#i had those two tags sitting in my drafts for so long rip

[angry-geese]

Gojo/reader/Nanami >:)

Warnings: not osha compliant. threesome (MxMxF), oral (F & M receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, possibly a little ooc, this is pretty much just smut lol

Word Count: just under 2.3k

Synopsis: some shameless smut between coworkers >:)

a/n: I found this mostly finished in my drafts and god only knows how long it's been sitting in there so I made some edits to it so it could be posted lol. posting this before i leave for work so if there are any egregious errors i'll fix them when i get home :)

jjk masterlist

As you go over the events of the night in your head, you still can't quite figure out how you ended up in this situation; sprawled across Kento’s lap, with Satoru’s hands trailing up your shirt.

Technically, it was your idea. “Girls Night”, or so you dubbed it; a bi-weekly hangout with Shoko, and occasionally Nanami. Gojo only tagged along on a technicality, not long after Shoko canceled, leaving the three of you alone in your apartment on a rainy Saturday night.

From the very beginning, it was clear Satoru had little interest in the show. Kento was less than pleased about his inclusion in the first place. Still you settle down onto the couch, intent on making them watch this show. You’re going to talk to them about it whether they want you to or not. Nanami begrudgingly allows you to press your cold feet against his legs, while your head rests against Gojo’s shoulder. Their hands were too warm—too inviting—to push away. The combined smell of their cologne was intoxicating.

You’re not certain who brings it up first. A small part of you wonders if they planned this on their own. Never on your own would you have dared to ask something like this from your coworkers.

It's a dangerous game you're playing, but when you're situated in Nanami’s lap, with Gojo trailing kisses down your neck, you can't stop to give consequences much thought. Your body practically feels feverish. You’re just a bit too pliable, too reactive to their touch. If Nanami wasn't in the way, you’d be squeezing your thighs together to get the slightest bit of relief. 

“Stop grabbing her ass!” Nanami says, slapping Gojo’s hand away.

“Then turn around and let me grab yours,” Satoru says, his voice muffled against your neck.

Gojo’s hands find your breasts, kneading at the plush flesh through the fabric of your shirt. Tucking your legs under you, you sit back on your calves, allowing you to sit at eye-level with the two men. Nanami’s hands push up under the hem of your shirt, exposing a bit of your midriff. The two act like starved dogs, hungrily taking in the slightest bit of exposed skin. 

Your shirt is thrown off to the side. Gojo tugs the cups of your bra down—a light, lacy one that makes faint blush dust Nanami's cheeks—exposing your breasts. He averts his eyes. Maybe out of respect for you. Not that your bra covered much at all, Gojo notes rather loudly, it's practically see through. In your defense, it was comfortable. Not that they care. They’re practically begging to rip it off. You make sure to unhook it so it’s not shredded.

“Look at you,” Gojo leans down to coo into your ear, “how pretty. What do you think, Nanamin?”

“Don't call me that.” Nanami says with a scowl.

“What? That’s what she calls you.” Satoru’s hand comes up to give your chin a squeeze. “You don't think we couldn't hear you in the dorms? Late at night, when everyone was supposed to be asleep. Calling out his name all-”

Just when you think Nanami couldn't get any more red, he does. He silences Satoru with a kiss. The man is blushing from his forehead, to his chest. A shaky hand takes his glasses off, setting them on the table beside the couch. The look behind his eyes is unreadable. Those same, shaky hands move to loosen his tie, as if it’s become too tight around his neck. His body has grown too warm. He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt in an attempt to cool himself down. The two of you are practically drooling at the small patch of his exposed chest. 

“Of course you’d listen in on a girls dorm,” you say, rolling your eyes, “I always knew you were weird like that, ‘Toru.”

Though you can't see it, his face goes red. Gojo rarely lets his stoic composure falter like this. A small laugh escapes Nanami.

One of Gojo’s hands worms under the band of your shorts, into your panties. A shock of pleasure is sent up your spine the moment his thumb grazes your clit. Your body freezes. The sound of your heartbeat is heavy in your ears, which their voices are barely audible over.

“You think I was the only one?” Gojo leans in to nip at your earlobe, chuckling at the way you gasp, “it was his name you were calling out after all. You wouldn't believe how long we’ve been wanting to do this… Isn't that right, Nanamin?”

There’s no hiding the tent he sports in his pants. He’s painfully hard now, his cock leaking precum against his toned thighs. Kento swallows hard. Slowly, he nods.

“Should we put on a show for him?” You ask.

Gojo’s voice catches in his throat. It's not the response he expected from you, but it's not an unwelcome one.

You lift your hips enough for Gojo to slide your shorts—along with your panties—down your hips. Nanami catches them as they slide down your thighs, pulling them completely off, leaving you bare in front of the two men.

Gojo lets out a soft hum of approval at the sight of your slick cunt. Though he shows no sign of it, he’s nearly as nervous as Nanami. His hands tremble in such a faint manner that only you would see. To a waver in his voice that you have to listen harder to notice. He's breathing harder than usual. The only thing that gives him away is his hardened cock pressing into you from behind, straining against his uniform. You can tell he wants nothing more than to free himself, and fuck you into the couch cushions, but he has enough restraint to wait. This time, he has to share.

Your body jolts as Gojo’s fingers momentarily dip into your slit, grazing your clit. They’re followed soon by his mouth, his tongue working messily against the bundle of nerves. You’re too worked up to hide your shame, fingers burying in his snowy locks of hair. Nanami can only contain himself for so long, palming himself through the fabric of his trousers for some sense of relief.

“There—” you huff.

“Here?” Gojo coos, almost as if he’s mocking you. The absence of his mouth against your clit makes you whine. “You’ve gotta tell me where you want me.”

“Inside—” you say, “I want your cock in me!”

Your words nearly make Nanami choke. Gojo too. His face is red, and his neck is white. His glasses are shoved up into his hair, staring at you through half-lidded eyes.

He laughs, though you can hear the eagerness in his voice. “Not yet,” he says, “didn't you want to put on a show?”

Gojo’s words—more like his tone—make your stomach flutter. He's just being cruel at this point! 

You would not believe how many hours he’s spent imaging you under him. All the things he’s thought about doing to you. Imagining how you sound, how you feel, how you taste. How many nights he’s spent imagining his hand was your own. How many comments in passing he’s made to Nanami.

Neither would you believe the grip you have on him. On both of them. ‘Your boys’ you’ve so affectionately dubbed them. Maybe they took the name to heart.

“It's only fair you go first,” he says, motioning to Kento. 

“I want to know what she thinks,” Nanami says. It's your body, it should be up to you. They have no plans of doing anything that you don't want to do.

“You can't both go at the same time?” You ask.

Gojo hadn't even thought of that. Nanami had. He's gone over this moment in his head. Maybe a thousand times, if not more. Yet he had never expected any of this to come to life.

“There's lube—in the side table drawer,” you say, “my room. Condoms too but I’m on the pill.”

In the time it takes Gojo to go fetch the lube, Nanami is nearly undressed. All that remains are his boxers; a wet patch forms where his cock leaks precum against his thigh. Satoru makes some comment about the two of you starting without him, but the blood rushing in your ears is too loud for you to hear him. 

Satoru finds a seat on the couch between the two of you. Off comes his coat, then shirt, then belt. His glasses are set on the coffee table with little care to how they land. He pours some lube into his palm, working it over his hand to warm it up. Your fingers work their way under the band of Nanami’s boxers, shoving them down just enough that his hardened cock springs free. 

As you lay sprawled out on the couch between them, there’s hardly enough room for you. Satoru’s hips are flush with yours now, his clothes cock pressing into your thigh, while your head lays in Nanami’s lap. 

Kento sits before you, stunned, acting as if he can't decide what to do with his hands. You guide one to your hair, the other falls limply at his side as your tongue trails up the underside of his cock. He and Satoru are comparable in size, both being uncut, although Gojo is slightly thinner. Satoru is shaved, Kento isn't, although the hair at the base of his cock is quite light, and neat. You swear you feel him twitch when you take his cock into your hand, then eventually, your mouth. He’s long enough that you gag, a mix of spit and precum running down your chin. A thin strand of saliva connects your lips to his cock as he pulls away, muttering a quiet apology. Kento Nanami, normally so composed, looks nothing short of starstruck. It must take every last bit of his self control to not thrust into your mouth. Your hands around his shaft—mouth working along his length—is simply too much for him to hold back.

Gojo’s fingers find your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves in rhythm with your own movements. A mix of lube, and your own slick drip down your thighs, and most likely your couch too. There’s a mess between your thighs that if the circumstances were even the slightest bit different you would be embarrassed. Your nails dig into Gojo’s forearm, leaving little crescent shaped marks. If you were pressing any harder, you'd be drawing blood.

He might just be into that.

Gojo enters you not long after that, smirking at Nanami’s thinly veiled attempt to stop himself from cumming. The noise he makes when he sheathes himself fully is telling; he’s not far from cumming either. Neither are you; back arched, pressing back against Gojo. 

His fingers never leave your clit, working across the sensitive nub erratically. It’s just constant enough that your own orgasm comes up sooner than expected. And you do so shamelessly, clenching around Gojo as he works you through your release. His own thrusts grow sloppier as he nears orgasm, although he appears as if he’s holding himself back.

Nanami is next. To his credit, he does try to pull out before he cums. The angle of your bodies on the couch, mixed with your own eagerness to work him through his own release prevents him from doing so. When he cums, he cums lots, and your first instinct is to swallow it. With his thumb, he wipes away the little bit that's dribbled down your chin. Words of praise fall past his lips, although his mind is too addled with pleasure for them to make much sense. You lay there, your head in his lap, fingers laced with his as his cock softens before you.

Satoru lets out a whine as he's about to cum. Which, at least to him, is a bit alarming that he's done so this fast. Nanami spots it a mile away; the only reason you don't is due to your back being to him.

He intends to cum inside you at first, but second guesses himself, pulling out to finish himself off in his hand. From him spills faint, nonsensical praise as he cums across your back. Then comes the scramble of trying to clean it—you—up before a further mess is made. A guilty look spreads across his face as he glances down at the couch. From the floor, he retrieves a shirt, cleaning what he can off your back. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “I’ve needed a new couch for a while anyway. Did you seriously have to use my shirt, though?”

The expression across Satoru’s face resembles a grimace, more than it does a smile, although he tries to pass it off as the latter. “I mean,” he says, a nervous laugh escaping him, “I considered using Kento’s but he’d probably strangle me here and you could just walk into your room and grab a clean one.” Satoru rattles on about the price of his shirt—the tailoring, and brand, and dry cleaning cost. You tune it out.

“You’re an ass,” comments Nanami.

“Yeah, I walked into that one, didn't I?” Gojo says.

It doesn't take long for you to get comfortable, sprawled across both their laps. To give himself something to do, Nanami’s hands find your hair, brushing it away from your eyes. Satoru’s hand falls upon your thigh, his other placed firmly behind his head. Were the circumstances any different, the repetitive, soothing motions would put you to sleep, but you can't quite calm your racing heart. 

You turn your attention back to the TV, right as the two main love interests embrace one another in a kiss. Credits roll moments after.

“Looks like we missed the show.” Satoru says.

[charlesjosephwrites]

Dead Darlings Tag

Thanks for the tag @oh-no-another-idea! This one seems like a lot of fun.

🌑 Rules: Share a part of your writing you love that got cut for the greater good. It doesn't matter if it's a line or a paragraph. It doesn't matter if you might work it back in. If it's not currently in a WIP and you want to share, please do.

I'm gonna pass the tag along up front because this got a bit long. Softly tagging @ahordeofwasps, @wordwizards, @enchanted-lightning-aes, @dontjudgemeimawriter, and anyone else who sees this and has some cut content from their wips they want to share.

Now, without further ado, here's a character I absolutely love who I had to cut from the current draft of The Magician and Ms. Psychic that I've been looking for an excuse to talk about. I do have plans for bringing him into book two, but he unfortunately Does Not Fit into book one.

I put the scene under the cut because it's a bit long. (Also, please excuse the First Draft Rambling™)

There were at least a hundred rats all crammed into the old broom closet. Worn out pillows and blankets were spread out all across the floor, most of which were coated in rat droppings and teeny tiny teeth marks. Sitting cross legged on a thick cushion in the middle of the floor was a middle aged dude with a scraggly beard who didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that there were at least a dozen rats climbing all over him.

"Are you the Rat Man?” I realized how stupid the question must have sounded the moment it let my mouth, but I couldn’t help it.

See, the Rat Man was something of a legend out on the streets. I’d heard countless stories about the man with the army of rats patrolling the city and reporting back to him with whatever juicy gossip they were able to scrounge up. If you needed an inside scoop on what was going on in the streets of Metrovale, your best bet might just be the Rat Man. He’d tell you what you needed to know, alright, but if he got a bad vibe from you, he might tell his rats to eat you.

“That’s me alright.” He chuckled, a soft little noise that may have put some of my anxieties at ease if it wasn’t for the fact that I currently had several hundred rat eyes all staring directly at me. “Please. Take a seat.” The Rat Man gestured towards the cushion on the floor across from him.

As far as I could tell, that cushion was the only thing in the room not completely covered in rat shit. That didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence, but I managed to swallow my pride enough to sit across from him.

“So…” The Rat Man rested his hands on his knees as he leaned towards me. A rat poked its head from somewhere in the mess of curly hair on his head to stare at me with its bright red eyes. “What can I do you for?”

“Well, um…” I tried not to stare, but that was much easier said than done. By some miracle, I managed to shift my gaze down towards my bag. “I brought…” My voice caught in my throat, and I drew in a shaky breath. “I brought lunch.”

I’ve never seen someone so happy to see one of those cheap ass gas station sandwiches in my life. I’d barely gotten it out of my bag before he lunged forwards to take it from me.

“Oh wow. You’re a real peach, you know that?” The Rat Man ripped the plastic wrapper off the sandwich and tossed it aside. A couple of rats grabbed the wrapped and dragged it out of the room.

He’d barely freed that thing from it’s plastic prison before he went at it, chowing down until he was left with just the sandwich crusts. He stared down at the crusts in his hands for a moment, then tore it up into little pieces to toss to all his little rat buddies.

I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until he turned back towards me. I tried to play it cool, but judging from the embarrassed smile that tugged on the corners of his lips, he had definitely noticed.

“So uh…” He accepted the water bottle from me with a gracious nod, but he wasn’t nearly as eager to get at it as he was the sandwich. A little sigh fell from his lips as he cracked open his water bottle. “What did you want from me?”

“Well…” I cast my gaze down towards my lap. I couldn’t quite figure out what I was supposed to do with my hands, so I just sort of held them out in front of me awkwardly and hoped that I didn’t look too weird. “I was hoping someone could tell me where I might find that Shapeshifter Guy.”

“Shapeshifter Guy…” The Rat Man echoed thoughtfully, tapping his chin with one long, bony finger. “Let me see…”

The rats all fell silent as he turned towards them. He started making some weird chirps and coos like he was giving a rat speech to all his rat friends. He looked so ridiculous I may have laughed if he weren’t taking it so seriously.

As the Rat Man finished his weird rat-speech, all of the noise in the room quieted down. The rats stared up at him for a few moments before slowly parting to form an aisle in the middle of their group. For a moment, they all stood still, staring up at the Rat Man expectantly. Then, one rat slipped out from somewhere near the back of the crowd, and it ran right up into the Rat Man’s outstretched hands.

“Anton!” The Rat Man chuckled happily. He carefully cradled the rat in his hands as he sat up straighter. “I knew you’d come through for me!”

“Um… it has a name?”

He didn’t even justify my question with a passing glance. He just lifted the rat up to his ear to listen to it squeak away, presumably letting him in on all of its juicy rat-secrets. The Rat Man listened intently, nodding along for several moments before he finally turned towards me.

“I have an address,” he said. “Do you have something to write it down with?”

I couldn’t help the little frown that tugged down the corners of my lips as I patted around in my pockets for my phone. “Do rats even understand street addresses?”

The Rat Man’s mouth gaped open slightly, like he couldn’t believe I would even ask that kind of question. “They understand a lot more than you think they do.” He looked me up and down, nose wrinkling up in thought. “Magician.”

[sambashua]

get to know me tag(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

I was tagged by @silverdreams-starrynights and @milky-waee about 50284 years ago sorry i am very slow but ty ily also @leeyuhca (ty your blog is great and you love jaehyun so ily!) I just kinda combined these bc they had mostly the same questions?? 

Nickname: mir wow

Gender: female wow

Zodiac: cancer wow

Height: 5′10″/178cm aka the tallest bean around town (y am i like this)

Hogwarts House: ravenclaw/gryffindor 

Favorite Color: greyyyy and if u don’t consider grey a color (ur dumb jk jk bc it’s technically a shade i get it i get it) then light blueeeee

Favorite Animal: OCELOTS! (also all cats and dogs)

Time Right Now: 11am 

Average Hours Of Sleep: lately so many bc naps but it can vary between 4-12 hours legit 

Lucky Number: 6 ! 

Last Thing I Googled: “four types of hip hop” bc I had to do an audio recording for Spanish nd I forgot abt mc-ing (this makes no sense rip) 

Blankets I sleep with: uhhh one? but i wear long sleeve usually

Favorite Bands: Kpop – Seventeen & BTS are my two faves but I love so many ripppp (you can find all the groups I stan in my about) but I’ve been listening to NCT and MONSTA X like all the time lately nd my favorite girl groups is AOA Not Kpop – the 1975, Twenty One Pilots, State Champs, Arcade Fire, Passion Pit… 

Favorite Solo Artist: Kpop – Eric Nam, TAEYEON!!, Park Jimin(Jamie), Dean… Not Kpop – FLORENCE & THE MACHINE IS MY ALL TIME FAVE … also Blackbear, Porter Robinson and The Japanese House (listen to him he’s amazing) 

Song stuck in my head: Beautiful by Monsta X has been stuck in my head since their comeback! (plz support them) 

Last movie watched: Beauty and the Beast 

Last TV show watched: I don’t even know probably The Bachelor 

Favorite characters: IDEK?? I LOVE SO MANY? But imma follow ky w the anime lol~ Kenma nd Oikawa nd Hinata (haikyuu), Yato (noragami), Furuya nd BABO (sankarea) omg there is too many rip i gotta stop

What are you wearing right now: a grey state champs sweatshirt nd black leggings

Dream Trip: p much literally anywhere! I rlly want to travel to Asia or South America, but I’m like super obsessed w languages and culture so I AM ABOUT THAT 

Dream job: foreign correspondent for journalism like specifically a culture blogger maybe where i can study a culture then educate the world on it and then everyone accepts each other and their differences???? (but that’s not realistic lol)

Age Of Blog: I made it in like May or June of 2016 bc my sister forced me to after her being obsessed for like 4 years~ so I’m basically a tumblr infant still 

Following: 747 jesus christ 

 Posts: 10,477 wtf is wrong w me (srry @ my followers I post so much ah) 

Do you get asks regularly: no lol but feel freeeeee

Do you have any other blogs: no my only interests are kpop these days *sigh*

What I Post About: almost completely kpop w mostly seventeen, nct, bts, monsta x, and many others (check my abt mhm) 

Why you chose your url: i talk abt this all the time bc I am still proud af of it but it originates from svt’s Joshua’s iconic samba which is actually a merengue but I love Spanish culture and kpop so it was a great mix! Also it’s from my sister @aegyovendingmachine (tru homie) 

When Did My Blog Reach it’s Peak: ? (this is abt followers i’m guessing but tbh i’m not rlly here for that i just want to reblog all the pictures of all my babies and to make kpop friends whoop) 

This post was a damn mess but ANYWAY I’m tagging @hoshi-ssi @atshinee @2heejun @aegyovendingmachine @taeismyking @s-lay-ing @kgalore @grapefruit-kwan @sichengsgirl nd anyone else who wants to do it but hasn’t been tagged yet:)) Y’ALL CAN JUST TAG ME I RLLY DON’T BITE I SWEAR (also you definitely don’t have to do/reblog/like this if you don’t want to!!)

[clefairymuke]

eloquent | nine

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 5.7K

tw: swearing, mentions/descriptions of sex, alcohol consumption, cheating

themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies with benefits, enemies to lovers, slow burn, professor levi, writer!levi, extremely smutty, lots of pining, hurt/comfort & hurt/no comfort, dom levi/sub reader

tags: @number-0-iz @propertyoftoru @commanderawkward @thenamesholly @shortmexicangirl @missyasma @syubseokie @ceceofthevalley | reply to be added!!

note: i hope you guys enjoy this one!! i spent a lot of time with it and i think i like it :) back to the reader's pov, picking up right where we left off.

Dr. Ackerman’s walls are soundproof.

Part of you immediately assumes that he was not aware of this fact when he was harshly instructing you to moan his name loud enough for Reiner to hear on the other side of the wall, but a much more insistent part of you believes that Levi loves two things and two things alone: humiliating you — his topmost priority — and being a shining example for the drama queens of the world.

As you sit on the passenger’s side of Reiner’s SUV for the second time today, you would prefer to be anywhere else in the world. Thick fingers rest idly on your leg, a near-unnoticeable tap of his pointer finger keeping time with the song on the radio, which you’d already heard on the ride up to Levi’s office. The sun is higher now, on track to reach its cusp by noon as it beams through the windshield to irritate your eyes.

Upon staggering out of the great oak door and greeting your apparent new ‘boyfriend,’ you knew that a plan was in order. Originally, you assumed Reiner would be long gone to likely never call you again — and the fact that you were content in that is something you’ll have to address later — but there he sat, unaware of the betrayal you committed right behind his back, all smiles. Quickly, you applied a melancholy expression to your panting mouth and informed him that you had to go home and get to work on your novel immediately. Of course he obliged politely; the more agreeable the man is, the more you want to rip your own hair out.

Sane women appreciate kind men, you assume. But you’re far too exhausted to explore where that leaves you.

“You shouldn’t let him get under your skin,” Reiner says suddenly, making you jump. “What he thinks doesn’t mean anything. You write beautifully.”

If Zeke or Eren or your mother had said something so brash, you’d know they meant it for comfort and no more. You’d agree and laugh and move on, both parties involved knowing that Levi’s opinion is easily the most important thing that will ever come across your ears. When the clueless blond at your side says the same, it’s because he believes it to be true. If he thinks you can out-write Ackerman, all of his compliments become null and void.

A long-highlighted quote from Serpentine races through your mind, more fitting to the sentiment than makes you comfortable. Artists' souls are few and scattered, unknown and unheard to those not cut from our cloth.

“He’s practically the god of writing, you know,” you answer, not meeting his eyes as he stops at a traffic light. “If he says my work is bad, it’s because it is.” Reiner lets out a long sigh in place of a rebuttal, not bothering to defend his position. A loud buzz sounds in the seat beneath your leg — your phone announcing a new email. The brick apartment complex appears on the horizon as you open your inbox, fingers punching the screen more harshly than usual.

lackerman@gmail.com

Subject: Contact Information

To whom it may concern:

Dr. Ackerman has instructed me to provide you with his cellphone number; his information is attached.

Zoe Hange

Although you click the attached contact information without hesitation, anxiety runs to your core. Your thumbs twiddle over the keyboard idly while the gears in your mind grind harshly against one another. A few rough drafts of the fateful message roll off of your fingers while you think it through.

Hey, Dr. Ackerman, I got your email. This is my cell phone number! Okay, no exclamation points. Should you call him Levi? Is that too suggestive?

Hey, Levi, I got your email. Assuming he does not return to being a devil next time you see him, you’ll probably text him more than professionally — so should you lose the capitalization? It would be much more strange to randomly switch one day, right? Speaking of seeing him, Tuesday is far too distant; as soon as you have time to sit down and think, you’ll likely have a life-altering nervous break from the unanswered questions between the two of you alone.

hey, levi, i got your email. is there any way we can meet sooner than tuesday? Perhaps calling him by his first name is too suggestive. Thumbs beginning to ache, you type the final draft of your message: hey, dr. ackerman, i got your email. is there any way we can meet sooner than tuesday?

Ten minutes later, you’re shutting your bedroom door tight behind you. Of course, your elusive and frightening writing advisor has yet to reply to your message — still, you’re thankful to be away from your other problem, a man named Reiner Braun. Ever since he happily informed Dr. Ackerman that he was your boyfriend, the issue has been rather thought-provoking.

You groan before tapping the telephone icon, scrolling through your recent calls. Zeke is out to lunch with a girl he met at school, but Eren is rarely busy — the line begins ringing without another thought. Putting the call on speaker, you lay your phone down flat on your desk and tug your hair free from the elastic restraining it. Your shoes hit the floor next, then your skirt, which you’re bare underneath due to Levi’s new white lace pocket square.

The line picks up as you tug a pair of lounge pants over your legs. “You okay?” Eren asks immediately, his voice wary of your mood. You almost giggle at the assumption, but there are much more serious matters to address.

You tie the drawstring around your hips and settle into your desk chair. “I feel. . .” you begin, taking a deep, audible breath. “Clinically insane. Disloyal. Humiliated. Slutty. Intrigued.” A quiet laugh sounds through the speaker, bringing a little smile to your lips. “I’m in a good mood, although I shouldn’t be. Dr. Ackerman may have —” you pause, deciding how much to reveal, “made a move.”

Eren gasps sarcastically. “A move?” he pries curiously, as you log into your computer and swirl the cursor around idly. “You’ll have to give me more to work with.” You open a blank document and position your hands over the keyboard, not quite sure what you’re aiming for. The smooth plastic glides beneath your fingertips as you brush them back and forth.

