#he’s supposed to have a piece of candy in his mouth

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🦇🍬Candybats🍬🦇

(Implied)

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(I apologize if the quality is ass,, idk why people preach about iPhone cameras being good cause I got an xr and it is absolute shite)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Negligence.

Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation of Nursle.

Word Count: 9.0k.

TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.

You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.

Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.

You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.

It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”

“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”

You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.

Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.  

Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”

You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.

“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.

Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”

It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.

Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.

You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”

You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”

“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”

His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”

For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.

Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.

He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—

But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”

His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.

Suguru was crying.

Huh.

He’d never done that, before.

Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.

You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”

“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”

“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

You didn’t try to answer.

~

Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.

Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.

“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”

Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

The girls.

You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.

You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”

“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”

It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.

Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—

Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.

Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.

It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.

Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.

Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”

It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”

Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.

The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—

You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.

Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”

You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.

~

Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.

His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.

His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.

You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”

You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”

“Are you going to kill Himari?”

He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.

He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”

At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”

A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.

“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”

You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.

This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.

This was about control.

Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.

He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.

Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—

Oh.

He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.

He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.

He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.

If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.

At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—

Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.

Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?

You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.

Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”

“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”

Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”

“You fucked my wife.”

At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”

Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”

Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.

“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”

Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”

“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”  

Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”

The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.

Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.

 Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”

Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”

Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”

No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”

There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”

Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”

Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”

He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.

You must’ve hurt him.

Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—

Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.

It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”

Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.

“I love you.”

If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.

At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.

Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.”  Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”

You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”

“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”

Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.

It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.

~

Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.

Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.

Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.

You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.

“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”

“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”

Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.

You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.

[raitonsfw]

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 | 𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚠𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚙𝚘 ꨄ

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Ranpo wasn’t supposed to raid the ADA’s lockers for snacks, but he does anyway. When he opens your locker and spots an enclosed box of Valentine's Day chocolate, he immediately snatched it. Of course, why would he bother to read the ingredients? Cocoa butter, milk, sugar, an aphrodisiac supplement... What could go wrong? Obviously everything; you didn’t know Ranpo was such a whiny bitch when he was horny.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, horny!ranpo, slight switch!ranpo (subby then dom), accidental aphrodisiac/drug usage, banter, begging, whining & whimpering, humiliation (ranpo has to ask reader to help him), masturbation, blowjob, ranpo’s a fucking head pusher, teasing, fingering (if you squint), implied sexual intercourse, pet names (good girl), he’s like a dog in heat frfr (or rut, whatever floats your boat), ranpo’s a bit manipulative at the very end, reader works at the ADA, reader has a crush on ranpo & kinda simps for him silently, dazai mention (typical suicide mention & he’s the idiot that started this shit lol)

a/n: hello helloo, my queue posted early but imma keep it up anyways. my lil valentine’s day event starts now (albeit early), with ranpo edogawa leading it with some sexy v-day drug consumption! my first valentine to you until thursday, feb 1st! 💌 wc: 3k. v-day m.list | m.list

divider credit: @hitobaby & @firefly-graphics

“Ranpo, what are you eating?” This was a common phrase that the Armed Detective Agency yelled, much like when you yell at a puppy when they have something in their mouth that they’re not supposed to have. Ranpo’s cheeks poked out slightly as he turned towards you, his head tilting in confusion. He was sitting on top of one of the desks, lounging about like normal but with something noticeably different in his hands; instead of the usual candy he munched on, it was a tiny red hearted box of… chocolate?

You had already started walking towards him with a bit of a rush calculated into your step, eyeing the familiar box of chocolates that were abandoned now on his lap as he leaned back. He popped another piece of chocolate into his mouth as you recognized the wretched package. He had stolen your aphrodisiac chocolate Dazai had jokingly gifted you for Valentine’s Day. “Ranpo!”

“What? You shouldn’t leave chocolate lying around when I’m here.” He said in a matter of factly tone, reaching for another one. You grabbed his wrist quickly to prevent him from eating another, throwing the near empty box in the trash. “What’d you do that for?!”

“Ranpo, those weren’t yours! And they weren’t lying around, they were in my locker!” You pulled him off of the desk by his hand and he stumbled into you slightly as he gained his footing on the floor. “You didn’t even look at the ingredients.”

“You didn’t have to trash ‘em!” He pouted at you, looking back at the trash can with an overexaggerated whine. “Why would I have to look at the ingredients? It’s chocolate.” 

“Because– they were drugged.” You barged into the restroom with him, making sure it was unoccupied. You left him in the middle to wander and he immediately took a seat on the long counter adorned with sinks. The lengthy mirror stared towards the back of him and you could see out of the corner of your eye that he was swinging his feet as you locked the door. 

“Drugged? Drugged with what?” Ranpo asked, a bit too calm. It’s like this has happened and he’s not very surprised. You’ll ask about that later, right now your main priority was getting him water and a nice place to sweat it out for the next few hours– or day considering he ate almost the entire box.

“Aphrodisiacs.” 

“Isn’t that the drug that like… stimulates you?” Ranpo interrupted your thoughts, stretching his arms out with a yawn. How was this man tired in such a constrained situation? “I don’t feel anything.” 

Maybe you should go back and read the amount that’s housed in each chocolate, you could figure out the percentage exactly and then you'd be able to gauge just how much time he would need alone. If you could get him out of the door towards his dorm, of course; that was another issue as you don’t know how fast he consumed the hearts.

“Oh trust me, you will.” You huffed out, mentally checking off everything you needed to do in order to get him out of the office. You needed to collect your paperwork so you could do it while making sure Ranpo didn’t keel over from the dosage and acquire a water bottle in case it's too late to get him to the dorms. “I’m going to get you water, stay right here okay?” 

“Sure, bring me some more snacks while you’re at it.” He leaned back against the mirror with his hands tucked behind his head, crossing his leg over the other with a sly wink at you; perhaps the only time you’d see his green eyes bright before they darkened like a storm. “Don’t keep me waiting long.” 

Fucking idiot.

As you scampered about trying to find a water bottle for Ranpo, you gathered up your belongings and wrapped your head around the situation. You were going to thoroughly kill Dazai if he hasn’t done so already himself, the thought of poisoning your coworker with a shit ton of sexual stimulants weighing heavily on your mind. You knew Ranpo most likely wouldn’t care who you got it from or why you even had it, he would probably brush it off as some weird shit you’re into. Realization suddenly hit you like a million bricks; you didn’t know him sexually, so you had no idea how exactly the aphrodisiacs would affect him.

You were close with Ranpo, but not on this level. 

You also had a slight crush on him ever since you started working with him; he had bothered you for treats on the very first day as you sat down in your office chair. You haven’t even had the chance to set up your desk, trinkets filling the box in your arms as he wheeled over in his chair to you. You liked his personality and gave him a small piece of candy you had stashed in your pocket, which was the worst mistake of your life because now he toyed with you every chance he got; whether you had snacks, candy, or a sweet drink in your hand, it was a ‘can i have some?’ 

“Ranpo?” You knocked on the bathroom door as you returned from the depths of the office, relieved to hear quiet shuffling about the tiny room.

Your relief turned to dread though when you heard his voice answer you back in a tiny whimper. “D-Don’t come in.” 

Oh, you were too late…

“I have water for you.” You said through the door, trying to bask around the uncomfortable situation that’s handed itself to you. Of course it would hit him while you were trying to find things that could help him get through it; why couldn’t the drug have waited a few more minutes?

Ranpo didn’t answer and your mind wandered, what if that dosage was lethal? Dazai would have yet another crime on his fruitful list that he so explicitly told you about, but now you’re an accomplice because the twisted chocolates were in your fucking locker. You tried to open the door, but he had locked it behind you when you had left. You could hear faint breathing on the other side, but it was too hard to make out if he was saying anything. 

“Y/N…” Ranpo managed to speak up after a few moments, quiet desperation overtaking his voice. “Why’d you have that type of chocolate in your locker anyway?” 

Oh, so he does care. It must be serious then. You hung your head against the door, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as you contemplated whether to tell him why or not. 

“Here, let me in. I can help.” You offered, gathering up the things in your hands a bit more neatly as you tried to get him to open the door. You didn’t have a choice but to stay there with him and your paperwork was sitting stale in your hands, the time ticking away and your deadlines getting closer.

“Help with what? I-I got it under control.” Ranpo stammered at the idea and you realize it sounded like you meant something else.

“Not that. I have snacks, you idiot.” 

He opened the door a few seconds after, his cape had been pulled around him towards the front of his lap and he briskly walked back to where he was sitting on the sink’s counter. You could already see the hardened bulge of his cock within the mess of the fabric that covered it and his face had become increasingly red with a blush you’ve never seen on him before. His legs were pried open on the counter and he looked so so desperate, even as he tried not to show it, he failed miserably through the small pants that huffed out of him through every syllable he managed out.

You set the snacks near him on the counter, taking in the sight of his flushed skin peeking out from underneath his clothing. He glanced towards you and your eyes immediately met the mirror in front of you, a blush creeping up on your own face. “Do you want me to stay here with you?” 

“C-Can you sit outside the door and make sure no one comes in?” Ranpo stuttered, looking away from you as he squirmed against the counter. You felt the sudden rush of heat between your legs and you tried not to stumble in front of him as you walked back towards the door. God, what a dream it would be for him to ask for your help but you knew he didn’t like you like that; he would’ve shown interest by now or have been begging on his knees for you to touch him. What a sight that would’ve been…

As you sat amongst the door in the middle of the hallway, you didn’t hear him eating his snacks which was dreadfully odd. He didn’t talk to you through the door either, the man was quiet for once; not a word spoken since you left the bathroom. It must’ve hit him really hard and all you could think about is what if he actually touched himself? What if he was pumping his cock to the thought of who knows who right now, behind the thin door that separated you too? 

You so wished you could hear the potent whimpers that slipped from his mouth as he sucked his tie between his teeth, careful to not let you hear the wretched sounds. The way that his chest would rise with heavy breaths as he went ahead and pleasured himself to get rid of the ache, the strain of his cock from those damned aphrodisiacs he was so unfortunate enough to eat. You could barely sit straight, the door awfully cold against your back as the heat emanated from you, pleading for you to touch yourself with him.

You heard one of the stall doors in the bathroom slam shut or maybe open, you didn’t know but it spooked you out of the dirty thoughts that crossed your mind. Of course you would stray off track as you sat there, thinking about your coworker– your fucking coworker. Christ, get a grip.

“Please, please, please help me Y/N.” Ranpo called out and your heart skipped a beat, taking back everything you just preached to yourself. “I can’t take it anymore, I don’t know what to do.” 

“Help you? You must be out of your mind.” You mocked back, but in reality all you’ve been thinking about was that mental image engraved in your head; he must be dripping precum by now and you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together to keep your slick from pooling into the middle of your panties.

“Come here, please Y/N...” He whined out, a quiet moan bouncing off the walls of the bathroom and you’ve never moved so fast in your life. It felt like you yourself had eaten one of the aphrodisiacs, how fucking needy you were for him now just because he asked for you, no– whined for you.

You opened the door, your eyes meeting the empty spot of where he was previously sitting. Then you noticed the last stall’s door open and you rounded the corner to peek inside. When you did so, you did not expect to see Ranpo fisting his cock over, his back leaning against the wall of the stall with his knees nearly buckling underneath him. 

“This is so fucking embarrassing…” Ranpo muttered out as he noticed your presence, but his hand didn’t stop pumping his cock and he let out a quiet whimper. “Y/N, help me? Shit, please–”

“Are you su–” You started to say but you were cut off by some more of his obnoxious rambling, albeit it was slightly hot as his voice knocked up a higher pitch with desperation seeping through.

“Yes, please– fuck, I just need someone to–” Ranpo gasped out, his head nearly slamming back against the wall as he bucked up into his hand. White spurts of cum painted the floor as he came (probably again), his face screwed up in pleasure with a lengthy moan. “Ah–! I need you.”

He needed you… What did you do to deserve this? Not that you were complaining, everything went according to fate in your eyes as you realized he entrusted you to take care of him during this uncomfortable situation. 

“I’m not going to get on my knees inside this tiny stall, go sit back on the counter.” You said in an even tone, trying your best to not lose your cool. You followed behind him as he hopped onto the sink, his cock still leaking with more precum as it stood proudly against the pudge of his clothed tummy.

On top of admiring that, you finally noticed his outfit; or the lack of it anyway. Ranpo’s black vest was nowhere to be seen, his light tie had come undone, and the top buttons of his white collared shirt were ripped from their threads, some hanging off loosely. He looked absolutely mangled, sweat gleaming on every inch of his skin and you knew you’d both probably never talk about this again– best to enjoy it for the time being.

“Shouldn’t have eaten those chocolates, huh?” You tutted, pushing his legs open a bit more so you fit snugly in between them. You crouched down with your knees closed, eye level with his cock and you nearly choked when you saw it twitch.

“S-Shut up and help me.” Ranpo whined out and you silently grabbed at his cock, running your hand up it. He openly groaned at the sensation, thrusting up into your hand with defeated relief. His head had tipped back, his hat nearly slipping off and you took the courtesy to reach up and place it on the counter. 

“Want me to suck it?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, teasing him lightly as your breath fanned over his cock. “Or you wanna fuck me?” 

“Both… God, please Y/N, put your mouth on it already…” One of Ranpo’s hands threaded into your hair and pushed you towards his cock and you immediately shut up, taking him into the warmth of your mouth. He was bitter and slick against your tongue, the precum dissolving against it as you lapped at it. A heady moan escaped him as you swallowed him down, his thighs trembling underneath your palm and you felt his fingers grip your hair. 

“Feels so good, shit, please keep going–” Ranpo groaned, his eyes slinking down to where your mouth hollowed out around him and he couldn’t help but push you down a bit and you gagged around him– he was thick and it was hard to breathe as he started to thrust up shallowly into your wet mouth. You braced yourself on both of his thighs now, letting him fuck up into your mouth and with watery eyes, you glanced up at him again. 

Ranpo’s entire body was on fire as you complied to his thrusts, your throat slack for his cock and he couldn’t help it– as he saw one of your hands start to unbutton the top of your dress pants and disappear into the lace of your panties, his hips jutted still and he came instantly into your mouth without a warning. 

“Fuck, atta girl…” He drew out in a long moan as he watched you swallow everything he had to give, pleasure shooting through him and his vision went a little hazy as you pulled off of him with a wet slurp. Ranpo’s eyes were still glassy with lust when he opened them, the aphrodisiac wearing down slightly but not by much. As he caught his breath, he wiped the excess that dribbled out of your mouth when you swallowed, his fingers caressing the side of your cheek. “Should’ve asked for your help sooner…”

“You came so fast…” Your voice was raw and you coughed a bit afterwards, a quiet chuckle answering you.

“Thanks to the sexy chocolate you had on hand.” Ranpo mentioned with a smirk and you pressed down on his thighs as you stood up, your legs nearly giving out from the position you were in. You fell against him, his hands coming to catch you by your waist and you realized you were close to his face now. He looked considerably better, he wasn’t nearly panting as hard now but there was still a prominent flush to his cheeks. 

“Which you shouldn’t of fucking eaten in the first place.” You retorted, pouting at him with puffed out cheeks and he laughed, his hands dragging down to the plump of your ass. You let out a surprised sound as he squeezed gently, looking you dead in the eyes still.

“Oh, boo hoo. Look where it got you.” He teased, his fingers hooking through the loops of your dress pants. “Aren’t you happy you finally got your hands on me?” 

Ranpo pulled them down in one swift motion and you blushed profusely, looking away from him quickly as his fingers swiped through the mess of your cunt. He grabbed you curtly by your chin, making you look at him again and you shook with pleasure as one of his fingers curled up into you. You moaned around your words as they spilled out of your mouth in a rushed tone. “W-What are you talking about? Ranpo…” 

“It doesn’t take my deduction skills to know you like me~ Now, why don’t you ride me like a good girl? You’d like that, huh?” He breathed out against your lips as he pressed them against yours, slipping his tongue inside swiftly whilst adding another finger to the swell of your cunt and earning a wanton moan from you.

Ranpo’s other hand made you grip his cock again, which was still rock hard against the soft cotton of his shirt. His bigger hand practically covered yours in one fell swoop as he made you start to pump him again, quiet whimpering falling against the frame of your lips. “It’s your fault, y’know… you should take care of me.”

This was going to be a long work day.

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[iyohme]

and i know that you mean so well;

but i am not a vessel for your good intent!

("Tongues and Teeth," - The Crane Wives)

my serotonin got jetpack bursted into the stratosphere with this blurb by OP. Your brain is so juicy and moist and wrinkly OP. Godspeed. I'm not even into DC but the whole "Burnt out and neglected, and now a bunch of people driven by guilt guilt guilt want me back so they can feel less guilty?" just made the racoon in me rub its hands menacingly hoho

Just imagine not even living your best life; just a shadow in the lives of the illustrious Waynes, a ghost in a castle, visible only to the loyal servant and the occasional curious paparazzi who shrugs and looks away--after all, there was no mention of you in any occasion: must be the kid of in-house staff. How nice of Brucie Wayne to allow even the children of in-house staff the opportunity to study at such a high-end college! (The reporters chortle and snicker at your barely-passing marks, sighing at such a wasted opportunity. Oh well. And then they move on to the tabloid topic of the week, after the strutting socialites and the rich and the arrested Rogues.)

You gather things.

You gather pieces of a cracked dream, a single plastic teacup you had brought into the cavernous mansion the day you held Alfred's old, gnarled hand. Ears ringing and slippers still stained with your parent's blood as they were gunned down before your very eyes. You gather your things, what made you before you were "Wayne," so to say. Your mother's old cigarette box, smuggled from the crime scene, your one memento of the woman who you could not forget but never forgive.

A juxtaposition of love and hate, forever crucified. The image of the Virgin Mary inside the tin box seems to be a mockery of faith, across from her image lying cheap cigarettes.

You gather test papers, all barely passing and with more reds than blacks, and grind them up into strips with the shredder you had brought; just one time the black card Wayne had given you, and it left the bitterest, sourest aftertaste in your mouth. They burn so cozily on the school Bunsen burners, especially when sprayed with alcohol, immediately immolating like timelapse sparkler videos. You gather your name before the Incident, you cherish it, and you repeat the syllables in the dead of night, spilling past your mouth. Even if it was the name of a child-abusing monster, it was still yours, and it was still of use.

And use it, you would.

While they go and be a family, you work to begin yours.

You gather funds: it's easy to take on odd jobs when people do not suspect you. You tuck away that black card at the bottom of your study table drawers, forgotten there like scribbled-out pages of an essay, an unfinished drawing, and leftover candy wrappers. It's a bit-by-bit work, but you know the Waynes wouldn't even see it happening. Your brothers and sisters (an absurdly alien concept, as they don't even acknowledge you exist ninety-five percent of the time) are prodigies paraded around at every event. You are the unseen ghost flitting through their shadows.

Graduation comes and goes. It's laughably easy to falsify having lost your social security number and other documents--Gotham is that much of a shithole, you suppose. The man in the cowl notwithstanding. His efforts are admirable, but weak. Recidivism is common in this place, as if there were some sort of pull that incited the people in Gotham to cruelty, to madness.

It's absurdly Lovecraftian, in its own way.

You are not even living your best life, and yet you are free. Alfred knows; he always knows. If you are The Ghost, then the aged butler is a man one step between the doors of death, and he sees you every time you move. Your room is empty, and he raises an eyebrow at your satchel: all your items already stored elsewhere or given away.

("I suppose this was a long time coming, Little Master."

Tap tap tap. Footsteps on marble floors, setting sun.

You shrug. "Eh. The Waynes gave me a roof and education. It's all good."

You grunt. "Well, people change. Like you know, how kids being gifted stop being gifted when they grow older." You say, instead of 'Well, if a child doesn't get any praise or attention if they do good and probably even less if they were bad, why even bother?')

A pause. "Your academics were not so lackluster when you were younger."

You promise to try and stay in touch. (You crossed your fingers behind your back.) You leave, sunset on your face.

The nap you had in a dingy hotel with far too many odd stains and not enough locks you could put on was the soundest you've ever slept in years.

Freedom smells like summer air and the last rays of sun, followed by the cold blue hour.

It takes three months for an out-of-state college to accept you. It's far from Gotham. It has a dormitory. Excellent. While you were indeed a mediocre academic student, you had banked everything on band scholarships.

Who knew more than a hundred clarinet players had unclaimed scholarships yearly? Packing up your small life in bags, you take a train upwards to another state.

(Meanwhile, in Gotham, there is an odd sense of unease as Bruce Wayne stops by an inconspicuous door. It's relatively clean, as expected of his manor, but the worn out brass on the handle suggests that someone had lived there before. He opens the door. Steps in. A bed, a dresser, a study table. Bare bones.

The unease intensifies. But who?)

Someone had lived in here, yes.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

folie à deux

or: the toxic ex boyfriend Ghost AU

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader 

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || Toxic masculinity || Possessive & obsessive behaviour || Slut shaming || Groping || Gaslighting || Implied & referenced cheating || Mildly dubious consent

w/c: 5.7k (Read on AO3)

a/n: this was supposed to be like 5 paragraphs, so PLEASE if y'all hate it i dont want to know

It starts with a knock on your front door when you’re only half expecting to see Simon Riley.

He even knocks with a sense of entitlement, and it enrages you.  Three hard raps, and that’s it.  He won’t knock again.  If you don’t open the door, he’ll kick it down to get to you—those were rules you’d learnt the hard way.  

You mentally reinforce your motivation when you fling the door open: You’re scared he’ll break your door down, again, and this time, when they try to evict you, Simon won’t be around to terrify them into letting you stay.

How on earth you’d ever found the prick attractive is beyond you in that minute.  Except, no sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it.  Of course you had—and still—found him attractive.  That had never been the problem.  

He wore his military career on his face, much easier to see than the chest candy he bragged about but no less attractive to you–scars and burns, healing and the not-quite healed bruises plain to see on his face, a cacophony of yellows and purples.  A nose that had spent more time broken than not, its slight curve most likely a combination of never having been set by a professional nor the opportunity to heal without being broken again.  A thin scar dissected his lip, went all the way up the side of his face to his brow, almost like someone had taken a knife to him, carved him up like a piece of meat.  You’d never asked, and it’s not like he’d ever volunteered the information.  

It just sat there along with the three thousand other things he’d deposited in the chasm that stretched between the two of you. 

“You…Jesus,” he breathes, and slams the door shut behind him, making you wince.  “Where are you off to, then?”

“N’ wearin’ that?” He prompts again when you don’t answer, motions to your body with his chin.  

You roll your eyes when he pulls you into him and plants a hard kiss on your mouth, ignoring your squirming.  “Fuckin’ about to spill out, little dove.” 

“Spill?  Simon, I’m sewn into this dress.”  You pluck at his shirt that has deliciously little give where it sits on his hard chest, leaving your palm there as a little treat for yourself.  “You would know.  You capable of wearing shirts your own size, or does the SAS make it mandatory to have your tits straining against them?”

When he doesn’t respond, you push away from him, and step back, crossing your arms against your chest, definitely not pushing your tits up slightly, and he mirrors your movement.  He’s leaning against the wall by the front door now, blocking your exit, and you can only roll your eyes at the foreseeable display of machismo.  

“Your stuff’s in the front room.  Grab it and go, I have to finish getting dressed.  I have plans.” 

“With a pimp?”

Back when you were blissfully ignorant of Simon’s penchant for keeping you destabilised at all times, unconditionally wanting the last word, his crass words would have made you sputter and struggle to respond.  Oh but you know him so much better now.

Now, the blatant transparency in his delivery just makes you laugh.  

You interrupt his next words with a wave of your hand and turn to retreat to your room.  “Get your shit and leave, baby.”  

You hear his harsh exhale at the dismissal, and once upon a time, the repercussions of dismissing Simon in the middle of a conversation would have excited you.  You used to do it to get a rise out of him, instigate him into chasing you around, fucking you silly when he caught you.  Now, you just do it because you can. 

“No need to be a bitch.  I’ll be on my way in a second, just wanted to check on you, little dove.”

Your laugh is breathy, and you have to pull your mascara wand away from your eyes so you don’t end up stabbing yourself with it.  “‘No need to be a bitch’ says the man currently being a bitch about me not telling him my plans.”  Your laugh is mocking when you turn back to the mirror.  “You ever tire of this routine, Simon?  Because it’s tiring to me.”

Your words only make Simon’s eyes soften, and he looks at you almost indulgently, patronisingly, as though you were a child throwing a tantrum to get an adult’s attention.  “Could never tire of you, little dove.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but he only snorts in response.  

It’s all a game to him, you know that.  He makes it very clear how much amusement he derives from watching you fumble and fall, how much he gets off on the stress he gives you.

And yet, you’re drawn to him, every single time.  Every single time, you play mental gymnastics to find a reason to write off his bad behaviour because, well, it’s Simon.  He’s…like no one else you’ve ever known.  

Your choices have always been limited between a cruel, mercurial god and inane, paltry men.  

Except today.  Today you hold your response back, try not to rise to the obvious challenge.

“Come on then, I’ll drive ya.”

