s fucking foyer."

"Alfie, don't," (Y/N) begged her brother, reaching a shaky hand out in hopes that he would see it and lower his weapon.

"She called for you," Tommy spoke, his voice level and stoic.

"She fucking what?" Alfie asked, his brows furrowing slightly, confused by why Tommy was saying this.

“She called your office. You weren’t around. But my name was on the note,” Tommy shared more details.

“And what does that have fucking anything to do with you fucking kissing my sister?!” Alfie’s anger had returned.

“It has everything to do with it,” Tommy was still level-headed. “You see, she was going to tell you about this, about us,” he then dropped the bomb, motioning between himself and (Y/N) to emphasize the point he was making.

“I can explain,” (Y/N) was quick to blurt out, her eyes trained on the gun in Alfie’s hand, which he’d - thankfully - lowered from being aimed at Tommy’s head.

She couldn’t read the look in her brother’s eyes. The seconds felt like hours as they passed. She stood frozen as Alfie rose the revolver again and…….

Ok I’m evil, I know but……..

Don’t fret, if the poll’s closed by the time you’re reading this, you’re still more than welcome (and I’d encourage you, actually) to share what you think would happen next!!

p.s….this story won’t be getting continued. I’m just curious as to what y’all think.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @mischievouslittlecreature @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety

@justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader

@red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

@ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

[hadersversion]

‘tis the damn season.

“so we could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend.”

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue! reader

warnings: 18+, SMUT, p in v, fingering, begging, overstimulation, use of babe....let me know if i forget anything lol. ALSO in some places in america, thansgiving eve is literally just a holiday to get drunk in your hometown

your home for the holidays for the first time in years. you've been avoiding rafe, the reason you've been away for so long, but after seeing him again all the old feelings come back. when rafe sends a text one night, you end up in the back of his truck like old times.

i parked my car out front of my childhood home, staring at the old exterior.

somethings never change.

being back in the outer banks felt strange. it has been a while since i have been back, avoiding come home for as long as i can. but with a few begging phone calls from my mom and kiara, here i am.

i knock on my front door and am greeted with a bright smile.

"jj?" i ask, confused.

"welcome home, stranger." he says, with a hug and grabbing my bag.

i walk into my living room and see the pogues, sitting with my mom. a homemade 'welcome home' banner hanging above their heads.

my mom comes over and gives me a big hug. "i thought i would never see this face again." she says with a squeeze.

"boston isn't that far, mom." i tell her but i know she would never leave the outer banks. never in a million years. i turn towards the others and smile. "i wonder who could've put this together?" i say, looking at kiara.

"hey it wasn't all me, pope was the one who brought it up." she says, engulfing me in her arms.

"guilty." pope chimes in, joining the hug. i feel jj and john b join in as well. my family.

we break away and hang out in the living room, catching up.

"don't tell me you went all city on us, y/n." john b pokes fun at me.

"not completely. but it is nice having more things to do than hang on the beach and smoke." i wink.

"who could want more than that?" jj asks, making us all laugh.

"speaking of," kiara starts. "there's a little thanksgiving eve celebration happening at the wreck. just some people from high school. nothing big."

"just a chance to get drunk of our asses and go to dinner the next day hungover." jj says, causing kiara to nudge him.

"what do you say? want to join us?" i look around the room at my friends, all eager waiting for my response. with a sigh, i nod and they all cheer. "thank god, i don't think i could've done that alone."

i smile and nod. it should be fun, it will be. but my brain can't help to wonder if the one person who's kept me away from coming home will be there. no, he wouldn't. not with the pogues. but a part of me can't help but hope to see his face.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

i fix my sweater in the mirror in my room, my body fidgeting from anxiety. it's been a few days and i still can't shake that feeling from my body about being home. sure, i'm happy but this place holds so many memories. memories i wish to bury. i stare at the photo booth picture tucked into my mirror of him and i. i guess i forgot to hide this with the rest of the stuff. i take it off the mirror and sigh, examining it.

almost four years since it was taken. almost four years since we called it quits. and yet, he still haunts my memories. his presence making itself known through cheap beer at the bar, expensive men's cologne at the mall, exhaust that leaves motorbikes as they ride down the street. he's always there, whether i like it or not.

the sound of a horn breaks me free of my thoughts.

"y/n, they're here!" my mom calls from downstairs.

"coming!" i open my dresser drawer and slip the photo in before racing downstairs. i kiss my mom on the cheek and slip out the door, rushing into the van.

"ready to get fucked up?" jj asks with his devilish smirk.

i roll my eyes and laugh. "let's go."

we pull up to the wreck, it's already dark outside and a slight breeze fills the air. we all hurry in, greeted by familiar faces. my name is called from every direction, old friends from high school or the beach. all my fellow pogues who i know and love. when i'm done making my rounds, i head over to our table. everyone has some drink in their hand, beer or cocktail, and they all smile up at me.

"who would've though little y/n y/l/n would be a pogue celebrity?" pope jokes.

i flip him off and slide in next to john b. kiara hands me a beer and i take a sip. "i'm not a celebrity, i'm just one of the only people from this island who actually made it off."

they all make jokes at my despair, teasing me in any way they could when sarah walks up. i feel my stomach flip and i smile at her. "y/n!" she embraces me. "i'm so happy to see you!"

i hug her back and smile. "me too, sar. how's everything been?"

"the usual but i can't complain." she sits next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. "it's been forever."

"it has." i sigh. "it really has."

we all share stories and laugh around the table. we take shots, chug beer, and play different drinking games. just like old times sake.

"i need another beer." i say with a slight slur in my voice, standing up. "anyone else?" everyone shakes their head as i excuse myself.

i walk up to the bar and wait my turn, twirling my debit card in my hand. it could be the alcohol but i feel content and happy to be home.

"y/n?"

until that moment.

i don't want to turn around, i don't even want to accept my fate in this situation.

i know that voice, i could recognize it in a crowd of millions of people. it was the voice that lingered in my dreams, my thoughts.

i turn around and look at the man.

"rafe."

he looks older, his hair buzzed and some facial hair covering his face. but those eyes. they are the same eyes of the boy i loved.

we stood there, not saying a word. just taking the sight of one another in.

"i didn't know you were home." he says, not breaking eye contact.

i nod, biting my lip. "i am, i got home monday."

he chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "how long you here for?"

"till saturday. then i'm going back to boston." my throat feels scratchy and my face is on fire. i want to be anywhere but here now.

his eyes continue to study me. "two more budweiser's, please." he says to the bartender. i open my mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "on me, think of it as a welcome home gift."

the bartender hands me the beer and i smile. i turn back to rafe and tip the bottle to him. "thanks."

"no problem." he clinks his bottle to mine. we both take a long sip. my eyes are desperately trying to find a place to land, ending up on the bright sign above the bar. but rafe's are still on me.

"you okay?" kiara asks as she walks behind rafe. she is my gurdian angel.

"yeah, just waiting for my beer. excuse me." i squeeze past rafe and walk back to my table. i look back at him and smiles. i hate him.

a few drinks more and my ears are ringing. it was loud and everyone was far too drunk. i excuse myself for air outside. there are a few people lingering, smoking cigarettes or waiting for ubers. i smile and take in the nostalgia.

"you know, it would've been nice to know you were home." i hear rafe's voice next to me.

i roll my eyes and look up at him. "oh, would it have been? sorry, i didn't think you'd care." i say coldly. that liquid courage is taking control.

he looks down at me. "and why would i have not cared?"

"hmm, let me think." i put my finger to my chin. "oh, right. 'don't ever contact me again. we're so over. i wish i never met you. blah. blah. blah.' do you want me to go on?" i say to him.

i watch as he processes what i said to him, the words of our last fight. he looks guilty, for once in his life. "that was years ago, y/n. w-we were just kids."

"oh, really? then why haven't i heard from you for the past few years? phone works both ways, rafe." i say, shrugging.

he stands there quietly, i got him.

"how's school been?" he asks, nonchalantly.

"are you for real?" i ask.

"what? i'm being nice." he says.

i huff with frustration. "you are such an ass." i push pass him and walk onto the sidewalk.

"where are you going?" he asks, following after me.

"away from you." i say, not looking back.

i hear him run up behind me and he gently grabs my arm. "y/n. y/n, stop."

i turn to look at him. "what do you want from me, huh? you want to torture me even more?"

he stares at me, hand still on my arm. "what? of course not. y/n, i missed you."

"fuck off." i spit out without thinking.

"you're drunk."

"and you're an asshole." i say, flatly. "you...you fucking broke my heart and you expect me to act like everything is fucking dandy?"

"y/n." he tries to plead his case.

"no, rafe. you don't get to waltz in here and act like everything is okay with us. do you know how much you fucked me over? one day you're telling me you love me and you want to move to boston with me and the next, you're dumping me over the phone." i poke his chest. "i did everything you wanted, i kept what we had between us a secret, i took care of you. and nothing was enough for you."

he looks down at his feet in guilt. "i-i know, i'm sorry. i was...i was fucked up back then. with my dad on my case and the drinking...i wasn't okay. i felt like..." he cut himself off.

"what, rafe? you felt like, what?" i ask.

"like i was going to hold you back, alright?" he raises his voice. "you are too good for this place, for me. i didn't want to hold you back. i loved you too much to do that to you." i stare at him and laugh. "what? what's so fucking funny?"

"you, rafe. you." i sigh. "instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid. we could've worked that out. but you were too scared." i close my eyes and shake my head. "goodbye, rafe."

i walk down the street, hugging my body as the wind blows. a weight has been lifted off my shoulders but there's still that feeling i get whenever i think of him. that feeling that i miss him.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

thanksgiving flew by, even though i had a hangover that felt like it would last a lifetime.

i helped my mom clean up the kitchen as the pogues did the dishes and took the trash out. just like old times.

once we were done, we sat outside around the bonfire. you would think after yesterday, drinking would come to a halt but jj found a bottle of vodka in the freezer and mixed it with kiara's apple cider. we all enjoyed each other's company but my mind could not help but wander. my last conversation with rafe ringing through my head.

"instead of being a man and handling your emotions, you ran and hid."

i shake my head and take a sip of my spiked cider. as much as it rang true, there was still that part of me that wonders 'what if?'. the more i thought about it, the more i wanted to pick up my phone.

no, i need to be the bigger person. i'm stronger than that. i can't text him first.

then i felt my phone buzz in my lap.

rafe: hey

i stare at the text and bite my lip. i know i should ignore it, let it go unread. but my fingers work against my brain and type 'hi' back to him. i sit there, eagerly waiting for a response.

rafe: can we talk?

rafe: i'm sorry about last night, i'm a fucking idiot.

rafe: there's so many things i could say to you rn

rafe: but i miss you.

rafe: i wanna see you.

i look around at my friends and sigh, they would be so mad at me for this.

y/n: sure, give me like an hour.

y/n: park down the street at the usual spot.

my friends leave my house, mainly due to me faking another wave of hungover puking. i run upstairs and check myself out in the mirror, i look damn good. when i get his text, i sneak out the backdoor and hurry down the street. i see his truck parked under the big tree, the spot he always parked in.

i open the truck door and hop into the passenger seat. i look over at him, he's still in his dressy clothes. a blue polo that hugged his arms right and khakis that made his thighs look exceptionally big. he knew what he was doing and i can't tell if i hate him or love him for it.

we drive in silence for a bit, his radio playing music faintly. his hands grip the steering wheel as his mind looks like he's on another planet. i play with the ends of my sweatshirt, anxiously waiting for him to do something. anything.

he pulls up to the beach, the spot where we would always come to. it was dark and the waves crashed against the shore loudly. he turns the car off and looks over at me.

"thanks for meeting me." he says simply.

"sure."

"i'm sorry about last night. you went out to have fun and i ruined it, i know i did."

i just nod at him.

"and...you were right. about it all." he sighs, running his hands over his face. "i should've manned up, talked to you about how i was feeling. but you know how i get. i get too in my head and just jump to conclusions. it wasn't fair to you." he looks into my eyes. "these past few years without you have been a living hell and i have only myself to blame."

"are you drunk? high?" i ask.

"w-what?"

"are you not sober?" i ask again.

"i'm sorry, what? of course i'm fucking sober." he says. "why would i not be?"

"rafe cameron...taking accountability? i'm sorry, it just seems so...foreign?" i laugh.

"i'm being serious, y/n."

i laugh again. "oh, i'm sure. and...the sky is green. we live on the planet pluto. aliens exist and so do unicorns!"

he pinches the bridge of his nose. "y/n, i'm telling the truth! god, you always joke around."

"yeah, because i know you." i say to him. "and you would rather eat concrete than admit you are wrong."

"eat concrete?" he asks, with a smirk.

"you know what i mean!" i huff with frustration.

he grabs my hand and stares in my eyes. "y/n, i am fully sober. we are not in another universe, it is not opposite day. i was wrong and i am sorry."

my brain malfunctions as i look into his eyes. "y-you mean it?"

"every word i said."

my brain not working means i experienced a lack of better judgment. i grab rafe by his collar and connect our lips for the first time in years. this kiss, the one i have longed for since i left this place, was the missing puzzle piece i've been searching for in my life. everything seemed to make sense again.

his hands cupped my cheeks as his tongue slipped into my mouth. he was hungry for me and i wasn't going to stop him because i felt insatiable as well. his hands roamed from my cheeks down to my neck and onto my shoulders.

i needed more.

i climbed onto his lap and straddled him. my arms connected around his neck as he pressed against me. i felt his cock hard against his khakis and i wanted it. i wanted it all. i rubbed myself against him, causing us both to moan.

he continued to kiss me until he broke away and looked at me. his puffy lips formed a cocky smile as he brushed his nose against mine. "you missed me."

"shut up." i was itching for more.

"admit it, you missed me. you missed the way i made you feel." he states.

"rafe, shut up and kiss me, please."

"ah ah ah." he shook his head. "not until you tell me."

"you're such an ass." i roll my eyes, trying to catch my breathe.

"yet, here you are, rubbing yourself against me in my truck." he says, kissing my cheek. his lips then go to my ear and down my neck. "i want it all with you, right now, babe. but i need to hear it."

"fine! fuck, i missed you. are you happy?" i groan, needing him.

"very. get in the backseat." he demands. i quickly follow his order, hopping in the back over the seats. he gets out of the truck and opens up the back door, sliding in next to me. "come here." he pulls me back onto his lap and we pick up where we left off. i continue to rub myself against him as he sloppily kisses me. "just like old times." he jokes and i hit his shoulder. "c'mon, don't act like you don't think about it."

"oh, i do. but i bet you think about it more than i do." i smirk.

"probably." he laughs. his fingers fall to the hem of my sweater and he plays with it. "now are we only here to kiss or?"

"why? you wanna fuck me in your truck? just like old times." i say, making fun of what he just said.

"i do, i wanna fuck you right here, right now. it's all i've been wanting to do." he kisses my jawline. "do you want me to fuck you?"

this is what i missed the most, our back and forth.

"yes, rafe. i want you to fuck me." i moan out.

with that, he practically rips my sweater off my body and starts to kiss down my chest. his large hands palm my clothed breast. i bite my lip and let my head fall back, missing the way he affected my body. i felt his hand snake around to the back and unclip my bra quickly.

"show off." i say, out of breathe.

i smirks and connects his lips to my nipple, sucking and licking it. his hand massaging my other. "don't pretend you don't like it."

i smirk and shake my head.

he continues to focus on my tits, going back and forth between the two.

"more." i whisper, eyes clenched shut.

"what was that?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"i need more, rafe. please." i beg.

"look at you all needy for me. i knew you missed me." his hand slipped under my jeans and panties, stopping right at my core. i felt his fingers curl inside me, going in and out. "all wet for me, huh? what a good girl." he pushed in, fingering my cunt, when his thumb found my sensitive bud. he added pressure, circling it, and i felt as though i was seeing stars.

"s-shit." i cry out, moving my hips to try and gain some friction.

"feel good, baby? let me hear how could i make you feel." he picked up his pace and a pornographic moan escaped my lips. it's been forever since someone has made me feel this good. rafe knew my body like it was his own, he knew how to get me going. "there we go, like how my fingers feel?"

"u-uh huh." i nod, mouth hanging open.

his fingers worked their magic, rubbing my clit at a pace that'll make me come undone in no time. "love the way you look on top of me, baby. so fucking sexy." he attached his lips to my tits again and continued fingering me.

i felt on fire.

i place one hand on the window and the other on his shoulder, holding on for dear life. the more he whispered about me and the faster his fingers were going, i was cumming on his fingers before i knew it. i rode out my high, screaming his name. once i was done, i felt him pull his fingers out of my pants, my juices getting all over myself. i stared down at him, trying to catch my breathe, as he popped his fingers into his mouth and sucked.

"just as good as i remember." he cleaned his fingers off and kissed me again. my hands ran down his buff chest and stopped at the bottom of his polo, lifting it up. his gold chain laid against his chiseled body, he was perfect. i felt as though i was in a trance as i began to kiss down his chest. i could feel his groans vibrating in his chest and i smirked because i was the one making him feel this way. "i need to fuck you."

"you need to?" i laugh, kissing lower and lower.

"yes, y/n. i need to bury myself inside of you, please." he pleaded.

"i like when you're the one begging." i bite him lightly, causing him to hiss.

"i bet."

i unbuttoned his khakis and sat up so he could slip them off. his grey boxers were discolored from the precum leaking off his cock. he took his underwear off and his cock sprung out. "i-i don't have protection." he said, mentally cursing himself out.

"well, are you clean?" i ask.

"yes. i-i haven't been with anyone since." he openly admitted.

i felt the darkness overtake my eyes as i lower myself down onto him. his breath hitched as he slipped all the way in. he was deep inside of me, causing a few tears to leave my eyes. but the pain subsided as he started to rock my hips with his hands, moving me back and forth. i picked up the rhythm he started with me and placed my hands on his shoulder to steady myself. i felt the truck rocking back and forth as i did so.

his hands found my ass and rested there. "fuck, i missed your pussy. so good, takes me so well." he kissed my chest as i grinded back and forth.

i felt my finger nails dig into his shoulder as his cock hit all the right spots. i looked down at him and he stared at me in awe, like i was some work of art. "fuck, rafe. you're so big."

i bite my lip as i let my head fall back in pleasure. i ride him fast as i keep saying his name. "shit, y/n. you're such a good girl, you're so hot. you feel so tight."

i connect our lips, i feel his hands tighten around my ass. this means he was close. "i want you to cum in me, rafe." his eyes widen as he opens his mouth to ask for permission. "p-please fill me up. i miss it so much." i say, trying to catch my breathe.

with that, he lets out a groan and my name falls from his lips like a prayer. "y/n." i feel him coming inside me, painting me. it doesn't take long for his thumb to find my clit again. with the extra pressure applied to my overstimulated cunt, i feel my head reeling. the air in the truck is hot, making it almost hard for me to breath. it all feels too much, my body releasing onto rafe yet again.

we sit there, panting with our eyes closed. i rest my head on his sweaty chest and he kisses me gently. he rubs my back, tracing circles into it.