“Well, it was more than a move,” you admit, the memory stuck to the front of your brain. The blinking cursor begins to morph into words as you speak, the gray-eyed man’s advice ringing loud in your ears. “First, he’s totally fucking rude to Reiner. He introduced himself — like, ‘it’s an honor to meet you,’ and all — and Dr. Ackerman literally said, ‘Okay,’ and ignored his handshake.” In some other compartment of your brain, there’s a room — scratch that: it’s a tent lit with only a lantern, with a pallet on the ground made of blankets — and the deliciously frightening love interest, Jasper, is berating Laura’s ridiculous behavior.

Laughter bursts loudly through the phone, but it doesn’t interrupt your desperate typing. Words have become a paragraph now, closing in on two. “God,” Eren wheezes out, “I would’ve fucking gone home, man.”

You can’t help but chuckle along with him as you recall the memory, but there are too many trains of thought running for it to keep your attention long. Jasper’s hand brushes Laura’s wrist scarcely, just enough to send a chill through her. “Then he sends me to the office, and I’m in the chair I always sit in. He comes in, sits on the front of the desk instead of his chair, and is like ‘I don’t want to read your shit today.’”

Eren winces through the phone as your fingers continue their rapid assault of the keyboard below them. “Harsh.” You giggle as you indent another paragraph.

“No, it’s okay,” you assure him, “because here’s the thing. After that, one thing led to another, and he gave me head. Against the wall, that Reiner was sitting on the other side of.” Adrenaline coursed through you like nothing ever had before — you won’t tell your friend that you moaned the man’s name shamelessly thinking that Reiner absolutely could hear you. Some secrets must stay in that office.

Eren doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you aren’t unnerved. A certain ambitious electricity pulses through your fingers as you finish off the first page of the scene, watching the satisfying appearance of a fresh, white space. “I have so many questions. Reiner — what’s the plan about him? Feelings for Dr. Ackerman? How was the head? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You laugh loudly as Jasper takes Laura’s chin between his fingers and stares down at her. “Why do you think I’m calling you?” you ask playfully. “I only know the answer to one of those questions, and it was pretty damn good.” A jarring vibration sounds against your desk, sending your heart to your throat as you peer down at the notification. “Oh my god, Levi texted me. Love you. Bye.”

You hang up the phone viciously before opening the text thread with Dr. Ackerman, reading his message immediately as he had yours just a little while earlier — perhaps you would take your sweet time to reply, as well. As you read the contents of the message, you know that won’t be possible. The blue bubble reads: I really need to see you tomorrow.

Tomorrow — you could finish these pages by tomorrow. Only one page in, and you know this scene is going to be worlds ahead of the last thing you brought to his desk. Your heart skips at the word choice; should you reciprocate it? A split-second decision and your fingers are beating at the keyboard. i really need to see you, too. what time? i have class, but i’ll make myself free.

The message is marked read immediately, making you suck in a breath. Your teeth grind together as the three gray dots at the bottom bounce rhythmically. Dinner tonight, then. I’ll pick you up for reservations at 7. Blood sets your cheeks ablaze as you read, freezing you in place. Reservations sound rather upscale — as if the fabulously wealthy dine out at Olive Garden — which makes your skin crawl. Furthermore, this is a man you fervently despised until his fingers started to trail up your legs.

But who are you to deny dinner with a famously unobtainable master of literature? Especially when it's the same one that had you writhing underneath him only an hour ago — and you wouldn’t mind doing the same after the dessert course this evening. You read it over a thousand times before you send it, but you finally deliver your address and toss your phone as far from you as possible.

Directing all of your focus on the document in front of you, you pour yourself into the keyboard with vigor, desperate to present something worth reading to Levi the very next time you sit before him. Making time to get ready for dinner will be a challenge, but it’s one you take in stride. You have a big day ahead of you.

-

As the clock begins to wind down to your impending doom, anxiety starts to rear its unbearably large head. After squeezing the most expensive dress in your closet over your head and carefully perfecting your appearance, the pages you printed an hour ago are screaming at you to read them over again; you try to ignore them at first, scrolling idly through social media, but it becomes deafening after a while. Reluctantly, you pluck the manila folder from the desk and start out your bedroom door.

The hallway is loud with the scent of clashing perfumes — Zeke had been holed in his bedroom with his brunch date since they arrived around noon. Raven-haired and rather tired looking, the girl was very kind and introduced herself to you — Pieck, from out of state, and she’s an editor. Still, she kept a confidant of yours from crucial intel regarding Dr. Ackerman, so you were praying for her departure. Now that she’s gone, you hardly have time to tell a good story.

Zeke is laid across the couch, round glasses nudged toward the tip of his nose as he peers down at a worn out copy of Mrs Dalloway. As you cross the threshold, his eyes come up to meet yours. “What are you all dolled up for?” he gawks, folding down his page and laying the book on the coffee table.

You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively before changing the subject. Holding up your manila folder as if it’s a certificate of achievement, you shoot him an award-winning smile. “New pages. Can I pick your brain?” Zeke only lingers on the previous topic for a second before deciding to cooperate. A wise move.

He waves his hand at you as if he’s herding cattle, and you’re quick to oblige; your heels click beneath you as you dart across the den, offering your friend the envelope like a thoughtful gift. You swallow hard as he takes it and sits up straight, pulling the packet free. “I want to show these to Levi tonight. Tell me what you think,” you say as you chew on the inside of your lip.

“Tonight? Sorry — did you call him Levi?” Zeke questions, forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows shoot up.

You shake your head rapidly, giving him a quick, sly smile before throwing the subject out again. “I am begging you to read the fucking pages, Zeke.”

Now a bit tense, your roommate thumbs through the packet while you bite your nails beside him, focusing all of your energy into reading his facial expressions. Halfway through, you decide you must stop surrounding yourself with such stoic company. You glance at the clock as he turns to the last page, and the fated hour is closing in. Nausea churns through your stomach.

You brace for impact as Zeke hands back the neat stack, but he presses his lips shut tight. After five long, silent seconds of staring at one another, he says, “I’m not spilling until you do.”

Letting out a dramatic groan, you begin to pace back and forth across the hardwood living room floor. “I wanted to wait until I had time to give you the details,” you explain, pleading with him through wide eyes. Regardless of your defense, he remains stubborn, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m getting dinner with Dr. Ackerman,” you admit. “We kind of had a moment today.”

Zeke, now totally upright with his brow drawn in, looks speechless for a moment. You find that a sliver of nervousness slinks through your brain as he stares at you, although you never considered before that you fear his reaction. He opens his mouth to speak twice before he actually settles on his next words. “Just so I can be sure we’re talking about the same person — you do mean Dr. Ackerman, your personal antagonist, right?” your friend asks, gawking at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head.

You frown. “We aren’t eloping. It’s dinner. Who the hell says no to fancy dinner with a famous author?”

Zeke shakes his head, rubbing one hand across his brow back and forth. “Probably the girl he’s sent home crying on multiple occasions? I just don’t feel right about this, dude. Like, it was funny that one time, but he’s a lot older than you. I thought this was a joke.”

Heat rushes to your face as you shove the packet back into the folder and shut it tight. “Why would it be a joke? I’m an adult, you know. I have a college degree and pay stubs to show for it.” Rolling your eyes, you stuff the envelope into your purse and toss it over your shoulder.

“I just wouldn’t want you to get taken advantage of,” he says, his concern clear in his expression. Zeke reaches out to you as you adjust your hair in the mirror, probably for a hug or the type of come-to-Jesus discussion that requires hand holding and eye contact, but you pretend not to see it. After a second, his hand drops away.

Your phone vibrates on the table beside you, and you snatch it up immediately. From Levi: I’ll be there in a minute or so. Shaking the irritation from your skin at once, you tuck your phone away and spin to face your protective friend. “I have it under control — pinkie promise. But I can’t argue with you right now because I’m leaving.” You walk over to him and squeeze his shoulder with one hand before starting toward the door.

“Be careful,” Zeke calls as you leave. “Text me if you need me.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and you are overcome with fear. No new headlights shine in the wide parking lot outside of your apartment door, although the street lights reflecting off of the afternoon’s rainfall on the slick, black pavement fool you once or twice. Admittedly, you aren’t quite accustomed to the never-worn shoes currently strapped uncomfortably around your ankles, so you’re glad he isn’t here to see you stagger down the slippery, concrete stairs.

As you reach the bottom, two near-blinding headlights start up the drive; as the car takes a careful left into the lot — sleek and black, a BMW — your phone vibrates in your pocket. Anxiety shoots through you, and you don’t even bother to check the screen. The car comes to a halt with the left side facing you, the driver door opening before you can take your first step.

A man in a suit nods his head at you politely before grasping the handle of the back door, pulling it open slowly to reveal dark leather interior. More of the spacious backseat comes into view as you approach, and you immediately spot pressed black slacks and pale knuckles. Levi sits on the far side, knees spread wide with one hand resting limp across his left leg. Over the crisp white button-down shirt, a deep crimson blazer clings to his shoulders and makes the pink of his lips impossible to ignore. The watch on his right wrist shines while he props his chin, elbow against the door, and his charcoal eyes examine you up and down.

“I was afraid you would wear a sweater,” Dr. Ackerman quips as the suited driver offers you his hand. Hesitant, you take it in your grasp and allow him to help you into the warm, comfortable seat.

“Thank you,” you tell him warmly as he shuts the door behind you and goes back to his place at the steering wheel. You return Levi’s blank stare with a nervous grin. “I like to think I clean up pretty well.” The car shifts back into drive and eases forward, turning a wide circle in the lot and heading back down the entryway.

“You do,” he says, and your smile becomes more genuine. After a second of only the low classical music — a cello, you think — playing softly through the speakers, you begin to rummage around in your purse for the manila folder. Fishing it free, you extend it timidly to the man at your side.

Dr. Ackerman glances down at it briefly before looking back at you, folding in one of his eyebrows just slightly. The warm, cozy interior of the BMW suddenly becomes unbearably hot. “I wrote this today,” you elaborate, watching the whites of his eyes grow just a little wider. “I think that it’s closer to your expectations.”

A smirk flits across his mouth as he takes the envelope from your shaky hands, leaning forward and snaking his arm around the passenger’s seat to lay it down flat. “Give that to Hange while we’re eating,” Levi directs the driver, who nods along with his instruction. “Have them put it on my desk in my study at home.”

His back comes to rest against the seat again, and his eyes fall straight to you. “I’m excited to read it,” he tells you, his tone genuine. You fight to keep your jaw from dropping, but you’re sure the widening of your eyes gives away your surprise. “I always am.” The elixir that courses through your veins is warm and comforting, and you feel the corners of your mouth pulling up high.

It gives you enough confidence to push your luck. “I really wanted you to read it tonight,” you say, leaning toward him. He chuckles and shakes his head, making you frown.

“I’d rather not have to insult you. You always cry, and the place we’re eating has a dress code,” Levi responds flatly, and you almost think it’s a joke. Still, with his history, you tend to stray on the safer side. Crossing your knees, you pull your phone from your purse and unlock it. “I would just really like it if I didn’t upset you tonight,” he continues suddenly, making you look up to meet his gaze.

You shoot him a reassuring smile as the car pulls beneath a pavilion. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

In the light, you can see now that the suited driver is brunette and pale, in his late twenties. He exits the vehicle again to open your door, offering a hand and helping you out, then taking your purse with the other. You thank him as you take it back, looping it around your shoulder and watching as Levi steps out onto the cobblestone beneath you.

The restaurant is sleek and modern, painted in shades of burgundy and grey along the long, rectangular exterior. Dim, yellow-toned lights are your only indication toward the door, which is tall and cherry colored with a man in a suit standing at the frame. After tucking a bit of cash in the driver’s pocket and sending him off, Dr. Ackerman is right back at your side. He offers you his arm, and although it sends a chill through you, you take it without a bit of protest.

“French food?” you ask curiously as the two of you stroll past the sign. “I’ve never had anything you could consider French.”

His arm breaks away from yours as he pulls open the door, holding it for you and following behind. “You’ll love it,” Levi promises, laying his hand flat on the small of your back as he guides you toward the hostess. “I’ll order for you, if you’d like.”

Dr. Ackerman’s hand stays snug against you as you follow the hostess through the small, packed restaurant. The round, white-clothed tables are populated with men in suits and women dressed to the nines, sipping glasses of wine and dining on dishes you’ve never seen before. In a corner, you spot Zeke’s latest fling dining with a woman in a pantsuit — you wave, but she doesn’t notice you.

Though you can’t identify the scents that surround you, you know that they’re utterly delectable. Every second you continue to traipse through the restaurant and breathe the mouthwatering aroma feels like hours. Finally, the black-clad woman leading you lays your menus down at a more private table in the back corner, half obscured by lattice and already set with two glasses of water.

Levi pulls out your chair as he detaches his hand from its place on your back, and you take a seat. You clear your throat as you take the sturdy plastic menu and give it a once-over, not recognizing or understanding a single word — the prices aren’t even listed. Before Dr. Ackerman has made it around to his chair, you’ve already tossed it back onto the table in resignation. “I’ll have whatever you’re having and a glass of wine,” you inform him as he sits down.

He takes his menu and yours from the table, stacking them neatly and setting them on the edge of the pristine white cloth. “You have excellent taste,” he praises sarcastically, lifting a hand to get the attention of a server in a black button-up shirt. A moment later, she stands a few feet away, hands folded neatly behind her back.

“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” she greets him, and Levi returns a polite nod. “Will you be having the usual, sir?” She’s blonde and fox-faced, with a lilting voice. Her name tag reads “Ella.”

“Yes,” he replies smoothly, unfolding a cloth napkin to lay over his lap, “and the same for the lady. Could you pick out a nice bottle of wine for us?” Ella nods and ducks away, tucking the menus underneath her arm as she goes. The water is cold against your teeth as you sip from the glass, watching your date nod in acknowledgement of a group of suits strolling by.

You can’t help but feel a little important as you sit among such wealthy company, eyes hungry to take in every luxurious detail. Long-stemmed roses inside clear crystal vases sit in the middle of each table, and you’re surprised to see that they’re real; you don’t envy the poor restaurant employee tasked with putting them out each morning. Arranged neatly at each place setting is a cloth napkin and more silverware than one could ever use, filling you with a bit of apprehension as you try to deduce which fork would be best for each course.

A loud, continuous vibration shocks you back to your plebeian existence, making you flinch. Rummaging through your bag, you locate your cell and yank it free, lifting it to your eyes for inspection. Your heart sinks to your feet — it’s Reiner. You’d forgotten about him. Again.

Avoiding the storm-cloud eyes dissecting you a few feet away, you decline the call rapidly. writing — i’ll call you back, you type, guilt flooding through your chest. Powering off the phone, you stow it back in your purse and fold your hands on the table in front of you; a fake smile paints across your lips as you combat Dr. Ackerman’s suspicious stare.

“You can take that if you need to,” Levi says plainly, and you shake your head in response.

“They seem to be familiar with you,” you redirect, gesturing to Ella as she approaches. “Come here a lot?”

A rare grin flashes across his face as two empty wine glasses are placed in front of you. “Often enough,” he answers, shrugging. “There isn’t much worth eating here in the city, but I try not to work Niccolo to death.” An ounce or so of deep red wine splashes against the glass before Ella pulls the bottle back. Without prompting, Levi lifts it by the stem and swirls it twice before taking a long, slow sip. “Yes, that’s good,” he tells her, before turning his attention back to you.

“Niccolo?” you question, cocking an eyebrow as the server fills both of your glasses and turns to leave again.

“My chef,” Levi explains, leaning back in his chair. “He’s fucking annoying.” You can’t help but laugh despite his seriousness, and his eyes get a bit warmer. Though you knew he was wealthy, Dr. Ackerman being rich enough for a private chef surprises you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re a cashier for a living.

As the small talk continues, you learn a lot of things about him that you didn’t know before. French food is actually his favorite — best eaten in Paris according to him, and his brief mention of bringing you along one day soon did not go unnoticed — but he isn’t averse to Italian. He’s traveled the world a hundred times over it seems, his magazine always fully loaded with anecdotes and details. More pressing than any of the other facts, however, was that Levi is capable of being nice.

Monotonous as speaking to him can be, you’ve begun to notice a couple of tells to which Dr. Ackerman is prone. Recognizing his jokes was your first feat of the evening — the tip of his nose twitches like a bunny before he makes a sarcastic quip, and you realize he’s a lot wittier than he gets credit for. However, that is not to say that the man sitting across from you does not enjoy being mean; the second tell you identify is that he narrows his eyes when he mentions someone he doesn’t particularly enjoy.

“I actually wanted to discuss something with you tonight,” Levi begins as you pop another hors d'oeuvre between your lips. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “I want to apologize before I even get into it.”

The sincerity in his eyes frightens you, sending your back straight and drawing your brow in. “What’s going on?” you inquire, trying to judge his expression and failing miserably. He dabs his mouth with his napkin.

“I have not been honest with you. I chose you to work under my wing personally, and I have sent your portfolio to my publishing team. I’m sorry for not telling you before.”

Your ears ring. Although it seems that your body has petrified in place, your mind is sprinting marathons — the words personally, chose, and publishing repeating in your head at a screaming volume. One thing that evades you is why Levi is hanging his head; how is the admission that your childhood idol hand-picked you worthy of such a sincere apology? A giggle bubbles at your lips.

“You chose me?” you ask, eyebrows pinched tight against the bridge of your nose. “I thought you hated my work.”

As if the situation was not already puzzling enough, Dr. Ackerman lets out a laugh. Not bothering to explain further, he reverts back to his previous sullen demeanor. “I just want you to be aware of your position. To give you an opportunity to duck out, if that’s what you decide.” He runs one hand through his hair before taking a long swig of the sweet red wine.

“Duck out? What the fuck are you talking about?” you blurt out, regretting the harsh tone as soon as you employ it. You lower your voice quickly before starting again. “Why the hell would I give up this kind of opportunity?”

Levi clears his throat, leaning back and gesturing to Ella as she approaches with your entrees. As she sets the plate gently in front of you, you’re momentarily distracted by the sight of perfectly cooked duck breast. “I’ll have a scotch,” he sends her off, picking up his fork and knife. “If that’s how you feel, I’m glad. I’d like to continue working with you,” he says, cutting into his food. “I just thought you’d be intimidated to be published alongside me.”

You hesitate before putting the first forkful in your mouth, but it melts deliciously on your tongue when you finally do. Living in his shadow hasn't crossed your mind, but you try to push it away as soon as he introduces it. Currently, you aren’t published at all. Anything is better than that, right? The validation you’re feeling right now could last a lifetime. So you shake your head and smile wide. “No, not at all. Thank you,” you tell him genuinely.

A scotch on the rocks appears at his side without a word, and Levi lifts it to his lips, trying to obscure the pearly white of his teeth as the first real smile you’ve seen flashes across his face.

-

Nearly two bottles of wine and a créme brûlée later in Levi’s beamer, his rough hands are pulling you to his lap, pearly teeth pricking at your neck and two fingers rubbing harshly through your panties. The buzz in your brain gives you more courage than usual as you loop intricate knots in his hair and grind against the growing bulge in his slacks. “We don’t have time, sweetheart,” he whispers, peppering a few more kisses on the base of your throat before lifting his chin to look at you.

A whimper sounds from your throat as you stare down from him, steely eyes entrancing you as you watch your reflection in the billowing flames of his pupils. “Spend the night with me,” you murmur back, more wine-drunk than you’re willing to admit. He just shakes his head with a little grin, reaching to comb a loose strand of hair out of your face.

The air around you shifts all the sudden as your eyes dart to Levi’s lips, and you realize that you’ve yet to taste them. You lay your hands flat against his warm, heaving chest, spreading your fingers out wide and feeling his heart thumping underneath the right. Maybe it’s the wine, or instinct, but you begin to lean in. “Kiss me, then,” you say, feeling his thumb glide softly across your cheek.

You swallow when his left hand comes to cup the other side of your face, molding along your jaw like its twin and pulling you closer. His lips brush yours chastely at first, with a gentle hesitance that sends a tingle down to your toes, red wine and mint and raspberry reduction dancing across your tastebuds and electricity streaking through your veins. It stops here for a moment, fleeting, as Levi’s entrancing heather eyes examine your expression; before you can take a breath, he pulls you flush against him, slipping his tongue past the threshold as his lips crash onto yours. Your mind explodes into colors and feeling, nothing tangible or decipherable left to identify as you return the feverish kiss, arms looping around his neck to close the gap between your drunken bodies.

The cruel universe only allows a few seconds more of this heaven before you feel the car begin to slow to a stop, shifting into park before your eyes open again. Levi, looking uncharacteristically bewildered with his tousled hair and swollen lips, allows his hands to slide from your cheeks to rest on your hips, never looking anywhere but up at you.

You’re broken from the serene trance as the back door opens with a pop, eyes darting to the driver through the tinted window as it swings wide. Quickly, you peck another kiss on the red lips beneath you and shoot him a smile. “Text me,” you say, and he nods in agreement. As you look over to get your purse, the sound of a barking dog grabs your attention.

Eyes darting out the door, you see Reiner and his lab sitting in the trunk of his SUV.

-

last chapter | next chapter

[chiwhorei]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come. 

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget. 

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots. 

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing. 

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space. 

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.” 

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance. 

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

 You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest. 

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil. 

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.” 

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle. 

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins. 

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.” 

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet. 

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back. 

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~” 

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.” 

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice. 

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming. 

 Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding. 

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

 All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention. 

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines. 

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?” 

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do. 

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke. 

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough. 

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck. 

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil. 

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago. 

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color. 

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs. 

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into. 

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash. 

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills. 

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head--

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do. 

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back. 

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap.  Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome. 

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges. 

When was the last time you felt this alive? 

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map. 

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?” 

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls. 

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood. 

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.” 

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses. 

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?” 

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[kippykasey]

Grace - Chapter 5: Hydra

Pairing: Howard Stark x F!Reader , Bucky x Reader [Eventually]

Word Count: 3522

Series Summary: A young nurse is recruited by Dr. Abraham Erskine to join the SSR to assist on Project Rebirth. Following her work with the SSR she is drafted into the US Army Nurse Corps in the war against the Nazis...and HYDRA.

Chapter Warnings: violence, torture, bad things because Hydra

Author's Note: Surprise?! I wasn't even expecting to get this done but I literally just finished and thought, eh why not. So here it is! Also I hate hurting my characters so this was a bit eh to write but I hope all is well!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the gifs they are either found on google or under the gif tag provided by tumblr. Any language other than English was translated using Google Translator, and translations will be posted in bolden italics after. I am not a nurse or in the medical field although I may do some research medical treatment written may not be correct.

Grace Masterlist | Snowdrop Masterlist | Masterlist

Pain. A throbbing, harsh pain echoed through my head from the temple. The throbbing beat opposite that of my heart. The second thing I noticed was how cold and damp it was. After battling with my body to force open my eyes I squint through the dimly lit room. A deep voice spoke in another language… German it was German but my head hurt too much for me to understand it. Seconds passed before I realized that I was sitting on the ground in a cell. The door opened and two men walked in flanked by four additional soldiers than the one that had been watching me.

“Ah Fräulein (L/n) glad you have finally woken up.” Miss.

“Who are you?” I cursed how weak my voice sounded at that moment. Though the man didn’t seem to find me a threat of escape as he spoke. “Johann Schmidt. You see we have a common acquaintance… or, well, had.” The grin he wore made my stomach drop and he didn’t need to verbally admit it for me to realize this is the man behind Abraham’s death.

I raised my head in defiance and although it made the pounding in my head worsen I pushed myself from the ground and stood within the cell. “You’re after the serum.”

“Ah, clever girl. You were Abraham’s assistant when he made the serum.” The second, much shorter man spoke. “Fault in your plans. I don’t know how to make the serum.” Schmidt smiled at me and it took all my self control not to shiver from his intense look. “I was hoping you would say that,” His eyes turned off me to the soldiers. “Bring sie zum Stuhl. Probiere es an ihr aus. Vielleicht wird ein kleiner Elektroschock Ihr Gedächtnis auffrischen.” Take her to the chair. Try it out on her. Perhaps a bit of electroshock will refresh your memory. As Schmidt talked his head also turned towards the shorter man.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I moved back against the wall. Three soldiers stepped towards the cell. One man opened the cell door before the other two stepped inside to detain me. I managed to elbow one in the face in my struggle but it was useless. The two soldiers dragged me from the cell, out of the room into a brighter lit hall. We were in some kind of warehouse. My eyes zeroed in on a chair that looked right out of a nightmare. Stronger hands forced me into the hard chair and held me down while I was struggling against someone’s attempts to strap me in. My struggling did nothing but get me a slap to the face. The strength of the slap disoriented me long enough for them to strap me in.

The shorter man who followed us now stood next to my head. I could see the reflection of myself in his glasses. “This is only going to hurt a lot, try to hold still.” He instructs lowering two plates down around my face. It was only a few short moments before the electricity forced its way into my head. I had no control over my body as it thrashed in the confines of the chair. An agonizing scream of pain carrying throughout the building went ignored.