“Are you insane?” you screech.  “You’re not driving me to my date, you’re not driving me anywhere, what the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?”

A glimpse of his Adonis belt as he stretches his arms above his shoulders and cranes his neck from side to side briefly grabs your attention. 

“Don’t be difficult, little dove,” he gently scolds you, and your eyes snap back to his—yours wide with incredulity, his calm and collected in that beautiful, honey brown.  “What were y’gonna do, take the Tube with y’tits out like that?  If the prick ain’t pickin’ you up, I’ll take ya to him.”  He jerks his chin in your vanity’s direction and plops himself on your bed to watch.  “Come on, love, finish yer preenin’ then.”

“Preening,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to the mirror.  “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

It’s only when you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears do you catch his eye just as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, and you squeal.  “Simon!  The fuck are yo—don’t smoke in my bedroom!”

“Our bedroom—”

“What?!”

“—’n ya didn’t care before.  Y’wanna share, ‘s that it, little dove?”

“Oh my god.”  You turn around slowly, your hands against your lips, joined together as though in prayer.  “Simon.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“You don’t live here anymore.  This isn’t your flat, it’s mine.  This isn’t your bedroom, it’s mine.”

Simon just continues to smoke as though he hadn’t heard you, dark eyes taking the slow, leisurely route back to meet yours. “Y’look good, baby.”  His voice is hoarse, the words slow and deliberate and raspy, and…you can’t deny it.  The pull he’s always exerted on you, the undeniably ruinous sirens call—you burn hotter and brighter than accretion, you’re a helpless sailor caught up in his thrall 

“Simon” 

“Did’ya always look so good?”  The way he looks at you as though in a trance…you know he’s not listening, seeming to just be thinking out loud.  When he stands up, you take an automatic step back, then cringe when the vanity hits the back of your legs.  Nowhere to go to escape his looming presence.  “No…not like this. Somethin’s changed.”  He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around so you’re both facing the mirror.  

The back of your neck feels particularly warm as he pushes his entire front to your back, and you can feel him there, hard and insistent against your lower back.  When eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle for him to solve.  “Nothing’s changed,” you whisper.  “You’re still a dick.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, then lifts your face up with one hand around your neck, and brings his cigarette around to your lips with the other. 

Your instinctive inhale makes him shift against you slightly, and your eye twitches from how good he feels pressed up against you like this.  How he smells to you—that familiar mix of aniseed and icy menthol, fingers eking that potent hit of nicotine straight into you from where his fingers dig into your skin.  “Definitely somethin’ different.”  He pulls one strap of your dress down, and you exhale as he places one warm, lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder.  “‘S good.  Whatever’s different is good, little dove.”

“We can’t—,” you whisper, and his eyes glint at you with interest and arrogance through the mirror.  “We can’t do this.”  

“You’re so pretty all dressed up like this.  Always were so pretty.  So soft, and—” he inhales deeply at the spot just under your ear “—always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“You can’t,” you moan in response, but press yourself closer to him, anyway.

“But I can,” he responds gruffly.  “‘Nythin’ I like, little dove.  And I know y’like it too.”

“Fuck, just—”  He interrupts you by giving you another hit, and this time you turn around in his arms to exhale in his face.  He doesn’t even flinch.  “What are you playing at, Simon?  What do you want from me this time?”

Simon continues to look at your mouth as you speak, and almost as if on auto-pilot, slips his thumb into your mouth.  You want to bite him for his audacity, you almost kick him in the shin, almost almost almost…  But what you really end up doing is accepting it, licking the pad of his thumb and letting him push it into your mouth.  

Your initials on the space between the base of his thumb and index finger catch your eye—it’s a new tattoo, and you know this entire game is a ruse to draw your attention to it—but you don’t react.  You may be stupid horny for him, but you’re not stupid.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he praises, and it brightens you up on the inside, sparks hot and bright under your spine.  “Tell me, love…still me you think about when you touch your pussy?”

Your harsh exhale and slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication you give of having heard him at all.  In response, his thumb moves slightly deeper, sitting heavy on your tongue, and you let him.  

Your stubborn silence makes him chuckle, and he stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray you (still) keep on your vanity, pushing your dress up over your ass so he can grab your cheeks possessively.  The movement is so quick, so fluid that your protest turns to ash on your tongue when he finds bare skin and squeezes hard.

“Forgot somethin, did ya?”    

���No.”

“No?”  His hands grip you tighter and pull you harshly into him.  The angle makes you grind into his cock, and you know that he’s not even half as unaffected as he pretends.  “Gonna put out on the first date, then, like a slut?  Don’t remember you givin’ me any the first time I—”

“It’s not my first date with him.”

Simon pulls back to look into your eyes, and you’re graced by the first genuine smile on his face all evening—the most brilliant of Rayleigh scatterings put to shame.    “It is your first date, love.”

The blunt, matter-of-factness in his words gives you pause, your mind still coming to terms with what he’s just said, your heart starting to race at the barely concealed confidence about your whereabouts.  “How do you—what are you saying to me right now?”

“Truth, little dove.  Like I promised.”

The casual, off hand remark to one of the most devastating conversations in your life gives you whiplash and you have to physically shake your head to get rid of the feeling of something crawling up the back of your neck.  You put your hands firmly on his chest and push him away, and he steps back easily.  

“Are you…Simon.  Are you having me followed?” 

“Don’t need to.  I know you, little dove.”  He takes another step back from you and cocks his head at your dazed expression.  “Put some knickers on.  The white ones, y’know ‘em.”  When you don’t move, he motions towards your underwear drawer with an expectant expression—as though you’re frozen because you’ve forgotten where they are rather than because you’ve just learnt that your ex boyfriend’s stalking you.

When he crosses his arms, you’re jolted to action.  In a daze, you pick up the first pair your hands grab and pull them on.  He thrusts your purse at you, and leads you out your front door with his hand clasped tight around yours.   

You wish you could say that your ex boyfriend driving you to a date with another man is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, but that’s not realistic for a life lived around Simon Riley. 

***

The drive is silent, but one big hand remains on your inner thigh.  His fingers are so long that they almost touch the seat on either side of your leg.  It feels invasive but it’s also familiar, so you don’t say anything.  Classic— he never had to try hard to get what he wanted from you.

When he asks you for a smoke, you light one up for him and stick it into the corner of his waiting mouth, and he kisses your fingertips as they retreat.  You still don’t say anything.  Instead, your eyes stay determinedly on your initials tattooed on his skin, his warm hand almost a brand on your thigh, and you think about your life with him in the .

The implication that things were normal in the before is wildly misleading, and a genuine disservice to the shit he’d put you through.   

Once upon a time, you’d been delusional about your place in Simon’s world; now it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  He threw special forces and taskforce and lads need me in your face every opportunity he’d gotten, and worse. Simon Riley was not a man who did or could be convinced to do something he didn’t want to—and you’d hardly ever asked for any explanations from him but still, the excuses were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at you at Mach speed.

You’d bargained with yourself for weeks—oscillating between wanting to proactively end the relationship yourself or allowing its inevitable heat death.  He was one of a kind.  No one had ever made you feel like he had.  No one had fucked you like he had.

No one had fucked you over like he had either, but on good days, you show yourself some grace and let that thought slide.

***

You find yourself falling into old bad habits easily—you wait inside the car until he’s on your side, opening your door for you and practically lifting you out of his car.  

The warmth of his hands seeps through the material of your dress, through the skin on your hips, superheating the bones underneath.  He squeezes the flesh there appreciatively, and though his expression remains hidden to you, you can safely guess the smirking just by the creased skin by his eyes.  

“I never want to see you again.”

The words make Simon pause.  He considers you for a second, the smirk never dropping.  “Go’n, give us a kiss, then, if this is the last time.” 

“I would never,” you insist, finger poking at his hard chest, and he retreats from you, puts his hands up in mock-surrender.   “You’re a manipulative bastard, Simon,” you hiss at him.  “And I’m going on this date.”  With your piece said, you walk away from him.

“Never stopped ya, little dove,” he calls out, a hint of an aggravating laugh in his words.    

 You flip him off without even turning around.  “Drop dead, Simon.”

To your great disappointment, your words don’t inspire the heavens to smite him where he stands immediately, and when you quickly shoot one last look back at him over your shoulder, he stands against his car, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Asshole.

It wasn’t even that Simon was a bad boyfriend to you—though he was certainly the fucking worst—it was the fact that a) he was a bad person and b) you’d become a bad person by osmosis.

Case in point: you wanted to leave your date mid-meal, battling the intrusive thought of just putting your drink down and walking out the front door, but you couldn’t even say why.  Your date had kindly acquiesced when you’d insisted on the worst table on the floor.  The one overlooking the car park.  The window overlooking the only car parked there—the massive black one, with illegally tinted windows and a suspiciously missing owner.

At least the bar was nice.  Great ambience, dim lighting and pretty interiors, it should have been the perfect first date.  Your date himself was fine too—nice enough with a sweet smile he flashed at you, politely having taken to talking at you when you’d made it clear with your apathy that talking with you wasn’t going to happen.  

After just two drinks, you start to have flashbacks—even an hour spent in Simon’s company clearly manifesting as literal madness—which was disconcerting by itself, but the uncharacteristic subject matter has you really worried.  Every time you blink, you see Simon’s face…or his cock…and when your date asks if you’d like to share dessert, you answer, “Simon…” before hearing yourself, and feeling the heat of shame dance on your cheeks.  Your date just looks confused.

A quick glance outside the window shows the empty car park and…nothing else.  No car.

Had he fuckin’ left?

The thought incenses you, and the irrational nature of the anger makes you feel even more shame.  Why should you care?  When had he ever done what you’d expected of him?  And when had he ever been there for you when you’d needed it.

Fuck it, you think.    

Maybe you were finally free of Simon and his toxic, shameless, unbreakable hold on your life.  Maybe it was time to move on.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile when, in what feels like divine approval of your plan, your date offers to take you home.

***

There are cracks in your ceiling that you’d never noticed before.

You resist the urge to wince, then try to moan but give up when it gets stuck in your throat, and your date misinterprets your sigh of boredom and discomfort as one of pleasure, choosing to go down on you with more enthusiasm than before.  Things could not be worse for you—the man between your legs is clearly in need of a compass and a map and trying so hard that you feel guilty about the whole thing—but you’re determined to tolerate it.  So that the point is made.     

When your date finally leaves, your shaky smile and poorly concealed look of relief convinces neither of you of a second date.  You suppose you should be grateful that he left without a fuss, but you’re just relieved that he’s gone.  You’re contemplating—holding your head in your hands while your elbows rest on the kitchen counter—when you hear him.

“This is pathetic, even for you.”  You turn around, and yep.  It’s him alright.  Sitting at your dinner table, your flimsy chair all but invisible behind his massive frame.  “Breaking in, Simon?  Seriously?”

“Y’gave me a key, little dove.”

“Yeah.  When we were dating.  A key that you’d returned?”  

When there is neither a response, nor any change to his posture, you turn around and start to pour yourself a glass of water.  Then change your mind and grab two whiskey tumblers and your decanter.  “Pathetic,” you repeat.  “How long were you planning this?”

His sudden breath on the back of your neck makes you exhale harshly, and he steadies your trembling hands by placing his on yours.  Together, you pour two glasses of whiskey, but his hands don’t leave yours even when you’re done.

“How was the date?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t invited, was I?”

“It didn’t stop you.”

He places a small kiss behind your ear in response.  “No.”   His hands knead at your breasts and your head falls back to his shoulder with a sigh, and he grinds into you.  “Feel that?  What even your fake little noises do to me?”

“You were listening?”  The thought is…unbearably hot, and you stubbornly refuse  to examine it any further in your mind.  

“You belong with me, little dove, you know this.  You’ve always belonged to me.  All of you.  Every single inch.  Where would I go?”  

You reach behind you to touch him, and he’s thick and warm to the touch, even through the layers of fabric, and it’s familiar, it’s all so familiar to you..  “This is fucked up.  You were here listening when another man fucked me?”

In a quick succession of lithe, almost impossibly quick movements, he’s picked you up and placed you on your kitchen counter, one glass of whiskey shattering on the floor.  “Made your point, baby?”  

Your robe is off your shoulders and pooling around your waist in a second, and Simon doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk when he pulls off your panties and pockets them.  You don’t bother protesting.  It even feels like trouble when he runs a single finger over the seams of your cunt—you’re damningly wet and if you had enough withal to curse your body out for it, you would.

“You've got such a pretty pussy, little dove,” Ghost says as he fingers you, his voice half-muffled because he's pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead.  “And so wet baby, you’re dripping on my fingers.  All of it fo' me?  Or was it that twat, hm?” 

You're seething inside, raging that your plan backfired like this.  “It was him,” you say, before you can help yourself.  “You heard him fuck me, yeah?”  

“Fuck you?” Simon’s chuckle is dark and ruinous.  “He didn’t fuck you, baby.  He just stretched you out for me.  Good man. Saves me the work, innit.”

Before you can react, before you can breathe, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, picks up his glass of whiskey in his other hand, and brings you to your bedroom.  Fuck, your sheets are still rumpled, dress and bra strewn on the floor, sandals sitting like a death trap of heel and straps by the foot of your bed.  The room even smells of sex and the cologne your date had worn—it’s disorienting.  You almost feel bad.  Almost.

But…Simon’s presence is all over your bedroom too.  The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, noticeable if you closed your eyes and breathed in deep.  Other signs too—the faint bitterness of his cigarette from earlier that evening, it’s corpse in the ashtray on your vanity.  When he sets his drink down on your nightstand, he sets it on the coaster you keep there—they’re strewn on almost every surface on your flat.  Mementoes from Simon from different countries he’d go to on deployment.  

“Told you he fucked me,” you say, cheekily—trying to dissuade your mind from leading you towards sentiment—and get a smack on you ass for your trouble.

“‘Course, little dove,” Simon drawls in response.  “‘N you enjoyed it too, yeah?  Tryin’ t’make me jealous.  Took him to the same place we used to go, huh?”  Another smack on your backside, this one hard enough to make you gasp.  “Think I’d forgotten, baby?  Fucked you in that car park, didn’t I?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Why should I be?”  He sets you down gently on the bed so you’re sitting upright, then takes a sip of his whiskey.  “Y’want this.”  

“I didn’t think you were giving me much of a choice.”

“I’m not.”  He takes another sip, and when he leans forward to kiss you, the whiskey floods into your mouth, rich and smoky and bitter.  He continues to kiss you and you have to swallow around his tongue, which makes him kiss you harder.  He’s a bully in every aspect of his life, and kissing you is no different.  His fingers clamp around your cheeks and you have no choice but to kiss him back.  Even in this he dominates you, trying to win even where there is no fight to be fought.

When he pulls away, your heart throbs at how he looks through the lights of the street outside pouring in through your window.  You’ve seen his face before, you’re one of the trusted few that can say they know what Simon Riley looks like, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this.  The harsh lights from outside almost soften where they kiss the harsh angles of his face, where the sharp line of his clenched jaw disappears behind his ears, accentuating his thick neck.

He’s beautiful and cruel and bad for you and every adjective you can think of under the sun.

“Y’want this,” he repeats.  

“I want this.”

And then Simon moves so suddenly.  There’s no preparing for it, no accounting for speed that has no build up—one second you’re sitting upright looking up at him the next you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you, fingers making quick work of his zipper before, in one push, he’s buried in you.  Your breath feels like it’s literally been punched out of your chest.  He’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat—he allows you one deep breath before he’s got a large hand wrapped around your throat.  The one with your tattoo on it.

The thought of it incites something foreign deep in your belly, low and simmering hot—you can’t believe he’s tattooed your name on his hand after telling you that he didn’t think you were what he’d wanted.  

You can’t imagine your expression right now, but he tightens his fingers around your throat and it drags your attention back to him.  He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clamped tightly shut while he grinds his pelvis into yours, each thrust driving you further and further away from him and towards the centre of the bed.  You don’t even understand the movement of his hips—you’re displaced and jostled from the sheer power of his thrusts—but the motion itself feels like it’s more of an up and down motion, dragging against your walls, punching into your G spot.  When your head falls back on a low moan, he jerks your body to alertness just by your throat, and you clench at the feat of strength even when he’s buried in you as far as he can go.  

Simon groans in response, the noise sounding like it tears through his throat on its way out, but you’re helpless to do anything at all, just trying to breathe through the foreign sensations inside you right now, clamp tighter and tighter around him, threatening to break.  You’ve given up trying to look up at him anymore, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut, one hand intertwined with his by your head, the other clawing at his forearm.  

“Shit, baby, hold on, fuck, jus’ let me—” He moves to adjust you, grabbing one thigh to spread you open, push himself deeper inside you, when he freezes.  

“Wha—Simon, what—”

“The fuck is this?” His voice is pitched lower than usual, dark and dangerous.  You follow his line of sight and he’s transfixed, eyes unblinking, looking at a spot on your inner thigh.  You know what he’s seeing, and in the midst of everything that’s happened, everything that’s about to happen, you wonder if you’re seeing the evidence of the existence of a just God.

“You weren’t…you weren’t meant to see it.  It’s from ages ago…”  He reaches out a slightly trembling hand towards it, stops inches away from it—and oh this is better than anything you could’ve imagined—before he brushes two reverent fingers over the little skull you have tattooed there.  “Simon?”

When Simon looks back at you, he seems more determined, somehow.  Like the final part of a puzzle has clicked into place, somehow, and a decision has been made.

This time when he moves, it’s deeper, more powerful but equally as deliberate.  The hand around your throat moves to your face, brushing sweaty strands away from it, and framing the entire side of your face where it rests.  “Got my mark on you, yeah?  Want t’keep me, is that it?”

“I want…want to keep you,” you nearly whine at him, and his hips kick up, hammer into you, in and out, in and out— “Want to keep you Simon.  Want to be yours.”

He bends over you, his grip on your thigh unyielding, long fingers digging into the tattoo on your skin.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I—” He uses your neck to muffle his own sounds for a second and then leans to kiss you.  But it’s more than that.  You feel Simon’s surrender in that kiss—the acceptance of the inevitable, your months of torturous longing for your torturer finding release—and when you come, you bite down hard on his lip.

It feels like your body is hot enough to melt the world into soft, sepia tones around you, and you don’t even understand what he’s doing to your body right now as he fucks you through your orgasm.  He readjusts your hips as you come, and the slightest brush of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your clit makes you vibrate from the shock of what feels like your second orgasm bleeding into your first.

And when he comes, he slams his hips into you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you.  His groan is long and tortured, and for a man who’s usually silent when he fucks, the sound is delicious.  You never want him to stop.  “Fuckin’ shit,” he murmurs, and traps you as he collapses on top of you.

In the aftermath, there is quiet.  

Simon lifts his head, once, to try to feel his way to the glass of whiskey on your nightstand, all while kissing you deeply.  Turns out, fucked out of his mind Simon is clumsy as hell, and so you grab it for him, draining it yourself before offering him the empty glass.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he mutters, unimpressed, before burying his face in your neck.  

“Says the man who slept with the entire British army in a matter of six months.”  You kiss his sweaty hair and his grip on your hips tightens.  “Bunch of slags.” 

“Don’t call my sergeant a slag.”

“Your serg—” you gasp, feeling your restart its pounding in its cage.   “Not Johnny!  You slept with MacTavish?  He fuckin—he fuckin’ offered to meet me for coffee so many times when we were broken up!  I thought he was being nice!”

“Was bein’ nice, innit.  Lookin’ out for his CO’s girl.”

Your head falls back to the bed as you stare up at the ceiling again.  “This is messed up.”  His casual tone feels like a barb, reopens old wounds and threatens to ignite a fresh wave of hostility inside you.  But before you can stew in your bitterness any longer, he kisses the side of your neck and moves off of you.

“Can’t keep doing this, little dove.”  He says, gathering your clothes from where they’re strewn all over your room.  

You get up on your elbows and cock your head, feigning innocent confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Gonna have twats all over town stretchin’ you out fo’ me before I fuck you?”

“Why?  You offering to put the graft in yourself?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and when he stands up to face you, he’s got a cig hanging off the corner of his mouth.  “Y’got a light around here somewhere, can’t find mine.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab one and throwing it at him.  He catches it deftly, and lights up his cigarette.  “What’s next for you then, Simon Riley?  Off to the pub to find the next victim for the evening?  Send me a recording of when you fuck her in the disgusting toilet?”

“Victim?  Shit baby, give me ten, we’ll go again,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.    

“You’re staying?”

He leans forward, smushes your face with his large hand.  “You got me inked on you.”  You squirm away from him and he lets you go.

“It’s just a skull, Simon.  Not my initials on your hand.”  When his eyes narrow, you gasp theatrically and your hand flies up to your chest.   “Or was I not meant to see that?”  You lean up to pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a long drag.  “Obnoxious, by the way.”

He leans forward and kisses you, hard.  You inadvertently end up blowing smoke in his mouth, but he doesn’t move, kissing you until you melt.  “Love you, little dove.  You're a massive bitch, though.”

“Pot meet kettle,” you whisper against his mouth.

You know what they say about history repeating itself.  You’ve been through this cycle before, you and Simon.  And you know what he promised you when he fucked you—he may have asked you if you’d wanted to keep him, but you hear what Simon doesn’t say.  And what he doesn’t say is that you don’t have a choice in any of this.  Simon operates like a bully, thinks like a bully because he is one.  Like with most other things, Simon brute forces your relationship, moulds and bends and twists to his liking, does not care if anything breaks.  You have no doubt that in two or three weeks’ time he’ll be across the world from you, bouncing someone else on his cock but it hardly matters.  You’ll get your lick back.  It’s what he’s taught you, afterall.        

[kaivenom]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do the One Piece Guys x Reader where, since it is the Fall/Halloween season, there are short stories of romantic scenarios of them and the reader doing Fall/Halloween things?

One Piece men small romantic Halloween season scenarios

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Trafalgar Law, Eustass Kid, Killer

A/N: This time Halloween caught me surprised and i wasnt planing on doing anything (cause i didnt have time to prepare it) but since two people asked for Halloween themed specials, i post this today 31th and the other one tomorrow 1st. Enjoy this fast done Halloween especial.

Masterlist

Luffy

You came back to the ship and suddently all the floor was full of candy wrappers.

"Luffy, what did you do?" you yelled angryly to see your boyfriend on the floor with mouth full of chocolate like a small monster.

"Nothing."

"You fool, i see the evidence all over your face. Why? We were supposed to keep the candy for the kids to come here trick or treat." you almost thought you were about to cry due to frustation.

"Im sorry."

"i hope you are, halloween it's over." you said and go to sit on the couch, more sad than angry.

A couple of seconds later you felt a pair of arms wrap around your neck and a cheek brushing against yours.

"Please, what can i do to compensate?"

"That is up to you." you were trying to isolate from everything but couldnt keep away the curiosity when he came upstairs.

A couple of minutes later he appeared with improvised costumes, one looked like a witch and another like a ghost.

"We are going trick or treating."

"We are adults."

"I dont care, if we cant take the candy from the houses then we will take it in a more... out of law way."

You couldn't help but laugh due to the silliness of the situation. But you finally accepted and go to town.

Of course, no one of the town gave candy to some adults but there were a marine base so... you stole all the candy they had, and then run all over town with the sacks on your shoulder.

"That was funny."

"It was." you laughed and kissed him, which of course he corresponded.

"Now we have more candy to eat." you pinched his cheek with a devilish smile.

"No, you already ate, now we are going to distribute it with the children." he pouted at this but accepted and you kissed him again, "don't worry, you will have a little trophy tonight."

He smiled and expecting of your night encounter, he didnt separate himself from you the rest of the evening.

Zoro

You both arrived at a town on Halloween exactly and the people there celebrated something were they visited their loved ones graves. All the crew took it as a very weird and macabre thing but Zoro seemed amused so you proposed to take a walk thru the graveyard.

Even in the dark of the night, the oranges of the candles and the flowers make everything so colorful and somehow, recomforting. Zoro took your hand and place it on his biceps, now you both waking like the couples around, connected.

"This is somehow beautiful."

"It is, it makes you value life and honour death, this people are wise and respectul. I like that."

"I percieve it."

He smiled and place a small kiss on your lips, he looked relaxed and gratefull and you loves that.

You discovered a church/temple were the foreigners could put offering to their lost ones. It was a big contrast the tradition for loved ones in the place and the traditions that Zoro had. But still, you tried to accompany him on his offerings and prayers.

"And now what?" you asked on the stairs of the temple while he raised his shoulders in confusion.

"Now you eat, beautiful couple." a men appeared and offered you some food.

You realized that people were sitting on the ground of the graveyard and eating whole meals. So you took a place a little distand (you didnt want to bother anyones graves) and did a little picnic.

"This is a beautiful tradition." you said.

"Almost as beautiful as you." kissed your forehead, "somehow its very spiritual, we can come back the next year."

"I like that." he gave you again more peppering kisses.

Somehow that night made him extra lovely and devoted to you.

Sanji

He had been planing it for weeks, Halloween its a special occasion for doing special themed dishes so... he had enough food to survive 100 years and he planned to do every dish he wanted.