"felt even better than i imagine." he says, his voice gruff.

"you thought about it a lot, huh?" i smirk.

"all the fucking time."

i take him out of me and sit next to him in the truck. the windows are foggy and our hands find each other, holding them. i get a sense of weird nostalgia, from how things used to be with us.

"well that was a thanksgiving to remember." i joke, trying not to feel overwhelmed by what happened.

"'tis the damn season." he replies.

i slowly slip my sweater back on and try to find my pants.

"w-wait." rafe says. "is this...is this it? just a single fuck and you're gone."

i look at him, his eyes pleading with me.

"i go back to boston on saturday rafe, we only have like a day and a half."

i wish we could keep this going, i wish this was how things always were. but i had to think realistically. i have to go back home, i have to move on with my new life.

he grabs my hand and squeezes it. "boston is only an 11 hour drive. hour or two by plane."

"rafe." i say.

"i can't lose you again. i can't, y/n. these past few years have sucked without you. i can't wait until you come home for christmas again. now that i've got you again, i can't risk it."

i sigh and kiss his hand. "i know. i know." i close my eyes and shake my head. "we'll make it work. we almost did it before."

"we can do it again." he smiles sweetly. i kiss his lips gently, laying my hand against his chest.

"you'd do an 11 hour car ride for me?"

"y/n, i'd fucking walk if i have to." he smiles.

i roll my eyes and kiss his cheek. "you're so cheesy."

he lays me back against the truck seats and kisses me. "don't act like it doesn't work for you."

[y3sterdaysproblem]

you’re not sorry - m.s.

summary: could’ve loved you all my life if you hadn’t left me in the cold

warnings: angst, sensitive topics, no happy ending.

{read with caution}

wc: 3k+

Another night.

Another night waiting up for your boyfriend who could never be bothered to let you know when he’d be home; if he’d even be coming home that night.

It was like this for months at this point. Day after day of you waiting up just for him to stumble inside smelling like alcohol and weed, clothes disheveled as he plows through your front door. You didn’t even know what had changed, but it had.

Things were so good, beyond good, to the point where you guys were considering marriage, considering a family. Maybe it was all too much for him, but that wasn’t your burden to bear.

Your perfect, loving boyfriend had turned into someone you barely recognized, having to look so hard to find pieces of the man you fell for in the man you no longer knew.

You were about to give up and head to bed when you heard keys jingling at the front door, the man outside clearly struggling to unlock it. You stayed planted on the couch, waiting for him to finally come crashing in and make up some excuse about what he was doing out so late. You never believed him anymore.

When the door swung open and your boyfriend stumbled through it, his eyes met yours almost instantly, a small, forced smile appearing on his face. “Hey, baby,” he calls out, shutting the door behind him and kicking his shoes off before he made his way towards you, tripping over his own feet once or twice until he sat down next to you.

You let out an aggravated sigh, standing up and walking away from the couch, not wanting to sit next to him and smell the alcohol leeching off of his breath. It was beyond disgusting and if the smell didn’t make you sick, the thought of everything would. The thought of your life crumbling in a matter of months was enough to make you cry so hard you threw up on multiple occasions, the depression caused by this man that swore he loved you being the culprit of so many breakdowns you couldn’t even count anymore.

“You’re drunk, Matt,” you grumble, crossing your arms.

His eyes trail up to you, shaking his head quickly. “I’m not drunk, just tipsy, I swear. I stopped drinking a few hours ago.”

Your heart dropped. A few hours ago?

“And where have you been in those last few hours, hm?” You question, not really knowing if you wanted to know the answer.

Matt groans, throwing his head back on the couch. “Here we fucking go. All you do is nag on me fucking constantly, why do you think I’m gone all the time? I’ll tell you. Because you can’t fucking shut the fuck up and let me live for two minutes. You’re always up my ass asking me what I’m doing or who I’m with.”

Your heart starts to race in your chest, knowing you’re about to get in another fight with the man you used to never argue with. You used to have perfect communication, always able to work through your issues and things that bothered you, but now it was like a flip switched and he wanted to argue about everything, sober or not.

“I never see you anymore, Matt! You’re never home to just spend time with me! All I fucking want is to lay in bed and watch a movie with my boyfriend who cuddles with me and tells me he loves me! You act like I don’t exist and it hurts and I’m trying to stay but sometimes I wonder why I do.” Your voice is shaky as you speak, the adrenaline and emotions quickly getting to you. You never were good at fighting without crying.

“Why?” Matt questions quietly, dropping his gaze to his lap.

You’re confused. “Why what?” You ask him dryly, arms still crossed in an attempt to protect yourself, almost like you were protecting your heart.

He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “Why try to stay? If I’m so awful?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Was this it? Was this the fight you’ve been fearing for the last few weeks? Has everything you both have worked towards finally hit a wall?

“Because… because I keep hoping this is just a phase and you’ll snap out of it and love me again,” you choke out, tears filling your eyes. “I don’t understand what I did to make you not love me anymore and every day that I sit here by myself and think about it, I can’t come up with an answer and you won’t tell me. I would do fucking anything for you and you can’t even tell me you love me anymore.”

Matt let out a big sigh, picking at a rip in his jeans absentmindedly. “I do love you, I just… I need some time to myself.”

You scoff, crying now and not trying to stop it. “You don’t think I would’ve given you time? Space? Matt, all you had to say was that you were getting overwhelmed and needed time think about what you wanted, I would’ve understood that. Do you understand the fucking weight behind that? You have a woman who would let you take a step back from a relationship just because she knows how much you value your own space and time and your own autonomy. You will never fucking find a woman that will treat you the way I treat you. You will never find someone who loves you unconditionally through everything, including this. I swear to god, Matt, you better get your act together before you come home to fucking nothing.”

“Maybe that’s what I want!” Matt yells suddenly, getting up from the couch to walk over to you. You weren’t afraid, you knew he’d never hit you, but he’s also never yelled in your face like this either. “Maybe every fucking night I come home hoping you’ve packed up all of your shit and left. Hell, you could pack my shit and I’d be happy, I don’t fucking care, I just want to come home and know that you’ve finally given up on me. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to make it easy for you. I’m trying to be the worst boyfriend I could possibly be and you still won’t leave!”

The moment he’s done speaking you swear you could hear a pin drop. You felt like your world had completely stopped spinning on its axis.

You’re lightheaded as you stare at Matt, tears flowing freely down your face. He really was completely unrecognizable.

“What did I do?” You cried, still wanting nothing more than to feel your boyfriend’s arms wrap around you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But he wouldn’t, and it wasn’t. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Matt listened to your cries with a straight face, barely even seeming like he cared. “I just… don’t want to be with you anymore. Our relationship has run its course.”

You drop your head and let out a broken sob, reaching a hand up to try to wipe away your tears, but it was to no avail, they would just keep coming. “I love you with everything I have, I… I need you, Matt, how could you do this?”

Matt is silent, feeling like he’s already said all he needed to say. If he cared at all, he really didn’t show it.

You pick your head back up and look at Matt, your own eyes red and puffy, when you see it. You think it’s a shadow at first, but the more you stare, the more you realize your eyes aren’t deceiving you. You take a step forward and reach towards Matt, pulling the hood off his head and tugging the collar down, another choked cry falling from your lips.

“Is that a fucking hickey?” You accuse, looking up to meet his eyes. “You’re fucking cheating on me, too?!”

Matt grabs your wrist and pulls it away from him, throwing your arm back towards yourself before pulling his hood back up. “Back the fuck up, dude, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You laugh in his face, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are so fucking pathetic, Matt,” you spit at him. “You are so much of a pussy that you couldn’t even be a man and break up with me, you needed me to do it for you. Do you feel good about yourself? Knowing you cheated on someone who would literally give you the world? God, I can’t believe I almost gave you a fucking kid, you’re a joke of a partner. I feel bad for anyone that has to deal with you for the rest of their life.”

Matt clenches his jaw tightly at your words, hating how you knew exactly how to strike a nerve with him. “You think I feel good about this? I fucking don’t but I didn’t know what else to do, you would’ve never listened if I tried to leave you, you would’ve talked me into staying and I would’ve been miserable for the rest of my life!”

“You are the one that said you wanted a family! The one that said you wanted to marry me and buy our own farm and live in the middle of fucking nowhere! You said all of those things, not me!” You wanted to hit him so bad. To shake him, to kick him, to do anything to make him see how none of this made sense to you. How could he say all of those things and turn on you so quickly?

You two were laid in bed under the blankets, neither of you ready to get out of bed for the day just yet. The sun shone through the blind, illuminating Matt’s face perfectly, his blue eyes reflecting the light in a way that had you damn near in a trance, unable to pull your own eyes away from him. “I hope our babies have your eyes,” you tell him quietly, both of you laying on your sides to face each other.

He smiled shyly at you, closing his eyes for a moment. “Stop admiring me, it makes me awkward.” He mumbled, making you laugh.

“I’m your girlfriend, I’m supposed to admire you. Plus, it helps that you’re really hot and easy to admire.” You reach up and brush your hands through his hair that definitely needs a trim, pulling it back from his face to get a better view. “I’m serious, though. Your eyes are so pretty compared to mine.”

Matt opens his eyes and shoots you an annoyed look. “Stop it, our kids would be lucky to have any of your features, you’re fucking stunning.”

You giggle and roll over onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before speaking. “Do you ever think about that? Like what our kids will look like? I think about all the time. Especially like… a little girl, running around with your bright blue eyes and your big smile. I just know if we had a little girl she’d be so beautiful, Matt.” You turn your head towards your boyfriend to see him already smiling at you.

“I think about it all the time,” he starts, reaching a hand out to rest on your stomach that had been exposed by your shirt riding up, softly trailing his thumb back and forth. “I think about how protective I’d be if we had a daughter, or daughters. I think about how much of an honor it would be to raise a son with you. I think about what would happen if you got pregnant with twins or, god forbid, triplets.” You laugh at this, knowing it would be an absolute shit show. “I think about our kids, sure, but a lot of times I think to myself, ‘wow, if I love her so much now, I can’t imagine how much I’ll love her when she’s the mother of my children.’ That’s what I think.”

Your eyes become glossy and your vision goes slightly blurry as you stare at Matt, seeing the sincerity in his eyes as he spoke to you. “I love you,” you tell him and his face lights up, leaning in to place a small kiss on your lips.

“I love you more.”

“I did,” Matt shrugs his shoulders like it was no big deal. “But feelings change. People change.”

You shake your head angrily, not believing him. “No, not like that. Feelings don’t change like that, Matt. You met somebody else, didn’t you? All this time you’ve been seeing someone else.”

Matt groans, rubbing his eyes harshly. “So what?! It doesn’t matter, we’re over now, right? I’ll sleep on the couch and pack my shit tomorrow, can we just go to bed?”

You sniffle, the truth finally setting in that he’s completely given up and there was no getting him back. The Matt you once loved was gone forever and there was nothing you could do about it.

So you decided to land the final blow and make him realize how stupid he really was.

You grab his right hand with your left, facing it palm up as you reach your free hand into your pocket, grabbing the strip of paper you had kept in there, waiting for the perfect moment to drop this bomb on him. You slap the paper into his open hand before taking a step away, crossing your arms again.

“What is this?” Matt asks, staring down at the photos in front of him, panic setting in his chest. “Babe… babe, what is this?” He looks up at you, eyes wide. You swear you could almost hear his heart pounding.

“It’s an ultrasound, jackass.” You snap at him, completely over his shit.

Matt’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, eyes snapping between you and the photos. “You’re… pregnant?” He chokes out. Despite all the alcohol he’s consumed tonight, he feels the most sober he has in weeks, the reality of the situation crashing into him like a truck.

You laugh at his reaction, hating how he suddenly cared about you again. “Was,” you tell him bluntly, shrugging your shoulders like nothing you said mattered. “Turns out never getting any sleep and stressing out over your loser, lowlife boyfriend isn’t good for a baby.”

Matt lets out a huff of air like his lungs had collapsed in on him, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “You… you were pregnant, and now you’re not?” He asks quietly, his own voice now shaking.

“Yes, Matthew, I was and now I’m not. That’s how that fucking works.” You walk over and snatch the pictures from him, ignoring his pleas of denial. “While you were out doing whatever the fuck or whoever the fuck you wanted, I was here throwing up every day by my fucking self, barely even able to eat oatmeal without getting sick. I was here reading up on how to get through pregnancy or how to be a good mother. I was here shopping for fucking baby clothes and decorations. And I was the one here miscarrying in our bed, by myself!” You have no idea when you started crying again, but you were, and there was no stopping it this time. “I was the one going to doctors appointments and listening to our baby’s teeny tiny heart beating. I was here looking at pictures of her tiny feet and tiny toes, wondering if she’d look like you or like me. I was here picking up the pieces when I found out her teeny tiny heart had stopped.”

Matt’s eyes had filled with tears now, too, his bright blue eyes only made brighter by the reflection of the lamp lit in the corner of the room. “Her?” He croaked, voice failing him. “It was a girl?”

You let out a sob, nodding your head weakly. “I found out the day I found out she was gone,” you cry, voice entering a higher pitch from your throat tightening. “I wanted her so bad, Matt, and I was just waiting for you to come around so I could tell you, and… you just never did and now we’re over. I went from a girl who wanted nothing more than a family with the man she loves to being a girl who’s oddly grateful she lost a baby so she doesn’t have to deal with looking at her daughter that reminds her of the man that broke her heart.”

Matt reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, releasing a shaky breath out. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers, looking you dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry, if I had known-.”

“If you had known then what? You wouldn’t have treated me like shit? You wouldn’t have cheated? That should’ve been the bare fucking minimum, Matt, and now you’ve let down who was supposed to be the two most important girls in your life.” You point your finger at him as you speak, wanting to drive your point home and let him know how badly he had fucked up. “I would’ve done fucking anything for you, including growing your baby, and you threw that away, not me.”

“I was just scared, it was all happening so fast!” Matt wails, reaching out for you. “I got overwhelmed with the thought of settling down and I freaked out, I’m sorry.”

You push his hands away, ignoring his pleas. “You said it yourself, Matt. It’s over. Besides, I can’t bring her back. I’m always going to look at you and remember how you treated me when I had your baby inside me, and how you treated me when I dealt with the loss of our baby.”

Matt sobbed, placing his head in his hands as his shoulder shook. “I didn’t know!”

“You shouldn’t have to know!” You cried, hands flailing in front of you as you spoke, or more yelled. “You shouldn’t have to know I’m pregnant just to treat me like your fucking girlfriend! I would’ve done anything for you, including give up my body for nine months to give you a family, and you couldn’t even be loyal, and you have to live with that for the rest of your fucking life.”

Matt sunk to his knees in front of you, head resting on your stomach as he wraps his arms around your hips. You just stare down at him, your tears dripping into his hair. “I’m so sorry, please let me fix this,” he sobs into your sweater, hands gripping the back of it. “I fucked up so bad, I see that now.”

The sight of him made you want to crumble. You wanted to give in, to comfort him, to forget these last few months and go back to being the perfect happy couple you used to be. You didn’t know how you were supposed to live without him after all this time.

But you deserved better.

“Get up,” you tell him quietly and he turns his head up to look at you, cheeks soaked with his own tears. You reach down and cup his cheek, thumb swiping under his eyes to wipe new tears that fell. “Get up, Matt.”

He sniffles and obliges, standing in front of you once again, closer this time.

“You’re not sorry you hurt me,” you start, voice surprisingly calm. “You’re just sorry it backfired so badly.”

Matt grabs your hand that still rested on his face, holding it close and leaning into it. “Please,” he says, voice raspy. “Can we spend one more night together?”

You break eye contact to drop your eyes to the floor, shoulders shaking with the sob that ripped through your body.

“Yes,” you croak out, immediately melting into the arms that wrapped themselves around you like you’d disappear if he let go, your face tucking into his neck that smelled like cheap floral perfume, the scent feeling like a dagger to your heart.

You ignored it, though. Anything for one more night with the love of your life.

-

taglist

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Dragonride (Daemon Targaryen x Servant!Reader)

synopsis: It was his wedding night, yet instead of consumating the marriage with his new bride, Daemon chooses to celebrate with someone else.

warnings: power imbalance, smut, p in v, fucking in the bathtub, semi public sex, afab reader

word count: 0.8

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @saradika

The whole day the castle had been running around. Preparing for the royal wedding that is supposed to bring benefit and safety to runestone. The rogue prince as a lord husband was the perfect promise of that. If only everything would have gone as planned.

All throughout the ceremony servants passed whispers to the farthest back of the castle about the cold distance between the royalty to be wed. How far they were sitting from each other, as if the other were made of poison, as well as the enemies prince Daemon apparently intended to make early on as it seemed.

It is of little surprise when you get tasked with preparing an additional room for the Targaryen to spend the night in.

And just in time. Right as you finish preparing a hot bath for the prince, his heavy boots carry his tall frame into the room.

“Your highness.” You greet him with a bowed head.

Upon the sign of a finger, you rush to help undress him. Steady fingers removing layer after layer of clothes until there is nothing hiding the pale skin from the dim light of the candles. Daemon is silent until the task is done. Yet he gives you a knowing smirk as your eyes accidentally roam over the length between his legs.

“You can go now.” He commands afterwards, already half turned towards the bathtub.

You bow again, however as your hand touches the cold, smooth doorknob, his voice sounds through the room once more.

“Wait a moment.” His voice is disinterested as always and he doesn't look at you as you turn to him anew.

“Yes, your highness? Do you require something else?” You inquire quietly.