That wasn’t my first time in the chair but it was the only time I had passed out in the chair. Spent 30 minutes in the chair 3 times a day, sometimes longer. After a week I had to start muttering things to myself in my cell so I didn’t forget who I was. The Nazi soldiers gave me the bare minimum to survive as far as water and nutrients goes. I cracked halfway through October. I gave the short scientist, Armin Zola, the list of what I would need before I was taken back to my cell after yet another time in the cell. I was given parchment and a pencil to write things down with but it kept coming in flashes.

Nights were the worst. Mouth dry from lack of water, eyes trained on an iron grate in the ceiling. I realized two weeks into my daily chair visits that I had forgotten my brother’s name. When I noticed it caused me to cry to sleep that night. So whenever I could I would mutter to myself facts I could remember starting with my name, rank, and where I was from. The list of facts got shorter every day. Somedays I remembered more than others. There were times all I could bring myself to do was hum Amazing Grace to myself to deal with the pain.

The first time I was in the lab I tried to escape. I was left with just one guard and I thought I could take him. I smashed a beaker using a shard like a knife. I ended up knocked unconscious, my hand bleeding from the self inflicted cuts caused by the makeshift weapon. From then on I was chained to the lab table and three soldiers kept watch. I wasn’t given anything to test the serum on. So I never tested unless I thought it would work because I used myself as a test subject.

I was unconscious for two days once from a failed serum. Others cause excruciating pain. Days came and went and I lost count of days but I knew it was still October. Yet a month was close to passing as November began to be discussed amongst soldiers around me. Pressure was placed on me to recreate the serum. Each day if I didn’t recreate the serum I was sent to the chair for the torturous electroshock. That is how I figured out I had been successful in a recreation. The serum, when tested, did nothing but make me drop to the lab floor in pain. I wasn’t even given time to recollect myself before being dragged off to the chair. I lasted longer in the chair than usual. I heard the instruction to increase the power. I don’t remember what happened after that.

It took me nearly half a day to recover, then as soon as I had I was back working in the lab. Suddenly I was pulled away from my work and escorted quickly back to my cell. “Neue Soldaten wurden gefangen genommen.” New soldiers have been captured. I pressed myself up against the bars for a chance, a glimpse at the soldiers being brought in.

It was silent as the Nazi Hydra soldiers dealt with the new poisoners. Suddenly two soldiers appeared with smiles on their faces. “Komm Mädchen. Zola und Schmidt wollen dich sehen.” Come girl. Zola and Schmidt want to see you. The soldiers yanked me up and practically dragged me to the room where the chair was. My body trembled involuntarily at the sight of the chair. It wasn’t me going in the chair, given someone was strapped in but given the uniform he was American. “Ah, here iz our lovely nurse. You’ve been asking for a test subject. Here you go.” Schmidt waved at the man strapped into the chair. The man lifted his head just barely and my heart went out to him. As soon as the hands left my arms I moved to the soldier in the chair. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“S’rg’nt Jam’s Barn’s,” His voice wasn’t clear but it was clear enough for me to understand what he said. The nurse turned to Zola and Schmidt. “I wasn’t done recreating the serum when you had me pulled from the lab. I will need time to work and he needs time to rest or the serum will kill him.” I tried to give him whatever comfort I could in those brief moments before we were pulled apart. His head rose just slightly and I caught a glimpse of stormy blue eyes as he was dragged out of the room.

I never got to return to my cell that night. As my eyes zoned in on the blue chemical mixture in front of me I felt a haze cloud my mind, it wasn’t abnormal to experience but I also felt like I was losing myself when it happened. Following my own written instructions I was able to continue my work. The only other thing I forced my mind to remember were two things.

I am First Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps. Soldier boy is Sergeant James Barnes.

The words became a mantra in the blank canvas my mind was currently in as I blindly worked by instructions of my very own that I don’t even remember writing. My body moved on auto pilot as I was taken to a crude looking examination room. In the center was soldier boy Sergeant James Barnes strapped to the table. As my mind raced to catch up with me, flashes of memories clouded my mind from when Steve Rogers got the serum, the explosion that followed, Dr. Erskine being shot. My body tensed at a passing memory of being in the chair passed through being replaced by the pain I felt giving myself the serum.

A hand pressed firmly in between my shoulder blades pushing me forward. I stumbled to the table catching myself with a hand on his arm. Wasn’t he wearing an army jacket before? My eyes landed on the serum filled syringe in my hands reminding me of what I was about to do. “First lieutenant (Y/n) (F/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps.. You are Sergeant James Barnes.. I’m sorry for what I am about to do. You’ll be okay. I’ve used it on myself. It will hurt.” My voice sounded so�� robotic and monotone as I spoke to him. My hands pushing up his sleeve.

My hands worked from memory and out of second nature my mouth moved and the hymn fell from my lips. The melody of the song was the only comfort I could offer as I injected the poor man with the serum that would change his life forever. His eyes looked up at mine until the pain of the serum changing his body caused them to shut tightly. The leather restraints holding him in began to rip as he pulled against them. Discarding the empty syringe I tried to soothe him more but the second my hand touched his head I was shot with a sedative.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Steve Rogers has dressed up performing on stage like a dancing monkey to sell war bonds since he was given the serum. His first time on foreign grounds and he was performing for soldiers he should have been fighting alongside of. All to be booed off the stage by disgruntled men who just wanted to see a pretty dame.

Steve finally looked away from the rain but not quite at Peggy, “At least he’s got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.” Blue eyes finally met the face of Agent Carter. “And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know.” Her wording might have been a bit rude but the point got across. There was a moment of silence between the two but Steve had this look to him. “What?” Peggy inquired.

The man was drawing in the rain when a familiar face popped up. “Hello, Steve.” Peggy Carter approached him from behind, making him turn from his drawing to greet her, “Hi.” She mimed his ‘hi’ back before laying her jacket down to sit on while Steve asked, “What are you doing here?” Peggy looked at Rogers and let out a small sigh, “Officially, I’m not here at all. That was quite a performance.”

Rogers looked away disappointed that she had caught the horrible show that happened earlier. “Yeah. I uh, I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh, twelve.” Steve explained looking out at the drenched ground and falling rain. “I understand you’re ‘America’s New Hope’.” Peggy states watching him. “Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit.” Steve comments like a robot. “Is that Senator Brandt I hear?”

“You know for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted and I’m wearing tights.” Steve kept looking down at his journal then squinting out through the rain. A horn alarmed behind them as a medical vehicle slid to a stop in the mud. Medics ran from the infirmary tent to help unloaded soldiers on gurneys. “They look like they’ve been through hell.” Peggy turned back towards Rogers. “These men more than most.” Steve looked up at Peggy knowing she had more details. “Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men were there to back up an already injured fleet, they went up against him and less than 75 returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th and 34th.” Steve slowly turned his head feeling bad for the men who were lost but his attention snapped to Peggy at the mention of the divisions involved as she finished, “The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” The confirmation had him darting out into the rain, Peggy following holding her jacket over her head for coverage from the rain. The two ran all the way to the tent Colonel Phillips was sitting in signing condolence letters. “Colonel Phillips.” Steve called for the man’s attention as he approached. “Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?” The colonel responded looking up at the pair now standing in front of him. “I need the casualty list from Azzano.” The tone he used was definitely fitting for the role he plays on stage. Phillips however did not appreciate it. “You don’t get to give me orders, son.”

“I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.” Rogers responded un phased. Phillips pointed his pen at Peggy, “You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy.” Steve was insistent though and again requested the information he wanted, “Please tell me if he’s alive, sir. B-A-R..” “I can spell.” Phillips cut him off before muttering, “First Stark and now this.” He stood from the table and paged through the letters he just finished signing. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today that I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry. To the both of you.” Phillips looks from Rogers to Peggy and the woman knew he was referring to her friend from the 34th.”

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?” Rogers was something else, optimistic maybe. “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The look of disbelief that Steve sent the colonel as he spoke might have been the first red flag for Peggy Carter. “But if you know where they are, why not at least..” Phillips once again cut the man off, “They’re 30 miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe.” Phillips was eyeing the spot on the map as he talked about it, even pointing the place out directly. “We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”

The colonels' dig at Roger’s lack of status didn’t seem to phase the man but it did fuel the plan he was formulating in his head while staring at the map, memorizing it. “I think I understand just fine.”

“Well, then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got someplace to be in 30 minutes.” The colonel walked past him giving Rogers a very clear view of the map marking out exactly where he needed to go, and where he was. “Yes, sir. I do.” Perhaps the time staring at the map was the second red flag that Peggy noticed. As her eyes flickered between him and the map as he left the tent it all clicked into place and she hurried after the taller man.

“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” Peg asked as she entered the tent used as the changing room. “If that’s what it takes.” Steve answered not looking up from where he was struggling with boots. “You heard the Colonel. Your friend, and mine, are most likely dead.”

“You don’t know that.” Steve disagreed as he continued to get ready. “Even so, he’s devising a strategy. If he detects..” Steve cut her off as he put on a brown leather jacket, “By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” He snatched up his bag and shield and headed for the exit. “Steve!” Peggy called following him to the vehicle he tossed his things into. The rain had stopped leaving the sun to rapidly evaporate the water leaving puffs of smoke in the air. Steve looked at the brunette in front of him. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you got to let me go.” Steve turned to get into the jeep and started the engine before Peggy was at the side. “I can do more than that.” She told him.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Peggy hadn’t lied. She got them a method of transport much faster than the jeep. Howard Stark sat in the pilot seat flying a plane with the slight chance his fiancée may still be alive. Stark was devastated when he first found out that the 34th was attacked and that only doubled when the attack at Azzano took out the 107th as well.

“The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges.” Peggy infomed Rogers as she pointed to the map she was holding. “It’s a factory of some kind.” She gave him as much information as she could. “We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep.” Howard called over his shoulder.

“Just get me as close as you can.” Steve called back up to the pilot. He looked back over at the woman in front of him. “You know.. You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land.” He was worried about her getting into trouble for him but she looked at him just as worried. “And you won’t?” Steve dismissed her worries, turning his head. “Where I’m going, if anyone yells at me, I can just shoot them.” There was a small click of a loaded gun.

“They will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy surmised. Steve turned to the shield he had been using on stage giving it a knock, “Well let's hope it’s good for something.” Steve turned back to her just as Howard called back, “Agent Carter? If we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue.” Howard was teasing the agent, the smile on his face hidden from those being him. Peggy shifted in her seat choosing to ignore him and keep conversation going with Rogers. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”

Steve however was still not fully over the comment Stark made. “So, are you two… do you…” There was an awkward pause as Steve thought of the proper way to ask if they were seeing each other by reusing Stark’s words, “..Fondue?” Stark tried not to laugh from the pilot’s seat as Peggy simply shook her head and handed him a device. “This is your transponder. Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.” Steve took a moment to look at the device now in his hand before calling up to Howard, “Are you sure this thing works?”

“It’s been tested more than you, pal.” Howard defended seconds before gunfire hit the side of the plane. The plane shook as bullets pelted the sides, shaking the aircraft from the force. Steve stood grabbing his shield and heading towards the door. That he opened. “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!” Peggy ordered yelling over the wind rushing into the plane. “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” Steve ordered back over the noise of the wind, gunfire, and the pinging of bullets on the plane.

“You can’t give me orders!” Peggy disagreed.

“The hell I can’t! I’m a Captain!” Steve looked over at her, giving her a smile that made her weak in the knees. He grabbed the goggles from his helmet, lowered them over his eyes and launched himself out of the plane. Peggy watched him fall towards the ground before the red fabric of his parachute was visible in the night sky from the flying bullets. Howard turned back as instructed by the Captain. Now all they could do was wait.

[connordavidscamera]

Help You Through | Connor Brashier

A/n: I’ve had this in my drafts for a while. It was written after a really bad panic attack I had a few weeks ago. This is just what I wish could have happened.

Summary: Connor helps you out of an attack

Warnings: PANIC ATTACK, excessive use of the endearment “pretty girl”, softness, fluff

DISCLAIMER: this is based off one of my attacks, I know everyone experiences these differently. This is not to diminish anyone else’s anxiety, this is just personally what I wish would have happened to me instead of what actually did. 

Word count: 1.3k

***

"She still in there?"

"Yeah, I heard her sobbing. I tried talking her through it through the door, but."

I nod, "I know, it's okay. Thanks, I've got her. Can you just keep talking to her for like 30 seconds?"

"Yeah, of course." I hurry into her room, pulling a shirt I'd left here, a hoodie, two pairs of sweats, and I grab us both underwear before going to the bathroom door. 

"Thanks, Lynn. I've got her from here."

"Are you sure?"

 I nod, turning the door knob. "I'm sure." So I slip into the bathroom. It's stuffy in here, she has the water on its hottest setting, that’s for sure. 

I almost debate taking my clothes off, but if she's been in here as long as Lynn says, I don't want to waste more time. So I just kick out of my shoes and peek inside the curtain. She's sitting down, knees to chest, crying into her knees. The water beats hard against her back, and her skin is red and splotchy. 

"Oh baby," I sigh, pushing the curtain back even more. I kneel beside the tub, the water splashing off her and getting on me and the floor. But I can’t bring myself to care. I speak first. "Pretty girl. Hey, hey baby, can you look at me for a second?" I ask softly. My voice carries in here and I don't want to startle her, making this attack worse than it already is. 

She turns her head to the side. Her eyes are red and puffy, lips pink and swollen. "Bubba," she croaks.

"Yeah," I nod. "I'm right here. I'm right here. Can you breathe with me? We're gonna breathe a little bit and then I'm gonna take you out of there okay?"

"Okay," she whispers into her knees. 

"Okay breathe in, I'll count. Hold it. One, two, three, four, five. Let it out slowly. Good, again." We do this for a couple minutes, until she's able to do it on her own. She's shaking though, so I know it's still bad. But I can't help her in the tub. "Pretty girl?"

"Yeah?" She chokes back a sob.

"Can I take you out of the tub? I just want to help you better. Will you let me do that?"

She nods, exhaling slowly. "Yeah."

"Okay good. Thank you." I reach forward and turn off the water. Then I stand and grab her towel from the hook on the door before going over to her again. "Alright baby, I'm gonna need you to work with me okay? Is it okay if I touch you?"

"Yes." She whimpers.

"Okay, can you do me a favor? I'm gonna put this towel around you. And then I'm gonna need you to wrap this arm out my neck? I'm gonna pick you up, yeah?"

She does as I ask and it takes me just a second to get a good enough grip to lift her. She falls into my chest and I sigh, sliding down the wall with her in my arms. Her hair is dripping down my arm onto the floor, and my entire chest is soaked as I rock her in my arms. The fronts of my jeans are a little damp from where her towel had hit the bottom of the tub when I pulled her out.

She's curled into me as I rub my hand up and down her arm, my lips attached to her forehead. "You're okay baby, I've got you. I’ve got you,” I murmur over and over quietly. 

"Need you," she begs. "Bubba."

"I'm here," I take hold of her free hand and place it on my chest, over my heart. "Feel that? Focus on my heart beat, okay? Focus on the rhythm." I breathe deeply, giving her something to match while she taps my chest to the steady beat of my heart. "That's it's. You're doing so good for me, pretty girl. Doing so good."

She's still a little shaky in my arms, but it's less of a convulsion now. It's more like a shiver. "Are you cold?"

She nods against me softly. 

"Let's get you dressed then, okay?"

"Will you - will you help me?"

I kiss her forehead, still warm from the shower. "Of course I will. Brought you some clothes. You want my shirt or hoodie?"

"Um… I want - I want the hoodie."

I smile softly. "Yeah. That's a good choice." I kick my leg out to reach for the clothes and slide it closer to us. I take the hoodie first and maneuver it so she can put her head through. "Arms up?" I say and she lifts them, sliding them through the sleeves. "Perfect." I reach again, for the sweats and underwear. "I kinda just grabbed the first pair of panties I saw. Are these okay? I can get you another pair," I show her the soft olive green pair in my hands. 

"Those are okay."

"Okay, can you stand for me?"

She does, the towel that was draped around her, now falls to the floor. But my hoodie covers all that could be seen before. I move to my knees and look up at her. "Step in for me?"

She uses my shoulders as leverage and pouts when she lets go, her panties up her legs and snug against her waist. 

"What's wrong?" I ask her, my hand gentle on her waist.

"You're all wet. I'm sorry."

I chuckle and shake my head. "It's okay pretty girl. It's why I brought the extra clothes," I tilt my head to the side and her gaze falls on the extra clothes that I brought in here. "You want the sweats or is it too much?"

She shakes her head. "Want 'em."

After I’ve got her dressed, I stand up. “Okay baby, I’m just gonna change really quick and then we can go lay down. That sound okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. You doing alright?” I ask, ripping my soaked shirt from my chest. 

“Just,” she breathes in. “Just want you close.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m just changing. Give me fifteen seconds and I promise I will not leave your side.”

I ball up our discarded clothes and grab her towel before opening the door. “Sit on the bed, baby. I’m gonna brush out your hair and then we can cuddle.”

She only nods and walks slowly to her bed. I sigh and grab a bag from under her sink to put my wet clothes in. Then I toss her clothes in the hamper and walk back to her, her hair brush in my hand. “You want it in a braid? Out of your face?”

“Please.”

“Not a problem.” I grab her hair tie from her makeup cart and sit behind her, my legs engulfing her. When I’m done with her hair, she’s falling into me, her eyes shut, her breathing finally evening out. I sigh and lean back so she can get more comfortable. It was a long one, so I know she’s tired. 

“Go to sleep, pretty girl,” I say when she stirs against me. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“Will you - are you gonna be here when I, I wake up?”

“Yes, of course. I’m not going anywhere. The place I need to be is right here.”

She sighs, burrowing into my chest, scrunching up my shirt in her hands in an attempt to get me closer. “I’m sorry you had to do this.”

“Hey, no. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for this. There is nothing to be sorry for. It happens and I’m glad I could help you come out of it.”

“I’ll try not to make you deal with them as much.”

“Shh… stop. I want to help. Go to sleep baby. I’ll be right here when you need me. I promise.”

She sighs again, deeply. “I love you, Connor David.”

“And I love you.”

***

I hope you enjoyed! Please like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

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[handsoffmyfriends]

NOT HAPPY TOGETHER - PROLOGUE

—

PAIRINGS: ex!Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!Reader, platonic!Akaashi Keiji x gn!Reader, ex!Sekimukai Kouji x gn!Reader, pining!Akaashi x Bokuto Koutarou, pining!Sekimukai Kouji x Izumi Yukitaka, Kozume Kenma x Hinata Shouyou

WORD COUNT: 7,065

WARNINGS: dumb choices, drinking, sex mention, kissing your best friend lmao, unhealthy coping mechanisms, pining, so much pining its a pine forest, lovesick fools, angst, really really self indulgent like look at the ships lmao

A/N: so this thing became an entire au that has evicted the actual paying tenants in my head to squat rent free lmao just a bunch of maybe chronological events beginning with The Breakup and leading up to Getting Back Together

i totally lost steam at the end rip but i need this out of my drafts since scrolling 34 years to find my smau drafts is killer

tags: @samanthaa-leanne @finnydraws @peteunderoos @lowermoons @deestielluv @angyboibakugo @carmomo18 @kuroirl​

Part One

The day started with melancholy. The weather seemed to disagree, not a cloud in the sky as the morning sun filtered into your room through poorly drawn curtains, the warm rays scattering along your faces. 

It was your last day together before you moved to the other side of the country for college for the next four years. Hokkaido had offered you exactly what you wanted to pursue, you just had to sacrifice your life in Tokyo to take it. Kuroo had been overwhelmingly supportive when you received your acceptance letter, rambling on and on about how Kenma would make sure he had a decent computer setup so you could video call every day, how the physical distance wouldn't matter in the long run.

You didn't tell him how much it meant to you that he would go to all those lengths to be with you. You didn't tell him how you couldn't ask that of him, how unfair it would be of you to tether him to you like that. You knew he deserved better than that, better than text messages and video calls. He deserved to be with someone that could be physically by his side, and that someone just wasn't you anymore.

You woke up somber, despite the warm, comforting arms wrapped around you like a cage. You allowed yourself several minutes to relish in his warmth, to commit to memory how perfect it felt to be by his side, since you knew you would never have this again.

Usually, you were both slow to wake, indulging in early morning cuddles and kisses, but today you couldn't bring yourself to bask in the little world of happiness the two of you had cultivated over the three years of your relationship. You were going to tear it all apart, but you knew it was for the better. There was no happiness in a relationship that would be held together by loneliness and longing, of staring at phones and wondering when the next text would come, when the next call would come. It would be torture and no matter how much you loved him, you couldn't bring yourself to demand that of him.

So, you didn't roll over and kiss him awake like you usually would. You don't stare at his sleeping face for minutes on end, marvelling at how peaceful he looks in slumber. You already knew every facet of his face, every emotion he was capable of expressing, so you don't need to commit anything to memory. 

You pull yourself from his grip, despite him trying to tighten his hold on you as he came to consciousness. Even in sleep, if you tried to wiggle away, he would pull you closer instinctually. He looked up at you bleary eyed, a little confused, but happy to see you nonetheless, a sleepy smile gracing his features. The pure adoration he held for you sent your heart plummeting.

You gave him a tight smile back before leaving the comfort of the bed, the beginning of a bigger departure. You left him to doze off as you mulled around the bedroom, picking out some clothes and heading to the bathroom without a second glance. If you had looked at him again, you would have noticed him watching you with furrowed brows. 

He knew you were worried about moving to Hokkaido, he was feeling down about, too. Today was your last day together in person, but he meant every word when he said he would be on top of calling you. Part of him knew your behaviour wasn't off because of the move, he knew you were keeping something from him, but he wasn't about to pry. He knew, deep down, that something was wrong, but he ignored that niggle of anxiety, just like he ignored the space that had suddenly grown between you.

--

It continued in the little actions throughout the day. You could barely look him in the eyes, could barely respond to his numerous assurances that he would call you, that it wouldn't be different, not really. You tried to wear a polite smile and nod, but it felt worn, like a terrible disguise and you knew he could see through it. It caused him to lay it on thicker, that by being overconfident and overbearing in his determination to make things work, it would smother the uncomfortable atmosphere that you had created.

"It's going to be fine," he repeats for the hundredth time, rubbing your shoulders soothingly. "I know you're nervous about the move. Hell, I would be, too!" 

You hum, an acknowledgement that he's spoken but nothing more to contribute to the conversation. You're sitting in the living room, your bags packed and ready to go. You get the notification that your ride is here, that will take you to the airport and send you to the faraway island.

"You can call me when you're settled," he continues. "Or when you land. Whenever you want, kitten. I'll always answer." 

It's almost sad, how desperate he is to convince you it will be okay. You have no doubt in your mind that he would hold true to his word, that things might even work out in the end, but you also know that would demand crippling loneliness. It would demand that each of you be on each other's beck and call, that when that phone rings or a text comes through, you're expecting to answer or reply. It demands that you're both hanging on the edge of your seat, waiting desperately for that phone call, that text message.

"Kitten?"

You hum again, looking up at him in inquiry. It's a mistake, he's looking down at you with all the love in the world. It wavers your determination, makes you falter in your resolve. You want to reciprocate that love so much, with every fibre of your being, and you do, you really do, which is why the next words out of your mouth are, "let's break up." 

The next few moments go by in a blur. You barely register what he's saying, if he's saying anything at all, or what you're saying in return, if anything at all. You know deep down, this needs to be done, neither of you can live happily hanging onto that next text message, that next phone call. He deserves better than that, and so do you.

You gather up your bags in a daze as Kuroo is speaking fervently, questions and compromises falling on your deaf ears. You give him half hearted responses, barely formed excuses that you both know are bullshit. You don't look at him the entire time, knowing if you gave in and looked at the pain you had inflicted, you would cave and take it all back.

You leave without another word. Kuroo is torn between chasing after you and demanding a proper reason, but he knows it would be to no avail. He lets you go, knowing he has no chance to get anything out of you today. He tries to convince himself it's because you're leaving, that your nerves are wound up, that you're stressed and anxious about the move and about the new school, that you aren't thinking properly. That in a few days, you'll realise how silly you're being and you'll take it back.

He lets you go because he's confident he can change your mind. 

--

He's calling you the next day. 

It startles you out of your light slumber. You'd been going non-stop ever since you left, arranging your new room, organising your college schedule, finding the closest shops and most effective public transport, being thrown way out of your depth at the sudden independence that this new life demanded of you. Thankfully, you had a week to get used to it before college started handing your ass back to you on a silver platter.

You scramble to see the caller ID and your blood runs cold when you see. Everything in you is telling you to answer, to apologise for your actions and to take it all back, to even beg his forgiveness, but you just stare at the phone as the call goes to voicemail. You breathe a sigh of relief, though it's short lived when you get the text that you have a new voicemail. 

And then he's calling again. 

It goes like this for a solid fifteen minutes. Call after call, your heart desperately wanting to answer him, but your mind knowing you shouldn't. You've repeated it to yourself a thousand times already, that it's better off this way, that you both wouldn't be happy.

You're starting to hate yourself for being so stubborn.

--

The next day you're introduced to your roommate. Which, to your surprise, is someone you recognise. You hadn't expected to know anyone here, and if you're being honest with yourself, you don't really know Akaashi Keiji all that well. To you, he was just the friend of your boyfriend's best friend, who went to a completely different school. 

Well, ex-boyfriend. 

Akaashi seems to be surprised to see you as well. He introduced himself politely, finishing with, "you're... Kuroo's parter, right?" 