"Sanji, what is this?" you entered the kitchen earlier than he expected.

"Umm, i was planning on doing a special halloween dinner... like a surprise."

"Oohh, i can help?"

He didnt planned on letting you help, you were his godness, you cant make your hands dirty, but seeing you with that ilusion on your eyes, make him weak. Accepted and invite you to start organizicing ingredients.

Really aesthetic everything, he helped you knead things by putting himself behind you and interconecting your hands, small kisses every now and then, you throwing flour at him jockingly.

The night came and the only thing left were some cookies on the hoven so you both started somehow slow dancing on the kitchen.

"I didnt expect that cooking with you would be so nice, i expected you to be like one of those judges of the cuisine shows."

"How can i judge my precious woman."

"With a positive review." you smiled and kissed his cheek while he spinned you around and now your back is on his chest.

"And i am so used to working alone on the kitchen that i didn't expect to have such a good time but as always, doing things with you is the best of the day."

Trafalgar Law

Even thought you didn't expect It, Law Its a fanatic of Halloween... More like a fanatic of Halloween themed movies such as slashers or thrillers, specially psicological ones. So, when you discovered, you had to plan something out for the day.

"Law, handsome, since you like that type of movies so much and we are on spooky season, would you like to bingewatch?"

"And you think you are capable of keeping It straight with the fear?" He said, clearly judging and challenging you.

"I would."

"Then i accept."

Half a movie later you were terrified but you didn't want him to know, and that lasted for like 2 movies. He was really intrigated on the plot to see your little shaking, or thats what you thought.

"Just said that you are scared and we can go seeing the old ones, with the bad cuality effects, It wont be that bad."

You shook you head, you wont admit that you are scared to him. Then, when a movie with jumpscares started, you couldnt keep It straight anymore.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" You yelled while pressing Trafalgar's head against your chest, full of fear. "I am dying of terror since two movies ago, i cant to this anymore."

"Thanks for finally admiting." He said calmly.

"Idiot, i wanted to try to be as strong as you, how can you see this and dont faint."

"Cause i am a surgeon." He simply said and you had to stop shaking him.

"Fair point. I should go to bed."

"In that state? No, you will stay here and we Will put some of that cheesy Halloween Romance movie you like, then if you like i can play a slashers old movie."

You nodded and placed your head on his neck, he laughed a little at your action but you couldn't be more in love with him on that moment, cause you know how much he hates romance movies

That night you were sleeping really close to him, almost suffocating him with your arms. Normally he would yell but today, he just hugged you back really strong and kissed you.

Eustass Kidd

Big dates usually comes with great parties, being Halloween the BEST of the year. Thats why kid thought and since he is the captain, everyone was obliged to go party with him when the crew sailed on the 31st.

The club was noisy and you were dressed Up like a witch while he was like a zombie, well, everyone on the crew dressed as zombies. But he was your dead men.

You danced, laughed, drinked and even singed. Especially when kid decided to go on stage, sing a little and then dedicate you the dong, really embarrasing.

Now you were outside, midnight and taking some fresh air.

"Here she is, my magical girl." Kid apareaded on the street with a cup on his hand and a cheeky smile.

"You are really drunk" you chanted a little.

"Its that the spell you put on me? Because It Is working really well." You laughed.

"You are silly."

"And you are looking gorgeous. I know that all the crew was invited but right now, It IS our special moment just..."

"Just you and your Hot baddass goth wife that you will do everything she says."

"You caught the words out of my mind and yes, i Will do everything you want."

He kissed you, passionaly, on the dark part of the street, for a long time. Long enough that some members of the crew began to start searching for you both.

But kid couldn't care less, when they found you, he kicked them out and a couple of minutes later you entered again on the club.

Dancing more, laughing more, drinking more and kissing more.

Killer

You were gathering some supplies for the ship and suddently Killer stopped in front of a big banner saying "Pumpkin carving contest". He tried to make you think that he didnt care but in reality it was obvious that he wanted to enter the salon and compete. He is good with knifes and you are good helping him so.

"Killer, if you want, we can..."

"We are adults, we are on our twenties, i am a big feared pirate and..." you looked at him, dead seriously, "i would really like it, if you dont mind and if we can still asign."

You smiled and followed him to the inside. You both signed and he was nervous cause he is big and all of that but inside there are people of all kinds.

He got his knifes, the responsables gsve you a pumpkin and you started thinking on the design, to help him go faster.

The clock marked the end of the contest and the judges passed thru the tables. Some people didn't finish the desings but killer and you being the coordinated couple you are... There was no problem.

You dont know if It was due to the terryfing look of the pumpkin of the intimating look of your boyfriend, but when the judges passed by, they started shaking.

"And the winner is Killer and partner."

You both jumped excited to get the prize, a dinner in a restaurant. In fact you dont really care about the dinner, just that Killer left out his bad boy rude men facade to do something funny and childish.

"That was amazing, we can go to the restaurant now if you want" thats what you said while exiting the salon.

"Yeah, we can do that." He lifted you Up on his shoulder and gave you a loveful spank.

[sunflowerseob]

Candy Curse | Kim Jongseob

You really never know what's in your Halloween candy...

Piwontober Day 28

Prompt: creampie/edging/sexpollen with kim jongseob

🍬 Pairing: bestfriend!kimjongseob x reader

🍬 Word Count: 5.3k

🍬 Genre: Smut, pwp, besties to lovers, fluff

🍬 Rating: 18+

🍬 Warnings: Seob and reader get really competitive playing Mario Kart, explicit language, accidental consumption of aphrodisiac chocolates, looooots of tension, making out, hair pulling, biting, marking, scratching, dirty talk, teasing, explicit sexual content, fingering, multiple orgasms, cum eating, needy!Seob, subby!Seob, hand job, oral (m receiving), deep throating, edging, crying, unprotected sex (pls be safe ‼️), riding, creampie, it ends soft and chaotic bc guess that's my brand 🤩

A/N: Happy Kinktober (again lol) 👻 Sorry about this being a little late, but I hope you still enjoy! This is for day 28 of @kisseobie and @sxfterhearts Piwontober event 🎃 Thank you so much to anyone who has read and supported any of my fics I really appreciate you endlessly 🥹🩵

Also I wanna dedicate this to my fave Seobrangi, and Seob writer, and just writer in general, who's also one of my best friends @strawberry-seob this one is for you bestie ilysm 😘💕 Hope I was able to honor the Seobrangi writer name 🫡

Masterlist

“Ughhh, Seob, enough with the excuses.” you groaned, tossing your controller aside in frustration.

Your friend stared back at you in disbelief, “Wha…they’re not excuses! I told you I can’t concentrate because I’m hungry, and it’s giving you an unfair advantage.”

You wanted to strangle the little shit so bad, but instead you just raised an eyebrow at him.

“The unfair advantage being that I’m just better than you at this, and you’re being a little bitch about it.” you said back matter of factly.

“Because I’m fucking hungry!” Jongseob argued back, throwing a pillow in your direction that you just barely dodged in time.

“Okay, well, you can eat this controller when I shove it down your throat.” you threatened as you got to your feet.

Annnd this was why you and Jongseob weren’t supposed to play Mario Kart together unsupervised anymore.

He completely ignored you, more than used to your competitive and aggressive behavior, as he got up and walked into the kitchen behind the living room.

“Hey,” Seob called a moment later, poking his head back into the room, “Kee left already right?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me, he’s your roommate.” you grumbled back.

Your friend rolled his eyes before disappearing back into the kitchen. You huffed in irritation before picking up your phone to mindlessly scroll through your different social feeds. Jongseob strolled back into the room, a giant pumpkin shaped bowl in his hands. You noticed that it was overflowing with Halloween candy. He didn’t bother acknowledging you, just sat down on the floor with his back against the couch and placed the bowl of candy in his lap.

“Isn’t Kee gonna be mad if you eat that? He told me he spent a fortune on candy this year since we always run out.”

Jongseob once again offered no response, instead he just unwrapped a piece of candy and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for several seconds before swallowing, and then turned to you with a smirk. What the fuck?

“That’s okay, I’m just gonna tell him you’re the one who ate our candy.” he voiced smugly as he opened another piece.

“Why the fuck are you like this?”

He gave a quick shrug, “I guess because you bring it out in me.”

“Oh, right, because everything is somehow magically my fault today. Sorry I forgot.” you quipped back.

Jongseob chuckled and you felt like punching him.

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

You lunged for him, making him scream before he ducked out of the way. You might’ve missed him, but you were still able to snag a few candies from the bowl.

“Fuck it, I’ll reimburse him later.” you muttered before eating one of the chocolates in your hand.

“We’re playing another cup after this. Now that I have a fair chance.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes this time, “Whatever, Seob.”

The two of you sat there eating the Halloween candy in silence. You reached for the last piece in your hand, and just stared at the wrapping for a minute. You had never seen this kind of candy before. The packaging was weirdly fancy and deep maroon in color.

“What the hell is this?” you asked aloud, attracting Jongseob’s attention.

He looked up from his spot on the floor and observed the candy in your hand, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“I don’t know. Something that Keeho bought. It was in kind of a smaller bag so it must be expensive, whatever it is.” was the only explanation your friend offered.

“He would buy some bougie ass Halloween candy.” you remarked, earning a laugh from Jongseob.

You smiled at the slight shift in the mood. Yes, you drove each other crazy a lot of the time, but Jongseob was still one of your best friends. You loved to give him shit since he was younger than you, but you also felt a strange sense of protectiveness towards him at the same time. Your typical love/hate bestie relationship really.

When you opened the wrapping, the chocolate inside looked like any other store brand candy. The only noticeable difference was some kind of insignia on the dark square itself. You only hesitated briefly before slipping the candy into your mouth. When you bit down, the taste that exploded across your tongue was unreal. A moan slipped past your lips, completely out of your control. Jongseob jolted like he’d been shocked, and you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Dude what the fuck?!” he exclaimed, and it was impossible to miss the blush dusting his cheeks.

Your own face felt hot as you tried to defend yourself, “S-Stop making it weird! The chocolate is just really good okay. T-Try it for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Y/N…that was so sus.” Jongseob went on, his dark eyes squinted and calculated as they focused on you.

Well fuck, you were never going to live this down. But then he was reaching back into the bowl to dig out a chocolate for himself. His fingers slowly opened the maroon wrapping to reveal the chocolate inside. You scooted closer, eager to see what his reaction would be to the strange candy.

“Could you be any creepier about this right now?”

“Just shut up and eat it.” you griped back at him.

“It’s literally just chocolate,” Jongseob started as the treat disappeared inside his mouth, “I don’t see what the big deal is- Oh my goddddddd.”

Hearing him groan out in pleasure did something strange to your insides. What the fuck was in that chocolate?

“I fucking told you!” you piped up, hoping and praying that you weren’t blushing the same way he had been moments earlier.

“I can’t believe Kee bought this for trick or treaters. Kids don’t deserve this shit.”

“You’re right, they don’t.” you agreed simply before leaning down to yank the bowl away from him.

“Hey!” Seob shouted as he angrily got to his feet.

“You snooze you lose, Seobie.” you mocked, snatching another mystery chocolate from the pumpkin and popping it into your mouth.

You hummed as it melted on your tongue, “Respectfully, I want to fuck this chocolate.”

Jongseob made a sudden grab for the bowl, and you were too distracted by the bliss your taste buds were experiencing to react in time. You jumped up from the couch, but your friend was already backing away and holding the candy out of reach.

“Look, you already ate two. Keeho is definitely gonna be suspicious if we eat too many, and I don’t even wanna think about how much it would cost if we had to reimburse him… So, I’m gonna eat one more, and then we’re even okay?”

Normally, it absolutely would not have been okay, but you were feeling oddly relaxed all of a sudden. You found yourself giving in and nodding in agreement. Jongseob stared back at you in surprise, “Wait, really? That’s it?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve annoyed me so much today that now I’m just drained.” you said before plopping back down on the couch.

He glared at you, saying nothing as he ate another chocolate. This time, you actually saw a shiver run through him, and that weird feeling from earlier resurfaced. He carried the bowl back into the kitchen, probably to get rid of the temptation. When he emerged a minute later, something about his demeanor had shifted. He seemed lighter, maybe?

“You too drained to let me smoke your ass on the track?” Jongseob challenged.

He was smiling at you, little crooked canine poking out of his mouth. A feature you knew he had but had never really noticed until now. Huh. It was kinda cute. Just like a little. And since when was his hair so fluffy. And when did he start wearing such tight shirts. And when-

“So, uh, are we racing or what?”

Thank god he had chosen then to interrupt your insanity spiral. You really needed to get your shit together. This was Jongseob for fuck’s sake. It was Jongseob…

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you registered a hand on your forehead, your friend coming into focus in front of you. How had you never noticed the smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Also the little stud in his nose looked really good on him. A little too good.. You took in his soft features, lingering just a moment too long on his lips. Jongseob laughed at your spacey behavior, making your heart do something terrifying in your chest, “You feeling okay? You’re not just trying to make me feel bad and go easy on you right?”

You mentally slapped yourself across the face as you forced yourself to snap out of it.

“Even if you did, I guarantee you still wouldn’t beat me.” you replied, falling back into your much more familiar and comfortable dynamic.

His hand dropped from your forehead. Definitely much safer.

“Only one way to find out.” Seob voiced, and you saw something truly devious in his dark eyes. 

You easily beat him on the first couple of tracks, but then you started to get really distracted. The distraction being your best friend sitting on the floor five feet away from you. He had this habit of sticking his tongue out the tiniest bit when he was concentrating, and you kept seeing him doing it out of the corner of your eye. God. You really needed to stop looking at his tongue. And his lips. And just him in general.

At some point, during all your staring, he had taken the opportunity to pass you and pull ahead to first place.

“Yes! Whoo!” he yelled in excitement, throwing his head back.

Warm affection washed over you. What the fuck was happening?

You fully locked in for the last course, and it was close, but you still ended up crossing the finish before him.

“Better luck next time, Seobie.” you teased, leaning over to ruffle his hair.

Holy shit. Had he always had such soft hair. Now that you thought about it, his newly dyed two toned locks really did suit him… Jongseob shrugged your hand off before whirling around to face you, “That last one didn’t count! My bangs were falling in my eyes so I couldn’t see. We gotta play one more.”

“Your bangs made you lose? Are you shitting me right now?”

He pouted back at you and pointed at the pieces of hair curtaining his forehead. Was it a bullshit excuse? Well, yes. But were you struggling with how cute he was being right now? Also yes.

“Fine, you baby. We’ll have one final rematch. But first, come here.”

Jongseob’s expression immediately showed his suspicion, and you couldn’t say you blamed him.

“Yeah, uh, no. You’re gonna hit me or something.”

You sighed in frustration, “Oh my god, I’m not gonna hit you. Seob, just come here.”

He gave you one last apprehensive look before coming to sit in between your legs hanging off the couch. Your heart knocked against your rib cage. You were hyper aware of his face being right next to your bare thighs. You could’ve sworn Jongseob had noticed it too based on the way his cheeks tinted pink. His body went rigid as he forced himself to face straight towards the TV.

You pulled your hair tie off your wrist, cursing yourself for the way your hands were shaking as you gripped some of his wavy locks. The way Seob’s breath hitched rang out loudly in the living room.

“Wait, what are you-”

“This way you can’t use the bangs excuse anymore.” you answered, cutting him off.

There was an almost tangible shift in the air. You found yourself so tuned into Jongseob’s breathing, noting each inhale and exhale while you gathered his hair to pull it back into a small ponytail. You gave a final tug, harder than you had meant to, and the man in between your legs let out a soft moan. Fucking hell. Why did he sound like that.

“Seob, did you just…” you trailed off, not able to say the words.

“NO SHUT UP!” he yelled defensively before jerking from your touch and burying his head in his knees.

Wordlessly, you maneuvered around him to get to your feet. He continued hiding his face, refusing to look at you. You frowned, turning away to walk into the kitchen. You were convinced there had been something in those chocolates, and you needed to know just what that was. Your heart was racing slightly as you approached the kitchen trash. You flipped the lid and peered inside. There were multiple empty candy bags, but it wasn’t hard to find the maroon bag that matched the chocolate’s packaging.

The bag was torn where Jongseob had opened it, but thankfully the writing on it was still legible. Your eyes flitted over the words, dread settling in your stomach. Enhanced and heightened pleasure. Aphrodisiac. Sex chocolate.

OH SHIT.

When you stepped back out into the living room with the bag in hand, Seob still hadn’t moved from his spot. You sat down on the couch, and he barely registered your presence.

“Seob, I need you to listen to me okay?”

You were panicked, but you made sure to keep your voice gentle. He slowly turned his head so that his face peeked out, and he was so flushed. At least now you understood why.

“What the hell is wrong with us?” he groaned.

Rather than trying to explain, you just held the bag out to him. Jongseob tentatively took it from your hand, his eyes scanning the packaging. He turned even redder as he came to the same realization as you.

“Holy shit.” he whispered, looking back and forth between the bag and you.

“I know. What the fuck was Kee thinking putting this in with the Halloween candy?” you asked in disbelief.

“He, uh, didn’t.” came Seob’s mumbled response.

“What?”

He flashed you a sheepish grin, and you felt the urge to hit him coming back.

“Seob. You didn’t.”

“It was with the other bags of Halloween candy, so I just dumped everything in. I had no idea they were his sex chocolates, I swear.”

He was talking with his hands to emphasize, which let you know he was just as distressed as you were.

“Maybe they don’t even work. Maybe we’re worrying for nothing.” you interjected, but you knew your words would fall flat.

Jongseob gave you a look that told you as much, “They definitely work.”

You knew he was right but you decided to ask anyway.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, you keep staring at me.”

Your face instantly warmed, and you tried to laugh it off.

“No, I don’t.” you argued, making him raise an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, you do.”

“Okay, well, you’re the one who moaned.”

“What makes you so sure I can’t get you to do the same?”

You choked on air, your cheeks burning furiously.

“S-Seob stop. T-That’s not funny.”

“You’re right, it’s not. But it’s all I can think about right now. And, I bet, I’m not the only one.”

He was smirking at you now, and the confusing feelings you had been experiencing traveled lower to settle in your core.

“Are you fucking insane? Seob, we’re friends. We don’t like each other like that.”

Even as the words left your lips, you found you really weren’t so sure anymore.

“See, I thought so too,” Jongseob said, getting to his feet so that he was now standing in between your legs, “but the things I’m thinking about you right now definitely aren’t friendly.”

You gasped softly, you had never seen this man be so forward the entire time you had known him. How in the hell had you gone from killing each other over Mario Kart to this? The scariest part was that the more the two of you played into whatever was happening, the less wrong it felt. You decided to try playing back, just to see if he was really serious.

“And what kind of things are you thinking about me right now?”

You never should’ve called his bluff because the next thing you knew, he was leaning down and caging you in on the couch with his arms on either side of your head. Your heart suddenly felt like it was going to beat out of your chest.

“Things like how bad I want to kiss you. And wondering if you would let me.”

His eyes kept drifting to your lips as he said it, and it was really starting to consume you. Just how bad you wanted him right now.

“And if I said I would?” you pressed before you could think better of it.

Jongseob’s eyes dilated slightly, and you squirmed back and forth on the couch. You felt his fingers on your chin, holding you still as he looked down at you, “I want to hear you say that you want me to.”

A shiver ran through your body, and Seob’s smug grin let you know he’d noticed it too.

“Just to be clear, it’s because of the candy. And if we do this, we never speak of it again.” you stated, trying to hold onto your last shred of control.

“Yeah, okay, I’m good with that. Now, say it.”

That last shred slipped through your fingers.

“Seob, kiss me.”

The moment his lips descended on yours, it became startlingly apparent. It was not just because of the candy. 

He groaned softly as his hands came up to cradle your cheeks, one of his knees slotting in between your legs. Your hands fisted into his dark gray tank, tugging him closer. Jongseob slid a hand underneath your back before repositioning you so that you were laying across the couch with him falling on top of you. The kiss grew more heated, and you opened your mouth up to him. His tongue licked into your mouth hungrily, and your fingers got lost in his two toned waves. His hands were all over you. Brushing your neck, gripping your thighs, sneaking under your shirt. It was too much and not nearly enough all at the same time.

You nipped at his bottom lip, and were rewarded with your new favorite sound. Jongseob moaning.

“Fuck. You sound so hot when you do that.” you told him in between kisses.

He smiled against your mouth, his canine poking into your lip.

“I thought that too. Except, I wanted it to be because of me and not the chocolate.” he said before mouthing along your jaw.

You sighed, your nails scraping against his scalp. His teeth grazed your neck, his tongue soothing the spot immediately after, and you shuddered underneath him. Jongseob’s hands disappeared under your shirt, fingers splayed out over your stomach.

“Can I touch you? Please.”

His plea was murmured against your skin as he sucked more color into the flesh.

“Yes.” you replied with no hesitation, your voice raspy.

You could feel him smirking into your neck, and something about it drove you crazy. His fingers inched higher, searing across your torso. Jongseob’s lips found yours once more, and you panted into his mouth while his hands slid around to your back to unclasp your bra. You sat up briefly, Seob still chasing your mouth as you slid the garment down your shoulders and out from under your shirt. The moment you laid back down, his greedy fingers were slipping back under the material to palm at your breasts.

“Fuck,” he hissed, thumb stroking over your nipple, “you’re so soft.”

You arched into his touch, “Seob.”

He groaned at your response, and then his fluffy head was disappearing underneath your shirt. You moaned obscenely the moment he took your perked bud into the warmth of his mouth. He poked his head back out, sporting an absolute shit eating grin.

“Told you.” 

You shook your head, laughing slightly.

“God, you’re so annoying.”

“Mmm, yeah. And you know what, I’m not nearly done annoying you yet. Not even close.” he voiced wickedly before diving back under your shirt.

His tongue flicked over your same nipple, his fingers twisting and pinching your neglected one. You writhed underneath him, feeling something hard brush against your inner thigh. The realization that you had been the one to do that to him left you feeling dizzy.

“You’re so hot, Y/N. Shit.” 

Jongseob’s voice was nearly unrecognizable, his words coming out low and rough. You could feel his lips leaving various marks all over your tits. It would be kinda hard to pretend like this never happened with reminders of him all over your body. But right now he was making you feel such immense pleasure that you really couldn’t be bothered to worry about it too much. 

Seob’s hands were on the move again, sliding down your stomach and teasing at the top of your shorts.

“I bet you’re so wet right now.”

“Shut up.” you shot back, your face on fire.

Jongseob resurfaced from under your shirt, and you clenched around nothing at the sight of his swollen lips. Somehow his little ponytail was still intact, but the rest of his hair was a complete mess. His dark eyes were blown out with lust as they trailed down your body. He ran a finger along the top of your panties that were poking out of your shorts, “You gonna let me find out? Just how soaked you are right now.” 

“Remember, it’s the candy. Don’t let it go to your head, Seobie.” you reminded him, knowing you were lying through your fucking teeth.

“Sure it is.” he said, rolling his eyes before slipping his fingers inside your panties. 

You jerked below him as soon as his digits came into contact with your slick folds.

“Shit. You are fucking drenched.” he hissed, his fingers circling around your clit and making you gasp.

Jongseob was intensely focused on your face as he easily slid a finger inside you. He slowly pumped the digit in and out, turning you into a panting mess underneath him. 

“God. Can’t believe you feel this good just around my fingers.”

“Seob.” you whined, and he responded by adding a second finger.

“Gonna make you come. Because if this is the only time we’re doing this, then I’m gonna make sure it’s something you remember.”

His fingers sinfully crooked inside you, and your back lifted off the couch. You buried your face in his arm as the band inside you wound tighter and tighter. He leaned down, his lips right by your ear, “I know I’m gonna have a hard time forgetting about this. Just how good your cunt feels.”

He was up to three fingers now, while his thumb strummed across your clit, and you clenched tight around his digits.

“Seob, fuck!” you cried out, your orgasm knocking the wind out of you.

Jongseob swore as you soaked his fingers, continuing to fuck you through your high, and peppering kisses along your neck. His fingers were coated in you when he finally pulled them out of your panties. You noticed the way his cock twitched in his dark jeans at the sight. He looked like a man possessed as he pushed the fingers into his mouth, moaning while he sucked them clean. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen. Definitely would not be forgetting that visual anytime soon.

“Jongseob, what the fuck?” you groaned, overwhelmed by all the different sensations. 

He held your eyes as his lips pulled off his fingers with a wet pop, and you nearly came again.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet. Even better than the candy.”

The only way to describe how you were feeling in that moment was feral. Absolutely fucking feral. Which led to you tackling Jongseob, making him let out a little scream as you pinned him underneath you on the couch. You crashed your lips against his, swallowing whatever he was gonna say. 

“My turn.” you said against his mouth, one of your hands reaching down to palm him over his jeans.

“Fuck. Please.”

The needy edge in his voice was absolutely delicious. You continued kissing him lazily, Jongseob desperately licking into your mouth. You undid his jeans before dipping your hand into his boxers to wrap around his erection. He released a shaky breath that turned into a moan as you stroked him leisurely. Your thumb smeared the pre cum leaking from his tip, “So messy, Seobie.”