“Indeed, I do.” Daemon pauses for you to inquire further or understand what he means without further explanation. 

When you don’t, he speaks up again. One single word. “You.”

Your breath stocks for a moment in your lungs, unable to think clearly as usual at the request. Not a request, more a command. One that leaves no room for arguments.

Who are you to refuse a Targaryen prince anyway. “As you wish, your highness.”

With slightly trembling hands, but deliberate moves, you shed the layers of clothing that hide your body from the blond's sight.

“Have you ever ridden a dragon?” Daemon asks with a mischievous half grin as you approach him. Every step carefully thought through as if he would bite off your head any second.

“I haven't, your highness.” You negate the answer to his question.

“Well, I think it is high time for your first flight.” One large, rough hand comes up to guide you into the borderline scalding water and on top of his lap. “And for the love of the gods, stop ending all of your sentences with your highness.”

“Yes, y-... Yes, of course.” You quickly catch the trip up and correct the mistake.

Still, it earns you a sternly raised brow, which in all honesty only furthered his attractiveness. Lost in thought, it is one of Daemon's hands wandering up your breasts and lays itself snug around your neck, that pulls you back to reality.

“Good. Now show me how good of a dragon rider you can be.” with one swift move Daemon impales you on his cock.

Immediately he sets for a punishing pace. No doubt needing to get rid of some energies that must have collected inside of and burned through him the entire day. The strength with which the prince’s hips meet yours send ripples of pleasure mixed with pain up your spine and all throughout your body. The scalding hot water that surrounds the two of you makes you sensitive to every little change in his touch. Especially now that Daemon grips your waist to hold you still as he fucks up into you so tight, it might as well have left bruises already. The sound of your nails scraping against the bathtub fills the room, only overshadowed by the drawn-out grunts and heavy, shuddered breaths that mingled between you, chasing away the steam of the water below.

It isn´t long until you can´t hold back your own strained moans. Your strength waning with every new assault to your core. And even shorter until you are only held up by Daemon´s hands, your body leaning forward limply. Chest to chest and face nestled in the crook of his neck. On a particularly harsh thrust your teeth graze his ear, being shaken by the body clashing into yours.

Underneath you Daemon growls, the sound is animalistic and sends a whole new wave of heat through your nervous system. The sweat that covers both of your bodies, begins to run down in droplets, mixing with the water, driven by the exertion put on you.

The Targaryen’s thrusts grow erratic from the all but possessive display, bringing the tidal wave of your pleasure down to crash over you.

He released a final few thrusts into your convulsing cunt before pulling out of you completely, leaving behind a trail of sticky seed as evidence of his conquest. The mixed fluids spilling out of you and into the water below.

[sturnsrecord]

OVER THE PHONE

— [ex!matt x reader. angst] matt bites the bullet and decides to call you on a lonely night, desperate to just hear your voice.

the thought of you often appeared in matt's head. and when it didn't, he'd consciously think about you, all the things he remembered loving about you.

it could be as simple as your smile, or even the way you rolled your eyes at him. 

he contemplated your entire relationship. going over how it ended, as well as every mistake he ever made.

he hadn't been like this with any other girl he'd seen or dated. he'd usually shut all the memories out and move on. convincing himself that it was for the better, which apparently it was. 

but you – you plagued his mind, with both wanted and unwanted thoughts. 

he tries to keep some dignity, acting like he's fine and that he doesn't miss you. but despite the persona he plays in front of his friends and family, he knows the truth. he knows how much he misses you. 

he's considered calling you a few times, mostly on nights where he feels lonely and nostalgic, his memory of your voice not being quite enough to fuel his dopamine. 

so he drops his pride, scrolling through his contacts to find your name. his finger hovers over the call button, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip nervously.

maybe he should just send a text, he thinks to himself. but he knows he doesn’t want that – he wants to hear your voice, and your tone. 

he decides to go for it, starting the call as he brings the phone up to his ear. his heart pounds in his chest, there's a good chance you won't even pick up, or that you'll hang up as soon as he starts speaking. 

but his heart stops as soon as he hears your voice.

“matt?” you question, confused. his mind goes blank, short circuiting. he hadn't really thought about what he was gonna say, now just sat there, his mouth run dry as he listens to you.

“matt?” you say again, now slightly worried. “hello?” you chime, wondering what the fuck was up.

he finally speaks up, his voice coming out in croak. “uh, he- hey.” he mumbles, his palms sweaty. he swallows, trying to calm his nerves.

“hi?” you say, still not understanding what was going on. you sigh when he doesn't respond, considering hanging up on this non-eventful phone call. 

he notices the way you sigh, his heart picking up again. “don’t - just don't hang up.” he panics slightly, taking a deep breath.

“ok.” you mumble, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “i just wanna talk - just about anything.” he mumbles weakly, trying not to sound pathetic. “tell me ‘bout your day.” he says quietly, a meek suggestion.

you sigh again, reluctant to do this. but you'd be lying if you said a part of you didn’t wanna talk to matt. you thought about him sometimes too.

“tell you about my day?” you question, frowning a little at the suggestion.

“yeah.” he breathes out, trying to relax his body a little. “anythin’, just wanna hear your voice.” he admits. you sigh, rubbing your temple. what the fuck were you doing? 

“i've not been doing much - mostly just work.” you mumble out, abiding by his simple request. he lets out a small breath at your words, happy that you'd decided to continue the conversation. 

he smiles to himself, reminding himself that you were in college now, living a whole other life. “right, college. forgot ‘bout that.” he mumbles out, fiddling with the bottom of his top as he speaks. “how is it over there?” he asks, suddenly desperate to know everything about your new life.

“it's ok. hard work, but it's good.” you nod as you speak, trying to respond as casually as possible. “nice change in pace.” you add quietly.

he swallows, listening to your every word. he sat there imagining you in your new life, studying at college. you were always smart, and it made him happy that you were doing something good with your life, something you'd spoken about to him when you were together. 

“they’re not workin’ you too hard are they?” he jokes, keeping the conversation light and interesting for both your benefit.

“what, at college?” you joke back sarcastically. “nah, it's just what i signed up for.” you sigh, smiling to yourself without even thinking.

he nods, biting back a smile. “you happy though?” he asks sincerely, wanting to make sure you were good. 

you think for a second, nodding to yourself. “yeah, i am.” you respond quietly and honestly. “social lifes good, turns out not every girl here is a bitch.” you joke, getting more comfortable in the conversation. 

he raises his eyebrows, chuckling under his breath. “that’s surprising.” he chimes back, amused by your lack of filter that he knew so well. “s’no surprise though, you've never been bad at making friends.” he says kindly, knowing damn well how easy you were to talk to. how you'd effortlessly charm everyone with your addictive personality, in a way he admired and wished he could do.

his compliment makes your brain fizzle with happiness, but you push past it to keep the conversation lighthearted. “yeah, not socially awkward like you.” you retort back playfully, smiling ear to ear as you speak. 

he scoffs at your insult, although he found comfort and relaxation in the light teasing. finding it easy. “wow, rude.” he responds, shifting around his bed to get more comfy. “s’not my fault i like a smaller social circle.” he defends.

“yeah, you tell yourself that.” you snap back quickly, lightly chuckling as you speak. then there's a silence across the call, one where it would feel like a good time to hang up. but neither of you wanted to, that much was clear. 

“you doin’ okay?” you mumble through the phone, knowing that now was probably the only time you'd be talking like this. checking in on one another wasn't exactly a usual occurrence.

he swallows hard, his whole body feeling hot at the caring tone in your voice. “yeah - i mean, i've been better.” he mumbles awkwardly, trying to sugar coat his emotions. he was fine, just not great. but you weren't in his life like that anymore, you didn't need to know. 

your face drops a little at his words. right, so he wasn't doing okay. “m’sorry, ‘bout that.” you mumble quietly, unsure what to say. 

“it's fine” he huffs, fidgeting with the blanket under him, also unaware of what to say. the conversation veering in a slighter deeper direction, a direction he didn't particularly wanna go with you right now.

but his words escape his lips quickly and quietly, his emotions coming out over his logical thinking. “i miss you.”

his words send a thrilling shock through you. you let out a sigh, trying really hard not to say it back and make this whole stupid phone call an emotional breakdown over your past relationship. 

he swallows at your lack of response, knowing it was stupid of him to say. but talking to you on the phone like this was driving him insane, knowing he couldn't just do this whenever. it's like he was on a time limit to get everything off his chest before he went back to his life without you. 

the call is silent, but he knows you won't just hang up without saying anything. he feels his emotions bubbling over within him, the hurt consuming his mind with thoughts and questions, consuming his everything.

one question rattles in his brain, gnawing at him on a replay, so much that he didn't know if he was saying it outloud by accident or if his inner voice was just that loud. but considering the hole he's already dug himself into he stupidly lets it slip, needing to know the answer so deeply.

“are you seeing anyone?”

you shut your eyes firmly, hoping you hadn’t just heard that. “matt.” you whisper, practically pleading him to stop with just the tone of your voice. 

“i know, i know.” he mumbles, backtracking as he realises what he's just said. he knows he shouldn't have pried like that, but the need to know overtakes his pride. “i just.” he begins, sighing to himself. “i just need to know.” he croaks out, voice breaking. 

“matt.” you whisper again, in the same pleading tone that was telling him to stop asking questions he didn’t wanna know the answer to. “please don't.” you huff, practically warning him of the answer already. 

his stomach drops. fuck. you’d just answered his question, and fuck did it hurt. he was taking this a lot worse than he thought he would, jealousy surging into every nerve ending of his body. an emotion he didn't often show because of how ugly it was.

“just tell me.” he mutters, his voice coming out in a rasp of both desperation and pain. you bite down on your bottom lip nervously, honestly debating hanging up, but you owed him at least this. to be honest with him.

“yeah.” you say weakly, your heart rate picking up as you become nervous. “i have a boyfriend.” you mumble out. you know that's not what he wants to hear, but what were you meant to do.

“fuck.” he whispers under his breath, his body relaxing from its tension as the words finally leave your mouth. but what filled in was much worse, the pain and jealousy of knowing you'd moved on whilst he was still sat here thinking about you almost everyday. he felt pathetic in all honesty. 

“matt, m’sorry-” you begin, feeling bad. but he cuts you off quickly. “no, no- you don't need to.” he sighs, rubbing his temple. “you don't need to apologise, for that.” he speaks softly, trying his hardest to rationalise with that part of his brain. the logical part screaming at him to not get upset over this, to not let it completely ruin him. 

“m’happy for you.” he mumbles out, the words catching in his throat, like he's struggling to say them. maybe thats because deep down he didn’t really mean them, some fucked up, jealous part of him cruelly wishing you weren’t happy. but he couldn't act out on that. he was smart enough to understand this wasn't his place to comment, nor let his ugly emotions get the better of him. 

“thanks.” you mutter back, trying to keep the situation civil. you knew he was upset. you knew because if he had a new girlfriend you'd be freaking out, probably hating it more than you'd like to admit. and maybe that wasn't fair, but weren’t gonna dwell on the logistics of the situation.

he takes a deep breath, trying to keep up his calm demeanour, not wanting to pathetically slip up. but it's difficult trying to keep his mind at bay with thoughts of you happy with someone else. a part of him crumbled, knowing that something he had dreaded for a while now was true, and it had been for a while.

“i'm uh- i'm gonna go.” he mumbles, deciding that he couldn't talk to you anymore without practically breaking down. 

“right, okay.” you mumble, mentally smacking yourself for letting the conversation get to this. you scrape your brain for something else to say, something to fix the now low mood. but nothing comes to mind, regret taking over. 

“bye matt.” you whisper softly, the shock of the situation beginning to take over, your eyes brimming with tears as you think about the fact you've just hurt someone you care so much about. 

maybe it had been easier this whole time when you weren't talking to matt, able to keep him so incredibly separate from whatever life you were living now.

the only reason you'd been able to move on is because there was hardly anything else in your life that had any attachment to matt anymore. but getting a call from him, and hearing his voice, it really fucked you up.

“bye.” he whispers back before hastily hanging up, letting out a sigh as his eyes water. god was that a bad idea. he takes a few deep breaths, stopping himself from crying over this.

he felt pathetic and sad for himself. here you were moving on and he was just stuck, stuck on a part of both your lives that you had so easily left behind.

he hated himself for it, because he only had himself to blame.

©sturnsrecord

notes . this was inspired by @pearlzier c.ai chris bot lmao

tag list . @iizzyyy @sophsturns @strnilolover @sturniolossss @hearts4sturniolo @emely9274 @dominicfikeenthusiast

[str4wberrysw4n]

TIME TO YAPP 🎀

I named him zach, mainly as a "placeholder," but i don't care if his name is different in the 3d. he's taller than me, pale skin, brown eyes, with his dark hair in a wolfcut style. we met on the first day of school and i thought he was so cute. but i was too nervous to talk to him, until we got paired up for a project. zach was so goofy and fun, and even after it ended, he still wanted to talk to me and ended up taking my number. his whole wardrobe is kind of like a 2000s rapper mixed with opiumcore. baggy jeans, wife beaters, chains, all that shi (and he looks so fine in them 🩷) zachy looks really scary when u first meet him (ngl he can be if u piss him off), but he's generally just a big teddy bear ( ˘ ³˘) he is one of the sweetest people i've ever met and the best choice for my first bf :D he's always there to help me and listens to me when i vent abt shi that's bothering me. ik it sounds like the standard, but trust me, it's above the standard for a teenage boy...he also just has the EXACT same humor as me. bro is literally just me as the opposite gender ong 🙏 like one time i texted "hawk tuah 🔥" for literally no reason and his response was "ur very very SPECIAL 💜" (in revenge, i didn't give him any cheek kisses for a whole day  (｀ω´*)) another thing is that he let's me practice braiding his hair. my mommy never learnt how to braid hair from her mother and so struggled a lot with mine. i didn't want that problem if i ever had a kid, so he lets me practice on him. the first time i tried cornrows and he asked how he looked, I said "white boy carl ahh 🙏" he stole my juice box after >:T he's also one of the most chronically online ppl ik. like i swear bro is on tiktok 20 hours a day bcuz why am i responding to the tiktoks he sends like im grading his fukin homework?? speaking of hw, im so glad that he had y'know,actual aspirations n shi. so many boys in my school r getting into gangs n shit which is why it makes me so happy i ended up with someone who isn't affiliated with allat. he wants to go to a local college, which is fine, but i definitely think he could get into a better one if he wanted to. my prince is so intelligent (σ´∀`)σ also, he's been working out at the gym lately and it's starting to show 👀 (ngl gotta start doing it too) his parents absolutely love me, especially his mommy :3 once while we were in the car she was like "remember [my name], if my son ever gives u trouble, u come straight to me, ok?" it was a joke ofc (my bf would never hurt me) but it's nice to know i have their backs!! there's so much more i feel like im missing but it's hard for me explain!! when i love someone or smth a lot, i get so excited to talk abt them i can't put into words how i feel. i wuv him sooooo much n im so happy he loves me too!!!🎀

I need someone to yap about their s/o

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay! part 4 is here! still no dinner scene but hey, who doesn't like a telemachus and athena moment? huh? huh?

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

*later that day* *telemachus walking around the palace ground and speaking with athena about poseidon & also tomorrows family dinner*

telemachus: so, you said lord poseidon is your uncle, right?

athena: *under her breath to herself* unfortunately

athena: *to telemachus this time* he is indeed my father’s brother.

telemachus: what does he like? what’s his favourite food? does eat with you and the other gods on olympus?

athena: *not expecting to play 40 questions about poseidon*

athena: HU- *coughs* why do you want to know? i thought you studied the gods when you were younger?

telemachus: i mean yeah, but those are other people’s words. what better way than to ask his actual family?

athena: *regretting this conversation, but answers because it is telemachus asking*

athena: if you are looking to strike a conversation with him, i can say for certain he will be interested in anything about his kingdom, the sea.

athena: as for food, i’m sure you know we gods, do not require mortal food for sustenance.

telemachus: *confused and stops walking*

telemachus: *turns and looks up at athena* but you ate breakfast this morning with us? and other meals?

athena: *stops walking also and laughs a little at his confused face*

athena: *ruffles telemachus’ hair* yes i did. we can find it enjoyable, whether it be an offering, during a feast or with…

athena: *stops ruffling his hair & smiles warmly at telemachus* family.

telemachus: *smiles*

telemachus: *continues walking*

athena: *continues with him*

telemachus: so, you still never said what his favourite food was?

athena: *shrugs* i don’t know, fish?

telemachus: *laughs* well we certainly have plenty of that!

*both continue talking and walking together*

*a short while later*

telemachus: ok so even though he does have a place to live on olympus, he doesn’t live there? how come?

athena: the sea is his domain, i would expect he feels more comfortable being always part of it. he knows everything that is happening on and in it then.

athena: also, i’m sure that having my father be king of the gods while also being his younger brother, is not something he would personally want to be around all the time.

athena: i think if it were my younger brother…

athena: *imagines ares as king of the gods* *shakes the thought immediately away*

athena: *waves hand in front of her in dismissal* never mind that thought.

telemachus: *eyebrow raised in confusion* uh ok.

athena: as i was saying, my father, while he is a great & wise king of us gods, occasionally having to sometimes deal with his...

athena: *thinks to the lighting shaped scars on her face and body*

athena: …games, does not always end up good for those who play them.

telemachus:

telemachus: so, he just prefers living in his palace under the sea basically?

athena: pretty much, yeah.

athena: maybe you could save some more of your questions for my uncle at dinner tomorrow?

athena: trust me, i’m sure he’d love to talk about himself.

telemachus: yeah, i’ve got so much to ask him!

telemachus: not just about himself, but how he and my father came to be such good friends!

athena: *laughing to herself as she knows the truth of said friendship*

athena: oh i too would like to know…

athena: *has a thought* little wolf, you’re helping your mother and the palace servants plan everything for tomorrow, correct?

telemachus: yeah i am!

telemachus: actually, i probably should go and find mother to discuss things.

athena: *gently holds his arm before he can run off* before you go, i believe it would be best if we sat your father and my uncle right next to each other don’t you think?

athena: i normally know your mother and father would sit together as king and queen, but this is a family dinner, is it not?

athena: *grins* friends should be with friends.

telemachus: *holds hand up for a high five* that sounds like a great idea athena! that means you’re next to me, right?

athena: *hive fives and then smiles at telemachus* of course.

telemachus: *smiling back* okay, i’ll go and let mother know!

telemachus: *waves before heading into the palace* bye ‘thena!

athena: *waves back* goodbye telemachus.

athena: *now to herself* oh tomorrow will be fun indeed.