It stabs you in a way you didn't think possible. You can feel your heart skip a beat before it picks up in double time, loud in your ears as Akaashi regards you with polite interest. You clear your throat, avoiding his gaze as you say, "ah, n-not anymore." 

You find that Akaashi isn't a very expressive person. If he's shocked at the revelation, he doesn't show it. "Oh, my apologies." He doesn't pry any further, his voice devoid of any genuine feelings towards the matter. You don't know if you should be annoyed or relieved that he doesn't ask you about it. 

It's then that your phone, from the very traitorous place on the kitchen counter, starts to go off. Akaashi glances at it before you're able to clamber over the sofa to the offending device, Kuroo's face and ID lighting up the screen in an entirely offensive display to your pride. 

You hastily hit the reject button rather than letting it ring out, which earns you a raised eyebrow from your roommate. You can see the gears working in his brain as he pieces together the facts, though you're not given a chance to recover as your phone is going off again.

Apologies spill out of your mouth as you escape the communal area, shutting yourself in your room and away from Akaashi's judgement. You clutch at your phone like a lifeline, the feelings of remorse and desperation taking you over as Kuroo tries to call you over and over, the tears falling relentlessly for as long as he tries.

He gives up after ten minutes this time, though he leaves a voicemail for every unanswered call. 

-- 

It's later that evening that you finally emerge from your room. Kuroo didn't try to call again, but he's been texting you non-stop all day. You've been reading them, how could you not, your heart breaking all over as you read the begging. It would almost be pathetic, how desperate he is for your attention, if you didn't reciprocate. You ask yourself for the hundredth time if this is the right course of action. 

Akaashi, to your surprise, has made dinner for the both of you. He's still in the middle of serving the meal, his eyes flickering up as you enter the room. 

"Are you okay?"

The question throws you off guard. You sputter, "I— what?" like a moron, feeling entirely off balance. You'd expected a lot of things to come from Akaashi, mostly negative, but not concern for your wellbeing. 

"I asked if you are okay," he repeats, setting two bowls of food onto the low table by the couch. The apartment made use of the minimal space, meaning it was an open living layout with no dining area. 

You gaped at him like a fish, unsure of what to say. He's patient with you, taking a seat and waiting for you to catch up to the present moment. You eventually do, wordlessly taking the floor across from him, staring at the meal like it held all the answers to the universe. 

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he continues. "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I find myself in a similar sort of situation." 

You glance up at him like a rabbit staring down the jaws of a fox. He's regarding you with a carefully neutral expression, his hands busy with his bowl and chopsticks. You open your mouth to speak, but it's dry, and your voice comes out a lot raspier than usual. "What do you mean?" 

"A long distance relationship," he says simply. "Bokuto suggested it, but I talked him out of it. We came to the agreement that we could try again once I graduate college, since he's going professional." He arches a delicate brow when he looks back up at you as he says, "I assume you had a similar conversation with Kuroo?"

You feel the knot in your belly tighten. You swallow thickly, willing yourself not to cry. "Not really," you admit, voice laced with emotion. "We didn't... discuss anything."

He studies you in a relaxed way as he eats, prompting you to start on your own meal. You thank him quietly for the meal despite not feeling hungry at all. You eat it all the same.

--

Akaashi is remarkably understanding about your decision. The only thing he doesn't agree with is you shouldering the decision, but he knows Kuroo well enough to know that there would have been no convincing him otherwise. 

Kuroo continues to try to call you daily. Usually, its towards the evening, when you and Akaashi are either eating or watching TV to wind down for the day. You ignore it every time, Akaashi growing increasingly more worried about you as the weeks go by. 

The two of you talk about your not-boyfriends a lot. The difference being that Akaashi maintains a friendly relationship with Bokuto, the two texting on the daily and video calling every other day. You had been present for one of the video calls, milling around in the kitchen behind Akaashi. Bokuto had greeted you politely enough, but you could tell he was angry with you. You didn't blame him, he was Kuroo's best friend after all, and you were surprised to find him tolerating you at all. Akaashi must have explained things to him, because the next time you accidentally crashed their video call, Bokuto had been much more pleased to see you.

Kuroo's unanswered messages to you deviate from their begging to be more casual, recounting his day in a one sided conversation. Somehow, it makes it all the harder to continue reading them, but you don't have the heart to block his number and you feel like you at least owe it to him to keep reading them. You don't touch the voicemails, knowing that if you heard his voice, your resolve would crumble.

It comes to a head one day, six months later, when you're lying in bed, unable to sleep, when he's texting you again. The frequency has died down considerably, the daily texts and calls turning into weekly ones. You watch with tears in your eyes as he recounts his day yet again, how much college is kicking his ass and how much of a recluse Kenma is when given the choice. He mentions how he's been spending time with Bokuto, suggests that the four of you should all have a video call and how is Akaashi going by the way?

He calls you after he's finished, and you nearly answer. Your finger hovers over the green spot, and you're ready to give up, this clearly isn't working, but for the first time he doesn't call until it rings out to voicemail. It leaves you feeling hollow. You had finally come to terms that you weren't going to hold out, that you were going to answer him and beg for his forgiveness.

He sends you one more text that sends you over the edge. You only read the first line of the preview, "I'll always love you, kitten," before you're opening up your messages with Kenma, begging him to talk to Kuroo and ask him to stop contacting you. You couldn't do this anymore.

And just like that, Kuroo goes silent. You feel your heart shatter at the realisation that you finally got what you wanted, that Kuroo would finally stop contacting you. You aren't sure when Akaashi made his way into your room, but you're bawling into his shoulder as he holds you close, rubbing soothing circles into your back as your heart is finally able to fully break.

-- 

Things get better. You're able to focus more on your college work and your friendship with Akaashi becomes more than a pair of lovesick fools. It becomes genuine, and strangely domestic. Akaashi's a lot better at cooking than you are, so in turn you handle the cleaning. Usually, you'll watch him cook and narrate the process like you're on a cooking show, and you'll rate the dish and give a critical analysis that's full of bullshit words and terms you don't fully understand. Sometimes, you'll even get into the kitchen and have Akaashi instruct you on what to do. He almost always takes over.

You both prefer to study in the communal area, quietly enjoying each other's company, and you regularly watch TV together. You don't necessarily talk a lot during these times, but you both relish the companionship and how comfortable it feels to be around each other.

You take each other out on platonic dates on the regular, too. Usually just to the coffee shop on campus when you're both run down from a lecture, swapping who pays for whom every time. Sometimes, it's a little more elaborate, a casual night out at the local izakaya. 

Friendship with Akaashi comes as easy as breathing and he quickly becomes your closest friend. You confide in him as much as he confides in you, though the topic of conversation deviates from your mutual pining to more substantial things. You find that your original assumption of Akaashi not being very expressive was entirely false. He's just extremely guarded, but he feels at ease around you, almost as much as he feels around Bokuto, so you get to see his rare smiles and listen to his laughter.

There's a day where you're both exhausted from the week, feeling especially touch-starved, when you cross the line. Akaashi is the one to suggest it, his reasoning very sound. You're both craving physical contact, you're both helplessly in love with someone you can't be with right now, so why not give it a try? 

"You can pretend I'm him," he says in a low voice as he moves into your space. It sounds so unhealthy, but he would be doing the same with you, so it would be okay, right?

You find out very quickly that your relationship with Akaashi could never be anything but platonic. When he kisses you, and you kiss him back, you both recoil with an almost repulsed expression mirroring back to each other. You're the first to laugh, the small giggle escaping your lips with Akaashi hovering over you on the couch. He sits back and laughs along with you as you trade compliments for your kissing style, but come to an agreement that it felt wrong.

You never speak of it again.

After that, you're somehow even more comfortable with each other. You start calling each other by first name. You often gravitate to his side, whether it be huddled down on the couch, completely invading his personal space, or be it out in public, where he carelessly throws his arm around you.

The two of you could never see each other as anything but platonic friends, but you're still able to satisfy the cravings of the skin, in the form of casual touches and friendly embraces. It becomes the norm for you two to be touching somehow, whether it be hand holding or just standing shoulder to shoulder. It's therapeutic.

Some of your classmates ask if you're dating. You laugh at the questions, there's no way you could date Akaashi. You assure them that you're just best friends. It doesn't seem to convince anyone, but you don't really care. They don't understand and you don't want to make them. It's between you and Akaashi, and probably Bokuto, too.

--

You're at a party, entirely too drunk, when you're being pulled into a bathroom and you're being ravaged by someone you don't know. He's probably a classmate, someone you see every other day, but right now you can't find a name. You find that you don't care, and you lose yourself to his ministrations as he peels back your clothing and presses wet, drunken kisses to your skin.

It's when you muse his black hair into something far too familiar, moaning out a name you thought you'd never say again, that has you scrambling from the sink in a panic. You barely give the man another look before you run, out of the bathroom and out of the building, onto the cold, dark street. You fumble for your phone with ragged breaths, dialing Akaashi.

You're panicking and you're damn near in tears on the phone to him. It takes him no time at all to come to you, you were somewhere on campus, and he's wrapping you up in his scarf and jacket, holding you close as you come down from your hysterics. 

You walk home in silence, your hand firmly clasped in his. He sits you down on the sofa, wrapping you up even more like a burrito, setting a glass of water in front of you as he prepares tea for you both. You're dazed, or you're just still really drunk, because suddenly Akaashi is next to you and pressing the warm mug into your hands. 

"What happened?" 

You shrug helplessly. "I don't know. One minute it was fine, I was about to get the dicking of my life—" You stop yourself, your brain catching up with your words. "No, I wasn't. I was in a fucking bathroom of all places. No, that would have been a shit fuck," you murmur this to yourself, voicing your thoughts. You startle slightly when Akaashi places a hand on your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. "Oh. Um. For a second, all I could think of was Kuroo, so I panicked." 

Akaashi sighed, rubbing your arm comfortingly. "I'm glad you're okay. Next time, let me come with you."

You wiggle your eyebrows stupidly. "Why, you wanna get down and dirty with me?" The question barely makes it out before you're laughing. The idea of sleeping with Akaashi has become laughable. You suddenly grow somber as the thought crosses your mind and you look up to him with the biggest eyes you can manage. "Hey, can I sleep with you tonight?"

He snorts, an affectionate smile dancing on his lips. "You are so horny when you're drunk."

"Not like that!" you exclaim, a little too loud, a little too excited. "Just... you know. Sharing a bed. No funny business." 

He can barely hold back his own laughter, giggling softly at you. "No funny business," he agrees with a giggle, patting the top of your head. "Alright, give me a minute to make my bed." 

-- 

Akaashi is on a video call with Bokuto when he has to excuse himself for the bathroom, leaving Bokuto to spot you in the background and excitedly hollering your name, calling you over.

"We haven't spoken in forever!!" he whines as you take Akaashi's place on the sofa. 

You laugh as you say, "I'm pretty sure we spoke last week, man."

He playfully pouts, but excited all the same. "Yeah, but last week you hadn't kissed Akaashi yet!" You freeze and Bokuto bursts out into mirthful laughter. "Or slept with him!" he adds for good measure, and you feel like your entire existence should just cease to be.

"Well, uh, you see, about that," you try to explain, but you're stumbling over your words and Bokuto is having the time of his life on the other line.

"I'm just teasing," he assures in between bouts of laughter. "He told me all about it, but I've been dying to know your side of the story. C'mon, tell me, is he not the best kisser you've ever kissed?"

You pray for some divine being to smite you on the spot, to spare you the embarrassment of the conversation, but your prayers are not answered and you're forced to go along with Bokuto's asinine line of questioning. "Well, uh, no offense to you or him, but no? Like, objectively he's a great kisser, but like..." you trail off helplessly. "I've kissed better," you end up saying fruitlessly.

Bokuto's eyes shine with glee. "You mean, my best bro, Kuroo? Oh, hey, that rhymes!" 

You chuckle at him, ignoring the little pricks to your heart. "Yeah. He's spoiled me for life, I think," you say, truthfully. Neither that drunken mishap nor Akaashi could compare to how it felt when you kissed Kuroo. But, you very purposefully do not follow that train of thought, and you're blessed with the return of Akaashi. 

He gives you a quirk of the eyebrow as he takes a seat next to you, very much in your personal space, going so far as to rest his head in your lap as he looks up to the screen with pure adoration. "Are you behaving yourself, Bokuto?" 

"Always!" he barks back cheerfully. "Just sharing stories of what it's like to kiss you!" 

Akaashi buries his head in your lap and you feel like a furnace, no doubt your face is as red as the shirt you're wearing. Despite it all, you pat Akaashi's head comfortingly, and Bokuto actually squeals, an impossibly high pitch from the man, as he coos at how adorable you two are. 

"Is your partner as cool as I am with you being this affectionate with Akaashi?" Bokuto blurts. You miss the narrowing of Akaashi's eyes.

"We aren't together, Bokuto," Akaashi murmurs. Bokuto waves him off with a grin.

"I, uh, I'm not seeing anyone," you announce, forcing a laugh. You nudge at Akaashi ever so slightly, smoothly sliding out from under him. "It was nice to talk to you again, Bo, but I've got some shit I need to do. You kids keep it PG13 in the living room, okay?"

You don't see the stern look Akaashi gives Bokuto, nor do you hear the reprimanding when you close yourself in your room. You aren't privy to the conversation that follows, nor Kuroo meekly poking his head into frame. 

"This isn't healthy," Akaashi scolds. "It's been over a year, Kuroo."

"Then tell me with absolute certainty that I don't have a chance," he counters. "Tell me that it's a lost cause." 

Akaashi opens his mouth to say just that, but knows it would be a lie. He frowns as he says, "it still isn't healthy." 

--

College starts back up with little fanfare. You and Akaashi sign on to stay as roommates for the duration of your courses, which was a no brainer. You couldn't imagine not living with Akaashi, and for the time being, you'll let yourself live in the fantasy. You know you'll eventually have to let him go, when you both graduate and he returns to Bokuto, and you're fine with that. You don't know what you're going to do, but you figure that isn't something to worry about for another few years.

Bokuto comes to visit, though it's barely for a weekend. You try to give the two men their privacy, you know that despite not dating that they would want their alone time, but Bokuto is very insistent that you all hang out together.

Once, you would have said you were better friends with Bokuto over Akaashi. How could you not have been, you were dating his best friend and you all got along. Kuroo would often drag you along to their joint volleyball training camps, and he would often want to catch Bokuto outside of school hours. Bokuto was funny, easy to get along with, and charming in his own way. Akaashi would often accompany Bokuto on those outings, but the two of you just never hit it off.

Funny how things work themselves out.

Akaashi's having a shower when you drop next to Bokuto, throwing your legs over his lap and leveling him with a serious look. "I'm going to ask you something and you're not going to read into it or tell anyone about it," you say as you get comofrtable.

He raises an eyebrow impossibly high. "I can promise none of that," he answers truthfully. "I can't keep things from Akaashi."

You muse for a moment. "Okay, Keiji doesn't count." He suppresses a squeal of delight at you using Akaashi's given name. Something about your friendship with Akaashi really tickles Bokuto's inner fangirl. He schools his face into something more serious when you cock your head to the side. "Right. Um. How is... Kuroo?"

His eyebrows shoot even higher, eyes sparkling with intrigue. You're quick to deny any special interest (lie), you fell out of love with him long ago (lie), you're completely over him (lie). You're probably being too insistent on these facts (lies), but if you repeat them enough, they'll eventually become true, right? (Wrong).

"I haven't even said anything yet," Bokuto laughs, silencing you. "He's doing fine. I think he's seeing someone, but he's so tight lipped about it," he says with a frown while the news causes your heart to skip a beat. "He's still living with Kenma. Oh! Kenma and Hinata started dating, did you hear?" he trails off excitedly, and you find it difficult to pay attention.

Was Kuroo really dating someone? You had no right to feel as upset as you did, it is what you wanted to happen, after all. The whole idea was so you could both find happiness in someone a lot closer. Really, you should be happy that he managed to find it, but instead you feel bitter that you haven't been able to. You've been too busy denying your feelings, denying that you're still hung up on him nearly eighteen months later, but even if you decided to accept them, to take it all back, it seems it's too late for that now. You wouldn't deserve it anyway, not after how you callously threw him aside.

Akaashi joins you a little while later, and he knows something's upset you. He slips in easily between you and Bokuto, returning your legs to lay atop both of their laps, and he rests his hands on your thigh in comfort. He doesn't ask what's wrong, but he manages to steer Bokuto's topic completely away from all your old friends, to what the three of you should do tomorrow before Bokuto has to leave.

--

You start dating.

It's a lot harder than you ever thought. You never really dated in the first place, since it was in your first year at Nekoma High that you met Kuroo and very quickly fell into an easy relationship with him for the following three years. You didn't know how to date, and you were too embarrassed to ask Akaashi for advice. Part of you told you that he would be just as clueless.

Most don't go anywhere after the first date. It's surprisingly time consuming and you'd rather spend your free time with Akaashi. Some see a second date, but things just don't feel right and you don't pursue a third date.

You're walking through campus, on a haphazard video call with Hinata. He's not even in the country, he's in Brazil now, learning how to play beach volleyball. You'd always been friendly with the Karasuno middle blocker, but you'd made an effort to keep in contact since you found out he and Kenma were dating. Next to Akaashi, Kenma was your best friend, which meant Hinata was now your best friend, too.

"Sounds like you're having a wild time there," you remark to his latest misadventure. "Keeping it interesting so Kenma will keep sponsoring you?" you add as a tease, giggling with delight when Hinata gets all flustered and embarrassed.

As Hinata tries to save face, you notice a young man looking at you sheepishly, like a child that's lost their parent. He couldn't be older than you, maybe he's younger than you. "Ah, I'll call you back, Sho," you interrupt, quickly ending the call and giving the stranger a kind smile. "Can I help you?"

He looks about as awkward as you feel as he takes the two extra steps to approach you. "This is probably really weird, but were you just on the phone to Hinata Shouyou?"

That's how you met Sekimukai Kouji, who just so happened to be Hinata's old friend from elementary school. Your world in Hokkaido didn't seem nearly as detached as it once used to, and you struck up an easy friendship with Kouji.

It didn't take long for the two of you to start dating. It felt freeing, for a little while. You felt happy, or at least you had tricked yourself into feeling happy. As the months ticked by, guilt began to gnaw at you. Were you actually happy or were you just using Kouji as a stand in for Kuroo? Should you even get to feel happy after how you broke Kuroo's heart?

It came to a head one day, several months after that fateful encounter, when you were getting hot and heavy with Kouji. You'd invited him over, it wasn't the first time he'd been over, with the intention to study until your brains were mush. Studious as you were, study took a backseat after an hour, when the numbers and letters started to swirl around your head and make even less sense than usual, when Kouji's hands found your thighs and your attention was very much no longer on the nonsense alphanumerics.

His hands gripping at your sides, pressing hot kisses into your neck, your hands in his hair, tugging fervently, when you both moaned different names. Neither name belonged to the present company.

You might have been more upset with yourself for allowing it to happen again, if Kouji hadn't done the exact same to you. You both break away with mortified expressions, apologies ready to spill from your lips, when you both register that you both fucked up. A tense second passes before your chuckle breaks the silence, and the tension with it, and you're both laughing at how ridiculous you both are.

Kouji opens up and explains how he's in love with his best friend from elementary school, has been for countless years now, how he's never had the courage to admit anything, too terrified to lose their friendship, and how he hoped you would have been able to distract him, for lack of a better word.

It's almost funny, if it weren't so damn sad. You were both using each other as a stand in. You recall Akaashi offering the exact same scenario to you almost two years ago and how ridiculous it had seemed at the time.

You explain yourself in turn, and you're both laughing with tears at how pathetic you both are. You encourage Kouji to shoot his shot, that having been friends with Izumi for so long means a confession couldn't possibly ruin anything. Kouji suggests you at least try and talk to Kuroo again, though he understands that your side is a lot more convoluted than his.

You break up that day, but you maintain a solid friendship with him, to the point that you still call each other by first name. You're the first person he calls after he confesses to Izumi, telling you with tears in his voice that he lasted a whole week being single. You congratulate him, just as teary eyed, so overwhelming happy for him, and insist on meeting his new boyfriend.

It's a bittersweet moment when you do finally meet Izumi, several weeks later. You're genuinely happy that it worked out, that Kouji is the happiest you've ever seen him in the short time that you've known him, but you can't help but feel a little bitter regarding your own feelings, on top of feeling like you don't deserve to feel badly about it, since it's all your doing.

You still spend time with Kouji, though the majority of your spare time is dedicated to Akaashi. When you're out on campus, Kouji will join you in a video call to Hinata. He doesn't visit you in your apartment anymore, which is just as well, since you've decided that your home is for you and Akaashi only (and Bokuto on his rare visits).

--

Your last year of college goes by uneventfully. In the final week leading up to your graduation, and your eventual eviction from the college housing with Akaashi, you're reminded that you need to find new housing in Tokyo. Hokkaido was only ever temporary, you loved the lifestyle of Tokyo, you loved the people in Tokyo.

Akaashi already has you covered. He doesn't take no for an answer when he tells you of the apartment he's secured, that the two of you aren't parting ways just yet, that Bokuto is still abroad and besides, you're just as important to him as Bokuto is. It makes your heart feel as light as a feather, makes you even more excited to graduate.

The new apartment is a lot more spacious than what you've been living in for the past four years. You decorate it together, going to the store together to find more space fillers, more indoor plants, to make the space something that's entirely you and Akaashi. Despite how perfect the place ends up becoming, how truly at home you feel in your new home, uncertainty gnaws at you. This isn't really your place, not really, not when Bokuto returns.

"Hey, Keiji," you lean over the island bench as Akaashi prepares a simple recipe for dinner. Bokuto is visiting this coming weekend, and you need to air your concerns before then. "What happens to me when Bokuto moves in?"

Akaashi regards you with a slight frown, as if he doesn't understand why you're asking, as if the answer is obvious. "Nothing," he says with a tone of obviousness that matches his expression. "This is your home, too."

You hum in thought, feeling your heart soar. "Yeah, but... won't it be weird for you? Having me around when you start getting serious with Bo?"

He stops what he's doing so he can give you his undivided attention. "My getting serious with Bokuto doesn't mean you have to leave. We've been living together for so long now, I think it would be weirder if we weren't." He places his hands over yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. "If you do want to move out when that happens, it'll be on your terms. I'm not going to force you out, and neither is Bokuto."

You blink back tears that you didn't know were welling up. You clear your throat and pull your hands back, feeling way too loved. You aren't sure what to say to such brutal honesty, even though you're used to his brand of honesty by now. Despite not replying, he seems satisfied enough with your reaction to continue with dinner, glancing at you occasionally with a soft smile. You can't help but reciprocate.

--

Bokuto moves in six months later, when he's finally released from volleyball hell. You find it isn't as uncomfortable as you first feared, and you continue to live with the happy couple for a following six months before you decide to move out. It pains you to do so, to leave your best friend of five years, but you aren't really leaving, not when you're moving a few blocks away. Akaashi insists that you visit frequently, which you do, and for the most part it's like you never even left.

But, now you have somewhere to go when Bokuto wants to have his friends over. More to the point, when Bokuto wants to have Kuroo over.

Bokuto never said anything about it, never asked if you would be okay with having Kuroo visit for the day, never even suggested it. He would only ever invite Kuroo over if he knew you weren't going to be home, and he would always make sure Kuroo was gone by the time you were due to return. He probably would have kept that up for years, but when you caught wind of what he was doing via Akaashi, you felt terrible. The apartment had become just as much Bokuto's home as it was yours, but you were making Bokuto have to treat his best friend like some kind of sinful secret.

Living alone wasn't bad. It took some time getting used to, and you very quickly had to learn how to cook on your own. You often phoned Akaashi during meal times, asking him how to do this or that, and sometimes he would just come over to help you. It was a good excuse for the both of you, as he missed you as much as you missed him.

--

As the fifth year ticked over and Bokuto's birthday inched ever closer, you came to terms with the inevitability that you would have to face Kuroo again. It was probably childish of you to hope you could avoid him for the rest of your life, to continue avoiding the truth of your feelings. It was amazing you'd managed to avoid him for over a year since moving back to Tokyo, especially during those six months where you lived with Bokuto. You told Akaashi that you were ready, that you weren't going to miss Bokuto's birthday for something so silly.

"I don't think it's silly," Akaashi disagrees. "Bokuto will understand."

"We're adults," you say with a shrug. "I can’t avoid him forever. I might even be able to apologise.”

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

āmentĭa || Thomas Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “Can I request #16 with a jealous tommy, angsty pretty please?”