The man under you whimpered, his hips bucking up to fuck your fist. You broke away from his lips so that you could watch him while you touched him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he tossed his head from side to side as you continued pumping him.

“What do you want, Seobie? You want me to suck you off?” you teased, running your tongue along his neck.

Jongseob practically convulsed underneath you, and you were loving how he was submitting to you right now.

“Please,” he gasped, “need your mouth.”

You hummed as you pulled him out of his boxers, his cock springing up against his stomach. You moved down his body before licking a stripe along the underside.

“Fucking shit.” Jongseob hissed, his fingers digging harshly into the couch. 

You chuckled, “And so sensitive too.”

You slowly began taking him into your mouth, and he let out a moan that was borderline pornographic. The further you went, the more he squirmed and panted underneath you. You pulled off of him suddenly, and Jongseob whined at the loss of your mouth. You returned to working him with your hand instead.

“You’re so fun to play with, Seobie. Gonna make the most of it if this is the only chance we get.”

“Please. Wanna come.” he begged, sounding breathless.

You dropped your hand, and Jongseob cried out when you took him as far down your throat as you could manage. 

“Your mouth, fuck. Feels too good.”

You hummed around him, and his cock twitched in your mouth. You would speed up, get him right to the edge, and then slow back down again. 

“So mean, Y/N. I need to come, please.”

You replaced your mouth with your hand again, “Awww Seobie, but don’t you wanna fuck me?”

He bolted upright so fast that it actually made you jump.

“Are you being serious?”

You stroked him faster, relishing the way his eyes started to roll back.

“If you wanna fuck me, then you can’t come.”

Jongseob looked close to tears as he pouted at you.

“Why are you like this?” he groaned, and you slowed your pace down again.

“I guess because you bring it out in me.” you said, mocking him from earlier before wrapping your lips around his tip again.

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

This time, your mouth and hands worked in tandem, and when you looked up at Jongseob, a handful of tears were trailing down his cheeks. His cock was practically spasming in your mouth, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. You let him fall from your lips with a pop.

“You wanna fill me up, Seobie? Fuck me full of your cum?”

“Please.” he wheezed as more tears ran down his face, “Need to fuck you.”

You needed it too. So bad you could hardly stand it. You stepped back from the couch to slip your shirt over your head and slide your shorts and panties down your legs. Jongseob weakly picked up his head, and his eyes looked ready to pop out as he took in your naked figure. He reached down to push his jeans and boxers out of the way. 

“How do you wanna do this, Seobie?” you asked as you stood over him. 

In a flash of movement, his arms yanked you down to straddle him, making you yelp in surprise.

“Fuck, want you to ride me.”

You raised up to position your entrance over his cock, “Don’t forget, it’s the candy.”

Jongseob settled his hands on your waist, roughly gripping your hips.

“Shut the fuck up, and just sit on my dick already.”

You saluted him, earning a series of giggles in response. You slowly sank down onto him, Seob’s nails leaving crescents in your skin. 

“Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

You were so worked up that you didn’t even bother starting out slow. By the way Jongseob aggressively fucked up into you, you guessed that he didn’t mind. You felt his arms wrap around your back as he moved to sit up, pulling you with him. You braced your arms against the back of the couch, the new angle making you bounce in his lap. Seob mouthed at your breast, his fingers curling against your back as he held you close.

“Fuck…Seob…” you panted out, your head falling back. 

“Can’t, shit, wait to feel you come all over my cock.”

“Please, fill me up, Seobie.”

Jongseob growled, his lips still wrapped around your nipple, but then he was crashing your mouths together. It was all tongue and teeth as his thrusts started to lose their rhythm. You buried your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands. Seob moaned against your lips, and your walls clenched around him.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

His cock twitched inside you, Jongseob shuddering underneath you before you felt him filling you up. You were right behind him, crying out his name as you fell apart. The two of you held onto each other as you tried to catch your breath. When you pulled back to look at him, his canine was poking out in the most endearing way. Your heart swelled, and you leaned forward to gently press your lips to his. You could feel Jongseob smiling into the kiss.

“Soooo, maybe it wasn’t just the candy.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” Seob retorted before pinching your side, sending you into a fit of giggles.

He started full on tickling you, and you shrieked before jumping up from the couch. You felt something drip down your leg as you stood up. You glanced down, and when you looked back up, Jongseob was focused on the mess between your legs. He licked his lips, his eyes trailing back up to your face, and frankly, the man looked like he wanted to eat you.

“Yeah, no way I’m gonna be able to forget that. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You were contemplating whether or not to initiate some kind of round two, when you heard the door to the apartment opening. You were pretty sure the fear on Jongseob’s face must have matched your own. You grabbed a throw blanket, quickly throwing it over the two of you as you sat back down on the couch. Seob’s hand found one of yours under the blanket, giving it a squeeze. 

“Seob, did you put my sex chocolate in with the Halloween candy? What the fuck, man.”  Keeho called from the kitchen.

He walked into the living room a moment later, the pumpkin bowl clutched in his hands. He took in you and Seob on the couch, his eyes growing wide.

“Did you guys eat my chocolate?!”

You and Jongseob exchanged sheepish grins. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s it, you’re both officially banned from Mario Kart from now until forever. And clean this shit up, you disgusting animals. Oh, and you owe me and Taeyang some new chocolate. Hope you horny little freaks are happy.”

Keeho gave both of you one last look of disappointment before strolling right back out of the apartment. You and Jongseob both busted out laughing as soon as the door closed behind him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty happy.” he managed to get out in between fits of laughter, canine poking out adorably. 

You clutched his hand that you were still holding, “Yeah, me too.”

[mikkomacko]

Him and I- Devil-ween

Nico Hischier x reader, Mob Boss!Nico

Warnings: None

A/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN FRIENDS!! Here’s a little something to give you an idea of Halloween in the mob universe. Hope you all love it and as always feel free to send me and questions or comments!

____________________________________________

The breeze blowing off the water is crisp and cool, not that you mind. Fall weather isn’t your favorite, always bouncing back and forth between hot and cold, but you prefer it over the sticky and humid summers. The sun is just a little too hot with your sweater on, so you welcome the cold wind.

You swipe away the strands of hair that have stuck to your lip gloss in the breeze, tucking them behind your ear before reaching for Nico’s hand again.

He’s holding his out for you, fingers widened so you can intertwine yours with his. Leaves crunch under your sneakers, the limbs of trees on the waterfront slowly turning to bare bones.

Nico likes the fall, likes the colors of the trees and being able to wear his beanies and cardigans. So he mosies as the two walk along the waterfront, the morning sun casting a funky shadow of your forms walking together.

“I was thinking,” he says after taking a sip of his to-go coffee, lightly squinting as he looks to you. “We should have a party at the house for Halloween, instead of doing the bar thing.”

In all the years you’ve known Nico (and the Devs), they’ve never not spent Halloween at the bar. Nico lets them go insane with it, fog machines and fake spider webs, elaborate costumes and way too much alcohol.

“You want to throw a party?” You question, and he shrugs. “And by you, you mean me? Because you’re a terrible decorator and cannot for the life of you match a menu to a theme.”

Nico opens his mouth, eyebrows scrunched together in defiance. He falters though, immediately closing his mouth and looking off towards the river. “Alright fine, I’m bad with parties,” he concedes and you giggle gleefully. “But I want this to be our party. We plan it all together.”

He stops walking, tugging you by the hand into his chest and then taking a hold of your waist. The wind and leaves blow around you, dog walkers and morning joggers keep moving down the waterfront path. But you and Nico stay still, everything moving around you two.

You fiddle with the top button of his cardigan, the one he always leaves open. “Together?” He nods, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your hip.

“Ok,” you agree, excited to finally have a holiday at the overly large house the two of you have built. You’ve had gatherings before, but nothing formal, nothing like this. Like it’s a family tradition in the making. “But we still have to put out candy for trick or treaters.”

Nico smiles, not at all deterred by your bargain. Trailing your hand up his shoulder and around his neck, you lightly urge him to lean down even more.

“But you’re wearing a costume.”

He kisses you before you can protest, gentle and sweet lips muffling the sound of indignation that squeaked out of you.

You can feel his evil little smirk against your mouth.

~~~~

“This is useless,” you groan, “I don’t even like Halloween.”

Nico tries really hard not to laugh at that, biting the inside of his cheek as he sorts through the hoards of decorations that have come in these past couple weeks. Moving the red string lights to the stack of outdoor decor, he glances over to see you fighting with the flame cutouts, trying to figure out how the different layers fit together to make it look like real fire.

Something on the cutouts snaps into place, and for a moment your frozen but relief glimmers in your gaze as you gently set them on the living room floor. Only for the flames to clatter onto the hardwood in pieces.

“That’s it, I’m not coming.” You say, furious and annoyed as you shove all decorations away from you. Nico’s never seen you like this, so frazzled over something that’s supposed to be fun. He thought you’d eat up any chance to have all the boys over, to host something for them.

Apparently he was wrong.

“Come on baby,” he tries sympathetically, standing over you. Holding his hands out, he helps you up from the floor. “Don’t be a grump.”

“Me?” You deadpan, blinking at him. “I’m the grump?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “a cute one, but still a grump.”

You roll your eyes at him, blowing the baby hairs off your face with a puff of annoyed air and Nico takes it upon himself to brush them away for you.

“I don’t even like Halloween Nico.” You whine.

“You said that already baby.”

“But it’s true. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

Nico smiles, bemused and cupping your pouting face in his large palms. “This is supposed to be the fun part. Decorating and costumes, fun foods and drinks. I even let you pick our costumes.”

You perk up at that, a wicked smile teasing the corner of your lips and Nico’s heart drops a bit. Why are you looking at him like the cat that got the canary?

~~~~

“Are you serious?”

Somehow you two pulled it off. The whole house and yard for decorated, fake Jack o’lanterns lining the drive with blood red lights in them. The cut outs around the outside of the house and mood lighting that make the whole place look like it’s on fire.

Fog machines and red light bulbs, neon blood that glows in the lights splattered on the windows and doors. The back yard foggy and pulsing with strobe lights and even more red and orange flames.

The Devils Den.

That was what you two had decided on. You’d make the house look like it rose straight up from hell. Not terrifying, but spooky and really cool.

Nico loved it. He thought it was a good theme for your first Halloween party together with the devs. Everything was perfect. Well…everything but the costumes.

“That is supposed to be mine!” Nico whines, pointing a finger at the top of your head. You giggle gleefully, twirling the bedazzled end of your pointed tail in your hand.

“No, you said devil and angel. You never said you wanted to be the devil.”

“But-“ he can’t even argue. You got him there. He had suggested to go with the theme that you and him and be a devil and an angel. Then he left you to order them, pick accessories and all that.

But he never clarified who would be who. He assumed you’d know and do that. Now he understands why you were so entertained by the costumes. You stole his and you knew it’d be hilarious.

“I think it’s cute Nico,” you say, dropping your tail to lay behind you as you press into his chest. The lights flash, glinting off your bedazzled devils horns and dark red lips. Your eyes look him up and down, a pleased sparkle shimmering in your dark pupils. He’s in all white, the robe slowly and flowy looking, a large pair of feathered wings stretched across his back and a sword to sit at his hip.

It is a cool costume. But Nico’s not much of an angel. And you’re not much of a devil.

Still, he doesn’t say anything, just pouting as you take the makeup from his hands that he’d brought from upstairs. You had left them hidden in his costume and even though he doesn’t know how to put on makeup, or particularly want to, he lets you dust glitter on his cheekbones and make them all rosy with blush. Because for the first time since he brought up Halloween, you actually look excited about something.

You had fun with the costumes, and he’ll go along with it like you went along with this whole shebang. Even if Timo and Jonas bust out laughing at the sight of him. And Jesper and Nicole swipe at his shimmering cheekbones and coo about him being whipped. And yes somehow he’s still fine even after Jack and Luke catch sight of you in your all black ensemble, shirt tight and tutu short and fluffy, and holler about you being hotter than Nico.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dress up,” Mercer says in greeting, tilting his red solo cup to his lips. The hood of his Clifford the Big Red Dog costume falls over his eyes, and you push it back for him.

“She doesn’t like Halloween,” Marino teases, hiding his smirk by stroking over his fake handlebar mustache. Nico internally cringes, knowing it’s true but that you won’t admit it to anyone. You never want to seem like a party pooper, especially not when Halloween is big to the rest of them, but you admitted to Nico before your first Halloween together that you hated it.

It was too much work for one night, too much expectation. Costumes never turned out right, they were too expensive, and you don’t like being scared.

All in all, you usually skipped the holiday.

“Is that why you always show up to the bar on Halloween in just black clothes?”

You scoff at Luke, offended. “I wore a witch hat a couple of times!” Which is true, Nico laughs to himself, tuning out of the conversation in favor of looking at you. Your hair is smooth and shiny, blown out elegantly so that your horns are the center of attention. You’ve sharpened the appearance of your cheekbones and nose, lined your eyes with black and a tiny bit of red.

Red wings that match his to a T lie on your back, the red devil tail clipped to the band of that tiny skirt you’re wearing. Nico knows if he were to take a step back and look you up and down he’d be able to see far more of your ass than he’d like to be looking at in public. He makes a mental note to walk behind you as much as possible tonight, especially when he sees the way the band of the your thigh high socks stretch around your curves, the silk bows on them cute and taunting.

Nico feels his mouth water, butterflies fluttering around his stomach and chest. He thinks the boys may be teasing you, but he can’t really tell because he’s not listening. But he can see the pout on your lips, smiling when you look at him expectantly.

“Hello, guardian angel,” you motion around, “beat them up please?”

Nico laughs, slinks an arm around your waist and presses in close to you. “Let’s a get drink first,” he compromises, pressing a kiss to your head. “Then I will,” he agrees. He’ll agree to anything you ask of him tonight, and not just because he’s your guardian angel.

But because at the end of night, he’s the one you’re feeding syringe Jell-O shots too and he’s the one that’s gonna head upstairs later with your lipstick smeared all around his mouth, and yeah he’s the one that’s gonna hike up that innocent little skirt and make you feel good.

Buzzed and messy, you pull the shot from his mouth and slip into your own, heavy eyes not straying from his as you empty the second half of it into your mouth, sucking at the tip for good measure. You’re hanging off his shoulders, packed between bodies of Devs and their dates, and whoever else they invited. And you’re playing with the ends of his hair, looking at him with such dark and loving eyes that he realizes maybe you are a bit of a devil.

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡sweet dreams 🍫

"need a little sweetness in my life~"

leona kingscholar x reader | word count: 848 words

summary: halloween night with leona! 🍫

warnings: a bit shorter than part 1, a little rushed. other than that, none! just fluffy fluff!!

note: this is a continuation/ part 2 of my previous leona fic, naps. and no, i'm not making his entire personality about napping. i just think cuddle/ nap fics w/ leona are rlly cute-

you had never seen leona being so clingy. ever. but ever since that day you comfortably napped with the beastman, he'd become almost entranced by you. it was almost as if he genuinely could not sleep unless you were in his arms. the others didn't know about this of course, he'd die of embarrassment.

it was finally the holiday the students and staff of nrc had spent weeks preparing for: halloween! everyone was dressed up in their best costumes and the smells of cinnamon and pumpkin filled the air. everyone was packed into mostro lounge, drinks and food items going around, laughter and lively chatter filling the air. everything was perfect. you were currently chatting with cater and kalim, talking about how professor crewel had given you guys a pop quiz yesterday despite the holiday the next day.

as you were chatting, you couldn't help but scan the crowd a few times looking for a certain lion. you could've sworn you saw him a while ago. "[y/n]! there you are." you turned around, met by none other than ruggie, seeming a bit out of breath. "it's leona again." you playfully rolled your eyes, excusing yourself from the conversation with cater and kalim.

you made your way down the halls of the savanaclaw dorms, the building rather quiet since most all of its students were attending the halloween bash. once you got to leona's door, you gave it a gentle rhythmic knock, one that leona could always pick up on. a gruff "enter" was heard through the door, and you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. when you turned around again, you saw him: leona kingscholar laid out in his bed, costume and all. he didn't even have time to tell you to come over, you were already shuffling under the blankets and positioning his head in you lap.

"you didn't want to stay at the party?" you asked, gently running your fingers through his hair. "too noisy, couldn't nap properly." his answer made you laugh, your finger reaching over to poke his cheek. "it's a party, you're not supposed to nap." but the beastman was already dozing off in your lap, effectively trapping you. "can't hear you, m' too busy dozing off." he teased, your fingers already braiding some strands of his hair. as you did so, you decided to eat some candy from your bag.

as the wrapper rustled from opening the candy, you could see leona's nose twitch. he sniffed at the air a bit, his eyes not even opening when he started to speak. "what are you eating, herbivore?" you took a bite of your chocolate, glancing down at him. "just some candy i got from mostro lounge. you want some?" leona opened his eyes as you held the sweet treat to his lips, a look of mild disgust forming on his face. "no. and you shouldn't be eating so much either, you'll get sick."

"oh come on, try some! it's good, i promise." leona looked between you and the toothache in a wrapper, sighing reluctantly. he broke off a small piece, popping it into his mouth. you swore you saw his eyes light up, but he tried to hide it. which failed as he kept asking for tastes as you pulled more candy out of your bag. "you're gonna be the death of me, herbivore." he grumbled, reacting to the aftermath of eating a single sour gumdrop, of which you had already eaten five. "how can you eat those? it's like eating sandpaper." "well, back home i eat them all the time." "you're crazy." he said, reaching over and pinching your cheek. "don't come crying to me tomorrow if your teeth start to hurt or if your stomach gives out on ya," leona teased, earning a look of mock annoyance from you.

"well, if i get sick, it'll be good for you. you can use it as an excuse to cuddle me more." you smiled cheekily, scooting a little closer to the lion man. "hmm, is that so, herbivore?" he mumbled, a soft smirk on his lips as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. you laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "yes, i think a big, cuddly lion would make me feel better in no time~" you hummed, moving to kiss his cheek. you could see the color in his cheeks, immediately teasing him about it, only to met by his constant refusal.

this was probably the best halloween you'd ever had. curled up with the person you loved, eating candy, chatting, and teasing one another. you rested your head on leona's chest, his strong arms wrapping around you. the sound of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep, just like that first day you'd napped with him. then, he was just leona kingscholar, house warden of savanaclaw, the lazy lion man, the strongest junior at nrc. now he was your comfort person, cuddle buddy, and partner that you loved with all your heart. 🍫

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[ghostbustting]

hiiii, can you please please please do slash x Guns N’ Roses assistant?

╰┈➤ “𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬„ ๋࣭⭑

Saul “Slash” Hudson x Reader

Contains Smut

“This is a one time thing.”

Slash’s voice and grunts along with the sound of skin meeting skin in repeat are the only thing that fills my ears as I lay underneath him on what’s supposed to be my work desk, trying to control my breath while the pressure of his member that pushed in and out of me in repeat like an endless loop takes control of every sense I have, my chest heaving up and down.

I couldn’t help but chuckle between breathy moans, “You’ll be saying that again for the next few years I work here.” I say with a tired smirk.

He only sigh and glance down to where we are connected perfectly well like two missing pieces of a puzzle, he moved his rough fingers, which I figured were from his guitar playing, to wrap around my throat, the pressure his hand had earned a short gasp from my red lips which are swollen from all the interaction with his own lips.

“Shut up..” He grunted and I swore I could die in his arms by the time his other hand met my hips and held it tightly as his hips’ movement starts to accelerate, causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head.

Fuck, how is this man real?..

My moans only went louder when the hand he had around my throat went to one of my breasts that’s been slipped past my bra and unbuttoned shirt and he leaned down to wrap his oh so beautiful lips around my nipple, his soft yet hot tongue coating my skin with his saliva.

One of my hand reached up to hold onto his hair, my fingers getting tangled in his gorgeous curly hair.

A small whimper leave my lips, “F-fuck..” My legs shifts to wrap around him, locking his still moving hips against mine, while my other hand also shifts to place the lollipop I held between my lips.

“How can you-” He cut himself off with his own groan as he pick up his pace, “How can you eat a lollipop right now?” His breath

I slip the stick out again and let out yet another breathy moan, ”How can I not?” My lips became glossy and sweet from the lollipop when he leaned down to kiss me yet again, my lips too numb at this point to even understand how to move against his.

This feels wrong.. No, not the lollipop. What cringed me is the whole ‘fucking the guitarist of the band I work for’ shenanigan, god that sentence is a mouthful. Not only that, It’s the fact that I actually enjoy the way his fucking cock fits well and hits every right spots in me.

The way his grunts will harmonize together along with my small whimpers and breathy moans. The way his eyes holds an intense gaze all the way to my own.

He pull back from the kiss and grab my lollipop, I watch with hazy eyes as he bite the red candy off the stick, throwing the plastic stick away. I roll my eyes and mumble, “Party pooper..”

Just then, the phone I had on my desk rings. Slash’s eyes meets mine in a sharp gaze, almost threatening me from answering, all while still thrusting into me. I smirk and grab the phone from the receiver, bringing it up to my ear. “Hello, this is Alan Niven’s assistant speaking, how may I help you?” I manage to voice out without any hint of filth in my voice.

I can hear him grunt as he speed up his thrusts, trying to break the steadiness of my voice with how hard and fast he’s thrusting into me.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I hummed into the phone at whatever the fuck the person was saying, I wasn’t even paying full attention. My eyes stays fixated on Slash’s, still in the same intense eye contact.

“You sent a mail?” I ask to the person, my other hand reach around my desk for where the pile of mails are supposed to be, covering the phone a little so I can let out a heavy breath without the person hearing it.

I manage to take the mail and open it with one hand, quickly reading through it while I feel my walls clenching around Slash’s cock. Taking deep breaths, I spoke to the phone again. “So.. you want… Guns N’ Roses to open for your new band?..”

Before the person can even answer, Slash took the phone and yelled into it, “We’re not interested, thanks!” Then he slammed it back onto the receiver, making me groan in annoyance.

“What the fuck—”

I was cut off short when he took two of his fingers and shoved them past my swollen lips, “Focus. On. Me.” He demanded, “Fucking tease..” He grunted.

I tried to speak around his fingers but they ended up muffled as he’s the one that’s chuckling now. “You whore.. fucking around with the band guitarist..” He spat, his other hand moving to rub circles gently on my clit, my moans became more desperate and loud yet muffled by his fingers.

A small chuckle leave his lips, seeing my vulnerable position, my work outfit looking rather filthy with how it now exposes what’s supposed to be private parts of me to him. “You know, the groupies out there don’t got shit on your sweet little pussy..” He said, slowly slipping his fingers out of my mouth.

His fingers slides out with a strand of saliva connecting from my glossy lips and the tip of his fingers. I cough and whimper, “I know. I’m that great.” I manage to utter out.

“You’ve got a big ego for an assistant.”

I let out a small scoff and arch my back from the desk as I feel my walls tightening around his girth even more, small whines leaving my lips as I look down at how his cock thrust in and out of my hole, feeling slightly dizzy.

I look up to see him smirking down at me, “You’re close aren’t you?” His voice was filled with playfulness, clearly enjoying how I’m squirming underneath him.

I nod, humming a little as my mouth struggles to utter out a word.

“C’mon, cum for me, baby.” He tapped on my thigh, accelerating his hips movement to encourage the urge in me to release.

With deep breaths, I throw my head back and let myself relax before my pussy clench even tighter around him and one more loud moan made it’s way out of me while I had the most intense release ever, my legs shaking. "Fuck fuck fuck..!" I cried out.

Not long, the guitarist follow close and fill his seeds right in my throbbing slick hole, making me feel full with his cum and my own that slowly drips down onto my desk when pulls out of me.

While I try to recover from the intense sex we had, Slash took the moment to look down at my pathetic position laying on the desk, my sweaty chest heaving up and down, my hair disheveled, my desk messy, and cum dripping down my thighs.

He sighs and run a hand through his curls, “Yea alright, I guess this won’t be a one time thing..”

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part two | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. the previously established story dyanmics: explicit violence, mentions of torture, death. chapter word count: 12,000 words.

-

B E F O R E

Felix is wearing itchy civilian clothes, the jeans distractingly stiff.  Regardless of how many field missions he is assigned, he never gets used to undercover disguises.     

“Look what I found,” Chris says, dropping into the seat beside him. 

Chris looks marginally more at ease in his baggy basketball shorts and baseball cap, passing for a teenage boy on an afternoon train with his friend.  They are in the passenger car outside the first class cabin, a compartment that should contain their mark but presently sits empty. 

“Uh, the target?" Felix asks.  “You know, the thing you just went to find?”

Chris giggles like the whole situation is funny.  Felix is far less amused.  This should have been an easy job: get in, kill the mark, steal back the data he took from Miroh, and get out.  But so far it has been tedious. 