[skull-fvcker]

Morality

❥ Yandere! Arcane Viktor x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: cross-posted from my ao3. Old fanfiction from 2021, written way before season two. Thought I might as well post it here—the final episode broke me, by the way.

Summary: Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition. Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

Warnings: 7204 words, MDNI, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, viktor is delusional, yandere viktor by the way, dubious consent(he coerces you), unhealthy and one-sided relationship, gender-neutral pronouns used for reader, no usage of y/n, gentle sex, set in season 1

In all honesty, Viktor did not know how it started or when it got out of hand. It started as a simple fascination and he had treated it as such. Nothing was wrong with that, he was a man of science after all. It was in his nature to feel drawn to things that he did not quite understand. Many years have passed since that day. Before his strange obsession came into his life. Honestly, now that he was alone to think about it, had it ever come into his life at all? Or, by some force of nature, he had forced it into his own life? The ever-changing flow of time halted the very moment Viktor had initially realised that he had more than a problem on his hands.

Viktor thought of himself as a man with morals. He was not the best person, yes, there are plenty of others that shone brighter than he did, but he found his value in his work and ethics. That being said, nothing about him was right. His work had been clogged for year's now; the chaotic office space merely setting as a permanent indication that he had slipped too far this time. Above all else, he had guaranteed himself that his work came foremost, give or take a few instances in which it did not. This case was different, however. A disturbing accomplishment that, when asked initially, he wrote off his findings as evidence, or even lack thereof. Whether or not he was believed, was foreign to even him.

Directly adjacent to his cluttered working place—being neat had long passed his troubled brain, hadn't it?— lie his crutch, sat in such a way that it may fall at any minute. Viktor paid it no mind, at least not at first, but looking over his notes and the observations that he had written down, an idea popped up within what was left of a comprehensive state of mind. Of course, how could he have been so oblivious to forget such a thing, it was written clear as day in these scattered notes. His nimble, cold fingers grasped at the end of his crutch and he tugged it over and dug it into the floor while it enabled him to stand.

Viktor's book laid sloppily in his hand, page open in clear view. "Yes," he breathed, "I suppose this will do." He closed the withered book and shoved it between his left arm and clothed side. Periodically, an opportunity was difficult to come by. He had to do the best with what he had been given, though an itch in his brain told him that: why settle for fine, when you can go beyond?

The aforementioned person that he mentioned, the obsession - the two had never even met before, Hell, Viktor was certain it never even knew of his existence. It was ostensibly a normal upper city citizen with no strange qualities, nothing special about its behaviours nor its personality. It was normal. But it made him feel bizarre inside. He could effortlessly correlate it to that of an over-easy egg slowly cooking within a skillet until the yoke bursts for seemingly no reason and tarnishes the taste of the egg entirely. Just like that, it was ruining him. Granted, neither of them seemed to be eggs, but he believed the metaphor to fit rather well. Humanity always seemed to be so fickle, so easily swayed and broken. Just like an egg.

No matter the weakened disposition he had, nor the lingering scent of death he had become accustomed to, nothing prepared Viktor for the way his certain obsession made him feel. He was intelligent enough to not let these be known, oh, how he would hate the way that Jayce would assume the worst of his sentiments. Would he? Jayce had changed rather strikingly since the first day the two had met. Nevertheless, Viktor never seemed to be the man for love, much less protection of those around him.

Moreover, he was sure that with such dehumanising language and behaviour, nobody would hear his side of the matter. After all, calling the object of your affection an "it," and "thing," definitely does not look good for your compassion. Still, it gave him a reason to humanise his behaviour—if his obsession is not seen as equal, then what's the issue, exactly? To be blunt, it served no purpose other than to make him feel better since not a soul knew of this but him.

Sure, it did not occur to him that he would have strayed this far, but sometimes you have to do what you can to keep someone safe. He was in no state to protect someone on his own, he knew this far too well, he could never protect anyone with this sickly, frail body of his. That is why kidnapping was an absolute must. Reminiscing of the past did no good but to open up older wounds that set themselves up for failure, but the first day they had formally met was an exhilarating experience.

When they had seen him, there was a quizzical expression plastered on their face, and they even confused him for a council member of all things—never attentive, he presumed—but upon realising who he was, Viktor found himself met with immediate scepticism. Viktor could not fault them, it was something he knew all too well, though, maybe he should have saved his anguish for another day. The way their warmer hand held onto his own when he reached out to shake it. Their hand was soft, softer than his at least, and much less calloused. Smaller. Yet, their fingers did not hold the appearance of his own; on the contrary, they looked healthy. Healthier than him.

Of course, with someone who seemed to not have any imperfection, how was Viktor not supposed to fall for them, much less become intrigued with their very existence at that point? Humans were so fickle, he knew very well with how his body had grown to become sicker, but they seemed so robust, so self-sufficient. It was just like any other person, nothing too special but it stood out to him and that was what mattered.

It hurt him, really it did, to see them gawk at him with betrayal, to seem so frightened of someone who wasn't even strong, to begin with, but love came with sacrifice and even if he couldn't help everyone, then he would try to help them the best that he could.

Viktor revolted and fought against his rationality, he really did, he tried his absolute best to make sense of both his actions and what he had done. Within the months, he had thoroughly convinced himself that it was for the greater good, for the safety of his obsession; to keep them isolated from others. It was not the healthiest choice, he would acknowledge at the time, but now he may argue that it was the only thing he could have done upon meeting them formally. He just could not let them go.

Months had passed since that day, but it was fun to reminisce sometimes. Besides, it was even better that, when he had the time, they were someone in which he could spoil with every day. Yes, Viktor took things slow and always was sure to leave them be, yet give them company, but watching them stare at him with a look that he could hardly even decipher anymore, left him breathless. And he didn't even know why.

That very thing forced him into the very dilemma that he is in now. Standing in front of a locked door with a flawlessly crafted key lying in his tremoring hand. It was from excitement, he knew it was. It was like this was his own secret sanctuary where he hid his most precious desire and treasure, his perfect obsession that wept behind locked doors. It was the same every day, no matter how long he would stare.

The door opened with a slight rasp, the only other noise being a stifled sob and the sound of scuffing against the floor, then the buoyancy of bedsprings. His stiff body staggered against the sturdy cane, his hunched over body barely allowing the light to pool in around the walls of the door frame. Every day seemed no closer to his objective. He didn't even know how he had done this. Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition.

Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

"Good morning, dear. Have you slept well?" The sounds of chains screamed in his ears when he spoke. All these years and his lover still has not gotten used to their living state. "Ehh... I have already assured you. Good behaviour is rewarded, please understand that this is an absolute must to keep you safe." They were terrified. Of him. Isolation was a punishment and he could never help but feel dreadful about them being punished for things out of their control.

"When can I go home?" was the concern they always pleaded with whenever they saw him. Viktor tried to not let it get under his skin, really he did, but the knowledge that they did not want to be with him weighed heavy on his mind. He loved them, they had to recognize. Their eyes were so passive; it reminded him of when he had first seen the mutation, Rio, when he was a young boy. Curiosity, distress; panic. They just did not understand this yet.

Perhaps all the days that he merely sat there and stared at them with a desolate expression thoroughly destroyed the way they would perceive him, or how he would blatantly ignore their tantrums and screaming, tapping his fingers along the edge of his crutch like a patient father waiting for their child to calm down. Of course, Viktor never mistreated them. The most he did was further isolate them, which explained the absolutely pitiful state that they were in right now.

Reluctance to accept the changing future will result in the fear of what's to come. He understands it's different from what they were used to. But one must adapt to their surroundings and become accustomed. Viktor has already sacrificed so much for them; when was it their turn to return the favour? The ever-changing future is something he will never know for certain.

Viktor sighed, watching them press their body against the nook of the room where their bed had been so delicately placed. The bedsheets had been sent into a state of disrepair, and certain pillows seemed more shapely than the rest. From clutching them too tightly, he inferred. It was adorable.

"This is your home," It was no wonder that they attempted to squeeze themselves farther against the wall when he staggered closer. "I don't have any food this time, I'm afraid," he stood right at the side of their mattress, directly in front of trembling form, his eyes fixated on the plate that sat adjacent to the bed, at least a few days old now. "Though, I'm glad that you, ehm, were able to finish your last meal. Good job." A sigh escaped him after the carefully placed praise fell from his lips and, upon staring hastily at them, he recalled the fear blending within their wide eyes. "However," he found himself fumbling over his words, "I know that you've been a little, eh... downcast, as of late so I have decided that I am going to offer you something that I'm sure you would love," he paused, almost reluctant to reach forward and stroke the hair behind their ear. Hesitant to touch them lovingly.

This situation was a troublesome one, of course, it would be, but he was not a fool in the matter. He read up on numerous articles simply so he can keep things safe for them — falling for one's captor, he had thought about it, yet the turmoil often sets in when he realises that they hadn't developed such a thing just yet. Had he not been too kind? Perhaps, it was the chains around their body? Particular disorders of the mind were so hard to force into existence; was that such a terrible thing to wish for? They looked as if they served more as a pet than anything else, honestly. But that's love, this is just his love. Viktor was well aware that a plethora of things regarding both he and his health weren't precisely right, particularly in concerns to other people. Honestly, staring at them in such a miserable state made him feel almost remorseful.

They must feel so trapped, not to mention secluded, after all, he was never able to spend as much time with them as he would have preferred. He wondered, did they feel imprisoned in their own body, too? Probably not in the way that he did, but it was a suspicion that lingered in his mind. He set his hand on the side of their face unexpectedly, and they jolted back. Granted, he was certain that his hand was freezing. But, Hell, it appeared as if they had almost whimpered at his touch. Still, he had never done anything to harm them, he's only keeping them safe. The images of the mutation Rio sitting in a tank of fluids that he knew all too well now, the thought of it being kept alive despite its pleas not to. Such lengths are just an experiment to preserve life. He understood, now. Not in the way that he should have, but he did.

Maybe that was how they felt. Like a trapped animal, frightened and alone. But they have him, they may not want him, but he is there.

Viktor's knees buckled as they pressed against the edge of the mattress, gently hoisting one after the other to get closer to the horrified individual hiding from his affection, which was already something which he never exhibited frequently.

"I want you to understand," he ran his thumb along their cheek with feathery soft touches, "I know you still don't understand why I'm doing this, or why you're here but rest assured that it's all out of genuine love." When you're going to change the world, don't ask for permission. "Alone. You're lonely and you're scared. I know how you feel. But you're special," their eyes met Viktor's for but an instant and it sent shock waves down his spine. Don't ask permission. "You're special to me, and that is what truly matters at this moment." They were about to cry. Correction, they were sobbing. And it was all his fault. Emotional turmoil mixed with the trauma enforced within them made this happen - because of Viktor.

And despite it all, Viktor could not help but feel proud of his accomplishments.

"Please," their name rolled off of his tongue like a loose screw in his brain, though more akin to a prayer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, please." Their disobedience irritated him and sent his nostrils flaring, but he didn't allow that to show outwardly. They were already so skittish, why would he threaten them further? "Mm, I will reiterate it as many times as you desire: good behaviour is rewarded. If... If you're good—for me—then, and only then, will I allow you to go outside." His words set off a fire in their brain, he could tell how their breathing unexpectedly halted and they went completely tight-lipped. Was that all it took for them to settle down? An effortlessly broken promise?

Right, they were at their wit's end, weren't they? Their emotions override their rationality. The sunlight would be good for their health, after all. Quite frankly, the thought was unsettling, Viktor didn't want them out of his sight, but if it would make them satisfied then he could make configurations for such a thing. Though, he would have to be cautious to not allow anyone to see them. What if they tried to... escape, in a sense? It was dangerous, he would have to think about it thoroughly.

"Do you mean it?" They said, suddenly. Their head was raised aloft and their wide eyes stared directly at him. "If I'm good... I'll be able to go outside? It's—" A sharp inhale. "It's been months," they were optimistic. Why was it so unbearable to see them so miserable?

For all but a juncture, Viktor felt himself at a loss for words. There was no telling whether or not he would be able to keep that promise, but he could try. They just need to learn to embrace change and adapt, maybe they will forget about it in due time. "I mean it," he said without thought, "you have my word." Did they, truly? You should not make promises that you are incapable of keeping, but just this once, the way their expression lit up and how the tears fell from their eyes, made Viktor feel as if he had done something right this entire time. Without a single word, his hand slowly lowered from their warm cheek, his gangly fingers running alongside the edges of the collar that adorned their flawless neck.

In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.

How would Viktor feel if someone had done this to him? It was a rhetorical question; nobody cared for him enough to go to such drastic lengths to proclaim their love. Therefore, this couldn't have been an unfair thing for him to do. "We must adapt to change," he spoke softly as his fingers danced around their trembling jaw. "You must adapt to change." His voice dropped an octave, gaze falling back onto their face. He had adapted to this change flawlessly fine, it was them that had to figure out how to. They were ultimate perfection in his eyes—there was just one, little issue...

"What are you doing?" Their voice quivered. Viktor's hand slipped down to their collarbones, pinching against the soft fleshy prison.

"Ahm, eh, I am... feeling you, merely. Nothing more," their breath hitched at his actions. "Unless you want me to do more?" An unexpected whimper came from them, in which he did not know if it was good or not, but knowing them, it emanated from apprehension. "I love you, you know that. I would never force you to do something. Think of it as a friendly suggestion," Viktor's blunt fingernails found themselves becoming caught on the neckline of their shirt. "So, will you let me?" There was a pause between them. Most importantly, the air seemed to grow still. Tension so thick that you could slice it in half with a knife.

They shifted but didn't give Viktor a clear yes or no. In all honesty, they seemed to be dismissing him altogether. He could feel their body heat begin to amplify, a telltale indication of both their embarrassment and if he dares say desire. A relatively foolish notion, he was well aware, however, that did not mean anything in his mind, not in the current time. The future could come later, and his life may pass him by. But the future does not exist, does it? Not until you make it so. If he didn't take satisfaction in the opportunity that he had right now, then it may never come up again.

Nevertheless, he took the chance and leaned forward, inch by inch until his face had pressed into what was seen within the crook of their neck. Their skin was soft, warm; pulsating. "I am obsessed with you," both of his hands set themselves upon their shoulders, thumbs clutching against the blade of their clavicles. "I am, truly. My devotion, my love, my obsession for you—that will be the only thing that will never change no matter the year to come. You may push me away all that you desire, but I will come back to you. I love you." His chapped lips pressed in between their jawline and neck, a chaste kiss that he allowed to linger on their skin. They didn't even bother pushing him away. They had the strength to, yet abstained.

We failed to do good.

"Understand my efforts," his voice was barely above a whisper, "you must have seen them. Make sense of my love for you." His grip on their shoulders tightened, but he knew it would never be enough to harm them. It wasn't as if he wanted to injure them in the first place, either. However, it was short-lived, and Viktor's hands fell from their shoulders to their bound wrists, and straight down to their tremoring hands. "I have always wanted to do more with you—to be what most would consider a "couple" yet you keep pushing me away." During his rambling, Viktor heard them mumble something under their breath. "Could you repeat that?"

"I said I'm sorry," they whispered. For the first time, it seemed that they were apologising to him so sincerely, maybe with actual suspicions that something may transpire if they were to not apologise. It was startling, but a chance to hear their voice was satisfactory for Viktor. There was a lingering breath that he could feel tickle the back of his neck, coupled together with their heaving chest. They were scared.

We have to make it right.

Viktor felt his heart hammer against his rib cage, a knot forming in his throat bitterly. This clammy feeling in his chest was unneeded. "Well," he spoke with a sharp exhale, "do you know what would make me forgive you?" As if he hadn't already forgiven them, to begin with. Upon feeling them nod slowly, Viktor pulled away from them and hurried his hands from their own, to their neck. His touches were faint, but loving. Held a certain edge to them, hinted at with a distinct emotion. "I'm very sure you're aware of what I'm getting at," his breathing picked up, just as theirs did, and for a few instants, it seemed that theirs was in sync with his own. To his surprise, they shifted and nodded in agreement, but did not vocalise it.

Anxiously, Viktor proceeded to slowly creep his body forward, even closer to them than he was before. He felt his heart thumping against his rib cage, the wind being knocked from his lungs as he shakily exhaled. Viktor was not the type of man for sex, he never had the time to do it; but when it came to his little obsession, why not indulge? Their consent was dubious at best, but at this point, any hint of acceptance was promising enough for him. He struggled to rationalise his thinking but instead was only met with a cluttered mess within his brain. Viktor couldn't concentrate on anything other than them at this moment. It was just the two of them, and that was all that truly carried weight to him.

His kisses against their skin were light, virtually non-existent, but the genuine love that he harboured for them persisted despite their shuddering breathing; despite their apprehension. Viktor's lips pressed against their tender jawline until he finally met the edges of their lips. His hands were twitching, cupping the sides of their face with his thumbs caressing the skin underneath their eyes. This would be their first kiss together. Would they reciprocate it? He sure hopes that they would in some way, they don't seem to have any reasoning as to why they wouldn't. He pulled back momentarily to stare at them, only to notice that they weren't looking at him at all. That would be okay.

"You're mine," he breathed as he pressed his lips against their own once again. Viktor felt as if his chapped, thin lips were being engulfed by theirs—though, theirs were equally as chapped as he were. He made a mental note to up their water intake. The kiss did not quite feel the way that he visualized it to feel—he thought it would have felt more romantic in a sense. Moreover, he would have believed that they wouldn't be chained to the wall in such an intimate instant. But, good behaviour is rewarded. This was temporary, they knew that, as did he. Just as the kiss was about to end, he felt them lean into it and press their lips into his own. That, above everything else, made him feel like the blessedest man in all of Piltover. Of Zaun, anywhere.

"I love you more than anything," confessed Viktor as he pulled away from their lips. "I'm glad that you're mine." And he meant it.