Summary: n.16 from prompt list: “Another’s hands on her skin” Warnings: swearing, anxiety, angst, a bit of smut, jealous desperate Tommy making my soul ache

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

Paragraphs written in italics are flashbacks.⤟ IMPORTANT

Sentences between bold quotation marks (❝  ❞ ) are Tommy’s thoughts.⤟ IMPORTANT

I wanted to thank you darlings for all the love you’ve been sending me, you truly make me happy, I’m so grateful to share my works with you ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

āmentĭa [amentiă], amentiae  feminine noun I declension

1. compulsion, disturbance, raving, hysteria 2. malaise, vexation, affliction, regret, 3. viciousness, anger, furor, choler, 4. impetum, violence, heat, rush, impulse 5. separation, rupture, abandon 6. paroxysm, yearning, eagerness 7. infatuation, frantic desire, amorous fervour

Heavy rain incessantly hit the windows sideways, giving life to a perpetual recurrence of dull sounds relentlessly haunting Tommy’s eardrums, yet he remained laying on his cold bed, motionless, with his glacial stare disturbingly fixed on the ivory ceiling. His bare chest kept raising and lowering in toil, labored breath coming out of his slightly parted lips in agonizing sighs, goosebumps slimily crawling on his more than ever pale skin, due to the extremely low temperature in his room; still, he didn’t seem to care.  Two deafening chimes abruptly ripped apart the bleak air, midnight struck with no mercy, inexorably, raiding into his black lungs, plundering all of the oxygen he had left. The day had eventually come, the day in which he would’ve lost you, forever. Thomas brusquely stopped breathing as his raw flesh seemed to lacerate, it felt like the Devil’s acuminate claws had pierced his ribcage, penetrating through his bones, carving to reach his cardiac muscle, ruthelessly stabbing it, brutally slicing into his stomach. For a full, interminable minute, blind panic took over his paralyzed body, having him pant and whine, making him look like a dying animal in pure agony, while his empty gaze never left the spot right before his dilated pupils. Tom had met you three years before, by the time war had just come to an end: it’d been only a few months since Harry had hired you to help him handle the pub, and when the Shelbys finally entered the Garrison again, after four long years, you clearly didn’t have a clue of what was going on.

Your boss had tensely hurried to instruct you on what your job was for that night, apparently, it only consisted in following those three men in their private room, favoring their every wish, always with a smile and kindness. You remembered looking around the tavern, deeply confused, since the whole clientele had suddenly fallen deadly silent: every man in there was gazing at the ground and taking off his hat out of respect, causing you to be even more disorientated by that odd situation. “Just keep your head down, y/n, those guys are dangerous, I mean it. They take whatever they want, whenever they want, whether people like it or not” Harry’s words kept echoing into your mind, Tommy’s crystal eyes immediately piercing your soul when you quickly reached for their privè. There was some sort of  unsettling stravation sailing through his granitic irises, while he shamelessly stared at you, barely blinking his eyelids, and a cheeky grin peered out on his angular face. Breath unexpetedly shattered into your throat, your forearms rippled with evident goosebumps, as you truly began to see what that previous alarming reccomendation was about. Your heart grievously skipped a beat because of that abrupt scene mercilessly flashing before your tired eyes. A huge amount of air was forcefully shoved down your pharynx in a miserable effort to put to rest any of your conflicting emotions, yet you didn’t seem able to abort your detrimental thoughts; once more, your restless glare fell on the wooden pendulum clock pinned to the wall in front of your queen size bed. “Oh my God, what happened?” Thomas watched your hexyl hand shake before your open mouth, an expression of pure horror mixed with shock virulently took over your soft features at the sight of bleeding abhorrent wounds mutilating his marble skin. “Let me in” That order dropped from his busted lips, but it sounded like nothing more than a feeble prayer, as he painfully cought up blood on your doormat. His stomach unusually clenched when he sensed your tiny arms carefully wrap around his torsum for the very first time, in order to support his weight, thus his head innately tilted in your direction, making your noses rub one another by accident, while his icy-blue eyes carved deep into yours. “You’re a fucking angel” He whispered at the end of his rope, already being in a state of partial unconsciousness, therefore it took only a few more instants for him to effectively faint in your warm embrace. That brief memory led Tommy to hastily lift his back, a crippling feeling of anxiety, along with deep overwhelming fear, came unbidden, having him struggle to inhale as much oxygen as possible, while he crawled towards the edge of the mattress, then sitting and propping both his elbows right above his knees; his left hand convulsely run through his face, like that simple gesture could’ve helped him get rid of those loathsome sensations devouring his guts from the inside. Bells rang again, another hour went by, time continued to unrelentingly slip between his fingers. “Just be rational for once!” Tommy ferociously shouted in your face, thick veins appallingly throbbing in his neck, blood traces invading his white orbs; as usual, he was plainly too despotic and hardheaded to let anyone around him make their own decisions. “I don’t see what the problem is, Thomas. You’ll find another bloody bartender, for God’s sake!” Soon afterwards your reply brusted out in another yell and your hands started franticly moving into the air, as you were strenuosly fighting for your sacrosanct right to finally leave Birmingham and move to Paris to begin a whole new life, putting all of that shit behind you.  Yet, before your brain could process what was actually happening, you felt your back hardly clash with the cold brick wall, Tom’s mighty figure trapped yours forthwith, one of his fists vehemently grabbing a consistent strand of your hair, so to make your mouths collide in an unexpected tempestuous movement. “That’s my fucking problem” An atrocious knot cluttered up your gullet, forcing you to scarcely gasp for a fresh breath again, your velvet fingertips unwittingly went to brush your slightly wet lips, due to a lonely tear which had just tumbled from your full lashes. You could almost sense his touch on your fervent skin.

Faltering, you dragged yourself on your feet and your shoulders shriveled, for a cool draft brutally hit your quivering body; with heavy steps, you reached for your wedding dress armonically rested on a copper mannequin. Ivory tulle coursed amidst your fingers, while your blurred vision remained anxiously fixed on that wonderful piece of haut couture at the fathal stroke of the third hour of the morning. “You belong to me” That husky grunt lingered the soft skin of your naked chest, instantly followed by Tommy’s luscious kisses, his callous palms utterly enveloping your curves as your live flesh superbly engulfed every inch of his length and his hips kept diving into yours, miraculously giving life to an exquisite blend. He was revelling in the sight of your erotic beauty, he couldn’t just avert his thirsty glacial irises from your winsome shape now twitching with raw pleasure.

Those ruthless sequences of images irretrievably haunted his dark pupils, unfolding into his head over and over again. Thomas squeezed his eyelids nearly in physical pain, allowing himself to drown in his bittersweet memories: he was still perfectly able to feel your edges fill his hands, your voluptuous voice reawaken his numb ears, your mild thighs fondling his sharp pelvic bones. “Fuck!” All of a sudden, his hoarse tone clamorously reverberated in the room, brutally tearing apart the previous stillness, while Tommy berserkly stood up and, affected by a pernicious choler, he savagely ravaged every single thing in his path, until the floor was completely covered in shards and his breathing showed clear symptoms of hyperventilation. Everything was shot in pieces because of him, because of his pathetic selfishness and his shameless arrogance; you had loved him from your skin to your bones, never leaving his side, offering him a safe harbour from his private hell, stoking that cataclysmic fire, only to let it consume yourself with each passing day. He’d always been aware of that, in truth, he’d always felt the same about you, still, he had treated you like nothing more than one of his whores; afterall, it was just a matter of priority, and business was his one and only priority, obviously. So, when you had eventually presented him with a definitive choice, demanding to know  what your strange affair truly meant to him, he had almost laughed in your face, deliberately making it clear that, whatever that thing was, it would’ve never become something more.

The thought that in the end you might have really left him didn’t even remotely cross his mind, not once; nevertheless, barely a year later, you were about to marry another man, and it was too late for him to fix all of his uncountable mistakes. ❝  There will be another’s hands on her skin, Tommy. He’s gonna hold her, he’s gonna take your place, and it was your fault, you wreck everything you touch ❞ That voice inside his brain continued to scream that obnoxious truth with no mercy, steadily driving him to madness, violently gouging dire tears from his hollow eyes. Intoxicating fury festered his already rotten blood, pushing him to throw several raging punches at the door, excruciating shrieks kept escaping his maw, until two deep dents ploughed it and his bleeding knuckles broke under the abnormal strain of his animalistic blows.  Thomas surrendered to his agonizing sorrow, soon he let his empty corpse fall against the damaged wooden surface, his fractured fists henceforth laying along either side of his bust, while his growling voice didn’t seem to find peace, as it was still spilling from his lips into deafening cries alternated to beastly snarls and sporadic curses. Sure, Tommy Shelby had learnt far too soon what pain and darkness were, he had experienced death, loss, abandon, even the gory war itself, but never before that wretched day he had felt his soul disintegrate into his aching ribcage in such a diabolical, cruel, inhuman way.

tag list:  @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @shelby1baby, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent​

[technicallyarevenant]

I don’t know what’s worse: Drowning beneath the waves or dying of thirst

Chapter title: Warmth

Characters: Jason Todd, Mentioned Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Mentioned Bruce Wayne

Other tags: Flashbacks, PTSD, Suicidal thoughts

TW: Suicidal thoughts, past abuse/trauma, past death

Words: 2952

Part 2/?

Luckily, Jason hadn’t ripped his stitches after he’d left the cave, but they definitely still hurt, especially after walking so far. Honestly, Jason doesn’t think his chest could hurt more right now, he hasn’t taken any painkillers, although that’s mostly because he hadn’t stocked the safe house he made his way to for a while. The only thing he had was an old, probably expired, bag of frozen carrots, and it was doing little to help much of anything, and only making him feel more cold in the unheated apartment in Gotham winter. If Jason wasn’t so fucking tired, he’d probably go buy some kind of space heater from the nearby store, but Jason feels like if he moved from his current position on the couch, he would regret it almost immediately. So Jason just curled up more on the sagging couch, and pulled one of the only blankets he had over himself. If he fell asleep right now, maybe when he woke up in the morning it wouldn’t be quite as cold. He almost misses the searing pain he felt when the shock finally wore off, it at least made him feel warm.

------

Surprisingly, Jason did fall asleep, and he slept a lot longer than he usually did, probably because his body was trying to heal itself. It’s only slightly warmer than it was last night, but Jason thinks that at least now he can go pick a space heater up from the store. Or he could go to a different safehouse that actually had heating and pain killers. Killing two birds with one stone was sounding like the better option, because then he wouldn’t even need to buy anything. The only problem was, he didn’t have his bike, which means he would need to walk. Jason rubbed his hands together to try and heat them up while he thought about it for a second, the twinge in his side told him to do it. Jason thinks he might actually have something stronger than ibuprofen there too, something that Jason really, really wanted right now. Jason rolled his shoulders and left the current space he was occupying so he could make his way to the next space he would be occupying. (He brought the blanket too)

Jason’s pretty sure his lips have turned blue, and that his toes are frozen, but he’d made it to his home. Or, well, the closest thing he has to a home. It was his nicest bolthole and none of the bats had found it yet. It was one of the nicest places he’d lived, and was actually on a nicer side of Gotham. It had heating, electricity, warm water, and people who turned a blind eye to a man with multiple bullet wounds lumbering in through the back window. He actually liked the place and would like the bats to continue to not know about its location.

As soon as he walked in, he sighed in relief. The heat hadn’t been turned on yet, but there wasn’t any holes in the walls or any kind of weird drafts, so it was already warmer in here than it was outside. Jason set his stuff down by the door after closing and locking it, and immediately made his way over to the thermostat to turn the heat on. He also decided he would try taking a shower, hoping that it would be warmed up by the time he was done. Jason grabbed warmer clothes from the dresser in his bedroom, a pair of fluffy sweatpants, a sweater, a hoodie to go over the sweater, and socks. Jason liked to bundle up during the winter, after he’d gotten back to Gotham, he somehow always felt cold. Apparently dying and coming back to life made you feel cold all the time, even if you’d spent most of your life living in colder temperatures. It was now a habit of Jason’s to put on warmer clothes even if it wasn’t necessarily cold out.

Jason rolled his shoulders and sat down on his couch, keeping a hand on his side as he lowered himself slowly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned back into the cushions of the couch, and unlike the couch that he had slept on last night, it didn’t make a strange crunching sound when he moved. Jason’s side gave the occasional twinge, but it wasn’t as bad as it was last night, the warm air probably helping quite a bit. Jason lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, falling asleep without realizing.

------

Jason woke up with a start when he heard his window open and flinched when he reached for the gun he kept under his pillow, only to realize that he’d fallen asleep on his couch, and the closest gun to him was with the rest of his gear at the front door.

Jason stood as slowly and as quietly as he could- he had forgotten to turn the lights on when he came in because it was still daylight when Jason had made it to this safehouse, so it seemed both he and the intruder had a bit of an advantage.

Jason made a point of walking as quietly as possible to his front door, and had the sudden realization that Bruce had taken both of his guns and all that Jason currently had was a knife. Jason made a face in the darkness before grabbing the knife quickly, he turned around just as quickly as he grabbed the knife, only to come face to face with a domino mask.

Jason exhaled heavily, dropping his hand with the knife, “The hell do you want Dick?”

He couldn’t see through the white lenses, but Jason assumed that Dick probably rolled his eyes, “I came to check on you, B was a little worried that you ran away so quickly while you were still wounded.”

Jason snorted, “Right, because B cares so much.”

Dick stared at him for a few moments, “He does care, that’s why I’m here Jason.”

Jason laughed again, stopping only when Dick stayed silent, “What, you’re actually being serious?”

“Yes Jason, I’m actually being serious. I know it may come as a shock, but I’m not always cracking a joke every five seconds.”

Jason cleared his throat, raising a hand to rub at his side slightly, a slight pulse of pain going through the wound. “Whatever, even if B really did care, he didn’t come here himself so you don’t really have to tell B much, such as where I’m currently staying. Right?”

Dick stared for a few more seconds, “Do you really hate us that much Jason?”

Jason said nothing for a moment, balking slightly at the way Dick said it, “What, you think I hate you guys?” Jason’s laugh quick and had an undertone of disbelief, “Pretty sure it’s always been the opposite goldie.”

It was Dick’s turn to laugh, “No Jason, it’s never been us hating you. You’re the one who always avoids us when we try to talk to you.”

Jason threw his hands up, “Tell that to Bruce, he’s the one who beat me so hard my fucking helmet shattered and left me to die.”

Anything that Dick might have said to that died before the words the could reach the air, “I’m sorry what?”

Jason shook his head, a bitter smile forming on his lips, “What, he never told you? That doesn’t surprise me, considering he never tells anyone anything. Like he never came to you after I died the first time and you had to figure it out on your own. Like he never told you when I became Robin. He’s a flake who never does what anyone expects of him, even if you’re expecting him to flake. He’ll treat you like a son and the moment you do something he doesn’t like, he makes you an example to those who come after you so they know what not to do.”

Dick fidgeted, before he turned his back to Jason, “I have to go, I’ll be back.”

Jason scoffed, “Whatever Goldie, go ahead and leave, I don’t care.” Jason didn’t include the fact that he did care, actually, he cared a lot. There were many things that Jason should regret and didn’t, and things he shouldn’t regret but did anyways, and one of those was not trying to reconcile with his family when he came back from the dead.

Jason said nothing else as Dick left through the window, before he turned around, taking the knife still in his hand into his room, shoving it into his nightstand. He stomped over to his closet, opening the safe installed into the wall and grabbed one of the guns so he could stash it under his pillow. It took a few more minutes for Jason to realize the warmth dripping down his  face were tears. He wiped a hand down his face angrily, he shouldn’t be crying, this whole situation was stupid and just another reason for Jason to stay away from Bruce and his merry band of vigilantes.

Jason exhaled shakily before sitting down on his bed, he probably looked stupid yelling in front of Dick like that, still half asleep and in the most layers Dick had probably ever seen him wear. His socks had penguins on them. Jason sniffed quietly, whatever, he’d gotten Dick to leave like Jason wanted. Was that what Jason wanted? He’d gotten a feeling of disappointment when Dick left through the window, even if he hadn’t wanted to feel disappointed.

Whatever, it didn’t matter anyway, he was gone now and Jason could go back to sleep. Jason looked over at his clock, 1 am. Normally he’d be out patrolling right now, but he really didn’t feel like it tonight. The others could pick up the slack tonight without him. Jason rubbed his side slightly, if he took some painkillers the pain would be gone but he’d also be out of it for however long it takes the painkillers to wear off, and he doesn’t want to deal with Dick on painkillers if he comes back.

Jason didn’t take any painkillers. He’d be fine. He laid down after making sure all of his windows were locked and covered by curtains. He pulled a blanket over himself and closed his eyes. He didn’t fall asleep right away, but he did eventually.

-------------

Jason woke up to a beam of light shining directly in his eyes from the crack between his curtains. Jason groaned and rolled over, checking the time briefly before covering his head with a pillow. The sun was far too bright to just be shining into his eyes like that when he wakes up. He was warm and comfortable and he didn’t want to get up just yet.

Wait. Jason cracked an eye open and rolled back over to look at his window. Jason had pinned his curtains together, a force of habit he’d developed when he was younger to help keep the cold out. Jason’s hand creeped to the gun he’d put under his pillow last night before he stood up, looking around for any other kind of sign that someone had come in while he was sleeping. He got up and crept silently to the window, pushing the curtain aside gently to look outside to check if he could see anyone. When he saw that there was no one that looked more suspicious than usual, he walked to his bedroom door. He opened the door slowly, ensuring that it made no noise as he peeked through the crack he’d made. He didn’t see anyone, but now he thinks he can hear someone.

Jason holds the gun slightly higher before he opens the door enough to slip out while still making no noise. The noises sound like they’re coming from the kitchen, so Jason walks to the kitchen, glancing to the sides as he walks to make sure there’s no one else in the apartment.

Once he reaches the kitchen, he leans slightly to look around the side of the archway that leads into the kitchen. He sees… Dick. Jason lets the gun fall, and he flips the safety back on.

Dick must have heard something, because the next thing he knows, Dick is chattering excitedly at him. Jason just kind of stares, “What..are you doing here?”

Dick stops talking for a second, his smile faltering, “I told you I’d be back? What, did you forget already?”

Jason clears his throat, “No, I just didn’t expect you to actually come back.”

Dicks smile has turned into a frown now, “Well I did, I am back and I have made you, uh,” he looks down at the frying pan he’s holding, filled with….eggs? “I made you eggs.”

Jason looks a bit closer, “You sound hesitant, are you sure those are eggs?”

Dick looks down at the pan again, “Uh, I mean, I cracked some eggs and I put them in this pan. So, as far as I know, yeah, they’re eggs.”

Jason nods and takes the pan from Dick, “So most of the food in this place is kinda old, and I still need to go out and buy groceries. So these, while still eggs, are probably going to kill me if I eat them.”

Dick looks back at the carton of eggs that he probably pulled from Jason’s fridge, “Oh, that’s probably why they smelled so bad.”

Jason walks over and scrapes the eggs in the pan into the trash, “Sorry to burst your bubble goldie, but you really gotta learn to cook or you’re going to end up killing your future girlfriend.”

Dick snorted, “Yeah, whatever. There’s a reason Alfred pays so many visits to my apartment.”

“You know that’s not a good thing right?”

“Well, I get free cookies so I don’t really care.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “Sure birdbrain, whatever you say.”

Jason is turned around while he puts the pan into the sink, hopefully to get rid of the rotten egg smell so he can cook with it again, so he misses the hopeful look that Dick is giving him. What he doesn’t miss, however, is the giant hug that Dick pulls him into the moment he turns back around.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, what does it look like?”

“Like you’re attacking me with your arms.”

Dick doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he keeps his arms wrapped around Jason, “I’m sorry that we ever made you believe we didn’t want you back with us.”

Jason tenses, “I don’t see why-”

“It matters? It matters because you ran away while still injured and scared the living christ out of Alfred. And it may come as a surprise, but,” He pulls back but still holds onto Jason’s shoulders, “Bruce was worried too.”

At that Jason scoffs, pushing Dick’s hands off, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say Dick, trying to make Bruce look better isn’t gonna do ya any favors.”

“I’m not trying to justify anything that Bruce has done, in fact I will join you in scorning him for everything that he has done against you, but he’s started to see what he was doing was wrong and-”

Jason shakes his head, “Well it sure sounds like you’re trying to justify his actions to me, but what do I know?”

“Jaybird if you’d just let me finish what I’m-”

“What you’re saying?” Jason ignores the look that Dick sends him, turning back around to start scrubbing at the pan in the sink, and does his best to continue ignoring him when Dick comes back up behind him.

“Jason Peter Todd, I am trying to talk, and you continuing to interrupt me when I am trying to do something that will help you is really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Well don’t let me stop you Goldie, continue trying to convince me that I should come back to the heavily armed and dangerous dysfunctional family that is the Wayne family.”

Dick grabs Jason’s shoulders once again and turns him around, looking him directly in the eyes, what were once a cerulean blue now an acid green meeting a softer blue. “Jason please, if you’d just come back to the manor for one day, maybe you could see that it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

Jason stares at him, he’s not sure what to say. He’s spent so long running and hiding, doing his best to not interact with his family to help keep his sanity intact, but as loathe as he is to admit it, he misses them. Misses knowing that someone always had his back when he went out. Had someone to keep him from being reckless enough to get himself killed. Kept him from wanting to get himself killed. Dick’s eyes are boring into his, and all Jason can do to keep himself from lashing out in fear of doing something wrong is look away.

“What, would that make you feel better Goldie?”

“Jason please look at me.”

Jason doesn’t want to, but he does anyways, breath hitching when he sees the tears in Dick’s eyes. Jason doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been good with emotion, considering all he ever does is keep it bottled up until it all comes spilling out, usually in the form of anger. But he takes a page out of Dick’s book and hopes he doesn’t end up regretting it when he reaches his own arms out to hug Dick. “Whatever, fine, I’ll go to the fucking manor if it means you stop looking at me like a kicked puppy.”

“That’s all I ask Jason.”

“Whatever.”

[pe-ersona]

Tight Distress / He won’t talk to me. He does but he doesn’t.

----------<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>-------------

Rem shifts in her dress, it is too stiff and cuts into her throat but the maids told her it would catch Evan’s eye. It is longer than her usual, it gives Rem an hourglass shape. It was hard to put on, holding her breath and sucking in as her maids instructed her. To follow their words because she needed the advice. 

“Your Highness, you look delightful.” Her hair pinned up and away from her face, jewelry dangling from her ears and pieces, fitted into hair strands. It was different. So different. “I know this would help you with His Majesty.” 

Rem runs her hands over her tight dress and tries to let out a breath, it barely moves to let her take in air. She chuckles as she pulls a little at the collar and looks over herself in the mirror. She drops her hands and her frown. This would work. She looks like a perfect princess. A princess. Unable to climb a wall. Unable to tackle somebody in a second. Unable to brandish a sword or pull back an arrow and release it. “Thank you.” Rem gives a small smile, part genuine with their help and part fake because she wants to rip out of the dress in a heartbeat. The maids leave her in the bedroom, still looking into the mirror. The reflection of her so different. She practices a cutesy and nearly stumbles because of the heels. The heels. Rem knows how to balance on her footing on small ledges but these shoes with two inches are the smallest ledges she ever walked on, plus she wasn’t wearing something that would help with keeping her stable. Rem takes a breath, but it's hard so she gives up and fans herself, wishing to run towards the window and fling herself out. 

She turns away from the curtains that mentally beckons, tempts her and heads to the dining hall where her and Evan have dinner. It’s a longer walk then usual but she makes it--rather the dress is still in one piece. The guards open the doors and she looks inside. Seated at his chair, Evan doesn’t look up when she steps in with her showcase smile. The guards close the door behind her as she sways inside, trying to show all the royalty into her hips and footsteps. The maids advised her to try walking like how a princess would. From watching Sima as a bodyguard, Rem observe how the Merka princess held her chin leveled and had a gracefully air to her steps like clouds carried her everywhere yet she was grounded. All of that was translated awkwardly to Rem’s body that was trained to be lethal. She was trained to be an assassin, not a royal. Definitely not like a princess. 

Rem strumbles once, lost in concentration. She is glad that Evan doesn’t see it. His focus on the soup and the spoon, reaching his mouth then swallowing. A servant pulls out Rem’s chair and she slides in--or falls onto the chair. “Your Majesty.” She pitches her voice a bit high. And straightens her back like a string--a rope a thick rope around her neck pulls her back by a thousand horses. Stretching her thin. “I’m sorry to be late for dinner.” A servant places a bowl in front of Rem as she drills her eyes into Evan’s side profile. She clears her throat when he doesn’t say anything. “How was your evening?” She lifts a spoon and stirs her soup. A thought crosses her mind. How would I eat this? She can’t bend over and if she lifts it, she might spill and get it on her dress. 

Her train of thought crashes when Evan speaks. “All right. How was yours?” 

Rem lets go of her spoon, giving up on the idea to eat. As much as it pains her. The scent of the soup reaches her nose and her stomach stirs. “It was quite lovely.” 

Evan’s eyes widen then he swallows. “Really?” Rem bobs her head and holds her hands together.

He hasn’t even looked at me yet. “Yes. How was yours?” She leans forward and holds her chin on her hand. Her elbow, pushing the soup bowl an inch away as her other hand pushes down on her growling stomach. I’ll eat the next meal. 

Evan sees that Rem hasn’t touch her soup as he finishes his. He takes a sip from his water and looks everywhere expect Rem, making her frown a little. “It was quite boring-”

“What did you do?” Rem pipes in. She saw other royals and they have a tendency to interrupt each other. Like they are showing more interest. 

Evan scratches his eyebrow. “Paperwork. Speak with officials-”

“About what?” Rem bats her eyelashes. Please look at me. 

Evan looks down at his hands, clenching them. “Important things-”

“What things?” 

“Can you stop that?” Evan looks at Rem’s bowl. The soup no longer warm. Not even touched. He sees her elbow on the table and stares at it, but doesn’t let his eyes travel up its long tight sleeves to his wife’s eyes. Those golden ones that he missed so much. You’re mad at her. It pains him when he rips his eyes to the servant that pulls both bowls away and he sips his drink. 