Felix can’t even blame Chris this time.  For some reason, Chris has been more accommodating lately.  Chris is fifteen, almost sixteen, and Felix is twelve.  They have both been active in the field for a couple years. Felix is not sure why Chris has opted for sudden compliance.  He does not necessarily volunteer for jobs but he accepts them without much grudging reluctance.  He will occasionally voice his worser grievances but for the most part he is keeping his head down. 

Maybe it is the result of all those punishing sentences in the Cell.  More than once he has been shoved down there, sometimes alone and sometimes with Miroh’s daughter.  Felix would not want to spend any isolated time with her.  But maybe she is intimidating enough to get through to Chris.

Whatever it is, it is working.  Excluding moments like this when Chris is giggling and distracted and doesn’t seem to care about the job at all. 

“Relax, Felix,” Chris says.  “It’s a train.  There’s only so many places he can be, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one place he’s supposed to be but he isn’t there, is he?” Felix says.

“Lighten up, mate,” Chris says.  “We’re supposed to look normal.  Normal kids have fun.”

Chris dumps a candy bag in Felix’s lap.  Felix looks at it like it’s a bomb.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Felix asks.

Chris opens his own bag and starts eating the candy. 

“That,” he says.  He tosses a piece in the air and catches it in his mouth. When he tries to do it again, Felix snatches it mid-air and throws it on the floor.  This makes Chris laugh.

“He was in the dining car,” Chris relents.  “Four security officers.  Ex-military.  Piece of cake.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Felix asks, annoyed.  He starts to stand but Chris yanks him back into his seat. 

“The hell, man?” Chris says.  “You gonna go ventilate the guy while a bunch of civilians are having afternoon tea?  Ya think that might blow our cover?  Just a bit?” 

Felix frowns but he knows Chris is right.  Miroh does not like a public mess.  They will have to wait until the mark returns to the privacy of his cabin.

Felix does not like waiting.  It is a part of a soldier’s training, but his least favourite part by far.  He prefers action.  With the quiet stillness comes fear, doubt.

The latter makes him sweat.  He tries not to think about it.  His life is his mission.  Through Miroh, Felix has contributed good things to the world.  Lately, it just seems like no matter what he does, the world does not stay good. 

The Enemy has been dead for two years.  The new enemy, his idiot heir, has holed up like a dragon guarding his hoard.  He has built defences so high that not even an army like Miroh’s can breach it.  There has been no retaliation, no offensive strike like the old enemy, but these deep roots are almost more sinister.  Felix is starting to think this might be hopeless.  That maybe Miroh is wrong.  That maybe some things cannot be saved. 

Felix crinkles the candy bag in his lap.  He gathers himself and exhales. 

“Fine,” he says.  “How long do you think he will be distracted?  Enough time to get the data?”

“If it’s in there, yeah,” Chris says.  “Might as well check.  He just started eating so we should have some time.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  

Chris frowns like Felix is inconveniencing him with the job they were sent here to do.  

Felix is not in the mood to argue.  He shoves his candy bag in his back pocket and pushes past Chris.  They make their way down the aisle.  No one lifts their head, the two boys disappearing in their inconspicuous disguises.

They pick the lock to the first class cabin.  Felix opens the door and looks around the room, for a moment a little stupefied by the luxury.  It is all deep mahogany and gold trim.  Their target is an engineer who stole designs from Miroh to sell to the enemy.  The wealth of this cabin exemplifies that corruption, surely. 

Felix tells himself that as he rifles through the luggage.  He finds a laptop and tells Chris to stand guard while he collects the data.  Chris is the better fighter but Felix is better with technology.

The laptop loads.  The home screen is the mark with his family, three smiling, sunny-faced children, all younger than Felix.  It gives him a queasy, uneasy feeling, a feeling that should be long scrubbed out of him by now.

He blames it on the rocking of the train carriage.  Physical sensations can manipulate mental energy. 

He searches through the computer storage for the stolen designs.  Both Miroh and the enemy are chasing government building contracts, tying their businesses irrevocably to political power and pursing relationships therein.  These plans will cinch the deal for whichever party has them.  The engineer who betrayed Miroh masqueraded as a potential recruit before stealing the plans.

There is only one problem; Felix knows how to read metadata and he cannot find anything that was once on Miroh’s servers.  In fact, some of these designs go back years, well before Miroh even considered pursuing these contracts.

“What’s taking so long?” Chris asks, poking his head in the room.  “You’re usually a computer whiz.  Is something wrong?”

“The files aren’t here,” Felix says.  For the fifth or sixth time, he opens what looks like the plans.  Everything except the metadata matches the description.  But that metadata does not lie.      

These files do not belong to Miroh. 

Chris double checks the corridor before joining Felix.  They look at the files together. 

“Isn’t that it?” Chris asks.  “It looks like the right thing.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not,” Felix says, his eyes darting frantically all over the screen.  “Or it should be.  But these, uh, these files aren’t Miroh’s.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy stole the plans from Miroh.  But all these files are original.  They were never on Miroh’s servers.”

There is a moment of quiet.  Chris is not famous for reservation so Felix looks at him.  He is embarrassed to find a pitying look on Chris’s face. 

“Felix,” Chris says.  “Come on, man.”

It is not exactly a condescending tone, rife with too much sympathy to be so cruel, but It sounds like Chris is saying, don’t be stupid.

Felix swallows.  He looks down at the plans.  The realization hits him and the words come to his mouth, rising like bile.

“We’re not stealing back the plans,” Felix says.  “We’re just stealing them.  Aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris says.  “You didn’t know that?”

“How did you know that?” Felix snaps back, embarrassed and upset and very, deeply confused.   

“It wasn’t exactly a stretch,” Chris says.  “It’s what Miroh does.  It’s what they all do.  You haven’t figured that out yet?  You?” 

Felix, who has done the most assignments.  Felix, who is the most successful agent in the special-ops program.  Felix, who is the best only because the real best refuses to be.

He studies Chris, this older boy who seems so confident he has all the answers.  Felix does not even know all the questions.  He feels that weakness and vulnerability he so hates, the entirely world suddenly unfamiliar enemy terrain. 

“Look, it’s fine,” Chris says.  “Just take the data and we’ll leave.  We’ll tell Miroh the mark got away.  He cares more about the plans anyway.”

“Lie,” Felix says.  “You want us to lie to Miroh?”

“It’s not a lie,” Chris says.  “It’s just protecting the truth.”

Felix stares at him.  Chris, on steadier feet than Felix, sighs and pushes Felix out of the way.  He loads the data onto the external hard drive himself.  He then makes a show of ejecting it and putting it in his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Chris says.

Felix does not get a chance to protest because the door opens.  They have no time to react.  In seconds, they are joined by the mark’s security team. 

Felix knows how to fight.  It is second nature to him.  He should not need to think.

But he does.  He overthinks.  He gets a look at the mark before a bodyguard whisks him away.  Felix thinks of the smiling faces on those children.  He thinks how he is not much older than them.

There is a growing pit of anxiety inside him.  It swallows him whole.

Felix and Chris fight to get away.  Chris could take all these guards on his own but he is trying to avoid severely hurting them.  That distracts Felix too.  Suddenly, Chris’s refusal to fight does not seem like cowardice but instead it is something Felix cannot name. Something he once saw in Miroh but doesn’t anymore. 

Distracted, Felix does not fight like he usually does. 

The first class cabin is a private attachment at the back of the train.  The fight lead onto the outside landing at the end of the car.  A guard dislocates Felix’s shoulder.  The next thing Felix knows, he is tumbling over the railing.  He manages to grip with his good arm, holding all of his body weight to avoid getting snagged and ripped along the train tracks. 

But it won’t save him.  He’s going to die. The realization hits him like any other calculation in a fight, when he measures his odds and deduces his best move.

He has none.  The train is moving too fast and he is at a bad angle to jump.  He has one good arm keeping him alive and no way to fight the approaching guard.  Chris has taken out his own adversaries and should be retreating with the data.  That is what they are trained to do.  The job is more important than the soldier.  In a crisis, you leave the weak behind. 

Felix braces himself to let go, hoping the above-average strength in his body can also withstand slamming into railroad tracks at high speeds.  He suspects even if he does survive, he will be severely injured, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and dead to the only place he has ever known.

But the guard falls back. Chris knocks him out with sharp efficiency.  He then lays the unconscious man down with almost comical gentleness.

Chris runs up to Felix.  Felix wants to shout at him – everything from go away and finish the job to my shoulder hurts and I need you to save me. 

Chris gives no opportunity for argument or acquiescence.  He shouts, “Hold on!”  Then he swings himself over the railing.  He wraps an arm around Felix and hauls him into his side.  Once secure, he carries them back over the rail and onto the landing. 

“What are you doing?” Felix asks.  He cannot slow the race of his heart, seemingly tethered to the thunder of the train car against the tracks.  He is not sure it will ever slow again.  He thinks he might remember this moment forever.

“What am I doing?” Chris asks.  He laughs for some forsaken reason.  “Just doing this, mate,” he says.

He seizes Felix by his injured shoulder.  Felix winces, having only seconds to brace himself before Chris shoves his dislocated shoulder back into place.   Agony washes over Felix, hot and sharp, the pain rattling him worse than the actual dislocation.

“Sorry,” Chris says.  “Sometimes getting better hurts more for a bit.”

The rest of the mission is a blur to Felix, lost to the throbbing ache in his shoulder and a similar pain taking root inside him.

They make it back to Miroh’s facility.  Chris hands the hard drive off to an upper level agent while Felix sees a medic.  The bag of candy is still in his back pocket.  He sits in the infirmary a long time, just crinkling it between his fingers.  He feels like his world is crashing around him. 

It is days before Felix has an opportunity to see Chris again.  They are in different barracks because of their age difference, the soldiers grouped by year.  When Felix finds Chris in the corridor, Chris is talking to Miroh’s daughter who lives in the barracks too.  They are on their way to their bunks. 

Felix taps Chris on the shoulder.  Chris looks at him, his laughing expression faltering when he sees Felix.  He must see something in him that Felix cannot even recognize in himself. 

Chris turns to Miroh’s daughter and says, “I’ll catch up, yeah?”

She spares Felix a glance and Felix feels an unusually panicked skip in his blood.  It feels like she can see his mental turbulation the way Chris can.  But unlike the rest of them, she has a direct line to Miroh.  She might live and act like a soldier but she is more and always will be.  Felix balks under her scrutiny, worried she will see his doubt and report it right back to Miroh.

Felix is grateful when she leaves.  But when Chris looks at him so expectantly, Felix no longer knows what to say. 

It takes a moment.

“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Felix finally says.  It comes out as instinctively as a punch.  “I wouldn’t have saved your life.  I would have just finished the job.”

Chris blinks at him.  He exhales on a laugh.  Then he claps Felix’s good shoulder, a touch of clear camaraderie. 

“I know, Felix,” he says.  “I didn’t do it so you would pay me back.  I didn’t do it because I thought you would do the same.  I did it because it was the right thing to do.” 

Felix thought he was speechless before but now he is truly at a loss.  Even his long engrained instincts fail.  He is out of punches. 

Chris just smiles at his confusion.  With one final nod, he turns and retreats to his bunk. 

Felix stands in the corridor, wounded but bandaged.  He stares at the place where Chris stood, like if he looks long enough then Felix will understand what Chris understands.  That maybe there is a right and wrong outside of what they have been taught.  Maybe things exist outside of this place. 

Maybe some things can be saved. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

“Ah, it’s the classic story,” Changbin says with a sigh.  “A boy and a girl, forced to share a bed.  He is her bodyguard.  She is an heiress.  Should we kiss on the lips?”

You whack him in the gut with a pillow and he erupts with giggles.

Changbin has been your so-called bodyguard for a few weeks now.  It has changed little in your daily routine as your father had assigned Changbin to your department sometime before that.  The special-ops program was written off as an experiment with potential for future development, though that development has long sat arrested.  Bang Chan is in your father’s direct employ while Changbin has been on different teams fulfilling different missions.  When you started taking the lead on projects, he served under your direction. 

It is why your father is not happy.  The bodyguard arrangement was meant to assert his control over you, using an agent as his eyes and hands.  Miroh is not good at relinquishing power, not even to someone like him, or maybe especially to someone like him.  You have always been a good, loyal, obedient soldier and daughter.  Taking over projects and assuming command was inevitable.  Somehow you have wronged him by doing everything right. 

Lately, your work has been meagre clean-up duty.  Miroh has been accruing assets and terrorizing his way into the mess left behind by his late enemy.   It is making Miroh’s paranoia even worse.   He has seen for himself how this powerful house fell apart just because its patriarch died.  The business was left in shambles, underlings squabbling like helpless children.  It was ripe for picking. 

You have been cleaning whatever mess is left behind.  This week you have been cleaning out some old office buildings, primarily sifting through abandoned storage for anything useful that might have been sequestered.  You are spending the night at a nearby safe house, sharing a room with Changbin.  The rest of your team is scattered around the house. 

Seeing as your father has relegated you with menial tasks, you have taken it upon yourself to conduct your own investigations.  Your findings have been on your mind all day.  It is why you do not respond to Changbin’s joking with your usual wit. 

“You’re quiet, murder princess,” Changbin says.  “Should I be worried?”

He drops his mask on the nearby desk then unholsters his gun.   He places it beside yours.  It is a testament to your dynamic that you feel comfortable disarming around each other.  You would certainly never do it around your father.  But Changbin is different.   You are not someone who seeks true friendship but you acknowledge the necessity of teamwork especially in times of crisis.  You do not fully trust Changbin as you do not fully trust anyone, but he is loyal and you reciprocate that dependability.

It is why you beckon him forward.  You are sitting on the bed, feet on the floor.  Changbin pulls up a chair to sit in front of you. 

“The enemy had a multi-level security system,” you say.  “Physical in some capacities, digital in others.  My father has always been more preoccupied with offense than defense, so in that regard they were always a step ahead of us.  That is the part my father is interested in.  That is all he sees.” 

“And what do you see?”  Changbin asks.  His disposition changes with the severity of your words, joviality replaced with equal seriousness. 

“I don’t see anything,” you say.  “That’s the problem.”

He lifts an eyebrow, curious.  You show him the image on your tablet, then swipe to the next one. 

“The security log is missing information,” you say.  “There is no trace of anything unusual transpiring the day they were all killed.  No breach, no shutdown.  Everything is normal until everything is gone. Someone scrubbed every last second of data from the digital system.  Someone who knew the system well enough to not just delete the surface files but to clean the server entirely.” 

“So what are you saying?” Changbin asks.  “You think it was an inside job?”

“I know it wasn’t us,” you reply.  “I know it wasn’t any of the usual players.  This family had enemies in every market.  If it was one of them, you’d think they would have stepped forward to assert themselves by now.  Whoever it was had no interest in taking over company assets.  No interest in even sticking around.  Someone went to great lengths to make the entire thing look ambiguous, to leave everyone asking more questions, to turn our heads in one direction while they disappear in the other.  Someone professional.  Someone technologically capable.  Someone whose only motivation was escape.” 

His jaw is clenched as he stares at the images, but you can see the gears turning in his mind.  When he meets your gaze, you sit forward.

“Changbin,” you say.  “What happened on that mission?”

He does not need specification.  Changbin is usually like you, pragmatic and realistic.  He does not dwell in his emotions and never for so long.  It has been well over a month now but he is still rankled by that warehouse confrontation with Lee Felix. 

“Ah, Yongbok,” Changbin says wistfully.  His eyes are downturned but his thoughts are somewhere else.  “You remember him.  He always needed a fairy tale to believe in.”    

That much is true.  You and Changbin have always been simple soldiers manoeuvring through the morally complicated world around you.  You never had any delusions that Miroh was better than his enemies, simply that one or the other was inevitable.  You knew you could make a bigger impact in the fight than watching from the sidelines. 

Felix was competent but naïve.  He believed in Miroh unequivocally which is why he blind-sided them all with his betrayal.  To this day, you do not know why he joined the enemy, nor why he stayed. 

It makes sense he might have naively devoted himself to a different cause. 

“What fairy tale was that?” you ask.  “The enemy?”

“Chris.”  Changbin looks at you beneath the sweep of his dark bangs.  His smile is wry.  “He asked me about Chris.” 

You blink back at him, surprised by the answer.  After stumbling over any number of replies, you say, “That wasn’t in your initial report.”

“It didn’t seem important,” Changbin says with a shrug.   

“You have a responsibility to report back everything—”

“Yes, commander,” he says dryly.  He slumps in his seat and crosses his arms.  “Does it matter now?  I told him Chris was dead.”

Not a lie, in a way.  Bang Chan was a rebellious subject in his youth, nothing like the merciless soldier he is now.  The inhuman machine was wrought through inhumane treatment.   You were not privy to the grittier details nor have you ever felt an inclination to investigate.  You do not need knowledge of the gruesome torture that was administered.   The results are the same: the rebellious boy died.  He has been gone ever since he was dragged into a basement room for correction. 

“Chris,” you say.  The name sits heavy on your tongue.  “Why would he want to know about Chris?”

“The better question is, why didn’t he want to know about me?” Changbin retorts.  It sounds like a joke, his tone jumping back into comically exaggerated hysterics.  But there is a tension in his shoulders that was not there before.  “You know he didn’t even recognize me?  Ah!  The little brat!  I knew him too!  I wasn’t Bang Chan, no one was … But I was there.  Forgetting me… We’re all that’s left!” 

You tilt your head and study Changbin, as if there are more answers in his face than in his words.  Your gaze drifts to the scar by his eye.   He got hit today, taking a swipe meant for you.  Other adversaries have sent agents to scour the late enemy’s business remains, but they are no match for soldiers of Miroh.  

Changbin joked he was being a good bodyguard.  In truth, he is a good bodyguard.  Your security team is competent but nothing compared to him.  It has made a difference, having someone so reliable at your back, even though it has painted a target on his.  Your father is not happy Changbin outsmarted him.  Changbin jokes about it, as he is wont to do, claiming he can’t wait for a pummelling of his own.  He is probably right.  Miroh has been quiet about the bodyguard assignment but that does not mean he has surrendered.  He is a strategist.  He is patient if it means results. 

Raising children into soldiers is a testament to that patience.  You look at Changbin, arguably the last true survivor other than yourself.

We’re all that’s left.  

You find yourself reaching for him.  It is not like you, but lately everything seems out of character.  You touch his face, drawn to that scar, a scar that should be yours.  You touch it very lightly. 

When you meet his eyes, he is looking at you strangely.  You are not a famously affectionate character, not even with him.  You rip your hand back and shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, more curious than accusatory. 

“Nothing,” you say.  “I mean – well.”  You scrub a hand over your face.  The weeks have healed the worst of your injuries, but it is still littered with scars, including the ones Changbin gave you. 

His eyes linger there before he sighs and drops his head.  He rubs his face too. 

“We’ll talk later,” you say, suddenly feeling the weight of today, not to mention the accumulative exhaustion of the days before.  “It’s been a long day.”  An understatement.   

Changbin doesn’t argue.  You separate to use the facilities and dress down for rest.  You sleep in sweatpants and a t-shirt, your weapons and shoes not far.  The one bed has plenty of space.  You lay down first, certain that your mind is running too fast to rest, but all that exhaustion catches up to you. 

You wake some time in the middle of the night.  When Changbin gets out of bed, the dip and rise of the mattress stirs you.  You blink awake, watching him amble over to the window.  There is a cushioned seat and he plops down, his arms crossed and his eyes on the stars.

You wonder if you look that young out of combat clothes.  His hair is ruffled and the black t-shirt and pants are comfortably fitted.  His face looks vulnerable and open as he stares into the night. 

“You’re awake too,” he says, not looking at you. 

“Obviously,” you reply.  You push yourself upright.  “You woke me.”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to flash you one of his jovial grins but barely managing. 

“You look tired,” you say. 

“Thanks,” he replies with a laugh. 

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m on bodyguard duty,” he jokes, gesturing to you.  “I need to make sure no one murders the murder princess.” 

You give him a dry look that makes him giggle.  Naturally his humour returns at your expense.  He really is the little brother you never had. 

You slide off the bed and join him at the window seat.  You shove and kick like bickering children until you are comfortably settled.  You sit with your legs curled up to your chest, mirror images of each other.  He looks out the window and you look at him. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask.   

“Nothing,” he says, an automatic response.  Then he shakes his head and sighs.  “I don’t know, princess,” he says.  “I don’t think you’ll understand.” 

“What makes you say that?” You cannot help but feel offended even if he is probably right.  You do not have heart-to-hearts, which is what this feels like, a quiet moment carved out of chaos.  If everything was different, you would just be two friends talking about your normal lives. 

Your life is anything but normal. 

“I know you,” he answers, simple and confident.  “I know who you are.  Even when – well, no matter what happens, I guess.”

“Well,” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, “that makes one of us.” 

You swallow your thoughts quickly.  Your innermost turmoil cannot be entrusted with anyone.  It is dangerous to even think such weakness, never mind vocalize it.

Changbin looks at you with a pinch in his brow.  You look away, up at the sky.  You wonder about the vantage from the stars, seeing the bigger picture of your life.  Your pain and sacrifices have to be worth something.  Miroh always said the world was full of shadows, dark spots no regular person could clean.  He was right about that.  He is definitely one of them, but sometimes only darkness can fight darkness.  Or so you thought.  All this business with the enemy has changed things.  That darkness collapsed in on itself like a black hole, taking everything with it. 

“It used to be easier, didn’t it?”  Changbin asks.  “Just doing what you’re told… You can tell yourself it’s not your fault, that it would have happened anyway… Maybe I was believing in fairy tales too.” 

You look at each other.  He just sighs. 

“A part of me feels like I never grew up,” he says.  “I’ve always been what I am.  Maybe it’s time to stop.” 

“That sounds a lot like treason,” you say, realizing how dramatic it sounds after the fact. Miroh is a businessman and this company is not a country.  And yet treasonous is what it feels like, a deep betrayal to the place that raised and shaped you into what you are.  It feels like treachery to even think about abandoning it after everything. 

“Maybe it does,” he says.  He gives you another wry smile, flicking his bangs out of his face.  “Does it matter?  He already wants my beautiful head off its beautiful shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be saying this to me,” you say.  You’re Miroh’s daughter.  Your relationship with your father might be fraught, but your loyalty is to this house and always has been.  It is the only constant in this tumultuous, violent world. 

“Are you gonna tell on me?” Changbin teases, so unserious on such a deathly serious matter.  He just laughs at your silent but intense stare.  He shakes his head as he looks out the window.  “I don’t worry about that.”

“About what?”

“You telling on me.”

That stops your heart faster than the treason. 

“Why not?” you ask slowly, as if you are wary of a trap about to spring. 

Changbin puts a hand in his hair, shaking out his ruffled bangs.  He looks normal but also not, his strong body so clearly built for violence.    It is why you are shocked when he reaches out, when he touches you like you touched him, an undemanding press of his fingers along a scar.  

Your startled eyes find his.  It splits your focus.  You see Changbin right now, older, stronger.  You also see him younger, thinner, looking at you with concerned eyes as he wipes blood off your brow. 

You blink again and it is just him as he is now. 

He drops his hand. 

“You don’t trust anyone,” he says.  “I know.  Ha!  I really know.”  He swings around, planting his feet on the ground.  He reaches into his pocket then flicks open a pocketknife.

It should make your heart palpitate, a soldier with a weapon in your proximity, especially when you are unarmed.  But there is no rush of blood, no fear, no worry.  You just look at him, seeing all of him, young and old.  You realize there has been more than one constant in your life. 

The knife catches a glint of starlight, a flash of light in the darkness. 

“You and I are the same, aren’t we, murder princess?” he says.   “But also not.  You were raised in the pen with us but it was never the same.  We’re just animals to him.  Raised to the slaughter, ha!  But not you.  One way or another, you’re going to be someone.” 

You watch as he lifts his hand. He curls and uncurls a fist.  He looks down at his palm. 

“When it happens,” Changbin says, “Because it will happen, tomorrow or in a month or a year or whenever Miroh decides… But when I go like the rest of them… When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…” 

He draws a slow slice across his hand, not so deep to be detrimental to his grip, but enough to draw blood in a long, thin line.  You look at this small scar as if it the deepest wound you have ever encountered. 

“Just… remember me,” he says.  “I didn’t bleed because I believe in Miroh.  I’m your soldier, not his.”

You are at a loss for words.  You do not think there are any words, none that you were raised to know.  You can only stare at the little trickle of blood as it runs down his wrist and drips onto the floor. 

You have always felt very alone.  You learned to thrive in that solitude.  Even clinging to the hope of your father’s approval proved exhausting and useless.  You accepted your high promontory was a lonely one.  

Not even that solitude compares to the idea of Changbin gone.  Even if you go weeks without seeing him, he is out there somewhere.  You both keep your heads down, get the job done.   Not the best soldiers, not the worst, but the ones still here. 

You let instinct override your senses for the second time that night.  When he makes to stand, your reflexes snap into action.  You grab him by the arm and snatch the knife.  He has no time to respond, watching as you slice a similar scar on your own palm. 

Your eyes meet.  You are unflinching, more resolute than ever.  You clasp his hand and the blood smears in a signifying pact that needs no other words. 