Their breath hitched just as it constantly did when he touched them. Maybe it was the fact that his hands were gradually examining their body, tilting across every crevice, from where their midsection concave whenever they'd instinctively suck it in out of humiliation, to the quiver of the skin around their navel when his fingers ran along the sensitive region. Viktor's hands were underneath their shirt, his wiry fingers eagerly squeezing the skin. They squeaked at first, his hands were frigid after all but eventually unwound though not peeking at him. Viktor wished that they would look at him like a person rather than an oddity.

The hem of their trousers huddled against their hips, hiding away the most intimate part of their body that only Viktor was allowed to see. For a moment, he looked into their eyes for the right to go ahead, but upon being avoided, Viktor merely yanked them down with enthusiasm pulsing through his veins. His thumbs pressed between their navel and hipbones, in an almost comforting gesture. But it wasn't as if they cared in the long run, however, he could hear their hitching breath. Through dirty-minded thoughts, Viktor's right hand loomed above their sex while his other clasped against their hipbone for support. He was actually doing this—something that he had just as much as dreamed of for years.

"Please," their whiny voice startled his thoughts. "Just... be gentle with me," they didn't seem to be in the mood to fight him at all. That's good. Viktor was sure he had neither the strength nor the energy to deal with it.

His thumb pressed against the sensitive nub below, threatening a gasp from them. "I'll never hurt you," he rubbed their hip in synchronisation with his sensual touches against their sex. "I promise, I will do what I can to make you feel pleasured." His breathing picked up as arousal trickled down his spine like that of the emotions that he loathed. "I want... to see the inside of you. All of you," he spoke aloud, a hint of longing in his tone which he had shoved back this entire time. He wanted them to comprehend his love to its full potential.

Viktor's face pressed against the crook of their neck once again, shifting his hips as he closed his eyes. They were making noises, now, their chained wrists clicking against the harsh metals as they lifted their hands to dig into his back. Secretly, he had hoped that they would call his name. He knew that they knew it. They've spoken it countless times before. Granted, it was always in a fit of rage or hysteria which followed, "I hate you," and, "You ruined my life." But they knew his name at the very least.

Moreover, they were unravelling at the seams. They liked this just as much as Viktor did. They loved him, they had to. Lust and love were on a thin line, so closely drawn together yet had such distinct differences. Could the same be said about obsession? Maybe so, but that did not mean much by this point.

"I love you," he breathed into their neck, his warm breath no doubt sending shivers down his spine or so he hoped. "You feel so soft, so pretty..." His fingers toyed with their sex, jerking in sporadic movements which caused their hips to buck against him, further spurring him on. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? Like I—" his breath hitched when their hands clenched the fabric of his vest, "Like I own you?" For once, they actually agreed with him.

"Y-yes," they let out a pitiful, rueful whine more akin to someone who was used to this sort of thing. But that was inane. They belonged to him. "It feels—It feels really good, I..." Their hips were rolling now, eagerly trying to accept his love rather than pushing it away like they always had been. They were accepting change. They were adapting. "Jus—just like that, please, Viktor—"

And at that moment, time seemed to halt.

They said his name, not out of pure spite or anger, not from him doing something they did not like, but in pleasure. The pleasure that he was inflicting on them. "You're doing such a good job, So good for me," it came out as more of a wheeze than praise, though there was a hint of worship hidden within it. "Are you going to come soon? I want you to come undone because of me. I love you," his lips returned their place at their neck, his crooked teeth nibbling onto their soft skin, further forcing out a reaction from them. Just from their responses and noises alone, Viktor felt as if he was going to come any second now instead, and he hadn't even touched himself. All he could feel was his dick beginning to strain against his dress pants.

It was getting so hot and stuffy, surely he should take off his vest and dress shirt soon. The things that they did to him were things that he didn't even expect. The love he harboured, the desire he held—they were his weak spot. This precious creature. Viktor felt his breathing pick up as he pulled his teeth away from their neck, their delicate skin caught between his incisors.

Once more, slowly, his fingers gently danced around their sex, forcing himself to concentrate and try to block out the absolutely lovely noises that they were emitting. The noises, be as they may, were provided to him involuntarily, he attempting to reject the wail of pleasure that came from them. The squelchy sound of their fluid pooling around his fingers met his ears, giving a sick taste of satisfaction. His left hand clenched their skin a little too tightly for even his standards, the wiry fingers of his right hand working against him, deliberately circulating apart and snapping concurrently, a shudder running down his spine at the howl they made along with the response their body offered. Devoiding much of a thought, Viktor pulled his left hand away from their hipbone, dragging the appendage straight to the front of his dress pants, fumbling with both the zipper and hem in an attempt to pull it away from his groin.

"Oh," he heaved as he pulled away, ignoring the whimper that came from his lover in front of him. They wanted this. They needed this. Needed him. "Would you mind if I tried..." The words died in his mouth as soon as they came out, his left hand hovering above his concealed groin. Surely, they would say yes? They seemed a bit dazed, though perhaps it was his fault for not allowing them the relief that they were so close to acquiring. "I want to... feel you. I may not last very long," he fished his dick out of his boxers, feeling his face heat up to the point where he was sure it was red. "Do you want to?"

They made eye contact with him this time. The humanity, the want, the greed and the fear shone in their eyes brightly, but nothing could cover the telltale signs of love and lust. Viktor already knew the answer, they didn't even have to answer him, he already knew what it was going to be by their reaction alone. This was the key to their heart.

Now, at first, Viktor would not lie when he said that it made him feel a bit shy, or nervous—the thought of them seeing such an intimate part of his body, one of which he knows can be heavily judged based on size, was nervewracking to him. But the lack of disgust in their eyes—or maybe it was hidden between a thick cloud of lust—made him believe otherwise. They liked what they saw, and hopefully, nothing would change the way that they saw him. Their approval is what he strives for. However, that does not exactly matter with how far things have gotten. How many times has he repeated that phrase in his head?

The silence was deafening, but it was enough for Viktor to shuffle forward and shift his weight onto his somewhat good leg, swallowing the rising lump in his throat as he used his free hand to pull down their trousers. After this, he would be sure to give things a thorough wash. "Can you come closer?" He asked as he pulled his hand away. Please come closer.

He hadn't expected them to listen to him, nor to actually push themselves off the wall just to get closer to him, but, at the same time, he was not complaining. "Good job," he praised, his hands returning to place on their hips. Their skin felt so warm, but Viktor could still feel the reluctance radiating off of their perfect form. Now, this was just a question of whether or not he should go through with It. If he should finish claiming them.

The rattling chains served as a constant reminder for them to not fall out of line, and Viktor was sure that they did not want to do such a thing, especially not so close to salvation at this point. Steadily, Viktor felt their thighs wrap around his hips, and though the pressure and their weight being shifted onto him were agonising, he tried to force his way through it. The way that he could feel the tip of his dick press against them—that was like pure ecstasy. He never thought the day would come when they would grind into his lap so sensually, and act as if they had never tormented him for years to come.

"God," there was a slight plea laced within his velvet tone, "I need to be inside of you. Please," as much as Viktor loved them, he could never trust them to be the one providing. Not with how their behaviour had exhibited... less than desirable traits. "Will you allow me? We could finally become one in a sense. I just want to feel your insides around me, I want to feel your body heat against me." Whether or not they found pleasure in Viktor's begging, they offered him a response anyway:

"Shut up," was what they said. "Go ahead."

And with that, Viktor found himself slowly pushing their body down into the mattress, further ruining the bedspread and sheets that weren't even properly fixed in the first place. They still seemed reluctant, as their tone even harboured a certain edge to it, but hell, Viktor could not fault them. He feels nervous, too, of course, he does. Pulling down their trousers fully to their calves, he felt a knot grow within his throat. The thought of someone else doing this to them caused bile and jealousy to rise within his empty stomach, curling and screaming in the back of his mind, yet he pushed it aside in favour of much kinder thoughts.

A part of him wished to be able to twist and manipulate this circumstance, but he knew he didn't want to do such a thing - Viktor wanted nothing more than for them to just become wholly his and only his until death would take hold of them both. And even then, that would not split them apart nor dwindle his love for them. "I'm going to..." There was a brief pause, embarrassment etched across his face, "Er, make love to you," he spoke aloud, though it was more as if he was convincing himself that he was going to, rather than informing them.

There was little to no resistance when Viktor pressed himself inside, but it was such a foreign feeling that he could not help but whimper at the sensation. They were warm on the inside, and not the mention that their body would occasionally clench around his dick. His golden eyes gaped at their face, eyeing the expressions that they would make, all the way until the hilt of his dick finally pressed against their pelvic area. This was embarrassing.

Shamelessly, Viktor pulled back his hips, only to snap them forward with a moan. He tried his best to keep quiet, however, with the way that they started breathing heavily with their knees pressed up against the sides of his thighs, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. They were perfect, they felt perfect - on the inside, the outside, no matter. He hunched his body over their own, using the strength in his arms—what was left of it, anyway—to keep himself up. Viktor had no clue how long he would last, nor how his body would allow him to continue. But with how it felt, he hoped it would be long enough.

"You—you're... You're big," they suddenly confessed, a slight whimper escaping with the moan that left them. Fuck, they sounded so adorable like that. "Don't... Stop, please—"

A shiver ran down Viktor's spine at the blatant praise that fell from their lips shamelessly, it seemed so heinous, almost as if they were trying to get him going. "Ah..." Keep talking. "You, ah—you think so?" He panted as his hips snapped forward once, then twice. Was he drooling? Shit, he was drooling. "You feel so good on the in—the inside. So warm, so inviting. I would never... want to stop," a particularly loud moan escaped him, which seemed to be a hybrid of both a moan and wheeze. His lover didn't seem to notice nor care, however.

Why would they ever want to leave when they have such luxury in their life? Here they were, underneath Viktor with their eyes clenched tightly, hands balled up in fists as strings of moans escaped their bitten lips. They looked gorgeous like that. It even made Viktor feel powerful to know that he was able to make them feel such a way. Nearly impossible, he thought, if they weren't tied up and reluctant to accept him, they might have tried something devious and that would have ruined every single thing that Viktor had planned. Still, they're accepting his love.

His rhythm wasn't exactly straight nor following any set beat. Viktor felt as if his movements were sloppy and skewed, choppy thrusts and shuddering muscles that he was surprised had lasted this long. He could feel himself growing close, but he couldn't allow himself to unless they had, first. They mattered more than anything else.

"D... Darling," he nearly cried out, "I love you so much—" One of their hands threw itself behind Viktor's head, tangling their fingers within his messy locks of dark hair, gently tugging him forward. A shock ran down his spine at the gesture.

"I know," they breathed, "I know you do." Were they feeding into his delusion and leaving him to feel as if they felt the same, or did they genuinely love him at this moment? The way their eyes slowly peeked open was complete bliss for him, the irises that stared directly into his own with blown-out pupils—love.

He felt his sloppy movements speeding up, all while his body became sore from the extended movements, and all while this happened he felt the drool collect on the edge of his lips, dripping down his chin to their shirt, wetting the wrinkled fabrics. It didn't matter how ruined it would get, Viktor made a mental note to give them an even better shirt. Nevertheless, a knot coiled itself within his gut, curling around his navel and shooting a cramp up his spine in an almost pleasurable manner.

His bottom lip caught itself in between his incisors, muffling a forthcoming moan. "Are you—" a choked moan. "Are you clos—close? Please—" There was borderline whimpering in tone and he could not help but feel embarrassed for it, but the trembling person below made him feel a little better about his childish worries. They nodded without speaking, staring at him through thick eyelashes. They were gorgeous.

Viktor smiled, and it met his eyes. "So am I."

It was blissful, for him, at least—everything seemed perfect and in order as Viktor's right hand clasped around the side of their waist, squeezing the soft, malleable flesh: pliant. His breathing picked up, as did theirs, but he was determined to stretch this out for as long as he allowed himself to. As he closed his eyes tightly, Viktor felt his thumb dig into the dip between their stomach and hip bone, causing a red indentation on the soft skin. Through his pleasure, he could hear the loud sound of their moans below, as well as the sound of skin slapping against the skin; the squelch of genetic fluids mixed. Viktor's eyebrows furrowed together at the sound, his head falling against their chest, forehead pressed directly above their heart. Their clavicle, he presumed. They felt so good, he didn't want to stop, but he was so close.

"Viktor—" they cried out, suddenly, "I'm g—going—" there was a loud, rueful cry, followed by a high-pitched whimper. He could feel them clench around his dick, and then they had come. This sent him over the edge. Viktor lifted his head weakly and pressed his lips against their own, his saliva smearing all over their mouth and cheeks. He moaned into their mouth, pressing his hips forward one more time as his hand clenched their skin, surely hard enough to leave a bruise. He emptied inside of them, the muscles in his thighs twitching and convulsing, his dick soon going limp thereafter.

For a moment, Viktor caught his breath, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Tears pricked his vision when he opened his eyes, and the slobber dripped from his lips. His legs felt as if they were stuck in mud, but how did they feel? As he lifted himself, Viktor stared down at the person below him, completely covered in the afterglow. I came inside, that was an accident, he thought, but they looked so cute like that.

Much like before, Viktor felt a knot form in the middle of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing with each calculated swallow and breath.

Viktor felt breathless, but he felt as if that was to be expected. He stared down below at the barely visible person he had claimed just a few moments prior; his vision betraying him. He rests his forehead against theirs, a promise of devotion. "What can I do to make you love me?"

"Let me go," they whispered in a soft croon.

"You know I cannot afford to do that. You're mine."

[misspelledwordswizard]

I would love to see the chain react to reader from the atla universe or just one that uses bending in the same way? Just using bending unconsciously and freaking them all out because of it.

I love Atla, I loved writing this! I didn't know what kind of bending you were expecting, so I did waterbending, I hope you like it.

A notice about orders; I'm doing them in order, so if yours takes a little longer, it's probably because I'm working on others, but they'll all be done! And I'm very happy with them too, don't worry about it, you can send them, I'm loving your ideas.

It was a hot sunny day, so much so that Chain mutually agreed to take a break to go into the nearby river. It was a calm river with a small waterfall that made a pleasant noise in the environment. Wild and Wind were the first to jump in, excited as children, well, at least one of them was one. I couldn’t have been happier. You could say that the water is my territory, so on a day like this, being in cold water was paradise for me. 

Little by little, the others started to enter the river too. It was easy for them, they could just take off their tunics and equipment and get in, while I had to temporarily separate from the group to change and put on a bathing suit, but that was okay, it didn’t take long. Soon I was also entering the river to enjoy the sunny day. 

The cold water touched my body bringing a welcome feeling of relief, cooling my hot and sweaty skin, but this moment of peace was short-lived after I felt a wave of water hit me directly in the face, followed by the sound of childish laughter. That brat.  I imitated his attitude, pushing water with my hands towards him, hitting him with everything and stopping his laughter. The sailor still had the audacity to better himself with indignation, as if he hadn’t been the first to start. I could hear the others laughing in the background too, but they didn’t have the courage to get involved in this. Now it was war. 

Soon the area of the river where we were became a mess of water being splashed in all directions incessantly. Until I could feel a particularly strong attack coming from Wind, and instinctively wanted to retaliate even more. The movements so natural to me happened without me even being able to think about it, soon a small wave, but bigger than any I could generate with my bare hands, appeared next to me and went towards the Sailor, strong enough to make him stay underwater for a few seconds, raising his head in surprise and confusion right after. 

— Aha, I won! – I exclaimed excitedly, but my excitement died when I saw the lack of reaction not only from the sailor, but from all the boys. – What happened? Was I too harsh? 

— How did you do that?! – Wind was the first to speak, coming towards me excitedly. Only then did I understand my mistake. 

— Yeah, was that some kind of magic? – Wars asked, intrigued. 

— I’ve never heard of magic like that. – Hyrule replied, looking curious and suspicious at the same time. 

— Well, that’s because it’s not magic. – I replied, creating even more doubts in everyone, who remained silent waiting for me to continue. – You know, you may not know much about the place I come from, but there’s no magic there. On the other hand, there are people there who can have some control over one of the elements of nature, using specific movements. We’re called benders. 

Even when I tried to explain, they seemed terribly confused and incredulous.  Of course, they already knew I came from a different kind of world, and had somehow ended up here through a strange portal, but I’ve avoided talking about my home to them, precisely because I thought it might be too much for them to take in. Just as it has been for me. 

— So, you can simply control the elements of nature? – The Champion questioned, not very confident about it. 

— Not all of them, and we call it bending. There are four main types of bending, water, fire, earth and air. People who have this ability can only bend one of the four, with the exception of the Avatar. – I can’t tell if throwing all this information out was useful or just made the situation worse. 

— That’s cool! – Wind exclaimed. – Show me more, that’s really cool! 

— Well, that’s definitely interesting, could you demonstrate more of that? – Time asked, and I could tell he wanted to analyze it better. 

— Yeah, what do you normally use it for? – Twilight was the next to ask. 

— Well, waterbending can be used as a medicinal method, and each bending can be used for various everyday things, and for fighting. 

— You mean you could have used it to fight this whole time and you just chose not to?! – Legend seemed indignant at that. 

— Well... I already imagined it would be difficult to explain about this.  – I replied, while using my bending again as they had asked me to, making a large ball of water float over the river. 

— Cool. – Wild said. – Now that we know and you can use it, I’m sure it can be very useful. 

— Yeah, you said it has medicinal properties? That would be really good. – The Traveler questioned, receiving a positive answer from me. 

— Guys, you’re forgetting the main thing! – Wind said, getting everyone’s attention. – Have you thought about the games we can play with this? 

Everyone snorted at the boy’s childish answer, when we expected something a little more important than that. I was afraid to talk about it with them, but they ended up being much more understanding than I imagined. That’s good. 

— But I must admit that I’m very curious about this too. Can you show me other things you can do? You said there are four main bends, does that mean there are other smaller bends? – Sky asked excitedly, and everyone seemed as curious as he was about the subject. 

— Hey, this would be really useful for forging swords, can you help me next time I work on the Champion’s sword? – The blacksmith was the next to ask, which created a gap for a flood of different questions. 

— Can you close wounds? 

— What exactly would an “avatar” be? 

— How does earthbending work? 

— Can I be considered an airbender? 

— How do movements influence this? 

Soon, I was surrounded by curious blondes and being drowned in their curious questions. I think we’re going to spend a good amount of time on this subject. 