Rem is quiet. Her hand still holding her face. Her eyes drilling into Evan, still. Please. She whispers. “I won’t.” 

Evan lifts his hand at another plate, at a servant about to place the next course. “Please leave us.” 

Rem lowers her eyes. She sees Evan’s hands on his lap. Like he is hiding them. Holding cards that she can’t see. She wants to see. Is this a game? “I can play along.” I can be a princess. Like everyone wants. Maybe what you want. 

“Play?” 

“You won’t let me play... Your Majesty?” Evan once told Rem to call him by his first name, the name she met him. His title feels weird on her lips and to his ears. 

“No.” Evan shakes his head. “No.” He pushes back his chair and stands up. “Excuse me.”

“Wait-” Rem stands up, hitting the table. Evan walks around the table and Rem tries to follow but her dress gets caught, a seam popping and tearing open as she falls. 

There is a thud. 

Rem fell so many times before. While learning how to climb, she made so many mistakes. She bruised her body enough to know how to fall. This time she took the fall. She knows how to brace herself or roll into it, but this time she let her body fall, hitting that carpet--softer than the ground. Her heart beating in her chest and her breathing heavy. Her hair spills out over her shoulders. Nice one, Rem. 

“Rem. Are you all right?” A pair of hands pulls her close to a chest. Fingers push away strands of hair as gold meets blue. 

Finally. Rem looks up at Evan. His face contorted in concern and something else. “You can laugh at me.” Rem blushes as she kicks at her dress and looks away. 

She hears a low chuckle. Her eyes return to see Evan’s smile. Something she missed so much. “You’re impossible.”

Rem cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. She sits up, struggles a bit but the tear in the dress helps a little for her to move. “What do you mean? I thought I was beautiful.” 

Evan encircles her arms around her waist, not letting her go. He leans his forehead to hers. “You’re both.” Rem’s breath catches and she doesn’t know if its because of the dress or Evan’s blue eyes. They sparkles. He leans back and looks her over. “What are you wearing, Rem? A new dress to impress me?”

“Yeah. But I can barely breath.” Rem pulls at the dress. 

“I could help you.” Evan speaks without thinking. It left his mouth so quickly and he earns a red tint at the tip of his ears. “That’s not what I meant-”

“Sure.” 

“What?” Evan’s face reaching new levels of redness. 

“As tempting as it to be free from this dress, I can’t exactly run out here without it so help me with the bottom part.” Rem wiggles her feet out from the chair and looks for the broken seam. “Of course, I could do it myself-”

The dress is ripped at Rem’s knees as Evan pulls at it. Rem giggles at how quickly it comes apart. The fabric is forgotten on the floor as Rem kicks off her heels and Evan helps her to her feet. “Thank you, E.” Rem pecks Evan’s cheek, smiling. Still tight around her chest, but she will deal with the dress later. “Now tell me why you were so mad.”

“Too many reasons, but there are all gone now. Forgiven and forgotten.” Evan holds her hand and lifts it to his lips, brushing it faintly. “You know I really don’t like this dress on you.”

“I hate this dress too.” 

“Maybe I should help you some more-”

“No. No. You cannot.” Rem pulls away from Evan and runs for the door, pulling it open and running down the hallway. With her legs freed, it's easy to run but its still tight and making it hard to breath so Evan catches up and sweeps her off her feet. Both laughing.

Note: this takes place in either a future or an AU within the universe of my wip, Rem. If you’re interested in reading Rem, check out here, the chapters are unedited since its a first draft as well as the following one shot/short story so there will be errors. I wrote this awhile ago and when I found it recently, it was too cute, not to share since its been awhile for Rem content so enjoy! (I might post more like this later on.)

Tagging: @sunshineomeara​ @sunlight-and-starskies​ @cluelessbuttercup​ @authoressasusual​  (reblog/comment/ask me to be added/removed)

[gukptune]

user: 95mochibuns → jimin

↠ Pairing: jimin x reader

↠ Genre: camboy!au, streamer!reader, smut

↠ Warnings: explicit language, cute but dangerous jimin, masturbation, teasing, edging, more of a clean smut

↠ Words: 3.3k

↠ Plot Summary: not much could be said about a camboy who gets himself into trouble with a streamer he admires.

↠ a/n: possibly a part 1 of 2. This has been sitting in my draft for a long time. Hope you enjoy it, it’s not GREAT but it’s cute. Second part will be much better!

Frustrated, infuriated and annoyed, all these words meant the same thing but they’re the only things that crossed your mind but of course you couldn’t show it not right now.

“Honestly, I knew this game was difficult and no, I will not wear the chicken hat. Never,” you announced, your voice coming right back at your from your mic to your headphones.

Keeping that quick witted and mischievous persona that all your viewers came to you for.

Comments rolled in with tips and tricks but of course most of them weren’t helpful, your eyes were automatically glancing over the sexual comments and what not, saying shit like your aspirated groans and whines at the game was hot.

Then a tip rolled in and that wasn’t normal by any means, your tips were of high price ― 20 for a tip was just ridiculous but it stopped a lot of stupid kids commenting. You had loads of subscribers and make a lot from this yet streaming and gaming wasn’t your job. You didn’t want to make it seem that way either because you were still in the end a student.

The tip popped up with your tip icon, blinking with the sender’s icon ― a bunny? 

“All these kids commenting that you suck should fucking stop commenting anonymously like the fucking *shilantropussies* they are.”

You were looking at the sender as you chuckled, “Exactly, jbunnyjeon.”

Of course it was nice to point out people’s names when they tipped because funny enough most of the tippers live for that shit. You were streaming one of the less popular games mostly so you could play it because well you don’t stream for other people but for yourself.

Playing Metal Gear Solid could’ve been a mistake, since this game was a drag in time and effort. Yet, a whole lot of male viewers loved seeing girls play ‘manly’ games, whatever.

“Anyways, I still don’t get why we need this guy with us but I got him,” you commentate as your character, snake, hauled your capture onto the back of your horse.

Finally, you got past the stupid robot. 

“Congrats :( that part took me *days* ― legit was about to kill myself.”

A comment by a fellow streamer, it popped up larger than most since you both were mutuals.

“Jeez, you fucking suck Tae,” You teased, imagining his reaction to everyone seeing how you played better than him. Since, he was a self proclaimed pro-gamer.

You leaned back in your chair, watching yourself on the screen to your left through the cutscene. Seeing all the comments which made you chuckle and respond to some through text. You weren’t one to talk through cutscenes at all.

As things seemingly were going smoothly a buzz through you phone made you groan, if someone was fricking texting you at 9 pm you were about to kill them because there were multiple and they were loud.

Out of frame of the viewers you flipped your phone over, it immediately unlocks and you scroll to see the notification.

95mochibuns is going live!

95mochibuns is going live in 10 minutes!

Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes lock at the time. It was really 9 but fucking 9:50.

95mochibuns announcement! 

Hey guys! A spontaneous live coming up, something special - feeling horny and fucking hard. Hope you can all join me tonight! 

Entry is at 10 on the dot, only those who click in time can view. Testing out something new, maybe you guys will like it. I’ll be able to see your comments easier since it’s exclusive and limited.

Did I mention there’s only 35 slots, :) I love you all.

Oh fucking hell. Were you really going to drop your stream to watch his. Were you going to pretend to have a great reason to stop the stream now, lie to your audience to watch this camboy jack himself off.

Fuck yes.

Letting out a cough, you turned back to face the camera as your phone slips up into your hand, “Urgh, hey guys― I think I’m getting tired.”

"I’m so going to have nightmares about this game tonight, hope you all enjoyed,” you smiled softly, giving your audience the best worn out expression you could. Waving your hand at the camera, seeing comments of those saying ‘goodnight’, or saddened emojis and you know the typical ‘don’t go’ or some mean comments.

Winking at the camera before you shot hearts, “Thank you so much for tuning in on tonights stream! Metal Gear Solid Ep. 24! See you all, next time. Much love!”

Clicking off you let out a sigh, stretching out your back and feeling the cracks moaning at the release. Shit, you’ve been sitting in the same spot for hours, your back was killing you. Twisting and turning trying to pull out all the cracks and tightness you peered at the time on your desktop.

9:54 it was. You had 6 minutes to get on his page and wait, you knew it was going to be war and you were going to be refreshing like your life depended on it.

On the cam website and app, called ‘weheartcam’, it was one of the best in your opinion. The website only took amateurs and didn’t take companies or businesses streaming on their site, only independent streamers, how lovely.

Though Jimin, 95mochibuns, was one of the most popular boys apart of this camboy trio. Made up of himself and his two friends, though you only watched Jimin― something about him makes you just drool.

His fluffy blonde hair, muscular thighs, ripped body- fuck, he was just a korean boy who knew his ways around people of all countries. His english was amazing, he slips his native tongue every now and then, making him even hotter. 

95mochibuns is going live in 5 minutes!

Holy―fricken―fuck. Was it anxiety, you were going to cry if you didn’t get to watch. You ended your stream for this boy, you felt like you were trying to get concert tickets or something.

You clicked on the bookmarked page you had favourited, that directed you right to his page. 

On the videos page, you propped your leg up hugging a knee close to your chest to get comfortable.

Seeing his array of very explicit thumbnails, of which one of them was blurry― for tonight. Plastered over the image, ‘Coming Soon’. Oh yes, he was going to be coming in many ways.

Here you are, playing the waiting game. Being a well traverse streamer of course you internet connection was legit and you had faith in yourself... as much faith you could have when you know at least ten thousand people would want to be watching. He gets at least millions on each of his streams and well whenever there was a live he had more than a hundred thousand watching when it’s on. Though, there were the occasional people who joined instantly and that was the ten thousand super fans.

You wouldn’t say you were a super fan, you didn’t really have a fan page just a random one you used to comment and tip Jimin. You didn’t like all his posts on instagram... you always a bit busy. But well, you’ll have to try― at least.

9:58, nine―fucking―fifty eight. Hearts racing, in the spur of suspense. Your eyes were burning a whole into the clock as your finger on your mouse hovered over the video. Did this seem like you were being too much, no, fuck no.

Time blinks away as you finger immediately taps on the video when it game on. Being delighted by the cute face of Jimin himself, smiling at the camera as he watches the number of streamers go up. Each of the streamers were tagged with a number, you were number 26, fantastic.

Which always made you question how the hell did anyone have better connection that you, especially when you’re pretty sure you pressed right on the dot. Some sort of wizardry bullshit, or bots of course. Yet, these kinds of streams were only for members, of which you definitely were.

You laughed, thinking of the thumbnail he had. He must’ve posed for it in the same outfit before he started the stream.

“Hey guys!” Jimin flashed his ultra pure smile. 

Fluffing up his hair as he seduces his viewers through the camera, “Slots are full, hmm, I’m glad you’re all here.”

They way he speaks is husky, breathy, his eyes were dim and blinking more often. He even moans, holy fuck. He was laid back on a couch, from what you could see. The lights were more dimmed now, neon lights peaking from his left shining on his face.

He must’ve had what you think was the television on, as it was flashing against his face. His camera was still, must’ve been on a tripod.

“Yea, I’ve been busy―argh, sorry for the lack of stream this week. I was actually going to go to sleep, it’s really late here,” he speaks casually, smiling at the camera as he reads through the messages― the non-spamming one. You weren’t commenting though, you were more distracted by what he was doing.

He was wearing a dark sweater, his right shoulder was flexing. Maybe it was your gamer instincts to notice everything, observe everything. He was not just sitting around.

You felt ridiculous, were you actually imaging. No one else was pointing out his erratic breathing, for flustered cheeks. Everyone was asking him what he was doing today, how his day was― innocent things.

Opting to do it yourself you began to type.

peachbubbles: you’re cute when you’re blushing ;’)

Which apparently catches his eye as the side of his lip curls into a smirk, he chuckles patting the back of his nape, “Hmm, you’re observant, huh?”

“Peachy,” he winks at the camera. You felt awfully exposed at that moment, it was clear he was directing that to you.

He made you squirm and blush from the mere look on his face and the way he speaks. This was more than a stupid crush, you’ve been watching him for years and hell, he’s changed since the beginning. He’s so much more confident with himself now.

Since he’s noticed you, but doesn’t really know who you are you commented again.

peachbubbles: why don’t you show us what’s going on downstairs? <3

He seemed to see your comment again, which was easy to spot as yours mentioned a completely different topic from everyone else’s occasional ‘i love you’.

He shook his head humorously, “Downstairs,” hissing through his teeth, “You’re too smart, unlike most of the fans here. You actually think― with your head.”

He grins, reaching forward to the camera, making your heart race from how close he was, it felt realistic from your huge screen. He zooms out.

Your breathing hitches when he pulled back and relaxes on the couch. Everyone’s reaction was well, pretty similar to yours.

He has his legs sprawled out wide, his sweatpants pushed down. His hand fisting his own cock, he bites his lip reading all the lewd comments. Pulling at his balls with his other hand.

“I’d give you a prize if I could, darling,” He teases, flashing his perfect smile again.

His eyes perked around reading the comments, he picked out one in particular to read out.

“Ah... You’re all wondering why I chose to do this random stream, uhm, honestly. This may come as a surprise but I don’t think it is,” He pauses, mumbling a few words, cocking his head back and forth, “I got hella turned on watching, uhm, one of my favourite gamers.”

“She’s pretty hot, she was aggravated by this game, ugh, it’s pretty fucking cute,” you had a sense of jealousy, he was jerking off to the thought of a hot gamer he’s watched, fuck, she was be hot as fuck.

“Anyways, sadly, she had to end her stream before I could jack off to her,” sad indeed, though of course you felt kind of relieved that you won’t be watching your ultimate crush jacking off to some gamer that could be your rival.

If anything, you had just came off your stream.. right? Hell no, Jimin wouldn’t possibly be referring to you, no.

His face was now redder than it was before, he must’ve read the comments spilling with assumptions that he was dating them, having a crush and etc.

“She’s a great gamer! You might know her, she just passed a huge robot level on this game...” as if time had stopped, you awaited what he had to say. Holy fuck, maybe he was talking about you.

“Metal gear solid? Is it? I don’t know much about games like that but it seems cool, I mainly watch those streams for her,” he explained, rubbing his face shyly, “I don’t even watch the gameplay, just her face.”

“Fuck, that sounds creepy doesn’t it? It doesn’t? Thank god,” he sighed, relieved that most of his fans commented how they’d be grateful as fuck if he’d jack off to them.

Jimin leans into the camera, as if he’s whispering and telling a secret, “Hmm, I nut to her nearly everyday.”

He chuckles, leaning back onto the bedframe. His eyes reading through the comments before he playfully huffed.

“Her name? You guys want me to expose her? Hell no!”

He chuckles with an amused tone, shaking his head, “Well, if anything maybe you guys will like her more than me.” 

Damn. You don’t even know how to feel anymore, knowing that your ultimate crush is getting himself off with the imagery of you―you. You didn’t know if you should say something, hell no, if you did you’d get attacked by his raging fans.

God, look at him though. His eyes half shut, euphorically pulling at his balls and jerking himself off― you got so wet just staring at his face, not to mention the sight of his thickened cock in his hands.

Then rolls the comments.

parkhearts: you’re famous! slide in her dms, maybe you’ll get to slide in elsewhere too

babymochi: omg, get together! I ship.

bunbuns: She’s cute, omg, I watch her. Didn’t think she’d be his type, she’s so... cunning haha

iloveprkjm: She’d totes dom him honestly.

jiminsgirl: she’s not even that cute wth are y’all on

Jimin must’ve caught those comments because he sighs, stopping himself for a second as he responds, “She’s way too good for me. But hey, ‘bunbuns’. I’m pretty cunning too, that makes her and I compatible right?”

“And yea. She seems like a total bad girl, and yes, ‘iloveparkjm’ thank you, she could totally pull off a dom look and well I’d let her choke me any day.”

Your breath hitches. His tone was so serious, he wasn’t even laughing it off. He was just grinning like the cute ass he was, knowing well enough that whatever he said made everyone cream their pants.

And cue the thirsty comments.

itsjustpark: i’d let him choke me to death

berrychu: imagine sub jimin tied up though...

perkie: i’m so jealous

chimsgirl: here comes the thirsts and the jellys

More and more comments scrolled their way rapidly down the screen, Jimin’s facial expression was the same as yours―shocked but not surprised. He knew what he said and what would happen, god he loved the attention.

“You guys! Relax, it’s not like she knows I exist,” He laughed, before eyeing the camera and smirking, “I won’t cheat on you guys.”

Did you just cringe? Probably, god he said things that made all his girls die and squirm. You could probably feel the same as them but at the moment all you could think about was the fact that he just told the world he jerked off to you― indirectly but some fans caught on.

jiminsbitch: you guys could make a sex tape... that’d be pretty hot, ____’s hella hot.

heartsforhim: so it is ______

jiminsmine: _____? who’s this hoe

honeybuns: holy fuck imagine seeing him fuck someone.

perkie: i bet minnie knows the motions of the ocean ;) 

You god damned imagined the same thing. Shit, you got off on him too. What’s to stop you from actually messaging him... his fans or your pride.

“Geez, guys please focus on me and not your imagination of me right now,” Jimin teased, still going at himself.

Pushing your ridiculous thoughts away you focused on the now.

peachbubbles: i’m sure she’d love for you to fuck her

Jimin’s eyebrow quirked at your comment. What, he saw it through the floods of other comments, that’s ridiculous. 

“Welcome back from the dead peachy, thought you left,” He said, grinning to the camera as sweat begins to trial down his face.

You continued typing to him.

peachbubbles: are you close~

Jimin hummed, “Close enough.”

He read your comment again, it wasn’t just a coincidence then. You didn’t understand. Maybe you didn’t see other people commenting the same thing.

You began to type something else, maybe something he would do― at least that could solidify if he was actually focusing on your comment.

peachbubbles: i’d love to see you with a cockring

He didn’t respond. Maybe it was too forward or weird... maybe some guys didn’t like using toys. God, why’d you just ask him that, it’s kind of personal right. It’s definitely more daring, maybe he’s just weirded out or just didn’t see it.

He stares down at his cock, slick and wet. Pursing his lips and biting them as he nears his end.

“You know, I’ve never considered getting one,” He says, not looking back at the camera, “Also, aren’t cock rings more of a thing couples use.”

“Pleasures the girl as well as yourself,” Oh christ, why is he doing this to you.

He does enough by just looking into the camera as if it was a real person. His moans and whimpers, he was so shameless with sex and it was glorious. He tugs and rubs himself so well, quick yet stable. His forearms flexed all the way even though his hands were gently touching himself.

Then you could hear his quiet mumbling, “Maybe, ____, likes cockrings.” Chuckling to himself as he shakes his head.

Jimin smirks out of the blue, changing the pace, “Urh, I’m gonna cum. Fuck―uh.” He’s leaking. It’s hot, wet and sexy. 

He always wore the most sultry expression, his one eye half shut and the other completely. Trying his best to look at the camera as if it was a person, whilst his head jerks back in pleasure at his release. His white thick cum creaming out of his cock, all over his hands and thighs, with a name lingering on his lips.

“_____, shit― I fucking h-hope she knows I exist. I’d fuck her―so hard,” his breathing was erratic, he groans through his words, “I’ll take your advice guys―”

He chuckled, “I’ll text her.”

He was going to... to text her― that her was you. Oh god, what are you suppose to do. Play it cool, no way, that’s just fake. Tell him that you’ve been watching him all this time and would love for him to fuck you so hard, no way, that’s just pathetic.

Jimin cocks the camera back up to his face, with a knowing grin― a knowing grin that all his fans fucked themselves to him.

“I’ll see you guys in the next stream, wish me luck,” He smiled boyishly, before pointing a finger at the camera, “And please, do not send her hate or I will hate you.”

“Goodnight!” He waves towards the camera as the stream ends.

You mindlessly waved back. He seemed very serious about texting you―too serious, maybe he’s just playing with your emotions, you as in the fans. He loved causing a storm, though he wouldn’t bring attention to someone so... mindlessly.

Leaning back in your chair, fuck, you didn’t even get off. Rolling your eyes before tapping exit on his page. Getting your ass back onto twitter and reading the comments from your fans as always. Pretending that whatever just happened, never happened.

And then as the world seemed calm and happy.

A buzz killed the air. You furrowed your eyebrows, looking over to your side at your silenced phone. A message? God, who is it.

There wasn’t much you thought about, probably your friends begging you to go out with them for a fun night.

Peering over at the lit up screen your breath comes to a stop at the name. Instead of being your friend wanting to party and hang out―

parkjimin: heyyy~

It was him. Right, maybe you’ll just die.

c. 2019

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 25: We Finally Address the Dead Bakura in the Room

It’s been a long while guys, a long wait. We had a lot of filler. That filler ended up being just a hell ton of characters, and since the show knew they would only be filler characters, every single one of them had to die. So, now that they are all absolutely dead (at least until we’ll need more filler later) we can finally get back to what we were trying to accomplish since S2, to finish this one single tourney that has been going on for a week in the show’s timeline but about a year and a half in the timeline of anyone watching from home.

It’s finally here, we’ve finally made it to...

A tower that Kaiba really did make in just that shape.

Sometimes you can really tell that this kid is a 16 year old. (who is occasionally 18 whenever it’s necessary. But only occasionally.)

I want you to know that it was probably this image that got this post flagged from my drafts folder. This show and getting me flagged, I swear. I’ve now reached a point, that the moment I click “Save” in my drafts folder, I get an automatic flag. Just automatically. Maybe once you’re tagged enough times, they just start putting you into a special group? I dunno. I’m not concerned about it since this blog is quite kosher, it’s just kind of funny to me that this will probably continue to happen whenever I post from here on out, and the massive dick tower Kaiba made is not helping my cause.

In case you are wondering, Kaiba and Mokuba are completely over losing their only surviving family. They act as if getting trapped in a VR nightmare where your Dad is trying to control all human life is something that is completely trivial and something that everyone goes through at one point. They’re completely over it. Most people would cancel the tourney after seeing the horrors they just witnessed but...Seto still wants those God cards, so, no one has spoken a lip about Noah at all. And probably never will ever again. RIP, Noah arc.

This episode (as well as the next one, since I’ve gotten in the habit of doing these two at a time for weekend updates) is pretty short. This is mostly because they’re recapping S2. Luckily for you and I, this is not really necessary since this is a recap blog and I can just...scroll down...to see what happened in S2 (and I did have to do that because I forgot...a lot)

But, I imagine kids who started watching this show who with the Noah Season and just kinda walked into this situation aboard the blimpjet from Hell were...hella confused at all these rando characters and Egyptian curses coming out of nowhere. The Noah arc and the Real arc are like two completely different feeling arcs.

(Read more under the cut)

They were probably also super confused at this random blonde lady in the hospital who is Joey’s friend but also, if I had not actually seen this show before, I’d just assume was his own mother because she’s drawn so much older than him.

Joey and Mai are now like...basically dating. Honestly, this is probably the best relationship Mai has ever had, and it’s taken place entirely when she’s in a coma.

On the other side of the Blimp, Marik is also checking up on his own beloved coma patient -- but by checking up on him, Marik actually intends to kill him.

Still trying to kill Odion. How many times are we gonna get this guy hovering over Odion’s bed with a knife (that they leave the tip off of in the English version) ?

What follows is a bizarre scene of Marik threatening to kill his Sister but never actually doing it. Honestly, this would be them until the end of time. Marik is never going to kill his Sister. It would be too much effort. He couldn’t even kill Odion when Odion was just asleep right in front of him.

And this is probably there as a sign that Marik still has a slightly less evil side in there somewhere but also...Marik is a villain that doesn’t like actually doing the work required to be a villain, which is how that entire Noah arc happened, youknow? Everyone should be dead by now. It’s been DAYS.

Honestly this whole scene was freakin weird, but not as weird as the next scene.

That’s right, the thing I’ve been waiting for for so long. That thing I’ve brought up every freakin episode for 25 episodes. We’re finally going to talk about it. We’re finally going to address it. I can’t believe it’s actually happening, I honestly thought this wouldn’t get addressed until S5.

It is amazing how many times Yugi’s friends have walked into Yugi having a freaking melt down with himself and how many times Yugi’s friends have been absolutely cool with it. They’re just...used to this now, I guess. They’re just used to Yugi crying at the top of his lungs with the lights off in someone else’s empty room. Completely normal Yugi behavior.

And then...this happens.

For absolutely NO REASON AT ALL, Yugi decides to lie.

I mean if I had a quarter for every lie Yugi says in this show, we’d be drowning in loose change, but it still surprised me a whoooole lot that Yugi would bother to lie about THIS. This thing that you could so easily debunk. This would be so easy to catch on to. The fact that no one wonders “wait, how is he getting air if the jet is still in the sky?” or the fact that when they’re outside, getting some air later in this very episode no one wonders “wait, Bakura’s not even here?”

Like why does any of Yugi’s friends even trust him at this point? Yugi is constantly lying and he’s not even good at it.

And maybe it’s because Yugi thinks that if he says Bakura died, then everyone would get their confidence shattered by Marik and would become too weak to fight back but like...they just witnessed half of Kaiba’s family die and now Yugi thinks they can’t handle Bakura--their shadiest asshole friend--getting killed by the same serial murderer that put two other people in a coma?