Only when the moment settles do you say, “You’re not a half-bad bodyguard.”

His laughter comes to him slowly, none of that empty joviality but a genuine burst of it.  His eyes crinkle and his smiles widens and the laughter bubbles out of him. 

“I’m the best bodyguard,” he says.  “And don’t you ever fucking forget it.” 

-

In the light of day, last night’s whirlwind of dramatic emotions feel tempered.  You and Changbin are able to conduct yourselves with a proper degree of soldiership.  Though his words and your promise are in the back of your mind, you put it away for now.

You dress in combat gear and pack your bags for another day of infiltration, investigation, and clean-up.  It is hard to say how easy or difficult the day will be.  If you encounter other agents, the confrontation could complicate things, but sometimes that is better than a long day with no interesting discoveries at all. 

The enemy had properties scattered all over town, some active and some not.  This particular office building is a very old one, seemingly long since abandoned and turned into company storage.  Some of these boxes have not been touched in decades, perhaps remnants of the business as run by the previous generation. 

A thick layer of dust coats the desks and boxes.  At least your masks are put to work, filtering the dusty air as you trail through the building. 

“Yahhh,” Changbin whines, flicking some papers off a desk.  “Today’s going to be boring.” 

“Yup,” you say in accord.  There is no way anyone else will be here.  You doubt there is anything of value to be discovered, but Miroh will harass you if you do not complete his missions as outlined.  With so much tension between you already, it is better to keep your head down and complete the menial tasks, even if it is blatant busy work. 

A few of your officers are sent ahead to sweep the building.  It is not a towering skyscraper but several tall floors nonetheless.  Your subordinates take different floors while you and Changbin take an upper level.  You begin the tedious task of rifling through the abandoned documentation.

“I’m a supersoldier, not a secretary,” Changbin gripes, moving boxes with more force than necessary.

“You’re not a supersoldier,” you say without looking up from your work.  “There’s no such thing.”

“I’m pretty close,” he says, flexing and kissing his bicep. 

“When you start flying, maybe I’ll consider it,” you retort, dryly.

“All right, I’m not a supersoldier,” he says.  He takes off his mask to grin at you.  “But I am super good looking.” 

You take off your own mask to throw at him like a projectile.  He squeals and ducks, then proceeds to cuss you out for the next few minutes while you smile. 

Eventually he takes a seat.  He props his booted feet up on a desk while sorting through some papers with absent-minded perusal. 

“So tell me again about the security log,” Changbin says, evidently growing bored within minutes. 

You can hardly blame him.  It is why you are about to reply, but your thoughts are quickly obliterated.  Gunfire reverberates in the nearby stairwell, followed by shouting and thumping.  Seconds later, your warning pagers are vibrating.  Your officers’ voices come through the communications software.

“Hostile enemy agents breached ground zero,” they say.  “Be ready for confrontation.”

You and Changbin spring into action.  Your masks are unfortunately abandoned, too far to grab in a rush thanks to your shenanigans, but your bags and weapons are within reach.   You swing them on and arm yourselves, racing into the corridor to join the rest of your team. 

It happens very fast.  One moment, this ancient building is nothing more than a dilapidated office from a bygone era, brimming with useless nothings that no one would want.  The next moment, it is overflowing with enemy agents, pouring in one after the other. 

You and Changbin join the other officers in the stairwell.  None of you are prepared for the sight that greets you, the sheer number of adversaries that come streaming into the building at rapid speed.

“What the fuck,” you say, realizing far too late you cannot take this many agents.  You have not had anything near this problem before.   

You look at Changbin, both of you shooting uselessly to stop the encroach of hostiles. 

“We need to retreat,” you say in unison.  You nod at each other. 

The message gets passed along the communicators.  There is no way to escape through the ground floor, the enemy agents chasing you up the stairwell.  You take out your phone to call for back-up, relaying the message directly to Miroh’s team leaders. 

“Can you at all identify the hostiles?” the man asks. 

“Do we know who they are?” you shout at Changbin over the gunfire and chaos. 

“Ah, well they’re not friends!” he replies.

You pause in your ascent to squint down at the approaching horde.  The uniform colours are familiar at a glance, but the dog tags confirm your suspicions.  It locks you in place with shock and confusion, because there is no way that makes any sense. 

These agents belong to the enemy.  The enemy.  It explains the numbers, as only that house could rival Miroh in terms of size and numbers.  But it is not possible he is conducting an offensive attack because he’s dead and his business is in shambles.  There is no one to conduct an operation on his behalf.  It makes no sense. 

Changbin grabs you by the back of the neck, hauling you up the stairs with him. 

“Not the time to stop and smell the flowers, murder princess,” he says. 

“It’s the enemy,” you say.  “I don’t know how or why, but it’s them.”

“We’re sending a back-up team straight to you right now,” Miroh’s leader says. 

You end the call to focus on your surroundings, confusing and chaotic as they are. 

You watch as several of your officers are taken down.  You wince at each reverberation of a gunshot that kills them.  A dozen more faces flash in front of your eyes, every child in that program with you, every enemy you have killed on Miroh’s behalf.  Chris.  Felix.  Changbin, young, small, looking at you with concern.

The reign of fire follows you.  You think you will be hearing gunshots for days. 

“Get her out,” one of your officer’s says into the comms, directed at Changbin.  “Leave through the roof.  We’ll hold them off.”

You trip running up the stairs. 

You never trip, far more coordinated than the average soldier.  But you hear your officer say that and your mind’s eye is overwhelmed with the image of them dying.  Because that is what will happen.  You should not be bothered by it.  You can train a new security team.  They exist for this exact reason. 

But all their faces are flashing in front of your mind.  Your team, the program soldiers, the First Guard.  A thunderous pain rattles down your spine, a cry leaving your lips as you are inundated with visions of death that you suddenly cannot shake. 

“Up, up!” Changbin shouts, hoisting you onto your feet.  “You’re better than this!” 

He’s right.  You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight. 

You push through the pain and thunder.  You get your feet back under you.  You race with Changbin to the roof and trust your team to do what is best. 

You slam and bolt the door behind you.  You look around for something to barricade it but there is nothing.  Changbin meanwhile opens his pack and takes out the rappel line and harness.  You have had little use for it on most of the assignments, but it is standard tactical gear when assigned any investigation or clean-up work, as it can require getting into locked areas through sky access.   You almost left them behind today, knowing the building was abandoned and you would have no difficulty getting in.  You are glad you decided against that. 

“Here,” Changbin says, handing you the harness.  “Put this on.”  He ducks back down to finish securing the line on the edge of the roof. 

“They’re not gonna be able to hold them,” you say, fitting the harness around yourself.  It is second-nature.  You hardly need to think, fastening every buckle as you stare at that closed door.  “They’ll be on us in seconds,” you say.  “They’ll just follow us over the roof on the line.”  You grant your odds are better on the street, that you can endeavour an escape, but that is only if you get that far.  Those enemy agents are going to blast down that door like it’s made of cardboard, then they will be on you. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your adrenaline propelling every breath.  You do not have time to think twice.  It is why it takes you so long to notice that Changbin has not put on a harness. 

“What are you doing?” you ask when he stands, completely unprepared to rappel down the building.  “We have to go! Put your harness on, idiot!” 

He takes the hook and locks it onto your harness, fastening it with a few skilled flicks of his fingers.  You grab his hand, stopping him. 

He takes a breath and finally meets your eye.  The wind blows his dark bangs across his face, opening up his expression to you.  You can feel the furious scrunch of your own features go lax.  Just like that, your adrenaline dwindles, all that heat turning to an ice cold block in your chest.  It drops to your gut.

“Changbin,” you start. 

“You’re going to go down that line,” he says.  “When you’re at the bottom, I’m going to cut it so they can’t follow you.  It will buy you time to get to the vehicles and get away.”

“Absolutely not,” you say.  “What the fuck are you thinking?  You—”  

“I’m your bodyguard,” he says with that wry smile.  “This is my job.  Let me do it.” 

“No,” you say, struggling against him.  You try to unhook the rappel line but he fights back, not your usual play-fighting but deadly serious.  “You can’t be serious!” you shout.  “We’re the same thing!  If you’re staying and fighting then I’m joining you!”

“We’re not the same thing!” he shouts back.  “You’re a Miroh!  You need to get out of here!”

“You’re right, I am a Miroh!” you say.  “It’s me they want anyway!  You put on the harness!  You can still get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving here without you!”

You want to reply.  The words are right on your lips: I’m not leaving here without you either. 

But before you can say them, all that thunderous pain fractures your vision again.  Your focus splits.  You see Changbin in front of you, dressed in his combat gear with the wind in his hair.  

Then everything changes. 

The sunny sky darkens and the rooftop disappears.  You see the colour grey.  It is all around you, halfway blinding you, filling your lungs so you can hardly breathe.  You blink rapidly, as if that will clear your vision, but it is just more grey and the sound of faraway voices. 

Then you see Changbin again, in his combat gear but years younger.  Just a teenager, all skinny cheeks and sharp angles.  There is no wind in his hair.  There is no wind anywhere.   He is bleeding profusely from a head wound, a stark slash of red in the middle of so much grey.  He says your name.  You hear your own voice but it is a foggy, faraway thing.  You cannot make out what you are saying.  When you look down, you cannot see your body.  You can only see him.  You can only hear him.    

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he says.

Then you are abruptly yanked out of that grey.  You are back on the rooftop in the sunshine. Changbin has his hand planted on your chest, securing the last piece of the harness.  You hear the thud of someone kicking at the bolted door.  You look there frantically.  Changbin does too.  Then you look at each other. 

“I told you I was the best bodyguard ever,” he says, smiling.  

He whips off his glove, revealing his freshly scarred hand.  He grabs your bare hand, the one with the still-tender scar.  He clasps your hands together and looks at you with a desperation you have never seen before, like he is trying to tell you a thousand things with just a glance. 

Then he slowly lets go of your hand. 

“Sorry I can’t fly,” he says. 

He shoves the middle of your chest, hard.  You go tumbling over the edge of the roof just as the enemy agents break the door down. 

There is nothing you can do mid-air.  You can only shout his name, terrified and furious and desperate all at once.  You scream your emotions out until the line comes to an end, a few feet from the ground.  You unclip your harness and drop to the ground smoothly. 

“Can anyone copy?” you speak into your comm, looking up at the roof helplessly.  You watch as an enemy agent swings over and starts to climb down the rope.  You draw your gun and brace yourself.

Then Changbin’s head pops over the edge.  “Copy,” he says, then cuts the line. 

You jump out of the way.  Seconds later, the enemy agent comes careening into the ground.  The pile of rope lands on top of him.

“Fuck,” you say.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Changbin!” you shout hysterically into your comms.  “Changbin, can you copy?”

He doesn’t answer.  You run over to the body, searching for something.  You don’t even know what, you just know that this whole situation is wrong. 

It does not take you long.  You roll the body over.  Though his neck is now twisted at a fatal angle, you recognize the agent.  He was standing in your father’s office just a few weeks ago.  His name was Agent Slump.  You shot him through the shoulder. 

These are not enemy agents attacking the house of Miroh, they are your father’s men attacking you.  

You push away from the body, looking frantically up at the roof for any sign of further commotion.  You see nothing from this vantage. 

You run back into the building.  You let adrenaline and instinct carry you up the stairs, taking a few at a time and ignoring the burn in your thighs.  This is Miroh, you keep repeating to yourself.  Your father has done this.  Sending fake enemies after you.  Teaching you yet another lesson.  You said you could handle yourself.  You said your security team could protect you.  Now you are running past their dead bodies, your chest heaving from exertion and emotion.  You find yourself blinking back tears.  You cannot remember the last time you cried. 

“Changbin,” you say into your comm, tripping on another step.  Your voice comes out of the comms on your dead officers.   It echoes in the empty stairwell.  “Changbin, answer me, please,” you say.  “It’s not the enemy.  It’s my father.  It’s Miroh.  Changbin.  Changbin.”

You are halfway up the building when you hear voices below.  You stop to listen.  Your vibrating phone makes you jump. 

“Miss Miroh?” comes a voice, then you see one of your father’s officers at the bottom of the winding stairwell.  This one is not playing a part.  He is in the standard uniform.  There are more officers behind him.  The back-up you called like an idiot. 

You do not go back down.  You drop your phone and race to the roof.

“Get her,” you hear the officer say, then the stairwell is thundering with footsteps as they chase you. 

You no longer know what you are doing.  You do not know where you are going or what you will find.  A part of you is unsurprised when the rooftop is empty, that they got away, that now your father’s men can come in and play hero. 

You look around for Changbin but you cannot find him anywhere.  You try to tell yourself that is a good thing, that it could be worse, that he could be as dead as your security team, just a body on this roof.  You try to tell yourself that he is safe.  It was just Miroh.  They are probably taking Changbin back to the main facilities right now.  Everything will be fine. 

Deep down, you know nothing will be fine.   Everything has changed. 

You hear the officers behind you.  You look around.  The building next door is too far for a regular person to jump, potentially too far for you to jump.  It will be cutting it close, but it is all you have.  At this point, you halfway hope you’ll fall and your father’s men will be forced to report they let you die. 

You shed the top layer of your combat shirt, getting down to the tank top underneath.  You are not sure it will make a difference, but every bit counts.  You back up and count a few seconds, then you take a running leap off the roof.  You get a grip on the next one, though not without a lot of pain.  You grit your teeth and hoist yourself up, ignoring your scraped arms as you take off running.  You open a skylight and drop into the building.  Another empty corridor stretches in front of you. 

You decide your objective it to escape.  You can confront your father after, but right now you need to prove you can handle yourself.  You can get out of here. 

You are certain your father’s men will have the vehicles locked in.  Once you escape this building, you will have to find another—

A window behind you shatters.  You duck and cover your head as glass explodes around you.  You roll to get away, though your limbs are shaky from everything.  When you get to your feet, it is more unsteady than usual. 

You turn around.  You feel that sinking feeling in your gut again.

“Oh my god,” you say.  “Of fucking course it’s you.” 

Bang Chan stands there, cold and ungiving like the living shadow he has become.  Your father likes an agent that can both disappear and intimidate, so Chan somehow feels like a terrifyingly huge figure, looming over you, despite the fact he is not much bigger or taller.  His presence is hulking, as deadly and awful as you remember.  He stares at you with those dark eyes over the half-mask.  He is not breathing especially hard despite the fact he just took a running leap from the opposite building and smashed through a window.  His body is as steady and ungiving as his gaze. 

You do not waste any more breath cursing.  You turn and run. 

You know it is useless but you have to try.  In your head, if you get away, that is a bargaining chip.  You can talk to Miroh, you can show him that you were right, you can have Changbin back, and Changbin will be fine and—

You let out an aggravated cry when Chan grabs you.  You manage to rip away after a few good kicks.  It is amazing what hidden strength lies in adrenaline.  Your heart is pumping even faster than your last fight with him. 

You duck into a stairwell and jump over the railing, landing a couple floors below.  You keep doing that, ignoring the fact you can hear him copying you.  If you look back, it will slow you down.  You keep jumping until you hit the bottom floor. 

You make it a few steps before he grabs you again.  This time he is relentless, a big gloved around wrapped around your throat. 

That adrenaline betrays you.  It is like all your training abandons you as your terror and fury rips through you.  You struggle against him, your motions jerky and frantic and poorly strategized.  He pins you to the wall, using his whole body to lock you in place so you stop kicking him. 

“Let me go,” you say, barely above a whisper.  It makes him tighten his grip on your throat.  You twitch helplessly, gripping his arm uselessly, your face pinched with anger.  

You are swiftly joined by the other officers.  You glare at them, still digging your nails into Chan’s arm.  He does not soften his grip until he is ordered, then he puts you on your feet.  You stumble, your vision covered in black spots as you suck in deep, gasping breaths.  It was not even just the choking, as he did not squeeze hard enough to fully incapacitate you, but as your adrenaline dwindles, your strength does too. 

You trip for the third time.  Someone grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back up.  You are not sure if you are more surprised or terrified to find it is Chan, looking at you with calculating eyes.  You stare back at him, this manifestation of your father’s worst, most inhumane actions.   You are torn between apologizing to him and kicking him again. 

Then another officer grabs you.  You watch with alarm as he puts you in handcuffs.

“What the fuck?” you ask.  “Who’s fucking side are you on?”

“Miroh always, of course,” the officer says.  “This is for your own good.  You are behaving erratically.  Don’t be scared.  We will inform your father that you tried to flee from your own protective officers.  I am certain he will do everything in his power to ensure you cannot put yourself in harm’s way again.” 

You have no more words.  An animalistic cry escapes from your chest, ripping through you.  Even with your hands cuffed behind your back, you dive at the officer and take him down.  You bite down on his ear until you taste the metallic tang of blood.  He screams under you until someone rips you off him.   They hold you by the back of the neck like a poorly behaved puppy. 

The officer gets to his feet.  Blood is pouring down the side of his neck, part of his ear torn.  You spit blood at him.

He raises his hand as if to strike you.  You stand there, chin jutted forward, ready to take it. 

Then you realize it is Chan holding you.  When the officer brings his hand down, Chan moves you.  He steps in between you and catches the officer’s wrist. 

Chan says nothing.  He does not need to say anything.   He looks at the officer and the officer swallows. 

The officer snatches his hand back and straightens his clothes. 

“We’re leaving,” he says.  “Guard, take your charge.” 

You are looking smugly at the officer.  That cockiness dissipates when Chan turns around and looks at you.  It has you immediately shrinking away, then flinching when he grabs your arm.    

They take you to a truck.  It is one of the holding trucks, the kind they use for transporting undesirables.  It is obvious they always intended to lock you in chains.  You have been in metaphorical chains your whole life, and it is only taking this to realize it. 

You try and slow your frantic breathing.  You cannot have a breakdown right now.  It will only make it harder for you when you confront your father.  You are already at a disadvantage, being dragged to him in literal chains.  You will be completely at his mercy, and Miroh does not have mercy. 

You sit on the bench in the back of the prison truck.  You expect to be alone with an officer, giving you time to strategize and think, but then it is Chan climbing into the van and sitting on the bench across from you.  All the hairs on your body stand up.  You cannot concentrate on anything with Bang Chan in close proximity.  He moves like a wild animal, something predatory and swift about him.   When they close and lock the door, your heart skips beats. 

Chan says nothing.  He never says anything.  On the rare occasion you have been in contact, you have not heard a word out of him.  You seldom have anything to do with the missions he runs.  They are above even your paygrade, the worst of Miroh’s work. 

You swallow.  He is not speaking but he is staring.  He does not remove the mask.  You have not seen him without it in years.  He is nothing but a soldier.  An army unto himself. 

Your heart skips another beat.  An idea slowly forms in your mind. 

You are better than average.  Chan is better than you.  You cannot take all these agents on your own, but you could definitely take them with his help.   Of course, that is an entirely hypothetical thought.  It would be absolutely, completely, severely ridiculous to even try.   You are certain the best reaction you will get out of Chan is nothing, just a penetrating stare and silence.  The worst would probably be a snapped neck. 

You curl your hands behind your back.  The scar on your palm stings.  You clench your jaw.

You have nothing else to lose. 

“You’re not a soldier, you know,” you say. 

Just like you suspected, he says nothing.  He just stares at you.  The truck rattles along, jostling you so your handcuffs jingle.  He moves with the sway of the vehicle, hardly affected. 

Your fear turns to frustration.  You heave a breath. 

“Did you hear me?” you ask.  “You’re not a soldier.  You’re a prisoner.  You’re not who you think you are.  Miroh has you under his control, but it’s not real.  The real you is in there somewhere.  And the real you—”  The words come rushing up, slamming into your furiously clenched teeth, “The real you hates Miroh almost as much as me.” 

Chan stares at you.  That is expected.

What is unexpected is the slow tilt of his head.  It makes you shiver, instinctively cowering as he studies you.  His brow slowly quirks, a questioning expression.  You did not know he could make such an expression. 

“Are you… listening to me?” you ask.   

He straightens, but he still looks questioning.  It is enough for all your desperation to rush to the surface.  You fall forward, slamming on your knees in front of him.  You are so scarred and bruised, it hardly matters.  More important is the fact he looks down, as if he is more concerned by it, though you cannot read any more expressions on his stoic face. 

“Chan,” you say.  “Chris.  Whatever you want to be called.  If you’re in there, then listen to me, please.  I know you don’t know me.  We hardly knew each other at all growing up.  But we did grow up together.  Miroh is controlling both of us.  He is going to use us to do things.  He—”  You curl your fist behind you, needing to feel the sting on your palm.  It brings a tear to your eye. 

Chan is looking at you, expressionless again, but it doesn’t matter.  You have to try.

“It’s not just us,” you say.  “This is bigger than you and me.  I have a—I have a friend—my friend, you understand, and I—”

The van comes to a stop.  Chan grabs you by the shoulders and puts you back on your bench.  You screw your eyes shut and shake your head.  You want to scream. 

When you open your eyes, you pour all your anger in your glare.  It is not directed at Chan, though he is the one to catch your gaze and hold it. 

You are still looking at each other when the door is unlocked.  There was only a small window providing light in the cabin of the truck.  A bigger slash of golden light has you wincing. 

Chan is unaffected, still staring at you.  An officer opens the door wider and nods to him. 

“Let’s go, guard,” he says. 

Chan gets up.  You watch as he struts past.  He jumps out of the van and lands smoothly on his feet.

Then he reels back and punches the officer.  It is quick as a snap, the unconscious body hitting the tarmac in a flash.  It makes you jump, the bench rattling underneath you. 

You sit, petrified, confused.  Chan slowly turns.  You blink at him.

He holds out his hand. 

“What?” you say.  It comes out a rasp.  You cannot manage more words.  There is no way your frantic, barely coherent pleading got through to him.  This man has been tortured into compliance.  There is no humanity left in him, no memories, no emotions, no hopes.   He does not feel anything.  He does not understand anything.  He is a weapon.

He is still holding out his hand. 

There is nowhere to go but forward.  You get to your feet and shuffle towards him.  He still does not speak, nor does he look at you with any particular expression.  He just holds out his arms and lifts you out of the van.  When you are on your feet, you stare at each other.

He spins you around.  A gust of breath whooshes out of you.  You panic for half a second, then you realize he is unlocking your handcuffs. 

Never mind.  He is breaking them with his bare hands.  You watch as they hit the ground in a mangled heap.  You turn around slowly, your knees still shaking. 

Chan is calm as the other officers approach.  Someone asks why you are out of your handcuffs. 

Chan looks at you.  You do not know why or how, but he nods. 

You nod back.

You are a soldier.  You trained for this.  You were made to fight.  It is time to remind them of that. 

-

Your father is in his rooftop garden.  Miroh has a few soft hobbies like that, gardening among his favourite.  He sees himself as a cultivator as much as a green thumb, bringing more life into the world despite what life he takes.  It balances for him.  The ends always justifies the means. 

You walk into his garden.  It is obvious he is not expecting anyone, much less you.  He does not have time to hide his surprise.   You just fought your way through all of his security measures, battered and bruised and beaten.  You have not seen yourself, but you are certain your body is a canvas of violence right now. 

“Hello, father,” you say. 

“Go to my office,” he replies without hesitation.  “We will talk there.”

“No,” you say calmly.  “We’ll talk right here.  Right now.” 

He is holding a watering can.  He puts it down without looking and it tips over, splashing everywhere.  Neither of you look at it.  Your eyes are locked on each other.  You both know what he did today.  He is smart enough to work that out. 

“Where are my men?” he asks. 

“Detained,” you answer.  Chan is holding them off somewhere.  You still do not know why or how, but there will be time for that later.  You have to solve one problem at a time. 

You have no real plan.  You are making it up as you.  All you know is that scar on your hand is throbbing.

I’m not leaving here without you. 

You touch your palm, running your finger over the scar.  You do not look away from Miroh as you approach him.  Your legs are weak, your knees shaking, your body in agony, but you take one step after the other.  Given the stricken look on his face, you think this might be more disturbing than if you were healthy. 

Your injuries might have made you equal fighters, but his arm is still in a cast, weakening him too.   He will not win in a one-on-one fight.  He is smart enough to know that too.  It is why he takes a careful, calculating step back. 

“You’re injured,” he says.  “Go to the infirmary.  We can talk after.”

“We can talk now,” you reply, taking another step forward. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” he says. 

“Where is he?” you ask. 

You are both speaking calmly, moving slowly.  The watering can is slowly leaking water, gurgling in the background.  Wind moves through the flowers.  You hear birdsong in the sunshine.   Still, in the background, it feels like the world is screaming, the high-pitched whistle of that pot at a boiling point. 

“Who?” your father asks. 

“I’m not playing any more games,” you say.  “I’m not playing dress-up with any little secret agents.  I’m not getting in any rings and playing made-up fights with your silly toy soldiers.  No more lies.  No more games.  No more secrets.  Seo Changbin is my best officer.  I want him back.  Tell me where he is.” 