[anon-sect]

Picture source: anonymous

Danny was really getting annoyed with his supervisor. Both him and Evan applied for the same job. He was more qualified for the position, but they end up picking Evan. He later found out that Evan got the position because of a secret bribe. He was so pissed off at that. To make things worse, Evan used his position to make work almost a living hell for him. He would give him way more task than others while the slackers got even less than before. He would sometimes give him near impossible deadlines to meet, knowing that would cause him to work a lot of late nights while he was out partying and having fun. It really got to a point he couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to teach Evan a lesson that would equal the same amount of torture he gave him. He had the perfect idea of how to do it.

Evan arrived at Danny's office after he refused to meet one of the near impossible deadlines. "You know I could have you fired, but I might give you a second chance." Evan spoke with a twisted grin.

Danny was waiting for to come to his office. "I have the finished report here. Just take a look." He spoke as he turned the computer screen toward Evan. He took out his phone and set up the TF Pro app out of view of Evan.

Evan looked at the computer screen and saw nothing but an empty page. He was about to ask what that was about when he saw a flash from Danny's phone. There was an instant change of view. He was in a different form and could not move or speak. He had a limited view form what his new form was. He could hear Danny close his office door. "I turned you into boots. My partner loves boots. I am going to gift you to him for a while. It will be long enough for them to hire a new more qualified supervisor." He heard Danny laughing as he was placed in shoe box and the top put on it. He was trapped in the dark as his fate was already determined without his consent.

The next time Evan saw daylight was the top was removed. He heard Danny's voice, and he was talking with another guy.

"What do you think of them, babe?" Danny asked his partner Valin. He watched as Valin took out the boots and examined them.

"They look perfect. Where did you get them?" Valin asked as he continued to examine them.

"My supervisor had bought them, but they didn't fit his feet, so he thought you might be able to make use of them." Danny answered back, knowing full well that Evan was hearing every word. He smirked at that thought.

"Tell him I appreciate this. I have been wanting knew boots to wear. And the way they fell makes me want to wear them nearly every day." Valin spoke as he hugged his partner.

Evan was mentally screaming at both of them. He didn't want to be worn on his feet every day. He didn't even want to be boots at all. He watched in horror as a dingy white socked foot entered one boot and pressed down on his insole face. He had to endure the same scene as Valin put on the other boot. Valin did a couple of stomps and began to walk around in him. The dingy white sock had a strong odor to it. He so wanted to get away from them so badly. The pressure of being walked on made his insole face experience extreme pain, nothing like he had ever felt before. Each step was pain renewed over and over.

Danny watched as Valin walked around the room in his new boots, simply enjoying how they felt on his feet. The thought that poor Evan was being walked on without a single thought from his owner made him smile. He really must be suffering under my partner's feet; he thought to himself. Serves him right, he also thought.

For a straight two weeks, Evan found himself subjected to Valin's feet every day. Valin wore him to work, out shopping and hanging out with friends and his partner. Sometimes, Valin wore clean socks and other times, it was dirty and smelly socks. After a few days, he had already developed a strong foot odor from Valin's foot sweat. Every speck of material on the inside reeked of his owner's feet. He was really sorry now how he had treated Danny at work. Experiencing the excruciating pain every day as his face was an insole and smelling like Valin's feet all the time was torture beyond measure. All he wanted now was for Danny to turn him back to normal. He promised he would be a better supervisor if he did so.

ONE MONTH AFTER TRANSFORMATION....

Danny came back home smiling and exicted. "I finally got the supervisor position that I have been filing in for the past month, babe. They finally made it permanent." He hugged Valin. He looked down to notice he was still wearing his special boots he gave him, even after a whole month.

"Congratulations, babe. You deserve it. Especially after putting up with that ass hole of a supervisor for so long." Valin spoke as they both sat down on the couch.

"You know, I have been hiding a secret from you the past thirty days." Danny spoke, rubbing his partner's legs.

"Oh and what's that?" Valin asked as rubbed around Danny's neck, looking into his eyes.

"You remember my ass hole of a supervisor and how he suddenly went missing?" Danny paused as he kissed Valin on the lips. "Well, he technically wasn't missing. I know exactly where he has been the past thirty days.' he added, smiling with glee.

"Where," Valin asked him, being curious now.

"On your feet. I turned him into a pair of new boots and gifted him to you until I got the position." Danny smiled back, looking down at his partner's boots.

Valin looked down at his boots as well. He was silent for a moment to really think about that. "Are you really serious?" He finally asked. He saw Danny nodding back in affirmation of his question. "No wonder they felt so good on my feet."

"But now that I have the position, I can change him back now." Danny spoke, but to open the TF Pro App on his phone.

"No, you will not. I like my boots; babe and I want to keep them." Valin paused, wiggling his toes in his boots. "They are the most comfortable footwear I ever owned. Besides, you gave them to me. It's my choice of what happens to them, right?" Valin tried to reason with his partner. He really wanted to keep his boots, despite knowing the truth now.

Danny thought about it. "Okay, if you want to keep the boots, I will let you." He deleted the reverse data from the app. "But you know fully about the boots, now. Yet, you still want to keep them." He added.

Valin nodded. "That doesn't matter. He is my property to do with as I pleased ever since you gave him to me." Both of them laughed at that remark.

Evan mentally cried, hearing the whole conversation. Valin had completely decided to keep him as his boots and Danny got his job. He now was nothing but a pair of boots for the rest of his life and no one was going to change that.

[taebaelee]

Posted this on a small subreddit, but wanted to post here as well. For the new game, while part of me enjoyed playing some of it, I do really think it's such a disservice to be able to really call it a Dragon Age game when the writers stripped away any nuances by trying to make everything black or white; everything feels very basic and borderline cartoonish at points.

Anything morally gray is non-existent and you have no real influence in the game. No matter what you do, you are forced as the player to play a super friendly (or chaotic-good) at best protagonist with no opinions on the world of Thedas. This is what makes this not feel like a Dragon Age game to me.

This isn't super long, but there are spoilers under the cut as to why I feel this way. I do speak very critically about the new game, so please do not read if you think it may offend you as that is not my intention; this is more of a therapeutic rant for me and fellow DA lovers who feel disappointed about the writing.

While people can argue on how the previous games handle the situations involving anti/pro mages, templars, elves, the chantry, etc-- you can't even talk/argue about literally ANYTHING in the world with anyone as these ideas simply do not exist in the game OR are introduced but with a narrative already framed around it by the writers ideals.

- Factions/groups you work with are too virtuous. We could have had such deep and complex dynamics with the factions and how their backgrounds change your relationship with the characters in the world, or how the party members interacted with each other. Instead, none of it really matters as the game sanitizes the world around the groups to make the party members and factions palatable to the masses. A literal criminal organization, the Threads, is shown in a more positive light because while they commit other crimes, they don't deal in slavery? The Lords of Fortune (who are mainly mercenaries) would return cultural artifacts to the ethnic group they belong to-- they loot and steal, but are morally conscious enough to not steal from other cultures? The Antivan Crows who canonly bought and enslaved children, who made said children prove themselves through gruesome tests that sometimes included killing their own peers, are now played out like they're justice fighters. The the closet the game gets to showing any of the truth is small party banter you may miss with Lucanis saying his training was like torture, but it is to never be discussed again.

- The characters all get along way too well. Rook can't ask a character's opinion on the other factions, races, classes, religions, etc-- let alone reply back with their own thoughts that may go against the members views as we don’t really even get to see their opinions on them. Whenever the disapproval bubble pops up, which it rarely does, it does not change anything and it is not brought up again. There seems to be no consequences with your party members based on your choices, which makes the characters likeness towards you feel unearned as they seem to have no agency of their own. In DAI, if Cassandra has low approval then you can get a scene where you call her pathetic as she's stumbling over drunk and yells at you for ‘coddling mages’ or in high approval she can have a scene where she says something along the line 'while she doesn’t agree with everything you have done, she admires you.’ or in DAO Zevran can either betray you and go back with Taliesen/Crows or he can tell Taliesen he is not going back. Even something as small as the characters greetings change based on approval status when you visit them at skyhold. There are tons of examples I could give from previous games, but not a single cut scene seems to change with your companions outside of the final decision you make for them at the end of their companion quests. And to add on top of this, the party members all get along perfectly. If they disagree it is quickly resolved and moved on. Where are my Fenris and Anders fights or Vivienne and Solas sassy quips towards one another?

- No religious themes in the new game feels so out of place as this game literally changes the fundamentals of religious beliefs in the world of Thedas and could cause for a complete uproar with those that believe in the Maker and Chantry. The first game opens with an excerpt from the Chant of Light explaining the origins of the Blight and the Chantrys version of the truth and the whole mage/templar battle which is such a major theme (especially in DA2) in this series is due to the Chantry and this new info shows that the Chantry is wrong (or partially) and this can actually be completely missed behind a side-quest? Also, are we supposed to believe that all the Dalish just know Solas is better than Elgar'nan now? Strife say something along the lines that while Solas may be a bastard he is better than the other Evunaris" WHEN WAS THIS ESTABLISHED? Solas directly talks about how when he tried to tell the Dalish his identity they either didn't believe him or attacked him for being the God of Lies and Trickery. Yes, it has been a few years, and more may know the truth now... but how many as according to the old games the Dalish WORSHIPPED the ground Elgar'nan walked. If so many like Solas now from knowing the truth suddenly, where are all the followers for the Dreadwolf? Not only do we not have any missions regarding the agents of Fen'harel, we don't run into any at all.

- This sounds bad out of context, but where is the slavery/racism? I know a lot of people wanted them to tone some of it down, but for it to be completely removed just does no feel right when Tevinter is canonly known to be the worst place for slavery when it is openly practiced and legal... Also, playing as an elf feels very out of place during an undercover quest with the Venatori, but they already had them working for Elgar'nan which doesn't really add up either; so I guess they are just fine with Evles now after thousands of years...

- None of the previous games matter. While fundamentally, each game has their own story, I liked seeing the cameos of characters reflect past choices. One, of many examples, would be that we got to see Alistair either become a drunk in DA2 and forgotten by the narrative; or have him become a King or Grey Warden in DAI where you can even ask him about the Hero of Ferelden and his answers are different depending on how you played the game! Now we have some characters return but as a blank slate as the writers did not want to invalidate previous choices, but essentially let the characters' cameos fall flat because of this. What is the point of a character returning if they don’t reflect the character I know and helped them become what they are today through my choices?

I know I have a lot of negatives even when I said I liked part of the game, but it is a huge disappointment as the reasons above are what made me LOVE the series with it being so enriched with its environment and now it feels like a hollow shell of itself.

[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 4

The debate over the issue of the borderlands continues, although without any more challenges issued to Sir Tomura by Sir Katsuki or anyone else. The king’s council appears to be inching towards a decision in favor of a campaign to retake the borderlands from the warlords, but the more cautious individuals on the council wish to hear more testimony from those who hail from the region, and the intensity of the questioning means that only one or two people can be questioned each day. In the meantime, a new complication begins to arise: A steady stream of people emerging from the Forest Perilous, each more tired and ragged than those who came before.

“Never before have so many passed through,” Yui murmurs to you as the two of you carry loads of sheets down to the castle laundry. “Has the Forest lost its power to shield us?”

You shake your head, but she’s still speaking. “Did he destroy it when he passed through?”

“No,” you say firmly. Yui startles. “The Forest is stronger than any one person. It admitted Sir Tomura because he was meant to be here. There must be a reason for the presence of the others.”

There is, and you learn it later that day, when your token hums against your wrist and you hurry to answer Sir Tomura’s call. You find him on the battlements above the gate, watching today’s new arrivals climb the hill. Your token goes still when you reach him, and his must, too – he speaks without looking up. “Now we will see how far your kingdom’s generosity truly stretches. Do you think good King Izuku will let them in?”

“I cannot see why he would do otherwise,” you say carefully. “Those who pass through the Forest Perilous are those who belong here, and as such, they deserve a welcome like any other.”

“But these are not any other travelers,” Sir Tomura says. “They come from your Enemy’s kingdom.”

Your heart lurches. You fight to conceal your surprise, but Sir Tomura’s looking at you now. “Did their style of dress not reveal them to you? Or are you truly so ignorant of the kingdom you reviled?”

You shake your head, but you have no answer. “I see,” Sir Tomura says, scornful a gain. “You thought that they condoned his actions simply by dwelling in his kingdom.”

“No,” you say. Sir Tomura scoffs. “I did not condone the warlord’s actions simply by living in the lands he controls. If that is true of me, it’s true of them. But –”

You hesitate. “Speak,” Sir Tomura says.

“With the Enemy vanquished, their lands belong to them again,” you say. “Why would they leave?”

“If you wish to know that, ask them,” Sir Tomura says. He looks away from you, his eyes fixed on the travelers – the refugees – once more. “Now go.”

You aren’t sure how to interpret the order. Is he telling you to depart and speak to the others, or simply to depart? In the end, tradition guides you. When groups of travelers arrived together in the past, you’ve often gone to welcome them, drawn by a desire to help and by a secret, more selfish desire to understand. There is no reason why the refugees from the Enemy’s kingdom should be treated differently, and if Sir Tomura has no need of you, it’s as good a way as any to pass your time.

Rather than being received in the usual chambers, the new arrivals are being received in the large courtyard just inside the gate, and the supplies usually kept for such events are in no way equal to the task. Your magic is suited enough for this – mending ragged clothes so they’ll last a little longer, mending heirlooms broken in the journey – and so is your experience as a new arrival yourself, when you were barely more than a child. You answer their questions, and they in turn unfold their stories to you. Stories of the terror wreaked upon the Enemy’s kingdom in its final days. Stories of what remained afterward. Stories of Sir Tomura, and how he defeated the Enemy – and how he did not fight alone.

The first you hear of it comes from a little girl, when you compliment the silver ring that hangs from a twist of twine around her neck. “It’s still hot,” she tells you proudly, although when she holds it out for you to touch, it carries only the warmth of her skin. “It belonged to the Dragonheart.”

“Dabi the Dragonheart?” you repeat, surprised. You know of him, of course – his is another name mentioned in the chronicles of evil deeds – but you hadn’t realized that he was present in the Enemy’s kingdom, too. “Did he give it to you?”

The girl shakes her head solemnly. “I found it after,” she says. “After he fell.”

“The Dragonheart fell in battle,” you say slowly, and the girl nods. “How?”

“Didn’t see.” She spins the ring on its makeshift chain. “If people saw then, they can’t see now.”

You finish mending her clothes and thank her for the story, wondering what she meant. A few new arrivals later, you hear the rest of it. The Dragonheart burned so brightly in his final moments as he strove to deal a death blow to the Enemy that those who looked upon his brilliance went blind from it. But that isn’t the part of the story that troubles you. The Dragonheart fought alongside Sir Tomura. The Dragonheart died.

The Dragonheart isn’t the only figure of legend to have died in recent months. Others who fled the Enemy’s fallen kingdom tell you of the final spell cast by the dreaded witch Himiko, and still more relay the death of Spinner, a noted mercenary and the White Death’s closest friend. His closest friend, but not his only friend. When Sir Tomura challenged the Enemy, the others joined his cause.

Each of his friends was a monster, sowing terror in every village they passed through, just like him. Each of them paid the ultimate price, just as Sir Tomura would have if the Enemy’s final blow had been fatal. It’s the same contradiction you faced before, of monsters who proved more courageous than the true knights of the High Kingdom. Of villains who died doing something good. It makes your head hurt – and your heart, too.

Days pass. More testimonials are given before the council, more refugees arrive, and more stories are told. Stories not just of how the White Death’s comrades died, but how they lived. I saw the White Death smile once, a former soldier of the Enemy says. A few days later, from the mouth of a woman who once waited on the four of them in a tavern: I heard him laugh. And then, from a boy blinded by the Dragonheart’s last blaze, scarred from the wave of black magic that emanated from the Enemy’s fallen castle and scoured the countryside for miles: I heard him scream.

You want to ask your Lord about his companions, about what happened to them, about what happened to him when he slew the Enemy and incurred his terrible wound. You’ve tried to follow his instruction to speak to him as you would to an equal. But as much as you want the answer, you know that there are questions you would refuse to answer even if you were compelled to do so, and there’s nothing you could do to compel Sir Tomura. You wouldn’t want to.

But you’re a commoner, and little care is given to what you want. And at no point is that more evident than when Sir Tomura informs you that the King’s council requires your presence tomorrow.

“Your testimony is expected to sway them, one way or the other,” he says. He’s seated on his bed, watching as you store clean clothes in the wardrobe. “King Izuku requires a unanimous decision to approve a military campaign, and there are a few holdouts who would rather negotiate first.”

You know what the warlords do to negotiators – the warlord whose thumb you dwelt under most particularly. “They have spoken to everyone. They haven’t heard enough?”

“It seems not, and my word, of course, counts for nothing.” The bedsprings creak. When you look back over your shoulder, you find Sir Tomura sprawled out, staring up at the canopy. “Most who have testified left the borderlands as mere children, too young to remember what they saw with any accuracy. You lived there longer than most, and your warlord’s crimes are the justification for the war they are planning to start. They expect details.”

Your stomach turns. “No.”

“No?” Sir Tomura sounds surprised. “As much as it pleases me to hear that you plan to defy the king, it puzzles me why you’d choose this moment to make your stand.”

“Why does it puzzle you, my Lord?”

“As a daughter of the borderlands, don’t you want to see your people liberated? Rescued from the dread clutches of the warlords and returned to the smothering embrace of the High Kingdom?” Sir Tomura’s words are harsh, but there’s less scorn in his tone than you expected. “You have no fear of the council. You spoke before them well enough at the feast. What is it?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it.” You know it’s cowardly, know it’s foolish, and yet – “Even if you commanded me, my Lord, I would not. Just as you would not tell what happened in your battle against the Enemy.”

“No one has asked directly,” Sir Tomura says. “I have not had the chance to refuse.”

“But you would.”

“I would.” The bedsprings creak again. Sir Tomura sits up. “But my refusal, unlike yours, does not damn thousands to live and die under the warlords’ control.”

“My words cannot hold such weight,” you say sharply, sharper than you ever thought you’d be with a noble or a knight. “You and the nobles on the council will act or not as you see fit. I will not be their excuse.”

“They should not need an excuse to defend their kingdom’s borders. Is that what you mean?” Sir Tomura waits, but you don’t know how to answer. “Turn and look at me.”