He doesn’t even tell the Kaibas “hey, so Marik killed one of your duel champions, do you maybe...need to do something about that?” No. He just...lets it be. Why tell Kaiba? Why tell the guy in charge of this tournament that one of the people in your tourney killed the other tourney people? Why even threaten Moki to threaten to enforce the rules for once his life?

Yugi, I swear.

God bless the storyboarder.

It’s been a while since I praised the storyboarder, mostly because I forget, but man, seeing this pose from this angle is such a good joke. Kaiba just committing to his signature pose until the camera cuts away.

And then, they step off the blimpjet and unanimously agree that Kaiba has deffo brought them here to murder them all and hide the bodies.

Admire this hell hole and then remember that Yugi told everyone that Bakura went outside for “fresh air” and they didn’t immediately ask “you mean in the dump? The literal trash compactor that’s outside? You said Bakura just walked out into the piles of weapon’s factory and rusty sharp metal and is just...waltzing around out there?”

I mean, at this point they should have put two and two together but it’s this team so...I guess they’ll just never know the truth.

And then Joey decided it was time to fight club again.

Marik really did leap up here and go like, “man, this is SO pretty” and it’s supposed to be taken as a sign that Marik loves destruction, but honestly? I don’t think Marik has any idea what things should look like above ground in the first place. He might think this is what normal above-ground people like.

Then, Marik patiently asked Mokuba what the duel order would be and that’s when Mokuba lost his freakin gourd just out of nowhere.

I mean Mokuba doesn’t really like talking to Marik, I get that, but how much of an asshole do you have to be before Mokuba doesn’t like you?

Anyway, they all enter the tower and learn about a whole new mode of playing the game. It took a very long time, and since I don’t go over card games here, is another part of the reason why this update is mercifully short.

They go on these...elevator cars????? And, as they attack eachother they sort of get pushed to the top of the tower, and whoever gets there first, is the first to duel and so on.

They make a very big hullaboo about who they want to duel in the finals. Every single person here. We spend like 5 minutes in everyone’s head wondering about what their strategy will be in this mini game that makes really not much of a difference.

There’s not even guard rails, they could’ve just given him a little push.

I take that back, there are guard rails on these things, but because none of these people ever sit down, the guard rails that are a foot and half off the floor of their cabin will make absolutely no difference.

Like please notice that every single one of their weird duel cars has a padded seat that none of them will even use.

Overall this looks like a whole lot of dueling and I’m looking forward to skipping it. Honestly it’s nice, when was the last time I had a 25 length cap post? S1, right? Like all the way since S1. Ah, good memories.

Anyways, if you just got here, this is a list of the other recaps of this series, starting at S1 Ep1 and moving forward in chrono order.

[dollophead-merlin]

WIP Meme

I was tagged by @queenofavalon3 and @fictionalinfinity ! Thank you!

Don't expect me to finish this. It's just something that's been saved in my drafts for months 🤷🏽‍♀️

Arthur and the knights walked into Cenred's castle, only to be met by a serving girl.

"Cenred will be here soon, Sire. He's a bit preoccupied at the moment. For now, I will lead you all to your chambers. Feel free to explore and make use of all of the services we offer."

"Thank you very much." Arthur replied. They had come to negotiate possible treaties between the two kingdoms.

After he had settled in, Lancelot decided to wander the castle with Percival. The two of them chuckled non-stop as they cracked jokes. Soon enough, they found themselves at the base of the North tower. Being the brave and curious knights they are, they decided to climb the stairs, only stopping when they got to the top.

They got to the top to find a locked door with a key over it.

"Talk about terrible security, eh?" Percival chuckled.

The men were about to turn around to go back to their chambers when they heard the clink of chain links and a slight whimper. Lancelot looked to Percival as if asking him if they should go in. Percival nodded his head before reaching up to grab the key above the doorway.

They opened the door to be met with a pitch black room. Lancelot grabbed a torch from its mount before trudging behind Percival. From the corner of the room, chain links could be heard again. Lancelot pointed the torch toward the sound to see a girl around their age lethargically pressing herself against the wall and attempting to cover her bare body.

"Please, no more, I'm sorry, please!" The girl whimpered weakly.

"Shhh, shhhhh... It's okay, we're not going to hurt you. Can you tell us your name? This is Percival and I'm Lancelot. We're from Camelot." Lancelot soothed, slowly advancing on her as to not frighten her.

"Lance?" The girl whispered almost hopefully before looking up.

The two men recognised her face immediately.

"(Y/N)? Percival, hold the torch for a moment." Lancelot rushed over to the girl and scooped her up into his arms, earning a weak, but strangled cry. It was then that Lancelot really took a look at her.

Her body was littered with large bruises, her bones were broken, her hair was a damp and matted mess, the giant shackles around her wrists that dug into her pale skin were rusted and sharp, she had many wounds that had been ripped open numerous times, and was caked in a fluid that made him sick at his stomach at the thought of.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I know. We're going to get you out of here as soon as we can, okay? Just sit tight, you'll be alright." He said as he moved some hair out of her face.

"What about Cenred?"

"We'll take care of him, don't you worry my dear friend." Percival said as he crouched down beside them.

"Hey, we need to leave before we're caught but we'll be back soon, alright, (Y/N)? Just stay strong. I love you so much." He said as he placed her back in the corner.

The two knights locked the door and returned the key to its spot and hurried back to the rest of the group.

The knights finally got to Arthur's temporary chambers, Lancelot knocks on the door.

"Come in."

"Sire, we have some urgent information we wish to share regarding (Y/N)." This seemed to pique Arthur's interest.

"What is this information?"

"We were wandering through the castle to pass time and we came upon a room in the North tower." Percival answered.

"Go on..." The king said, not sure where this was headed.

"In said room, we found (Y/N) chained, beaten, and raped."

"You must be mistaken. We've consulted with every kingdom around us including Cenred's."

"Sire, it was her. She recognized Lancelot and I. Meet us at the North tower tonight. we can prove it."

The day seemed to drone on from the countless meetings to the long banquet they held, Lancelot and Percival were sure the end of the day would never come.

Finally, it did. The three men met in Lancelot's chambers before quietly and quickly making their way to the tower. Once they got to the base of the tower, they heard a piercing scream ring out.

Arthur, Percival, and Lancelot decided to wait behind a pillar until Cenred left. After what seemed like hours, he finally headed the opposite direction to his chambers. The trio took the chance to dart up the stairs. They quickly unlocked the door and pulled a torch from the wall.

Lancelot rushed over to his love. She was covered in a fresh layer of the same substance he had found dried onto her pale skin.

"(Y/N)!" He whispered, "(Y/N), you need to wake up, gorgeous."

"Lancelot?" Percival said, pointing to the ground. He didn't realize it, but Lancelot had been kneeling in a rather large pool of blood.

"We need to get her out of here or she's going to die." Percival warned.

"Get her to your chambers and pack up your stuff. I'll tell Merlin to do the same. I cannot leave or they might cut off the treaty. Now get those chains off and hurry!"

They somehow found a way to get the shackles off quickly. Lancelot wrapped her up in his cloak and picked her up, rushing out of the room.

"Percival, can you watch her while I pack?"

"Of course." Lancelot got to packing immediately.

Once he finished, Lancelot rushed over to Merlin's chambers to help him.

"Merlin, we need to hurry, it's really bad."

"Okay, I'm just about done. Who's with (Y/N)?"

"Percival is."

"Let's go."

Lancelot and Merlin raced to their horses and saddled up. Before they left, Merlin uttered some sort of incantation. He said it was to keep her body in a stagnant state until he could attend to her.

They raced out of Cenred's Kingdom and back to Camelot. (Y/N)'s still form made Lancelot sick to his stomach. He tried to push the feeling down until they could stop.

They rode until the sun started to set. Lancelot silently slid off his horse and gathered (Y/N) in his arms.

[starfaring-princelotor]

No Time Like The Present

Summary: Lotor receives a gift and finds it means more to him than he realizes. 

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: N/a.

Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends

Lotor knew he was staring.

He knew he was unconsciously drifting his gaze from the professor to where you were sitting, directly across the hall from him. More than once he had to snap out if it by internally slapping himself, even if you didn’t once recognize the indecent gaze of his eyes lingering on your body. Your mouth. Your neck. Your shoulders. All of you. From the way your quill moved with every flick of your wrist to how those lips would mutter silently to yourself in reminder.

Lotor wondered what else your hands could do. What else that mouth could do. What else hid behind those lustrous orbs of yours. He couldn’t decide between wanting to steal a kiss from you or wanting you to take his breath away with a press of your delicate, pillowy lips upon him. His thoughts were rampant with little care for the rules he labeled as self-respect. And, damn it all, he had to control himself better.

You are not in love. You are heavily infatuated, you fool. You know the difference, now gather your wits and pay attention to the lesson at hand.

Hand. Lotor’s mind flashed an image of your hands, helplessly clinging to his back in wild lust. Were your nails long? Would you be digging them in his hot flesh while his hips grind against your body underneath him? Oh, how he wanted to feel your palm touching his chest, anywhere your curious mind desired. Are you the kind to let your fingertips explore or -

Damn. What was he? A foolish hormone-driven prepubescent again?

“Asked her out to the Yule Ball yet?”

Lotor kept his gaze glued on you and, without missing a beat, answered, “No. I do not think I will.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Shiro was watching his friend, that half-lust, half-adoration look in his eyes, “I heard Throk was going to.”

“You sure hear a lot of gossip nowadays, hm, Shiro?”

“Not my fault Allura’s mice like to hang out with me.”

He would have to hand it to Lotor, though. The man didn’t even flinch when he mentioned Throk. Was he that enthralled with you? Were his rose-colored goggles too tight on his face? Did he even notice you staring straight back at him with a small smile on your lips? No, he thinks not. He was on cloud nine and riding high in his horny thoughts.

“She will not agree to go with him.”

“Never get rid of that confidence, friend. It suits you,” Shiro grinned, containing his chuckle to not draw attention, “Since when could you tell the future?”

“I can not,” he grinned, “But chances are slim for Throk when she, no doubt, has lines of eager suitors just waiting to ask for her hand.”

Shiro was tempted to roll his eyes. What a hopeless romantic, this guy. When his grey orbs caught the black rose sticking out of his friend’s satchel, the Gryffindor prefect shook his head in mirthful amusement.

Hopeless? Maybe not. Romantic? Definitely.

Another crumpled ball folded itself into a snake, the magic from your wand bringing inanimate objects to life. Temporarily, anyways.

If anyone were to come into your room, they would see a zoo littered all over the floor. Paper animals from bears to giraffes tramped over the rug, some hiding under your bed while others sought to rip the smaller one to pieces. Ah, yes, the circle of paper life. It mattered not how noisy they were being. It could not distract you from hovering the tip of the quill over another blank parchment.

And hover it stayed.

The words were not coming to you and that was beyond frustrating. Your penmanship was fine, beautiful even, but the prose? The poetic soul? The letters meant to represent those lingering thoughts in your head were not working with you tonight. Or any previous night, for that matter. All you were doing was wasting ink and time. And yet, you kept trying, struggling to make this letter as perfect as possible for a certain white haired Slytherin.

Sighing heavily, you straighten your back and stretched your arms above you, letting your mind wander.

If there was one thing you appreciated with being Lotor’s friend, then it is that you didn’t need to be perfect. Everyone had flaws, but he showed you twice already that fixing them is what makes you a better person. Change is a good thing. Painful, but good. It was difficult keeping your eyes astray from that mirror shard. Easily one of the hardest hurdles you have ever had to do. You wanted so badly to see your mother, your father, all of you, smiling happily like before they…

“Dear Lotor,”

Dear Lotor? Was that proper for your friend? Hopefully, yes.

“Words can not express how thankful I am to have you by my side.”

You thought back to potions class, the time in the forest, even when he was guiding you to your house’s wing. A small, fond smile spread on your lips.

“Whereas I have been recklessly selfish, you have dutifully”

Dutifully? Ugh. That was not the right word! You know he wasn’t helping you out of duty. Well, not completely anyways. You hastily scratched over “dutifully” then continued writing, figuring this was a good 56th draft.

“You have kindly grounded me to see things more logically, something I have failed to do for someone sorted into the Ravenclaw house.”

Yes, yes. Keep it somewhat light with a self-burn joke. No doubt he would agree with you anyways. Probably chuckle to himself if he reads it. When he reads it. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating on the next words itching to transfer from your mind to ink. This part was always the hardest. The blank yellow tint of the paper mocked you, teased you for the cowardly trepidation gripping your chest. All this time, locked in your room, you came to one conclusion: you liked Lotor. You would consider the both of you as friends, right?

Right.

“If it is all the same to you”

Scratch that. It was too non-chalant.

“I hereby request that”

Scribbles. Too formal.

“Would it be terribly selfish if I were to ask you to attend the Yule ball with me?”

As...friends? Best friends. You felt your face warming up at those two words. Best. Friends. You really liked that.

Prince Lotor was nervous.

A rare occurrence for him, but it did happen. While he brushed off invisible lint from his shoulder, other hand folded neatly behind his back, he kept his posture straight and regal in waiting like a true gentleman. The bottom of the stairs have never felt so intimidating before. His collar suddenly felt too tight and, goodness, was that a scuff on his boots? Who dared step on his shoe without his knowing? He kept sneaking glances to his cuffed wrists, just to make sure he was presentable for the public. No, not just the public. But for you, too. Of course he was fine, handsome even, and yet…he was stiff as if he was going to face a basilisk with only his bare hands for weapons.

Green was still a horrendous color, but he will admit it complemented the black suit wonderfully.

“Prince Lotor.”

Your voice calling his name, with his proper title, drew his nebulous eyes up each carved marble step. That smile on your face suited you well and, in all honesty, was better than the elegant dress draping past your ankles. That beauty radiating from your eyes put the soft sapphire linen to shame. Little did he know, you were thinking the same when you stared in awe at the silver braid crowning his head. Did he even realize he was grinning like a fool with a soft fondness glazing over his sharp face?

“You look beautiful, my dear,” he held his hand out, which you gladly surrendered your own on top of his, “Surely, this flower will not even hold a candle to you.”

You scoffed, he chuckled, “C’mon, Casanova, give yourself some credit here. I’d say try not to attract too much attention at the hall, but that’s nearly impossible for you.”

“Oh? Go on,” Lotor tied the white silk band around your wrist delicately, ensuring the blooming corsage was centered properly, “Think women will drop to my feet and beg for a dance?”

“Ha!” you barked a laugh, “That’ll be the day. But no, it’s more like...you’re just hard to miss.”

With his height, his skin, his hair, yes, Lotor was indeed hard to miss. No doubt people would stare and, although you had no problem with speeches and crowds in a classroom, this was a different setting all together. A social gathering, not something you were accustomed to yet, especially besides someone whose mere presence demanded attention. Lotor curbed the playful banter then held his elbow out for you to take, already sensing your creeping uneasiness while his own nervousness disappeared in thin air.

“I do not suppose you have any more of that invisible ink you used in your letter, hm?” there was a hint of pride at your ingenious trick, one he almost wasn’t able to solve, “We could douse ourselves in it and run off. All those in our year will be there, I doubt they would notice two people missing.”

Besides, it’s not like this is the first time Lotor would bend the rules for you.

“And land you in trouble with the Headmaster Bob? I think not, Mr. Prince Slytherin Prefect.”

“Please,” he said with some exasperation hidden in his grin, “Just call me Lotor for tonight.”

The doors were already open and, from above, you could see the enchanted ceiling sprinkling snowflakes of all sizes. They disappeared before touching anyone’s head, but what truly caught your sight was the bright moon and the powdered tall trees displaying a winter wonderland before your very eyes. Magic was truly a special phenomenon you will never quite get used to.

“Damn, looks like we missed the ballroom dance,” you sure did not sound too heartbroken about it, “Seems like my accursed knack for being late strikes once again. Terrible.”

Lotor arched a brow and grinned down at you, “Nonsense. We will still get our dance yet, darling, though this music is not exactly suitable for it. Nor is...all this wild hopping and flailing.”

While all the students were inside, going crazy to the rock of ages blasting in the hall, Lotor led the two of you out into an isolated garden patio, complete with cement benches, neatly trimmed bushes still shimmering with green leaves, and even a soothing fountain filling the chilly air. Strange, but the cold did not seep into your bones as fast as you thought. In fact, you felt rather warm besides your friend.

A puff of fog left your mouth as you spoke, “It was getting stuffy in there. But, aah, the fresh air is nice.”

You took a deep breath just to emphasize your approval, but when you tried to release your hold from him, Lotor’s bigger hands refused to let you go. He wasn’t clasping tightly at all, more loose to let you go if you truly wanted to. Your questioning gaze and tilt of head made the Prince falter for a second, before he offered you an enchanting smile. Enchanting or mischievous, you wondered?

“I was serious about the dance,” he liked the surprised look on your face, “But if you are not of mind, it is no tragedy, my dear.”

“You know, I failed that lesson. Spectacularly, might I add.”

“Good thing I am not a teacher then, hm?”

A laugh left your mouth before you could stop it, funny bone simply tickled at the light banter. Yes, it is a good thing he was no teacher. You returned to his arms, much to his delight, and placed your free hand on his broad shoulder. Lotor tangled his fingers with yours before setting his palm properly to grip your waist. He was half tempted to squeeze, maybe try to see if you were ticklish at all, but it was your hum of thought that distracted him.

“Just don’t laugh when I step on your toes.”

“I will most certainly laugh. You know this.”

Teasing bastard, but you grinned in amusement anyways. Lotor nearly puffed up his chest, ready to lead you into the dance, but first he started...purring? No, ridiculous. He was humming a soft tune, one completely different than that leaking from the dance hall. Slowly, with the utmost care as if he was holding an ethereal moon goddess in his very arms, the Prince guided you along with his firm, lithe body.

Chest against chest, pelvis flushed together, the surrounding garden and night slowly faded away as the only thing both of you could feel was each other’s sublime presence. He was good at this and, really, now you kind of wish you paid more attention in class. Lotor expertly avoided your missteps, making it seem like you were flawlessly following his guide even though he was doing 95% of the work.

You were acutely aware that he had a smile on his face, one you have never seen him wear since you first met him crossing the threshold into Hogwarts castle.

“You are staring.”

“Can’t help it. Your freckles are distracting.”

“I get that quite often,” he flashed you an honest, handsome grin, canine glinting under the dim moon, then found his throat constricting suddenly, “You may touch them, if you wish.”

As the dance came to a slow end, you decided to take him up on that offer. His hands smoothed down to hold your waist, a way to keep you close to him in this chilly, chilly night. Couldn’t risk you getting a cold or becoming sick, right? Lotor kept still when gentle fingertips trailed up to his chin, barely skimming over his jawline, then gave the barest of flinches as you touched him. His cheeks were freezing, but your warm thumbs caressing over his freckles felt absolutely blissful.

You don’t know why, but you half expected those speckles to glow.

“Hm,” you squinted, eyes narrowed at him and, well, it put him on alert. Was it something he did? Said? Perhaps he was holding you too tight -

“...55...56…”

“...Are you,” he started, realization dawning on him, “Are you counting my freckles?”

A pinch on his cheeks, “Yes! You made me lose count. Stay still.”

But he didn’t. Lotor bellowed out a laugh, head tossing back at the ruined moment. No, not ruined. This was perfect. Not exactly what he expected, but you always did have a funny way to diffuse domestic scenarios. Leave it to you to make him swerve off his intended path. A good thing, no doubt. Always expect the unexpected. His chest was shaking while you tsk’d at him for interrupting your very important assignment.

“Come, darling,” he let out a relieved sigh, the laugh doing wonders on his hardened, infatuated soul, “Sit with me. I have something for you.”

Lotor brushed off the layer of snow from the cement bench then motioned you to take it. He did the same for his own spot before glancing up at the night sky. Beautiful. Always has been, but tonight, those star seem to be glimmering even brighter than before. Your eyes were stuck on the moon and it was in this rare, pleasant silence where the both of you came to understand how...nice it was being with each other.

“Christmas was never something I gave a second thought to because it was too...how do you say? Too sentimental, ” his hand reached into his coat, pulling out an immaculately wrapped square present, “It was not a holiday for me. Celebrating with family over a warm dinner and thoughtful, spoiled presents. Hugs and togetherness spreading cheer and good will to each other. Sickening, really.”

You would have believed him if you didn’t catch that growing smile on his lips.

“But I realize that is wrong. What it means to me does not mean the same for others. Not to you,” his thumb brushed over the shiny bow on the present before he turned and offered it to you, “There are people who had a happy family and...ahem, pardon me.”

Lotor was at a loss for words. This talk was making his heart jump in his chest, crashing into his vocal chords and messing with his brain only because it felt awkward sharing personal thoughts so...openly.

“I simply hope this gift exchange, as you say, is enough to bring back those joyful memories for you, my dear.”

My best friend. Lotor was no dunce. He could piece two and two together, especially after you shared with him the history of your broken family. He didn’t need to hear it all and, judging by how much it affected you, you weren’t going to indulge him. The only thing that mattered was that you were happy. You had a happy family and, damn it, just because his own parents were cruel and heartless doesn’t mean you should follow his chosen path of being the seasonal despondent.

You had good memories of your family, but this? Lotor’s gift? You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the surge of feelings making your lower lip quiver. You threw your arms around him in a crushing embrace, causing the Prince to stutter at such straightforward displays of affection. And yet, his arms wrapped around your midsection as he returned the sudden hug. This...this felt nice, especially knowing you accepted his gift.

“Thank you,” you swayed him slightly before backing off him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Lotor. This is...it’s not the same, but…”

Lotor’s smile faltered a bit.

“But it’s much better. Way better.”

Now, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.

“I love it - “

“You did not even open it yet.”

“I know! I’m just taking in the moment! It’s important! It feels good!”

Lotor raised a silver brow and, finally, you pulled the bow and strings off the present. The wrapping came off next. The Prince found himself unconsciously holding his breath in dreadful anticipation. The book with no title laid bare for your very eyes, but you went deathly silent. Intricate etchings in the green leather dye suddenly seemed mediocre for someone like you. The symbolic tree with jade minerals carved into leaves were too dull. He knew he should have gone with emeralds. Much prettier, much shinier, much more suited for -

“Wow…” your voice was low, but full of dazed awe, “You...you made this?”

“Oh, no. I bought the journal,” he watched your fingertips gently skim over the leaves, “But those, I put in myself. I even...ah…”

The timber of his voice trailed off and you turned to look at him to see his gaze fixated on the white floor, “Yes? You even…?”

“So pushy, you are,” he chuckled, running a hand over his hair and trying to steel himself with being so open, “I have enchanted it. Do write in it tonight and see what happens.”

“You aren’t going to tell me?”

“No.”

“See, that’s just mean,” you bumped your shoulder against him lightly, playfully, “Now I can’t wait until the dance is over.”

Would you think differently of him if he said he didn’t want it to end?

“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” you reached into your bag, “Now, before I give this to you, you have to close your eyes.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Yes, really.”

“Very well, I will humor you.”

You almost wanted to pinch that catty grin off his face, but he did obey when his lids slid close. Taking a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t peek, you gently grabbed his hand and placed the paper wrapped orb in his palm. At least, you should have, until you noticed a certain pale scar cutting across his skin. The scar from the mirror, an unwelcome reminder of your foolish actions.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped the gift and pushed his fingers up to curl around it.

“Alright, there.”

When he opened his celestial eyes, the first thing Lotor saw was that your smile, as true as it was, had a quick flutter of sadness creeping at the edges. It disappeared before he could question you and he ultimately decided, well, perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was that fleeting memory of your family invading your mind again. In any case, he let it go for now, then deftly peeled apart the wrapping covering your gift.

Your leg was bouncing in anxiousness. Every crinkle of the paper was a mocking tune to the gift in his hand. This wasn’t as practical as his gift. Did he like gifts that were more useful than sentimental? Oh, stars, what if this was just going to be sitting in a storage box, hidden away for years because all it ever does is show one’s emotions and -

Lotor’s brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Is...is this blue sandstone?”

“Uh huh,” your hand came up to rub your neck nervously, “Shined it, too, until it was good and ready. Do you...like it?”

Why did you even ask that? It only made your throat tighten more in trepidation, both wanting and afraid to hear his answer.

He could not take his eyes off the orb, inner stars slowly changing to green grass and blooming flowers and sunshine all around. It was warm, so warm that he had to bring both of his hands in to cradle it lovingly. This small gem was...precious. Beautiful. He knows about these, he knows about these intimately, but he never sought to own one himself. Lotor liked to believe he is a man who knows himself both inside and out, emotions included.

But this soothing visual of spring time told him otherwise.

“I do,” he whispered, “I do like it. This is...This is truly an extraordinary gift, my dear. I will cherish it forever.”

Lotor may be a Prince, but right now he felt like a King.

You sighed in relief. Lotor took entirely too long to answer, but when he did, his words made you feel big. Wholesome. Accomplished, even. Then...then you realized what exactly this was you were feeling. You felt accepted. You didn’t feel so alone now. It was quiet, both students simply touching and admiring the gifts given by the other while the stars protected you two from above.

“Do you...want to go inside? Grab a drink?”

Lotor slowly dragged his eyes to lock with yours, a certain tenderness radiating from them in the night. It was a good look on him, one you thought, well, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Not yet, my dear. I am...taking in the moment.”