“His time as a soldier has run its course,” Miroh says.  “His body is more useful than him.  The initial special-ops experiment was a failure.  His genetics might unlock the key to replicating the medicant.  We can try again.  You should want to help me.  You would know better than anyone what worked and what did not.” 

Your exhaustion and emotion nearly gets the better of you.  You almost hurl right in front of him, imagining all the horrifying implications of genetics and keys.  You imagine them taking Changbin apart, piece by piece, experimenting on him like a slab of meat. 

You keep your disgust and horror down.  You take another step forward. 

“Give him back to me,” you say.  “Right now.  I told you already.  I’m not playing any games.” 

“You are deeply unwell,” your father says, his tone changing as he looks at you with more scrutiny.  His whole face seems to darken with the furrow of his brow.  “This is not like you.  Go to the infirmary.” 

“I’m not asking again,” you say.  “Give him back to me.” 

“Why?”

Because you’re my father, should be a good enough answer.  You know it will not work.  You know he does not care.  Miroh hates you because you are his daughter.  Miroh is not scared of anyone because he knows he is the best.  He is scared of himself in you.  You never stood a chance. 

“Because he’s my friend,” you say, because that is the only truth that matters anymore. 

It makes your father laugh unexpectedly.  You do not break. 

“Your friend?” he asks.  “Oh, well, my dear, if he’s your friend, then of course I’ll suspend all my plans and operations!”  He continues to laugh.

“I already told you,” you say.  “I’m not asking again.” 

You fly at him without further warning.  He has a half-second to react, his eyes widening as he side-steps clumsily.  With your mutual injuries, it is not much of a fight.  After a short scuffle, Miroh kicks at your legs, your weakest point, and you double over.  He swings his knee up into your stomach and it makes you fall, curled protectively over yourself.  You plant your forehead on the ground, arms around you, breathing hard. 

“That is how a daughter should be before her father,” he says, looking down at you in your broken little bow. 

You look up as he reaches into the lapel of his coat.  He has kept his gun in the same place for years.  In the same place you always keep yours when you wear a long coat. 

He puts his hand there and finds nothing. 

You uncurl, showing the gun in your hand.  You point it, cock it, and place your finger on the trigger as you stand. 

“If the next words you speak are not his exact location, I’m killing you,” you say. 

“Then kill me,” he says. 

He must know you are running on fumes and a half-baked plan that you did not believe would work.  He is calling your bluff, knowing you like he knows himself.  You will drop the gun and concede.  Miroh wins.  Miroh always wins. 

But you are gripping that gun with your scarred hand.  It sends a twinge of pain shooting up your arm.   You hear Changbin’s voice in your head.

You pull the trigger. 

You are not sure who is more surprised.  You can feel it on your own face, dripping with your sweat and blood.  You lower the gun and watch as Miroh stumbles backwards, frantically patting his chest.   You wonder if he is wearing any protective layers.

It doesn’t matter, in the end.  You spent the last few minutes walking him backwards.  If you couldn’t get the gun, you were going to grab him and threaten him with the edge of the roof. 

When you shoot him, he stumbles.  He falls back.  He goes right over the edge.

You stand there for a long minute.  The watering can has emptied.  The wind has gone still.  The whole world seems to stop.  When you drop the gun, it hits the concrete with a clatter.  It feels very strange that the sun is still shining. 

You walk to the edge of the roof.  You look down.  Your father has loomed over the world from this perch for years, looking over the things he has so meticulously grown. 

He is laying in a broken heap at the bottom of it now. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  The wind begins to blow again.  You feel it on your face. 

Then you hear a voice.  It nearly makes you jump. 

“What now?” it asks. 

You turn around.  Bang Chan is standing there in his dark combat gear, that half-mask still fastened in place. He has finally broken a sweat, his hairline damp, and his chest is moving a little faster with breath.  He is human somewhere under there.  Deep, deep down.   You have no idea what to do with that human anymore than the soldier. 

One problem at a time. 

A few more officers appear on the rooftop.   Chan turns.  You approach him. 

“What now?” you repeat.  You scoop up the discarded gun and point it at the officers.  Chan draws his own and does the same.  You stand side-by-side, arm-to-arm, eyes on your adversaries.  “Right now,” you say, “we fight.” 

You pull the trigger. 

The fight begins. 

[forcedagere]

I personally really like the idea of Bill x Reader x Ford. This one kinda ties into my previous post, but it’s not required reading. I suppose this would be an AU where Ford accepted Bill’s offer during Weirdmaggedon, or something else went wrong resulting in Bill staying in power :)

Contents: forced age regression, yandere, implied mental manipulation

Whereas Bill is far from the best caretaker (though he tries, in his own way), Ford takes care to create a semblance of structure in your life. He doesn’t have tons of practical experience with children or little ones such as you, but he makes up for it with dedication. He takes to caring for you as if it were a newly discovered, fascinating field of study. In other words… He reads many, many books, and tries all kinds of things to figure out what you like best.

Ford is not entirely fond of the kind of dynamic you have with Bill. It's not because he doesn't want to be referred to with parental terms, that's simply a matter of preference, but that he insists on you being friends above anything else. Considering the dynamics at play here, Ford cannot help but view it…

"As simply pedagogically irresponsible, Bill." The triangle in question rolls his eye. "Oh, boohoo! Fancy McFancypants over here knows what’s up!” Bill glances at you from the corner of his eye. Seeing you crack a smile while you’re sketching away with your crayons, he’s encouraged. “You read one book on how to raise a kid, and now you wanna tell me what to do? Get lost. Kid, c'mon, prove him wrong-- I'm your favourite, right?" You look up from your latest piece of art. You are drawing all three of you, in fact. You're usually deaf to their arguments, it's such a constant that you've grown used to the noise and stopped viewing it as a threat. (Your daddy calls it 'bickering'; Billy, when daddy isn't listening, calls it 'flirting'. That makes you giggle.) But you don't like getting involved in it yourself! So you firmly shake your head, and drop the pacifier attached to your necklace to speak. "No favourites… I love you both," you say with the confidence only someone as little as you could have. Billy's eyelid flutters, and your daddy smiles.

To put it simply, Bill is the ‘fun, rule-breaking parent’ and Ford is… A little less that. One should not take Bill Cipher as the benchmark of taking good care of a human, though.

Ford will make sure your meals are more varied than the endless stream of candy that Bill feeds you, and get you tucked in for sleep at regular times, too. Compared to Bill, who enjoys playing games with you and ‘roughhousing’, Ford prefers calmer activities. He’s definitely up for the occasional board game, but, most of the time, he’ll read to you, make drawings upon requests (or give you lessons!), or toy around with science experiments safe for someone who gets the urge to put anything that looks interesting inside their mouth.

He might’ve taken you for an adventure or two outside, but… The world hasn’t been the same since Bill got his hands all over it. He may be technically immortal now. You decidedly are not, as far as he knows. Either way, he doubts that Bill would let you out of this room to begin with. He doesn’t have to ask to be able to know that. If there is any reason he would keep someone locked up the way he does with you, it must be because you have some form of special connection to him. Ford does not believe he would risk that.

Really, Ford isn’t stupid or blind. It’s not that he’s going along with all of this because he is ignorant of Bill’s manipulation of your mental state. Bill can call it a ‘nudge in the right direction’ all he wants. He’s keeping you regressed. But everything has changed. He has changed, and Ford doesn’t know if he made the right decision. He fears he hasn’t. (Somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, a Stanford must live who made a difference decision. Ford hopes he’s happy.)

Spending time in this little contained room, with something dependent on him and eager to be looked after by him, who doesn’t know better and never will… It’s not good, it’s the very definition of selfish, but it’s comforting to him. Grounding, in a sense. With an eternity of time left ahead of him and the foundations of his previous life all but crumbled, he has something steady to return to. It doesn’t matter how much he rationalizes it. It’s twisted and fucked up, plain and simple.

…He supposes he can understand why Bill finds him so amusing, even now.

A little whimper snaps him from the spiral of his thoughts. Your bottle is empty. He should get youa refill, then pull you back on his lap.

[ovaryacted]

CANDY HEARTS

PAIRING: RE2!Leon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: It was Valentine's Day at the precinct and everyone was giving out candy grams for their secret admirers. Who knew that one piece of candy would have so much of an impact?

CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Mutual pining. Alcohol consumption. One kiss. Flirting and confessions at the end. Canon-adjacent. Modernized era (they have cell phones). The og gang is together and are all above the age of 21. Leon being silly and not knowing about social cues. Chris plays matchmaker & Claire is a jokester. Jill likes margaritas and Rebecca is the mom of the group. They are all friends and live happily ever after cause I said so.

WC: 3.7k

NOTES: I am back from the dead, and I come bearing gifts. This was just something I wanted to write for Valentine's Day, and I don't even know how the idea came along the entire way. Here’s some nice fluffy stuff with a bit of added corniness, something new from me. Hope you all enjoy and like it! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

✰ ── 《 Navigation ⟡ Main Masterlist ⟡ AO3 》

February, supposedly the month when red and pink mesh together to signify the one thing that couldn’t be explained. Love. Romance. Companionship.

It was a silly thing really, something that Leon didn’t understand, mostly because to him, it couldn’t be real. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, that he always wondered what it would be like to be so attached to another person it felt like being two parts of one whole. 

It was another full week of the month, the days passing by as quickly as they started. Another day, another patrol, that was what he knew as part of his routine. Heading toward his locker to grab his gear, he was surprised to see a small heart-shaped lollipop wrapped in a red bow. He raised a brow at the strange object, curious fingers reaching out to inspect it closer.

“What do you have there?”

His head turned to the side at the sound of your voice, more so feeling your breath on his neck as you peered over his shoulder. Holding up the red lollipop for you to study, you took it from his grasp, the very tips of your fingers barely touching his before you held the wrapped candy.

“Leon, do you even know what this is?”, your eyes held that same mischievous gleam it always did when you were with him, and simply gave you a shrug. “It’s a candy gram silly”

“What? Someone just put a lollipop in my locker?”, Leon didn’t get why someone would even bother putting something like this for him to find.

“It’s for Valentine’s Day, something that the precinct wanted to do to celebrate. If you get one of these, it means someone is your secret admirer”, the way you described the entire ploy was almost comical to him, and he only chuckled.

“So it’s like a crush type of thing?”

“Sort of. Did you even read the note?”, and from the way he looked like a deer in headlights you knew he didn’t. You motioned over to the small red note that was hidden underneath the piece of candy. Carefully, he went to unfold it and read over the words that were written in cursive black ink.

I can’t turn water into wine, but I’m hoping to turn you into mine.

You watched as Leon quickly became flustered at the funny pick-up line, rolling his eyes and trying to hide the subtle blush he got from reading the words over and over again.

“I don’t like this game”, Leon grumbled under his breath, trying to shake off his embarrassment and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh cmon, it’s supposed to be funny. But listen, if you don’t want your lollipop I’ll gladly take it”, you smirked as his eyes met yours, pink lips curling up to match your grin.

“What? You didn’t get any candy grams of your own so you have to steal mine?”, he unwrapped the lollipop, popping it into his mouth and humming as he approved the taste. Cherry, his favorite.

“For your information, I got three. I just munched on all of the candies already I wanted another”, you placed your hands on your hips, the uniform only accentuating the curvature of your figure that Leon tried his hardest not to notice.

“Really? You got notes too or were you too busy eating your lollipops you forgot to notice”, he was teasing you now, going into his locker to put on his tactical belt and wrapping it around his hips. It fit snugly on his body, the leather belt he wore underneath to hold up his cargo pants seemed to add to his slim figure. Not that you were paying attention either. 

“I did, but didn’t pay too much attention. I got a nice one though, said something like My candy heart is all yours. Real cute stuff”, you leaned against the wall as you waited for Leon before going on patrol. He was one of the only good things working at the R.P.D. had to offer, and coincidentally it just helped that he was also your friend. Having known each other for a while now, being like this came naturally, remembering how easy it was to be with him when you two first clicked. 

“Sounds corny”, he said with a shake of his head, closing the metallic door and gesturing the both of you to start walking out of the room and into the main hall.

“Yeah, you’d know everything about being corny wouldn’t you?”, you taunted him back as you walked through the halls of the precinct, keeping track of all the patrols you had on the board today.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Are you coming on this patrol with me or what?”, he already knew the answer, didn’t have to so much as second guess to know that you’d be riding along with him.

“Of course I am. Who else will bother you with their favorite pop songs?”, you walked ahead of him, and his gaze went down your back to look at the handcuffs that jingled every time you took a step.

He definitely wasn’t looking at anything else.

-

It was a long day of work patrolling the city before Leon finally had some time to himself to relax. Thankfully, he didn’t have to work the overnight shift and could lounge at home to watch some shitty reality TV or whatever tickled his fancy. Of course, that was before he got a text message from you, ever the pest constantly wondering what he was up to. Not that he complained.

There’s a whole theme night going on at the local bar. Free shots at 10:30 pm. Bring your ass over here, and wear red!

Drinks? With you? That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary considering how familiar it felt to be around you, but he still couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to do for the night. So, he pretended like he didn’t want to be dragged out of his small apartment as he trudged his feet toward the shower to get dressed. He shouldn’t have cared so much about being presentable, usually, he never did. But for you, he was willing to try new things.

For the first time in probably ever, he’s forgone his usual color palette and took out a red button-down, rolling the sleeves up towards his forearms. Leon was always more fond of shades that reminded him of the sky, blues, greens, and white. Red was out of his comfort zone, but going out on Valentine’s Day night was enough to make that ball of anxiety tighten in his gut. Topping it all off with a bomber jacket, he left the keys to his jeep behind and took a cab instead, playing it safe if he ended up drinking something that would surely knock him off his feet.

He seemed to be counting down the minutes to the moment he walked into the bar. Scanning the area, he looked for any sight of you amongst the crowd, walking past several pairs of people lip-locking and downing shots in groups. The energy was electric, the music was lively, and as he continued to trek further into the bar that’s when he spotted you.

There you were, sporting a red deep-cut blouse and leather pants that were tight along your thighs. He caught the glossy red lipstick you put on for the occasion that only brightened your teeth as you laughed with those around you. And when you turned your head to find him standing there, he gulped down the pang he felt in his chest.

Yeah. He’s screwed.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for you for so damn long. Good to know you listened to me for once”, you walked up to him, grabbed a hold of his wrist, and pulled him toward a corner of the bar where your other friends were sitting. Unless you cared to look for it, his pulse spiked when your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Maybe you felt it, maybe you didn’t, but that brief touch was cut short when Leon was brought to the table.

Most of the newfound gang was there, Chris and his sister Claire were there sharing a beer, while Rebecca was forcing Jill to be a bit more social. It was supposedly a normal night even though you were out of your uniform, forcing Leon to find a point on the wall to avoid peeking over in your direction. Chris kept him occupied, offering him a drink that he sipped to ease the nerves he felt, all while Claire teased him about wearing red instead of his usual navy. This wasn’t so bad, I’ll make it through the night, he thought to himself. 

It only took a few drinks for everything to spiral out of control. The blame is to be put on tequila. It was always tequila, but thank god it was the weekend. 

Just like you warned him, 10:30 pm rolled around and the bar burst into cheers as servers carried shot glasses filled with red liquid. Everyone at the table had one, and Leon watched as you downed the shot with ease, a wild grin on your face as you did. With your encouragement, and Claire’s taunting, he drank the shot and winced at the stinging of the liquid going down his throat. He hated taking shots, that you knew, but he’d do it so long as it made you happy.

This is why you leave the clear liquor to me and you stick to your beer. He remembered hearing you say that to him one night when you made him drink vodka, the raging hangover he got in the morning only further proved your point.

He’s lost count of the number of shots you consumed, splitting them between Jill and Claire, and an extra you forced Chris to take despite him sticking to his beer. Rebecca remained as the group chaperone, making sure nobody did anything too embarrassing tonight. Hearing a particular song that brightened your mood, you brought Claire towards the middle aisle where others seemed to follow you to dance in the small space.

Propping his elbow up against the wooden table, Leon leaned back to simply watch you move to the music. His whole body felt warm at the sight, seeing how you swayed your hips to the beat of the song and Claire did the same. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his eyes ran up the stitching of your leather pants, over the deep v-line cut of your blouse, and again towards your face. Sure, you were attractive, he wasn’t blind. But what he was the most fond of was your smile, all cheery and wide to the point where the corners of your eyes crinkled.

He could see that look all the time and never get sick of it. The only thing he’d change was that he was the reason why you beamed like that.

“You’re doing it again”, Chris said out loud with a smirk, knocking Leon out of his little fantasy before meeting eye to eye again.

“I’m not doing anything”, he challenged in denial, Chris only chortled and shook his head.

“Unless you’re watching Claire dance, you know exactly what you’re doing”, the brunette matched his sister in humor, Leon exasperating in disbelief and took another sip of his beer. “You like her. You should do something about it”

“Chris…”

“C’mon, man. How much longer are you going to stand on the sidelines and just watch? Even I’m getting tired of the tension, it’s killing me”, ever the dramatic man, he wrapped a thick arm around Leon’s shoulder, bringing him in closer as if he were telling him a secret.

“You had a chance with the candy grams you realize that right? Sure, free candy but why not make it special?”

“Who says I didn’t do just that?”, the blonde said before it could be filtered out properly, sighing and downing the rest of his bottle.

“You’re joking. Seriously? She got like three of those things”, Chris’s brown eyes widened the slightest bit, not wanting to believe the truth.

“Does it look like I’m laughing right now?”, Leon chuckled incredulously at the realization that these feelings he’d been harboring for so long were starting to pour out of him the more he drank. “I don’t know how to talk to her. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, she’s not into me”

“Leon, you must be an idiot or something because she is into you. Who do you think gave you the candy gram?”, Chris muttered, probably not meaning to say it the way he did but it sounded like a confession.

Leon didn’t have time to ask for more details when you came back to the table on his side, an energetic Claire going towards Jill who was down three margaritas and growing sleepy. He could practically smell the perfume off of you, jasmine and soft vanilla, things that he found comfort in and sought after through his day-to-day.

“I think that’s enough dancing for me, I got dizzy”, you said, finishing the last bit of your watered-down drink and slamming the glass down on the table. From the way you were standing, your body almost leaned against Leon’s, ever inching closer toward him.

“Do you want to leave?”, Leon asked you, ever the concerned friend and partner despite the fact the alcohol was starting to get to him too.

“Nah, I’ll stay a little bit. Do you want to go?”, the way your eyes were hazy when you spoke to him brought that same twitch in his chest he usually ignored when he was around you.

“If you’re good, then I’m good. I’m not leaving without you”, he didn’t mean to say it in a different context outside of friendly, or maybe he did, but when he avoided a visceral reaction from you he figured he was in the clear.

“You got it boss”, you joked with him, but your hand lightly skimmed against his by accident, a shock running through you from the light touch. You didn’t meet his eye, instead, you felt the way his pinkie came closer to your own, discreetly curling around the digit.

It was a shy touch as if to gently test the boundaries of what was other than a cordial relationship. Leon started to grow anxious, thinking maybe he messed up, his mind beginning to spiral until you squeezed his finger back in silence. He tried not to make it obvious, but he looked over at you to see you smiling, and for that second he thought his small dream had come true.

“Another drink and then we’ll call it quits”, Chris’ voice popped the bubble that you were both in, but your hands didn’t move from where they were.

Yeah, one more drink couldn’t hurt, so long as you two remained like this for the rest of the night. 

-

Leon regrets having that one last drink. The world around him was spinning, and his feet were lugging across the floor as if he was going to sink into the Earth any minute now. He nearly forgot that he wasn’t going home alone, that you were beside him, doing your best to support his body as you brought him over to your place like you had done a few times before.

Unlocking the door to your apartment and walking inside, Leon was hit with the same scent of jasmine and soft vanilla that he recognized as your own, faint layers of cinnamon engulfing him when you brought him over to your couch in a slump.

“I’m never letting you drink that much again”, your voice sounded almost distant, but it was comforting nonetheless. You walked away from him, your footsteps growing faint until you came back with a glass of water he graciously chugged.

“Wasn’t so bad, I can handle my liquor”, he slouched further into your couch, his head beginning to whirl from everything he drank.

“Leon, I had to carry you inside. You’re drunk”, you glanced at him with that same mischievousness you always had reserved just for him. Even if you had a better alcohol tolerance than he did, your pupils being dilated told him that you were in the same predicament

“Not complaining”, he was damn near mumbling now, his head pivoting to look at you fully. You were right there next to him, all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before. In the back of his mind, he imagined you did it just for him.

So pretty.

“You think so?”, your voice brought him out of his current haze, watching as he blinked once or twice before realizing he said his inner thoughts out loud.

“I-I…huh?”, Leon was stuttering now, looking towards the floor and growing embarrassed at the slip-up. You couldn’t help but giggle under your breath, and he prayed to God it wasn’t at him.

“Leon…I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve been trying to send you signals that I like you for months now. You’re a tough nut to crack”, you were speaking, but your words stopped filtering through his brain the moment you said the words ‘I like you’.

You like me?

“Yes, you cornball, I do”, you answered him anyway, catching him off guard at the response. At this rate, he’ll spill his deepest darkest secrets because he can’t tell the difference between what he’s thinking and what he’s saying. “The candy gram, that was me. Thought it might register in your head but it didn’t”

Leon looked like he had uncovered the biggest truth known to man. It was astonishing to witness, how he couldn’t process the thought that you were actually interested in him. You could see the gears starting to turn in his head, and once the revelation settled in his mind his lips were formed in a gentle smile. 

“That was a really bad pick-up line”, Leon said, making you laugh even harder. Your hand made contact with his chest, patting against his body with every sound that slipped past you. 

“And yours was any better?”, your hand didn’t move from where it sat on his chest, mindlessly caressing the material of his red button-down. 

“Yeah, I think ‘my candy heart is all yours’ is one of my best works”, he was almost cocky when he talked, but his facial expression was anything short of dorky. You both looked like a bunch of love-drunk idiots waiting for one to say what the other wanted to hear. 

“Hmm, that sounded like you. Is this you admitting that you gave me that candy gram?”, you were leaning on him, shifting so your body was closer against his. The tequila still running through your system heightened your senses, the natural scent of Leon’s cologne was enough to make your heart flutter. 

“Something like that”, he grinned bashfully, blue eyes looking at you intensely. He took in every detail of your features he could get, moving some of your hair out of your face and curling it behind your ear. His hand didn’t move too far, resting his palm against your cheek and running his thumb against the warmth of your skin.

“Would it be bad to kiss you?”, he whispered his words to you, as if his feelings would only be safe in the four walls of this room. 

“No, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me”, you moved so your chest was pressed against his, hands moving up towards his neck and caressing the hair at his nape. 

Leon didn’t have to wait too long to feel your lips meshing with his, sighing in what he could only describe as pure satisfaction. A shiver rushed down his spine and broke off into the rest of his body, blood pulsing through his veins at rapid speed the more his heart pumped in his chest. He pressed your body against him, wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping his other hand on your cheek.

Leon felt drunk, both literally and figuratively off of you and everything that you were. Things made sense for the first time, having you like this here with him. It was all he wanted, all he needed, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. Against his wishes, he pulled away for air, staying close by to rest his forehead against yours. 

“About damn time Kennedy”, you teased him again, but your expression was tender. You noticed how your red lipstick stained his lips, no doubt leaving barely any left on your mouth. “Red looks good on you”, you put a thumb against his lips, rubbing at the plush skin you just felt for the first time.

“Does this mean I get to ask you to be my Valentine?”, he looked so cute when he asked you, rolling your eyes at his question, but you found it endearing.

“You’re two hours too late, but I’ll happily be your Valentine anyway”, you gave him one more smooch on the lips, and the happiness on his face was damn near palpable. “But you owe me a better one next time, you hear me?”

Next time.

“Loud and clear. I’ll have a better pick-up line to use on you”

“If you start getting corny, I will leave you on the couch”, the playful threat didn’t worry Leon in the slightest, his smile getting wider with every passing second he spent with you.

“Awe come on, I meant what I said. My candy heart is all yours”, his nose nuzzled into your neck, kissing your soft ticklish skin and breathing you in, marking your scent into his memory.

This time around, he thinks he’ll thank the tequila instead. Perhaps Cupid is real, a little overdue, but he still got the job done in the end.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[mysteriesmuse]

Princess Reader x Royal Guard Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugou Katsuki’s job is literally to stand by you day and night. You promoted him to being your personal guard and now he follows you around the castle like a dog. Katsuki thought he would hate it. Thought he would have to do something to get himself fired. Something that would make you dislike him because everytime he was around you his skin definitely felt red hot and he had a slight nauseating sensation in his stomach. It’s only when steam started pouring out his ears with him clenching his teeth and palms that he was able to pinpoint that feeling. Oh yes that previous feeling was jealously and Katsuki Bakugou apparently didn’t hate you. Because he really felt jealous about this stupid suitor that was attempting to woo you. He liked you. He had a crush on the princess he was in charge of protecting with his life. Not that, that would change. But now he had a reason to get to know you more. To make the same impression that the other elite guards made with small talk that put you at ease during any shift changes.