You face him and find him studying you intently. Long moments pass before he speaks. “I thought it was self-consciousness, but I should have expected better. You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“No –”

“Of course you are.” Sir Tomura allows no argument. “The High Kingdom threw your people to the wolves to secure a stronger border against an enemy they had no intention of facing. They promised to protect you and broke that promise. They do not deserve your blind devotion. They deserve your rage.”

“So it is my Lord’s suggestion that I stand before the most powerful people in the realm and lose my temper?”

“You do not have to lose your temper to express your rage.” Sir Tomura beckons you a few steps closer, and you go with the utmost hesitation. “They want answers from you. Answer them. Leave nothing out. If they can look away, they will, so give them no choice but to keep looking.”

“My Lord –”

“They may be aggressive in their questioning,” Sir Tomura says, “but you have survived me these past months. Surely Sir Katsuki cannot compare.”

Your hands are shaking. You clasp them behind your back and try to slow the racing of your heart. “It is not simply anger, my Lord,” you start. “It’s –”

You and the others from the borderlands rarely speak of where you came from – enough to confirm that you were raised to know the same terror, and no more. Each of you carries it inside you, never to be revealed. You have no idea what the others said in their testimony, no idea how yours will land, and you’ve never spoken a single word of it aloud. It’s more than anger. It’s fear, deep and instinctual, and a conviction that you will not survive speaking of it – not to one person, and certainly not to the king’s council as they weigh the question of war.

You look down, then away. “What is there to fear in speaking?” Sir Tomura asks.

Many things, but one most of all. “That he will hear I did it.”

It’s quiet for a while. You brace for scorn, or worse, another question, but Sir Tomura surprises you. “You are dismissed for the night,” he says. “It seems you have much to think about.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” You curtsy – a gesture which looks ridiculous without a skirt, but you’re still unused to bowing – and leave the room without ever raising your eyes.

You barely sleep, and when you arrive to attend to Sir Tomura in the morning, you’re certain you look it. Sir Tomura prefers to take breakfast in his chamber, so you retrieve food and tea before coming to wake him. Enough food and tea for two, always – after the first time, when he asked what you planned to eat and you had no answer, you’ve fallen into the habit of eating with him. It’s expedient as well. He has yet to grasp the many layers of appropriate dress for a noble, and it falls to you to stop him from leaving improperly arrayed.

He lets you work in silence, for the most part – this morning, at least. He runs his hand through his hair once and then again, the familiar grimace rising to his face. “Does your wound pain you today, my Lord?”

“It always pains me.” Sir Tomura lets his hand fall to his side. “This costume is ridiculous.”

“It’s simpler than what the others wear.”

“They look ridiculous, too.” Sir Tomura looks you up and down. “Your clothes are more appropriate.”

“For a servant, my Lord.”

“For anyone,” Sir Tomura says. “Find the tailor. Tell him I want clothes like yours.”

You look down at what you’re wearing. It’s excruciatingly simple – like any squire’s clothes, in your Lord’s colors, your only ornamentation the summoning token around your wrist. “I will see what I can do, my Lord. He may refuse me.”

“See what you can do,” Sir Tomura says. “I will be with the council today. Depending on today’s witness, the meeting will be either very long or very short.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You straighten the plain brooch that fastens his cloak and step back. “Is there anything else you require?”

Before he can answer, you see his summoning token lying on the table beside his bed and answer the question yourself. “Here. If you should require anything –”

“What if I should require you to testify?” Sir Tomura asks, and you look up, shocked. “I have no intention of doing so. Speak or do not speak – it is your own affair.”

“You would not compel me?”

“I don’t own you.” Sir Tomura gives you an irritated look. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

You step back from him, bow, and retreat out the door. Your Lord is a strange man, his nightmarish reputation notwithstanding. As always when you consider him, you fall victim to the same paradox. Sir Tomura has done monstrous things. He makes no apology, gives no excuse, the way others have done when King Izuku and his knights brought them to justice. And yet he had comrades in arms, those he considered friends, who fought and died in battle beside him. And yet he slew a greater evil, one who menaced your kingdom for a hundred years, sparing the world the pain and horror that would have resulted from a war. He is a noble, and you should be far beneath his notice, but he has been – fair – in his dealings with you. Far fairer than anyone you’ve served before.

You wonder if he’ll be the one to summon you to council, but he isn’t – Sir Ejirou comes instead, a sure sign that the council doesn’t plan to take no for an answer where your testimony is concerned. You could refuse and allow yourself to be hauled before them like a disobedient child, but the eyes of your fellow servants and squires are on you, and you don’t wish to make a scene. You bow in response to Sir Ejirou’s command, store away your work, and follow him to the council chamber on legs that feel all too steady beneath you.

You’ve had quick glimpses inside the council chamber before, but never a real chance to look around, and you won’t have one today. The council members are waiting for you. Some faces are expectant; others already annoyed; still others are blank. Sir Tomura’s not even looking at you. He’s leaning back in his chair with his battered boots propped up on the table, cleaning under his fingernails with a tiny knife.

He looks like he couldn’t care less about anything – the borderlands, the council meeting, your testimony, you. If you were looking for support from him, you won’t find it. But you weren’t.  You face the councilmembers and bow, as deeply as the presence of the king requires. “Please rise,” King Izuku says. He’s smiling, but anxiety flickers behind his eyes. “Before we begin your testimony in earnest, we have questions that arose based on the testimony of others. Is it true that the warlords demand not only taxes, but protection fees, from their common folk?”

“Yes.” You see Lord Tenya in your peripheral vision, gesturing for you to elaborate. “There is no set fee. They resemble bribes. Families bribe the warlords’ soldiers to pillage their neighbors’ farms and not their own.”

“So one pays or is – pillaged.”

“Yes,” you say again. “Someone is always attacked. Much time and money is spent currying favor to avoid becoming the victim.”

“We have been told, too, that the warlord Kai collects those with magic to serve him,” Sir Ochako says. She smiles at you, like the king did. Like the king, she’s anxious. “Is that true?”

“No,” you say. “Those he takes do not serve him, except as subjects for his experiments.”

“We’ve heard the same rumor from many people,” Lady Momo says. “What evidence can you provide that it is true?”

Rumor, she calls it, when you know more than one person in Castle Ultra who lost family members to Warlord Kai, whose loved ones were dragged screaming into his fortress, never to emerge again – at least not in any recognizable form. A spark of anger kicks up within you, but it’s smothered almost instantly by terror. You speak of what happens inside the fortress to no one. Warlord Kai made that perfectly clear, and you know what he does to people who disobey.

The token around your wrist buzzes, and you startle. Startle, and with your eyes cast down to avoid suspicion, you look towards Sir Tomura. He hasn’t looked up, but a moment later, your token buzzes again. Is he trying to distract you? Lady Momo repeats her question, and the token buzzes a third time. This time, when you glance towards Sir Tomura, he’s looking at you.

Most in the High Kingdom cringe beneath his gaze, but you’ve grown used to it. You remember what he told you to do when you spoke last night: Answer them. Leave nothing out. But that would constitute speaking freely to a noble, and no noble would allow –

Lady Momo poses her question once more, her perfect features beginning to show irritation. You look back to her, and your token buzzes a final time. Sir Tomura doesn’t want you to look at her. He wants you to look at him.

If you look at him, you can pretend it’s only him you’re speaking to – and he ordered you to speak freely. You settle your gaze on his face and answer the question. “I am not repeating a rumor I heard from others. I saw his experiments myself.”

You worked as a maid in Warlord Kai’s fortress from the age of ten to when you were thirteen. Your parents thought it was best to hide your small magic in plain sight. In the time you were there, you saw prisoners brought in, heard their screams, scrubbed the floor of the warlord’s workshop when he was finished with them. You saw what they became afterwards – twisted, broken things, impossibly fused together and yet still alive. You don’t even know what he was trying to do.

“Who was he experimenting on?” Sir Katsuki barks at you when you pause for breath. “Criminals?”

“Warlord Kai doesn’t punish criminals. He hires them,” Sir Tomura says. His eyes never leave yours. “Forgive the interruption, but it sounded as if Sir Katsuki was about to excuse the warlord’s crimes – so long as they were committed against the right people.”

Sir Katsuki calls Sir Tomura something unrepeatable, which King Izuku hastily orders stricken from the record of the meeting. “Go on,” he instructs you. “Who did the warlord experiment on?”

“Anyone with magic,” you say. “Those who displayed the gift, no matter how small, were taken away.”

“How did you survive?” Lord Shoto asks.

“How did you escape?” Aizawa corrects. You hadn’t noticed him, and a chill runs down your spine as he slinks into view to face you directly. “You worked for him. You have no great skill with magic, nor any fighting ability. How did a mere child escape such a fearsome man?”

“I never confronted him directly,” you say. “When I knew I would be discovered, I ran.”

Aizawa looks dissatisfied – as if you might be lying, as if the warlord might have set you loose in a decades-long ploy to destroy the High Kingdom from within. Sir Ochako poses a question, and you glance at her, grateful for the reprieve. She wishes to know how many people are taken per year, and you report that the number began to dwindle, even within your years. You can’t miss the relief that sweeps across her face – her face, and the faces of the others. “His experiments are tapering off,” King Izuku states. “Perhaps he discovered what he wished to already.”

That’s not what you meant at all, but you don’t dare speak over the king. Sir Tomura has no such concerns. “That’s naïve,” he says, scorn edging every letter. “He’s not tapering off. He’s running out of test subjects.”

King Izuku frowns, puzzled, and Sir Tomura rolls his eyes. “The gift can surface spontaneously, but most often it’s inherited. If the warlord has spent years collecting every magic-user he encounters, young and old –”

“Then the gift is nearly extinct in his lands,” Lord Tenya interrupts.

“Indeed.” Sir Tomura doesn’t look at him. His question is for you. “You have had a chance to observe him? Do you think he will cease to experiment once his supply of gifted individuals is exhausted?”

“No,” you say.

“When do you believe he will stop?”

“When someone stops him,” you say. “Not one moment before.”

Silence falls. Sir Tomura’s red eyes have yet to leave yours, and when King Izuku speaks, it feels as though some spell has been broken. “I have no further questions,” he says. “You have my leave to go. There is much for the council to discuss.”

You bow low and exit the chamber. No sooner have the doors shut behind you than the token at your wrist begins to vibrate without rest, as though Sir Tomura is pressing it repeatedly. You can’t imagine why he’s summoning you to a room you were just dismissed from – unless he’s ordering you to wait for him outside. You can do that. You find a place to stand out of the way, only to find yourself sinking to the floor as your legs give out beneath you.

You did everything you could. You answered their questions in full, without mercy, and Sir Tomura’s last questions left them nowhere to hide. You did everything you could, so why do you feel so sick? Why do you feel as if you’ve left something out, omitted some horrible detail that would have forced them to act? Why won’t the memory of what you saw every day for three years leave your head, when it was so easy to keep out before? Why does it still feel like the warlord’s hand is about to close over your shoulder?

You’ve comforted yourself forever with the thought that the Forest Perilous would keep Warlord Kai out. But it let Sir Tomura in. What if –

The doors open, and you struggle to your feet as the king’s council emerges. They’re talking urgently amongst themselves, summoning their squires, calling for scribes. The herald pops up from nowhere and King Izuku hands him a proclamation, orders him to spread the word. What word? You don’t want to guess, or hope. You’re too frightened to be wrong.

Sir Tomura stops just outside the chamber, looks left, then right. You uproot your nerveless legs to go to him, but he comes to you instead, a look you can’t read on his face. “Congratulations,” he says. “You’ve started a war.”

Your back hits the wall. “They agreed?”

“King Izuku has his precious unanimity at last,” Sir Tomura says. “After hearing your testimony, my conscience would not let me vote against going to war.”

He was the holdout? His voice is mocking, and although you’re certain he’s not mocking you, it doesn’t matter. You feel as though the floors been torn from beneath your feet. “My Lord? I don’t understand –”

“The longer I withheld my vote, the more evidence of their failure they were forced to hear,” Sir Tomura says. “Do you think they’ve suffered enough?”

You don’t know what to say. “I doubt it,” Sir Tomura muses. “When they march on the borderlands, they’ll see exactly what they deserve to.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You can’t speak more than a whisper.

“You were spectacular, of course,” Sir Tomura says. His voice is cool, neutral. “I expected nothing less. You have a way with words.”

He’s complimenting you. Your Lord is pleased with your performance, but you can’t summon even a spark of happiness – or if you could, it’s lost somewhere in the void of your memory, swallowed up in what you saw every time you set foot in the warlord’s workshop. You bow your head, because Sir Tomura’s standing too close for you to bow at the waist. You stay that way until Sir Tomura’s hand brushes against your jaw on its way to cup your chin and tilt your face upwards to his.

He’s frowning, and you force yourself to speak. “Have I displeased you, my Lord?”

“What did the warlord tell you would happen if you spoke of what you saw in his workshop?”

Speaking of it is unnecessary. The mere memory makes your skin crawl, sends a shiver strong enough to imperil your footing down the length of your spine. Shame follows almost instantly in its wake. They’re words. Only words, only a threat that Warlord Kai could not possibly carry out with the Forest Perilous between you. You don’t need to look at Sir Tomura to guess what he will think of such weakness on your part. You look down and away, waiting for him to let go of your chin and dismiss you from his sight.

“You need not fear him,” Sir Tomura says instead. “I’ve done far worse.”

Your response is instant, instinctive, and ill-advised. “Forgive me, my Lord, but you have not.”

Sir Tomura stares at you, incredulous, but the longer you think of it, the more certain you are. Sir Tomura has committed terrible acts of violence, slaughtering entire armies sent to defeat him, tearing cities down to their foundations, blighting the land and salting the earth with dark magic – but a death at Sir Tomura’s hands would be only that, and nothing more. Every day for three years you watched the warlord twist and mutilated the bodies of his victims, inflicting suffering without end, tearing their minds the same as he tore their flesh. If you had to choose between your former master and your current one, both monsters in their own right, you’d choose the White Death in an instant.

Sir Tomura hasn’t turned you loose yet. He looks truly taken aback, an expression you’re seeing from him for the first time. It’s subsumed seconds later into a sneer. “I suppose you prefer the monster you know.”

“No,” you say. “I prefer the one who’d kill me quickly.”

The sneer drops from Sir Tomura’s face. “I have heard many tales of your deeds, great and terrible as they are,” you continue, “and I have never heard it said that you are a torturer. I have heard it said that you revel in destruction, but not that you enjoy inflicting pain. Warlord Kai is worse, to me, because it pleases him – or does not discomfit him. I cannot say. Once I saw him draw out a man’s death over six months, finding new ways to mangle and deform him every day. If I displeased him and was caught, he would have done the same to me. But if I displease you, my Lord –”

“Be silent.”

“If I displease you, my Lord,” you say, looking up into Sir Tomura’s eyes, “I am confident that my death at your hands will not be drawn out.”

“No. It would not be.” Sir Tomura’s jaw is clenched. “I understand now why you stayed when others fled from me. You are well aware that worse monsters exist.”

“You’re wrong, my Lord.” You shrink from the thought of correcting a noble, but he asked you to speak to him as you would to an equal. “I made no such comparison until you forced it on me.”

“You’ve traded one monstrous lord for another.”

“To serve him was a nightmare,” you say. Your voice trembles. “To serve you is an honor.”

Sir Tomura still hasn’t let you go – and when he finally does, his hand falls to your shoulder even as he takes a noticeable step back. “It is as I said: You need not fear him. He will not live much longer.”

“Yes.” The kingdom has been preparing for war for a hundred years against an enemy who no longer exists; they are well-equipped to fight the one who’s been there all along. “King Izuku will defeat him.”

“King Izuku’s proved that he can’t be trusted with your safety,” Sir Tomura says. His hand falls away from your shoulder at last. “I’ll do it myself.”

[delilahsturniolo]

no body, no crime

— m.s

chapter 1 . . . denial

in which. . . you and matt are private investigators, trying to figure out an unsolved murder from years ago.

warnings. . . mentions of murder, death, suicide.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first and please credit me if you are taking inspiration from my writing. happy reading! :)

(this is based off of the book series a good girls guide to murder!)

“i think he did it but I just can't prove it.”

“no, no body, no crime.”

“but I ain't letting up until the day I die.”

the cursor on your computer moved quickly as you scrolled through different articles. you were sat in your office, your eyes glued to your laptop screen. you read the headline of the article you opened, it was published in 2015.

EMILY JONES, 17 year old girl brutally murdered by her boyfriend on June 17th, 2015.

you scoffed in disbelief as you read this.

everyone knows the story. emily was at a party with her boyfriend justin, they got into an argument and he shot her, a few moments later killing himself.

blah blah blah, you were tired of hearing that. you don’t think that’s what happened, you refused to believe it.

and why exactly? you didn’t know. but what you did know, is that you had every desire to find out what truly happened.

everyone in the detective agency thinks you’ve gone insane. there was no way you were so intrigued by a murder that happened years ago, you wouldn’t stop digging into it.

it was just all so weird, nothing added up. the police refused to investigate further, closing the case without explanation. it was suspicious, really suspicious…

and you were going to figure out the truth. what really happened to emily and justin that night?

you bit your lip, abruptly shutting your laptop and getting up. you walked out of your office and through the headquarters, entering the office of the only person you knew could help you.

detective matthew sturniolo. one of the best investigators in the company. well, to you not really. you thought he was just like any other detective. either that, or you refused to believe he was better than you. you sighed, knocking on his door.

“don’t come in!” he grumbled from the other end. you only rolled your eyes, entering his office. he turned his head to look at you from his desk.

“didn’t i just say don’t come in?” he narrowed his eyes at you. you just chuckled sarcastically. “oops.” you shrugged, taking a seat on the chair opposite of him.

“okay so what ever happened to asking—“ matt began to speak up, you cut him off though.

“i don’t need your sarcasm right now, i need help.” you interrupted, your voice laced with a pleading tone, which matt was a little taken aback by.

“you’re asking me for help? that’s a first.” matt crossed his arms, but leaning a little closer to hear your request.

you weren’t amused by his response. you took the file you were holding and placed it down in front of him. matt’s eyes furrowed in confusion, he looked up at you, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“what’s this?” he questions.