Neither of you wanted the night to end, but alas, even youngsters had their limits. Lotor’s tie was loose, jacket hanging off the side of his chair, and top two buttons of his shirt undone. Still, he wasn’t tired, he didn’t want to sleep, not when the blue sandstone orb was still in his possession. This would easily be a treasured gift he will not share with others. Solely for him and him only. Not even Kova would have the luxury of touching this.

The navy-dyed journal on his desk began glowing a faint, soft hue. Lotor couldn't stop the surge of...joy? Happiness? Eagerness? Something. The surge of something fluttering to his face and planting a smile on his lips. He flipped it open to the first blank page and waited in suspense. He never told you what the secret was because he wasn’t quite sure if his enchantment worked in the first place.

Then, words started appearing on the parchment, words written in your handwriting.

“Dear diary, 

Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

Lotor grabbed his quill, uncapped his ink bottle, then dipped it before writing right under your sentence.

“Me, too.”

[glorifiedscapegoat]

Happy New Year’s!

Happy New Year’s, everyone! My name's Mira, and we're kicking off 2019 with some NSFW No.6 stuff! This was originally a Christmas gift for my friend @just-something-miraculous, but now it's here on the Archive and tumblr, so I hope you enjoy it.

Title: blindfolds, silk, and lace (Ao3 Link)

Fandom: No.6 (All Media Types)

Characters: Nezumi, Shion

Pairing: Nezumi/Shion

Rating: M

Tags: BDSM, post-reunion

Summary:  "Hmph." A gust of warmth against Shion's stomach. He clenched his fists, his own short nails digging into the palms of his hands. He strained against the silk trapping his wrists to the headboard as Nezumi's canines traced a path from his navel to his pelvic bone. "What am I going to do with you?"

Shion could hear the curtains flapping in the warm autumn breeze. It was an odd thing to focus on, he thought, the sound of fabric rustling in the other room. Their cramped little apartment didn't have much space for an air conditioning unit, so they'd had to crack all the windows to get a comfortable draft going.

Shion thought about asking Nezumi to go into the next room and shut the windows. He didn't want to get too involved before thinking to mention something—lest he ruin the mood. Shion didn't like ruining the mood. For him, at least, it was difficult to get back into character. Shion wasn't a skilled actor. He wasn't even B-List.

The sound of the bedroom door closing blocked out the rustling of the curtains. The windows had slotted shades, and the screens had been cracked just enough to let a cool gust of wind wash over Shion's skin. Goosebumps rose on his arms and legs. His entire body was bare aside from a pair of black boxers, made of silk. Shion had spent more on this single pair than he'd ever spent on a three-pack of cotton boxer shorts, but at the time, it'd been worth it.

For Shion, the sexual appeal of these games came from the dilution of the senses. The temporary thrill of danger. The inability to know. The white blindfold around his eyes, settling above his ears and flattening his bangs to his forehead, prevented him from seeing the person he could feel sitting on the edge of the bed.

The same could not be said of Nezumi. Danger had never been a turn-on for him—but the ability to manipulate the game, to seize control and work a scene the way a puppet master worked a set of strings, was a powerful aphrodisiac.

Nezumi liked to dominate as much as Shion enjoyed being dominated. And Shion had found excitement in the ability to trust someone to cut off his senses, to blind him and bind him and leave him unable to fight back, and to stop when Shion had enough.

With the blindfold on, Shion couldn't see Nezumi, but he knew what he looked like. When Shion had first proposed the game several months ago, Nezumi spent hours agonizing over which outfit to wear. He'd stolen several of his costumes from the theater's dressing room and dragged them home for Shion to scrutinize.

Juliet's gentle pink frock didn't scream control at all. Hero's haunting white wedding dress had a mix of lace running down the spine that Shion thought was gorgeous, but the sight of it hadn't wowed him as much as it had when Nezumi wore it on stage. Ophelia's gown would do as a last resort, but Shion didn't find her to be all that intimidating, as far as heroines went.

In the end, it had been Lady Macbeth's dress that Shion picked. The deep wine-red of the fabric scratched against his bare legs when Nezumi perched at the edge of the bed and ran a long nail—lacquered and painted crimson, especially for this game—from Shion's navel to the hem of his boxer shorts. Shion remembered being enamored and a little frightened when Nezumi first swept from behind the wings during the theater’s Spring performance of Macbeth, his long hair swept up in a stern bun, the curve of his throat gloriously white against the material of the dress.

"This one," Shion had insisted, desperately trying to control the tremor in his voice, shifting to conceal the sudden growth in his jeans. "You should wear this one."

Nezumi's fingers against his skin hesitated for a moment. Shion's imagination remembered the sweep of mascara surrounding those devastating silver eyes. Nezumi's coworker, Tana, had stayed after hours to teach him how to make a wing. Shion had woken in the middle of the night to the sound of Nezumi fumbling with the eyeliner pen, muttering under his breath when the line wasn't crisp enough.

Shion could feel the weight of Nezumi's body on the edge of the bed, his hips angling toward the dip in the mattress. His arms were splayed above his head, tied to the slots in the headboard with pieces of silk cord that bit into the skin just enough to sting but never to cut. Nezumi had never been comfortable with rope, and Shion didn't enjoy handcuffs. After a rather unfortunate incident about a month ago, and a series of uncomfortable weeks where Shion hated himself for not following the rules of self-binding safety, Nezumi and Shion agreed to never use something that couldn't be broken with a little effort. The silk holding Shion to the headboard now kept him restrained well enough, but if Shion exerted a bit more force than usual, he could rip them.

The silk gave each of Shion's hands about six inches of movement. Not enough to be of much use, but better than absolute restraint. Sometimes during the games, Shion flashed back to the cold terror that had gripped him all those weeks ago when he realized he couldn't get out. Feeling daring one evening, while waiting for Nezumi to return home after rehearsal, Shion had attempted a binding method he’d discovered on the Internet that left him unable to escape on his own. His plan had been for Nezumi discover him and dive immediately into another game—but Nezumi had been late coming home. Two hours late.

If he'd come home even a moment later—well, neither of them liked to think much about what could have happened.

Shion didn't worry about not being able to end it. Nezumi dominated the game, but the real power rested in Shion's ability to stop it with a word. Two words, to be exact. He and Nezumi had spent long days pitching ideas for safe words, struggling over something that would match the nature of their game but also provide an exit.

Two weeks after Shion had proposed the game, thirteen days after Nezumi had agreed to explore it, Shion had pitched the phrase: "Forgive me."

Matching the dominating tone of their game, Shion believed the words worked because Nezumi didn't like it when Shion apologized for things that weren't his fault. Nezumi didn't like apologies.

And so "Forgive me" had become Shion's "Stop." It had become Nezumi's "No." Shion had placed the entirety of his trust in those words, in Nezumi, in the love that he had for the other man and in the knowledge that Nezumi would never hurt him.

When Shion said "forgive me", the game ended. Then and there. No room for negotiation. No hurt feelings. When Nezumi said "forgive me", Shion became himself again. He stepped out of the role of dominated playmate and Nezumi emerged from the cocoon of dominating mistress.

Nezumi's fingers resumed their exploration of the skin on Shion's stomach. Shion arched into the touch and whimpered. The cool end-of-summer air was sharp against his bare flesh, and the buzz of excitement that burst through him was narrowed down to the path of Nezumi's nails.

Shion's spine lifted off the bed. The balls of his feet dug into the comforter—plush and soft and smelling of expensive cologne and perfume. Part of the game involved taking Shion's mind away from the comforts of home, tricking his senses into believing he was somewhere other than the third bedroom, the smallest, in his and Nezumi's little apartment. Nezumi had practically soaked the blankets in the clove-scented mist he'd purchased at the market downtown. Shion's back pressed into the fabric, slightly damp where Nezumi had held down the nozzle too long.

"Well," said Nezumi, and the lilting sound of his voice sent pleasurable shivers through Shion's spine. "I didn't think you'd be this excited." His nails traveled south, hooking in the hem of Shion's boxers.

During these games, Nezumi slipped into his "Eve" voice. Slightly raised and melodic, a faint echo of his own sarcastic snap. It was similar enough to Nezumi's usual sound for Shion to be comforted, but different enough for Shion to differentiate between Nezumi and Eve.

Shion shuddered at the sharp sensation of nails against his hip bone. He wondered if Nezumi had forgone cutting them to be prepared for the game. "N—Nezumi." His eyes were squeezed shut behind the blindfold. A comfortable grey buzz began in the back of his skull.

"’Nezumi’?" That musical voice lifted at the end, an obvious question. Shion could hear the scowl in his voice, the feigned disgust at Shion's impudence. "Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we?"

Shion's stomach clenched. A thrill of excitement and just a dash of terror went through him, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. "Ah, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Something sharp and damp clamped around Shion's left hip. He arched off the bed with a yelp. Punishment. He was grateful Nezumi had bitten somewhere he could easily hide. It'd been a little awkward to have to wear a turtleneck in the middle of June.

"What's my name?" Shion felt the soft brush of Nezumi's lips above the hem of his boxer shorts. The warm puff of breath against his skin.

"E—Eve."

"Again."

"Eve." Those sharp nails brushed against the fabric of Shion's boxers, and then the expensive silk was sliding down his legs. They caught at his knees, but Shion shifted his legs without thinking. The cool air fluttered over his too-warm body. He shivered.

The hard sensation of Nezumi's teeth pressed into Shion's skin, again. The groove of the indentations formed in a deep oval. Shion could feel the bruise forming. "Say it again," Nezumi demanded.

"Eve," Shion whispered.

"Again."

Something wonderful was happening, Shion realized. There were parts of himself that lingered beneath the security of his skin. Little bits and pieces of a broader picture that, at first glance, nobody paid much attention to because of their insignificance. These games, however, brought those minuscule tatters to the forefront of Shion’s mind. Nezumi brought them out. Nezumi—and Eve, in the confines of the game itself—saw the entire picture of Shion at first glance. All the parts that were beautiful and hideous and cruel and overwhelmingly amazing.

“Eve,” Shion said, louder this time, and Nezumi’s hand came to rest on the bite marks. Small, purple bruises would be there in the morning.

Nezumi was a heavy weight above him—and Shion was tempted to take off the blindfold without asking. Partly because he wanted to see Nezumi, and mostly because he wanted to make Nezumi mad. He wanted Eve to get mad at him.

Shion has never thought of himself as someone who enjoyed pain. And he didn't enjoy it in large quantities. But little bits, tiny flickers—and especially when it came in the form of painted lips and a wine red dress, there was nothing in the world he wanted more.

"Hmph." A gust of warmth against Shion's stomach. He clenched his fists, his own short nails digging into the palms of his hands. He strained against the silk trapping his wrists to the headboard as Nezumi's canines traced a path from his navel to his pelvic bone. "What am I going to do with you?"

Everything. Shion leaned into the weight against his stomach, the heat radiating from Nezumi's body. He shifted his hips, feeling a slow ache forming in his lower stomach, a pressure that crept up his spine and into the base of his neck.

The game wasn't new. This wasn't the first time—when things had been awkward and hilarious. The first night, Nezumi had strutted around the bedroom in his red dress with his hair piled on top of his head like a crown, dramatically reciting Shakespeare while Shion curled in a ball on the mattress and laughed until it hurt too much to speak. And yet, despite the fact that the game had been played well over a dozen times, there was still that same magic, that same wondrous amazement, of discovering something new. Shion discovered something new about Nezumi, and about himself, every single time they were together.

With his eyes completely covered, Shion couldn't see Nezumi, but he could picture him. He could see the red line of Nezumi's lips as he smirked, smearing a smudge of scarlet along the crook of Shion's inner thigh. Nezumi was pressed close enough that, when he blinked, his eyelashes dusted against the scar on Shion's leg. There would probably be tiny scratches of black when Shion looked. He loved those tiny markings. Loved those things that made the game so real. Loved that Nezumi was here with him and that he'd come back at last.

Shion opened his mouth to beg—and then Nezumi's lips were on him, kissing Shion in places he'd never imagined he would be kissed. Shion knew what a blowjob was from a practical standpoint, but experience was much different than speculation.

Shion dug his heels into the mattress. He whined when Nezumi's hands clamped around his hips and forced them back on the bed. Nezumi drew back and hissed “stop it” against his thighs, and the sharp command in his voice sent bolts of excitement racing through Shion's body.

"Stop it," Nezumi repeated, digging his nails into Shion's skin and forcing him to keep still.

Nezumi was stronger than him. Even without restraints, Shion would never be able to fight him off. He whimpered and tossed his head against the pillows. He pulled on his restraints and thought, for a moment, that he might rip the silk in half.

And then the warmth was leaving him. The bed creaked as Nezumi shifted his weight. Shion could sense him sitting on the edge of the bed again. Could picture the elegant curve of his throat, the dark hairs gathered at the nape of his neck.

"I gave you an order," Nezumi said, the words sliding over his tongue like water. "And you keep not listening."

"Then do something about it!" Shion demanded, the words leaving his mouth before he could think to stop them.

For a long moment, Nezumi didn’t move. Shion closed his eyes behind the blindfold and took a deep, steadying breath. He could picture Nezumi perched at the bed, looking down at him with that blank expression. One fine, dark eyebrow raised over those fierce silver eyes. A queen passing judgment on an unworthy subject.

Perhaps Nezumi was smiling a bit. Perhaps he’d broken character for a moment: a brief upward quirk of those painted lips. Shion doubted it. Nezumi was a very good actor.

“Very well,” Nezumi said, the gentle lilt of his voice sending shivers through the pit of Shion’s stomach. He knew that voice. He liked that voice very much. “I’ll do something about it...if you’re good. Can you be good, Shion?”

A warm buzz had muddled Shion’s mind into a horrendous pile of gray and crimson. His tongue was a thick weight in his mouth. He couldn’t form the one word he knew Nezumi wanted to hear. Yes. Rather than attempt to speak, Shion nodded quickly. The gray haze flickered with bits of white, and Shion’s entire body fluttered with excitement.

Nezumi placed his hands against Shion’s thighs and began guiding them apart. Shion didn’t resist. In previous games, when he felt a bit more defiant, he would shift around and stick his tongue out when Nezumi growled at him to stop moving. Other times, he would beg and shiver when Nezumi’s amused laughter shot through him like bolts of lightning.

Today, however, Shion felt like handing complete control of the situation over to Nezumi. He’d already been as defiant as he wished—he’d made Eve scold him and punish him a little, which was always exciting.

These games had evolved so much in just a few short months. It had started small: no costumes, no makeup, no pretending. Just Nezumi tying Shion’s hands together with a silk scarf he’d accidentally brought home from the theater, progressing from there to expensive rope designed specifically for bondage that Shion had, at first, reprimanded Nezumi for purchasing.

Experimentation and communication. Those had been the two factors in the development of these games. Dozens of conversations that continued to cycle through Shion’s mind, even now: Stop laughing at me, I was trying to sound sexy. Um, Nezumi? Did you get waterproof lipstick, because this isn’t coming off. Are you all right? Yes, Nezumi, I’m fine. I’ll tell you if I’m not. Trust me.

Shion's back arched off the bed, a breathless cry snapping out of his lips. Nezumi was a hard, sudden weight on top of him, inside of him. Shion's eyelids fluttered behind the blindfold. He felt the familiar, pulsating warmth against his hips. Ribbed. The condom Nezumi was wearing must have been one of those ribbed ones. That was new.

Nezumi's lips dusted along the curve of Shion's cheek. Shion felt him mouthing words against the shell of his ear, airbrushing that red lipstick into his hair. Are you all right?

Shion smiled around the pleasurable ache radiating through him. This was the only time during the game when Nezumi became himself without the safe word. The only time he broke character.

Shion nodded, rolling his hips and feeling the new, unfamiliar sensation of the ribbed condom inside him. He was all right. He’d prepped himself while Nezumi had dressed in the bathroom. The little voices in his head that’d made him embarrassed about these things months ago had long since vanished. It was impossible to feel embarrassed or insecure when Nezumi looked at him the way he did. When Nezumi looked at him and talked to him and treated him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

The scratchy fabric of Lady Macbeth’s dress pooled around Shion’s legs. Shion’s hands were bound, so he couldn’t dig his fingers into the blades of Nezumi’s shoulders. Couldn’t curl his fingers in those long strands of hair and take down the braids Nezumi had spent almost an hour winding together.

Shion could feel Nezumi inside him. Every inch of him, every place where their skin touched and their bodies connected. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. Nezumi panted in his ear as Shion adjusted to it. Small movements, gentle rolls of their connected hips that had Shion seeing red and black stars behind his closed eyelids.

Nezumi went slower than Shion wanted. Much slower. Several aggravated demands formed on the tip of his tongue, but Shion caged them behind his clenched teeth. He’d played this game long enough to know that arguing would only make Nezumi go slower. Or worse, pull out completely. Shion had already been punished once in this round of the game—if he wanted anything, he would have to beg.

A strangled “please” cracked off Shion’s tongue and dissipated into the air between them. He couldn’t form anything stronger than that. Damn. He wasn’t even sure Nezumi could hear him over the crinkling of the fabric.

Another slight withdrawal, and then Nezumi plunged back in. Shion’s spine arched off the mattress. He choked out a breathless grunt.

Something sharp nicked his throat. Nezumi moved inside him, hard and sudden, and sunk his teeth in the soft space between Shion’s throat and his shoulder.

Shion couldn’t tell if he was saying anything. Couldn’t tell if the please’s firing off in his mind were making their way off his tongue or not. He didn’t care.

Tingles began to form at the base of his spine. Shion never lasted long in these games. And, for that matter, neither did Nezumi. Shion could feel Nezumi’s breath on his neck, could hear the sharp intakes of breath next to his ear. One of Shion’s whispered pleas must have made it out into the world, because Nezumi had begun to move harder. Either that, or he’d grown desperate for something other than slow friction.

Shion’s arms jerked, the strips of cloth straining against the headboard. He hoped he didn’t rip them, as Nezumi finally gave him everything he wanted. Nezumi always did. Regardless of the teasing, the impish smirks and the pretense, Nezumi always made sure Shion got what he wanted. It was his apology for taking four years to return. His thanks that Shion had waited for him, welcomed him back without hesitation. His assurance that he wouldn’t vanish in the middle of the night with no promises of return.

And then, all at once, Shion broke into pieces. Every inch of him fractured into bits, blown away into nothing but dust in the wind. Nezumi’s arms latched around him, gathering all the splintered pieces and holding them together.

Shion’s mind was a glorious haze. He couldn’t form any words, couldn’t feel anything aside from the final few thrusts of Nezumi’s body into his own before he came, too.

With a sharp gasp, Nezumi sunk his teeth into Shion’s shoulder, a bit harder than usual. He might have been meaning to aim for the pillow. Shion didn’t mind. No blood had been drawn.

Nezumi dropped on top of him, panting against Shion’s throat. He was trembling, and Shion’s arms ached to be free of the silk scarves so he could wrap them around him.

Shion turned his head to the side. Nezumi was buried in the crook of his neck, breathing hard. Shion’s legs trembled with little aftershocks, a gray haze lingering beneath the blindfold.

“Eve?” he murmured.

“Forgive me,” Nezumi replied, still a bit breathless, and like a lightswitch clicking, the game ended.

Shion felt a strange weightlessness wash over him—the feeling of shedding his skin, sliding it down his shoulders, letting it pool to the floor and emerging as a new, sensitive creature. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking of snakes.

The fabric scratched against his shins as Nezumi drew away from him. Shion heard something thump beside the bed, something that might have been the condom plopping into the little trash can they kept close at hand. Shion was weightless and hyper-focused on the hem of the dress brushing against his hip. He felt strangely empty without Nezumi inside him, but content with the fact that Nezumi hadn’t gone far. After years apart, a miniscule part of Shion still feared that, despite the promises, he would awaken one morning to a cold bed and no clue where Nezumi had gone. It was a cruel, disgusting part of himself that he kept bottled up tight. A part that became smaller with each passing day. He wasn’t certain if a time would ever come when it vanished for good, but he hoped.

Long fingers brushed along the curve of his jaw. Nezumi cupped his cheek for a moment, and Shion felt the soft, familiar scratch of calluses. No amount of moisturizer had been able to erase them completely. Shion didn’t mind. If anything, he preferred it. It was a reminder that Nezumi fit in more than one world. Nezumi was someone who could thrive in the apocalypse with nothing to his name. Someone who could wield an eyeliner pen with the same skill as he wielded a blade. A million and a half little fragments that created this wonderful person who’d come back to Shion after all this time.

Nezumi hooked his fingers beneath the blindfold. Shion lifted his head, freeing the knot that’d been wedged between his skull and the pillow. With a soft tug, the strip of cloth fell away.

Shion blinked into the dim light. Buttery rays of sun leaked into the bedroom through the slats in the curtains, but the color was gentle and warm. No longer the harsh brilliance of summer.

Nezumi shifted and loomed over him. “There you are,” he murmured. Setting the blindfold off to the side, Nezumi gently took Shion’s face in his hands. His thumb brushed idly along the red marking beneath Shion’s left eye. “Hey.”

Shion looked up at him with a breathless smile. He’d seen Nezumi just before the game began, when Nezumi had swept into the room, carrying the three silk scarves he’d use to bind Shion to the headboard. Their game hadn’t lasted long, but Nezumi already looked so different. His long, dark hair had started to sneak out from the crown-like pile Nezumi had pinned it into. Several strands clung to his throat. The dark lipstick he’d used to color his mouth was smeared, fading to a pale rose as it approached his chin.

Those piercing silver eyes softened as Nezumi gazed down at him. The thick black lines on his lower lids sharpened them. The wings he’d meticulously applied in the bathroom mirror were still flawless; Shion wondered if Nezumi had used waterproof eyeliner, and whether or not the makeup wipes he kept in the bottom drawer would be enough to remove them.

“Hi,” Shion murmured. He gave his wrists a slight jerk. “Untie me?”

Nezumi made quick work of the knots. They hadn’t been particularly strong. Setting the silk scarves on the mattress beside the blindfold, Nezumi took Shion’s hands and guided them down to the pillow.

“Thank you,” Shion said, giving him another warm smile. Despite the fact that the game had ended, Shion found himself eager to make Nezumi happy. Words were important, but Nezumi was someone who appreciated actions. A gentle smile had more weight than a verbal assurance that Shion was, in fact, all right.

Nezumi wove their fingers together. "How're your wrists?" he asked, because once the game ended, he always asked.

After the accident, Nezumi was careful with Shion's hands. It bordered on excessive, but Shion allowed Nezumi these moments. It was better than remembering the night Nezumi had held him as they waited for the ambulance, kissing away Shion’s tears and assuring him through his own that everything would be all right. It was better than remembering the night he’d spent in the hospital or the questioning Nezumi had been forced to endure, simply because the doctors had wanted to rule out any chance of Shion’s injury being related to domestic violence. It was better than knowing that, during their games, some hollow part of Nezumi worried about Shion having yet another panic attack.

"They're fine," Shion replied. He flexed all ten of his fingers, just to be sure. He could feel Nezumi’s cool skin against the pads of his fingertips, the creases of their palms lined up and their thumbs overlapping.

“You’re sure?” Nezumi gingerly picked up one of Shion’s hands and kissed his knuckles. A red stamp came away as he drew back, and Shion huffed out a slight laugh.

“Yes,” he said, as Nezumi placed his hand back on the pillow and gave the other the same quick, red-marked kiss. “I’m sure.”

Shion watched as Nezumi pushed the massive pile of skirts aside so he could drop on the mattress beside him. One of Nezumi’s arms draped across him, the long sleeve warm as it crossed over his bare skin. Nezumi’s hand rested over Shion’s heart, the constant thumping in his flesh a comfort that Nezumi required after all they’d been through.

Shion reached a hand out and cupped Nezumi’s cheek. “This came out well,” he murmured, his thumb swiping gently over the solid black line stretching from the corner of Nezumi’s eye.

“Glad you think so,” Nezumi remarked with a slight laugh. “I think my boss is just glad I can do it myself now. Apparently, Tana was getting sick of my ‘bitching’.”

Shion shook his head. He didn’t need to be told twice that Nezumi could be a bit dramatic when it came to his costuming. He’d made the mistake of stopping by the teacher once on his lunch break, only to find Nezumi in a literal screaming match with his manager about which color dress best suited Hermione: pale blue or dark green.

“I like your eyeshadow, too,” Shion said. Nezumi had darkened his eyelids just a bit. A bit of dark smoke to make the pale color of his irises stick out. “You’re beautiful.”

Nezumi snorted. “Thanks.”

Shion’s heart skipped a beat. He was impossibly warm and content. He knew Nezumi liked to be told things like this. Knew that it meant the world to hear verbal assurances. Shion also knew that it meant everything coming from him. Nezumi had spent years being told he was beautiful by drunks who lusted after him or people who thought flattery could manipulate him into bending to their will. But Shion’s assurances were genuine. There was no hidden agenda. Shion said these things because they were true.

“Should we—” Shion shifted closer to Nezumi on the mattress, stretching his legs out. “We should shower soon.”

“Yeah,” Nezumi mumbled. He angled his head closer to Shion’s, resting his cheek against Shion’s shoulder and drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “In a minute.”

Nezumi’s hand was still resting over Shion’s heart. Shion reached up and overlapped their hands, feeling the light thump of Nezumi’s heart through his skin. For a while, there was silence, broken only by the diluted sounds of their breathing. Sleep hovered in the air before Shion’s eyes, unfurling like beautiful blue petals. Closing around him, Shion couldn’t feel anything aside from Nezumi, warm and safe and lined up perfectly beside him.

THE END