BECOME THE BEST GUARD IN THE CASTLE: CHECK

MAKE SMALL TALK & GET IN GOOD GRACES WITH THE PRINCESS: IN PROGRESS

WOO THE PRINCESS: ??? So Katsuki really freaking struggled with small talk. Plus, I mean the guy knows practically everything about you. How is he supposed to make small talk if he can’t just ask the questions? Trick question he still can. In reality he doesn’t really have to. He’s supposed to be a rather stoic and sentient figurine that guards you. His first few attempts were meet with startled eyes and strange looks for the next few weeks. You’re known to be fairly cordial and friendly with the guards, but his reputation proceeded him. Big Scary Guard Dog Bakugou. That’s who you were told was your new guard. And that’s what you expected for the most part. A quiet guy who may or may not be a piece of eye candy following you around like a shadow. Oh boy, were you wrong. He was definitely a piece of eye candy. Actually he was the piece of eye candy that was apart of your elite protection group. A very silent man Bakugou. And after the first couple of weeks of him assigned as you personal guard your opinion on that changed. Bakugou grunts out a G’mornin’ and a G’night to you every day. Almost looks strained, but it’s pleasant nonetheless. And he’s incredibly observant too. You catch him in the hall to your corridors arguing with a servant about the bouquet of flowers she’s attempting to bring in to replace the last bouquet on your writing desk. “Shitty - ahem - her majesty prefers another variety of flower. Go back and procure some of the blue snowball looking ones.” After that you noticed that the vase continually held varieties of flowers that you’d complimented on in the royal gardens. And from then on your awkward guard/royalty relationship bloomed like a hillside. A cascading flurry of one beautiful thing after another. ——— When you’re cozied up in the quiet royal library to enjoy a good book you pause and peek over the top of the novel in your lap. Almost out of curiosity or disbelief that Bakugou is the one asking a question. He blinks out of genuine curiosity and you open your mouth and start to turn the book around so that he can see the words of the story you’re gesturing at. He gets you to go on and on that way. Nothing but a few affirmational vocals from him that he’s still listening. And he loves watching your expressions almost more than when you insist that he do something. Read his own book, after all it is a library. He dismisses it all. And yes your highness he can read and write just fine. This is just his job. Well not the secretly pinning over you while you read, but the watching part. And He learns that you actually know a lot more about kingdom politics than he previously gave you credit for. You’re smoothing over diplomatic matters with a carefully inked letter and secretly keeping promises about exports and materials your kingdom has pledged.

All while you sit and hum at your writing desk. The way you gently tease off your shoes with your toes at the heels when you’ve decided you’re going to be in for a long while. And Katsuki knows then that you’ll idly wave for him to sit instead of standing at his post the whole while. Except he starts to develop the nasty happen of staring and when you catch him looking he’ll chose between grumbling and turning away as his ears turn pink or blink unyielding and say “just doing my job, princess”

Katsuki likes the suave of the second one, but it really ends up being 50/50 with it. ————

But 100% of the time your strolls through the royal garden have him itching to take some armor off as the sunny warmth makes him sweat buckets underneath the layers of his uniform. Not to mention you walking this close already has his skin hot enough. The way you walk shoulder to shoulder just has him practically drooling at the thought of holding your hand. - Exhibits extreme self-control every stroll. Oh and when the fruit and vegetables are ready to be harvested you like to take teasing strolls into the royal orchards and gardens to taste the first ripe fruit of the season. Always curtesying as you point and ask him to grab a mandarin, or plum, or peach, or nectarine, or lemon, or apple, or whatever it is. And you’ve usually tried just before hand. On you tip-toes waggling your decorated fingers into the air. The sunlight bouncing off your jewels that adorn your skin and cascade daggers of rainbowed light upon your face. And it’s always just out of reach. A fresh shiny pout on your face when you turn and ask him to pluck one. And Katsuki usually just has to stand and put his arm up to grab one as you patiently wait and watch. But you’re admiring him just as much as he admired you. Staring up at his chiseled jawline. The wheaty stubble that decorates his face. You long to feel it prickle underneath your fingertips. Wonder how it would feel tickling the edges of your kiss when you finally set your mouth against his plush lips. You admire his impeccable physique. His staggering size as he barely stretches his shoulder to reach the fruit. And the way his golden tan glistens underneath the dappled light of the sun; glistens from the profuse sweat elicited from his layers and layers of chainmail and armor. All brushing over his adams apple before he gulps and turned to hand it to you. And Katsuki loves to hold it in his palm in the way that you have to pick it up. Feel your fingers gently prod and caress the skin of his palm as you turn the fruit over. Mulling over its quality before wordlessly holding it back out. He huffs and grabs the fruit as you take him to the stone wall. You sit and pull out a handkerchief from between your breasts if he’s not swift enough in supplying you with his. And Katsuki will grab his dagger and slice up the fruit, setting the pieces down onto the handkerchief before you plop one into your mouth. His hands will still and his eyes flick to your face watching as you chew and make a satisfied moan. The rest of your stroll will include these snack breaks. Taking “samples” as you call them of the seasons fruit. And the royal gardners have since decided to ignore the two figurines of their princess and the royal guardsmen sitting on the stone walls chattering and pressing handkerchiefs into sticky thieving fingers. ————

In the royal kitchens he accompanies you as you excitedly follow behind a kitchen maid who’s sent for you to do a testing of the new desserts the chef has been working on. Despite your official look of composure he knows that you’re excited by the little bounce in your hair from your steps. Katsuki always clunks down to the table when you beckon him to sit. Frantically patting the chair next to you after he’s been a right gentleman and pushed your chair in. You always think he looks rather scared with the way his carmine eyes dart around the empty dinning hall before the procession of maids and chef come out into the hall and display a plethora of desserts in front of you. They always wave you on with glee before retreating to the kitchen to finish the next batch. Your mouth practically waters as you pick up your fork and spear the perfect first bite. Only to turn to Katsuki with your other hand under the utensil holding it up to his plush pink lips which immediately turn into a defensive scowl. You’re always muttering something about your safety to “taste test for me? Make sure there’s nothing poisoned?” Except Katsuki’s never been sure that’s your real agenda here because you always gently spoon the first bite of your special taste testing into his mouth and if its something chocolate it always taste like Heaven despite it being a brand new recipe. (You’ve got the best chocolatier in the kingdom) and he always a little groan slip out. His face melting as he chews and swallows. (he’s going to be doing a lot more of that)

Before he nods muttering it’s safe. Not that your food would be poisoned because the staff and kingdom are all pretty loyal here and him and the elite guards are way to fricken scary to have on your tail. But he humors you anyway because technically that’s protecting and you’re right it’s in his job description. And then you, without changing forks, without doing anything else immediately set the fork he just used between your own lips and lick off the icing residue between your pink lips and hum before taking a real first bite yourself. And you do it all while maintaining perfect eye contact with him. And he can feel blood rushing to weird places all over his body. And it goes on like this for every single plate they offer. HAVE THE PRINCESS FLIRT WITH YOU: yes? maybe ?? At this rate he’s not sure why the kitchen staff haven’t mandated you with a royal poison taste tester with your insistence of him having a bite of every one of your plates. Seriously what are these people thinking! They’re thinking that there’s some real true love blooming in the castle and who are they to get in the way! Plus, it’s a good practice for any wedding cake samples they do in the future. Of course they won’t ever tell y’all whose wedding they’re preparing to cater. ———— While you delight in that. Katsuki delights in nothing more than your dance lessons. He likes to watch you glide, or try to, across the floor with every step. Definitely feels a weird blooming of secondhand pride when you practice a new step a few times and smooth it out with practice. Overall he finds it very peaceful and relaxing watching you laugh and groan and be belittled by this ancient teacher they have for you. Stands at the door tapping his toe in his boot to the beat. When this ancient woman that he just loves comes over and insists that he mustn’t “just stand there and look handsome. Make yourself useful she needs a partner” which always causes your head to swivel like a chicken as he detaches a few layers of pure metal off his body to make the dancing “easier and more realistic for her highness”

So now he gets to stand bare of any occluding armor and he can feel your e/c gaze washing over his body and the ripping muscles that he’s always had hidden under that armor. Adores the chance to hold you in his arms and practice doing the steps that you’re working on. And he’s attended enough of these things and the balls to be able to pick up on his part pretty quickly. Katsuki, not to toot his own horn because he would never, has to say he’s pretty darn good at dancing. Stupidly good for a royal guard which he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be clunky and clumsy, but as soon as the armor is off he’s as graceful as any one of the princes or dukes you’ve danced with ball after ball and gala after gala. He’s humongous. Practically a head taller than you and his shoulders are stupidly wide and it’s like you’re in a cocoon of just him. His stupid minty breath whenever he’s mumbling something snarky or whispering the counts just loud enough for your teacher to know he’s actually helping. The flopping bangs that fall into his face whenever he needs to look down and see what your feet are doing. Usually because you’ve accidentally skipped a step or done something that messes with his leading because how can you not! Except this only fuels Bakugou’s ego more because he’s never seen you mess up with any partner at any of these balls you attend. The logical part of his brain says it’s because this is your dance room and you’re practicing. But the other hopeful part of his heart says it’s because maybe you’re flustered. Maybe you feel something too. And you definitely do. The oddly warm, but searing heat of his hand on the small of your back makes you stand up. His shoulder and bicep and forearm all a fluttering mass of muscle that languidly stretches and twitches underneath your arm. His meaty and calloused hand that holds yours, which is incredibly clamy except you’re not sure if it’s you or him! And your annoying dance teacher who constantly whacks your limbs and buttocks whenever you do something wrong, which only makes your guards impeccable poker face quirk into a smirk before she starts the music again. And unfortunately the old crone has caught on. Because your lessons after having danced with Katsuki are immensely improved. And your performance at balls is flawless at best, so she’s going to keep asking the young rugged handsome guard of yours to keep stepping in as your partner for dancing because he seems to be the only one where you actually have to work for that composure. ————

[writeyouin]

Lost light megatron trying to have fun with his s/o, but kinda failing cuz he thinks of all the ways it could go wrong? (Maybe they’re on a planet in a theme park?) and reader has to convince him to let loose?

Megatron X Reader – Let Loose

A/N – Slowly, whittling my list of requests down.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Megatron snatched the cotton candy from you, earning a startled look from the vendor and the surrounding people alike. You, on the other hand, merely smiled, knowing what he was like.

“Babe, it’s not poisonous,” You told him patiently, waiting for him to agree.

Megatron tore off a piece of the fluffy treat, scanning it with a device he had procured from Red Alert; that bot was equally paranoid about all the things that could poison you, or that could contaminate the ship’s supply of energon, or that could… Actually, the list of things that Red Alert was paranoid about was endless.

He hummed and passed it back to you begrudgingly. While it was true that the food wouldn’t kill you, it wasn’t very good for you either, which is exactly what he told you after you tore a piece off, popping it in your mouth gleefully.

“Would you lighten up?” You laughed, elbowing him playfully. “Today is supposed to be fun.”

Megatron followed you through the Carnival that Rodimus had insisted on making the Lost Light stop at. Frankly, he thought that he had been doing well by not complaining that it was a waste of time and energy to visit such a trashy attraction, especially when the crew had to make use of their holo-forms which increased their energon consumption by 3.7%. That might not have been a lot for one bot, but when used by the full crew, it would ensure they practically ate through their energy reserves.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but how exactly would you have me ‘lighten up’?” Megatron used air quotes upon repeating you.

“Just cut loose. Have fun for the day, okay?”

Megatron scowled. His idea of fun was composing poetry to sum up his deepest thoughts and clear his processor, or to spend an evening with you, consuming some of the universe’s best literature, while you spent time on one of your hobbies.

Frankly, this was when another bot might comment on how odd your relationship was. You and Megatron were not alike. You were loud, carefree, and energetic. He was sombre and contemplative, and he preferred not to waste energy on frivolous activities.

Yet, Megatron found himself wanting to please you. Part of this stemmed from the idea that he didn’t believe that he deserved you, and partially because you asked very little of him, taking the relationship one day at a time while he learned how to navigate it with you.

“Very well,” Megatron sighed. “I shall…” He tripped over the words cut loose, finding the slang un-endearing, opting to finish by saying, “Try to relax somewhat.”

“That’s all I ask,” You chuckled, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the first game of the day.

It was a simple ring toss over some bottles, with various prizes hanging overhead. You spotted a plushie armadillo which was arguably the most hideous of the prizes, yet it held your attention, your pupils dilating at the sight of it.

“Oh yeah, that’s coming home with me.”

And so the game began. You tried again and again to win the creature, putting more and more credits on it, much to the vendor's satisfaction.

Megatron watched, bemused, until finally, he grabbed your shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“What’s wrong, babe? You want a go?”

You held out a ring to him. Megatron glowered first at the bottles, then at the vendor. “You should leave this game.” He told you matter-of-factly. Then in a whisper, he added, “My sensors show that it has been rigged. Winning is a statistical impossibility.”

“Oh,” You deflated. You had already guessed that the game was rigged, but it had been fun to try all the same. Half-heartedly, you threw the last ring before walking away. “Okay… something else then.”

Megatron silently cursed himself for upsetting you, but it was better you knew now rather than trying to win the impossible.

Your eyes lit up again when you saw what had to be the world’s most unstable rollercoaster.

“How about that?!” You pointed to it excitedly.

Megatron scanned the structure, messaging Ultra Magnus to see how many laws it broke. According to him, the ride had 36 structural weaknesses, broke 17 laws, and would only be legal on 3 planets.

You shook your head as Megatron’s face set into its default scowl.

“Oh, come on, please,” You begged, clasping your hands together.

“I won’t stop you, but I shan’t join you,” Megatron said drily, thinking about how he would be prepared to shed his holo-form and rescue you when the ride inevitably flew off the tracks or something equally terrible.

“Really? I can’t convince you?” You pouted.

“I should think not.”

You opened your mouth to argue until Rodimus ran into you, “Hey (Y/N). You here for the coaster?”

“Yeah, I was about to get in line. I’m just asking Meg-”

Rodimus rolled his eyes, “Megatron isn’t going to join you. It would mean having fun, something he’s completely allergic to, you know, alongside joy, laughter, puppies, flowers-”

“Shut up,” You punched Rodimus playfully in the arm.

Megatron watched as you and Rodimus played, eventually getting his approval to go on the ride together. It sometimes amazed him that you hadn’t chosen to enter a relationship with someone like Rodimus. The two of you were quite similar and had a good rapport.

Megatron sighed as he watched the two of you on the ride. He was somewhat you were relieved that you were with his co-captain. At least that way you would be safe with him should something happen. One person with you, and another on the ground in case something went wrong.

Yet, remarkably, nothing bad happened, except for Megatron putting yet another damper on the day, making him practically miserable.

Once you had come off the ride, Megatron made his excuses to go back to the ship, leaving you alone with Rodimus. He had much to think about when it came to the two of you, and frankly, he felt like he needed to find some reasons that the two of you were together, especially after such a disastrous excuse of a date, wherein he had only helped to sour your vibrant mood.

Megatron startled at the sound of the doorbell ringing.

He answered the door to find you, holding tightly onto the plushie armadillo that he had claimed was impossible to win.

“So, you somehow won the ring toss,” He stated, gesturing to the toy.

“Nah. Rodimus distracted the guy there and I took this,” You held out your prize, grinning victoriously.

“Stealing?” Megatron said doubtfully, thinking about what a terrible influence Rodimus could be.

“I’d like to think of it as liberating a plushie who needs a lot of love. Besides, you said it yourself. That guy was cheating, so it’s only fair he loses a prize or two every now and then.”

Megatron nodded stiffly, his optics following you as you entered the hab-suite.

“I’m sorry-” He started, surprised when you said “Thank you,” at the same time.

“What’re you-” “Why are you-”

You laughed as you both spoke simultaneously again, gesturing for him to start first.

“I- I’m sorry for leaving you at the fair,” Megatron sighed in his usual melancholy tone. “And you don’t have anything to thank me for. Believe me, I should know.”

You grinned, holding back a bout of laughter since you didn’t want Megatron to be offended.

“I’ll admit, I was sad that you left early, but… I wanted to thank you, for a really good night.”

Megatron didn’t respond. Frankly, he couldn’t see how you had a good time with him at all.

“I know the carnival isn’t your scene, but you went with me anyway, and… I love having someone who looks out for me all the time. I think it’s really sweet that you don’t want me to get conned out of my credits, or get hurt on the big rides, or, y’know, die from poison. I love you, Megatron.”

That wasn’t the first time that you had told Megatron you loved him, nor would it be the last, and yet, you always said it at the most unexpected times.

“I… Love you too,” Megatron said haltingly, scared as usual that his vulnerability would lead to a terrible end for the two of you. “Would you like to spend the night here?” He offered.

“Sounds good to me,” You beamed.

[desideriumwriter]

hi how are you!! i was wondering if you could write a fred x ravenclaw!reader (fem) where they’ve been beat friends since the beginning and they’re already in a relationship but it’s just fred and the reader are reminiscing about life and stuff and it’s just pure fluff? if not that’s ok :))

I’m doing alright! I’ve got a few trips planned for the next few weeks so I’m trying to finish as much stuff as I can. Anyways, ty for the request! This was a cute one to write, who doesn’t love some causal fluff with fred???

I Can See Me in Your Eyes

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The summer visits to the Burrow were always comforting. It was a warm and windy evening. Fred had his head in your lap as your back was laid against the broom shed in the back garden. You were raking your hands through his hair.

“Your hairs’ gotten so long.” You thought out loud, brushing away the strands that had been blown in front of his face.

“My mum wants me to cut it soon. She’s never been a fan of long hair.” Fred said as he reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, copying your actions.

“Are you going to?” You asked, mindlessly playing with his hair.

“I suppose I should, it’ll give mum some temporary relief.”

“Temporary?”

“Well, I don’t know how she’ll feel about me and George opening up our own joke shop.” He began to fiddle his thumbs. “Especially with the money Harry won and gave to us.”

Fred and George had been saving up for over a year now. They planned on opening their own store, selling their homemade fireworks and trick candies. They had already made a good amount selling their products over the summer.

But when Harry gave them the money he won from the tournament, it put them ten times closer to their goal. You remember their look on faces once they entered your booth on the express.

The twins both dropped down into the seat across from you, eyebrows slightly knit together and mouths ajar. George was holding a bag in his hands, Fred was staring it down, you heard whatever was inside it clink when he sat down.

“What’s in there?” You sat up straight, a bit confused and concerned due to their faces.

“A thousand galleons.” Fred said, he sounded like he didn’t even believe it.

George still had an iron grip on the money bag, clutching down on it as if it would run away if he let go.

“She’s never been a hundred percent supportive of what me and him do.” He frowned, you removed one of your hands from his hair and held Fred’s hand.

“I think she’ll love it when she sees how successful you two will be.” You reassured him, Molly was always so keen on wanting them to get jobs in the Ministry.

“Bigger than Zonkos.” He let out a breathy laugh, now playing with your fingers.

“Better than Zonkos.” You added.

“Always outsmarting me. It’s summer, you know? I thought you only did that during classes.”

“I don’t outsmart you.” You laughed in disbelief, giving him a playful shove.

“You always know what to do though. You’re always correcting my mistakes, like in Divination in our third year.”

Fred did have a tendency to get things wrong, usually because he was too busy looking at you instead of paying attention to instructions.

“I don’t understand. How’d you get that for yours?” Fred’s eyes darted between your paper to his, comparing your answers.

“Your chart is upside down.” You gave him a pitiful smile as you slid his paper the correct way. The blush creeping in on his face was painfully obvious.

You let him cheat off you for the rest of the year.

He could never remember the dates that went along with the zodiac signs in your fourth-year astrology class you had together.

“No, look,” You said as you pointed to your textbook, “Aries is March 21st to April 19th, that makes you an Aries.”

“Oh, I think I've got it now.” He nodded, “So that makes you a…” It took him a few tries to get your sign right without looking at his textbook.

“Well, it was a tough class, and it was third year. I made mistakes too.” Fred hummed in response, moving his hand up to play with the hem of your shirt.

“This is a pretty color on you. It’s nice to see what you look like in a color other than blue.” He rubbed two fingers between the thin fabric.

“You say everything is pretty on me.” You murmured.

“Cause it is!”

“You’re just saying that because I’m your girlfriend.”

“Exactly,” He reached his hand up, tapping your nose, “what’s so bad about that?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged, smiling at him and admiring how the sun was casting a golden glow on his freckled skin, you stared at his lips.

He noticed.

“Want a kiss?” He gave a knowing smile, causing you to grin, a sudden shyness creeping up on you.

It was silly how he could still make you feel as giddy and flustered as you were when he took you as his date to the Yule Ball.

“Wow, you look…stunning. I’m speechless.”

“Thank you. You do too.” You said shyly, looking down.

“I’m serious, you look bloody gorgeous.” He ran a hand down your arm, you were grinning so hard your face was already starting to hurt.

The compliments didn’t end there, he gave you as many as he could throughout the night.

“You’re staring awfully hard.” You teasingly pointed out, Fred already knew he was, he just didn’t care. You were breathtaking.

“I’m not staring, I'm admiring, sweetheart.” This earned a flustered giggle out of you, not knowing how to react to the pet name.

Fred lifted his head up slightly, making it easier for his lips to meet yours, embracing in an awkwardly positioned but sweet kiss.

You pulled back and tilted your head to get a better look at his face. His eyes were closed and squinty due to the glare of the sun. But he was smiling, opening his eyes as much as he could to look at you.

“The sun in your hair makes you look like an angel.” He admired, you just scoffed and shook your head.

“I’m serious! It makes it look like you’ve got this halo around you.”

Fred had always been creative with his compliments, even if he had to explain them.

“Your smile is like…fireworks.” Fred said, words slightly slurred, he had snuck maybe one too many glasses of his mum's elderflower wine.

“What?” You giggled out, removing your glass from your lips.

“Your smile, it's bright and big and warm, like how fireworks are…does that make sense?”

“Yeah…wait no, wait no I get it, no..I think it does?”

“You’re a sap.” You happily sighed, leaning back against the shed.

“You’re too serious.” He sat up from his spot, now both face to face and still gleaming at you.

“I’ll leave all the bad joke making and pranks to you.” You teased as you played with the collar of his button up.

“My jokes aren’t bad!” He gaped, looking at you in mock hurt.

“Maybe they aren’t all bad, maybe poorly timed.” You hummed, cupping his face with one hand, loving how pretty he looked with the setting sun shining through his hair.

Still, you weren’t wrong about what you said. Freds jokes were always quite funny, just some were said at the wrong time.

“That was my first kiss.” You blurted out after you pulled away from each other, lips still parted.

“I could tell.” Fred teased, he meant it jokingly, but began to panic once he saw your face falter a bit with sadness.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” He unraveled, “I’m sorry! That was an awful joke!” bringing his hands up to cup your face apologetically.

“So judgy.” He shook his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Too judgy?”

“Barely, I’ve been scorned all my life, I think I can handle the heat.” He scoffed; he was right. He was a troublemaker ever since he could crawl. George and him being partners in crime since birth, their mum constantly tried to set them straight.

After departing the train and from the twins, you watched as they both gave each other looks, making small comments to each other.

“The school works quickly with their letters.” George retorted just before they began to walk up to their mum. Who was standing impatiently, hands on her hips and a furious scowl on her face.

“Dungbombs set off in the common room? Fireworks on the train?” She shouted as she shifted her eyes between the two boys. “Are you two dense? Were the amount of howlers sent not shameful enough?”

You’d lost count over how many howlers she sent within the single school year. By the time the fifth one arrived during lunch one day, they didn’t bother to snatch it and leave the hall. They just sat and ate as the letter reprimanded them.

“You know,” Fred said through bites of turkey, “even in writing she can’t tell which one of us is which.” He shook his head, amused. It earned a few good laughs and chuckles from the students around him, from then on, Molly's howlers sent to them just became free entertainment, to them and everyone around them.

“But I may need a present for that little comment you made about my badly timed jokes.” He drew out his lips into a dramatic pout, tapping a finger onto them.

If this was anyone else, you would’ve cringed. However, this was your boyfriend, and you were allowed to act cheesy with him. Instead, you just let out a breathy laugh and rolled your eyes before pulling him into a kiss.

This one was a bit more passionate, a bit messier, a bit more breathtaking.

As soon as you pulled back for some air, a small pebble came flying out of nowhere, hitting Fred in the side of the head. He groaned out and held a hand over where it hit, grimacing in pain. Before you could ask if he was okay, there was shouting coming from the same direction from the pebble that hit him.

You both turned towards the noise, it led back to George, who was standing near the entrance to the garden.

“Oi! Let the poor girl breathe and come help with dinner!” He shouted at Fred.

You accidentally let a laugh slip; Fred looked at you. You slapped a hand over your mouth, still giggling.

“I'm gonna kill him.“ Fred huffed and tried to keep back his smile.

“You're not gonna kill him.“ You let out a breathy chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah? Watch me.” He grinned and gave you a peck on the cheek before he shot up, beginning to sprint at George.

thank you for reading! tell me what you thought! <3