“open it and you’ll see.” you replied, gesturing to the file. matt huffed, opening the file. his eyes widened slightly as he looked at what was inside.

“y/n, really? the emily jones case? you still won’t let this shit go?” matt scolded you, his eyes analyzing the old police reports and statements inside the file. he closed the file and pushed it back toward you.

“if you’re asking me to feed into your crazy delusions and help you solve a case that’s already been solved years ago.” matt mocked you, making air quotation marks with his hands. however, you only shook your head.

“you don’t get it, i don’t think justin killed emily, it had to have been—“

“y/n, stop! everyone knows the story. justin killed emily, and he killed himself after. his DNA was on the gun. just let it go.” matt’s voice softened at his last few words.

you grabbed the file, opening it and taking out a few of the papers. you looked up at matt.

“don’t you find it weird? how the police did absolutely nothing? they didn’t even try to investigate further, they jumped to conclusions and were so quick to close the case. emily and justin were in a happy, healthy relationship. why would he just shoot her? you don’t find that a little odd? all of the suspects have different stories, something else happened that night. and, someone out there knows.” you explained to matt, his eyes locking with yours.

“matt, i don’t care if this happened years ago. people deserve to know the truth. it’s our job, we need to re open this case.” you pleaded.

matt took a long, deep breath. “alright.” he spoke casually, your eyed widened in surprise.

“wait, what?”

“alright. i’ll help you, but on one condition.” matt leaned in closer.

“just know that this doesn’t mean i don’t absolutely despise you anymore, you better not be wasting my fucking time with this shit, okay?” matt crossed his arms, you eagerly nodded.

“i promise, pinky promise.” you held out your pinky for matt to take, he chuckled lightly and connected his pinky with yours before letting go.

“alright then, let’s do this.”

“you’re on, sturniolo.”

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here! 🤍

a/n 💌: WOOHOOO first series! what do you all think?

[gremlinmodetweeker]

I Entered Daniel's Den and I Saw the Truth Before Me

So I'm struggling a bit writing fanfiction because it's getting dark out and I'm so tired these days. However, the show must go on and so I push forward! However, just so you're all aware, there very well could come a point where I admit, I may struggle to make content and so we might not have some for a bit. But Winter will come to an end, and I will be back to normal! I just need to power through!!!

Tws: Yandere, Kidnapping, Pyschological Horror

Wordcount: 558

Art From This Post

Story Below the Cut

I Entered Daniel's Den and I Saw the Truth Before Me

König sat at the marble kitchen counter, drumming his fingers idly as he looked over the charcuterie boards again. You watched as he took inventory of the crackers, cheese and cut meats again and again, obsessively absorbing every detail into his mechanical mind. You sat silently on a bar stool as you waited for someone to make the next move.

“How long until they come?” you asked quietly.

König glanced at the clock on the oven again.

“Not too long,” he told you as much as he told himself, “Mama will be here soon.”

“Did she tell you when she’d be here?��� you tried again.

König’s eyes narrowed briefly before he relaxed and said, “Soon. It shouldn’t be long now.”

You fiddled your thumbs mindlessly. Earlier you were playing with a string on the hem of your sleeve but König was quick to put an end to it, reminding you to keep up a good appearance for his family. You didn’t think a pulled string would matter too much, but König had warned you that they were far more observant than they let on. You wondered if that was true or not. You supposed you’d figure out soon enough.

For his part, König had ensured that the house was immaculate. You thought his incessant fussing would never come to an end, but it seemed that he’d finally come to a point where he couldn’t do any more. You figured that the table of hors d'oeuvres was the final piece for preparation.

If nothing else, you’d enjoyed cooking in the kitchen with König. He’d fully trusted you with the knife, though you noted he was a far more meticulous cook than you’d expected. He had been looking over your shoulder at every turn as you’d sweated a pan of mushrooms. He’d been even worse when he’d been inspecting the size of your diced onions, but at the very least he seemed to be content. He’d been sweet enough to pat you on the head and praise you for a job well done. The simple praise still had your heart fluttering.

König glanced back at the clock and muttered again under his breath. You wanted to ask what exactly he was thinking about, but he was far too focussed on the time to hear your questions. The longer you waited, the more you could see his biceps tense under his silk dress shirt. You were a bit shocked that he was determined to keep his hood on, but maybe that was a family trait? It would make sense. Or, well, you hoped it would.

You hadn’t heard anything at all about König’s family, except that his mother was the matriarch of the home and his siblings were just as demanding. Apparently, his youngest sister was a bit soft-hearted for König’s tastes, but then he’d barked out a laugh and said she probably thought he was the most cruel of the lot of them. You had only recently learned that her name was Klara. You wondered if she was similar in age to you.

Just as you turned to speak to König, the doorbell rang.

König was off like a shot to the front door. You followed behind him nervously as he strode to the front entrance.

You watched König put his hand on the brass doorknob and open the door.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[inkandtension]

Idiot.

request-

Okay, it's actually inspired by 'something never changes' from frozen 👉👈 I imagined Hyunjin as Kristoff(😭) and he was pondering how to explain how in love he is with her(although they were together). Since it is a day before the kingdom's annual dinner, the reader is busy with the preparation and he always misses his chance to tell her. So, he talked to his puppy about that.

I'll leave the ending to you 🫢 You can change anything if you want 🕺. Have fun writing it!

requested by- @minniebbang

I had fun writing it!

…

It had started bright and early in the dining hall, where she was overseeing the arrangement of the banquet tables. The grand space was alive with activity, sunlight streaming through tall windows, casting a golden glow on the polished floors. She was a vision of focus and determination, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she directed a team of servants to perfect the table settings. Every detail mattered to her, from the alignment of the silverware to the precise angle of the centerpiece flowers.

Hyunjin lingered in the doorway for a moment, the velvet box clutched in his sweaty palm. His heart was pounding against his ribs, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of anticipation. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times—no, a thousand. The words were simple enough: "I know things are busy, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. Will you marry me?" Simple. Straightforward. Foolproof.

At least, that was the plan.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the bustling room, his boots barely making a sound on the polished floor. "Hey," he said softly as he sidled up beside her, hoping to catch her in a rare quiet moment.

"Just a second," she replied, not looking up as she meticulously adjusted a napkin. Her brow furrowed slightly, her focus absolute.

Hyunjin waited patiently. And then, less patiently. He glanced around, fidgeting with the box in his hand, feeling the velvet grow damp from his nervous grip. The chatter of servants, the clinking of plates, and the rustle of fabric as they moved past him filled the room. He shifted from one foot to the other, running through his mental script one more time.

Finally, she turned to him, a tired but genuine smile softening her features. "Okay, what’s up?"

This was it. His moment. His opening.

But just as Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak, a deafening crash echoed through the hall. Both their heads snapped toward the sound. One of the servants had tripped, sending a tray of goblets tumbling to the ground. The sharp shatter of glass silenced the room for a heartbeat before chaos resumed.

"Oh no," she gasped, her eyes widening. Without hesitation, she darted toward the mess, her hands already motioning for others to help. "I’m so sorry, Hyunjin. Can we talk later?"

"But I—" His voice caught, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from his grasp like sand through fingers.

"I’ll find you, okay?" she called over her shoulder, her tone distracted but warm. She was already crouched beside the servant, murmuring reassurances and delegating the clean-up.

Hyunjin stood frozen, the ring box still burning a hole in his palm. Around him, the dining hall buzzed with activity, but he felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. His carefully planned moment, his foolproof proposal, had evaporated before it could even begin.

With a heavy sigh, he slipped the box back into his pocket, glancing at her one last time as she moved with her usual grace and command, entirely in her element. For now, he’d wait. He had to. But his chest tightened as a thought struck him—what if later never came?

Determined, Hyunjin tried again a few hours later in the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, leaning casually against the counter.

She glanced at him briefly. "Don’t touch anything."

"I wasn’t going to!" he protested.

"Good," she said, returning to her work.

He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to—"

Before he could finish, Kkami, who had snuck into the kitchen unnoticed, leapt onto the counter and landed in a bowl of powdered sugar.

"Kkami!" she yelped, scooping up the now-white chihuahua.

Hyunjin grabbed a towel, his heart sinking as she wiped the dog clean. "I didn’t mean for that to happen—"

"It’s fine," she interrupted with a strained smile. "But maybe keep him out of the kitchen?"

"Yeah," he muttered as she handed him the sugar-dusted pup.

"And Hyunjin?" she added, already turning back to her cake. "We’ll talk later, okay?"

By mid-afternoon, Hyunjin was getting desperate. He caught her in the ballroom, where she was supervising the hanging of the velvet curtains.

"Princess!" he called, jogging over to her.

She turned, looking flustered but pleased to see him. "Hyunjin! What’s up?"

This was it. No interruptions. No disasters. Just him and her.

"I, uh, I’ve been wanting to ask you something," he said, stepping closer.

"Of course," she replied, giving him her full attention.

Hyunjin reached into his pocket for the ring. His heart raced. This was it. This was finally—

"HYUNJIN, NO!"

A worker’s shout startled him just as the ladder behind him wobbled precariously. Without thinking, Hyunjin lunged to catch it. Instead, the ladder caught him, knocking him over and sending a cascade of fabric down on top of both him and her.

When they emerged from the pile of curtains, her hair was sticking up in every direction, and Hyunjin looked like a ghost in velvet drapes.

"Are you okay?" she asked, biting back a laugh as she fixed her hair.

"I’m fine," he mumbled, pulling the fabric off himself.

She shook her head, smiling in that exasperated way she always did when he got into trouble. "We’ll talk later, alright?"

The next time Hyunjin saw her, she was in the study, surrounded by a mountain of papers. She was reviewing the guest list with the royal advisor, her brow furrowed as she debated seating arrangements. Hyunjin lingered near the doorway, clutching the ring box like a lifeline.

He waited until the advisor stepped out for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Hey, can we talk?"

She glanced up, her face softening. "Hyunjin, not now. The guest list is a mess, and if I don’t fix it, there’ll be nobles sitting next to people they hate."

"It’ll only take a minute," he urged, stepping closer. "I’ve been trying all day to—"

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "Hyunjin, I can’t. Not now."

His chest tightened. He hadn’t planned on blurting it out, but the words slipped past his lips anyway. "You’re more important than all of this."

She froze, her pen hovering over the parchment. Slowly, she turned to look at him, her expression unreadable.

"Are you saying I don’t care about what’s important?" she asked quietly.

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped. "What? No! That’s not what I—"

"Because if that’s what you think," she continued, her voice growing sharper, "then maybe you don’t understand how much pressure I’m under."

"Princess, please," he tried to explain, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away.

"I can’t deal with this right now," she said, shaking her head. "I have too much to do." She grabbed the guest list and walked past him, her shoulders tense with disappointment.

Hyunjin was left standing there, the ring box growing heavier in his pocket.

Desperate to make things right, Hyunjin found her later that evening in the ballroom, directing a team of workers as they adjusted the massive chandeliers.

He marched up to her, determined to clear the air. "Princess, we need to talk."

She barely glanced at him, her focus on the workers above. "Hyunjin, can it wait? The lighting is all wrong, and if we don’t fix it—"

"It can’t wait," he interrupted, stepping in front of her. "I need you to hear me out. Earlier, when I said you were more important—"

"I know, Hyunjin," she said, her tone clipped. "You think I’m putting all of this above you."

"No, that’s not it!" he exclaimed, his frustration boiling over. "You are important to me. You’re everything to me. I’m just terrible at explaining—"

Before he could finish, a loud clang echoed through the room as one of the workers accidentally dropped a wrench. She spun around, rushing to check on the commotion.

"Are you okay?" she called to the worker, her attention completely pulled away from Hyunjin.

He stood there helplessly, his heart sinking as she addressed the workers and began giving orders again. When she finally turned back to him, she looked tired and strained.

"Hyunjin, I can’t do this right now," she said softly, her voice tinged with disappointment. "We’ll talk later, okay?"

And once again, she walked away before he could explain.

By the time he caught up to her again, she was in the courtyard, overseeing the delivery of decorations. Hyunjin approached cautiously, unsure if he was walking into another disaster.

"Princess," he started hesitantly.

She turned to him, her exhaustion evident. "Hyunjin, what is it?"

"I just…" He faltered, struggling to find the right words. "I don’t want you to think I don’t understand how hard you’re working. I do. I just wish I could—"

"Wish what?" she interrupted, her tone sharper than intended. "That I wasn’t so busy? That I wasn’t—" She hesitated, frowning. "That I wasn’t me?"

"What? No!" he said quickly, alarmed.

"Because if that’s how you feel," she continued, crossing her arms, "then maybe we need to rethink this whole thing."

Hyunjin’s heart stopped. "Wait, what?! That’s not what I meant at all!"

But she was already shaking her head, her disappointment clear. "I don’t have time for this, Hyunjin. Not now."

And with that, she walked away again, leaving him standing in the courtyard, utterly defeated

…

Hyunjin sat slumped against a haystack in the stables, his golden hair glinting in the late afternoon sun. In his lap sat Kkami, a tiny chihuahua who looked far too smug for someone his size.

"Kkami," he sighed, tilting his head back dramatically. "I’m doomed. DOOMED."

Kkami, ever loyal but hopelessly unhelpful, barked once.

"I’ve been trying to propose to her all day!" Hyunjin groaned. "But every time, something goes wrong. It’s like the universe wants me to fail." He grabbed the puppy by its little front paws and held it up. "What am I doing wrong, huh? Is it me? Do I look like a guy who can’t propose properly?"

Kkami licked his nose in response.

"Great," Hyunjin muttered. "Even you think I’m hopeless."

"I swear, Kkami," Hyunjin sighed, letting his head fall back against the hay. "I’ve tried everything. She’s impossible to pin down today."

Kkami tilted his head, his big round eyes brimming with judgment.

Hyunjin pointed an accusing finger at him. "Don’t look at me like that. You wouldn’t do any better. You don’t even have words."

Kkami barked once, sharply.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. She’s busy." Hyunjin rubbed his face with his hands, groaning dramatically. "But does she have to be this busy?”

"I think she hates me."

Kkami barked in protest, wagging his tail.

"Okay, maybe not hates," Hyunjin conceded. "But she definitely thinks I’m an idiot."

The chihuahua tilted his head as if to say, And she’s wrong?

Hyunjin groaned, flopping onto his back. "I just wanted to ask her to marry me. How did it turn into this?"

Kkami huffed and nuzzled into his lap, as if to say, You’re pathetic, but I’m here for you.

"Thanks, buddy," Hyunjin muttered.

The door creaked open, and Hyunjin bolted upright, his heart racing. She stood there, her expression softer now, though the day’s stress still lingered in her eyes.

"Hyunjin," she said gently, stepping inside, "what’s going on?"

He blinked at her, then at Kkami, who barked as if to say, Go on.

Taking a deep breath, Hyunjin stood up and reached into his pocket. "There’s something I’ve been trying to ask you all day," he said, his voice steady despite his nerves. "And I keep messing it up, but I need you to know…"

He dropped to one knee, holding out the velvet box.

"Will you marry me?"

For a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a radiant smile.

"Hyunjin," she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes, "you’ve been driving me crazy all day. But yes. Yes, I’ll marry you."

And as she pulled him into a hug, Kkami barked triumphantly, as if he’d known all along how it would end.

The moment she said yes, the air seemed to shift. Hyunjin was still kneeling, holding the ring, his heart racing in disbelief. Her smile was soft, her cheeks flushed from both exhaustion and joy.

"You—" he stammered, blinking up at her. "You said yes?"

She laughed lightly, pulling him to his feet. "I said yes, you dork."

Hyunjin didn’t wait another second. He cupped her face in his hands, his forehead leaning against hers as if grounding himself in the moment. "You have no idea how badly I wanted this," he murmured.

"I think I have some idea," she teased, eyes sparkling.

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. "No, you don’t." And before she could respond, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft yet filled with every ounce of love he’d been bottling up. She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck, and for a moment, everything—the misunderstandings, the chaos, the busy day—faded away.

When they finally pulled apart, her nose brushed against his. "I think that was worth waiting for," she whispered, smiling.

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Only the beginning."

as the castle buzzed with the final preparations for the dinner, she found herself slipping into Hyunjin’s cozy little house near the stables.

"This is highly unorthodox for a princess," she said, her tone playful as she looked around. The house wasn’t big, but it was warm and inviting, with Hyunjin’s sketches pinned haphazardly to the walls and Kkami’s tiny bed tucked into the corner.

Hyunjin set down a kettle on the stove and turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, and staying here because your castle is ‘too noisy’ is perfectly normal?"

"Perfectly," she said with a dramatic flourish, kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto his bed. It was small, clearly meant for one person, but she didn’t seem to care.

Hyunjin stood there for a moment, watching her with a mix of amusement and awe. She looked so at home, lying there in his space, as if she belonged there.

"What?" she asked, catching his gaze.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "Just… I can’t believe this is real."

She patted the bed beside her. "Come here, Mr.Idiot”

They lay side by side in the tiny bed, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped securely around her. Kkami had hopped up at some point, curling up near their feet. The warmth of the moment made it feel like the world outside didn’t exist.

"So," she began, her voice soft, "about what happened today…."

Hyunjin groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t remind me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more of an idiot in my life."

She laughed, poking his side. "Oh, you were definitely an idiot. But I’m listening."

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before starting. "Okay, first, the rose garden. When I said ‘things would’ve been better in a different situation,’ I meant if you weren’t so busy. Not—"

"Not a different person," she finished for him, her tone teasing.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, groaning again. "And then the guest list thing. I didn’t mean you were putting everything above me. I just wanted to say you shouldn’t overwork yourself."

She hummed thoughtfully, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. "You’re terrible at phrasing things."

"I know," he said, his voice sheepish. "And the ballroom? When you thought I meant you weren’t enough? That one hurt, Princess. You’re more than enough. You’re everything."

Her teasing expression softened at that, and she tilted her head up to look at him. "You’re really bad at communicating, you know that?"

"Trust me, I know," he muttered.

She smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. "But you’re also pretty amazing. And I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, even if you are a little hopeless sometimes."

He grinned against her lips, pulling her closer. "Hopelessly in love with you."

She rolled her eyes, laughing as she settled back against him. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

Kkami barked softly in agreement, and they both laughed, the tension of the day melting away as they drifted off to sleep in the warmth of each other’s arms.